"All I'm saying is that 'manipulation' is a strong word," Charlie said over his oatmeal.

Hermione pushed her bowl away, the smell of it making her nauseated this morning. She sat back in her chair at the kitchen table, rubbing her abdomen where the baby was making themself felt. "Not with Malfoy, it's not. I'm not afraid of him, but that doesn't mean I trust him not to try to manipulate us. There's a reason they sent us a book on fertility magic instead of the book I asked for. It's such a loaded, emotional matter for them - at least, it is for Astoria. How could they not notice themselves lending out a rare, valuable fertility spell book right when it stands to reason they would need it most? How could they get that wrong?"

Charlie nodded, taking in a deep breath. Hermione was having one of her bad pregnancy mornings and he didn't want her to take on any unnecessary stress - certainly not over the Malfoys.

Especially not after he'd woken up in the middle of the night to find her asleep in a chair, slumped over a huge book, its pages pungent with old, strange magic. Before he'd carried her to bed, he'd read the book's title and let it fall open to the page the previous reader had marked with a black ribbon marker affixed to its binding. Sleepy and bleary-eyed, he hadn't read the entire marked spell, just its name: Gravida Triadum. The name alone sent him shuddering, and now that Hermione was nervous too, he wished he'd taken the time to read it.

All he could offer this morning was an experiment. "Alright, assume it is manipulation for now. What could the reason be for it?"

"Well," she began. "If I was having trouble having a child - "

"Which clearly you are not - "

"Yes," she agreed. "If I was, I think I might want a healthy young father-to-be from one of the country's most reproductively successful families to lend me some expertise."

He raised his eyebrows. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, a laugh in his voice.

She gave him a shove across the table. "Magical expertise, not biological expertise, though you are well-equipped for either."

Charlie rose from the table, clearing the breakfast bowls away. There was no laugh left in his voice as he said, "What if the spells in that book called for a combination of both kinds of expertise?"

Hermione hummed. "I only managed to read through the first section before I nodded off, and it was mostly about tonics for stimulating ovulation. I think you're safe, Weasley."

He turned to face her, leaning backward against the sink where the dishes were washing themselves up. "You're too patient and thorough of a reader, darling. I'm afraid in the latter pages - "

He was cut short, Hermione jumping in her chair as a sound like a rock flying up from a gravel road to crash against a windshield rang through the kitchen. Charlie spun toward the window at his back.

"It's him again," he said, throwing the window open to the same eagle owl who'd nearly shattered their upstairs window over a week before. "Come here, you great ostentatious thing."

"Charlie, don't try to handle him. He isn't nice. He's Malfoy's."

Charlie scoffed. "And I would never hold that against any creature."

As it had with Hermione the last time it came, the owl refused to hold out its leg to politely offer its message. Instead, it stood as if guarding its leg, waiting for Charlie to dare to touch it so it could snap as close to his fingers as it could without actually biting him.

"Trying to intimidate us, are you?" Charlie asked. "That's bad manners, my friend. Who taught you such bad manners, eh? Who did it? How can such a fine owl behave so disgracefully? There's no need for it. No need at all…"

Hermione crept to the window to peek around Charlie's bicep as he cooed and whistled at the enormous, angry owl. To her surprise, the creature was soon losing interest in fighting. Instead, he was bowing his head to accept the scritches Charlie offered.

"Should I get him some treats?" she whispered.

Charlie clucked his tongue. "No, he's a good but proud bird. Don't insult him."

The owl fluffed his feathers and, without any prodding, extended his leg.

"There's a good bird," Charlie cheered, ruffling the owl's neck feathers with both his hands as Hermione drew in a sharp breath, still not convinced he wasn't about to have a finger snapped in half. "Thank you for the message, you lovely thing."

Hermione slid the message out of Charlie's grip as he stood watching the owl winging away over the roofs of the Grangers' neighbourhood. They had to finish up their white paper on regulation of dragons and fire lizards, have this baby, and get her longsuffering husband out of the city, back to a wilder setting. She rose on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss on his cheek as she took the message from him.

"It's from Astoria," she read. "She says she's just realized her mistake with the book and needs us to return it at once."

"There you have it," Charlie said. "She's embarrassed. No manipulation involved."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, tapping the corner of the message parchment against her jaw. "You know what this conversation reminds me of? All those times in Romania when I tried to tell you Doamna Marius was up to something and you tried to get me to trust her anyway."

"But in the end, you could trust her."

"Because she was Fleur in disguise!"

Charlie shrugged. "Exactly. Sneaky but also trustworthy as anything. See? We were both right."

Astoria's plan for exchanging the fertility book for the right one required Hermione and Charlie to join them later at Malfoy Manor for "a friendly, casual Sunday luncheon on the terrace." It was Astoria's polite way of promising Hermione she wouldn't have to step within the walls of the manor if she would rather not. It was also her way of letting Hermione know she had heard about what Draco had seen Bellatrix Lestrange do to her in the manor's drawing room. Hermione wondered what else Astoria knew about her past with Draco. She hoped it was everything.

Of course, Hermione was not keen on making the visit, but she wasn't filled with dread over it either. She wasn't mired in reliving the past but intent on repairing it, which meant getting the occlumency books she needed to recover her parents. That included going inside to view the book she could only read in the manor library.

Not everyone would be able or willing to process their trauma this way, but for Hermione, it was perfect, and necessary. Charlie had seen her cope this way, over and over, taking control of what she could in her environment.

Her chin lifted high and defiant, Hermione side-along apparated both herself and her husband to the gravel path leading through dense, dark hedges to the black and crystal doors of Malfoy Manor.

As the hedges ended and the ancient, enchanted house loomed in front of them, Charlie squeezed her hand. "You alright? Now I'm here, you can go back and I can go on alone to get the book, if you like."

She looked him over from head to foot. "What? And risk leaving my prize stud here unprotected when I don't know what's in the final chapters of that fertility book? Not a chance."

Charlie folded her hand into the crook of his arm, laughing quietly. "Don't even think jokes like that, darling. Really. Didn't Harry say Malfoy was an Occlumens?"

Hermione tossed her head. "He wouldn't dare."

Before they could knock, the grand doors were already opening in front of them. Astoria stood at the foot of a massive marble staircase Hermione hadn't noticed the first time she'd been brought here, restrained in the rough hold of a snatcher, leered at by a werewolf. She willed herself to concentrate on her hostess rather than the building, on the lovely Astoria Malfoy. She was dressed not at all casually in a billowy white lacy dress that drifted around her in the breeze coming through the open door.

Astoria smiled, stepping outside to meet them. She stopped in front of Hermione as they said their hellos, leaning forward to peck a kiss on both of Hermione's cheeks. It wasn't a common greeting among Hermione and Charlie's circles but it was not unheard of in Astoria's. Hermione saw Charlie's jaw tighten, gritting his teeth as she did the same to him.

"No gloomy parlors today," Astoria said, leading them along the flagstone path bending around the perimeter of the house. "Draco's waiting on the south terrace."

Far off, a peacock called. "You keep birds? Besides owls?" Charlie said.

Astoria scoffed. "What you're hearing is the sole survivor of my father-in-law's purely decorative flock of peafowl. Lucius had as much affection for them as he would have had for topiaries. Malfoys don't care much for beasts."

Hermione remembered Draco's mishaps in Hagrid's classes and stifled a laugh.

Charlie hummed. "Don't care for beasts? What do they get when they cast Patronuses then?"

Hermione poked him rather sharply in the ribs, as if he'd said something wrong.

"What?" he whispered back at her.

Astoria was scoffing louder than before, smirking sweetly over her shoulder at them. "My in-laws would probably get Patronuses in the image of money. And if someone's Patronus would be money, it typically means they can't conjure one at all. Though I do flatter ourselves that there may be more hope for our generation of Malfoys."

"Of course there is," Hermione said. "Hope can usually be chosen."

"Yes," Charlie hurried to say. "Helping Hermione recover her parents is an excellent sign of your good character. Thank you."

Astoria stopped to look up at him through her eyelashes. "Not at all. We've done nothing useful for the lost Grangers yet. And still, you've done plenty for us."

"Yes," came Draco's loud but lazily drawling voice, calling to them over the stone balustrade of the terrace as they climbed the low steps. It was just like him to want to make a grand entrance, everyone looking up at him, slender and elegant, lord of manor while still in his early twenties. "Allow us to spoil you with food and drink and books for an afternoon in thanks for your help at the hospital."

Hermione and Charlie stepped onto the terrace and Draco lunged at Charlie, seizing him in a handshake, rotating his arm. "How's that snitch arm, Weasley? Oh, quite the bruise you've got." He was tugging at Charlie's sleeve, exposing more of the bruise, feigning sympathy but actually congratulating himself, admiring the mark he'd left on Charlie's body. "Haven't you got a balm for that, Granger?"

As he spoke her name, Draco let go of Charlie's hand and stepped into Hermione's space, leaning forward as Astoria had done when she greeted them, moving to kiss her cheeks. Hermione held back a gasp, eyes wide, her hand quickly thrust out in front of herself to stop him, demanding a handshake instead. He paused, chuckled to himself, and gave her hand a firm, mannish shake.

"Charlie prefers an exclusive formulation only available in the Carpathian Mountains," she said, describing Doamna Marius's grease-balm this way for the first time ever. "When he can't get any, he prefers to let nature take its course."

Astoria was examining Charlie's arm now, holding it delicately between her fingers. "Are you quite certain you won't try one of ours, Ches - Charlie? We have some excellent preparations. What Malfoys may lack in skills of magical creature care we more than make up for in potioneering."

Charlie was pulling his sleeve back into place. "Yes, quite certain. Thank you all the same. It isn't painful, and we don't mind the look of it, do we love," he said, closing an arm around Hermione's shoulders. Too eagerly, she pressed herself into his side, looping both her arms around his waist. The Malfoys - there was something overwhelming, disorienting about them. She felt slightly trapped, dizzy, clinging to Charlie but unable to be any steadier.

Astoria sensed it. "Hermione dear, are you unwell?"

"Oh, I'm alright - "

"I rather expected this," Charlie said, holding her at arms' length to look her over. "She wasn't feeling well this morning and hasn't eaten much of anything yet today." He had taken her bag from her and was rooting through its vast caverns for a snack.

"Not to worry, Weasley. Let's have lunch without any more delay," Draco said, taking Hermione's hand and leading her to a seat at the table. She followed, submitting as he pushed her seat to the table.

Across the terrace, Astoria held out her hand for Charlie to lead her to a seat. He took it, flicking a questioning glance at Hermione as they came to the table.

Lunch was served. Malfoy began their dinner conversation by finding out which quidditch team Charlie supported. Unsurprisingly, it was the one his sister played for. As always, talk soon turned to dragons. From there, it went to Gringotts, and the upheaval Bill's dramatic departure was having all over commercial sectors of wizarding Britain.

"Everyone's acting so scandalized that there were dragons in the bank vaults all this time," Malfoy sneered. "We all knew. We were raised on nursery stories about brave, greedy dragons merrily protecting our family fortunes, weren't we, Astoria. Everyone with a high security family bank vault knew about the dragons."

Charlie shook his head. "Everyone in the country knew about them once my wife and brother came crashing through the roof of the bank riding on the back of one."

Malfoy shouted a laugh. "Too true, Weasley. Too true."

"Well, as Draco says, the welfare of the Gringotts dragons was completely misrepresented to us," Astoria said. "We were told protecting gold is what makes dragons happiest in the world. Is there any truth at all in that, Charlie?"

Hermione jumped a little as Astoria spoke the name. She thought she'd be relieved once she stopped calling him Chester. She was wrong.

But Charlie only frowned at Astoria's question. "Dragons like things that shine, but they've no drive to amass great piles of it. And they like fresh air and sunshine a great deal more."

Hermione scoffed louder than anyone had yet that day. "There is certainly nothing fresh or shiny for a dragon to enjoy when they're staked and chained to the bedrock hundreds of feet underground, held in check with pain compliance."

Charlie patted her leg under the table. "You're right of course, darling."

Astoria smoothed her napkin in her lap. "Horrendous conditions," she agreed. "And as children, we were never taken to the vaults to see for ourselves. Ghastly to think of how we benefited from that abuse all that time."

Draco said nothing, absently twirling his fork, as if maybe he had been taken to see the vaults for himself, and had known the truth all along.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Lunch was splendid, Astoria. My appetite is so delicate lately and this was all extremely pleasant to me. Please give our compliments to your chef."

"Indeed," Astoria said, beaming over the table at Draco. He met her eyes but shook his head ever so slightly, as if warning her.

"If I may ask," Hermione pressed, "what is your chef like?"

Draco covered his mouth with his hand, laughing woefully into it.

Astoria blinked, innocent. "Chef Edna? She's from the north. Yorkshire. She went to Hogwarts like everyone else, but don't assume she's Hufflepuff just because she chose magi-cooking as her trade."

"Though she IS Hufflepuff," Draco finished.

"Edna?" Hermione repeated.

"Yes, Granger," Draco said, snatching an apple out of the fruit bowl. "Edna is a witch. You'll be happy to know elves haven't been exploited at this house since the war."

She turned toward him, still unsatisfied. "And what is Chef Edna's blood status?"

Charlie cringed. But Draco only swallowed his mouthful of apple and said, "I haven't the faintest idea."

"Are you craving a Muggle dish, Hermione?" Astoria said. "I'm not sure about blood status, but Edna does know a few Muggle dishes. What's that one I like, Draco? The cold, wiggling dessert - what is it called?"

"Oh, you mean Gerry!" Charlie supplied, grinning, chuffed with himself for remembering.

"Gerry!" Astoria echoed. "Yes, that's it. My favourite is the red kind."

"Have you tried the green?" Charlie went on. "There was a box of it left behind in my inlaws' kitchen cabinets and it never goes bad so - "

"It is not called Gerry," Hermione interrupted, her voice verging on angry now. "It's jelly."

Draco was making everything worse by laughing at the rest of them. He rose to his feet. "Right. I'll go fetch the book you're after, Granger. And while I'm at it, I'll order some green jelly from Edna."

"With those nice fruity chunks in it," Astoria added.

"Chunks? What kind of - oh, come tell her yourself, darling," he said, taking her hand. "And Weasley, feel free to take Hermione for a stroll through the rose garden so she doesn't have to suffer through watching my well-paid human staff clearing the table."

Hermione was not so much strolling as marching furiously through the Malfoy rose garden when Charlie stopped her, taking hold of both of her arms to turn her to face him.

"Breathe, Hermione," he said. "Take a deep breath and let it go."

"I do not want any green jelly with chunks," she said through her breath. "In fact, at this moment, nothing sickens me more."

Charlie laughed, dropping his hands on her shoulders. "And that's fine. But it's not something worthy of this kind of intensity."

"Intensity," she said, closing her eyes as Charlie kneaded at the tension she was holding at the base of her neck.

"Yes, Harry warned me about this," Charlie said. "Ginny too. They said Malfoy has this effect on certain people."

She whimpered, rolling her shoulders under his hands.

"Hey," Charlie said as if waking her up. "The intensity isn't making you want to kiss him again, is it?"

He was joking and she shoved his hands off her as he laughed at her. "Not at all," she said through a pouty smile. "Not even after I had to watch his beautiful wife kiss you."

At that, Charlie pulled her close. "If that counts as a kiss, then I have snogged more old Romanian grandmothers than I can remember that way. Grandfathers too, come to think of it. But I will apologize to you for every one I can remember right now if it's bothering you."

With both her hands, she covered his cheeks, the ones Astoria's pretty burgundy tinted mouth had touched. "It doesn't count as kissing, and somehow it still bothers me to see it between jelly fans Esther and Chester."

Charlie pressed his forehead against hers, his voice low and rumbling. "There is only Charles Prewett Weasley here, and he is only for you. Now, let's make the book exchange and leave here and never come back."

She nodded. "Yes. Exactly that. And when we get home, we have an amazing evening alone enjoying some post-jealous tantrum making up."

He broke into a huge smile. "Making up? What do you mean by that?"

"Something a little like this." She lifted her chin and fit her lips to Charlie's. He accepted it with a quiet moan of relief, glad she was relaxing and not letting the Malfoys get to her anymore. He opened up to her, his arms still tight around her wsist, lifting her higher. Her hands slid away from his face, feeling down the column of his neck to his chest, her fingers sliding between the buttons of his shirt to his bare skin.

Astoria Malfoy had held Charlie's hands, traced her fingers along the bruise of his arm, kissed his face. She's been carried in his arms and knew how strong he was. But this skin beneath his clothes was Hermione's alone. And it was somewhere she had never touched Draco Malfoy. This was just for them. She broke from Charlie's mouth, her lips following the same trail her hands had traveled, her fingers unfastening one more of his shirt buttons to give herself more access to his skin.

But it was too much for this deranged place and Charlie sighed as he cupped the back of her head. "Right," he said, tipping her face away from him. "Back to the ruddy manor, quick. So we can get home."

On their walk from the rose garden, Charlie and Hermione agreed they would make the book exchange in the manor's library, where they could see both of the volumes she needed. If they did it all at once, there would be no need for a second trip to the manor - ever.

Astoria seemed surprised when they suggested it, while Draco seemed downright perturbed. But he said, "Yes. Yes, I suppose we can make a viewing of both books work. Right this way."

He needed only to wave one hand and the French doors to the terrace parted elegantly before him. He was the house's master, and needed no wand to make it obey him.

Inside the manor, the air was cool and dry, with the perpetually dusty smell of old stone. The rancid, reptilian edge it had the last time Hermione had been there was now gone. Still, it was impossible for the house not to seem haunted. It was not yet dark enough for the rooms to need candles or lights, but the house felt shadowy all the same, like a living thing, watching.

"That," Draco said, pointing to a closed door as they passed it, "was the dining room."

The way the chatty Malfoys had grown suddenly quiet was unnerving enough without Draco breaking the silence only to say something so cryptic. Charlie looked at Hermione, asking with a silent glance what the significance of the dining room could be. She shrugged slightly, aware that Astoria, walking behind them, could see them.

Ahead of them, Draco was unlocking another door, not using the masterful hand wave, or even his wand but a massive iron key. Hermione did not shrug at this. The Malfoy family library was world famous and ought to have high security. A captive dragon would have been too much, but not a key. The lock's metal shrieked like a young Mandrake as Draco cranked the key with both of his hands.

The door opened on the darkest space they had seen inside the house yet. Hermione knew it was good archival practice to minimize the amount of light old books and records were exposed to, but she still couldn't help clutching at Charlie's hand as the darkness enfolded them.

Draco held the door as the rest of them filed inside, using the key to close it up again. The lock fell into place with an echoing clunk. Hermione and Charlie stood waiting for the room's lights to come on. What appeared instead was nothing more than a faint Lumos spell glowing from the end of Draco's wand. Ghostlike, his pale face hovered over them in the near darkness.

"Welcome back," he said, "to the drawing room."