By mid-November, Ginny's Quidditch practices were finally starting to scale back to a more normal frequency. While this was wonderful in theory, it also meant that Harry had once again began to speak of dinner parties, and Hermione - rather than throw her energy in convincing him they shouldn't happen at all - spent a great deal of time arguing about location and whether or not Kreacher was going to be cooking this time.
Harry won on the food preparation, but their dinner party with the Malfoys would be taking place once more at Grimmauld Place. Neither of them had got exactly what they wanted, so she considered it a fair compromise. Harry had wanted to go to the manor if only to see Ginny's room, which she had mentioned had a bathtub large enough to swim in, but he also recognized that his own wife wasn't quite ready to spend any amount of time inside the place.
When the doorbell rang on a cold November evening, Hermione ensured she was the first one to the door, just so that Harry and Ginny wouldn't be so all over each other that they'd leave it open and freeze the whole house. At least, that's what she told herself as she pulled the door open and gave Ginny a quick hug, ushering them both into the dining room and accepting the bottle of red wine that Draco was holding. Harry was down the stairs not a moment later and Hermione rolled her eyes as the couple wrapped themselves together as if they would die without touching each other.
She had never felt passion like that. But then again, who was she to deny them the few moments they had together these days?
By the time they were all seated at the table, no one had said anything to each other.
"Let me guess," Draco began, taking a sip of his wine as they began on the appetizer. "This week - dragons' rights. How dare they be chained up and kept from torching villages are eating goats?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, rather used to him now. "Alas, no. The dragons will have to handle themselves a bit for now. Actually," she paused, looking to Harry and Ginny who appeared to be listening but were caught up looking at each other. "While I wait for the Wizengamot to consider my third proposal to subsidize the cost of monthly wolfsbane, I've been doing some reading."
Draco snorted into his soup. "How different for you."
"Oh, don't be an ass." She shot back. "No, I've actually been looking back at the last time they passed this marriage law. It was in the 1700s, actually. I've been trying to figure out how they had ended it back then."
This caught everyone's attention and she felt three heads spin to look at her.
"And?" She heard Ginny say, hopeful.
Hermione sighed. "I can't find anything. All I've got in the Ministry records is a small note that the law was enacted, and another note six years later saying that it had been revoked. Nothing in the middle. Nothing about the results, about whether or not people had to fight for it to be dissolved. Nothing, even, about whether or not it really worked. I started looking for the marriage licenses for the time after the law was enacted; the problem is that divorce was practically nonexistent, so even if people had drifted apart after the law and found other spouses there's no real way to tell."
It was Harry's turn to sigh. "Well, at least you tried."
Hermione nodded. She wasn't done yet, far from it. She'd been looking at this problem from different angles ever since this whole thing had started just about seven months ago. Every road was turning up to be a dead end, but she just knew that eventually she'd figure it out.
Conversation shifted back to more neutral ground for the rest of dinner and dessert. As they finished up their pies, Hermione watched as Harry and Ginny exchanged looks and then, glancing back at her and Draco, left the room together quickly.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, the two of them." He murmured, shaking his head. "Acting like two weeks without a shag is killing them. When the rest of us haven't gotten anything for the past, what, seven months?"
Hermione coughed on the mouthful of wine she was swallowing and shook her head. "Really don't need to know about your sex life, Malfoy."
He smirked, looking over at her. "Lack of."
"Ugh." Hermione retorted, shaking her head. She was just thinking about moving them into the living room, but had a better idea. "Come on, they're going to be a while. I want to show you something."
Draco complained for the entire three flights of stairs, worrying about breaking his neck and spilling his wine. He let out an indignant noise as they entered the attic. It was much more clean and open than it had been when Hermione had first moved in, but it still wasn't exactly the nicest room in the house.
"Taking me up here to murder me, Granger?" He asked, though it felt more like he was teasing her than actually worried.
"Do you have an ounce of patience?" She murmured back, feeling her hand over the back door. Just as Draco was retorting that he didn't need patience, her hand brushed the latch and she let out an 'ah-ha!' and pulled the door open.
Instead of a cold winter breeze, she was met with that same fresh summer air that she had been the first time she had opened the door. Hermione had spent nearly a week figuring out the best way to place a permanent environment charm over the rooftop garden, and as she stepped out into the air she was glad for it. Grimmauld Place, for all the work she'd done to it, still sometimes felt suffocating. Hermione had decided she just couldn't give up her rooftop solace and figured out a way to make it last year round.
Stepping out, she swished her wand and small lights and candles flickered to life around the garden. Then she turned, and watched as Draco climbed out and looked around, noticing how his mask had fallen once more and catching a glimpse of the breathtakingly beautiful man she had seen, drunk on Halloween.
He was clearly uncertain of what to say as he moved further into the garden, coming to stand next to her. "I never would have guessed this was up here," said Draco. Hermione nodded in response.
"Yeah. I figured that someone, once, needed a place to get away. It was all dead when I found it, first, but. Flowers are very… calming" She shrugged and looked around to the flowers that blossomed in their beds, roses climbing up their trellises. "That they can grow in such harsh conditions, and make even the most dismal of places seem, well, beautiful. Even planting them, feeling the dirt under your fingernails and watching as you create life, it's… relaxing."
She drank from her wine glass as she watched him walk around the garden, crouching down occasionally to get a better look at some of the plants, running his fingers over the more unique varieties of flowers she had planted.
Hermione watched the way he crouched in front of a bed of moonflowers and when he began to speak she almost missed it, so caught up in trying to figure out the walking contradiction of Draco Malfoy.
"'This bud of love,'" he mumbled, and her heart caught in her throat as he spoke. "'By summer's ripening breath, may prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.'"
Hermione couldn't help it, she found herself licking her lips. He stood quickly, and she barely had a chance to take a breath before he was standing in front of her again, this time closer than before. He was looking down into her eyes, curiosity in his wrinkled brow, and Hermione forced herself to exhale.
Without thinking it through, she found herself speaking. "'Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?'"
The moment seemed to hang in the air around them and Hermione felt soft fingers on her chin. He was so pale, he seemed to nearly glow in the candlelit balcony. A strand of his white-blonde hair had fallen in front of his eyes. She wondered at the contrast they would make; Draco fairer than the moonlight and her as dark as the night, his pale hands on her dark skin. Time had slowed and she felt her heart pounding in her chest.
Before, it seemed, either of them could fully think through their next actions, Draco was leaning down and closing the gap between them. His lips brushed against hers, softly and tentatively. He seemed almost ready to pull back, but Hermione could not help but reach out and wrap her fingers around the back of his neck. With the new understanding that she would not hex him for trying, Draco pushed forward further and kissed her for real.
If it was fire that she was looking for, Hermione realized, she had found it here. Her skin tingled where his fingertips touched and his lips were warm and soft under her own, and she found herself wanting to press her entire body against his, to meld her chest to his and feel his own heart pounding under his skin. She longed to twist her fingers in his smooth hair and feel his large hands against her hips.
Suddenly, like cold water being tossed over her, Hermione found her thoughts catching up to the moment and she realized what was happening. Unable to stop herself, she gasped slightly against him and stepped back, letting go of his neck and watching as his hand hung in the air where her chin had once been. She took a deep steadying breath, looking at him through the darkness, her entire body humming underneath her skin.
Draco looked less shocked, but as soon as he realized she had stepped away he schooled his face back into its blank state of nothingness, pulling his shoulders back and dropping his hand from the air.
They stood, staring at one another in the darkness. Hermione was waiting for him to say something, debating about whether she should apologize, or run, or move back into his space. He appeared to be fighting something, clenching his jaw and breathing heavily. He reached for his drink, finishing off his half-full wine glass in a single swallow. She watched the way his adam's apple bobbed and found herself wetting her lips once more in response. Before either had a chance to decide if they had done the wrong thing, Hermione registered voices. Harry's voice, specifically, calling out her name.
Hermione stepped back further, unable to break her eyes away from his. She had the feeling that when she turned away from this moment it would shatter. She wasn't sure if she wanted that.
Draco raised a brow at her, in a way that she may have once called mocking but now considered more like a question. She blinked, forcing herself to not acknowledge whatever it was that was bubbling up in her chest, and spun away from him, stepping back into the house.
"Be right there, Harry!" She called, and the moment broke around them.
"Hermione?"
Hermione was leaving the bathroom on the third floor, wringing water out of her bushy hair and thinking about the amount of work she was planning on getting done that day. Harry startled her out of her thoughts and she paused in the doorway to her bedroom, turning to glance at him. "Hmm?"
Harry fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the the other, and then he sighed as if steeling himself. "Can we chat?"
Hermione frowned, but nodded, pulling her hair into a bun on the back of her head to deal with later and following him into his room. She sat down on the armchair that he had set up near the fireplace and he leaned against the wall, watching her.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked, bluntly; Hermione found her frown deepening.
"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Hermione was vindicated in, at least, how uncomfortable Harry was starting to look.
"I've just. Ginny and I were talking about it and we're both a little bit worried."
"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Harry." And she wasn't. Or at least, she kept telling herself she wasn't. It wasn't like there was any way that Harry could have known about what had happened the night before. In fact, she still hadn't gotten around to even mentioning the rooftop garden to him. She hadn't meant to hide it from him, but it was nice to have a space that was just hers and no one else's. Hermione figured he wouldn't mind. But still - it meant that there was just no way he would know or could know. So, really, she had no idea what he was talking about.
"Look. I know you're an adult, and you can make your own choices. But… Malfoy isn't a good idea."
Hermione felt her cheeks heat up and she crossed her arms rather petulantly. "Harry, you're really not being clear. I have no idea what on earth you're on about."
"Oh, drop it Hermione. Even if you haven't admitted it, it's pretty obvious that there's something happening between the two of you. The way he looks at you," Harry paused, frowning. "The way you look at him."
"I don't look at him in any particular way!" Hermione had never been a very good liar.
"Things have changed between you two. He may not be a Death Eater anymore, might not want us dead, but that doesn't mean he's a good person, or worth your time."
Hermione stood up from the chair, deciding she had had about enough of this. She tried not to think about the fact that the only reason she was getting so riled up was because Harry was right. Something was different between the two of them beyond that kiss, and she still wasn't sure what it was or how to deal with it.
"Just. Be careful, Hermione, please. He's Malfoy. He's a Slytherin. He'll do what it takes to survive, no matter who that means he steps on along the way."
Hermione stepped around him to get to the door, but paused in the frame, turning back to look at her best friend. "You said it already. You know I'm an adult. So treat me like one, and believe me when I tell you nothing is happening. I know how to look out for myself, Harry."
His shoulders drooped in defeat and he nodded at her. "I know. Just promised I'd look after you."
"You are." Hermione reassured him, and then took a breath and headed for her room, ready for another day of trying to pretend that everything was fine. Another day of pretending her life wasn't changing so quickly around her that she could barely try to keep up.
A/N: The quote from the garden is a (slightly abrigded) line from Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2:
Juliet
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart as that within my breast.
Romeo
O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
Ten points to whoever catches the other slightly more obscure reference (to another Scottish tragedy American musical without my having to name the play.)