THUS begins PART II~

Canceling his afternoon meetings in advance, Draco stayed cloistered in his suite all day. The master bedroom of Malfoy Manor was an impressive, octagonally shaped room with pillars that rose from the floor into the prism of the domed ceiling. From there, they blossomed into an enormous central keystone, upon which was painted a twisted family tree detailing all the Malfoys from the past several centuries; older sections were faded, while the newer were vivid and prominent.

Underneath all that grandeur of tradition, Draco sat on the floor with his back up against the footboard of his bed—equally as ostentatious as the rest of the room—and legs splayed out in front of him in a way that would have made Narcissa gasp. The thought barely occurred to him. He was a man obsessed, holding out each new copy of the Prophet and scanning them for Granger's articles.

He read every single one. Then, he re-read them. The newspapers without the articles were tossed aside, and he spread the nine that remained out in front of him, folding them open to the article's page and arranging them like evidence around him. Nine short columns beside nine photographs of the witch herself. Even in black-and-white, she was still clearly the same Gryffindor from Hogwarts that he had teased relentlessly.

More like terrorized, he reflected darkly.

It had been nearly a decade since he had seen her, and she had since grown from a schoolgirl into a woman. As he gazed at her newspaper picture, he knew there was also no denying that Granger was gorgeous now, and he did not think that was biased. Smooth, dusky skin, curly black hair, expressive eyebrows, dark eyes, full lips, and a small button nose.

My soulmate. His chest felt heavy and he decided Fate must be laughing at him. It was one of his worst nightmares realized, but a thousand times worse. Not only had his soulmate turned out to be someone who had been on the opposite side of the war—it so happened that Draco's soulmate was Hermione Granger .

Still worse, he thought of her nightmare. Weeks had passed since that night when he had felt her presence right beside him, her soul flayed bare and open. He'd had a front-row seat to her terror, to the trauma she still bore in her most desperate hours.

It was so intimate, so vulnerable that it made his blood run cold to think she might have been thinking of that night, years ago now, when she had been tortured in the very house he lived in.

Yet, the more Draco pored over the articles, the less he could deny the direct connection between the things he had been both eating and tasting by proxy.

It's not often I deviate from my routine. Therefore, at first when a friend suggested ice cream for dinner, I was a little hesitant, one of the early entries claimed. I'm glad I listened, because sometimes after a long and stressful day, it's good to be a little naughty. (Draco's brain went berserk at this assertion, the implications and possibilities flooding through his fantasies—all of which he quickly attempted to quash). I was the one who insisted on milkshakes. I tried two classic mixtures first: chocolate to start, then one with mint ice cream. By my third one, I was feeling brave enough to try one with peanut butter and raspberries, which was shockingly good.

Another article said, I never thought I liked mushrooms very much, but I've decided it's all about the proper preparation of them. For example, in Beef Wellington. A while back, I had tried making one with a friend, but this time I made one on my own from start to finish. The mushrooms are superb with the prosciutto and beef, a perfect gravy to compliment the pastry.

Is there anything, really, like mascarpone? Granger posited in another article. It's a big part of what makes tiramisu such a treat, alongside a cup of espresso.

It was impossible to repudiate. There was a part of him that felt oddly satisfied at how clever she had been about it—but the feeling was laced with something else that felt mainly like panic.

Just before luncheon, Draco finally thought to check his Fatemark and retreated into the privacy of his dressing room. Unbuttoning and pulling off his shirt, he went up close to the full-length gilded mirror that hung on the wall by the doorway and faced away from it. Leaning backward toward the mirror, he looked over his shoulder into it.

It was obvious the mark was beginning to transform. Instead of a pale white, it was more of a gray, and it was changing in shape. If he squinted, he could make out a series of pale lines that seemed to fan outward from the center, like a sun. When he really examined it, he instinctively recognized how perfectly it matched the witch he was apparently tied to for the duration of his existence.

Since leaving Hogwarts, Granger had established a political reputation. She had been at the forefront of the movement to abolish many of the old legislation that favored pureblood families like his. The name Hermione Granger was spoken like a curse by some of the families Narcissa still socialized with.

In fact, just last week his mother had thrown a dinner party, where Lucinda Travers had got a bit tiddly and gone into a huff about some new regulation Granger had passed. Apparently, it required students to present their wands for a safety examination prior to attending Hogwarts for a new school year. Draco could not see the harm in that; in fact, he remembered Crabbe's broken wand from fifth year and the havoc he had wreaked with it for two weeks before Snape had finally deemed it enough of a nuisance to owl Vincent's parents about getting a replacement. To Draco, a regulation made a certain amount of sense.

There was also, he recollected with a snicker, the very obviously Spell-o-taped wand which Weasley had attempted to turn on him in second year, and which had backfired on its user to make him belch up slugs. That had been a glorious day for Draco, but he sobered quickly when he recalled that the memory was also poisoned with the echoes of his own voice spitting out, "You filthy little Mudblood."

"That's all she wants is compliance, compliance, compliance!" the red-faced old Lucinda Travers hiccoughed over her glass of sherry in Narcissa's drawing room. "Even if the wand was a family heirloom and had been checked by parents! Ohh, if only someone would put a muzzle on that Hermione Granger."

With a dismissive sniff, Narcissa's nose wrinkled. "I suppose her quill hand would still be free…"

Now, Draco recalled the scene with a new kind of distaste. He had returned to his bedroom, donning his shirt once more, and was pacing back and forth across the carpet. His eyes landed on one of the discarded copies of the Daily Prophet that pre-dated Granger's article. The witch herself graced the front page, apparently making some kind of announcement to the press about the plight of diminishing lands for magical creatures in Britain.

Another realization sprung forth: I don't want to be tied down to a celebrity.

Being Hermione Granger definitely had to come with a lot of public attention. Her various victories and exploits were often written and spoken of extensively, not to mention the fame that must come with her status as Best Friend of Harry Potter.

Following the war and then his stint in Azkaban, Draco considered his privacy to be of paramount importance. It was not something he was willing to surrender lightly. Not for the first time, he regretted having been born with a Fatemark on his shoulder. But there was nothing to be done.

Despite the cavernous nature of the suite, the walls of his bedroom were suddenly suffocating. Summoning his flying things, he nearly sprinted down the hallways of the Manor toward the back garden. It took him mere seconds to reach the Quidditch shed, and with a quick flick of his wand, his favorite broom flew into his outstretched hand.

Hopping on, he flew upward into the sky and was quickly amongst the clouds, dodging all of the larger cumulus while simultaneously on alert for Muggle aircraft. He climbed altitude at a speed he knew for a fact was unsafe, and still he continued to ascend higher.

Only when he began to feel lightheaded, did he finally slow down, leveling out his broom so that he was merely sitting on it upright and barely moving. The air was thin and cold here; a blanket of sky stretched before him, endless and blue, while a sea of clouds were blowing swiftly by below him. By remaining still in the windy atmosphere, he was soon engulfed by a cloud. Momentarily lost into a white abyss, it became impossible to make anything out, and more difficult to breathe. By the time he was free again, he was coughing up some water he had inhaled inside the cloud.

It was no good. He was still thinking about Granger, his mind a jumble of emotions, protests, embarrassment, and profound confusion.

Once his coughing fit had ceased and he had taken a few breaths of the atmospheric air, Draco was still consternated to an olympic degree.

"I just need time," he muttered to himself. Time to figure out the best thing to do… But how to get it?

An idea came—one he had considerable expertise in. Taking a deep breath, he drew on everything he knew of Occlumency and began to compartmentalize, blanking his mind and willing himself to be calm. Draco was an expert in denying essential parts of himself, hiding himself away for his own protection. This practiced shut-down was something he had done daily for nearly four years of his life as a teen. Now, he examined the link between his soulmate through his Sense, and carefully covered it with a dark blanket, concealing it from view. By veiling his link, he was attempting to freeze his connection to Granger. He hoped to Merlin it would work as completely as he hoped.

As he drifted through the cloud-strewn air, he ruefully promised, both to himself and to her, Just for now…

.

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The next morning, Draco made a trip to Flourish & Blotts the moment they opened—thankfully early—and made some purchases. He then returned home, packed his suitcase, and left notice with both the lawyer and agent. He might be flighty, but he also knew he had shirked his responsibilities for long enough.

Owls sent, he turned his attention to his next order of business: his mother. He dreaded telling her that he would be disappearing for a time, even if it would be brief. Draco suspected she would not take this well.

He found his opportunity at breakfast, which Narcissa generally took later in the morning. Unfortunately, he was right. Narcissa did not take the news that he would be away for a week or two for a brief trip well, until he had explained that it had to do with his Fatemark.

"What do you mean? What's happening with your Fatemark?" Instead of offended, she now seemed more intrigued. "Are you going to meet your soulmate?"

"No, nothing like that," he assured her, but refused to give more details. Both mother and son parted company irritated with one another.

Following that, Draco went to Blaise's rooms. He had to take a few deliberate, calming breaths before knocking, to steady himself after the frustration of breakfast. Thankfully, his friend took the news much differently than Narcissa had.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Blaise queried, already reaching for his wand.

"No."

He paused, eyes narrowing. "Are you going to meet your soulmate?"

"Not yet."

He did not appear convinced.

"That is not the reason for my trip," Draco swore, tired with this line of questioning. "Wizard's oath."

"Alright," Blaise relented. Sinking down into the guest suite's ornate desk chair, he began twirling his wand in his fingers recklessly. "You're not running?"

Even before Blaise had asked, Draco was intent on this point. "No, just buying some time."

The other wizard frowned. "What does that mean?"

"I have research to do."

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Draco chose Romania because he was able to find last minute transportation to a beautiful, remote area for only a small handful of galleons. When he arrived, he was directed to a small village inn. The place was more serviceable than charming. Hints of old Soviet influence could be seen in the unitized, square building, but someone had clearly tried to make an effort at cheer, with well-cared-for flowers in full bloom outside.

The woman running the place spoke good English and was very accommodating, leading him to a room that seemed to follow much the same trend as the outside of the building. A short but sturdy wardrobe stood beside the windows, and the plain blue quilt had been neatly and precisely tucked in at the corners of the bed. A painting of a mountainside hung on the wall; when Draco really looked at it, he noticed the small man fishing in a distant lake, was moving, nearly imperceptibly. A Muggle would not even have looked twice, but it was one of many acceptable ways of letting magical folk staying there know that the proprietors were magical as well. Draco had rented the place for the week, but had warned the woman he might want to stay longer which she had not seemed bothered by.

It was a new sensation, trying to be thrifty, and he felt proud of himself when the transactions were over, followed by guilt because he was cognizant of the fact that he should have been practicing thrift for many years now.

With a few waves of his wand, his belongings were unpacked. Then he curled up by the window of his room, which overlooked one of the main village roads, cracked his knuckles, and picked up A Beautiful Mind: A Hermione Granger Biography by Frederica Nontle. It was the first in the stack of biographies he had purchased that morning.

When he opened the book to the table of contents in the beginning and found it well-organized, he was somehow not surprised. It simply made sense in a book about Hermione Granger. It seemed like a good idea to start at the beginning, so flipping to the first section, he began to read about her parents.

He learned that John Gordon Granger was a dentist and also a professor of dentistry when Marianne Odutayo became his student. He was twice her age, but the pair were Fatemarked for one another. This is known, Draco read along with the book, because though John Gordon Granger never formally announced his Fatemark, Odutayo was required as a teenager to register hers with the Muggle immigration authorities.

Draco had to pause here, marking where he had left off by leaving his wand between the two pages, to mull over what he had just learned.

Granger's own parents had been a Fatemarked pair!

Something about the idea of it felt off to him, almost at odds with his experience of being on the other end of her Sense. What could it have been like to grow up with Fatemarked people in her life? he wondered. Especially Fatemarked parents?

When they had first begun to have contact with one another through their Sense, she had seemed reluctant to engage with him, even stand-offish. Now, armed with this new knowledge, the behavior was even more strange.

He picked the book back up, placed his wand on the windowsill beside his chair, and read some more about the Grangers opening a dental practice together in Cheltenham and their extensive charity work providing dental care to the homeless. Draco flipped the page of the biography to find a full-page photograph of a young Hermione with her parents on the next page. This version of Granger was more what Draco remembered from Hogwarts: buck-toothed, slightly chubby, and with a glint in her eye like she was on the lookout for her next opportunity to give someone a lecture. Her hair was not bushy in this version, but instead was tightly braided and twisted on her head. He had never seen her hair like that before.

Marianne Granger was wearing an identical hairstyle to her daughter, and because she was so short, was nearly the same height as her as well. The Muggle photograph did not move, but he still recognized a similar sparkle in her eye. Her skin was darker than Hermione's, seeming almost like twilight against the milky pale skin of her husband. John Gordon was more than a wand's length taller than his wife, with graying hair and a mustache that failed to hide that his nose was too small for his face. He had bespeckled blue eyes and a grin that well conveyed the pride he felt in his family.

Draco looked at the picture of the three Grangers for a long time. Wistfully, he thought, They look happy.

For dinner that evening, he went down to the village pub where he had a surprisingly good meal of roasted yellow peppers stuffed with rice, pork, onions, herbs, and plenty of spices. As he ate his dinner, his enjoyment of it was somewhat hindered by the fact that he had to actively Occlude the entire time, in order to keep Granger out.

He had to spend even more time focusing on Occlumency that evening before bed. What he was trying to cover up was a big part of him, and he knew from experience that a person's mental safeguards were at their weakest during the night.

On his second day in Romania, Draco was out the door before the sun was up. He had slept fitfully the night before, finally giving up by early dawn and smoking a cigarette while blowing the smoke out the window. It was eerie now, after feeling her presence with him for nearly every one of his cigarettes for the past three months, that he did not have anything on the opposite side of his Sense this time… almost unsettling like he had lost his balance and his center of gravity was in a state of limbo.

Luckily for him, the grassy valleys of Muramures county were only a quick Apparition away. It was not hard to enjoy the beauty of a rural life that seemed almost like a fairytale land as it emerged through morning mists. A cow lowed and a herding dog barked in the distance as he climbed a boulder twice his height to sit, smoke a cigarette, and eat a hand pie filled with sweet cheese, which he had purchased from a local bakery. The interaction had been much more difficult to manage without Zabini, but the outcome was worth it as he enjoyed his breakfast and watched the sun break the horizon. A watercolor palette of colors spilled onto the land.

I am alone, he thought as he ate, Occluded, and watched the progress of the sunrise across the horizon. Intensely beautiful as the experience was, it made him feel incredibly lonely.

He headed back to his temporary lodgings shortly thereafter, and made himself a cup of tea. Yesterday, he had got through the entire first biography. It had gone into Granger's early life, time spent at Hogwarts, and political career.

Today, he sat down in the ugly chair by the window to conduct research in the second book, Hermione Granger: Wunderkind by Casper Farrow.

Hermione Jean Tejumola Granger was born on September 19, 1979, Draco read, and paused. Her full name was new information, right on the first page. While this author was unable to find any definitive information regarding the choice of the name "Hermione", her other given names are full of meaning. "Jean" for John Gordon's sister, who was killed in service during the Second Muggle World War. Tejumola is a Yoruba name which translates to "child who looks forward to better days."

Draco paused here to close his eyes. "Child who looks forward to better days." It was a meaningful name for Granger. She had been looking forward to better days all throughout her Hogwarts years, bossing people about and starting an elf welfare protest in second year, if memory served him.

Not to mention the righteous fury he remembered had been burning in her eyes at being caught with Potter and the rest of that rabble from their insurrection against Umbridge in fifth year. There were numerous examples, even removed as he had been from her social circle, of times where Hermione Granger's activism had reached his ears.

The similarities to his own family tree, where the significance of names was profound, was not lost on him.

Later, he read: In an interview with Hermione Granger in 2001, she recalled that her parents' dentistry practice had once been vandalized by people that disapproved of their interracial union. After learning she was a witch at age 11 and integrating into a new society, a young Hermione would later come to face additional prejudices based on her Muggle parentage.

Some of those offenses had been committed against her by him, Draco knew. He was filled with so much shame that he was momentarily overwhelmed by it. It was shame for many things, multi-faceted and seeped into all the cracks between who he had been, who he was now, and who he knew he should have been all along.

He spent an hour Occluding until he felt numb, and smoked another cigarette. The pack was nearly empty, and he decided he should not buy another when it was done (he did not ponder whether or not he would stick with this rash conviction). Then he picked up the biography again.

The book contained a ton of information, and was far more dense than the first. There were bits and pieces about Granger that had been written regarding the war, and her part in it. It later went on to describe that she had erased her parents' memories with Obliviate, which was permanent, and she had essentially been an orphan since 1997. John Gordon and Marianne Granger were living in an undisclosed place without any memory of their daughter or former life.

When he turned the page, he was momentarily captivated by a photograph of Granger smiling. Though the photo was a couple of years old according to the date in the book, it still seemed relatively true to the miniscule photograph that appeared biweekly beside Granger's Daily Prophet column.

He was unsure if it was the book's density that let his mind stray, but as he continued to read, he often flipped back to that one small photograph. When he fell asleep later, her smile danced behind his eyes.

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The third morning began with a rain shower, but after breakfast the weather cleared enough for Draco to Apparate to a dark, secluded forest. Earlier, he had considered bringing the third biography with him to this place in order to find a spot where he could read it in nature. But now, filling his lungs with fresh, damp air, Draco was glad he had left it behind in his room.

The self-imposed distance between himself and his soulmate was beginning to eat at him. He missed Sensing her meals, and the growing nearness through their shared emotions.

Not much longer, he reminded himself. He hoped she was not going to be too miffed at him for shutting himself away.

After a long walk and a fortifying lunch of grilled mici with pickles and chips—Occluding the entire time he ate—he finally returned to his room and picked up the third book in his stack with a certain wariness. He almost had not purchased this one. It was The War Years by Tanisha Anders-Thorn, and it had been on the 'New Arrivals' table right by the till at Flourish & Blotts. Supposedly, it was a behind-the-scenes story of what Granger, Potter, and Weasley had been up to during the months leading up to the end of the war. Draco's curiosity had got the better of him in the end.

By the time he was a third of the way through the book however, he was regretting buying it. It was more a thriller novel than a biography, and he found he preferred the more clinical way Granger's authorized biographies (of which there were six) were written. While sensationalist, this book was the first one delving into Granger's torture at his aunt's hands, but did not state where it took place. In fact, it almost seemed to imply that it had happened in a forest.

Draco could not help remembering her screams echoing through the halls of his ancestrally bestowed property as his mad aunt cut into her flesh and simultaneously attacked her mind. It was an unpleasant memory, turning his stomach with such severity that he stayed in bed for the rest of the evening, skipping dinner.

He continued to Occlude anyway, just in case, despite that the absence of her presence made him feel cold inside. That night, as he slept, he dreamt of her.

It was the Hermione Granger from the photograph and she was still smiling, but this time, smiling at him. She offered him a milkshake, and then kissed him; she tasted like peanut butter and raspberry—or at least the memory of it. It was the first time Draco had dreamed of his soulmate and she had a face, and yet it seemed like it had always been her. Could never have been anyone else but her—

He awoke with a start in the middle of the night, her presence a beacon through his Sense. She felt real, almost as if she were beside him in the bed. Hastily, Draco threw his Occlumency shields back up, cloaking his Sense again and again. He spent the rest of the morning awake, smoking all but his last cigarette, and continuing to read.

The rest of Draco's week was spent thus, compiling his knowledge of Hermione Granger, until he had finished reading all seven books. He had been in Romania for nine days, but by the end of them he felt strengthened by the collection of knowledge, and ready to let her in again.

But first things first, he thought with a final look at the calendar. It was Tuesday, September 19. Time to wish Granger a happy birthday. After all, it was not every day your soulmate turned 27.

To that end, Draco made a stop in France on his way home from Romania. It was lunchtime and he had a specific goal in mind. Finally, he came to the restaurant he had visited a couple years prior in Cannes, obtained a table by passing some money to the maitre d', and ordered himself some bouillabaisse.

It arrived at his table in a pot with a burner underneath, while alongside the broth, a platter of seafood was piled with an assortment of prawns, crab, lobster, and a crusty baguette in a basket with rouille. The aroma of tomatoes, garlic and saffron transported him into the depths of the mediterranean.

As he constructed his meal, he slowly began to mentally lift the coverings of his connection with Granger. Slowly, her presence flickered back beside him, tenuous at first, but coming in with more clarity the more layers of Occlumency he peeled back and discarded.

I'm sorry I went away, he thought to her as he took a bite of baguette. Now that she was back and he knew so much more about her, their connection felt raw and stark in a way it had not before. He took his first sip of the broth, testing the rich, savory broth for temperature. It was perfectly salted. As he took his first tastes, he continued to direct his thoughts to her. I have a feeling you're really going to like this.

The author of one very well-done biography Draco had just finished, had interviewed Hermione herself at one point. Granger had spoken about her father introducing her to bouillabaisse and other French dishes on trips to Paris during the summers she had off from Hogwarts. That small tidbit of information had led to Draco's current plan.

His efforts were immediately rewarded after a little more indulgence in his delicious meal. He could feel when Granger recognized the flavors of what he was eating, her surprise and delight evident.

Happy birthday, he thought to her.

As always, there was no reply. He resolved to have a piece of cake and a glass of wine later, after he returned to England.

A/N: Thank you so much to my alpha reader, sarenia: a top notch human being with the invaluable ability to point out where things need to be "shown" instead of "told".

Also to my beta reader, iwasbotwp: stupendous, with superpowers that can reign in even the most heinous of comma crimes.

Lastly, thank you, dear reader, for stopping by and checking out this silly little adventure. If you feel so inclined, I love reviews; they mean a lot to me, and sometimes even shape the story. For example, I was not going to explain about the milkshakes initially, but someone asked. Peanut butter and raspberries, my friends!