All glory and honour to my wonderful beta, Grace_Clarke. Praise be to everyone following and reviewing.
Strap in everyone - we're going places.
March 21, 2003 - Early Morning
Hermione's shoes could be heard barrelling down the hall towards Harry's office, her heels clacking off the floor with urgent, heavy thuds. She saw Harry as soon as she exited the elevator, his hand running through his hair, messing it up further, his eyes scanning an open file. She didn't look towards the Auror's desks, feeling Ron's burning gaze on her from across the room.
She turned and closed Harry's office door, casting a quick Muffliato over the room as she stepped into it. Harry looked up from his file, leaning back into his chair as he smiled and greeted his friend. At the look on Hermione's face, however, he closed the file and steepled his hands together, resting his chin on his fingers.
"Harry, I need to speak with you as Deputy Head Auror right now," she said, wincing at his frown. "I want to press charges against Ron for harassment, threatening behavior, and intimidation."
For a moment, Harry didn't say a word. His eyes closed, his shoulders slumped and his head shook infinitesimally. He slapped his hands against the desk and rolled his chair back, reaching for a new file and fresh parchment from his filing cabinet behind him.
"I'll need to take a statement from you, Hermione," he replied seriously, his voice as grave as his face. "Do you have any evidence for your allegations? Any witnesses?"
Taking the breath her lungs so desperately needed, Hermione reached into her beaded bag and brought out the shoe box. This morning, she'd had to add a sticking charm to get it to stay closed, and it was at that point that she'd finally decided to take this step.
"In early April last year, as you know, I broke up with Ron. Since then, he's been owling me. Non-stop."
She handed the shoe box over to Harry, allowing him a minute to open it and begin reading the letters within. As the parchment reflected off his glasses, Hermione could see the storm brewing in Harry's eyes.
"It started off innocent enough. But he hasn't stopped Harry, and it's been–"
"Almost a year," he concluded.
When he raised his eyes to hers, she could see the pain in them. The anger, disappointment and sadness that echoed her own.
"Almost a year," Harry choked. "Hermione, why didn't you tell me?"
She choked against the sudden clog of tears in her throat.
"Harry," she begged, clutching her chest. "Auror. You have to– I can't… not yet, Harry. Please."
She desperately swallowed and pulled at her clothes, trying with everything she had to stay grounded, logical, in the moment.
She couldn't allow herself to fall apart, right now. It had taken everything in her to summon the strength to do this. To go against everything inside her that told her to let it go, let it slide, to roll over and keep the easy peace.
She couldn't talk to Harry - her friend, her brother - just yet. At this moment in time, while she still had her Gryffindor fortitude, she needed Deputy Head Auror Potter.
She hoped that her stumbled, stuttered plea was enough for him to understand that.
When he sighed deeply, from his soul, then straightened up and looked her directly in the eye, she knew he did.
"How often have the messages been arriving?"
"At least every three days, sometimes daily. Lately, it's been daily," she shuddered, and looked down at Harry's desk. "Since Christmas, and especially since the Wizengamot hearings, it's been different. At first, he was sweet and apologetic. Then he was sad for a while. Then he got demanding. And now he's angry. And… and I'm honestly worried."
"Can you be a bit more specific? Worried about?"
"Since the hearing, he's been talking about my parents," she stated, gesturing at the stack of letters now scattered over the desk. "And he's been making all sorts of mentions about… knowing where I am and when and… this morning, he told me that if I wanted a family in the magical world so much, I should have accepted his own. That I should learn to be grateful for what I have, and that he would soon be teaching me a lesson I wouldn't forget. This was a repeated threat from a few weeks ago but this time, he had pictures delivered with the letter."
From her coat pocket, she withdrew the envelope that had been delivered shortly before the sun came up. She passed it to Harry, and immediately dropped her gaze to her fingers.
"Do you know where these pictures were taken, Hermione?" Harry asked, sounding as though he already knew the answer.
"The only possible place would be outside the second floor of St Mungo's, while I was visiting my parents," she mumbled. "The only way I can think of to be able to photograph through the privacy wards of that hospital is if he used his Auror's position to get a permit to hover outside the hospital on a broom."
Harry's forehead met his palm, and he rubbed at his scar - an old habit Hermione hadn't seen in years.
"That would be a serious violation of our Code of Ethics."
Harry's sentence hung there in the room, sluggish and morbid. Hermione could only breathe, blink, and plead silently with her eyes.
Finally, Harry sighed and picked up his quill.
"Let's make a start on your statement, Hermione."
March 21, 2003 - Late Morning
Hermione's list of witnesses included every single person she'd complained about Ron to, and every Weasley who'd been there at Christmas and the day of the break-up. The list included, but wasn't limited to: Fleur, Percy, Luna, Neville, and - to Harry's surprise and Hermione's chagrin - Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson.
Certified copies had been made of the hundreds of letters Ron had sent, the originals filed away, and the photos had been locked in Evidence. Her statement had taken a grueling seventy-six minutes to complete, and Harry had impressed her with his ability to keep up as he transcribed.
She felt like her bones were filled with lead, while her muscles were pumped with helium - simultaneously lighter and heavier. That old, familiar headache was back behind her eyeballs, pounding away and beginning to blind her. As Harry withdrew back to his filing cabinet and placed the new, thick file back into its designated spot, Hermione drew in one more deep, shaky breath.
"Thank you for taking the time, Harry." She mumbled.
"Hermione, please," he insisted. "I understand if you can't talk now but please don't thank me."
All Hermione could do was nod, and awkwardly glance about the room. She realized that this was about to get a whole lot bigger.
"What happens now, Harry?"
"I'll need to speak to Robards," he responded thoughtfully. "But I think he'll agree that Ron is suspended without pay, pending investigation. From there, I'll–"
"Investigate?"
"I'll initiate Wards of Protection and Deflection around you and Ron," he pressed, smiling reassuringly when Hermione sighed in relief. "And, then, yes, there'll be an investigation. But I probably won't be on it."
When Hermione widened her eyes and looked once more to the filing cabinet, Harry ruffled his hair again, clearly agitated.
"I am a witness, Hermione," he explained. "And I'm too close to this to do this properly. To be unbiased. To ask the right questions to the right people. To not beat the absolute crap out of–"
Harry looked down at his desk for a minute, his breathing angry and shallow.
"I can't look into this and then arrest him in a way that means he pays properly. I can't rely on myself not to fuck this up for you and Hermione," when he looked up, his eyes were shining, his heart breaking in his gaze, and Hermione choked back her own tears. "I won't fail you anymore. I fucking refuse, alright? You did the right thing, you did the absolute right thing coming here and telling me–"
Hermione's whimper cut him off, and she sobbed into her hand. When he reached across the table, she grasped his fingers, the shared warmth helping with the trembling in her digits.
"Which is why I have to do the right thing now. I have to make sure this is handled right. Which means that I can't be the one to handle it."
"Alright, Harry," she agreed, squeezing his fingers. "Alright."
"So, I'll speak to Robards," he continued. "And you'll go home. For the rest of the week."
"Harry–"
"I'm not kidding, Hermione."
"It's Wednesday, Harry!"
"Hermione!" She almost jumped at Harry's volume. "Go home, wait for me and Ginny to get there, then take a couple of days off," the look in his eyes was pleading, his emotions truly showing through. "Please, Hermione, listen to me."
Seconds passed as Hermione stared at her shoes. When she spoke, her voice was small, but grateful.
"Alright, Harry. Alright."
March 21, 2003 - Early Evening
When Hermione arrived home, she collapsed bodily on the couch. There she stayed, curled up in a fetal position, her arms wrapped around a pillow. At some point, Crookshanks had returned from his hunting trip and curled up in that spot between her thighs and torso. Occasionally, his head would bump against her, nuzzle into her skin, but he did not purr.
It seemed that he knew his human needed silence at the moment.
Hermione's mind would not stop whirring. In the quiet of her flat, her inner critic screamed.
She'd missed so much. She'd left so much out. Not only that, but she'd taken so long to take action. Not only was her statement lacking all of the necessary facts, it should never have been such an overwhelming experience in the first place.
She knew that she should have gone to the Aurors months ago. She would have advised any other woman - any other person - to do the same. She felt like the world's most pathetic specimen.
So weak, so helpless, so utterly illogical.
A flash broke through the numbness, and Hermione looked up. Stepping out of the floo, Ginny carried a picnic basket. When Harry stepped through behind her, she passed the basket to him and strode over to Hermione, pulling her up from the couch cushions and into her arms.
"My darling," she murmured, stroking Hermione's hair, her lithe arms constricting comfortingly around her shoulders. "You're okay. We're here now."
And Hermione broke.
A mighty sob tore free from her throat, ripping the air from her lungs as she collapsed into Ginny's chest. Time stopped and moved all too slowly as her tears drenched Ginny's shirt. She felt her friend's hands stroking her hair, her arms, rocking her like a baby, making shushing noises in her ear. She heard Harry place a cup on the coffee table in front of her, felt the couch move as he sat down on her other side. His hands were on her feet, taking off her shoes, rubbing along her calves.
And through it all, Hermione cried.
"You're okay, love."
She wept.
"It's alright, now."
She howled.
"I know, love. You're okay."
She absolutely wailed.
"Oh, sweetheart, I know. Try to drink something, honey, please."
As the sun went down and the room settled into semi-darkness, Harry stood and started moving around in the kitchen. When a warm, savory smell hit Hermione's nostrils, she finally raised her head from Ginny's embrace, wiping her face with her sleeves. The hold around her loosened the slightest bit and the two friends locked eyes.
Ginny's smile didn't reach her eyes, but it comforted Hermione all the same. Breathing still choppy, she finally straightened and looked around the room, finding Crookshanks curled up on his armchair, staring at her fondly with his glowing, amber eyes.
"You watching over me, boy?" she mumbled tenderly, reaching across to scratch under his chin.
As he finally purred and nuzzled into her hand, her lips quivered into an unconscious smile. When she withdrew her hand, he shook his head, twitching his tail.
Hermione sighed, resting her head in her hands. Ginny was still running a hand up and down her back.
"I'm so sorry," she confessed. "I shouldn't have–"
"Don't you dare," Ginny warned, her hand stopping its movement but not lifting. "Don't you dare say you shouldn't have pressed charges against him. Don't you dare, Hermione."
Surprising even herself, Hermione laughed briefly, wiping away the tears still leaking from her eyes.
"I was going to say I shouldn't have ruined your shirt like that," she admitted.
"Don't worry about it - I have another one."
Leaning back into the couch, Hermione sighed, resting her head on Ginny's shoulder as her arm wrapped around her shoulders again.
"Where's Harry?"
"Heating up dinner - I brought pie."
"Pie-suh," Harry insisted.
When she looked over, he had three plates held aloft with a levitation charm. She could see portions of Shepherds' pie on each plate, and could smell the rich gravy from her place on the couch.
"I don't know what you were thinking, putting an extension charm on a picnic basket, Hermione. There's enough pies in here for a week."
Grinning mischievously at his wife, he divvied out of the food and sat down.
"It's a restricted extension charm! It's not limitless." Hermione defended, taking her first bite.
"It's a picnic basket the size of a fridge," Harry alleged. "A fridge, Hermione. And you know my wife is extra!"
"Hey!" Ginny refuted, which they both ignored.
"And I also know your wife is a Weasley. That comes with the need for a fridge-sized picnic basket. And I don't see you complaining when the fridge-sized picnic basket is full at Weasley lunches." She glanced quickly at his stomach before sending him a wink.
Harry narrowed his eyes at her before smiling winningly at said wife who was sitting on Hermione's other side.
"Fuck, my wife can cook though." He stated, admiration shining in his eyes.
Ginny huffed and took a bite of her dinner.
"You're damn right, Potter." She agreed, before leaning over and placing a quick kiss on his smiling lips.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders, pushing them apart with a noise of protest.
"I'm eating, guys, come on!"
Laughing, the two parted and they all dove into their supper, letting out the occasional sound of appreciation. While Ginny didn't have the gift for spices that her mother did, she cooked with love - and had a knack for finding the best recipes to follow. She excelled at pies and cakes, and Hermione smiled thinking about the week's worth of meals that awaited her.
"You really shouldn't have, Ginny," she said, trailing her finger through the gravy on her plate and licking it clean. "But, thanks."
"Anything for you, Hermione." She dismissed easily, standing and grabbing their empty plates, taking them through to the kitchen.
Hermione heard the tap running, and crockery making noises against her stainless steel sink. Crookshanks toddled out to join Ginny, Hermione smiled when the redhead asked him if he'd eaten and if he desired his own food or a share of theirs.
"Are you alright, Hermione?"
She felt as if all she could do lately was sigh and cry. As she drew back on the couch - facing her friend while keeping her feet on the sofa between them - she drew her hair back and began to coarsely plait it away from her face. The tears that had stopped had come back - this time a steady stream - but they were manageable.
She could smile through them.
"I'm so sad, Harry," she confessed, leaning her head into the back of the couch as she closed her eyes. "Merlin, I'm just so sad. Why? Why would he do this, Harry? Why couldn't he just… just why, Harry?"
"I don't know, Hermione," he replied, his hands rubbing along her socks. "And I don't know how I didn't see it–"
"You're not blaming yourself, are you?"
She raised her head and opened her eyes. Harry's eyes shone behind his glasses. When their gazes connected, he looked away, taking off his spectacles and rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
"Hermione, you're my best friend. For a year, you've been harassed. And not just by anyone - by my other best friend. Who is not only that, but also my colleague and brother-in-law. I'm Deputy Head fucking Auror and I didn't fucking notice this was happening to you. Yes, Hermione," he replaced his glasses and looked towards her again. "I am blaming myself."
Dropping her hand away from her mouth, Hermione breached the gap between them and hugged her brother around the waist.
"Harry, your misplaced guilt is going to get you in trouble one of these days." She whispered into his chest.
He chuckled and kissed her hair, hugging her back hard.
"I love you, Hermione."
"I love you, too, Harry."
The hug was brief, yet meaningful. When it ended, she looked out the window as the second passed, noticing the frost on the glass. As she waved her wand, she felt glad she had magic and, thus, could start a fire instantly and keep it going all night, with minimal effort.
An image of her father meticulously tending the fire in his shed during the winter months came to mind, insisting that his Jaguar's leads, cables and fluids did not do well with extreme temperature fluctuations.
Before she could blink another image - Ron scoffing at her continued effort at her hearth, dismissing the need for it altogether in favor of magic. Despite her sentimental reasons, he'd pushed her and pushed her, until the Muggle way of doing things was all but forgotten to her. Until the act of waving a wand for warmth was the natural act of her hand.
Feeling a strange sense of outrage jolt through her bones, Hermione rose from her couch and headed to the fireplace. She grabbed a poker, and scanned the logs, moving one just the smallest amount, before checking the air intake.
It wasn't worth adjusting. Nothing about the flame needed tinkering in the first place, if she was honest. But the action of standing, of grasping a tool and making the decision sent a surge of power through her veins. She smiled as she placed the poker away, checking around the grate for excessive ash.
"The first couple of weeks, I almost expected it, to be honest," turning away from the fire, Hermione sat back down with her friend, smiling when Ginny came back into the room. "When the first few letters came, I actually replied. I told him I did want to still be friends. That I wanted to move past this, and get back to how it was when we were friends - the Golden Trio."
Ginny took a seat with Crookshanks in the armchair, smiling gently and hooking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"That sounds like you."
"I thought we could do it! That he could!" Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head. "That if I somehow said the right words in the right way, I could bring back the Ron we knew at Hogwarts."
"Hermione," Harry intoned delicately. "That Ron left us at the Forest of Dean. That Ron didn't come back."
She closed her eyes against the confirmation of her darkest thoughts. When the steady stream of tears intensified, Hermione didn't fight it. Instead, she let her forehead fall into her palm, and released a strangled sob.
"God, Harry, I know," she whimpered. "I just didn't want to accept it then. When he stopped being sweet and blamed me, I started to as well. He said if there wasn't a chance, I would never have written him back. I thought maybe I was the bitch, that I'd strung him along somehow. When he started getting mean, that guilt turned to shame and… just… embarrassment."
She sighed at the Potters' oddly similar frowns. Running her hands over her hastily plaited hair, she crossed her legs and wiped her face.
"Harry, you have no idea how… small… how fucking small and pathetic he made me feel. And everything you said, he's your best friend, Harry - he's your brother, Ginny. How could I… how dare I even think of coming between family?"
"You know that you're family, Hermione," Ginny pledged, leaning forward so Crookshanks leapt off her lap and ran towards the bedroom. "It's not a choice here–"
"No, I know that. I just couldn't… I couldn't be the reason you lost another brother."
Ginny and Harry shared a look across the room, before the redhead rose and walked over to Hermione. Kneeling down, she grasped their hands together, forming a rose of fingers.
"I miss Fred every single day. There's a hole in my heart that will never be filled with him gone," she paused for a moment, squeezing Hermione's hands. "Ron, on the other hand, made a decision. That decision means I'm choosing to walk away from my brother. I'm not losing him - I know exactly where he is."
"But–"
"He hurt you, Hermione. And what's more, he didn't stop when you told him he was hurting you. That's all I need to know."
Hermione breathed through her tears, her fingers tightening around Ginny's.
"I understand why you didn't tell us how serious this was. I understand why you kept it to yourself," Harry spoke again. "But Hermione, you're not alone. You aren't alone."
"I know, I just– he took my power from me, Harry. Every day, he stripped a piece of me away, until there was nothing but what he wanted. By the time I ended things with him, there was nothing left of me. How could I stand up to him when I couldn't find my feet, let alone, my spine?"
A moment passed as they absorbed Hermione's statement.
"Godric, Hermione," Ginny said. "No wonder you felt so awful. You felt like that, and then all the letters arrived. You must be exhausted."
A wet laugh escaped her, and she burrowed further into the couch, leaning her head back.
"You have no idea."
March 29, 2003 - Late Morning
Draco had finally convinced the Longbottoms' treatment team leader to agree to administer Nightmare's Lullaby the day before. The positive progress in the Grangers' diagnostics with a complete lack of noticeable negative effects had finally reached the point where the other Healers were willing to try the experimental brew.
Astoundingly - joyously - if the results of the first two doses were indicative of future progress, Alice and Frank Longbottom would be celebrating Christmas with their son this year.
Alice had reached out with steady hands towards Pansy as soon as she'd entered the room with Neville. As Neville and Draco connected shocked eyes, Pansy confidently stepped forward and grasped the older woman's hands. The two witches simply stared into each other's eyes for a while.
"My son's flower." Alice finally murmured, leaning forward.
"My love's mother." Pansy replied, her forehead meeting Alice's.
Draco quickly turned away from the extremely personal moment, boxing himself into the corner of the room. He heard Neville shuffle forward and tried to block out the conversation, but couldn't stop from tearing up when he heard Frank, after all these years, finally greet his son.
"My boy."
The voice was cracked and brittle from disuse, dry as a bone, but the depth of emotion held in those two words was enough to carry across to the wizard. He crossed the room in two strides and fell into his father's lap.
Draco hurriedly pulled the curtains closed around the family, walking over to the sink and running water far more powerfully than necessary.
He washed his hands for three minutes, dried them thoroughly, then washed them again. As he was drying his hands for the second time, he heard the curtain being fiddled with, and turned to see Pansy beaming at him through the gap.
"Well done, Draco," she said, before chucking her head back. "He has questions."
He straightened his healer's robes as he pulled the curtain back, smiling when he saw Frank and Alice sitting on either side of their son, hands intertwined. The older couple seemed to have exhausted their ability to do much more than hold onto Neville now, both of them back to their dissociative state. The look on the Gryffindor's face, however, made it clear that he was absolutely ecstatic with what had just occurred between himself, his girlfriend and his parents.
"What do you need from me, Malfoy?" the brunet questioned urgently. "How can I help?"
He reached for Alice's chart at the foot of her bed, needing the excuse to look away from Neville's intense, expectant gaze. Pansy, standing steady behind Neville, placed a hand on his shoulder, smiling encouragingly at Draco.
"From what I know, they haven't been able to retain any new information since the event, correct?" He clarified first. "But they both occasionally showed signs of familial recognition?"
"If you mean that sometimes they would recognise me and Gran, sure," Neville dismissed. "But only if you count the few dozen gum wrappers and the occasional hand on her arm. But you're right in that they've never recognised anybody else. They've never remembered anyone else. Hermione swung by last weekend - nothing."
"Right," Draco agreed awkwardly. "So, the fact that there seemed to be some acknowledgement of Pansy from your mother and some real recognition from your father, that's–"
"That's massive, Malfoy. It's…"
Trailing off, Neville looked down at his mother and father. His father stooped a little and the young man towered over his mother now. The look on his face was, as such, protective, but underneath that was a longing that tore at Draco's heartstrings.
"I wasn't expecting the treatment to have such a massive effect so quickly," he admitted, grimacing. "The Grangers have both been making steady progress, but not to this extent. The sample size for patients treated with Nightmare's Lullaby is limited to exactly four, two of which are sitting in this room. I'm afraid that at this point, all we can do is continue to administer the potion and monitor their response, try to track any triggers. If a pattern emerges that we can take advantage of, we'll do that. I'll speak with Healer McMahon about their treatment plan and we'll go from there."
He was aware that he was speaking at a rather quick pace, but as Neville nodded along, he knew it was the right way. A plan delivered concisely was a plan easily followed. With Neville exhibiting such an optimistic outlook, next steps - however vague and uncertain - would be hopeful, rather than dreaded.
"I never thought even this would be possible," Neville stated, his hand rising to his shoulder where Pansy's fingers squeezed. "Whatever I have to do…"
"I know. Honestly, this is probably the best thing. Your presence, your shared memories, the important things in your, and thus, their life. The potion bridges the gap between old and new memories forming, and it provides a safety net within the mind to securely process old, negative memories. I think," sighing, Draco shrugged apologetically. "Old Healers seemed to delight in obscure, ridiculous symbology rather than actual data. But from what I can interpret, I think that's what is happening. When more progress has been made, we'll be able to learn more about the specifics, what's actually going on in their minds. For now, we wait."
"If we're bridging the gap between past and present, would bringing old friends help?"
"Yes! Absolutely, I think so," Draco rushed to confirm. "It would make sense, and we can establish a baseline from there."
"Merlin, you hear that, Mum? We're establishing a baseline," Neville repeated jubilantly, squeezing his parents' hands. "We've got a plan, Dad."
Pansy smiled, and leant forward to wrap her arms around Neville's shoulders from behind. When he relaxed into her embrace, grinning like he'd won the moon, she softly kissed his hair and sent a grateful smile to her old friend.
April 4, 2003 - Late Afternoon
Hermione's parents had been moved to a new room, with Notice-Me-Not charms placed on the door. Their new window faced into the middle of the hospital, overlooking the courtyard where visitors and patients sat in the fresh air. Every visitor and St Mungo's employee who walked into the room now had to sign a parchment tracked by the Auror's department - even the cleaning staff.
She trusted Harry's wards, secure in the knowledge that Ron would have to keep his physical distance from her. The lack of missives over the last couple of weeks had been a godsend, the time passing allowed more and more tension to dissipate from her shoulders. She hadn't realized how much of a toll the randomness and hostility had begun to have on her. Waiting with bated breath, sleeping with one eye open, her eyes constantly scanning the skies for an incoming owl - all of that had finally started to cease.
Yesterday, after living an entire fortnight without a letter, she'd burst into happy tears, laughing as the sun came up - not a wingtip or tailfeather to be seen.
This morning, she'd decided to take another week off work. Never one to actually skive off, she had arrived in her parents' room this morning with three magical law history tomes and enough parchment to wrap a mummy with.
She absolutely loathed the visitor's seats in this new room. No matter how many cushioning charms she laid on it, she could not find a position that allowed her to feel all parts of her body at the same time.
If she crossed her legs, her feet went numb. Crossing her ankles caused pins and needles in her knees. Sitting ramrod straight caused her shoulders to spasm, and curling up made her butt fall asleep.
She wasn't sure if she'd suddenly forgotten how to chair, or if the chairs themselves were deficient somehow. As it was, she stood in front of one of the three cursed chairs, hands on hips, staring at it in angry bafflement.
"What are you?" She growled. "You look like a chair. Chairs are supposed to be comfortable… What are you?"
"You alright, Granger?"
She jumped a mile in the air, spinning around, hair whipping across her face.
"Dammit, Malfoy, stop sneaking up on me!" She shrieked. "You're part cat, I swear, and it's unacceptable!"
Smirking and entirely unapologetic, the blond Healer sauntered into the room.
"I thought you liked cats, Granger?" He responded easily, moving around to her father's bed. "Does your Kneazle know you find his existence so unacceptable? I'll be sure to tell him that the next time I see him."
She growled in annoyance, before sending one more glare at the chair and moving to Malfoy's side.
"I'm glad you're here. I wanted to talk to you about their treatment plans."
The look he sent her was confusing to interpret. Sheepish, perhaps, but also agitated.
"I think we can both agree that their progress has somewhat stagnated, especially since the change in their environment–"
"It wasn't my idea to change their room!" Hermione defended quickly. "The Aurors insisted that–"
"Granger, I wasn't accusing you of anything. I'm simply stating a fact," Malfoy told her, firmly. "If there's anyone to blame, it's the Weasel. But that's not important - the fact still remains that, apart from some recognition of you and some changes on their diagnostics, the changes in their condition have been minor."
"So, what are you saying? We just… increase the dosage of the potion, right?"
"I administered this treatment to another two patients. This same dosage has caused massive positive change in less than a week. Your parents have been treated with this for far longer than that, Granger, and it doesn't seem to be working… the same way, at least."
Hermione looked at her parents then, sitting as they so often did now - hands clasped, side by side. Her mother vaguely smiled when Hermione connected eyes with her, her father would sometimes open his mouth as though to speak. Their eyes tracked movements now, and the occasional huff of air they let out made Hermione think they were amused at something.
So much more than the nothing she'd had before, Hermione had been so calm about her parents up until that moment. As she looked at them now, though, and Malfoy's words sunk in, she began to feel the despondency seep in. Her shoulders slumped, and she gazed back at Malfoy in resignation.
"So, what do we do?"
"The other patients showed an immediate increase in familial recognition, regulated brain activity and increased cognitive abilities. They've been able to recall family members reliably, recognise introduced people and show an understanding of current events for short periods. This would indicate that the Nightmare's Lullaby actually does work, but that it might not be correct for your parents - at least, on its own."
Hermione listened intently to the list of facts, frowning as she thought.
"I can only hypothesize, at this point, that the results have something to do with the cause of the disturbance."
Her gaze snapped up and she narrowed her eyes at him. Malfoy grimaced, fiddling with his robes.
"The other patients were exposed to a prolonged Cruciatus. Your parents were…"
He looked away and scuffed his shoes when she didn't say anything. He ran a hand over his stubble and finally continued.
"Granger, Obliviations are complicated. Undoing an Obliviation is even more complicated."
"I'm aware." She said through gritted teeth.
Moments passed as they stood facing each other. Malfoy looked as uncomfortable as Hermione felt. She knew what he was insinuating. Knew what he was trying to ask. She also wasn't going to go there unless he asked.
"All magic that takes part in the brain is extremely complex," he finally explained. "Intent is the most important aspect, not the talent or the skill or ability of the caster themselves. What the caster wants, the meaning behind the casting - that is the principal factor in cases like these."
"I know that, Malfoy." She stressed - she wouldn't give him anymore than that.
The seconds strained into silence, and Malfoy scanned her up and down. Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked down at the floor. When he sighed, though, she narrowed her eyes at him again.
"Hermione, when you Obliviated your parents, what were you thinking?"
"That their names were Monica and Wendall Wilkins. That their dream in life was to set up a small dentistry practise in the Australian outback. That they'd never had a daughter." The chant was one she remembered well - screamed so loud internally, that it was all she could hear for days.
Monica and Wendall Wilkins… Australian outback… never had a daughter.
"And when you undid the Obliviation, what were you thinking?"
Shaking her head, she zoned back into the present.
"What?"
"When you undid the incantation," Malfoy pressed. "What were you thinking?"
"I… that…"
She froze, and sent a panicked look at her parents, sitting together on their new perches. What used to be such comforting almost-smiles now seemed like frozen grimaces. As Hermione thought back to that time, she shook her head, trying to make the pieces of rattled memory fall into place.
"That it was over, that they could… that they could come back and… we could…"
"This is important, Hermione."
"I'm sure I just reversed it! I'm sure it was just that… that the Obliviation was undone, that the world was safe and… and that–" her breath caught in her throat.
Her eyes closed, defeat sinking in.
She had been waiting for this moment. It should have happened years ago. Healer Carmichael, and to some extent, Healer Bennett, had gone over the initial Obliviation with her in intensive, exhaustive detail. They all were in agreement - her casting was flawless. They'd been just as baffled as her. Just as clueless as her.
They'd left it there though. The reversal was only a concentrated Finite, easily handled - or so they'd assumed. She'd known then, that they should have kept asking questions. Because the initial enchantment had never been the issue.
The issue was the Finite - that simple, first year charm. That and her fragile, war-torn heart.
"I hoped… God I… I hoped, Malfoy…"
"Hermione…"
"I just… I wanted to be a family again. To be together again. And I hoped… I hoped they would forgive me. That they wouldn't be angry."
Her voice got smaller with every word, her shoulders stiffening, her eyes on the floor. She fiddled with her hands, wanting to flee.
When she heard scuffling, she found Malfoy writing something into her father's case file, moving over to presumably repeat it on her mother's. She stared at him as he walked, calm and measured, his footsteps inaudible against the tiled floor. When he straightened, he pushed his hair back behind his shoulder, sending Hermione a smile that she didn't understand.
"It might not feel like it, Granger," he told her, and his voice was comforting in its strength and sureness. "But what you've told me was actually really helpful. And I understand if it was hard to tell me. So, thank you."
The breath knocked out of her lungs so fast she had to sit down. Landing heavily in one of the grossly uncomfortable chairs, she gazed blankly at Malfoy.
She didn't know how she felt. As she got her breath back, she surveyed the rest of her body.
Her heart was beating, not quickly, exactly, but loudly, almost violently, throughout her entire body. Her hands were clammy and she felt light headed. Her ears rang. Within a few seconds of sitting in this blasted chair, her butt was going numb.
But her breathing was steady. In fact, it felt easier. Lighter. As though she'd had a boa constrictor wrapped around her diaphragm, and with her confession, it had fallen away.
Was this relief? She couldn't remember being so exhausted by relief before.
"Malfoy, I… I did this," she finally - finally - admitted. "This is my fault."
"Yes." He responded.
That confusing smile was still on his face. Half sympathy, she realized, and half encouragement.
"But that doesn't make you a bad person. As I said - mind magic is incredibly complex. And I can see - I know - you're sorry. You wouldn't have hoped for their forgiveness if you weren't sorry in the first place. You're not a bad person, Hermione. You just made a mistake."
"I want to fix it."
"And we can, now," he sat down across from her, his eyes widening momentarily before he quickly repositioned. "Now that we have all the facts, we can expand the treatment team to include a charm specialist. Then we figure out how to reverse the Finite, then we'll undo the initial enchantment. Meanwhile, we'll continue the Nightmare's Lullaby treatment - but we might try that intravenously for a short time, to see if that helps with their brain activity."
The chair Malfoy chose was the squeakiest in the room, and his plan was punctuated by noises as he tried to find a non-tortuous position. That combined with Malfoy's continued soft, safe expression finally made Hermione properly smile.
Looking at her parents, she wanted to reach across. Instead, she kept her distance - still guilty despite the lightness in her limbs.
"I'll have a lot of things to apologize for when you're back," she murmured. "But I'm sorry that my cowardice took that choice from you. You have a right to be angry."
"You bloody Gryffindors and your bloody sentimental hearts…" Malfoy scoffed.
"Excuse me?"
"Of course they'll forgive you, Granger. Forgiveness is always granted to good people who are genuinely remorseful. Your issue is that you wanted to bypass the anger and move straight onto forgiveness."
All Hermione could do was blink, Malfoy's words tumbling through her psyche.
"Anger is a primary emotion. Joy, fear, sadness and anger - those four emotions don't just want to be felt, they demand to be felt. They require it. You can't move onto secondary emotions without first processing those primary ones. Forgiveness comes after anger, Granger - that's what it demands."
Hermione didn't know what to say, but there didn't seem to be a need. As the seconds turned to minutes, time passed in silence.
Immensely glad, all of a sudden, that she'd taken another week off work, she settled into the knowledge that she was in for nights' worth of tossing and turning.
The emotional toll of the past had whacked her square in the face. Buried so long in her work and her relationship complications, she'd been able to ignore the gnawing feeling of guilt pressing in her stomach. But in the span of a brief conversation, relief mixed with shame, heartbreak mixed with joy.
The wizard before her was such an enigma. In such a short time, he'd changed so much in her life. With such easy eloquence, he'd settled her mind and laid out a path, acknowledging her fault but not blaming her - giving her the space to accept the inevitable.
So many times, he'd done that. The way he spoke always made her think. Not always at the time, not always straight away, but she always came back to it.
She felt mentally and emotionally stimulated around him in a way she hadn't before. As he shifted in his chair, a sigh turning into a growl, she couldn't help but grin - feeling strangely at peace, despite it all.
"Where have you been, Malfoy?" She asked, causing him to look up.
He was quiet for a moment, his head cocked as he scanned her face.
"That's the third time you've asked me that, Granger. You'll have to explain the question at some point."
All of a sudden, he leapt up from his seat, spinning on his heel and pointing accusingly at it.
"What the fuck is wrong with this chair?!"
April 8, 2003 - Early Evening
For the record, Hermione's flat could really only fit five Weasleys and herself comfortably. Any more than that and people had to start getting creative with seating arrangements.
Luna and Fleur were sharing Crookshanks' armchair, their small, willowy bodies almost on top of one another as they sat side by side. On her three-seater, Ginny sat on Harry's lap, George and Bill flanking them, while Charlie paced in front of the fireplace. Audrey had perched herself on the window seat, needing the fresh air and cool breeze during her taxing third trimester. Percy watched over her diligently, standing to her left.
Hermione herself had brought her office chair out. Unconsciously twirling the adjustable chair side to side, she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Whether to scream or grin. Whether she should be surprised, heartbroken, angry, or cynically amused.
"We could always kill him," George suggested. "I still think that's a good idea."
"We can't kill him, George," Charlie gruffly decided, barely glancing at him as he continued pacing. "That would probably upset Mum."
George grumbled and crossed his arms. Hermione muffled the smile that seemed entirely inappropriate somehow.
"We have to do something, Charlie. This is getting ridiculous."
"I know, Ginny. If you can think of a way to do that without Mum yelling at me, I'm all ears."
"I miss being all ears."
"George!"
Looking down at the coffee table, Hermione once again stared at Ron's despondent, pitiful face blaring from the open Daily Prophet. He'd managed to secure not only the front page, but a further double-page interview.
'Used And Abused' was the front page's headline. 'How Muggle-Born Hermione Granger Used Ron Weasley To Further Her Own Political Agenda - Only To Toss Him Aside.'
Rita Skeeter was back on form. Not only had she insinuated that Hermione was a manipulative, sneaky, treacherous whore, who used Ron to further her standing in the magical world, she'd also cast doubt on the integrity of Hermione's work. She picked and chose quotes from her legislation to make it seem as though she was working with a malicious motive.
"'Ow could 'e say such 'orrible things?" Fleur burst out. "And to Rita Skeeter, of all people?"
The tension in the room was suffocating. Righteous anger, outrage, disappointment and exasperation, shared by every person in the room.
"It's amazing that such a big head holds such a minuscule brain." Percy sniffed, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"His brain isn't minuscule, he just doesn't use it," Bill growled. "What the fuck is he thinking?"
"Hermione, are you alright?" Luna's question carried across the room, and the rest of the occupants immediately silenced. "You haven't spoken two words since I arrived."
She froze in her chair, locking eyes with her friend. When she replied, her voice sounded far away, even to her.
"Can you believe what he said about Crookshanks?"
Her eyes flicked around the room, meeting the concerned faces of the assembled group.
"She set her cat on me, he said. As if Crookshanks wasn't perfectly capable of deciding he didn't like Ron by himself! As if I didn't tell Ron a million times how to make friends with him! As if… as if I'm some crazy cat-lady!"
"That was entirely out of line," Luna nodded sympathetically. "Respect is earned with Kneazles, as everyone knows."
She let out a deep groan of agreement, kicking her toes out and spinning her chair around once, twice… three times.
"And where does he get off saying that I used him to further my career?! He never would have passed the Auror's exam if I hadn't rewritten his essays for him!"
Rising quickly, she reached for the newspaper and began to read it again, pacing across the room now that Charlie had stopped and there was finally space for her to do so. All eyes on her, Hermione began to rant as she re-read.
"'The years passed in silent misery for the War Hero, as the supposed Golden Girl controlled every aspect of his life…' Silent? Fucking silent?! The man wouldn't shut up! And what control? What fucking control did I have over anything after the War? 'Constantly scheming, brown-nosing and manipulating, always wanting fame and glory…' I'm sorry, am I going insane? Is this a joke?"
She snapped the paper closed and glared at Ron's carefully choreographed, pathetic visage on the front page.
"Every word in this is a goddamn lie! He's taken everything that happened and he's twisted it and now he's the victim. He… he stole my pain."
In complete disgust, she threw the newspaper aside, scrunching her foot into it as she continued the march across her floor.
"I'm furious, Luna," she hissed. "I'm fucking enraged. Rita Skeeter? Rita fucking Skeeter, are you kidding me, Ronald Weasley? You fucking spineless lump - after everything you've done, it wasn't enough? I have to sign a piece of paper just to see my own fucking mother, now, because of this useless toad, and now he has the gall to go crying to Rita Skeeter?!"
Blindly, she reached for a cup from the coffee table and swung it at the wall with a scream. The noise was sharp, popping along the wall and cracking on the floor, the ceramic making tinkling sounds as it stilled. Hermione panted, her arm still outstretched, staring at the new mark on her wall.
"Should I not have gone to the Aurors?" she whispered, and the Weasleys swarmed.
So many arms wrapped around her, so much hair tickled her face. Hands in her hair, squeezing her fingers, caressing her face. The tears hit, as they did so often now, and Hermione collapsed into the body in front of her - which could have been George but might have also been Percy. The family of redheads held her up and walked her over to the couch, sitting her between Charlie and Harry. Ginny kneeled in front of her, holding her hands, while Percy and George took their places on the arm rests. Audrey smiled at her briefly before sticking her head out the window - Bill walked over to his sister-in-law to offer moral support. When Hermione looked towards the blondes in the armchair, she sniffed and smiled gratefully.
"Thanks for asking, Luna."
"Any time, my friend."
"Hermione, you know you made the right decision," Harry stated, rubbing her forearm. "You would have told anybody else to go make a statement months ago."
"I know that, Harry. But before, he was only owling me. Not sabotaging my work! Not standing in the way of human rights legislation in order to… I don't even know what this is, Harry!"
She wasn't sure how to categorise the sound she made as she grabbed and pulled at the roots of her hair. Blinking back blinding tears, she beckoned at the torn, muddy newspaper on the floor, making Ginny use her Quiddich reflexes to duck away.
"What is this? What is he doing? What is he thinking? What… what is happening?"
"Tea, Percy!" Audrey scolded, her entire torso out the window, Bill keeping a strong monkey-grip on her hand.
Percy rose immediately, heading for the kitchen.
"Peppermint or chamomile, dear?"
"It's for Hermione, so ask her. Anything you give me is just going to hit the pavement three floors down."
Hermione released a shaky breath. "Do you want a cooling charm, Audrey?"
"No thanks, Hermione. They give me such a headache," for half a second, she leaned back inside. "Pregnancy is a trap and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
"Noted."
Audrey nodded and stuck her head back out the window, Bill adopting a power stance as he kept a steady hold of her wrist and hand.
"I just don't understand," Hermione continued, after she'd taken a few more calming breaths. "What he was hoping to achieve with this. And I'm so angry that, out of everything he could have done, he chose to do this."
When she closed her eyes, she could still see the words printed on the page - the proof of Ron's disdain for her. The humiliating, twisted anecdotes, the private pledges made laughable by his vindictive cruelty.
"Why won't he just stop? Just leave me alone?"
"Hermione," Percy was back, and he handed her a chipped porcelain mug. "My brother has always been, in my personal opinion, particularly entitled, selfish and unkind. While he has his strengths, his weaknesses were only exacerbated after the War."
Hermione took the tea and sipped at it, letting out a hum of appreciation.
"I'm ashamed of my brother," he continued, walking back to his wife. "But I am not surprised at his behavior. I am surprised, however, that he was able to do this. Harry?"
"Wards of Deflection don't impede him from talking about Hermione," Harry grumbled, and Ginny rubbed his thigh sympathetically from her spot on the floor. "So, really, all I can do is offer a bit of gossip to Skeeter, off the record, that Ron is currently under investigation, with the possibility of losing his job. We'll see if she's so excited for a deep-dive interview after that."
"Thank you, Harry, but no. I need you to talk to her on the record. But not about me. About the Muggle Integration Act."
"What?"
"Did you read the article I did, Harry?" Hermione scolded. "It's full of misinformation! The Act will never pass without public support, and this… I can't work with this, Harry. I need your help."
"Hermione, is that really the most important thing?" Harry hedged. "He basically called you a–"
"Harry! He basically implied that the Muggle Integration Act was just a personal longing for an extended family Christmas!" Hermione shrieked. "He is purposefully minimizing the importance of the Act. He knows that it would have literally no impact on my life. But it would have an impact on Dean Thomas. And Dennis Creevey. And Justin Finch-Fletchley and so many others. Harry, I don't care what he says about me. I don't care what Skeeter says about me. But my work is important, he's sabotaging it and I need your help."
When Harry didn't respond, Luna surprised the room by speaking up.
"In my opinion," she observed, nodding at Percy. "Ron's most egregious flaw is his constant and unending need for attention. That is what this screams to me - that he hasn't been successful in winning your attention so far, Hermione, and he wishes to win it with this rather sad attempt. It seems prudent to me to not give in to his temper tantrum. I think you're right, my friend, that the way forward is to focus on the thing that we are certain Ron doesn't want you talking about- anything that has absolutely nothing to do with him."
Charlie made an audible noise of consideration, rising from his seat next to Hermione to, once again, begin pacing. It was clear he was thinking again, and the room waited for him to speak.
"If you want to go that route, we're obviously with you, Hermione," he finally decided for the group. "But I think us Weasley's need to do something - this is a family matter now. George, you've got a Jinxed Howler, don't you?"
"Well, not yet," George slid off the arm rest and into the spot Charlie had vacated. "Technically, we're still in the pre-approval, testing stages of that particular product."
"Testing stages, you say?"
"Indeed, brother mine - testing stages."
Hermione answered George's grin with a wicked smirk of her own. He winked at her, and threw an arm around her shoulders, jostling her affectionately.
"Family!" He declared. "I'd like to invite you all to take part in an exciting product beta test opportunity."
April 12, 2003 - Evening
Narcissa wasn't normally one to read the Daily Prophet these days, which was why Draco was surprised to see her reading it when he arrived in the Dining Hall. Teeky had announced his arrival, a pleased smile in her voice. Narcissa's only reaction was to hold up an index finger, finishing the article she was reading.
Draco rolled his eyes and approved Teeky's return to the kitchen, finding his seat next to his mother in relative silence. When finally she ruffled her paper closed and looked up at him, she sent him a fond smile. She leant over slightly, presenting her cheek for him to kiss.
"I'm so glad to see you, my dragon," she cooed. "These regular dinners are such a comfort to the elves."
"Which is, of course, the entire point, Mother."
She hummed at his sass, glancing briefly at the paper to her side. "I had a delightful catch up with dear Pansy today. I was pleased to hear some good news of hers you hadn't seen fit to tell me."
"And suffer Pansy's wrath for spoiling her news?" Draco scoffed, pouring himself some elf-made wine from a crystal, enchanted decanter - a crisp, chilled white.
When Narcissa pursed her lips, he knew she was holding back a laugh. It was an entirely different purse to when she was annoyed. He looked down at the paper between them, reading the headline upside-down. He'd already read the article, as he had the previous editions on the topic.
'Harry Potter Publicly Supports Muggle Integration Act - "This Is How We Hold Off The Next War."'
The second story, smaller but just as eye-catching, drew his attention again.
'Ronald Weasley Resigns Amid Rumors Of Mounting Investigations, After Being Swarmed By Noxious Howlers.'
"You've not renewed your subscription, have you, Mum?"
"Of course not, my love, this is an absolute rag. I felt at least four hundred brain cells die as I read. No, this would be Pansy's influence. She spent some time telling me about her recent dealings with the Auror's department, and assured me that this would help with context," she gestured vaguely at the headlines. "I feel both informed and deeply misled."
Draco barked a laugh as the elves arrived with the first course - pumpkin soup with truffle oil and parmesan crisps, along with fresh bread and soft butter.
"I think that's how the news is intended to make you feel, at this point." Draco agreed, tucking into the soup, which was satisfying and luxurious in its velvety richness.
"That's not at all comforting, son." Narcissa scolded. "Pansy said that you had also had recent interactions with the Aurors. You're not getting yourself mixed up with something… foolish. Are you, Draco?"
"Mother," Draco sighed. "I'm a witness in an ongoing investigation. The Aurors came by and asked for my statement, then they asked if I would be willing to testify to that at trial, which I've confirmed I will. That is the extent of my involvement."
"But, my dragon, this is an investigation into Ronald Weasley. War Hero. One third of the Golden Trio. Are you sure you want to be–"
"Mum," Draco interrupted urgently, and he reached across to touch her hand. "This is a man who doesn't know what no means."
Her expression changed immediately from concern to disgust. She straightened her elegant shoulders and nodded approvingly at him as she squeezed his fingers.
"Then, by all means, Draco," she allowed. "Do what you have to do."
They shared an understanding smile and went back to the meal, speaking of easier, happier things. His work, of course, and his mother's various outings. The changing season, and how that was affecting his mother's roses, or the amount of warmth-related behavioral changes in some of Draco's patients.
They caught up on Pansy's budding romance with Neville Longbottom. Draco found it difficult to tread the line between a friend and son sharing news with a Healer keeping the privacy of his patients, but he tried to hint at Pansy's importance in Neville's future.
At some point, the soup was taken and replaced with a herb-crusted rack of lamb served with a red wine reduction, dauphinoise potatoes and asparagus bundles. The wine in the enchanted decanter switched to a rather robust red that enhanced the complexity of the main course. He wasn't usually a fan of asparagus, but Volpey always managed a good char, and Teeky's potatoes more than made up for it.
When their plates were empty, they were cleared once more. The decanter filled with crystal clear, cool water, and both Malfoys took the time given to refresh themselves and vocally admire the meal. By the looks on the elves' faces as they retreated back to the kitchen, the positive opinion was well received.
A quarter of an hour passed in jovial conversation, before the decanter refilled with a fruity wine, smelling of apricots with a slightly smoky after-taste. Dessert was served with appropriate thoroughfare - a creamy citrus and lavender panna cotta, artfully stabbed with a shard of honeycomb and garnished with fresh berries.
Draco couldn't decide whether he liked the meal or not. While there had been nothing distinctly wrong with it, the aplomb and extravagance seemed unnecessary. He was proud of his mother for the strides she had made, but there would always be a part of her that required standing on ceremony - and after a while, that started to grow truly tiresome.
"Mother, it's not even Summer Solstice," he whined. "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing on the Winter Solstice."
"Well, you can't have anything truly important on, then," Narcissa concluded. "I've opened our home to the Minister for his annual Winter Solstice Ball. It will be a delightful evening for the both of us."
"You can't honestly expect me to commit to something more than eight months in advance, Mother?!"
"My dragon, I have not held a gala in this house since before the War," his mother all but growled, narrowing her sapphire eyes. "I waited for you to complete your education in the foolish way you deemed most prudent. I waited for you to come home and establish yourself in your chosen career path, despite my expectations. I did not say a word as you gathered all your belongings and moved away from your ancestral home. I have swallowed my pride and forgotten the lessons of my childhood, in order to become a woman you would be pleased to call your mother. And after all this, I am simply asking you to attend a gathering on a holiday, as we used to when you were young. Is that so much to ask, my son?"
Draco's resolve wavered under the weight of his mother's words. He studied her face, noting the tension etched into her otherwise smooth features. She had given up a lot, indeed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being manipulated.
"Mother, it's not that I don't appreciate everything you've done," he started, carefully choosing his words. "It's just that my life is different now. I'm different."
Narcissa leaned back in her chair, a glimmer of sadness flashing across her eyes. "I understand that, Draco. But can't you see? This isn't just about a ball. It's about family, about keeping traditions alive in a world that has changed so much. We need to show them that the Malfoys are still standing, that we haven't lost everything."
Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. The weight of legacy pressed heavily on his shoulders. "I know, Mother. But sometimes it feels like we're living in a museum, constantly looking back. I want to look forward."
Narcissa's expression softened. She reached across the table, placing a hand over his. "And I want you to. I truly do. But looking forward doesn't mean forgetting where we come from. It means carrying the best parts of our past with us, while we build a new future."
There was a moment of silence as Draco absorbed her words. He knew she was right, in her own way. He might not agree with her methods, but the underlying sentiment was something he could respect.
"Alright," he said finally. "I'll be there. But only if you promise not to make a big deal out of it."
Narcissa's face lit up with a rare smile. "Thank you, Draco. I promise, it will be an evening to remember - for all the right reasons."
They returned to their dessert, the tension between them easing slightly. Draco allowed himself to enjoy the panna cotta, letting the creamy, citrusy flavors melt on his tongue. Maybe he could find a way to blend the old with the new. And, perhaps, in the process, he could help his mother see that change wasn't always something to fear.
Next update should be within the month. Leave a comment if you have a thought - all suggestions and ideas are welcome and appreciated.
Love you all, my darling kumquats!
Dark Lady xx