February 1999—

A new day dawned with scant light flickering into her room. Hermione woke to the sound of soft rain pattering against the window. She was curled into Draco, though facing him now, and his arm was still wrapped around her. His face was calm and relaxed, and the blond locks that fell across his eyes as he slept made Hermione's mind wander to other times his hair tumbled into his face. Her body ached for him.

Then, the memory of the previous evening swam forward. Are we doomed to always misunderstand each other? She sighed at the morning rays and wished she could stay asleep, but she and Draco had two double periods coming up.

Hermione smiled as she saw Draco's eyes open for the first time that day. They rolled around blearily for a second before landing on her. He smiled.

"You're perfect," he tried to say, but it came out hoarse.

"You're an idiot."

His lip quirked up. "I know."

Draco had no business looking so good when he had just woken up.

"Yes, I know I owe you fucking big time."

"You did bring me my course work."

He grunted. "I am sorry, you know."

"Draco, I don't want your apologies." She brought a hand to his chest and placed it over his heart. "I want you to stop creating reasons to apologize."

He frowned at that, pulled her closer, and kissed the top of her head.


Despite the very rocky start to the week, the remainder passed with surprising normalcy. Even though she was Head Girl and a war heroine, Hermione did not have the same notoriety as Harry, so the gossip about her from the student body was short-lived. It also helped that anyone who actually knew her, even just adjacently, found the tale spun by Rita Skeeter too outlandish to believe. When Hermione considered the state of things, she felt happy. Her friendship with Ron was repairing. Her relationship with Draco was progressing. She was no longer a pariah at the school. Even a plan for her parents was taking shape. All compasses were pointing north.

Ginny and Hermione were having breakfast together in the Great Hall on Saturday morning, and Ginny had that scrutinizing face on again.

"Just ask," Hermione said after trying and failing to hold several different topics of conversation with her.

"Ask what?" Ginny startled.

"Whatever it is you can't stop thinking about. You've got that look."

"What look?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Okay, fine. Listen, you can say no, but I do have to ask. Do you want to try flying again?"

Hermione froze.

"Ron isn't here to be an idiot. We could go with Malfoy. Between the two of us, you'd be totally safe."

Her eyes flew across the hall to where Draco was breakfasting with Blaise and Luna. This unusual trio was becoming a more common meal occurrence when neither Draco nor Luna were at the Gryffindor table.

"No," Hermione blurted out, disrupting her own thoughts. "No, thank you."

"Okay," Ginny said. She looked for a few seconds like she was going to push, but the moment passed. Instead she leaned in and said, "So, what do you think is going on between Luna and Zabini?"

"In all honesty, I don't really want to know."

"Do you think they've done it yet?"

"I seriously don't want to even—" A scroll with neat emerald script appeared in front of her plate. "—er, think… about it."

Hermione snatched up the scroll and read it quickly.

Miss Granger,

I request your presence in my office before 10 o'clock this morning.

Regards,
Headmistress McGonagall

She still had over a half hour of time to spare. Looking up to catch Draco's eye, she instead saw him fully engaged by Luna, who was speaking to him in earnest. He was nodding along with a patience she rarely saw from him.

"Another Head meeting?" Ginny asked.

"Huh?" Hermione turned back to her friend. "Oh, I'm not sure. I'm going to go ask Draco. She's requested me soon."

Ginny shooed her away and turned her attention to the pair of Gryffindor Beaters who has just approached with questions about the next day's practice. Hermione was happy to flee as she saw her friend's face start to turn red. What asinine question have they cooked up this time? The pair were shaping up to be not bad Beaters—or so she was told—but they were nearly as thick as Crabbe and Goyle had been.

When Hermione stood and started to walk the length of the hall, Draco's eyes flew to hers. A tingle of warmth ran down her spine. He was always tuned into her. He got up and joined her exit from the hall.

"Another meeting with McGonagall," she said. "Did you get one?"

"No," Draco said, and a shadow passed over his face.

"She didn't say what about. I'll tell you everything when it's over."

He paused.

She took his hand and intertwined her fingers in his. "I promise."

He exhaled and brought her fingers to his lips. "Of course."

In minutes, Hermione was seated across the headmistress's desk with a cup of tea and a biscuit. She was neither thirsty nor hungry, but she nibbled and sipped anyway. The headmistress sat in silence sipping her own tea with pinched eyebrows and the ghost of a grimace. The tea was the perfect strength.

"Miss Granger," she began when the appropriate amount of time must have passed, "the purpose of our meeting today may come as a surprise."

"Has something happened to my parents?" She asked and continued without giving McGonagall the chance to answer. "I have given the situation a lot of thought. I want to talk through my options. It's very important to me to finish my N.E.W.T.s though, and I know my parents wouldn't want me to further sacrifice my education."

McGonagall appraised her for a moment, then sighed. "Very well. The last update came by letter just minutes ago, and I do have it here for you. I have not yet read the second copy they offered to me. You should review it all carefully, then I ask you to advise me when you're ready to meet. I will also tell you that, though this exception is rarely granted to anyone," she paused to let those words sink in, "I have full confidence a petition from you to sit all N.E.W.T.s early would be successful."

Hermione gaped at her.

"Early? But I… There's so much still to learn!"

"I have no doubts of your passing in all subjects, even at this point, and I'm certain all of your professors would be willing to provide you any extra coaching you feel you need."

"I—" Hermione swallowed hard. "I'll think about it." She clutched the letter close and began to stand.

McGonagall nodded and looked up at a clock across the room. "On to the matter at hand. The timing of this letter was very convenient, but it is not the purpose of our meeting."

Hermione dropped back to her seat. "It isn't?"

"No. The letter arrived just minutes before you did. There is a very different matter we must discuss. I've received a request for a guest to visit our school."

"Professor?"

"The request came from a gentleman who wishes to pay you a personal visit." McGonagall removed and began polishing her spectacles. "I believe you are quite familiar with Mr. Viktor Krum."

"Viktor? What, he's here?"

"No, not yet. His arrival is imminent."

"I don't understand."

"To be frank, Miss Granger, nor do I."

The two stared at each other. Hermione's mind was completely blank. Why would Viktor be visiting now? He had not written to say he was coming. In fact, their correspondence over the past month had dwindled.

"In the interest of maintaining our relationships abroad, I have granted his request. He will arrive by floo to my office in three minutes. If you do not wish to be here for his arrival, you may go, but I gather from him that his visit is at your invitation."

"Mine? But I didn't…" Hermione thought back. Has she invited him? She vaguely recalled trying to defer his wish for a Christmas visit until spring, but that was a month away at least. Did something happen causing him to come early? Had he seen Skeeter's articles and gotten upset, or come to see the truth for himself, or—worse—decided he needed to rescue her? Her mind was flying through one unlikely possibility after the next.

"Miss Granger."

"Huh?"

"Please collect yourself. You have one minute until his arrival. I have asked you here to give you the option of privacy. I will leave you if you wish."

"No!" Hermione closed her eyes and steadied the whirlwind within. "No, that won't be necessary."

McGonagall pursed her lips as the fire roared green and Viktor stepped out. He was still lanky and lean, but less stooped. There was something more refined in his face, and his eyes were less sunken and harsh.

"Headmistress," he made a small bow. "Thank you for permitting my visit."

McGonagall inclined her head. "We are happy to host your visit for the day."

"Yes, of course," he said, but it was clear he was no longer listening. His eyes had wandered around the room until they landed on Hermione. As soon as they met hers, they danced with joy.

"Hermione," he said, taking her hand as he correctly pronounced her name. He kissed the back of her palm. "You look as vonderful as ever."

Hermione blushed.

"Thank—ah, you. I wasn't expecting you."

"You did not receive my letter?"

"Letter? No?"

"It must have come veek ago or more. No vonder you did not reply."

The echoes of shrieking Howlers rang fresh in Hermione's mind. No wonder indeed that she had not received his letter. "Oh," was all she managed to say.

He eyed her. "Hm. Perhaps you are not so happy to see me."

"Oh, Viktor, of course not. I mean, of course I am. I—well, there's just so much to tell you. Things have happened, and I—"

McGonagall cleared her through. "Miss Granger. Why don't you take Mr. Krum to your common room where you and the other Head Students may welcome him properly and offer a refreshment. I will have a tray sent."

"Oh! Yes, of course. Do you have any things?" She realized his hands were empty. "Er, where are you staying?"

"In Hogsmeade Village. There is a small inn that I have been told is the best place to stay."

"The Three Broomsticks?"

"Yes, the same."

She nodded then led Viktor down the spiral staircase and to the third floor in awkward silence. He continued to eye her as they walked but otherwise was content to follow her lead.

As they approached the materializing stained-glass door, she stopped dead. What if Draco was inside? Should she tell Viktor about him now? In the middle of the hallway, out of the blue, just say, "Hey, thanks for coming all this way, but by the way, I'm not available." Would he even stay? Would he be mad at her? Would it be a big scene like with Ron all over again?

"Are you all right?"

"Yes!" she squeaked. "Just forgot the password for a second. Cherry cherub."

The door opened, and Hermione led him inside praying against all odds that the common room would not be empty.


Waiting for Hermione to finish with her meeting turned out to be a shit task.

"Merlin, Malfoy, you get any more tense, and I think you might spontaneously self-Incendio."

He scowled and turned. Leave it to the Weaselette to find him pacing like a maniac in this alcove.

"Did you need something?"

She eyed him in a way that hackled his skin. "Yeah. Go get your million galleon broom."

He narrowed his eyes. "No."

"Come off it, you prat. I need a flying partner, and you clearly need a distraction. Let's go."

A bubble of rage built up in his stomach. He had spent his whole life succumbing to demands, and he sure as hell did not need more of it from a Weasley, even if it was the she-Weasel.

She rolled her eyes as his internal battle raged on. "Whatever, Malfoy. If you ever pull your head out of your arse, I'll be on the pitch." Without waiting for a response, she shouldered her broom and walked away.

Five minutes later, he was on his own broom on the pitch chasing a practice Snitch. After he caught it in a particularly difficult dive, he tossed it back in the case and picked up Quaffle drills with Ginny.

"Come on, old man. I'm training to squash Slytherin here, not a pack of gran—oof."

Draco smirked. He had thrown the Quaffle with all his strength that time. Ginny still caught it, but with less elegance than the rest of their practice so far. She was a lot better than he had given her credit for. Even on a shoddy broom, she outflew him. He could throw harder than her, but her accuracy was better. In fact, the only thing he had a distinct edge over her on was spotting the Snitch.

The hour flew by, and the knot in his stomach eased up. A grudging respect was blooming in his chest instead. As their feet hit the ground, she turned to him with a genuine smile.

"Same time next weekend, Malfoy?"

He nodded and grinned. "You know we'll need to spend the entire rest of the day in the library to make up for it."

She threw her head back and cackled. "Just snog her against a bookshelf after an hour or two, and she'll forget about everything else."

Draco smirked. Perhaps having the Weaselette around more would be better than he thought.

He made his way back towards the Head common room and rounded the corner into their hallway.

He froze.

Krum? What in the nine circles of hell was he doing there? As Draco watched, Krum reached out and brushed a hand down Hermione's hair. He could not see her reaction, but a moment later she led him into their common room.

A fresh fire raged inside Draco. No one has any business touching his girlfriend like that but him. He was going to storm in there and hex Krum with every spell he knew. Quidditch star or no. Hermione would just have to deal—fuck.

Hermione.

An image of her wide, hurt eyes swam in his brain. Then, her words echoed in his ears.

I want you to stop creating reasons to apologize.

Salazar's sagging swollen sack. Rooted to the spot, Draco shook his head free of everything and let it all come tumbling out of him: his rage, his anxiety, his fear. Then he packed away his mind using one of his Occlumency exercises. It took several minutes, but when it all fell away, he was left with trust. He trusted Hermione. With this focus in his mind, he approached the stained-glass door and spoke the password.


Viktor was sitting across from Hermione in the same two chairs where she had jumped in Draco's lap before the Christmas holiday. That had seemed a lifetime ago. She had made them both tea far too quickly, and now, with a tray of sandwiches and biscuits floating between them, they sat in an awkward silence.

Or, at least, she did.

Viktor was looking around the room with interest. "This is nothing like the other common room I have seen in the Slytherin dormitories. This is much more comfortable and velcoming. But for vot are these colorful lights in these stairways?"

"The Head Student of each house." She pointed in turn and named off the houses and occupants.

"I remember this name, Draco Malfoy. He is a friend of yours?"

"Yes, we're very close."

Viktor raised his eyebrows. "This is a surprise to me. He vas very rude to you ven last I vos here."

"He's different now. That's what I want to talk to you about."

"I have little interest in Malfoy. Hermione, vill you now tell me vot has happened to your family? Your parents? You have never answered this question in our letters, and I have been vorried for you." He looked at her with earnest.

It was a sucker punch to her gut. Of course she had avoided writing about her parents to him. How did you put that in a letter? Oh, by the way, last year I wiped my parents' memories of me, ruining both of our lives forever, regardless of whether or not their memories can be recovered. But this, this, of all things is what he wanted to talk about? She was steeling herself for a conversation about Draco, not her parents. She swallowed a mouthful of tea and promptly choked.

Viktor jumped up to help her, but instead he let out a strangled yowl and doubled over. Crookshanks had made his appearance and decided Viktor's leg was in offense. He attacked, sinking in both teeth and claws.

At that moment, with her spluttering and coughing, Viktor caught between reaching for her and his leg, and Crookshanks hissing and spitting wildly through a mouthful of robes, the door finally opened admitting another to the room. There was only a moment's pause before he spoke.

"Anapnea."

Hermione's airway cleared.

"Parva musifors."

Her tea cup changed into a little mouse, which she dropped. Crookshanks spotted the transfigured creature and leapt from Krum's leg to the attack.

Hermione looked up, having already recognized her savior. His eyes were tempests latched onto her. She took in his relaxed attire, his windswept locks, and the broom on his shoulder. She smiled.

"Thank you." It was Krum who spoke first. "That ugly cat surprised me."

Malfoy's eyes flickered between her and Krum. She saw them full with coldness. Hermione tensed. Has she really expected a better reaction? Why had she not told Viktor right away! Or been more open in her letters and avoided this whole mess before it began! She braced herself for the inevitable as the two men faced each other. The room was suddenly freezing.

"Don't let her hear you call him ugly," Malfoy said, holding out his hand. "Pleasure to see you again. Draco Malfoy—not sure if you'd remember me."

Krum accepted his hand and shook it, but his eyes tightened.

"I remember you vell."

"Ah, that's unfortunate. I was quite the toe rag in fourth year."

What!? Hermione chortled, then clapped her hand over her offending mouth. Both men turned to her.

"Well, you rather were," she said by explanation.

And, Draco's eyes danced.

He turned back to Viktor, and they both laughed. Actually laughed, with smiles on their faces and hands still clasped. Hermione nearly fainted.

"I see you are flying the new Nimbus model. Some on my team have this same broom."

"I can't pretend to do it justice, but it has great handling. You'd be welcome to try it."

Viktor hesitated. "No, thank you. I have not yet flown this model, but I do not vont to draw a crowd."

The conversation continued on the topic of brooms, which Hermione watched with bated breath for three whole minutes before accepting this pleasant turn of events. Then, she collected Crookshanks, changed the poor, terrified mouse back into a teacup, and summoned a book from her room. She had turned several pages before the conversation turned back to her.

"Ve are perhaps being very rude to Hermione. Before you came in, ve vere just talking of her family."

Hermione clutched her book. Draco stilled. Viktor looked between them.

"Is something wrong?"

Her mouth refused to form words. She let out an odd little squeak.

"Viktor," Draco put a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention back. "This is a very heavy topic. Its not," he paused searching for the right word, "easy to talk about. I'm sure Hermione will tell you about them, but it must be on her terms. When she's ready."

Viktor frowned deeply. "I see. I vos not avare of this. And, she has told you?"

Draco paused, then nodded once. His eyes sought Hermione's, and Viktor's followed. She could not settle her gaze on one or the other of them, so she dropped it back to her book.

"Perhaps I vould like to try this broom after all, if Hermione vould not mind spending some time at the Qvidditch Pitch. Vot do you say, Draco?"

It was not lost on her that they had both switched—for the first time—to given names.

"Perhaps you vould like to see your… boyfriend—this is the right term?—see your boyfriend flying."

"My boyfriend?" Hermione squeaked.

"Yes."

She let out a strained little whine.

"I have said something wrong again. Draco is not your boyfriend?"

Draco's head snapped to Viktor so fast it was a wonder his neck did not crack.

"Yes!" She practically screamed it. "Yes, he is. Draco is my boyfriend. You knew?"

"Of course. I have seen the articles in your British paper by that terrible reporter. The things that she writes are clearly all lies, but there vos a very nice picture of you both. I see now that... vell, let me just say that I see it now betveen you."

"And you're not mad?"

Viktor looked to Draco, then back to her. "I do not understand. Vy vould I be mad?"

"But I— Didn't you— Why are you here, in Scotland?"

"Ve have a match tomorrow against Scottish National."

And all at once Hermione realized how ridiculous the whole situation was. She started to laugh. It rang through the air as Draco smirked with amusement. She doubled over and wheezed and clutched her sides. For months, maybe years, her life had been one drama after the next. The fact that anything could just be normal for once was unimaginable to her. Yet, here it was.

By the time she righted herself, both Draco and Viktor were chuckling at her.

"Come on you lot," she said. "Let's go down to the Quidditch Pitch."

"You better get the Weaselette. I don't fancy her murdering me for flying with a professional Quidditch player without her."

Hermione's jaw fell open.


They spent the afternoon at the pitch slowly drawing a larger and larger crowd to the stands. Hermione sat happily with her books, occasionally shouting encouragement at her friends when they were closer. The highlight of her time was when Draco flew right up to the edge by her and snogged her senseless. He then dropped towards the ground in a feint that had Hermione screaming until he righted just above the ground. That led Viktor to show them both the practice drills he liked to run, including back to back feints. Hermione was so on edge, she turned her back to the stands until they stopped.

By the evening, Viktor was talking closely with Ginny about life as a Quidditch player (while Draco listened in with undisguised interest) and promising to introduce her to a few contacts for tryouts.

Before Viktor left the castle that night, he hugged Hermione tightly and made her promise to keep writing to him. Her heart flooded with warmth. Viktor, her unlikely pen pal since fourth year, was committed to staying fast friends for life. He then clapped Draco on the back and made him promise to begin a correspondence as well. When all goodbyes were said twice over, Viktor thanked Professor McGonagall profusely and left with a smile on his lips.

Hermione and Draco settled in her bed that night. His arms wrapped around her, and she felt well and truly happy.

A thought struck her, and she popped straight up. Draco yelped and was flung to the side, toppling over the edge with a thud, covers and all.

"Draco!" She screeched.

Several moments of scrambling and cursing later, he righted himself.

"Salazar's sack, wench, what is it?" But there was only mirth in his voice.

"I got a letter from Professor McGonagall today about my parents. From the Healer, I mean."

Draco settled the covers back on the bed and sat facing her, expression serious. "And?"

"Well, I need to read it more closely. And, of course, talk to McGonagall more extensively about it. But, their actions are progressing to a point that the Healer is certain the memory charms are loosening. They recommend that I plan to visit Australia to meet with them and get them into a formal program for memory charm reversal."

He hesitated. "That's good news, right?"

"Of course!"

He smiled.

And, she relaxed.

"There will be a lot of planning. I don't know how long they may want me to go, but I imagine we'll cover all of those questions with the Healer. I already started to make a list while all you were flying. Plus, we have a lot to work out with timing. McGonagall suggested I petition to take my N.E.W.T.s early. Can you imagine?"

"Yes."

Hermione blinked. He had not even hesitated. "Yes?"

"Hermione, if anyone could manage to take them in fewer than seven years of formal education, it's you. And I'm pretty sure your circumstances merit the exception."

She was blown away. Draco was taking this news with far more composure than she was.

"Does it make you nervous that we may have to spend some time apart?"

That set his brows knitting. "Should it?"

"I don't know. You don't think our feelings would change being away from each other? I mean, what if it's a long time?"

He paused. "Is that likely?"

"I have no idea." Hermione bit her bottom lip.

He frowned. His hand reached out, fingers intertwining with her own. "Well, then I guess we still have our quills."

"Draco," she began tentatively, "what are your plans for after Hogwarts?"

"Nothing concrete yet. I need to help my mother get settled. She might want to leave the Manor. I guess I can't really think much farther past that yet."

"I understand. But, don't you have a career in mind?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a few moments, he said with obvious pause, "I don't exactly need to work. Malfoys always do something to add to our estate, but… at least several generations are covered."

"O-oh." She has not ever really thought about his family fortune in the practical sense. Of course she expected him to have the nicest things, but she had never pieced together the other ways this would change his life compared to hers.

"Let's not worry until you talk to the Healer."

Hermione agreed, but as she settled back into his arms, a knot in her stomach grew, and sleep escaped her.