A/N: Sorry for the late update, I've had a horrible stomach irritation. This chapter might contain a few errors and the next chapter might not follow the schedule again, but I am working as much as I could with what I've got. Also, I'm going to update one chapter a week instead of two per week but each chapter will be slightly longer.

—-

Chapter 5: La vie en argent (Silver Life)

Hermione did not waver. She refocused her eyes to his now turned head.

He quivered, 'Everyone knows your parents are missing, Granger.'

Hermione stood and rounded on him. She said, 'No, your tone implies that you know more than that; you know my parents are… dead.' She knelt in front of him, trying to capture his eyes. She grabbed his hand and pressed hard; he turned to her. 'That day, you asked for my forgiveness. Do you still want to make amends?'

'Yes', he said immediately.

'Be truthful. Don't lie. You still have a long way to go before getting my forgiveness but this is a good place. Tell me how you know.'

He gritted his teeth. Pursed his lips. Exhaled. He whispered, 'Bellatrix.'

Every question in her died. Her body felt doubled in weight. Her fingers trembled; she put them in a fist. 'H-How?'

His throat bobbed. He nodded to Hermione's vacant chair. She dragged it right next to Draco and sat down again. 'It was her part. Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange's jurisdiction were, erm, hunting Muggleborns and compiling lists of muggleborns and low half-bloods for… "expulsion". Included in that were the parents of Muggleborns.'

Hermione's blood ran cold. 'Go on.'

'They were tasked with your parents sometime after Dumbledore was killed. When Corban and Bella came, they found no one. So, they burned the house.'

Hermione's mind flashed with the image of her parents' house burned down. Years of memories—no, decades even—were gone. What had been the kitchen and living where her magic first manifested, when Hermione's world changed forever, was now mere soot. The dust stained her face like the memories inside.

She asked, 'Erm, what was your role? In the Inner Circle.'

'We were the political face of the Death Eaters, my father and I. Thicknesse was under the Imperius, V-Vol-Voldemort needed something more concrete. There were plans for my father to become Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and I to become Auror. After a few years after Potter died, Thicknesse would, erm, "retire" and my father would replace him.'

'He's planned it far ahead, huh?'

'Yeah. He liked things to be… perfect. It ended up becoming his downfall.'

They looked into each others' eyes and chuckled. Just then, Emmanuelle strode in the room and announced lunch was ready. Wiping damp eyes, Draco followed Hermione as they went to the dining room together. Hermione sat at the head of the table with Draco next to her. They dined in silence, eyes glued to their respective bowls of meat. She was used to eating alone, so when Draco was there, it made her focus on the long table. It was maple, as old as the house. Seven seats on each end. One at the far end. One where she sat. She remembered sitting on the left, listening to her parents telling the story of Hermione crawling on it.

Her eyes watered. Draco asked, 'Are you okay?'

Hermione shook her head. 'No.'

They quickly finished their food, a large bowl of mussels in marinière sauce served with toasted bread and chips, and walked back. As they were, Hermione noticed the garage door and an idea popped into her head. She grabbed Draco's right arm and said, 'You wanna try your wand?'

His trademark Malfoy smirk was plastered on his face. 'Let's go.'

Hermione then came up to Emmanuelle, who was by chance taking the bowls to the kitchen, and said to her, 'Emmanuelle, prépare du thé et des biscuits. Draco et moi, on va au garage. Quand Madame Malfoy arrive, fais-la entrer, okay? (Emmanuelle, prepare some tea and biscuits. Draco and I, we're going to the garage. When Mrs. Malfoy is here, let her in, okay?)'

'Bien sûr, Mademoiselle.'

Emmanuelle walked away, and Draco and Hermione went inside. The hairs on Draco's arms and back stood straight when he entered the square space. He asked, 'Are there wards here?'

Hermione replied, 'Yep. There are special wards meant to cordon off any and all magical spells and power so we can cast spells and spar here without disturbing the surrounding electricity. There are also Repulsion Charms placed so non-magicals wouldn't enter. I don't know how the Ministry officials did it, I just use the space.'

With a flick of her wand, two dummies popped up by the far wall. He pulled out his wand and Hermione did the same. The two assumed their positions. Draco had his wand hand up by his head, free hand hovering in front of his chest, body front. Hermione had her wand hand straight ahead, free head tucked behind, body fully tilted to the left.

Draco smiled. 'La manière française, hein?'

Hermione smiled too. 'Et toi, la manière anglaise?'

The room glowed in a motley of colours as they casted various spells; Expelliarmus, Stupefy, Reducto, Levicorpus, etcetera. As usual, Hermione's spells were inconsistent; her Expelliarmus and Stupefy were weaker while her Reducto was stronger. She remembered Ollivander's words: the wand desired conflict and turmoil. She peered right, to the man casting spells beside her. He was the source of much of her conflict and turmoil. He was her bully, her tormentor, someone who utterly and completely despised her; yet, she saved him from a long sentence. They had been enemies but what were they now? Maybe…

Hermione settled her heart. She said, 'Draco.'

At his name he turned. 'Thanks, you broke my focus. What is it, Granger?'

She asked, 'Do you want to spar?'

He raised an eyebrow. 'I just got my wand and you want to spar?' He smirked. 'You know what? Screw it. Let's spar.'

They circled around each other, looking each other up and down, waiting for the other to make the first move. They stared at each other, brown meeting silver. Their knuckles white from squeezing their wands. Their animosity of each other, their despisement, they were all laid in front.

Draco lunged with a silent Expelliarmus. Hermione was quick, casting a Protego; red met grey. Hermione instantly replied with a Stupefy which Draco sidestepped. They traded spells and tactics like that for several minutes. Draco and Hermione learned plenty of things from each other. Hermione, as Draco observed, would narrow her eyes before casting a spell and she'd purse her lips before casting a shield; Draco, as Hermione observed, would lean slightly forwards before casting a spell, and he'd rather sidestep than cast a protective spell. The two were equal; Hermione knew many more spells than Draco, but he was being so aggressive.

After several minutes, the two had recognised so much of one another they could anticipate the other's spells without even knowing. Hermione just knew to cast Levicorpus after Expelliarmus by looking at his back leg just like how Draco felt like he should cast spells in rapid succession before she casted her second spell. Shivers went through Hermione as her wand finally surrendered to her. In fighting, their wands responded to their masters. Draco, desiring control, casted so many spells nonverbally without hesitation; Hermione, engrossed in duality, casted offensive and defensive spells the same.

When Draco lunged, Hermione retreated. When Draco retreated, Hermione went closer. When Draco paced, Hermione followed. Something clicked in his mind. Draco became more and more daring while Hermione became more defensive. Draco lunged and pointed as Hermione dodged and casted shields. Draco closed the distance, cornering her, but she walked closer and stepped past him. His footwork was erratic but determined, and Hermione looked at his body to anticipate his next moves.

The room faded. The world disappeared. There were no spells. No wands. Just two of them on a stage. They were so engrossed in themselves and each other to the point where they didn't realise the lone spectator in the seats. Their play was for themselves, no one else. They stepped closer. Draco's long legs pressed the advantage but Hermione was more nimble. She closed the distance even more, stepping between and over his feet to trip him. Yet, she stepped when he gave the position; she could see his foot drag a little as if telling her to step there next. It was a game of cat and mouse—no, leader and follower.

They blinked. In an instant, their fake opera was dismantled, and the real world resumed. They were centimetres away from one another. Draco's wand was raised above his head pointing to her face; Hermione's wand was pointed deep into Draco's throat. They could feel each other's breath. Sense each other's hearts. See each other's eyes.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

They snapped out of it. Hermione and Draco moved back, wands down.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

They turned to the door to see Narcissa standing there, clapping heartedly. She was wearing an earthen green blouse with a muted yellow skirt. On her powdered face was a large smile, revealing the little wrinkles on her forehead and cheeks.

Narcissa said, 'Emmanuelle told me you two were in the garage. I must say, what a wonderful performance!'

Draco frowned. 'We were just sparring, mother.'

Her eyes widened. 'Is that so, my Dragon? It appeared to be something more theatrical from here.' She let her arms down and said, 'Regardless, there's something about which I have to talk to both of you.'

Hermione asked, 'What is it?'

'Well, considering Emmanuelle has served up tea and biscuits in the tea room, I imagine we should continue our conversation there.'

'Sorry, Narcissa, we got a little too carried away. Let's continue this in the tea room, please.'

She nodded and Draco walked first. Hermione walked up to Narcissa and handed a letter to her. She whispered, 'From Andromeda.'

'Thank you, Hermione.'

She took it and placed it in one of her pockets. They sauntered to the tea room and sat around the table. Both Malfoys sat and held themselves prim and proper. They had the same preference: milk and two sugar cubes. The only thing that separated the two was that Draco preferred coffee while Narcissa preferred tea.

The three sipped their beverages in quietness before Hermione asked, 'So, Narcissa, what was the thing you wanted to talk to us about?'

'Oh yes.' She put down her cup and turned to Draco. 'Well, my Dragon, it appears the fight is not yet over. Rabastan Lestrange and Torsten Travers were recently sighted in Norway, trying to rally supporters for the cause.'

A shiver crashed into Hermione. Draco responded, 'Norway? What are they doing in Durmstrang of all places?'

'It appears that, after you and your father's attempts to recruit in Western Europe failed, they decided to recruit in Eastern Europe and the Balkans. I know Headmaster Kravchenko, he's definitely supportive of blood purism. Also, our presence has been noticed by the French pure-blood society. Expect invitations to galas, dinners, and parties.'

Draco rolled his eyes and turned to his coffee. Narcissa then turned to Hermione and said, 'Hermione, Madame Bouvier, head of the Bureau for Magical Creatures, extends her thanks and gratitude for your donation to the Protection of Centaurs Bill. She'd still need more fundraisers as it is a private bill but is grateful nonetheless. She wonders if you would make an official patronage to the Bureau.'

Draco scoffed and muttered, 'Greedy arses…'

Hermione's mouth fell. 'More fundraisers? I gave them 4,000 galleons, that's what, over 1 million francs? Surely that's enough for the centaur provisions!'

Narcissa merely chuckled and eyed Draco. Draco shook his head, saying, 'That's not what she meant, Granger. She meant more fundraisers for the pure-blood families.' At Hermione's look of confusion, he continued. 'Pure-bloods hold most of the wealth and social prestige in society. They can assist in providing funds for bills, laws, etcetera, especially private bills like these, by being patrons.'

'Is that what the Malfoys do?'

Draco nodded. 'Blacks, Lestranges, Greengrasses, everyone does. We're just the richest patrons.'

'Patrons, is that what Madame Bouvier meant by making an official patronage?'

Narcissa replied, 'Yes, though I personally do not recommend it. Patronages mean making a set donation every month to a specific department or the entire Ministry if so desired.'

'Isn't that bribery?'

'Oh, no, Hermione, bribery is specific. Patronage is general.'

'Anyway, why did you say you wouldn't recommend it?'

'Oh, I meant for you, Hermione.' Hermione scowled. 'Patrons have to attend functions, events, galas, etcetera with Ministry officials and other fellow patrons as well. To maintain your anonymity would be difficult if you were to patronise.'

'Okay, I get it. So, if I want to be a patron, I have to… socialise?'

Narcissa continued, 'Socialise, converse, fraternise, consort, all of those lovely things. As I've said to Draco, expect galas, dinners, and parties.'

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. 'Well, French society and laws are rather strict when it comes to privacy. Moreover, they know of me but not me personally. They recognise the name and the titles but not my face. At least I wouldn't have to deal with blood purism, that's a blessing. I'll have to avoid international events and reporters…'

'Are you considering becoming a patron?'

'Yeah, I'll do it. I'll owl Madame Bouvier tomorrow.'

Narcissa beamed and clapped her hands. 'Good! Draco can help you.'

'Mother—'

'Narcissa—'

'Listen to me. Both of you need to be acquainted with the French wizarding society. I am a Black, and I've known France and her pure-bloods far longer than any of you, its recent egalitarianism notwithstanding, unlike you nor Hermione. Both of you have something to gain from this, so rise to the occasion. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to the bathroom.'

Hermione muttered to herself, 'Politics. I'm supposed to talk nonsense with people? Empty words?'

'Granger, you talk so much already. Just imagine no one is there, you'll get on just fine.' Hermione scoffed. 'Besides, you're a Baroness. In the Muggle world—'

'Non-magical.'

'Muggle isn't offensive like Moldu is here.'

'Still, it's a good habit to have. I'd rather say "born of non-magicals" than née-Moldu and get myself admonished.'

'Fine. As I was saying before your rude interruption, in the non-magical world, your title means absolutely nothing, but here in the wizarding world, it means everything. Most families renounced their titles and obliviated themselves from the non-magical world. You're more noble than they are. Use it to your advantage.'

'Sounds like what a Slytherin would do.'

'You mean like what a smart person would do. What use is an advantage if one does not use it?'

'Nothing, it's just… It's not what I do. I'm straightforward; some say I lack tact. High society is not the place for me.'

He scoffed. 'Who are you?'

'What kind of question is that? What do you mean by "Who are you?"'

Draco slapped his forehead. 'You're Hermione bloody Granger, the swot who raises her hand in every class, answering every professor from fucking Binns to Snape without caring about the rest of us. Hermione Granger, the sidekick who, in her fifth year, snuck into the Department of Mysteries, got cursed by Antonin bleeding Dolohov, and survived. Hermione Granger, the war hero who helped Harry Potter vanquish the dark. Are you telling me a simple party is too much for you? Weren't you raised in this culture? I ask again, who are you?'

For the first time in months, she was silent. For the first time, she was without an answer. She couldn't look it up in a book somewhere. She had to look inside. Who was she, really? What did she want? She was so engrossed in her thoughts she didn't hear Emmanuelle telling them she was leaving for home until Draco nudged her. After Emmanuelle left, Narcissa asked to leave with Draco. They would return tomorrow, on Thursday.

Before Draco could step into the green flames, Hermione grabbed his shoulder and turned him to her.

'About what you said… Can we talk in private tomorrow? Since you and Narcissa are coming at 12, how about you come at 9 for breakfast?'

He chuckled. 'Sure, that'd be fine.'

'Alright. See you tomorrow.'

'See you tomorrow.' He then stepped into the flames and disappeared.

He disappeared, leaving Hermione alone to ponder and percolate in her thoughts. After eating one of Emmanuelle's prepared dinners, she wandered aimlessly in her chateau. Her feet, however, landed her in front of the garage. She entered, the wards glowing orange as she did. She looked down, tracing the footsteps of hers and Draco. She summoned a doll and started spellcasting. Her wand, after weeks of stubbornness, had surrendered to her. Now, her spells were exact; powerful when she willed it powerful, weak when she willed it weak.

Everything inside of her bubbled up. Her fears. Her pity. Her anger. Her disgust. Narcissa and Draco Malfoy were her enemies; Narcissa was the wife of a Death Eater and her son was a Death Eater himself!

So why was her heart tempered when they disappeared? Why did it crack when she couldn't see blonde beside her? She set the doll down and marched slowly to the master bedroom. She showered after a long day and prepared herself for bed. In the depths of her mind, she discovered what her wooden companion wanted.

The pastel walls faded, and the brick walls of a dungeon manifested. It was the courtroom, just outside of it. No chair. Seats empty. Lights on. Before she could go, various odours assaulted her. They were perfumes, colognes, but certain things popped up: freshly-mown grass, new parchment, and floral shampoo.

The door swung open. Ron was there. Face taut. Hands fisted. Skin red. He rushed towards Hermione, and she walked back. He cornered her. More smells appeared. Treacle tart. Sweet flowers. Leather pads. From behind Ron, Harry and Ginny were there, equally tense.

Ron opened. 'Why did you leave us, 'Mione?'

Harry followed, 'Why did you run, Hermione? We're your best friends!'

Ginny ended, 'You're my best friend, 'Mione, why did you go?'

'Ron, Harry, Gin, I was—'

'Don't you love me? We kissed, 'Mione, we kissed! I thought you loved me.'

'I do love you, Ron, I really do, I just—'

'So why did you reject him, Hermione?'

'Harry, please, I—'

'Did you know how many rings he saw 'Mione?'

'Please… I didn't mean it.'

'Yeah, I looked at thousands, 'Mione! All for you! And you said no?'

'Seriously, Hermione, why'd you do that to Ron?'

'I thought you were destined to be together! We'd be family!'

'Shut up… I can't think—'

'Answer us 'Mione! Why did you reject me? Is it because I'm not rich like you? Are you ashamed of being seen with me, is that it?'

'Hermione, is that true?'

'Wow, 'Mione, I knew you were conceited but not like this.'

'Shut up shut up shut up shut up.'

'Now you're telling us to shut up? Look at what you did to me! To Mum! To Ginny! To Harry! You've destroyed us!'

'SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT—'

Hermione sat straight, her own voice lurching to the walls. Her throat hurt. Anger, desperation, regret, all of them bubbled up. She rushed to the bathroom door and promptly vomited down the toilet. She peered to her left and saw red staining her yellow jumper. She took it off, revealing the scar bleeding again. She took a shower and let it bleed a little, before wrapping it again.

She went out and opened all the curtains, coating every inch of the house in the morning sunlight. She prepared tea and coffee for her 8 AM session—with Draco Malfoy of all people—over an hour before. Once everything was prepared, she waited. She meandered from room to room, taking in the memories, when she found the piano room. She had someone come over and re-tune it a few days before she met Narcissa. Of course, things had picked up so much she hadn't had the time to play.

She lifted the covers up and hovered the fingers on the keys. Her left poised on the chord and her right prepared for the journey. She began with two Bs, one octave apart, before she pressed another B and the chord. Her mother's voice sang between the harmony, saying, 'The bass sets the heartbeat, preparing the melody for the journey from B to E.'

She closed her eyes and continued playing. More and more of her mother's voice sang between the notes and harmonies. The wind whistled through the windows. Her heart stirred more and more as the melody became closer and closer to resolution. She had no idea what was waiting for her at the end: her mother, herself, or something else.

As her journey ended and the resolution grew near, her war instincts flared up. Shuffling of boots on ceramic, laboured breaths, sandalwood and grass… Yet, her attention was to the notes. With every note, tears fell. One press, one tear. One press, one tear. The smell of sandalwood intensified. When the final chord was made, and resolution reached, she lowered her head, pulled her hands back, and sat them on her lap.

'That was beautiful.'

She opened her eyes and saw Draco Malfoy there. He was standing by the piano, eyes glassy. Strands of his hair falling in front. The right sleeve of his hoodie pulled up.

'Chopin's fourth prelude was my mother's favourite. She'd say that beauty lies in simplicity.' She stood up and motioned Draco to follow. As they walked along the corridors, her eyes wandered to the pictures and figures. 'Opulence was never her thing. She quite despised it.'

They settled on the familiar tea room and opened the door to let the wind in. The curtains billowed in the wind. Draco and Hermione sat down, pouring themselves coffee and tea respectively.

After a few sips, he asked, 'Why am I here? I'm assuming you don't need my help in writing a letter.'

'Why are you being civil with me?'

His eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to retort but closed it. He closed his eyes and took a breath. 'She told me everything. The cafe, the apology, the tea, the letter… You helped her when I couldn't, and you have my gratitude, no, our family's gratitude. I'm being civil because that's what you deserve.'

'Thank you for being honest. I… I don't know why I'm telling you these things. Maybe it's because you're here, maybe it's because of how I feel about you, maybe—'

'Wait, what you feel about me?'

Hermione huffed. She unsheathed her wand and handed it to him. He carefully took and inspected it. She said, 'It's hawthorn with thestral tail hair. Ollivander said that the wand craves conflict and turmoil. The wand chose me, but I've not mastered it. Every time I try to cast, the spells would be inconsistent. It wasn't until our spar yesterday when it finally surrendered to me.'

'... What does this have to do with me?'

She stared at his eyes. 'I feel conflicted with you, Malfoy. By all accounts I should despise and loathe you—no, I do despise and loathe you—yet I testified for you. Did I do it because I think you're a racist narcissistic poncy twat, or did I do it b-because I can't bear to see your mother in anguish over you? I saw her eyes that day, Draco. Her face was composed, but her eyes… I could tell she wanted to drop everything and kiss my feet if it meant getting her son back.'

'Is that why you went away?'

Hermione scoffed. 'You know why I ran away, Malfoy. I'm sure every wizard and witch in Britain knows.'

'Something tells me they're not the whole truth. If it were only a rejection, why didn't you come back? Why go to Sydney, I mean—'

Hermione rounded on him so fast his breath was wrenched out of his lungs. She screeched, 'Sydney?! How did you know I went to Sydney? Answer me!'

He put his hands up. He said, 'T-The newspapers. There were photographs of you in southern Sydney, and Potter and Weasley were considering going over. I don't know if they did, but I'm sure if they did, they would've met you.'

Hermione nodded and calmed down. She took her wand and walked back to her seat. 'I'm sorry. It's just… It's too much.'

Nothing happened except the clinks of cups and chirps of birds. They sat in the tension, the silence. They bathed in it, nervous to make the first step. Hermione had a blank slate with Narcissa, but Draco?

'I know the feeling.' Hermione turned to him; his eyes were fixed into the nocturnal caffeine void of his drink. 'I pushed everyone away because I didn't want to step outside. Azkaban wasn't Hogwarts. Azkaban wasn't Hogsmeade. Azkaban wasn't Diagon Alley. Azkaban wasn't the Ministry. Azkaban wasn't… The Manor.'

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She did something impulsive yet right; she grabbed Draco's hand. She drew slow circles. 'I know the feeling.' His eyes landed on their hands and his lips twitched. His eyes, however, followed up her hand and to her bandaged forearm. Hermione noticed his eyes and pulled her hand back.

'Is it still troubling you?'

'Of course, it is. You know as well as I do, Malfoy, that there's no cure for a maledictio familiaris. I am neither a Black nor am I related to one.'

'Humor me for a minute, Granger. Do you know what "coverture" is?'

Hermione thought about it. The word coverture… Her mind flowed to the first conversation she had with Narcissa. Coverture, relinquishing your name and being assumed under your husband's family… Related to a Black…

Hermione slapped her forehead. 'I'm not marrying you, Malfoy.'

He chuckled. 'Just saying. Although…' His eyes were downcast.

'What's wrong?'

'Stories from Grandfather Abraxas. He said that, back in the Middle Ages, wizards would use the maledictio to scar witches or Muggles they deem attractive. They would be too disfigured to be deemed suitable thus voiding the competition.'

'And once they get married the scars disappear. That's evil.' Hermione's mind flashed to Harry telling the story of Tom Riddle Sr and Merope Gaunt.

'It is what it is, Granger. My family did it as well. The first Lucius Malfoy did it to Elizabeth I in 1562. Of course the man was a bloody bellend since she was the English monarch after Reformation and he was a recusant.'

'Let me get this straight. Your ancestor, a Catholic, tried to ask for the hand in marriage of Elizabeth I, the first Anglican monarch. During the height of the English Reformation.'

Draco chuckled. 'When you put it like that, I suppose Viscount Malfoy of Warminster never had the chance with Her Majesty.'

'I genuinely didn't know about Elizabeth I. All I know of your family history was that William the Conqueror gave Armand Malfoy some lands after Hastings, named him Earl of Salisbury in 1072. Then you went on and on about being assistants to the High Treasury, the High Chancellor of England, etcetera.'

'How did you—'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Come on, you practically shouted it over the rooftops of Hogwarts with your incessant boasts in first year.'

The room fell silent again aside from a few clinks of cups and birds. They ate the toast with jam on the table, repoured their beverages, and enjoyed them in silence.

Hermione asked, 'Wanna spar?'

Draco grinned. 'Thought you'd never ask, Granger.'

They both stood up and walked to the garage again. Hermione turned the wards on and they prepared their stances; Draco with his body square against Hermione and Hermione askew to him. As usual, Draco initiated the play with a non-verbal Reducto, to which Hermione replied with an Expelliarmus. Same as usual, he sidestepped the spells instead of casting Protego. Everything remained the same with Draco moving closer and Hermione following his movements. They were locked in that dance of back and forth, Hermione struggling to not fall from Draco's quick steps. It ended again with a stalemate.

Hermione asked, 'Why do you do that, sidestep my spells instead of casting a shield? You do know how to cast Protego, right?'

Draco scowled. 'Of course I do, but that's not what I was taught. I was taught that violence matters most in combat. That means maintaining the initiative. In the space where you cast a shield, I could cast two or three spells and you'd lose.'

'How do you know where to dodge?'

His eyes darkened. 'Lots of practice.'

'It's stupid, you know.'

'What, not casting a shield? As long as I take initiative, it's fine.' He shook himself out of it and went into his stance. 'Shall we spar again?'

'We shall.'

They sparred again and everything turned out the same. Hermione, for all her worth, couldn't seem to gain the initiative from Draco. Her fears were holding her back. She cursed under her breath.

She said, 'Again.'

They readied their stances again but this time, Hermione took the initiative. She casted Expelliarmus followed by Reducto followed by Furnunculus and ended with Confringo. As Draco said himself, he was safe as long as he had the initiative. Now, though, Draco was sidestepping spell after spell, finding no space to cast a few himself. In her rage, however, she kept moving forwards without knowing where she was going. So, when Draco instead closed the distance and moved to her side in a second, it was over. Draco casted the Jelly Legs Jinx and Hermione thudded on the ground.

He stood over her, hand extended. Hermione grabbed it and he pulled her up. He said, 'That's the danger about your Gryffindor attitude. Gryffindors are courageous and powerful, like fire. However, like fire, it is rather easy to douse them.'

Hermione scoffed. 'And Slytherins are somehow better?'

He smirked. 'Of course. We Slytherins favour self preservation but also ambition. That means we must be both courageous and reserved; adaptable like water. Water can be as hard as a rock, as cool as a stream, or as light as air. We change and adapt to our challenges. You should be more like a Slytherin.'

Hermione shook her head and they continued sparring. Narcissa came back a few hours later and together they chatted and discussed French wizarding and non-magical politics. They helped Hermione draft a letter to Madame Bouvier which she sent that night. She replied quickly, asking for a meeting in Level Three of the French Ministry of Magic on the25th of July.

Days passed and her relationship with the Malfoys grew stronger. They often talked about their own lives, and Hermione learned as much about pure-blood life as they learned about Muggle life. For the first time in months, Hermione felt like her old self as she made friendships and connections. Of course, her nights were still lonely and some of them would end up with nocturnal screams.

After a few days, the 25th arrived. She flooed to the Ministry's Above Ground Entrance in Rue de Furstemberg and descended the elevator down to level 3.

A woman with a high updo went up and shook Hermione's hand. 'Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce, je suis heureuse de faire votre connaissance (Miss de Bonnegrâce, I am delighted to make your acquaintance).'

'Madame Bouvier, je suis heureuse également (Mrs. Bouvier, likewise).'

'I did not expect your letter wanting to patronise our bureau, it was a bit of a cheeky question I posed to Madame Malfoy, but I am happy regardless.'

'Likewise. If I may ask, Mrs. Bouvier, what is the usual patronage rate? What does it entail? I am rather new at this.'

Mrs. Bouvier chuckled. 'Of course. The Bureau for the Protection of Magical Creatures is a rather overseen department of the Ministry so we don't get many patronages. Our patronages are as small as 10 galleons per month and as large as 100 galleons per month.'

'Why so low? I thought the French wizarding society treats everyone equally.'

Mrs. Bouvier frowned slightly. 'Yes, but not many would consider house elves and centaurs being worthy of care as they are mere creatures and not humans, Mademoiselle. Moreover, many families still use house elves—though they are salaried.'

'I see. Anyway, if I were to patronise you, how would it benefit me?'

'Well, the happiness of magical creatures in France would be sufficient.' They chuckled. 'But, to answer your question specifically, we will inform you of the usage of your funds and the benefits of it. If you desire so, we could compile a list of the expenses from your patronage to you either every trimester, semester, or annually. If there is a policy you wish to see realised, we could table a bill with you as its sponsor.'

'I would love that! Alright, I'm interested. Erm, so, how's the process?'

Mrs. Bouvier smiled so wide Hermione was sure her lips were about to rip. 'Excellent!' She pulled out her drawer and produced a paper. 'Please fill out your personal information, your Gringotts account, and how many you will be producing.'

Hermione smiled and filled it out using Mrs. Bouvier's pen. After writing her information and account, she put in her patronage. She then slid it back and Mrs. Bouvier read it. When her eyes landed on the bottom of the page, her eyes bulged. Mrs. Bouvier looked like she was about to have a stroke.

She stuttered, 'A-Are you sure, Mademoiselle? 120 galleons per month is—'

'Is more than excellent. I care very deeply about magical creatures and I feel that it is in my power to do something about it. I may not be able to work, but I can donate.'

The both of them stood up and shook hands. Mrs. Bouvier, with tears in her eyes, said, 'Thank you so much, Mademoiselle, I am sure your patronage will not be useless. The magical creatures of France can breathe more easily now.'

Hermione said her goodbyes and left. On the elevator, she was joined by none other than Mr. Rosier, head of the Bureau of Magical Justice.

'Bonjour, Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce.'

'Bonjour, Monsieur Rosier. Thank you for using my name this time.'

He smiled. 'It's professional courtesy. You know, I saw the strangest thing today. I saw Madame Bouvier jumping around in her office just now. Did you have anything to do with that?'

'I am now officially a patron for the Bureau of Magical Creatures. I have a vested interest in creatures.'

'I see. Consider this a personal courtesy to you. The Ministry tends to hold balls and galas on important feast days of the Church. The next one is August 15th, Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin. An invitation might be given.'

The elevator stopped in the atrium and Hermione walked out. 'I see. Au revoir, Monsieur Rosier.'

'Au revoir, Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce. Give my regards to Narcissa.'

Hermione returned to the Château de la Fierté with a wide smile. Draco and Narcissa were out that Saturday on a family trip and wouldn't be back until next week. She played the piano to relax, playing Chopin, Liszt, and Rachmaninoff until her heart couldn't bear the angst of those Romantic composers. The heavy serenity of the compositions complemented the rain outside, as if her heart was crying with the Earth. She abruptly stopped, brewed a cup of tea, and went outside.

The rain had subsided though thunder still ruled the skies. The sun was still trying to peek into the grey clouds. She sat by the edge, nursing the cup of tea, when she spotted something in the clouds. It became bigger and bigger until it landed next to Hermione. It was a white owl with large wings and a red clip on her legs: It was a letter from the French Ministry.

She came back inside and looked at it. Large embossed M in the centre and the words Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France underneath; French Ministry of Magic. She broke the seal and pulled the hard letter inside. It was entirely in French but the heading captured her attention.

The French Ministry of Magic invites you, Baroness Hermioné Hélène-Jeanne de Bonnegrâce, to attend the Ministry's Celebration of the Feast of the Assumption on the 15th of August 1998 at the Palace of the Duke of Aquitaine, as a Patron of the Sorcerers' Society of France.