Charlie didn't say much when he welcomed Hermione back into the sanctuary, nor on their way to the mess hall. Dark crescents shadowed the skin beneath his eyes. Multiple night patrol shifts a week wouldn't be a sustainable long term model if Charlie was expected to maintain his regular duties.

The mess hall was still abuzz with rumours, but Hermione paid it little mind. She was too busy scanning the room for white blond hair.

She spotted none.

Her focus fluctuated as she picked at her breakfast. Every few minutes, she glanced at the door in anticipation that he would show up late. He never did. Charlie surely noticed Hermione's distraction, but that didn't stop her. Nearly twenty minutes passed before she finally asked the question plaguing her mind.

"Where's Draco?"

Aurel covered his mouth while continuing to chew. "He seemed out of it when I saw him in the bathroom this morning. Guess he decided to get an early start on his check-ins."

Hermione tried to hide her disappointment, but from the way Charlie kept watching her with his tired eyes, she doubted she was successful. Draco needed to go to Gringotts before meeting with Mundungus, so it made sense that he would complete his other responsibilities first. She had just hoped to see him before then.

The day passed slowly. Hermione brought her research notebook to keep her occupied, charmed to look like Beast Division documents in case Charlie, or anyone else, looked. She cursed at herself once an hour for not making a third notebook with Mundungus' communications. At least then she would have been able to see when and where Mundungus and Draco agreed to exchange money—or see any update at all.

It wasn't a surprise when Draco didn't show up at lunch, though Hermione was still disheartened when it came to pass. The more unsettling matter was when he wasn't at dinner either.

By this point in the day, Draco should have completed his dealings with Mundungus. Charlie, apparently, had seen him an hour earlier, and Draco had asked him to tell everyone he was sorry to miss another meal. That made Hermione feel only mildly better.

Regardless, concern swelled inside her throughout dinner. She hardly registered a single word said while everyone else chatted without further discussion about Draco's absence. From the few snippets she heard, it sounded like supplementary wards had been added to the sanctuary's protections, including an Anti-Apparition Charm within the grounds that activated at nine and could only be disabled by one of the night patrol members. Markus and Aurel had night patrol duty again, while Charlie could catch up on his sleep.

Hermione's mind floated back to Norberta and her missing egg. The day felt like a waste when Hermione had uncovered nothing new and the eggs were getting closer to hatching. Every hour was vital.

After waiting sufficient time and only eating half her meal, Hermione dismissed herself early from dinner, blaming exhaustion. But instead of going back to the Dennfyre, she cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and ventured around the grounds.

The lingering hints of sunset had faded from the night sky, and the first stars began to shine up above. It was hard to know where to begin looking for more clues. She and Draco both suspected someone from the sanctuary was involved, and after spending all day reviewing her notes, it was the only logical conclusion Hermione could land on. The culprit had been getting away with stealing blood for months before anyone else noticed something amiss. That required knowledge. Expertise. But even if she searched through each individual keeper's cabin, Hermione doubted she'd find anything incriminating. If the culprit had any brains—which it seemed they did—they would have long ago removed any suspicious items.

Without meaning to, Hermione's feet led her to one of the circle of cabins anyway. Except, they stopped in front of Draco's cabin. She knocked, and for the first handful of moments, she hoped to hear his voice answer. The only response was silence. She turned the doorknob; it was unlocked.

Gentle footsteps guided Hermione inside. All the lanterns were extinguished, yet she didn't cast a Lumos in case anyone returning from dinner saw the glow through the window. The moonlight was her only guide as she looked around, checking for any sign of where Draco was or where he had been.

Two books laid on his table, one with a scrap of parchment sticking out. Curious to see what Draco had selected for his morning reading that day, Hermione opened it to the bookmarked page. Only, the scrap of parchment hadn't been used just as a bookmark. It contained a single written line:

I'll explain when I'm back.

She had never paid much attention to his handwriting before. It was neat. Scripted. No doubt the product of years of proper training when he was younger. But the part that made her blush was the fact that Draco knew her well enough to predict she'd come here looking for answers—and to know the best place to hide a note without ever communicating the spot.

Hermione summoned a quill and inkwell and wrote a note back.

You better.

The quill's tip hovered above the parchment, poised to continue, but she stopped short. It would be too much to say she had been worried.

Instead, she waited for the ink to dry before slipping the note back inside the book.

With the Disillusionment Charm still cloaking her figure, Hermione left Draco's cabin and started walking towards the sanctuary's entrance where she could Disapparate back to Verdell. She had hardly made it past a few cabins when she caught the sound of Julia's heated voice.

"This is ridiculous, Charlie! They're asking too much of you."

"I'm fine. Honestly."

"There may be a lot going on, but you need to take care of yourself, too. The night patrol has been in effect for five nights, and that's including tonight. Yet you've been asked to do it twice already!"

Their booming words carried through the crisp night air. Hermione felt bad for listening—she truly did—but information about the night patrol could prove useful. She and Draco needed whatever information they could get.

"Someone from leadership needs to be there every night," Charlie explained after a sigh. "Llewellyn took the lead Friday, me Saturday, Doru Sunday. Last night should have been Llewellyn, but he was too tired from everything else yesterday, so I took it instead. It's just what I need to do right now."

"Then why are Markus and Aurel doing a second shift again, huh? Last I checked, they're not on the leadership team."

Charlie paused. "Is that what this is really about?"

Hermione moved closer to Charlie's cabin, standing beyond the open window. She got there just in time to hear Julia's huff.

"It certainly doesn't help matters," she returned with bitterness so apparent, Hermione could practically feel the bite through the glass pane. "Don't try to say it's seniority or something because they work with more dangerous dragons. I've been here longer than them, and you know how hard I work."

"Of course I do," Charlie said, "but I don't make those decisions."

Julia let out another huff. "Right, because it always comes down to what Doru says." Another strained pause. "Face it. If you hadn't been the one to summon additional help for Norberta, I wouldn't have been included. Doru has never taken me seriously as a keeper."

"C'mon, Julia…"

"Don't 'c'mon' me, Charlie. I'm tired of it! All my life I've had to deal with my efforts being ignored while the men get the spotlight. Do you know how difficult it was to get any recognition from professors at Durmstrang? I was one of two witches chosen to represent us at the Triwizard Tournament. Two. And look around here! The number of female dragon keepers has done nothing but decline since Tavian left. That isn't a coincidence."

A brief silence hung between them before Julia sneered one last remark. "I should have left as soon as he picked Draco over me for the Norwegian Ridgebacks."

The creak of floorboards was all Hermione heard after that, soon followed by the cabin door swinging open. She quickly moved further into the shadows, but Julia appeared too blinded by outrage to have noticed her presence. Julia barely made it two steps out the door before Charlie barreled after her, their argument continuing as she stormed across the circle of cabins to her own room.

Hermione didn't follow. She felt guilty for how long she had already listened.

When she returned to the Dennfyre, Hermione stopped in the dining room for a drink instead of heading directly to her room. Marjorie served her a hot butterbeer while Hermione jotted down as much detail from Julie and Charlie's argument as she could remember. She now had more than three dozen pages filled with notes and thoughts, yet it didn't feel like she and Draco were any closer to finding their culprit, even with everything they had learned from Mundungus.

Hermione tapped her quill on one of the pages. There was one major lingering question Hermione hadn't gotten the answer to last night. An answer that would give her something new to contemplate before going to bed.

She closed her notebook then waited for Marjorie to finish charming clean a set of dirty glasses. "Can I ask you something?"

Marjorie levitated the glasses to their proper spot. "What can I help you with, dear?"

"I overheard a couple of people in town talking about some wizards called The Seven Brothers," Hermione began, drumming her index finger against her thigh as she spoke. "They didn't say much, but it sounded like an intimidating group, and I wondered if I should be concerned. Who exactly are they?"

Broaching the subject was risky, but Hermione couldn't go to bed without some progress made today. Draco or not, she needed an answer. From the distant flicker in Marjorie's eyes, it appeared she would be able to provide exactly that.

"They're not actually brothers," Marjorie started to explain. "Just a pact of infamous black market dealers in the area who have been known to get violent."

Hermione leaned forward. "Violent? How so?"

"Threats leading to consequences if their demands weren't met." Her face grew solemn. "Mostly towards people they hoped to leverage something out of."

"How active are they nowadays?"

"To my knowledge, not very. But back in the day, while your lot was busy fighting your wars in Britain, they used to trade dark artefacts and such. That seems to have slowed once the Second War ended, and they switched to less dangerous, but still valuable items."

"Like rare or illegal dragon goods?" The question slipped out before Hermione could catch herself, and she rushed to amend her remark. "Seems like the most logical thing to try to trade here."

Marjorie paled. "Yes," she said, devoid of the hospitable warmth Hermione had grown accustomed to. "It ruined Tavian's relationship with his brother."

Hermione couldn't contain her surprise. "Tavian's brother is in The Seven Brothers?"

"Was," Marjorie corrected. "Anton died just over a year ago. Though, not before he caused that scar across Tavian's cheek."

When she had first seen Tavian the other night, Hermione hadn't given the scar a second thought. She had merely assumed it was a remnant from his time as a dragon keeper.

"I'm sorry," Hermione softly spoke after a few beats of silence.

Marjorie sighed, light returning to her gaze. "You have nothing to be sorry about, dear. I'm just happy to still have my Tavian." She reached out and gave the top of Hermione's hand a reassuring pat. "But to answer your original concern, no, you should have nothing to worry about."

Hermione doubted that, but she appreciated Marjorie's attempt to calm her nonetheless.

"Thank you," was all Hermione said in return.

She took a sip from her butterbeer and let the warm drink serve as a pacifier while Marjorie wiped down the counter in front of where a customer had recently left. Hermione recorded the new information in her notebook. It was like a hundred puzzle pieces were laid out in her mind, but the other four hundred pieces were missing. Everything had to connect. She just needed to figure out how.

Hermione wasn't sure how much time passed, yet she kept flipping through her notes, constantly rotating the mental puzzle pieces to see which ones fit together.

"Shouldn't Draco have joined you by now?"

The sound of Marjorie's voice rattled Hermione from her thoughts. She blinked herself back to focus to find Marjorie standing in front of her, gaze rested on the empty barstool next to Hermione.

"He's busy tonight," Hermione answered, ignoring how that admission disappointed her.

"Too busy to spend the night with you?" Marjorie let out a light snort. "Must be important."

Hermione felt her whole face turn red, and a pleased grin stretched across Marjorie's lips.

She reached out and retrieved Hermione's empty butterbeer glass. "I've watched that young man the past four years, and I've never seen him more engrossed in a conversation than when I saw the two of you the other night," she said as a tap of her wand cleaned the tankard. "Ever since Charlie and Julia started dating, I've been hoping Draco would find someone for himself, too."

Hermione's complexion torched hotter. "Oh, no. Draco and I— We aren't together. We're just—"

Friends?

A strange sensation rippled through her system.

She and Draco weren't friends. They were just two people working for a common cause. Not friends.

Civil.

Yet that word didn't feel accurate either.

Marjorie set down the glass and whipped her dry tea towel from its home in her apron. "Let me tell you something," she said, shaking the tea towel in Hermione's direction. "I've owned this inn for over thirty years, so I've seen more than my fair share of interactions between witches and wizards. You two may have your reasons for not acting on it, but something's there. I see it." A knowing glint reflected in her gaze. "And I must say, it's not often someone orders every dessert I make just so he can surprise a certain someone with her favourite."

All other thoughts slipped from Hermione's consciousness.

"He— He what?" Her heart constricted as she stared at Marjorie in open-mouthed disbelief. "He made it sound like you had insisted on giving those to us."

Marjorie snickered. "I may have a generous heart, but that was all his doing."

Waves crashed inside her stomach, and Hermione feared to consider what they meant. "That was sweet of him."

"Yes, dear. Yes, it was."

Hermione returned to her room shortly after that, but instead of focusing on what she had learned about The Seven Brothers, her thoughts wrapped around Draco. Boxes enhanced with a Stay Fresh Charm still rested on the desk, filled with untouched treats. She finished a piece of treacle fudge and then fell back on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

All her life, Hermione had had a mission. Something she strove for. A clear intention. As a child: academics. Her teens: the war. Presently: work. She channelled her energy into those missions, letting them take priority—regardless of how it impacted her relationships with others.

She was the swotty know-it-all. The annoying classmate who wouldn't shut up about house-elf rights. The determined fighter who stayed with Harry when the wizard she was in love with at the time made her choose between him and the Horcruxes.

Despite the recent disappointment of work, she was still that same, determined witch. The one who demanded more Ministry support for overlooked magical beast populations, even when each one of her carefully researched projects and proposals was inevitably denied, dismissed, defunded. It was who Hermione was. But at some point, under stacks of books and piles of parchment, she had lost the other pieces of herself.

Wasn't that the reason she had come to Romania in the first place? To find herself again?

While she was busy pouring herself into work, she had neglected other vital aspects of her life. Not on purpose; she was just so focused on other matters, she never consciously noticed. Her friendships held strong. Harry, Ron, Charlie, Daphne, others. But it had been years since her last romantic relationship. In fact, Ron was her last boyfriend of any actual significance—and that was so long ago, he was already engaged to someone else.

It would be nice to have someone like that again. Someone to tell her to put work away when the sun had disappeared hours ago. To listen to her ramble about ideas when she only wanted to finish one last thing. To comfort her when the stress became overwhelming. To be her teammate. To be his teammate in return.

She reached out to the nightstand and wrapped her hand around the green ribbon.

"After all, you and I are a team now."

She still didn't hate the sound of that. Rather liked it, actually. Perhaps more than she ought to. But there was no way Draco had meant anything more by that remark.

Unless...

Marjorie wasn't the only one who had seen something between her and Draco. Charlie had seen it. Julia, too. And if Hermione was honest with herself, she had felt traces of it in little moments throughout the weekend.

The playful teases. Their easy flow. His broadening smiles.

Thinking to bring her breakfast when she'd overslept. Sharing the smallest snippets from his past despite how much they clearly hurt. Trusting her to be the one by his side when things grew dire.

Surely this wasn't all in her head.

Though none of this changed the fact that Hermione being in Romania was temporary. Was it really worth risking to see if there could be something more between them?

The beating inside her chest grew errant, but the question went unanswered when a knock on her door pushed it from her thoughts.

Scrambling to her feet, Hermione opened the barrier to reveal Draco on the other side. Her insides froze. His hair was neatly tied, gathered in a small ponytail at his neck rather than a bun further up. For a heart-stalling moment, he looked reminiscent of his father, especially when Hermione noticed that he had traded his black shirt and olive trousers for fine robes. It was as if she was getting a glimpse at the refined wizard Draco would have become if he hadn't left England. He almost felt like a stranger, but when Draco pulled his hair out of the tie and ran his fingers through the strands until they returned to a more ruffled state, the stir in Hermione's chest was the same.

"It's late," she said, though the time really didn't make much difference.

"I know. Which is part of the reason why I stopped here first." She stepped back to let Draco in, but he stayed in the corridor. "Actually, the other reason was that I was hoping you'd return to the sanctuary with me."

The flash of his smile and the reminder of how much she had missed him all day urged her to agree, but Hermione forced logic back to the forefront.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said despite the desire to respond otherwise. "It's far later than when I'm permitted on the grounds, and it wouldn't look good if the night patrol caught us."

Her reasoning was sound. It always was. But the way Draco pushed his hair back before fluidly tucking his hands into his robes pockets, all while never dropping his gaze from hers, melted Hermione's resolve even farther.

"Doru's not on patrol tonight, so we needn't worry about him," Draco said with an unconcerned shrug. "As for the others, I'm sure we can talk our way out of it if we get spotted." A short chuckle pulled his lips into a puckish grin. "Besides, how many times did you sneak out of Gryffindor Tower past curfew?"

"All for valid reasons!"

"And is spending time with me not valid enough?"

Merlin, she hoped he couldn't see how much that question made her whole body blaze. Yet with the way his expression grew more assured, Hermione doubted she'd been successful.

Agreeing to go back with him didn't have to mean anything. If Draco wanted them to return to the sanctuary at this hour, it must be for a good reason. Perhaps he had learned something. Or had a new lead.

Hermione sighed in surrender. "Just let me grab my notes, and then we can—"

"No notes."

She blinked, lips open to protest, but his lingering eyes gave her pause.

"Leave them," he stated, so resolute, that if Hermione hadn't been listening as intently, she would have likely missed the subtle crack in his command. "I've had a long day. I just want to spend the rest of it with you."

Her pulse skipped a beat. "But the dragons. The egg..."

"I know," he said, "I know. Just— not tonight. What you said last night… about me needing to balance my personal needs and the investigation. You were right. I have other things in my life as well."

That sentiment hit Hermione closer than he ever could have realised.

When he stretched out his hand, Hermione hesitated for only a fractionary second before she accepted. Not once after that did Draco's eyes fall off of hers, not even when he guided her out of her room to join him in the corridor. Time seemed to slow. She was right in front of him, their chests no more than a couple inches apart. She tilted her head back to look up at him, but her mind was distracted by how delicate her hand felt in his hardened grip.

The connection didn't last long. It was over in less than a second. Yet the pound in Hermione's chest would take much longer than that to calm.

Sweet Merlin, what was she getting herself into?

They walked out of the Dennfyre in silent company, Hermione's heart rapping harder against her ribcage with every step. She still wasn't convinced that returning to the sanctuary this late was the brightest idea, but at the end of the day, Hermione trusted his decision.

Former foe, friend, or whatever else one wanted to call him, Draco was the person she trusted the most right now.