Chapter 8

"I'm glad he's going," Hermione said as she readied herself for bed that night. "He makes me uncomfortable."

Draco nodded in agreement. While Ron was amiable and willing to join in the dinner conversations, Harry sat silently as he watched them. It was unnerving. "Clara throwing a roll at his head was pretty amusing though," he commented. The antic had earned the little girl a trip to her room, but he still found it funny. "That's a habit we should probably work on breaking though."

"It could be handy," she countered. "She'll have to fight off the boys begging to date her somehow."

Grinning, he climbed into bed beside her. "You could always teach her how to throw a punch," he retorted. "I still haven't forgiven you for that, by the way."

Hermione stroked his jaw, remembering the exact location where her hit had landed nearly ten years ago. "I don't believe that for a second," she replied, kissing his chin. "You love me too much to stay mad at me for anything. In fact, I don't think you were mad when it happened."

That night a decade ago, they had shared their first kiss. He had been angry, but couldn't deny that he cared for her too much to stay angry. His pride had been wounded when his best friend, his only friend, slapped him in front of a large crowd of their classmates. When Hermione found him later that night alone in the library, he was contrite and quiet. They sat on the floor, their backs against the shelves, when Draco reached for her hand. When she didn't pull away, he kissed her and ran.

"Even then I loved you too much to stay mad at you," he murmured. "God, what does it say about me that I love the woman who abuses me?"

Hermione laughed as she snuggled closer to him. "Don't be such a baby," she teased. "I already have two, and I don't need another. You know I'd never hurt you...again."

Kissing her lips, he assured her that he knew. The door squeaked open and he groaned. Hermione sat up as she moved out of his arms. Propping himself up on his elbows, he spotted his daughter. "You," he said accusatorily. "Three year olds are supposed to be in bed and asleep and dreaming about being princesses at this hour."

Clara said nothing until she was settled between her parents. "I can't sleep," she declared. "Mr. Ron told me about magic, and I want magic, Daddy."

"What kind of magic did he tell you about?" Hermione asked.

Clara shrugged. She always grew tired in her parents' bed, and this time was no exception. "Witches and spells and stuff," she mumbled. "Him has a wand."

"You don't think wand is code for something else, do you?" Draco whispered. Furrowing her brow, Hermione shook her head. "It was probably just a stick then, right? Nothing to get upset over."

Though she nodded in agreement, there was a sinking feeling deep within her. "There's something I need to show you," she replied. After ensuring that Clara was asleep, they slipped out of bed and tip-toed to the living room. Taking a deep breath, Hermione bent down and removed the floorboard. "We had these with us when we moved here. Hearing Clara talk about wands and sticks...I can't help but wonder-"

Draco took his wand from her hand, and it felt like it belonged there. "Why did you hide these?" he wondered.

"I don't know," she admitted, watching him study the wand. "Are you mad that I did?"

He sat down on the floor beside her and shook his head. "It's just a stick," he murmured. "Why'd you keep them?"

"I thought they might mean something," she replied. "I've never gone through the bag. Think we should?"

Setting the wand aside, he reach for the bag and opened it. His eyes widened at the depth of the small purse. "How is this even possible?" he muttered, pulling out a large, heavy book. He opened it, turning the delicate pages full of strange characters. "What is this?"

"Hieroglyphics?" Hermione guessed, peering at the text. She too pulled a book from the bag; a journal with her name embossed in gold lettering on the cover. Turning to the last page, she read the very last thing she had written in the diary - I think the war is about to begin. It spurred more questions, questions she knew she could not answer. "I think we should talk to Ron."

Closing the book, he placed it beside the bag. "Honey, there's no such thing as magic," he replied, getting to his feet. "Whatever he was telling Clara, it's pretend. Make believe. He was talking to a three year old."

"I know that," she said. "There's just this feeling I can't shake. Why would we keep sticks? What does this book mean? Why would I write about a war I don't remember fighting?"

Draco was tired. "Maybe there was no war to fight," he reasoned. "Look, it's late, and I think we should just go to bed. Forget about this stuff. Throw it away. Don't dwell on this."

They both knew that was easier said than done, but Hermione gave in. After putting the books and purse back beneath the floorboard, she followed her husband to their bedroom. Sleep did not come that night, however. Her thoughts were filled with the contents of the purse and the things Ron had told their daughter. What if magic was real?

The next morning, she called Ron and asked him to come to the house while Draco was at work. Clara played at Mrs. Bradbury's house, leaving her alone with Liam until he showed. "Everything okay?" he asked when she let him into the house.

She considered his question for a moment before shaking her head. "Clara mentioned that the two of you were talking about magic last night," she started as she handed him her journal. "I've been reading this all morning, and I'm beginning to wonder if maybe what you told her about was real."

Ron sighed as he whispered her name. They had been stories, not intended to be informative to the adults. He knew she would not believe that though. "Magic is real," he eventually said. Pulling out his wand, he demonstrated by changing the color of the candle on the coffee table from white to purple. "I'm a wizard, Harry is a wizard. I don't know why you don't remember any of this. We have a few theories, but no real proof."

She took back the journal and flipped through it. "I wrote about my parents in here," she shared. "It seems I erased their memories before they died. Did I kill my parents?"

"No," he assured her.

"Am I a wizard as well?"

Ron smiled. "A witch actually."

Silently, she took in this new information. It seemed too fantastical to be true, but the journal supported his claim. The real question now was how would she tell Draco what she, and possibly he, really was.