Given the letters she'd received from her friends, Hermione had anticipated the difficulty of getting her pureblood friends to behave appropriately at dinner with her muggle parents. She hadn't anticipated the difficulty of getting her parents to behave appropriately in front of her friends.
"Dad!"
"What? We wore these in Diagon Alley," her father said, indignant. "They were perfectly acceptable then."
"That was when you were trying to fit in with everyone else so no one would know you were muggles," Hermione protested. "My friends know you're muggles. You wearing robes will seem like—like some sort of twisted dress-up game of playing pretend!"
Her father laughed. "Fine, fine. If you feel so strongly about it, I'll change."
"And no wearing your wizard costume either!" Hermione called after him as he went up the stairs. "These are my friends, not your adventuring mates!"
"Got it, Hermione," her father's amused voice carried down the hall.
Sighing in frustration, Hermione went to the kitchen to check on her mother, who was cooking. Her mother at least wasn't wearing robes, though she did look a little different than usual.
"When did you get that dress?" Hermione asked.
"Do you not like it?" her mother asked, glancing down at her. "I thought the buttons down the front might help your friends relax, but still normal enough to clearly be non-magical."
"Buttons that big aren't usually on robes," Hermione said absently, playing with the fabric of her mother's dress between her fingers. "But mum, when did you get it?"
"A while ago," her mother said, waving a hand dismissively. "I needed something daytime formal to fit in."
Hermione's eyes narrowed.
"You haven't been upstairs since you and Dad got home hours ago," she said suspiciously. "You got it to wear to church, didn't you?"
Her mother sighed.
"Yes, Hermione," she said, her voice exasperated. "I got it to wear to church."
"Why?" Hermione demanded. "You and Dad never showed any interest in anything like that when I was growing up! Why now?"
"You're still growing up, dear," her mother said. "And Hermione, now is really not the best time for this conversation."
"Why not?" Hermione wanted to know. "You just want me to forget about it so I forget to ask later."
Her mother sighed.
"Hermione, the answer is a complicated one, and probably not the one you expect," her mother said. "Unless you want your wizard friends involved in a complicated and theoretical discussion of non-magical religious and spiritual beliefs, I suggest you set the matter aside and go wait for them by the fireplace instead."
She gestured to the clock on the kitchen wall with a wooden spoon, and Hermione's eyes widened.
"Right! Thanks!" she said, running from the room. "I almost forgot!"
"Anytime, love." Her mother's voice faded quickly as Hermione ran through the kitchen and dining room, nearly colliding with her father as he came back down the stairs.
"Whoa, hold on there!" he said, steadying her by the shoulders. "There's no fire. And you've still got ten minutes or so before they get here."
"But what if they're early?" Hermione protested. "I need to be ready!"
Her father chuckled.
"Hermione, when magical people have magical transportation, somehow I doubt arriving on time is any sort of difficulty," he said. "It's not as if they're going to encounter traffic on the way over, is it?"
Hermione's face flushed, and her father laughed.
"How do I look now?" her father said, taking a step back and holding out his arms. "Acceptable?"
Hermione looked her dad over with a scrutinizing eye. He was wearing navy trousers with a relaxed collared shirt, and she gave a sigh of relief.
"Perfect, Dad," she assured him, and he grinned at her.
"Wouldn't do to embarrass my daughter," he said, ruffling her hair. "I'm sure I'll end up doing that enough over dinner by accident already, yeah?"
"Dad!" she protested, and her father left her, laughing.
Hermione waited attentively by the fireplace, watching the clock slowly tick the seconds by. She'd made sure her friends could arrive without any difficulties, clearing a large area from in front of the fireplace and dragging the coffee table off to the side of the room. She absently realized she was practically bouncing on her feet, and she wasn't quite sure if she was anxious or excited.
The Floo suddenly lit up, green fire crackling to life, and a moment later Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini spilled forth, arguing.
"—told you it would be 'Hermione's House'!"
"Well, that's not a proper name, is it?" Draco shot back. "I was trying to be respectful! 'Granger House' is much more—"
"It's not the House of Granger yet, is it? That'll be whatever house Hermione buys someday—"
Hermione tried to hold back a giggle over the boys' senseless bickering, failing. Some things never changed.
"Hermione!" Draco leapt in surprise, turning quickly. "You startled me!"
"I don't see why," Hermione said, amused. "I said I'd be waiting by the Floo."
Draco was clearly flustered, and from behind him, Blaise Zabini shot her a wink, smirking.
"Welcome to my home," she said, dipping them a curtsy. "Thank you for accepting my invitation." She smirked at Draco. "Especially for risking your father's wrath."
Draco drew himself up importantly at that.
"Of course," he told her seriously. "Whatever I need to do to rescue you and restore your freedom from the muggles, I will do. It's barbaric that they would lock you up—"
"What he means is he is pleased to meet your parents and reassure them," Blaise said loudly, rolling his eyes.
Hermione tried not to laugh. "Of course."
"Am I dressed appropriately?" Draco asked, turning around. "It's just a casual robe, but—"
He broke off, staring at her.
"What are you wearing?" he demanded.
Hermione looked down at herself. She was wearing a nice summer dress; like her mother's choice, a sort of relaxed formal attire.
"Um," she said. "A dress?"
Draco goggled at her, and Blaise stepped around him, curious.
"What are you wearing? Is it—oh."
Blaise broke off too, but his eyes darkened with a smirk as he looked her over.
"You both look fine," she told Draco, glancing over them in their light summer robes before looking back at him. "Draco, I wear muggle clothes when I'm at home. My parents are muggles."
"No, no, I expected that," he said, his voice choked. "It's—it's just I wasn't expecting this."
"Expecting what?" Hermione wanted to know. "This is a nice dress. And I thought it was a nice compromise!"
"No, no, it is a nice dress," Blaise assured her. "There are buttons up the front and it's cut to be sort of flowy, like robes. I think perhaps we weren't expecting—"
"It's so short!" Draco blurted out, and Hermione's eyes narrowed.
"This is not short," she informed him. "It's just above the knee. This is a perfectly acceptable length."
Draco seemed astonished by that, while Blaise laughed.
"Are there unacceptable lengths?" he teased.
"Some skirts are called 'miniskirts'," Hermione told him, smirking. "One of those would come to about here."
She lifted the hem of her skirt from the waist until the hem hit about mid-thigh, and Draco looked faint.
"Oh," he said weakly.
"'Oh' indeed," Blaise said, his eyes sparkling as Hermione let her dress fall again.
Draco managed to drag his eyes from her legs and was scanning the living room with wide eyes. He looked surprised and confused, and with a quick glance at Hermione, he went to one of the walls, touching the picture frame of a family photo hanging there.
"This is… this is a photo," he said. "It doesn't move, but this is a photo, isn't it?"
Hermione gave him a quizzical look.
"Yes…?" she said. "Muggles were the ones who developed photography, Draco. Wizards only picked it up after them."
"Really?" Draco's shock was obvious. He kept looking around. "This is… this is not what I expected." He looked to Hermione, almost suspicious, then he smirked. "Oh, I see."
"See what, Draco?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Well, you have a Floo installed," Draco said, gesturing to the fireplace, "which means you've gotten the Ministry to designate this as a Magical Household, even though the only magical one here is you."
"Did you really?" Blaise broke in, snickering.
"Over two years ago, now," Hermione admitted, and Blaise laughed.
"You would," he teased.
"But if it's tracked as a Magical Household, the Trace won't matter here, so you were clearly able to…" Draco gestured widely. "…get things up to standard."
Hermione stared.
"Morgana alive, you really were expecting thatched-roof huts and dirt floors, weren't you?" she breathed. "Draco, I didn't do anything. This is just my parents' house. This is how they decorated."
Draco looked at her incredulously.
"You can't expect me to believe that," he said. "There's light globes, Hermione, instead of torches."
"They run on electricity," Hermione said patiently. "Not magic."
Draco looked suspicious.
"You have a wireless," he said, pointing. "That's wizarding."
"That's a radio," Hermione corrected. "It's Muggle. Doesn't get wizarding channels."
"You have colored walls!" Draco protested. "That requires serious construction charms and a color-changing charm!"
"It requires house paint," Hermione snapped back, "which muggles have had for over a century now, Draco." She looked at Blaise. "Good Lord, you really weren't kidding, were you?"
Blaise snickered, but he said nothing.
"Let me introduce you to my parents, Draco," Hermione said, looking at him, "and you'll see that they're perfectly normal, intelligent people."
Draco looked very suspicious at this, while Blaise smirked.
"By all means, Hermione," Blaise said graciously, "lead the way."
Hermione had warned her parents that Draco came from a very sheltered pureblood household, and that this might be his first real exposure to the non-magical world. She'd extracted promises to not embarrass him over anything he didn't know or any confusion he or Blaise had.
This was immediately tested upon entering the Dining Room, where Hermione's parents were waiting, and Draco reacting with shock, demanding to know what they were wearing. It wouldn't have been quite so bad except he'd addressed the question to Hermione, not her parents.
"No trousers in the magic world?" her father asked wryly.
Blaise smirked. "No, sir. I was shocked when I went and got some at Christmas."
Draco looked at her father, fighting for a neutral expression, but his eyes were wide.
"I'm Richard Granger," her father said, introducing himself and sticking out a hand. "You must be Draco Malfoy."
"That's correct," Draco said, offering her father a short bow. He stared at her father's hand, before sticking his out as well – his wrist passing her father's, resulting in two awkwardly-extended hands. "Pleased to meet you, sir."
Her father chuckled and adjusted, taking Draco's hand in his and shaking it slowly. If possible, Draco's eyes went even wider.
"Good to meet you as well, Draco," he said.
Hermione watched when her father let go. Draco didn't wipe his hand on his robes, but from the struggle on his face, it seemed a near miss.
"Draco, may I present my mother, Jean Granger?" Hermione said, giving him an out. "Mum, this is Draco Malfoy."
Her mother gave Hermione an odd look, but Draco looked incredibly grateful and bowed very low.
"It is an honor, madam, to attend your evening meal. Thank you for the invitation." He stood, making sure his back was very straight, and he pulled a bottle of wine from his pocket, extending it to her mother. "As a token of my gratitude, please accept this wine."
Hermione's parents exchanged a look, her mother taking the wine from Draco and passing it to her father. His eyebrows rose high as he glanced at the label, but he didn't say a word.
"You're quite welcome," her mother said finally. "Dinner's just about done, if you want to take a seat? Hermione, would you set the table?"
"Yes, Mum."
Her parents returned to the kitchen, and Hermione hurried to grab the silverware and start laying out the plates as Blaise and Draco chose seats, Draco looking around with large eyes.
"They—they can speak. They're articulate. And they're nice." Hermione overheard Draco speaking in a low voice to Blaise. "I wasn't expecting them to be nice."
"Why wouldn't they be?" Blaise said, frowning.
"She said they forbid her from leaving the house!"
"It's not like they locked her in a cage, Draco." Blaise's voice was annoyed.
Hermione rolled her eyes as she set the table.
"It will be fine," she hissed at them. "Just act like they were your parents." She paused. "Wait, no. Not your parents. Act like they were Blaise's parents."
"Not the best example either, love," Blaise said with a smirk, and Hermione shot him a look as her parents brought in the food.
"We've got roasted lemon chicken," her mother said, setting the food down on a potholder while her father set out another large bowl and a basket of rolls. "There's a salad as well. Please, help yourself."
Her parents settled themselves into their seats, and Hermione sat down as well, finding herself between her mother and Blaise, with Blaise on her right. Draco was watching, his back rigid, as her parents used the tongs to each take a piece of chicken and some of the roasted vegetables, setting it on their plate. Her mother, glancing at Draco, had the sense to hand Hermione the tongs next, and Hermione claimed a leg and some potatoes and onions before passing the tongs to Blaise, who took them with a smirk.
When it came to be Draco's turn, he carefully took the tongs, clicking them together a few times, before hesitantly reaching out and claiming a thigh, successfully returning it to his plate. His eyes lit up, and he shot Hermione a triumphant look before returning to try and claim a small potato.
"Don't use tongs at your school?" her father said, amused as he served himself some salad. Draco had dropped the potato, but he was trying again.
"No, sir," Blaise said, smirking. "Generally just serving forks, if anything, or serving spoons."
"I see."
Draco continued very carefully serving himself individual vegetable by individual vegetable, painstakingly making sure not to drop any of them on the tablecloth, apparently oblivious to everyone watching his careful task. When he had finished and replaced the tongs, he looked proud of himself. Hermione shot her parents a warning look, and her father stifled his snicker.
"So, it's good to meet you, Draco," her mother began. "Especially after hearing so much about you."
Draco looked surprised. "You've heard about me?"
"Hermione writes home at least once a week," her father said. "Not to mention you were in the paper with her."
Draco looked pleased at the thought Hermione wrote home about him. Blaise rolled his eyes.
"So tell us some of what you all get up to in that school," her father said, his eyes twinkling. "Things that Hermione wouldn't have told her parents about."
Hermione groaned. "Dad!"
"I don't know what she would or wouldn't have told you about," Draco said seriously, "but I wouldn't want to break her confidence." He glanced at her. "I can answer some questions, perhaps?"
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"It's fine, Draco," she said. "You can talk to them about magic."
"Oh," Draco said, relaxing slightly. "In that case, she spends most of her time absolutely dominating our classwork. She was top in the class again this year." He paused, smug. "I was second, though."
"Oh!" her mother looked surprised. "Well done, Draco. That's quite the accomplishment." She turned to Blaise. "What rank did you get?"
"Sixth," Blaise said lazily. His eyes glinted at Hermione. "I was preoccupied with other priorities towards the end of the year."
Hermione wasn't sure how Blaise managed to get the sunlight to glint off of his coven ring directly into her eyes at that moment, but he did.
"Oh, yes." Draco turned serious. He turned to Hermione's mother. "You wanted my account of your daughter's actions at the end of the year, correct?"
Hermione had vivid flashbacks to Draco's overdramatic retelling repeatedly and quickly intervened.
"She wanted to ask you if I actually saved you from the basilisk," Hermione cut in. She glanced at her mother. "She wanted to verify for herself in case the papers were exaggerating. But all of the details aren't needed – they're not really appropriate for the dinner table, are they?"
Her mother gave her a sharp glance. "And why wouldn't they be, Hermione?"
"Well, they were wandering around in a sewer," her father said, amused. "I certainly don't want to hear visceral details about that."
Her mother rolled her eyes.
"Hermione was expressly forbidden from deliberately endangering herself over the Christmas holiday," her mother told Draco. "She was permitted to procure that sword for protection, not as a weapon to go around slaying legendary creatures with. I was not pleased to learn that that was exactly what she did with it nearly immediately after obtaining it."
Hermione winced. When her mother phrased it like that, it really did sound bad.
"I would have preferred Hermione had not needed to use her sword either," Draco said, glancing at her. "But the fact is, your daughter ran after me to save me from a dire fate. I'd much rather she hadn't had to put herself in danger and risk herself, but who knows what might have happened if she didn't? I might not be here alive today."
There was a silence, her parents exchanging a look. Blaise was giving Hermione a look himself, which she steadfastly ignored.
"I suppose my concern is the authenticity of this all," her mother said finally. She looked at Draco. "Did you go to the Chamber of Secrets on purpose?"
Draco reacted with shock. "What? No!"
Her mother narrowed her eyes at him, and Draco looked astonished.
"I won't deny wanting to know where it was – every Slytherin did – but I hardly wanted to find out by basilisk abduction," he said, his eyes wide. "I'd never risk myself like that!"
"Never?" her father said mildly.
Draco looked at him. "Do you doubt me?"
"Not quite," her father responded. "I doubt that there aren't edge cases you're not considering."
Draco looked puzzled, and her mother sighed.
"Hermione risked herself by going after the basilisk to save you," her father said patiently. He looked at Draco. "Would you have gone after Hermione?"
Draco's eyes went wide.
"I—I honestly don't know," he said. "I—while I'd like to think I would have, I didn't have the knowledge your daughter had, and I didn't have a sword."
"If you had," her father said, raising his eyebrows. "If you did know it was a basilisk, and you did have a sword, would you have gone charging after her?"
Draco swallowed hard.
"I don't know," he admitted. He couldn't meet Hermione's gaze. "I probably would have run for help."
"Would you have gone down the Chamber purposefully if my daughter asked you to?" her mother wanted to know, and Draco's eyes grew large.
"On purpose?" he asked, aghast. His eyes darted to Hermione. "Are you accusing your daughter of setting up a fake kidnapping to deliberately risk her life?"
"It wouldn't be the first time she's played tricks," her father said dryly.
"I am not accusing my daughter of anything," her mother said. "I am asking you if you would have done anything my daughter asked of you, even if it involved risking your life."
Draco looked torn and contemplative.
"I don't know," he said at last. "I'm a Slytherin, and Slytherins generally prioritize preserving themselves above all else. Perhaps, if she gave me a good enough reason to."
"Fair enough," her father said. He turned to Blaise. "Would you?"
"Yes," Blaise said immediately. "Absolutely."
"Blaise!" Hermione said, shocked.
"I would have," Blaise said, ignoring her. "I would have been at her side as she ran into the Chamber. But as this all happened so suddenly," he said, shooting Hermione a dark look, "I was prevented from assisting her. Potter was the other one who was there, and he ran for help when she sent him to."
"As he should have," Hermione hissed, but her father spoke over her.
"Would you not have run for help?" her father asked.
"No," Blaise admitted shamelessly. "With all due respect, sir, your daughter tends to charge ahead without looking sometimes once she's set her course of action, accepting risks to herself as a matter of course, like glumbumbles on a broom ride. I would have wanted to be there to protect her, while she tried to protect and save Draco."
"I can protect myself," Hermione protested. "Didn't it all turn out okay?"
Blaise shot her a look.
"You ran after Draco to save his life," he said dryly, his eyes holding hers, "but you'd rebuke me for running after you to save yours?"
Hermione fell quiet at that, pushing her vegetables around her plate.
"Well, I'm glad that wasn't necessary," her mother said, smoothing things over. "And Draco, though I'm sure you understand my primary concern is for my daughter, I'm certainly glad you're still alive."
Draco looked confused and uncertain how to handle that remark.
"Is this sort of thing normal at magical schools?" her father asked. "I was expecting some amount of adventuring when she went off to Hogwarts, but I had no idea what kind of adventuring to expect."
Draco and Blaise exchanged glances.
"Truthfully, yes," Blaise said honestly. "Magical schools are… well, magical. There's a lot of things going on at any point, and there's a lot of danger in that by its very nature. There's a reason some parents don't send their children to school."
"They don't send their children to school?" Her mother raised her eyebrows.
"Yeah, 'cause they're guttersnipes," Draco muttered, and Blaise elbowed him sharply.
"Some parents choose to homeschool their children," Blaise clarified for her mother. "Most of them do so because their children didn't get accepted into Hogwarts, but some probably do out of safety concerns."
"Hogwarts isn't bad," Draco added. "Beauxbatons just got in trouble for having several students fall into their fountain on their last night of the term while under the influence of Aging Potions. They ended up de-aging into toddlers. And Durmstrang's constantly having issues with renegade cockatrices and vampires at least once every few years."
"Cockatrices?" Her father perked up. "What's a cockatrice?"
"A rooster with a lizard's tail," Blaise said. "It sounds silly, but when they get loose, it's a real problem. Their bite can turn you to stone."
"Ha!" Her father sat back in his chair, crossing his arms in satisfaction. "It's the same."
"The same?" Draco was incredulous, and he and Blaise exchanged a wide-eyed look. "There are cockatrices in the muggle world?"
"No," her mother sighed. "You'll have to ignore my husband. He gets overly-excited with some of the more adventure-esque elements of the magical world."
"Cockatrices aren't really an adventure," Draco said, puzzled. "More of a hassle and a pain than anything."
"I'm just excited that my daughter is having proper adventures," her father objected.
Her mother shot him a look. "I'd much prefer she have safer adventures, like her little adventure last year."
Her father laughed.
"You thought her dungeon crawl was unsafe too," he pointed out. "You were worried about the danger of the troll and that strangling plant."
Her mother gave him a dark look.
"It was unsafe," she said, glaring. "Hermione could have been seriously hurt."
"Are you talking about the forbidden 3rd floor corridor?" Blaise asked, chiming in. He glanced at Hermione. "I'm surprised Hermione would have told you about that."
"Oh, she told us all about it," her father said, proud. "We were very proud of her for beating the obstacle course first. When was it, right after your holiday break?" He grinned at Hermione. "She said the next person to go through didn't manage it until the last day of term."
Draco and Blaise choked on their food, and Hermione felt dread slowly build in her chest.
"I'm sorry, did you say she did it right after break?" Draco said, coughing.
"Oh, did they not say when she did it first?" her father asked. "She told us she got points for it at the Leaving Feast. Hermione managed it right after she went back to school, once she had a chessboard she could use to get help on that challenge with."
Draco's eyes went wide, while Blaise's narrowed at her.
"A carefully-curated obstacle course for extra credit is much safer than going after a dangerous murder-snake," Hermione's mother objected, giving her husband a look.
Her husband waved a hand. "That's why she got the sword. And it turned out fine, right?"
Her mother rolled her eyes.
"I'm sorry, could you please repeat that?" Blaise said pleasantly. "About how she beat the carefully-curated obstacle course?"
Her father looked surprised, shooting Hermione a look.
"I thought you said your friends were the other ones to beat it at the end of the year," he accused.
"They did," she said dully. "But not these friends. Harry, Neville, and Ron, remember?"
"Those are the Gryffindor ones, right?" her father said, frowning.
"Yes, Dad."
"Hermione went with them when they did it at the end of the year," Blaise said. "I didn't realize she did it before then, too."
"Well, that's why no one else got the treasure at the end," her father said reasonably. "Hermione got it first, back in January."
Draco dropped his fork, and Blaise fought to keep his face even. Hermione looked determinedly at the table, methodically eating her veggies.
"I—I was under the impression that the treasure was destroyed," Blaise said, shooting Hermione a look. "When there was a fight over who should have it at the end."
"Nah, that was just the fake," her father said, dismissive. "She got the real one and replaced it with a lookalike." He turned to Hermione again. "What was the treasure again?"
Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever actually told them.
"A sort of magical artifact," she said. "It glowed red."
Her father nodded, proud. "See?"
"Well, let's please hope Hermione's next year is safer," her mother sighed. She gave her daughter a long-suffering look. "At least don't go looking for trouble?"
"Does that mean you'll let her go back?" Draco asked, his eyes wide. "Does that mean you'll free her from her captivity?"
Her mother looked at Draco oddly.
"Of course she's going back," she said, puzzled. "We're certainly not equipped to homeschool a witch. And what do you mean, 'her captivity'?"
"Hermione said that I needed to come and tell you about how she saved me," Draco said, confused, "so you would free her again."
Her mother gave Hermione a sharp look.
"What did you tell your friends?" she demanded.
"That I was grounded!" Hermione spat back, annoyed. "Draco didn't know what that was, so I said that I was expected to stay up in my room and entertain myself and not leave the house until you permitted me to do so!"
Her mother looked back at Draco, open confusion now on her face. "Is that correct?"
"Yes," Draco said. "That she was locked up in her tower because she risked herself to save my life."
Hermione groaned. "Draco, that is not what I said."
"Well, that's what it meant," Draco said indignantly. "I didn't know muggles didn't have towers, did I?"
"Magical parents don't have such a punishment for their children, generally," Blaise told her mother, offering her a charming smile. "We generally get assigned the more unfortunate chores as penance, or a spell punishment instead."
"A spell?" her father asked, frowning. "There are punishment spells?"
It was only because Hermione was watching that she could see Draco tense at the table, his shoulders going rigid.
"There are spells for all sorts of things," Blaise said, keeping his tone conversational. "After I played a prank as a child on one of my mother's guests by putting something in his teacup, my mother cast a Sympathetic Magic spell on me so I experienced the exact same symptoms he was experiencing. I ended up throwing up for half the day. It was very effective – I never tried it again, I'll tell you."
"Oh," Hermione's mother looked surprised. "That's quite fair, really. How old were you?"
"Old enough to know better," Blaise admitted, wincing.
To Hermione's relief, that led to a conversation about wizarding childhood experiences – a much lighter and less fraught topic than the others had been. Her parents were highly amused hearing Draco's and Blaise's stories of growing up playing on toy broomsticks, fighting gnomes, and being chased out of the gardens by white peacocks. Dinner settled down again into something Hermione could actually relax into, and she finished her food quietly.
After dinner, her father looked outside, musing.
"It's such a nice night out, isn't it?" he said. He looked to Hermione. "Shall we go for ice cream?"
"Ice cream?" Draco's eyes lit up. "You have that here?"
"Should we, Richard?" her mother asked, looking them over. "They're wearing robes."
"No one will care," he said, waving her concerns off. "They're kids playing in the summer. So long as Hermione puts one on to match, anyone looking will think it's all a game."
Hermione laughed. "Okay. I'll go change."
"We'll meet you on the porch, love," her father bid her.
Hermione ran up the stairs to change, tugging off her dress and hurriedly slipping on and buttoning up one of her robes. She paused, considering, before shoving one of the butterfly clips into her hair as she ran out of her room. If she was in robes and seen anywhere public, she really should adhere to proper customs, silly as it was.
Blaise was waiting for her by the base of the stairs.
"Draco is out there trying to make a positive impression on your father," he said conversationally, "while your mother is talking to your neighbor. I said I'd wait for you."
"Oh, you didn't have to," Hermione said. "I would have—"
"I wanted a minute alone with you," Blaise cut her off. His eyes held hers, and Hermione felt her breath catch.
"Oh?" she said faintly.
Blaise's eyes were dark.
"You need to extract an Unbreakable Vow from Draco Malfoy before you let him go home," he told her. His tone was utterly serious. "I would offer one too, if you felt you needed it, but I think the other vows I've made are enough to reassure you."
"What?" Hermione was shocked. "Blaise, I can't do that! We're underage – it could stunt our magic. And what about? Not to tell anyone where my parents live?"
"Not that." Blaise gave her a look, aggravated.
"Then what?" Hermione demanded, poking Blaise in the chest. "What is so important?"
Blaise caught her hand in his, holding it in his hand as his eyes held hers.
"You have the Philosopher's Stone," he said quietly.
There was a silence.
"And if I do?" Hermione said finally, holding his eyes.
Blaise's eyes were dark.
"The Dark Lord nearly killed Potter for that last year," he told her. "Do you think letting Lucius Malfoy's son spread around the knowledge of where that is would be a good idea?"
Hermione shuddered.
"No," she admitted. "That's… I didn't think of that."
Blaise's eyes seemed to almost glow.
"Conversation moved quickly, but if I caught it, Draco did too," Blaise told her. "Hermione, you have to make sure he can't ever tell."
"But how?" Hermione said, frustrated. "It's not his fault my parents mentioned it. And I don't want to stunt anyone's magic…"
"Then cast a Memory Charm on him." Blaise was deadly in earnest. "Hermione, Draco having this knowledge is dangerous."
Hermione worried at her lip. "I don't think he'd let me do that."
"Let you? Hermione…"
"Are you kids ready?" Hermione's father stuck his head in around the door. "We'd better get going, or it'll be dark soon."
"Right, we're coming!" Hermione said, breaking off from Blaise. She shot him a warning look. "We'll talk about this more later."
Blaise merely raised a skeptical eyebrow, leaving Hermione to obsess over this new difficulty the entire way to the ice cream stand.