Thanks so much to everyone who has read, followed, favourited or reviewed this story so far.
Also thanks again to Kabg01 for being my beta.
Hermione sat back, hands resting on her stomach. Although she told herself every week not to overeat, Molly's Sunday roasts were always too tempting to resist. George and Bill were using their wands to try and levitate peas into each other's mouths. Harry was sat next to her, deep in conversation with Arthur Weasley about how air conditioning worked. Ginny was supposed to be helping Victoire and Teddy eat their lunch but Teddy kept transforming his mouth into a duck's beak, causing Victoire to squeal with delight and Ginny have to work very hard not to giggle.
She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction at the idyllic family scene. She had been so worried when she and Ron had split up that she would lose all of this, that the Weasleys would turn their back on her. She had stopped coming to Sunday lunch at first, even after she started to read reports in the Prophet of Ron being on the other side of the world. Eventually Molly had flooed into her house, dinner plate in hand and told her in no uncertain terms that even if her and Ron never spoke to each other again, Hermione was family, and family meant getting fed, and if that meant that Molly had to deliver her Sunday lunch to her every week then she jolly well would. There had been a lot of tears and hugging and "but I thought you were angry with me" from both sides but with a watery smile, Hermione had accompanied Molly back to the Burrow and had attended Sunday lunch ever since. Ron never attended and if his name was ever mentioned, the conversation was changed quickly enough that Hermione never heard anything of consequence. Molly had even taken to throwing a cloak over the Weasley family clock when she visited which Hermione appreciated, although a small part of her was dying with curiosity to see where he was. She knew that it couldn't last forever and that she would have to see him at Ginny and Harry's wedding or at an event that the golden trio would be expected to make an appearance at, but she appreciated everyone's attempt to prolong that day as much as possible.
Sensing that everyone had finished their meal, Hermione, eager to show Mrs Weasley her gratitude, waved her wand over the plates to send them gently towards the kitchen. As she stood up to follow them, Ginny smiled and offered to help with a glint in her eye that filled Hermione with trepidation.
They were barely in the kitchen before Ginny grasped Hermione by the wrist, causing her wand to twist and all the plates to land in the sink slightly less gracefully than she had intended.
"We've got about thirty seconds before mum comes in to help so by Merlin you had better talk fast. What is this I've heard about you dating a certain blonde haired Slytherin?"
"What have you heard?" Hermione asked cautiously, unwilling to say any more than she had to on the subject.
"So it is true!" Ginny exclaimed "Jennetta Greenway, the Keeper for the Holyhead Harpies, said she'd seen you two having drinks in the Hag and Hippogriff last week but I didn't believe her,"
"I have been out with Draco a few times, yes"
"Draco now is it?" Ginny teased, "not ferret, or the blonde git, or whatever else you used to call him at Hogwarts?"
"He used to call me a lot worse!" Hermione snapped, "But he has apologised for being such an idiot at school. And I think I believe him,"
"So what is it, just drinks, or drinks and snogging, or drinks and a betrothal announcement in The Prophet any day now? Have you let him Slytherin to your bed yet?" she snorted at her own joke, rather unattractively, Hermione noted smugly.
"We've been on a few dates, that's all," at Ginny's sceptical glance she amended, blushing, "and a bit of snogging yes. But I still haven't decided that he's definitely not an arse and I think I irritate him no end. I don't even know why he keeps asking me out. Even if he didn't spend his entire adolescence hating me, I made a right prat of myself at New Year,"
"New Year?" That was over a month ago! I wondered where you'd gone. How could not tell me about it before?"
"Shhhhh," Hermione urged, "You can't tell anyone. Not even Harry,"
"Wow, Hermione and Malfoy on a broom, when are they going to get a room?" Ginny sang in a hushed tone before Mrs Weasley bustled into the room, flicking her wand decisively towards the sink as a jet of soapy water issued from it.
"So are you seeing him again?" Ginny whispered once she was sure that her mother was paying them no mind.
Hermione looked over her shoulder to check no one was listening before whispering back, "yes, he's taking me out tonight actually. We're going to that new cocktail bar, you know, the one that's done out like a potions lab," this kind of girl talk made her giggly in a way she hadn't felt since school. Ginny looked suitably impressed.
"Oooh, I've heard good things about there. I have a friend Emilia who is on the England Quidditch team and she went to the grand opening. She said it was amazing. But stay away from the draught of living death shooters – apparently she had three and woke up with a golden snitch tattooed on her –"
"Ginny," interrupted Molly, who still had an unnerving knack for catching out those slacking at housework, "could you polish these candle sticks for me?"
"Yes mum," Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes at Hermione and taking the heavy silver candelabras from her mother. As they both sat at the table and Hermione summoned a tin of Madame Glossy's silver polish and a couple of cloths, Ginny barked out a sharp laugh.
"What?" Hermione demanded. Ginny at least had the good grace to look slightly guilty,
"If you and Malfoy decide you are a couple, please let me be the one to tell Ron!"
oOoOoOo
While Draco perused the cocktail menu, Hermione took in her surroundings. Ginny was right, this place was seriously cool. They were seated in a black velvet booth with what looked like one of the stained, scorched benches from the potions classroom in the dungeon at Hogwarts in front of them. A small magical fire crackled at the table but as Draco had demonstrated by sticking his hand in it, it gave off no heat. Rows and rows of what looked like potions bottles lined the walls but she had found out after their first drink that they actually contained delicious cocktail ingredients. She had worried the fringed black cocktail dress that Ginny had talked her into wearing would have been too much but she was now glad she had taken her friend's advice.
"What do you fancy," he asked, "other than me, of course,"
"Anything but polyjuice," she said with a grimace, "I don't think I could even risk a cocktail named after that vile stuff. Perhaps a felix felicis,"
The waiter, a young wizard in deep purple velvet robes approached their table, "can I get you two anything?"
Draco winked at Hermione as he shut the menu, "the lady will have an Amortentia,"
Hermione's mouth popped open in indignation, "and the gentleman will have a veritaserum," she countered.
The waiter smiled and pointed his wand at a copy of the menu he was carrying. Immediately two cauldrons flew over from behind the bar onto the fire and a number of different bottles followed, emptying their contents into the cauldrons. The wizard stirred the cauldrons with a flick of his wand before decanting the contents into two glass goblets. Hermione's was a deep pink colour, which the wizard garnished with a twist of orange peel that he seemed to have magicked from nowhere and then he accioed an olive into the clear liquid in Draco's glass. As he melted discreetly away, Draco chinked her glass with his,
"You know this isn't really amortentia, don't you?" Hermione asked as she took a sip from the sweet smelling drink. It was heavenly.
Draco threw his arms along the back of the seat, his pureblood features set smugly, "as if I need to give you a love potion," he smirked, "just look at me. Oh don't turn your nose up Granger, a snout doesn't suit you,"
Hermione just smiled and sipped her drink, which seemed to pique Draco's curiosity immediately, "what?" he demanded, with just a hint of the school boy who was always moments away from complaining that his father would hear about this.
"I've realised something. You keep insulting me, and I keep biting. That's what makes it so fun for you. So I'm just going to ignore you when you behave badly, like I'm training a dog,"
Draco's eyebrows rose dangerously, "did you just compare me to a dog?" Hermione couldn't help but giggle. Draco humphed, disgruntled and sat back, drinking his cocktail for a moment,
"My mother had a crup once,"
Hermione was intrigued. Draco very rarely talked about his family.
"It was nice as pie to most people but it kept biting my father,"
"And people say crups are stupid," Hermione couldn't help herself.
"My mother said my father antagonised it but she could never catch him doing anything. He said it was just something wrong with its nature, that it was a vicious little bugger,"
"So?"
Draco just looked pointedly at her over the rim of his goblet. Only her recent proclamation that she would not react to Draco's taunts kept Hermione's voice from raising more than a single octave, "Did you just compare me to a crup?"
"You compared me to a dog," Draco justified.
"So what did your father do?"
He looked surprised for a moment, "Are you expecting me to say he killed it or something?" Hermione didn't dare say that was exactly what she had been expecting, "no one was sadder than my father when it died," when Hermione just stared at him blankly he sat forward, gesticulating with his arms between the two of them "the point is Granger, sometimes that's just the way two people go together best,"
"I'll never understand you Malfoy," Hermione sighed.
"And that's just the way you like me," he grinned, leaning in towards her. He touched his lips to hers, just for a moment, just brushed his against hers achingly gently before whispering against her mouth, "Back to mine?"
"And why would I want to do a thing like that?" she smiled into him. Even if she hadn't been enjoying his company more than she knew she should, the thought of seeing where Draco lived was too tempting to seriously consider turning down, no matter how much she might put up a pretence of protestation.
"Well, I think that in the case of good behaviour, there is meant to be some sort of reward, to encourage it. And I haven't insulted you for a good five minutes,"
"What about when you compared me to a crup?"
"Oh shut up," he laughed, crashing his lips to hers and winding his hands into her hair.
After a moment or two, he pulled away, and threw a handful of coins onto the table before crushing her into his chest and apparating them away.
When they landed, he kissed her so hard that she felt like she was still spinning endlessly in the vortex of apparition.
It was hot and messy, their mouths crashing together. Her hands were in his hair and his were everywhere and oh Merlin it felt good. Hermione felt a fire that she thought Ron had doused with cold water and stamped on the ashes of, start to kindle in the pit of her belly. Without breaking the kiss, Draco started walking her backwards, his fingers fumbling with the zip on her dress as he did. Just as she was pulling open the buttons of his cloak with trembling fingers, her heel connected with something solid and she felt something behind her wobble and heard the smashing of glass as something fell to the floor. They pulled away from each other and Draco started fussing over the potions bench she had just knocked. He cursed softly, as he inspected the potion he was evidently brewing and he waved his wand carelessly to vanish away the broken glass.
"What are you brewing?" she asked curiously. She had never seen a potion like this before. Instead of a cauldron, the oily black liquid was bubbling gently inside a dragon's eggshell over a low flame, "Isnt that…"
"Dragora," he finished for her, sighing as he recognised that Hermione's attention had shifted entirely to academic pursuits.
"But that's horribly dangerous," she scolded, in a tone that she tried to reserve for the most hair brained of Harry and Ron's schemes.
"Ten points to Gryffindor," Draco rolled his eyes, "Or at least it would be dangerous, if I could get the blasted thing right. It's supposed to brew in here for thirty days but either the egg cracks or the potion solidifies well before the time," she noticed the fine line that was forming down the side of the shell. He threw himself despondently down onto his dragon hide sofa and Hermione sat next to him, taking in the dark grey walls, the luxurious rug, the shelves of leather bound books that her fingers itched to touch. As quickly as desire had overtaken them, it seemed to have blown itself out.
For once, she managed to hold herself back from giving her scholarly opinion over how to improve the potion, not sure she wanted any part of making such a dangerous draught, "Is it for….?" She trailed off and touched his arm gently, remembering the horrific scar where his dark mark had been.
"No," Draco's mouth was a grim line, "It only works on curse damage. The dark mark isn't removable by magic. That bastard made sure of that. Didn't stop Marcus Flint trying though,"
"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. She had seen the vaguely worded article in the Prophet, she remembered now, but wanted Draco to confirm her suspicions
Draco stared at his hands, twisting together in his lap "He died,"
"Then how did you get rid of it?" She wasn't sure she wanted the answer but had to ask anyway.
"I tried to do it myself," his voice cracked slightly, his fingers twisted faster, "but I couldn't. So my mother instructed the house elves to hold me down, and…and"
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,"
"No, I do. My mother – I begged her to do it – my mother took a silver knife. Voldemort didn't think, you see, he never considered non magical means. So she cut it out," once he had said it his hands stilled and at last he met Hermione's eyes.
"Did she at least stun you or give you a pain killing potion beforehand?" she knew that they would have no idea about muggle anaesthetics and even if they had, would almost certainly not trust them enough to use them.
"We didn't dare. We didn't dare use magic," his head shook from side to side almost imperceptibly before he cleared his throat gruffly, "No," he continued "this potion is for my father. After the war, Rodolphus Lestrange caught up with him - he managed to sneak into Malfoy Manor. Said he blamed him for Bellatrix being killed. Called him a traitor. There was a duel. There were unforgivables flying everywhere. My mother pulled me into the wizard's hole," Hermione knew from her reading of Hogwarts, a History that many of the older, grander Wizarding residences had a wizard's hole fitted, in case they had wanted to hide magical artefacts or young children who may not be able to control their magic when witch hunters came calling, "but I could see through a gap in the stone. My father cast a crucio at the same time as Rodolphus cast an avada. They sort of met in the middle then the whole thing rebounded and hit my father in the head. He just crumpled to the floor and Rodolphus ran off. He regained consciousness, of a sort. I mean, he's alive, physically. He can walk and eat and get himself dressed if he has help. But nothing's there," he tapped his fingers against the sleek blonde hair at his temple to emphasise the point, "nothing's there when he's awake anyway. But when he's asleep he screams and cries and babbles like, well, like people I've seen be crucioed". A slight flush came to his cheeks and he couldn't meet her eye. She realised he was remembering her having the curse inflicted on her by his aunt.
"I don't expect it will return him to normal, I just want the pain to stop," he finished sadly.
Hermione wanted to put her hands over her ears. Feeling sympathy for Draco was one thing – he had been just a boy. But she did not want to feel pity for the man who had stood by and watched her being tortured. Her muscles tensed at the memory of the curse and she tried to block the recollection of Lucius Malfoy's smug sneer as she had lost control of her bladder under the influence of the crucio.
They both just sat in silence for how long Hermione did not know, side by side, each overcome by their own personal hell.
"it's late," she mumbled at last, standing up to leave.
"Don't go,"
Hermione looked into his eyes. The sly bravado that was normally dancing there was absent. He looked like the very first time she had ever seen him, coming out of Harry and Ron's carriage on the Hogwarts Express – just like a sad little boy.
She did end up staying over but they slept side by side, her in a borrowed pair of his pajamas, as chastely as children. She awoke early and gazed over at him for a moment, his pale eyelashes resting on his cheek, before gathering up her clothes silently and making for the fireplace. She had to get out of there, she couldn't lie and watch him sleep, not after the night before, not if she wanted to keep guarding her heart against him. Later that day a flurried knocking alerted her to a snow white owl trying valiantly to peck at her window, whilst carrying an enormous bunch of roses. She let him in and tried to avoid his vicious beak as she untied the bundle before scribbling a quick note on a scrap of parchment – I'll help you with the potion - attaching it to the owl's leg and sending him on his way before she could think too much about it.