Repercussions awaited.

It was only three in the afternoon when Hermione started her workday, an impressive four hours before her shift was meant to begin — and while many would call this overachieving, her boss wouldn't agree. Coming in early had once been the gold standard of meritocratic ambition, but for her, it would precede a lecture. Perhaps worse, if Caldwell was in a bad mood.

He'd given her explicit instructions not to work outside of her assigned hours. Frankly, she was too angry to care.

The man was out of touch.

The department was supposed to aid the helpless. It was supposed to support the marginalized. Instead, it was led by a man that wanted to persecute them by way of the status quo, and Hermione wasn't prepared to allow that.

He may have had power, but she had strategy.

The library would be her weapon in this war she planned to wage against him. Lay open in front of her were the yellowed pages of Governing the Living Dead , just one of many tomes she had leafed through that day. If Caldwell was going to force her hand, she would have to come prepared, and there was no better preparation than research — especially research that demonstrated how preposterously outdated Ministry law truly was.

Every developed country in the world had vampires, and based on her comparison chart, the United Kingdom had some of the most obsolete policies of the lot.

Progress had stalled by 1940.

On the other end of the spectrum were countries like Portugal, Canada, Hungary, and Japan. She would be referencing them in her proposition — gratuitously.

They issued housing and stipends. They created protections for indigenous covens — in Canada, as early as 1981. Japan had even instated government-funded culinary training — a harm reduction effort to aid vampires in making human blood taste a little less boring during mealtimes.

The U.K. had a lot to learn, and Hermione planned to prove it.

The worst Caldwell could do was fire her, and they both knew he was in no position to do that. Not yet, anyway. Corner was already overloaded and McLaggen would sooner take up sock puppetry than he would return to Vampire Support Services.

Hermione snickered to herself. In truth, it would probably be a good career change for him; it was much more suited for his personality type. Though, after the way he ran his finger through her cake that one time, she wasn't sure if he could be trusted at children's birthday parties . . .

She made a face and buried her nose in her book once more. McLaggen's filthy habits were far less interesting than Estonian vampire law. They had a national holiday celebrating mating rituals! It was unprecedented!

Of course, she doubted the Ministry of Magic would be willing to go that far, but there were plenty of opportunities to —

"Merlin — you must've checked out half the library."

Hermione smiled up at Harry as he set his briefcase on the table. There was always a standing invitation for him to join her — even if she was busy.

"Just catching up on some research."

"I can see that," he mused.

"Yes, well, there's lots to do . . . I need to gather data, supporting examples, citations . . . And I know the Wizengamot will need it all spelled out in colored ink. For a bunch of men running our country, they seem to know very little about it."

"And this is all for the vampires?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. "It's set to be a long project — decades, probably, but at least it'll have a start once I get through all this . . ." She peeked at her watch, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Is it really five thirty?"

"Yeah, I got off about fifteen minutes ago," he replied.

"Shouldn't you be on your way home, then? Ginny's quite far along, Harry, she shouldn't —"

He shook his head. "She's at St. Mungo's. I'm going to meet her there in a bit. Was just wasting some time before I need to leave."

Panic washed over Hermione — likely a knee-jerk response to all the time she spent with Ron and Harry in various infirmaries. Not to mention the times she'd been dragged there herself.

"St. Mungo's?" she asked. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine. I just have to pick her up from a healer appointment." Quickly he added, "Routine stuff — for the baby."

Hermione frowned. "Harry, you're supposed to attend those with her."

A glum expression crossed his features. Apparently, she'd struck a nerve.

"She asked me not to."

"What, why?"

Embarrassment bloomed in his cheeks, and he was making every effort not to look at her, studying his hands all too closely. He cleared his throat. "The healer has to erm — well, she does some spell work in places Gin's not really comfortable with, if you get my meaning . . . She doesn't like me watching."

"What do you — oh! Those appointments." Hermione had heard plenty of horror stories about motherhood in the Wizarding World, including the invasive healing practices. Thankfully, she was yet to experience them herself. "I forgot they do that for magical pregnancies . . ."

"Imagine how I felt. I didn't know until I saw it in person," Harry breathed.

She grimaced. "You know, she could see a Muggle doctor if she preferred. Muggle-born witches do it all the time."

"Yeah, I told her that . . . Nearly took my head off."

"Really?"

He nodded. "She has this whole birth plan thing — I've learned not to argue about it, honestly."

While Hermione couldn't understand being closed off to new ideas, she could understand wanting to be in control of one's own pregnancy. If she were in Ginny's shoes, she would've had a birth plan too — with tabs and color-coding and more.

"It wouldn't hurt to make changes that better suit her, though — even if they aren't in the birth plan." She cracked a smile. "My mother refused an epidural until she went into labor. She was glad for it too, would you believe I was nine pounds?"

"I have no idea how much I weighed. My mum died before she could tell me."

Hermione's heart sank.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean —"

"It's fine, I've kind of come to terms with the whole orphan thing," Harry said, his rare, dark humor lining his words. "As for Ginny? I think I'm better off keeping my mouth shut, really. Just last week, she kicked Molly out for butting in."

Skeptical, Hermione asked, " How did she butt in, though?"

"Dunno, something about prenatal potions. Ginny won't even take her owls."

"Well, it is her decision," Hermione said, "and we both know Molly can be pushy."

"You're telling me," he mumbled. "I was actually relieved when Gin sent her off. It was getting pretty stressful, having her milling about all the time."

"I'm sure."

"I love her — she's like a mum to me — but she never stops."

"She's always been like that, I can only imagine what she's been like with the baby coming."

Harry barked a laugh. "Worse than usual. She's got all kinds of ideas about what I should be doing for the baby. Only problem is, Ginny tells me the opposite, so I end up doing fuck-all. It's like I'm completely useless."

"You're not useless," Hermione said sternly.

"Sure feels like I am."

"Well, you're not."

"I've barely done anything, Hermione. Gin's already planned everything, she doesn't want any help around the house. All I've really had to do is show up, but now I can't even go to the bloody appointments."

Hermione squeezed his forearm. "Harry, you're doing great — really. And it's sweet you're picking her up. I'm sorry if I made you feel any differently before, I just didn't know the situation."

"No, it wasn't you," he said. "I'm just — I just want to be a good dad."

" You will be."

"I hope so." He closed his eyes. "But if I can't even do enough while she's pregnant, how am I gonna do enough when the baby's here?"

"If you weren't doing enough, Ginny would tell you," Hermione deadpanned.

"Maybe." He raked a hand through his hair. "I dunno what'll happen if I get stuck on a late night, though. She has appointments constantly, and the healers told her she can't fly, take the Floo, or Apparate on her own . . . She needs me to side-Along her."

"Could someone else pick her up? She's a Weasley, for God's sake, she has no shortage of family members."

Harry made a face. "I guess I could ask Molly, but I reckon she'd have my bollocks if I suggested that. "

Hermione frowned. "There's no one else? Ronald surely isn't busy, with all his running around with Parkinson. Couldn't he find time?"

"And get Pansy involved?" Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "Gin'd Bat-Bogey her before they got out of the building."

Hermione nearly beamed at the thought.

"Can't say I'd blame her," she chuckled. "You know I'd offer to pick her up myself, but I'm stuck with these late shifts — it's really put a damper on my schedule."

"Only because you're coming in ages early," Harry pointed out. "What time are you supposed to be here again? Eight?"

"Seven," she amended.

"And what time did you get here?"

"Fourish," she muttered.

"Does Caldwell know you're working these extra hours?" he asked. "I thought he told you not to do this anymore."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Maybe not, but if could hurt you , if you aren't careful."

"It won't. He made me the sole representative of a criminally over-legislated group. He knew what that meant when he gave me the job," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Desegregation has no timecard, Harry."

"Maybe not, but the Ministry does."

Hermione shrugged. "If Caldwell wants to argue about it, maybe he ought to have kept McLagggen on. If he wants to do his job and make sure our bylaws treat my clients fairly, my hours won't matter."

Harry didn't look convinced. "I guess."

"You guess?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I mean, I get what you're saying about the fair treatment and whatever, but you're spending a lot of extra time on this. How much can they really need?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they're dangerous, so a lot of the rules probably make sense, right?"

Hermione had the urge to reach across the table and slap him. Instead, she laced her hands over the pages of the open book and gave him a cutting glare. Harry didn't know what he was saying was wrong — he was coming from a place of ignorance, just like she was months before.

Spreading the truth was her job. She'd just have to start with Harry.

It would be good practice too, considering she would, eventually, have to educate the entirety of the U.K.

"They're not nearly as dangerous as people make them out to be," she said.

"They kill people ," Harry pressed.

"Compliant ones don't."

Harry sighed. "I think you're getting too attached to them."

"That's preposterous."

"You talk about them like you did the house-elves."

"I'm not —"

"You are — and that's not good, because they're not even kind of comparable," he went on. "It's fine to want to help them, but you can't turn this into another spew thing, Hermione. You could get fired — or hurt, if you aren't careful."

"Maybe that's a risk I'm willing to take," she growled, flipping a page with far more aggression than she needed to.

"Hermione —"

"They're barred from apothecaries, they're given conflicting guidelines. They can't even get support without being chained up like rabid dogs! It's inhumane."

Harry's brow creased.

"Yeah, but it's to keep us safe . . ."

Hermione scoffed. "That's what the Ministry would have you believe. If anyone ever did even the smallest amount of research, they'd know that's not true. Honestly, if any of them saw the way Draco —" She stopped herself, her cheeks reddening. "My point is, centuries worth of information proves that maintaining a good relationship with vampires is the best way to combat attacks. It's irrefutable."

Harry stared blankly at her. She cleared her throat and nodded towards the stack of books.

"Could you please pass me the green one there?" she asked. "Harry, that's brown. The one beneath it — yes, thank you."

He watched her for a moment as she rifled through the book he'd handed to her. Finally, he spoke.

"This isn't all about Malfoy, is it?"

Hermione froze.

"What?"

"Well, I dunno . . . You were terrified of vampires before. Now all of a sudden you've got Malfoy and you seem . . . well, really invested."

"I'm invested in all my clients," she said, taken aback.

"Malfoy's the only one you ever mention."

"He's the only one you know," she rebutted. "I merely use him as an example."

By the look on his face, he didn't believe her.

"Right."

"I'm serious, Harry," Hermione asserted. "He's a client. I treat him the same as the others."

Concern was still etched into his features — lines that were embedded with love, Hermione knew, yet they still annoyed her.

"All right . . . I just — be careful, okay? It's Malfoy ." he said.

"I know exactly who he is, and like I said, he's no different than my other clients." She raised an eyebrow. "Besides, wasn't it you that suggested we keep him out of Azkaban? I don't think you have any room to judge how I handle him when it's my job to represent him."

"He's not a teenager anymore," Harry argued. "He's a vampire — and I think he'd be more willing to kill someone than he was when we were sixteen."

"I have a better understanding of Draco and his motives than you ever have or ever will, Harry." Immediately, she regretted her snappish tone. "I mean no offense, but it's my job to stand up for him . . . and others like him."

Harry stared at her. "You're getting in over your head."

"I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself. Now, I'd appreciate it if we could drop this so I can get back to my research."

"Fine. Consider it dropped."

She clenched her jaw and nodded.

"Good," she said, glaring back down at her book.

Harry pushed his glasses up and stood. The usual invitation had been temporarily revoked — he was smart enough to recognize that.

"Well, I erm — I ought to go," he said. "Ginny's waiting."

"Tell her I said hi," Hermione muttered.

"Yeah, I will. Will you er — will you be at the baby shower next week? Fleur's bringing those French appetizers you like."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Hermione ground out.

And she meant it — even if she was still angry.


Steel eyes glowed from across the room — eyes that Harry himself used to follow each morning in the Great Hall. He had always been so worried about where they traveled, what they were searching for. His words echoed in Hermione's mind.

Be careful, okay?

She could not believe the audacity he had to say such a thing. He'd chased Malfoy all over Hogwarts for years, and nine out of ten times, his accusations had been entirely baseless. Sure, he had gotten the Death Eater thing right, but still, he hadn't pinned down the real motive — not until he heard it from Draco's own mouth.

Hermione knew him better than that.

" Dimmitio!"

Malfoy's chains unclasped themselves from around his extremities, pooling at his ankles like silver snakes. He stared at her.

"Didn't think you'd be doing that again."

"Me either," Hermione admitted, "but what's right is right."

"Nothing about my situation is right, Granger."

"No, but we have to work with what we have, and mutual trust is the only way this relationship will work." She raised her chin. "This is my way of showing you I trust you . . . Hopefully, it helps you trust me too."

He surveyed the doors. They both knew Millicent still stood just outside of them, prepared to step in if something went awry. A free vampire would certainly count as just that.

"And if someone sees?" he asked.

"I'll take care of it."

He looked skeptical, but after a long moment, he nodded.

"All right."

Hermione crossed her legs. Part of this display of trust was acting natural — to make it appear as though her guard had melted away. No folded arms or protective body language.

Crossed legs were casual. It was how she usually sat.

"So," she started, "how has the last week been?"

"Tolerable."

"Have your potions been working?"

"They've been fine," sniffed Mafoy. "Though the quality is subpar at best."

"Subpar how?"

"Every phial is dark. You know as well as I do that means they're in the final stages of coagulation. Blood-Replenishing Potions should be —"

"Bright red," Hermione finished for him. She frowned. "Ideally so."

Malfoy excelled in Potions during their school years — enough to recognize when one had gone wrong, so she trusted his judgment. She made a mental note: Talk to Brimble.

The Ministry had no right to issue poorly-brewed potions to the people that relied on them. It was further proof that the magical government didn't care about vampires — that they were at best an afterthought, and at worst, a nuisance.

"Has it affected your appetite?" she asked.

"No, I just assumed the Ministry would have a better Potions Master on staff."

While it was unprofessional to agree with him, Hermione knew he was right. Brimble was over a hundred years old — young to some of her clients, but he was no vampire. The man was a mere wizard, and a half-blind one at that.

"I'll be speaking to him about this," she said, clicking her ballpoint pen. "I also spoke to my boss about some of the inconveniences you're facing."

"Based on your expression, I can assume his response wasn't in my favor."

"No, it wasn't," Hermione replied. She leveled her gaze on him. "But I want you to know I'm working on it. What we discuss in here is not false hope. I have every intention of making things better for you."

Malfoy scoffed. "You're one fucking person, Granger. It doesn't matter how hard-headed you are if nobody agrees with you."

"Nobody agreed with me about the elves until I made them," Hermione said firmly.

" Elves are not the same as I am," he growled.

If he knew how much he sounded like Harry, he may have thought twice about his words.

"No, but some of the tribulations you face —"

"Elves make pumpkin bread and rear the Wizengamot's nasty little heirs," Malfoy interrupted. " I am a threat to those heirs." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "They will never change their mind about me. Do you not understand that?"

How little faith he had. Hermione supposed she couldn't blame him, but he needed to know that she was fighting for him — that she cared.

"If they're willing to listen, I can change their minds. I've been working day and night collecting research."

He watched her for a moment. His eyes then averted just to her left, piercing and lustrous. He was daring to hope — she had a feeling that scared him.

"What have you found?"

"That most developed countries treat vampires with dignity and respect, and when they do, offenses decrease — significantly, actually." She leaned forward, trusting he understood the gravity of what she had just said. "Case studies prove segregation only leads to more violence."

Something changed in his demeanor. He drew his eyebrows together and asked, "And you think the Wizengamot will listen?"

Hermione nodded and leaned back, spinning her pen between her fingers.

"They have to. If I put a bill before the —"

Suddenly, she dropped the ballpoint. She tried to catch it, but it was far too fast, tumbling to the floor and rolling across the tile before she could even reach her wand.

The chains by Malfoy's feet served as a dam. There, the pen parked, flush against the goblin's silver.

Hermione gulped, hoping he'd kick it back to her.

He didn't.

"Could you er —" She cleared her throat. "Could you roll that back to me?"

The smugness of his adolescence coated his every feature. "Or you could come get it yourself."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Hermione said, yanking her wand out. She aimed it at the pen, but Malfoy quirked a brow.

"So afraid of me you can't even come near me?"

"Don't be ridiculous —"

"It's a fair question, Granger," he said. "You're happy to unchain me, but getting close to me is a bit too scary, is it?"

Hermione's lips parted. It wasn't true.

At least, she thought it wasn't.

Malfoy was harmless — harmless enough she went before the Wizengamot to beg for his freedom. Harmless even by the standards of her research. Harmless enough he'd even stopped calling her that vile word she'd asked him to stop using.

There was a reason she unchained him, and in that moment, she couldn't forget it.

Trust.

She sucked in a breath and stood.

Blood rushed in her ears with her first footfall, and her heart thundered in her chest with each fateful step that followed. It was like a long swim through a raging sea, one that wanted to pull her into its midnight undertow.

Malfoy was the serpent in that sea. The corners of his mouth were turned ever-so-slightly upwards — the haughty encouragement she was too stubborn to ignore.

Finally, she stopped in front of him.

Somehow, her heart didn't sound so loud anymore. Perhaps it was because his was so much louder.

Steel eyes pried into her again, indescribably sharper than they were from across the eggshell room. They urged her to bend down — to pick up the pen as she had set out to do.

Hermione hesitated. She would expose the back of her neck to him.

Still, his heart drummed in her ears.

She shook her head. The sooner she got back to her seat, the better. Listening to the slow, inhuman heartbeats was surely not serving her purpose, nor was it fair to tempt him. Swallowing hard, she took the plunge.

She awaited fangs to sink into the back of her neck, for an impossibly strong hand to fist her hair.

Nothing of the sort happened.

With a racing pulse, she snatched the pen from the floor. Her instincts were demanding her to sprint back to her chair, now that she had the blasted thing — to chain him back up, for good measure.

Yet, that wasn't what she did.

Not at all.

She stood, face flushed, her pen in hand. It was the moment she should have returned to her seat. Their session should have continued as she had outlined: Potions, research, and a slew of questions about his family life.

But dagger-like steel told her she would do none of that.

She searched his eyes for far too long, frozen in time as his slow heartbeat drew her closer.

He was magnetic.

They were magnetic.

She closed the distance between them.

It was like ice and fire all at once, for his lips were as cold as death, but they trailed heat along her own, a burning unlike anything she had ever felt in all her years. A man had never kissed her like that before — nor had she ever let one trail his hands up her abdomen so quickly, so fervently. Still, his heartbeat never stuttered. It beat as slow as ever, the conductor to the symphony of her senses —

His hand was lingering at her throat. She should have stopped him.

Instead, she granted his tongue entrance into her mouth. He licked her bottom lip, then nipped it ever so slightly — not enough to draw blood, though some strange, passion-drunk part of her wished that he would . . .

Suddenly, his mouth was moving down.

He traced her jawline with his frigid kisses, down towards her chin, towards her neck —

"STUPEFY!"

Hermione gasped and stumbled backwards, thumbing her swollen lip. Millicent Bulstrode was staring at her, chest heaving.

"Granger, what the hell were you thinking?" she hissed. "Did he hypnotize you?"

Hermione's mouth trembled, entirely unable to explain herself. Unchaining Malfoy was inconspicuous enough not to draw attention so long as he stayed put, but to do what she had done? Of course Millicent was going to notice.

"Hermione! I'm talking to you! What in Salazar's name just happened? "

The vampire heartbeat was still pounding in Hermione's ears. Storm-cloud eyes had fallen shut as Draco's consciousness slipped away, and in spite of every logical thought buzzing in her ever-whirring brain, it was clear to her what she had to do.

She drew her wand.

She aimed it at Millicent.