The crack of Apparition was absorbed by the hedges as Draco arrived at the Manor, somewhere he really didn't think he'd be again so soon after leaving. He hadn't planned to come back until term started up again in the fall, because Merlin help him if he'd have to be there for another school year, especially when he wasn't actually taking classes. There was nothing Hogwarts could teach him anymore. At the moment, he didn't feel like there was anything anyone could teach him that he hadn't already learned. For example, he knew the world was shit, no matter who was in charge. He knew there was no sympathy. He knew the entire Wizarding community hated him and everyone he was affiliated with. It was clear that reputation mattered more than the way anyone actually felt. See? Easy.

As soon as he walked through the front doors, he made his way to the kitchen, opening the liquor cabinet with shaky hands and grabbing the first bottle he could reach. He almost dropped the glass he took down but managed to set it on the counter before it slipped. "Shit," he whispered, taking a breath. It felt like everything was collapsing around him. Closing in on him. But he wasn't going to let it bury him this time. There was no reason for it. He'd only gotten his hopes up that maybe someone else was on his side, that's all. Someone he didn't have to worry about killing him if he fucked up. Generous pours were downed with ease until his brain shut up and the panic eased in favor on nonchalance. "Fuck you, Granger," he said aloud, then took on a high-pitched mocking voice. "Never loved anyone in your life." Draco scoffed, swirling the liquid around in the glass and taking another sip. "What do you know?"

Her words still stung, but he let them. It still didn't make her attitude any less confusing. He'd been trying to figure it out ever since his trial. She'd gone from hating him, to barely paying attention to him, to taking pity on him with her glances in class, looking like she was just as suspicious as Potter. Her real intentions didn't go unnoticed, though. Draco hated pity., but he'd been desperate for sympathy, and when it came down to it, what was the difference, really? He should have never hugged her. But he had. And Potter hadn't even murdered him for it. He briefly wondered if she'd told him about what happened that first night in the head dorms, too. How he'd held her while she cried into his shoulder. How she jumped away like he had burned her when she realized they were much closer than they ever should be.

Saint Potter. Doing exactly what was expected of him. Draco drained the glass and poured another. He wasn't planning on staying here all day, so he was going to limit himself, but he could usually Floo pretty successfully while inebriated. If Potter hadn't wanted to be his enemy, he was doing a shitty job of it. The only reason Potter wanted to give him any mind was because Granger was, but now that she was back to hating him, there was no way Potter would ever talk to him again. Not if he wanted to stay on her good side. Losing Potter's acquaintanceship wouldn't be much of a loss. It wasn't like he'd had it for long. The Quidditch was fun, though. He would miss that.

It still perplexed him why he even cared. This was Granger, for fuck's sake. But there was something that didn't make sense. He'd been telling the truth in France, accusing her of having a savior complex. It was obvious. Add it to Gryffindor stupidity and it meant she'd take anything under her wing that needed help, whether or not it was a good idea. And in that moment, he'd needed help. In that moment of desperation, it felt good to have someone to hold onto, and Granger had been the first person available, that was all. And the only person who probably would have let him. He was an opportunist if nothing else. He'd seen red through his tears as anger and grief bubbled in his stomach, fighting for the lead emotion and making him nauseous. Then he'd gotten caught up in the press and pushed it back. He just wanted his wand, not an invitation.

"Thank you. For… letting me use it." Potter was thanking him? It made him cringe, but he just nodded and walked off, unsure of how to respond. It must have been hard for Potter, pretending to offer honest thanks just because Draco had been invited to the Burrow. He did ponder it, only for a moment, just for the sake of the chaos it would create, but he didn't have time. The mere prospect of being surrounded by that many Weasleys brought a bit of bile up his throat, too. Maybe he would stay home after all. Wasn't Hogwarts still a dump?

When he held his hand out for his wand, the guard shook his head. "Not just yet," he said. "The Minister wants a work with you."

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "There is no Minister, you dolt. That's half the problem in this bloody place. Just give-"

"Mister Shacklebolt," he interrupted, grinning at the panic that flashed through Draco's eyes.

"What for?"

"He didn't say. Just told me not to let you leave."

"Not to let me leave?" Draco sneered. "What am I, a prisoner after all?"

"Not yet." The guard raised one eyebrow slyly and nodded his head for Draco to follow.

He wasn't about to leave without his wand; an audience with Kingsley might not be as painful as he was anticipating if he didn't try to hard.

As soon as the door to the Minister's office closed behind him, Draco flopped down onto the first chair he could see and looked at Kingsley on the other side of the desk. "They let you have the office before you're sworn in?"

"Good to see you too, Mr. Malfoy." Kingsley set a few folders to the side and leaned forward on his elbows. "Now I'm sure you're a little confused."

"And annoyed-"

"As you have the right to be," he continued. "I invited you in here because I have a proposition for you, Draco."

"Oh boy," Draco deadpanned, picking the lint off his sleeve in annoyance. "This should be thrilling."

"The payoff is a reduction of your mother's sentence." That made Draco involuntarily sit up straighter and pay more attention, which brought a clandestine smile to the minister's face. "I thought that might appeal to you."

There were a few seconds of complete silence. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," Kingsley promised. "Just information. That's all we're asking for. And before you try to argue, I know you have plenty of it."

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Draco let himself relax. Of course they only wanted information. And if it meant helping his mother, he would willingly give it. He hated being a pawn in a position like this, but what other choice did he have? "Let's get one thing clear - I'm not working for the Ministry. No matter what information I give you. Do you understand?"

Kinglsey couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. "Of course you're not working for the Ministry, Draco. I would never expect you to, and quite frankly, I doubt anyone would even allow it at this point."

"And what do I have to sign? Some sort of contract?"

"Not at all. Verbal agreement. Direct communication with only myself and Robards, our head Auror."

Draco raised his eyebrow, studying the man for a few seconds and trying not to be intimidated by the eye contact. "You're the reason I was cleared, aren't you? The deliberation - how long would the trial have gone on if you'd let them?"

"Until they had made a decision. They weren't going to let your mother's interruption make a difference until I brought up a solution."

"You're blackmailing me?"

"This isn't blackmail, Draco. That would mean I have something incriminating against you. You have nothing more to lose."

Draco took his shoes off in the kitchen and left them where they fell. No one was there to tell him to pick them up otherwise, and he hated the way his soles echoed off the walls when he was alone in the house. His socks were more comfortable anyway. The most infuriating thing was that everything looked the same as it had years ago. Nothing had changed. It was like his parents were on fucking holiday instead of Azkaban. His feet automatically pulled him towards the library, stopping as he passed the foyer. He couldn't remember if his parents ever locked the foyer doors, but he had as soon as they'd gotten home after the battle and they hadn't been opened since. If he ever destroyed this damn house, that whole wing of the house would be the first to burn. Granger's screams would forever be etched into the wallpaper, his tears probably still in the gaps between the floorboards.

He knew it was stupid, letting his guard down with her. Against everything he'd been taught. Everything he'd learned. Perhaps of everything he'd seen happen to her. Because of the things his own family members had done. Hearing about them was one thing, but watching his aunt, someone he'd loved, carving into Granger's arm with a dull dagger when she clearly didn't know anything, had been too much. But he couldn't tell Bellatrix he knew she wasn't lying, of course, or he'd have been on the other end, too. He knew little about Hermione Granger, but he prided himself in being able to read people, and she wasn't one to hide what she was feeling.

Stress, in particular, was one emotion he knew she had trouble hiding. Better as she got older, and more convincing when she was in danger, of course. He didn't truly notice it until fifth year, when he'd been trying to study in the library and all he could focus on was the sound of Granger muttering to herself on the other side of the shelf. He tuned it out at first, his essay able to take his mind off it, but eventually, his brain started to look for any available distraction from the uses of agrimonia and flobberworm mucus.

Unfortunately, the most interesting thing to focus on was "Oh no, that's not right. But what about… no, that's not it either. Come on, Hermione, think." Finally, when he'd had enough, he sprang from his chair, poked his head around the corner, and shouted in the quietest voice he could as to not bring Madam Pince into it, "Would you please shut the fuck up? I can't bloody concentrate with all your mumbling. Just look up the damn answer if you don't know it!" Her only response was her huff as she whipped her head around and stomped back to her table.

Draco knocked back another swallow of liquor, trying to distract himself from thinking about her anymore. It would be easier if he could just forget the time they'd spent in France, where he'd tested her by pressing his wand against her neck, waiting for her to retaliate. Waiting for her to not trust him again. But she hadn't budged. He could have killed her and she did nothing like she knew he didn't have it in him. His glass hit the wall with a satisfying shatter.

The Malfoy library wasn't far; surely there were some things of his father's he could burn. Books he'd never look at. Things his mother would be proud to get out of the house. He pushed the heavy wooden doors open with a sigh, taking everything in and gripping the handle tightly as he imagined the fit Granger would have if she saw it. It made him sick. There were generations and generations of books in here - there had to be something that would help. What he was trying to do, he wasn't even sure.

Maybe he could find a way to drink himself into a stupor without suffering tomorrow.

He aimlessly flipped through two piles stacked onto the table before the silence became infuriating. He'd never liked being along here, even as a child. Especially as a child. Every creak and groan of the supports echoed through the entire manor like there was someone keeping him company, and he wasn't entirely unconvinced they hadn't been harboring a ghoul for the past decade. Not that anyone would notice; there was enough space that he'd gone weeks without seeing his parents before.

Two more drinks from a new glass were gone by the time he was tossing a handful of Floo powder into the library's fireplace, stepping in and second-guessing himself. "Zabini Manor."

Blaine was already pouring him a drink, and though he was feeling a little lightheaded already, Draco accepted it. "I was wondering when you were going to show up. Happy birthday, by the way."

"Don't take it too personally. Got caught up at Hogwarts."

"With Granger?" Draco frowned at the accusation. "You two were plastered all over the front page of the Prophet, remember? Twice, actually. I didn't know you'd planned on going on holiday to France with a mudblood."

"Don't call her that."

Blaise raised a curious eyebrow, taking a drink of his own. "Don't tell me you've gone soft for her."

"Fuck no. I just don't want her dead." It didn't stop him from finishing off the drink and reaching his glass back out to Blaise for more.

"I think maybe you should wait a bit." Blaise snickered as he got up to get himself a refill, pointedly ignoring Draco's request. "So if you were with Granger today, what were you doing at Hogwarts?"

Draco tipped his head against the back of the chair, grateful it was high enough to allow it. "I was with her," he grudgingly admitted. "And Potter. They wanted my help with trying to figure out all of Granger's shit."

"Why you?"

"Because I'm the only one who can do any type of Legilimency."

"For… Granger? They needed you? How desperate were they? And you actually agreed? What was it she couldn't figure out?"

"Look, Blaise, I started drinking so I wouldn't have to think about her today, all right? I don't need whatever is it you're trying to do. Just give me more alcohol so I'll forget."

Blaise let out an unamused laugh. "You didn't come over here just to deplete my alcohol stash instead of your own, did you?" Nevertheless, he took Draco's glass from his hand. Draco was a guest, after all.

"What if I did?"

"Then you would be an absolute prick and I would expect nothing less."

Draco didn't know how the conversation ended back up on the topic of France, but there he was, talking about Granger again and giving him a play-by-play of what happened in Place Cachee. Blaise knew some of it; though he wasn't directly involved, the Zabini family knew everyone's business well enough that Blaise and his mother may as well have donned masks themselves.

"Sharpe? Why does that name sound familiar?"

They'd moved to the couch, Blaise stretching his long legs out along the length of it while Draco leaned into the corner. It wasn't much different from the way they used to sit on the couch in the common room, leaving absolutely no room for anyone else. Draco wished they were back there, in fifth year. Maybe fourth. However long ago it was when things were easy and he didn't have to worry about being killed. Or killing anyone, for that matter.

"He's the little shit who kept trying to be friendly with Father, thinking it would get him an in or something, as if Father couldn't see right through him. Practically wrote us love letters just to invite himself for dinner."

Blaise snorted. "And he thought that would work?"

"Apparently. The smartest thing he did was suck up to me in Place Cahee so I wouldn't get any of his blood on the street."

"Were you all really assigned mubl-… Muggleborns?" The word sounded foreign coming from his mouth, but there was an underlying fear Draco could see in the man's eyes that if he said it again, it would be his own blood Blaise would be cleaning off the ancient rug once Draco left. They'd always had a strange relationship. More than acquaintances, but not quite friends, and yet, still the closest thing he had to it. Similar to what he had with Potter, if he thought about it too. much. Maybe it would be good for him to get in a fight; he could feel his fists tightening.

Draco sighed, taking a long sip, then a slow breath. "Not specifically assigned, no, but… there was an… understanding that should the Dark Lord succeed, someone would be in charge of…" he gestured nonspecifically, "rounding up current students who weren't pureblood and… well, talk never escalated past that. Suppose they wanted to keep some of my innocence. But the Hogwarts team was made up of Crabbe, Goyle, and myself. Meaning that Granger would be partially my responsibility."

"And Sharpe took it upon himself once the war was over to attempt to take her from you?"

"Fuck if I know. He acted like he had no idea that I was supposed to be in charge of her still. Like it was a fucking shock. Like he had been looking for her."

"How did he know she was there?"

"It must have been luck. He's not the only Death Eater in France, though."

Blaise was silent for a couple seconds. "You sound like you're going after the rest of them." When Draco didn't answer, Blaise continued. "I think you should. If you're trying to decide, that is."

"What, you mean like a bloody Auror?"

"No, not like an Auror. On your own. What else would you do, go back to Hogwarts for another year?"

"I'm not staying in that bloody school any longer than I have to."

"So why are you there now?"

Draco cleared his throat. "It's… complicated."

"You? Complicated? Imagine that."

Rolling his eyes, Draco finished the rest of his drink and sat forward, noticing how his head swam nicely. "It's part of a deal I made."

"A deal? With who?"

"… The Ministry."

Blaise didn't speak, looking at Draco expectantly like he was waiting for a punchline. When one didn't come, he said, "Draco Malfoy actually working for the Ministry of Magic? I'll need another drink to get myself through that one."

"It's nothing serious. And I'm not working for them. Shacklebolt just said he would take time off Mum's sentence in exchange for information. And considering I've got nothing to lose, what's the harm?"

"So Sharpe - he was the first? Part of the deal?"

"Yes."

"So what was she doing there?"

"Finding her parents. Apparently she… altered their memories before the war started so they wouldn't be found. Then she sent them off to France, but Sharpe found them and had managed to restore their memories before she could get back. I.. I went with her." Draco tried to ignore Blaise's smirk.

"And look what topic we're back on."

"No thanks to you."

"You were protecting her."

"No, I just happened to be running an errand in the same country."

"Draco, we're the only two here. You don't have to be so secretive."

"There's nothing to be secretive about." He fidgeted again, spinning his signet ring around his finger, something he found himself doing more often. He didn't even know why he was still wearing the thing - he was the farthest from being proud of his lineage. "I told you. I don't want her dead. She's… different."

"Different. And that's code for…?"

"She gave me a chance. She… protected me in court. Testified on my behalf."

"Why?"

"That's what I'm fucking trying to figure out!" Draco huffed, setting his glass on the coffee table and resting his head in his hands. "I don't understand why she gave me a chance when I've done nothing to deserve it!"

"So that's it, then. That's the secret you've been keeping? That you don't think you deserve forgiveness?"

"What?"

"You don't think you deserve for Granger to be nice to you. Or… on your side. Because she's not a pureblood and she's supposed to hate you."

"No, that's not it."

"Or is it that you're supposed to hate her?"

Draco pulled his head from his hands to look at Blaise incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Are you angry that she doesn't hate you or are you angry that you don't hate her?" Despite Draco's simmering anger, there was no emotion on Blaise's face. No laughing. No mocking. No judgement.

"That was the same damn question."

"And you still haven't answered."

"Because I don't understand the difference."

Finally, Blaise managed to roll his eyes. "Merlin, do you need me to spell it out for you?"

"If you're going to be so annoying as whatever the hell kind of questioning you're doing right now, then yes, I do. Because I don't have a clue what you're getting at."

Blaise sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, Draco, I've known you for years and you've spent all of them complaining about not wanting to fit into the mold everyone expects of you. Because it's what you're told you're supposed to do. Because you want to be accepted. You spent the past year as a Death Eater, Draco, which was forced on you. We've been taught our whole lives that Muggleborns are worth of being hated, and you've somehow managed to find one that's not."

"So you agree?"

"You're changing the subject."

"Aren't you trying to prove a point?"

"Yes, I'm trying to prove that you've discovered something that goes against what you've been told and you're struggling to accept it."

"And you became an expert on all of this how exactly?"

"Because I thought the same thing at those stupid Slughorn parties."

"Oh." Draco shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, tucking his feet under his legs before realizing that was a position of vulnerability and stretching them out again.

"Except I wasn't being a prick about it. I have no trouble saying she's not the most awful person I've met."

"Then why were you still calling her a mudblood?"

"Because she is one. It's a blood status, Draco, not a damnation."

"Is that why you're trying to get me to talk about her?" Draco tried to tease, but it fell flat. "Fancy her, do you?" he tried again.

"I'm just trying to make you say whatever it is you're trying to hide."

"There's nothing else to say. She gave me a chance, then changed her mind, that's all."

"Does it have anything to do with whatever you saw in her memories?"

Draco closed his eyes as Hermione's memories flickered through his head once more. He hasn't been sure what to expect, but he hadn't expected what he'd seen.

Legilimency was a fickle trick if one was good at it. And he was… decent on a good day. The most difficult part was pinpointing which memory to observe. As a beginner like he was, he'd basically had to work backwards, starting with the most recent memory and flipping to second year like looking though a picture album. He'd gone as quickly as he could, skipping past some dumb ice cream date and made a compulsory stop at their hugs. Both of them. In the head dorms and right outside the Great Hall. They may not have been important to her, but Draco needed to see. Even from an outside perspective, it was a strange sight, but they were genuine and they were warm when the rest of him had felt so cold. He'd almost forgotten the way she looked at him like he was her only hope.

Minutes back, and Granger's memory of Potter dying gave him involuntary pause as something the bond didn't like. He heard her screams, saw her clutching his chest, watched Weasley stun her just to make her stop. It was a familiar scream - he'd heard it in his own house.

He saw Granger watching closely as Weasley and Potter rescue him and Goyle from the Room of Requirement. She was nervous. Fuck, why did so many of her memories lately involve him?

Flying out of Gringotts on the back of a dragon. Impressive. Stupid.

Granger and Potter illuminated in runes. The bond stopped on that on, too. As he figured, since she mentioned it was important.

Moments in a tent with music and jarred flames - he assumed when they were on the run - that he wanted to absolutely Scourgify his eyeballs for having to witness.

Sixth year he tried to avoid, but he couldn't help but notice how much she'd looked at him when he wasn't paying attention. Maybe he'd gone through those a little slower than was entirely necessary. Had she been concerned, not suspicious? If only he could have seen her thoughts, too. What did all those bloody glances mean?

Fourth year. He really hadn't meant to hit her with that spell. And he'd forgotten she'd gone to the ball with Krum. What was he up to these days, anyway? He and Krum would have gotten on better if the git had stopped talking about her.

Third year - yes, she punched him. He didn't need to relive that again.

Then, finally, second. He couldn't believe he'd wished literal death on her at twelve. Half-joking, but still. If he'd known how close it would be to the truth in just five years. No winder he didn't have any friends.

"Draco?"

His eyes snapped open to find Blaise staring back at him, a slight worry in his forehead.

"I'm fine. I was just…"

"Thinking?"

"Yeah."

"And did you come to any conclusions?"

"No. But I think I need to go back now."

"Home?"

"To Hogwarts." He stood up quicker than he should have and was hit by a violent wave of dizziness that came from drinking too much while sitting. He gripped the back of the chair in an effort not to fall. "Fuck, what did you give me?"

"Maybe you should stay here for a bit. Sober up."

"I'm fine."

"If you travel like that, you'll kill yourself, Draco. Hogwarts can wait a couple more hours. Go take a cold shower or something."

Draco slumped into the side of the chair, his brain working overtime as it was. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad for him to just drop in and grab a plate of something. Then he'd go straight back to the dungeons. In and out.

He'd barely stepped over the threshold of the Great Hall, focused on what seat might give him a plate, before something hit him, hard and solid, right in the face He could hear muted screams of "Ron, what are you doing?!" through the ringing in his ears and his own, "What the fuck?!" Everything hurt. His chest, his head, his jaw, his nose. Especially his nose, radiating up in his sinuses and to the back of his head as he hit the stone underneath him. He brought his hands to his face to shield himself, but all he could taste was blood. He tried to take deep breaths, but ended up choking and trying to kick his way out of the fight, to no avail. Weasley managed to land two more punches before Draco could make out Potter, Bell, and a couple other kids pulling Weasley off him and even McGonagall down there in a flash to break things up. He didn't even know what he'd done to deserve it after all this time.

"You ever tell anyone else Hermione's your fucking mission and I won't go so easy on your next time, Malfoy! You got that?!"

Ah. Well, fair enough. He thought it would be Potter's fist in his face once word got out about that, if he were being honest.

"Draco, God, I'm so sorry." It was Granger trying to help him to his feet, because of course it was. "Ron was completely out of line. I didn't really tell him that much, I swear. Just explaining what happened with Sharpe and-"

"Please shut up, Granger," he groaned, feeling his head start pounding harder with every word she spoke. "I'm fine. Not like I haven't had my share of weak punches in my life."

"Draco, your nose-"

"Get off me," he spat, a couple drops of blood accompanying his words. She was too close. Far too close. Too caring when that same morning, she'd told him he knew nothing about loving someone. He shrugged her off quickly, not surprised when she obliged, and walked out before he could pay attention to the hurt he knew would probably be on her face.

Pressing the back of his palm to his nose hurt like hell, but it was the only way to stop the bleeding while she was moving. He should have fought back. Should have pulverized Weasley to a bloody pulp. How dare he! How dare he start a fight like a Muggle. No warning, no wands, not a proper duel. He knew that whole family was uncivilized, but this just proved it. It really was a wonder how Potter and Granger were friends with him.

He didn't even realize where he was going until he was climbing the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. It wasn't surprising - even after all the shit with Dumbledore that happened there, it was somewhere he could go to be alone, no matter what time of the day it was.

Except this time, it wasn't empty.

"Oh, hello, Draco. Are you here to watch the sunset, too? It's the best view in the castle, you know."

Lovegood.

"Fuck."

The girl looked like she'd packed a bloody picnic for herself, complete with a blanket and basket. She was starting to spread some cheese on a cracker as she answered, "Well, I've never done that up here, but I'm sure it would be a good place for those activities, too. What happened to your nose?"

"Nothing," Draco answered quickly, sniffling to prove his point and nearly choking on the blood clot that rushed down his throat.

She was in front of him before he could turn to leave. "Here, let me fix it for you so you're not bleeding all over yourself when your date gets here and then I'll go."

"No, really, it's fine-"

"Nonsense. Unless she's into all the blood, in which case I suppose you look perfectly acceptable-"

"I'm not meeting anyone! Merlin, can one one stop talking around this place?"

"Oh. Well, I could still fix your nose. It looks terrible."

"Must you?" Draco groaned.

"I really do insist. Don't worry, I've done it once before."

And after the day he'd had, Lovegood's wand pointing directly at his face was probably the best thing that could happen to him.

"Episkey. Tergeo." The pain in his head increased tenfold for a second, then faded, as did the smell of blood.

"Merlin, that was awful." But he did admittedly feel much better. His head still pulsed with a dull thud, but his nose didn't hurt anymore, at least. The smell he did recognize rather quickly, though, was smoke. "Is something burning?"

"Oh, yes. It's contained, though. I always make a little fire up here to stay warm." A strange silence settled between them while she looked him over. "Did you get to eat dinner?"

"Yes," he lied, at the same time the growling of his stomach betrayed him.

"Well, I aways bring some extra food. Usually I give it to the house elves when I'm done, but seeing as you're having a rough night, you're welcome to join me.

"Why?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"Because you're hungry," the girl explained nonchalantly, gesturing for him to join her.

He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the half-gratitude for fixing his face, or the underlying notion of someone else being nice to him without good reason to, but against his better judgement, he followed.

"I haven't forgotten what you did for me at your parents' house, you know. You brought me a pillow, remember?" Draco didn't respond, but it didn't seem he needed to. "Well, sit down."

Nearly on the other side of the tower, Draco took a seat at the bottom of a support pillar, resting his back against it and adding to the long shadows the sun was starting to cast around them. Despite the scowl that was surely settled on Draco's face, Lovegood quietly levitated over a plate holding a sandwich, cheese and crackers, and a pastry of some sort.

"Thanks," he muttered. He had to admit, looking out over the mountains was a good view of the sunset. Usually he was too in his own head up here to notice. The sandwich wasn't bad, either, and was gone in a few bites. He took a little more time with the cheese and crackers, noting how Lovegood was silently eating alongside him, her eyes focused out onto the horizon.

At least Weasley still hated him. Good to know nothing changed there. Because this certainly felt odd. Like he shouldn't even be here. Why was he sitting in the bloody Astronomy Tower having a picnic with someone who'd been held captive in his house?

Why had he risked his life to go to a different country to protect someone who'd been tortured in his house?

C'est la vie.

"Did Granger talk about me often?" he asked, morbid curiosity getting the better of him.

"Not to me, no. But we aren't the best of friends." Thunder sounded somewhere in the distance, and her shoulder's slumped the slightest it. "Oh no, it wasn't supposed to rain tonight."

"A lot of things have happened today that weren't supposed to."

"Well, that's all right. It just means we need it. Mum always said that the summer rains are good for washing your troubles away."

Draco was once again grateful for this newly-revived sense of smell, because with the thunder came a soft breeze, bringing the clouds closer and closer in front of the sun and distorting the oranges and pinks to reds and purples. And on that breeze was the tell-tale cool scent of rain. He must not have noticed it on the ground, behind the trees and mountains that deflected the wind. But up here, nothing was hidden.

Like everything else surrounding Malfoy Manor, when it rained, the world seemed darker than normal. The clouds were always black instead of grey, the gardens always flooded with torrential downpour, and Draco always sat by the windows to watch the lighting splay across the sky and illuminate the furniture.

The best part of the rain, though, was the tea his mum made. Always the same one - cinnamon and blackberry, complete with a stasis charm to keep it at the perfect temperature as long as they needed. They never spoke much, but Draco preferred quiet moments anyway, when he didn't have to talk. If it was cold enough, she'd light a fire in the grate, but otherwise she'd just bring a book and sit next to him on the couch, reading while Draco looked out the window. And the smell in the air through the windows he cracked open before these storms always left him with an excited anticipation.

As he absentmindedly bit into the pastry and the taste of the blackberry jam hit his tongue, the puzzle pieces came together all at once. The small wood fire Draco could now see from his position next to her, the smell of rain in the wind, the blackberries.

Granger's perfume. "To me, it smells like Harry," she'd explained, "and to him, it smells like me."

"No," Draco said aloud, the rest of his pastry hitting the plate as he tossed it down and stood. "No. Absolutely the fuck not. That's not happening."

"Is everything all right?"

"Look, I don't know what you're playing at, Lovegood, but if Granger put you up to this…"

Her brows furrowed, but her lips quirked up in amusement, as if she found Draco's panic hilarious. "Put me up to what? What are you talking about?"

"Her dumb perfume. I don't know what it bloody does, but I'm not going to let it tell me that you're supposed to be who I end up with."

Lovegood couldn't help the laugh that sounded from her throat at the idea, and she quickly covered her mouth to stifle it. "What?! What on earth would make you think something like that?"

He must really sound crazy if Loony Lovegood was laughing at him. "I didn't. I just… she has this perfume that's like… Amortentia or something and it smells like Potter to her, and all of this… the wood and the blackberries and the rain… I figured she'd orchestrated all this just to fuck with me," he huffed, unsettled by the thought of her taking something private and trying to exploit it like this, especially with someone like… well, someone like Lovegood.

"Believe me, Draco, you don't have to tell me twice. That's not exactly an idea I'd be up for entertaining, either."

This time, it was Draco's turn to frown. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"Well," Luna began, going back to her pastry, "first of all, you'd be an awful partner. Especially for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Not that he cared, but he wasn't fond of such blatant rejection.

"For starters, you're terribly selfish. I can't imagine you'd have any interest in putting someone else's well-being before your own, no matter how much you love them. You go around thinking you're better than everyone else, you're arrogant, opinionated, conceited-"

"Merlin, I get it. You hate me too."

"I don't, actually," she replied softly, finishing off her pastry and starting to pick up the extra food. The fire really was nice now that the clouds had settled in and the sun had fallen behind the mountains. "Are you done with dinner?"

Draco nodded once, watching as she levitated his whole plate back into the basket and stood, adjusting it over her shoulder. "Why not? Why don't you hate me?"

"Because you don't deserve it. I think you've done a great deal of bad things, Draco, but underneath all of that, I don't suppose you're nearly as awful as people think you are. Or, as you let people think you are." She punctuated the end of their conversation with a smile and, "Have a good evening."

Even as she left, the smell of rain lingered behind, and for a short moment as he stood there, contemplating if he wanted to sit out in it a bit longer he wondered if maybe what he smelled, who he desired, wasn't someone else at all. Maybe it was who he used to be. Who he really used to be.