I can't tell you how happy it made me to see everyone's responses to the last chapter. With not an ounce of sarcasm, it brought a few tears to my eyes. I didn't shed any, but they were there :')

And I saw one of you guessed which line I wrote forever ago from the last chapter. As much as I loved the lavender joke, it was the "needn't bribe me with favors" line toward the end. I literally built a whole scene around that line because I didn't know where I wanted to use it, but I knew I needed to.

As always, please review. It makes me happy and encourages me to write, which in turn, speeds up the updating process. That was not extortion. Probably. Maybe just manipulation?

Love,

Cherry


When Hermione returned to the Great Hall, she noticed that the mood had shifted since she left. The band was playing faster music, the people were dancing in groups instead of pairs, and more than a few wizards and witches were clearly past the legal flying limit.

Hermione noticed Alicia Spinnet, Lee Jordan, Seamus, and Neville huddled together, so she stopped by to say hello, and was met with curious stares as her friends wondered if she'd even seen Ron's proposal. She certainly wasn't acting like she had. They shared in sideways glances and when they confirmed Hermione's mood wasn't soured by the night's events, they returned to the conversation they'd been having before Hermione's arrival, which was whether Flitwick was sporting a toupée for the evening. Hermione searched the crowds for her former professor, and when she found him, bouncing to the beat of the music with a champagne flute in his hand, she noticed with a grin that the part of his hair did indeed sit askew tonight.

The old friends fell into a familiar cadence, and while Hermione thought she was being subtle, Neville noticed the way her eyes darted from their group to someone across the room. He tried to determine what had her attention, but couldn't determine who she was looking at. The only people in her line of sight they knew were a group of Slytherins, some of whom Neville recognised. But he couldn't imagine how Hermione would come to know the Greengrass sisters, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, or Draco Malfoy. The groups had never crossed paths, which must've meant Hermione was looking at someone else; someone Neville didn't know.

It was brief, but before Neville looked away, he caught Draco glancing over to Hermione, who quirked her lip in response.

Well that was new.

While the others continued to chat about Alicia's new job as a Dueller, Neville tried to process what connection Hermione and Draco could possibly have, and why Hermione didn't seem bothered that Draco was watching her. Neville had heard about Lucius and Narcissa, and knew that for a brief time, Harry and Ron had worked the case, so maybe the two had met during that time. Were they friends? How much time had they spent together?

Neville started as he realised Hermione must have wanted Witch's Ganglion for Draco, not for the scar on her throat. Cursed blade wounds and Cursed Tattoos were quite similar in their magical integrity, and she'd told him earlier that day that she wouldn't be the only one to benefit from her discovery. She must have meant Draco. She must have been doing all this for someone who could never lead a normal life should he roll up his sleeve. For someone she clearly cared for, though Neville knew not how much. Part of him didn't want to know. It wasn't his business, and he trusted Hermione's judgment, so that was enough.

"Hermione, can I borrow you for a moment?" Neville asked quietly as not to disturb the conversation.

"Sure." Hermione said, hoping Neville had agreed to her request.

"We can step outside, it's getting kind of loud in here." Neville smiled goofily, nodding his head toward the dancefloor, where a group of Hufflepuffs had begun squealing as the singer of the band pointed at them and sauntered to the edge of the stage.

"It's actually quite freezing outside." Hermione took Neville by the elbow and guided him to the corner of the room by the windows. "They set a spell that restricts warming charms, let's just speak here."

Neville nodded in agreement and cleared his throat, a little hoarse from all the yelling. "I've given some thought to your request." He spoke, and Hermione nodded, listening intently. "And in order to agree, I have some conditions." Neville could tell Hermione was getting excited, so he held up a finger to pause her response. "I get to review your request before I send it to Mahoutokoro and make any changes I need to to feel all right with what I'm sending. I also won't request any samples, since they could track that to me. And lastly," Neville paused, able to tell Hermione was ready to agree to anything to get what she needed. "I expect that whatever they send stays with me. You can come visit as much as you want, but I don't want the information travelling from Hogwarts, since they're not willing to send to anyone who isn't affiliated with a Wizarding school."

That took the wind out of Hermione's sails a little bit, but she agreed to Neville's requests, grateful for his help.

"Thank you, Neville." Hermione hugged him tightly. "You've been such an amazing friend and I so appreciate your support." She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Guess it's time to start planning!"

With all the good news from the night (and having practically forgotten the bad), Hermione found Ginny to say goodbye since they had arrived together. Though Ginny didn't know the reason behind it, she was happy Hermione was happy, and waved goodbye as Hermione disappeared into the crowd in her billowing robes.

Blissfully unaware of her surroundings, Hermione returned to the makeshift dressing room and changed back into her plain clothes and taking one of the open Floo's home.

"What's that expression?" Blaise Zabini asked Draco, who stared sourly across the room. Blaise looked over his shoulder to see what Draco was watching, but when he couldn't find anything of interest, he quirked his brow at Draco. "You look like you've seen a cat die."

"Nothing." Draco responded smoothly, refusing to admit that he'd witnessed Hermione kiss Neville's cheek. "A witch nearly spilled her champagne on some bloke, that's all."

"Practically everyone's sloshed. Some goblin nearly chundered on my robes just an hour ago. I'd hate to have seen the look on his face when he got the bill for cleaning a custom gown." Pansy Parkinson agreed with Draco, and Astoria Greengrass rolled her eyes, aware of Pansy's desire to please Draco. It hadn't changed since school, and while Astoria hadn't been friends with the older Slytherins, she'd heard Daphne talk about Pansy's obsession with Draco.

Draco was hardly listening, of course. He was too busy focussed on dissecting whether or not Hermione went around kissing all her friends who did her favors, and if she did, it meant she'd done the same to him. Not out of a romantic interest, but because she appreciated the support he'd offered when they ran into Ron at Flourish and Blotts. There were worse positions to be in, and Draco would take what he could get, but the realisation did sour his mood.

He'd hoped Hermione had felt something for him akin to what he was feeling for her. After all, he'd come to the conclusion that he loved her only an hour ago, and his selfish mind had begun spinning connections and webs that formed justifications as to why she might feel the same. She didn't, obviously, and Draco had to accept that, but he was disappointed. He knew that no matter what he did in life moving forward, he would never be deserving of someone as accomplished and kind hearted as Hermione, so he had to settle for friend, and could only quirk his lip in disdain when she showed any affection to another man.

His father would have called him pathetic and weak willed, both for loving a muggle-born and for not snatching her up and claiming her as though she was an object. Draco preferred to think of himself as respectful, and knew that the likelihood that Hermione felt anything beyond a mild friendship for her childhood bully was unrealistic, and he wouldn't push the issue. No, instead, he'd stand with people he had barely anything in common with anymore, and brood silently as they gossiped about the questionable robes of a former classmate just three tables away.

After another hour or so, Draco excused himself, justifying that he had an early start at work the next day, and Flooed home in a foul mood, made only worse by the glass of scotch he drank as he tumbled into bed.

The day following the gala, Hermione slept in and showered while her morning coffee brewed, and while her hair dried, she sat at the table and drafted several letters for Neville that he might be willing to use when reaching out to Hermione's contact at Mahoutokoro. Some were a bit pushier than others, requesting records and recipes, while others were (slightly) less demanding. She drafted versions of the letter she'd like Neville to send until eleven, when she dressed in a shirt and trousers, tied her hair back, and quickly ate a breakfast consisting only of toast before heading to St. Mungo's to begin her shift.

During a particularly monotonous healing session, Herimone's mind strayed from the patient in front of her and to Draco's proposition. Her cheeks flushed a little when she thought of their discussion, and how he'd expressed his trust in her, but more than anything, she was excited to have another project to think of. She'd have to dampen her enthusiasm around Draco, since to him this wasn't a project but a means to finding his parents' murderer, but while she was at work, Hermione could theorize all she wanted. She might have even begun taking notes between patients.

Hermione began by writing down all she knew about the case. Starting with the night of the murders, she was able to determine that someone had gone after Lucius and Narcissa first (quite gruesomely for a wizard, too, as Ron had told her about the blood that covered the room), and taken Lucius' arm that bore the Dark Mark, likely as a trophy of sorts. The murderer had then gone to Draco's room, which was across the manor, and begun a fight with Draco that left him alive but mortally wounded. Hermione wrote down her questions about this (and hoped Draco would never see them), as Draco wasn't a skilled enough wizard to take down someone while blind who had managed to kill two that both had been practising magic for forty years each, but maybe the killer had been wounded from the previous fight. Or maybe he was just sending a message. That Death Eaters didn't deserve to live, and the youngest generation of them was being given a second chance.

But this was the only outstanding case of this nature. Nothing happened after the Malfoy's murders. No attempts on anyone's lives, no threatening post, nothing. Which meant this was a personal attack, as evidenced by the use of an undocumented Floo that only certain people could use. Whoever had done this was a friend or ally of the Malfoy family, and had used their friendship to slip into the Malfoy home and murder two of the family members.

But why take the Dark Mark then? If it wasn't a crime motivated by hatred for the Death Eaters, then what use did they have for an arm bearing the Mark? Was it an intentional misdirection? Something to send the Aurors chasing after?

And somewhere in all of this was the role of the unregistered Floo. Of the symbols Draco had shown Hermione, she had only recognised the symbol for mantle, which was directly tied to the function of a Floo. It was how the Ministry kept track of which Floos were located where, and Hermione had to assume this reference to the mantle had to do with the Floo that was used the night of the murders. So who was using the Floo? How would they learn who it was?

Hermione hoped to get her hands on the documents soon so she could read them herself. She'd have to learn Scottish Gaelic and Dwarvish first, but she was getting used to learning new languages, and was rather looking forward to it, if she was being completely honest. This kind of work was certainly more challenging and rewarding than treating small injuries and bites, like she did most days.

It was quite late when Hermione got home, so she crawled into bed, though her mind raced with thoughts of Witch's Ganglion and unregistered Floos. She nearly wrote Draco to ask him if they could meet sooner than Saturday, but remembered she didn't have an owl to send the note with, and even if she did, the yawn that escaped her shortly thereafter was enough to suggest that she would need her rest before diving into any projects.

That rest Hermione thought she needed was short lived, and by Wednesday morning, she felt bright eyed and ready to take on the day. She scheduled a meeting with Neville to talk about the letter he'd send for her, and by ten, they were conversing via the hearth of her fireplace, Neville transcribing as they decided on the language he would accept.

"I don't want to lie." Neville pouted and bit his lip as he read through the letter. "To tell them this is for a student project is untrue and they'll know it's for you. How many people are putting in requests for Witch's Ganglion?"

"Not many, I imagine." Hermione commented, scrunching her nose. "There was concern I was going to create some medical cure out of the plant and I think they were concerned for liability. Perhaps you wouldn't mind saying it's for a product that has no claim to heal or cure, so there's no need to worry it'll fall into the wrong hands?"

Neville hemmed and hawed as he wrote, editing the words slightly. As he did, Hermione leaned back on her heels and folded her arms.

"You'd think they'd want this to work." Hermione grumbled. "If it does and I make a profit off it, I plan to put a nice chunk of it toward the parties that helped me with this. If I'm successful, they'll have enough money to start an entire department about rare plants rather than just have one employee who knows the answer."

"And if you fail, they don't want to lose face because they helped a barmy healer." Neville pointed out and Hermione huffed in agreement. She didn't like it, but she understood it.

As he finished up with his edits, Neville reread the request out loud, and Hermione largely approved of it. Neville had agreed to request information about known interactions with other potion ingredients and dosing, though he hadn't felt comfortable requesting potions Mahoutokoro had successfully created using Witch's Ganglion, and instead included a line questioning what types of potions they knew had been created with Witch's Ganglion, and Hermione had settled for the rewording.

"If you manage to pull this off, you'll be the most brilliant witch to have existed." Neville stated as he signed the parchment and put it into an envelope. "You'll have to quit your job as a healer and become a potion maker."

"I couldn't possibly." Hermione rolled her eyes, though the suggestion did linger in the back of her mind. "One good idea isn't enough to warrant a complete career shift. And I don't even know if this'll work. I might not even be able to sustainably grow the plant in our climate, in which case this will all be for nought."

"How are you planning to get the actual plant?" Neville asked, knowing he refused to request the bulb from Mahoutokoro. All the information he was willing to get Hermione was simply that. Information. She'd have to find a way to retrieve a rare plant from its natural environment some 8,000 kilometers away.

"I've been in touch with someone who has contacts in Japan and South Korea." Hermione explained, though she didn't mention it was Draco. She didn't feel like having that conversation with anyone yet, including the mild-tempered Neville.

"Is it Malfoy?" He asked and Hermione couldn't seem to form a coherent response. "I'm not concerned about it, Hermione." Neville continued. "You've got proper judgment, I was simply curious."

"How...why is that even a question you'd think of?" Hermione finally asked, her thoughts returning to her.

"I saw the two of you making eyes at each other at the gala." Neville admitted, his ears turning red. "I thought this might all be for him, so he'd want to help you."

"'Making eyes at each other?' Honestly, Neville, I've never made eyes at anyone." Hermione scoffed defensively.

"You made eyes at Lockhart." Neville pointed out Hermione's childhood crush on their once professor, which ended the moment he'd released a flurry of pixies on a group of children without a clue as to how to stop them.

"I was twelve!" Hermione argued. "Try to tell me with a straight face that you didn't make eyes at any professor when you were twelve."

"Not the pompous ones." Neville retorted with a smile on his face.

"Can we establish that if I ever made eyes at Lockhart, it was only when he talked about his adventures? And that the making of any so-called eyes ceased entirely when he proved himself an absolute idiot?"

"Fair enough." Neville laughed and Hermione joined him, having all but forgotten the giddiness she'd felt when she saw Lockhart speak passionately. Kind of like the giddiness she felt when Draco casually conversed with her like they were old friends.

"But yes, getting back to your question," Hermione spoke, refusing to let Neville build up some image of her and Draco in his head. "Malfoy is the one with contacts in the Far East. But this potion wasn't designed for him. Though he would be an excellent candidate for trialling the potion, I'll have to ask him if he's willing."

"Then you're...friends?" Neville asked, treading cautiously. He didn't want to offend Hermione, but he really was curious. Draco had only been mildly unkind to Neville when they were children, but Neville didn't know Draco well enough now to judge whether he was a person deserving of Hermione's time and attention.

"I guess so." Hermione answered after a pause. "I worked with him following the case with his parents, and have learned that there's a lot about him that isn't so bad. There's still things he struggles with, but instead of lashing out at others like he did when were were young, they've manifested as internal strife that he bottles up and lets eat away at his health. He hardly talks to anyone, but when he does, I see that some of the worries he has aren't so different from mine." Hermione's mind momentarily went to the painting of Narcissa she stumbled across and she hoped Draco still talked to it. He hadn't seemed very engaged in his conversation with his friends the night of the gala, and while Hermione didn't know who he liked at his office, she couldn't imagine he had many people to speak openly to around him.

"Are you two planning to be the poster children for a 'Purebloods and Muggle-Borns: We aren't so different' campaign?" Neville jested, aware of how Hermione's expression had grown serious. She laughed and for that Neville was grateful. He'd never been great at talking about feelings (thanks largely in part to his callous grandmother), so he appreciated her willingness to shift the subject.

As the clock on the mantle stuck eleven, Neville excused himself to prepare for class that began in fifteen minutes, but promised Hermione he would send the letter as soon as he had time that day. She thanked him and the two returned to their own rooms, Hermione preparing for her day at St. Mungo's with a feeling of hopefulness rooted deeply in her chest. Hermione realised she was happy, and in that moment she knew it had been quite some time since she'd felt this way.

With a funny sort of giggle, Hermione wondered what her friends and employer would think if they knew the happiness she felt now was from an old enemy and the passion for research he'd brought back to her that she'd so dearly missed.


"Would you like to accompany me to take a trip to Knockturn Alley? As a free elf?" Hermione appealed to Mimmy, whose ears flapped happily.

"Nothing would please Mimmy more."