"The question is coming around again."

Hermione shrugged off Penelope's remark and continued to stare out the car window. These phone calls had gotten rather repetitive as of late.

We can hire a stylist.

The network thinks you should be more approachable.

The question is coming around again.

"I don't care."

"We need an answer for this part of your image. It's an important—"

"'Are you a lesbian?' is not a question I need to answer." Hermione scanned the buildings as they came into view of the window then left just as quickly. "I choose not to date because it's time-consuming and I love my job."

Penelope insisted, "If you want the UN job, Hermione, you need the support of the network, and you need the support of the people! It will be easier if the public finds you relatable."

"Then I will relate to lesbians!"

The driver, Colin, glanced up at Hermione in the rearview mirror. She shrugged like it wasn't a big deal and, truthfully, it wasn't. He'd heard this same conversation at least twice before. Penelope rolled her eyes so hard that Hermione felt her irritation through the phone.

"Why did you hire me if you refuse to take my advice?"

"Because I need to understand why I haven't been promised the job already. I'm young, sure, but I am the best candidate, I have all the qualifications—"

"That's it, Hermione. The public looks at you and sees a war correspondent with a law degree, who wears turtlenecks in summer and has no interest in finding love. They can't relate to you or put you in a box, so they're confused. They tune in because watching a diplomat walk onto the set to be interviewed by you is like watching Marie Antoinette take the walk to the guillotine."

"Isn't that what they want at the UN?! People complain all the time about government and how they don't do any work. They say no one is held accountable. If we can't send a guillotine to the United Nations, maybe I am the next best thing."

"You're right, but you're also a workaholic."

Hermione pulled one earbud from her ear and spun it around between two fingers. She huffed,

"What if I am? Reporting is an important job. I've given everything to it, from my marriage to my body; hell, is there anyone the press loves to scrutinize more than other members of the press?"

"I have a list, and many of them are my clients, mind you." Penelope grumbled, "I'm not saying you have to change who you are. You only need to help people see you a little better."

Hermione sighed heavily, knowing Penelope was right. She asked,

"We've got, what, a year-and-a-half? Two years, maybe, before the ambassador retires?"

"Closer to a year, according to my sources. Now, I have a suggestion."

"I'm listening."

"I've signed you up for a matchmaking service."

"I stopped listening."

"It's legit—"

"Matchmaking is a scam!" Hermione insisted, "I don't want to be in a relationship simply because everyone else thinks I should be."

"That's just it, you don't need a relationship. Go out with a few men, get photographed, and make a half-decent effort to look like you're enjoying yourself. Suddenly you're straight again and a bit more relatable."

"I'm not doing it."

"You are doing it because you have to." Penelope paused for a moment before revealing, "I shouldn't be telling you this, but the second-favourite for the UN post is Percy Weasley."

Hermione clenched her jaw then confirmed, "Percy? Ron's brother, Percy? Biggest bureaucratic twat I've met in my life, Percy Weasley?"

Penelope chuckled and admitted, "I love bringing him up because you rarely curse but Percy brings it out every time."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Let me get this straight. My ex-husband's arsehole brother could get my dream job because the entire country thinks I can't get a date."

"No," Penelope clarified, "some of them think you're gay. As your publicist, I can tell you the only reason you haven't been assured the appointment is that the UN isn't research and reporting. It is being on the other side of interviews and speeches and peddling influence. You're not going to be appointed to that position unless the public feels you deserve it."

"Oh, and they feel Percy deserves it?"

"Percy worked his way up from being a middle child in a poor household of seven kids to barrister to undersecretary. You know how they spin his biography. He's a man, Hermione, the public doesn't care if he's a twat. You're a woman who has made men, far more powerful than Percy Weasley will ever be, cry on international television because they admitted to corruption before they realized they'd walked into a trap. I, and a very large portion of the population believe that's exactly the sort of person who should be on the UN Security Council. Unfortunately, that portion isn't enough right now."

Hermione took a deep breath in through her nose, then out through her mouth. Her dream job. The dream job. A public image didn't matter much as a reporter; what had the head of the network called her last year? A colossal bitch who could make the balls of the world's most powerful men shrivel up in fear the moment they stepped in front of the camera. But as an ambassador? The ambassador? Penelope was right; a public image was just about all that mattered.

"If there was a hypothetical scenario in which I said yes to the matchmaking thing, how would it work?"

Penelope barely gave her time to answer the question.

"The agency is Malfoy Matchmaking, run by Narcissa Malfoy. You're already familiar with her work. She matched Bill and Fleur Weasley seven years ago, then Neville and Hannah—"

"Neville said he and Hannah met by chance one afternoon at a park."

"Sure, if you consider an in-depth interview and carefully curated first date in Hyde Park to be a chance meeting. Narcissa Malfoy's discretion is unparalleled, and she is the best matchmaker in the country. I think this could solve more than one problem for you, and you could even get a boyfriend out of it."

Hermione laughed.

"Not likely."

"I've already scheduled an appointment."

"When? Do I show up and prepare to be interrogated?"

"Show up to the appointment with an open mind, and maybe open your heart a bit, too."

"Fine." Hermione conceded, "When is it?"

"You're on the way."

Hermione hung her head then pressed her forehead against the window for a brief moment. The buildings got smaller and smaller as they approached the edge of the city.

"You said I was heading to a career meeting."

"Hermione, this is a career meeting."

She hung up the phone and angrily tossed it onto the floor. Matchmaking. Hermione could damn well get a date if she wanted to. It was the second, third, and fourth dates she had trouble with.

.oOo.

No wonder this company had a reputation for discretion.

Malfoy Manor was located in Middle of Nowhere™, Wiltshire; the sort of place nobody would think to look. Even if they did, it wasn't unheard of for diplomats and celebrities to visit for a party or money or whatever else. Driving through the gates of Malfoy Manor didn't mean anything specific. Before she stepped out, Hermione grumbled,

"Penelope didn't mention she was putting me on Escape to the Country."

The driver grinned at her in the rearview mirror and said, "I love that show."

Hermione admitted, "Me, too. God, I love a good mystery house."

"My favourite part is when the host learns something new, especially when they fail miserably but keep trying."

"I expect that will be me inside this house." Hermione nodded toward Malfoy Manor. "I think Penelope's lost her mind and this will be a miserable failure."

"I've been driving you around long enough to know failure isn't in the cards for you, no matter what's behind that door."

Hermione grinned and said, "Thank you, Colin. I almost believe you. I'll try to be quick about it so you're not stuck with too much traffic on the way back." She slid out of the car and gently landed on the paved drive. She looked up at the front of the manor and … Wow. It was massive. She'd met too many insanely wealthy people to recall, but they could all be situated into one of two categories: old money and new. This home was something different.

Ancient money.

Hermione walked up the steps to the front door, careful not to trip. It opened before she could knock. She was greeted by a very tall woman in a plain suit who said nothing but,

"Follow me."

No introduction, no pleasantries, it was just business. Business, Hermione could do. She followed the nameless—presumably—assistant down one dreary hallway then turned down another, up a set of stairs, and into an office on the left. Hermione walked through the door alone, where she was greeted by a striking, tall blonde woman. She looked to be in her mid-fifties, dressed in high-waisted black trousers and a simple green blouse. The woman was gorgeous and Hermione clocked her as the proprietor of this business before she offered her hand to confirm.

"Narcissa Malfoy."

"Hermione Granger," she said, accepting the handshake.

Narcissa Malfoy dropped the handshake and went to sit in the chair behind her desk.

"Yes, I know who you are. My son falls asleep to BBC News at Ten."

Hermione glumly replied, "I'm flattered our content is so riveting."

"Oh, he enjoys it. However, he is running an international business and trying desperately to be a good father. Time is not his friend. He'd do much better to watch BBC News at Six, but he does not like the reporters on at six, he prefers the two of you at ten."

Hermione sat in one of the chairs across from Narcissa Malfoy and said, "Oh."

"Enough about my family," she pushed a small stack of paper across the desk toward Hermione, "here is the contract for you to sign before we begin."

Hermione scanned through it quickly then signed at the bottom. She noted Mrs. Malfoy's quirked eyebrow and revealed,

"My publicist looked through this. She's far more of an expert in contracts than I am."

"Well, the interview process from here is straightforward. I have a standard series of questions that should take an hour. I guarantee three first dates, one second date, and if you are not satisfied, you are charged nothing more than the deposit. If you make it to a third date with any of the matches, we charge per outing."

"Are you going to charge me for every successful date we have for the rest of our lives?"

"No."

Narcissa Malfoy pulled a small stack of papers from her desk drawer and handed them to the same assistant who greeted Hermione at the door. She nearly jumped out of her seat. Where the bloody hell did you come from? Hermione thought she left the assistant outside the room. Before she could regain her bearings, Narcissa Malfoy continued.

"I charge you for the dates I schedule. Each outing set up by my agency guarantees discretion, photographers only if you want them, the best food, and a second vehicle in case you wish to return home with someone without being followed. Most of my clients are celebrities or people with high net worth who do not have the luxury of experiencing a date the way most people do. You need space and a controlled environment to figure out whether a relationship can truly work. You pay me for providing that space."

"I see." Hermione nodded to the assistant and asked, "How am I to know she won't talk?"

"Had you heard of my business prior to your publicist telling you about it this morning?"

"No—"

"We do not exist except to people who already know the agency is here. Anyone poking around in this business will find nothing of value."

"That sounds illegal. Do you pay taxes?"

Narcissa laughed.

"Miss Granger, my husband went to prison for corruption because he never quite mastered the art of keeping people silent. Yet, I am sitting in my own home, not incarcerated. You are a bright enough woman to put those pieces together."

Shit.

Hermione had all but forgotten about that. It had to have been fifteen years earlier, but the name still had that connotation. Corrupt. Hermione realized there were a dozen ways this association between them could end badly. Why would Penelope suggest something this brazen? Hermione's career wasn't in bad enough shape to warrant that risk. She knew she wasn't seeing the full scope of what was happening between her publicist and Narcissa Malfoy. Something pulled at the back of her brain, an idea, if she could just make the connection …

"Why do I feel like you and my publicist laid a trap I was stupid enough to fall for? Wait …" It finally dawned on Hermione. "Fleur and Neville are her clients. I'm not the first person Penelope has sent your way, am I?"

Narcissa Malfoy confirmed, "We have collaborated six times, now."

"And nobody knows?"

"No one knows."

"When Penelope told me you are the best matchmaker in the country, she didn't mean the most well-known. She meant the most successful."

"Correct again."

Hermione said, "I don't trust you, but I trust Penelope with my career. I am willing to be honest with you, but if this doesn't work out, none of us will ever speak of it."

"Silence is the default."

Hermione took a deep breath and said, "Hit me with your questions, then."

Narcissa Malfoy ran through a gamut of questions she could have Googled. How tall are you? What is your middle name? The assistant sat off to the side of the desk, taking copious notes. Where did you attend university? How would you describe your career? Have you been married before?

"Are you attracted to men?"

"Yes."

"Are you attracted to women?"

"No."

Narcissa Malfoy gave no indication whether that answer was a surprise. Her assistant, however, raised her eyebrows and frowned. It wasn't skepticism, though. It almost felt as if she was disappointed.

"What are you looking to gain from this process?"

"Photographs of me on a date with a man; pictures my publicist can send to the press."

Narcissa nodded before amending, "If you were taking this process seriously."

"I am serious."

"Describe your ideal relationship for me, then."

Hermione shrugged.

"I loved my first husband, but we didn't work well together as a couple. We didn't have chemistry together, we just had friendship. He never made me feel excited or nervous the way I thought great love should, and then after I got blown up—"

"Tell me about that."

"Why?" Hermione snapped, suddenly on defense. "It's on the internet."

"Well, I am not on the internet."

Hermione insisted, "I've done the therapy and the physical therapy. I've moved forward."

Narcissa Malfoy gave her a look not much different from Hermione's own mother when she asked,

"Have you?"

"Yes!" Hermione groaned. "Yes, but no one else has. Ron couldn't get past it. I nearly died, I've got scars all over, and after rehab I went back. That is why Ron and I divorced, because he could handle his friend returning to a war zone. He couldn't handle his wife going back. I respect that choice and I believe it was the proper one for both of us. The papers wrote me out to be a ballbusting shrew, that phrase came from The Sun as I recall, who can't maintain a proper marriage. The truth is quite simple: I cared about journalism more than I cared about my relationship. That won't change, so if you can find a man who doesn't mind playing second fiddle to BBC News at Ten and, God willing, the United Nations … Then sign me the hell up."

"It sounds like you are committed to your priorities." Narcissa asked, "Why, then, are you considering the job at BBC Breakfast?"

"If you are in cahoots with my publicist, I suppose you would know about that. Penelope said it would be good to appear on the telly as a less buttoned-up sort of person."

"That is why your publicist is considering it. I am asking why you are considering the transition."

"I'm considering the transition because I am only thirty-four. When the UN Ambassador position opens up next year, I'll only be thirty-five and far younger than the people who have held the role previously. It will be more difficult for the Foreign Secretary to deny me the spot if the country likes me because they see me every morning."

"Hmm."

"Hmm?" repeated Hermione. "Is that an official analysis or—"

"No, Miss Granger. It means I have realized I cannot help you. You are not at a place where you can utilize my services. I apologize for having you drive all this way—"

"WHAT?!" Hermione shouted. "You won't accept me as a client because I'm transitioning to morning television?!"

Somehow, being rejected by the matchmaking service felt more pathetic than having been signed up in the first place. Narcissa Malfoy's voice was frustratingly level when she said,

"I will not accept you as a client because you are about to transition into a position that will make you unhappy, or at least less satisfied with your life and your career. I only take on clients who are dedicated to the process because they are secure in other areas of their life. Continuing with you would be a waste of my time and my current clients' time. You are remarkably insecure about what you want and where you are going."

Hermione looked Narcissa in the eyes and said, "I am not insecure."

"Then tell me what you want, Miss Granger, and where you would like to go."

"I want …" Hermione slumped backward in the chair and admitted, "I want someone in my life who sees me as a person. Just a person. Someone to watch movies with on the sofa under seven different blankets. Yes, the whole left side of my body is permanently mucked-up. I made a war criminal cry on international television. I've been around the world and I just want someone who knows how to, when I walk through the front door, make our home feel better than the rest of the world ever has."

The assistant was scribbling furiously on her pad of paper. Narcissa Malfoy asked Hermione,

"Do you want a family?"

"I … Well, I don't know."

"Consider it, then."

"If I was going to have a child, I would have started trying already." Hermione thought on it a bit, and wondered whether there was any scenario in which a child made sense. Could she be a proper mother? Did she even have the time? "Logically, no. I don't want to begin a family on my own. I suppose … Well, I suppose for the proper person I'd like to be the missing piece of a puzzle that has already been put together."

Narcissa nodded, giving away nothing. Hermione caught the assistant grinning down at her notes as her hand sped across the lines then back again. Hermione took some time to look around the office. The walls were a forest green colour. The windows to the right looked out onto the estate's massive gardens. Hermione watched as staff tended to the plants, bustling about on the ground below. It felt like this might have been a happy home once, but something was missing. The life of the manor had been snuffed out and all that remained was Narcissa Malfoy's icy stare.

Mrs. Malfoy's voice abruptly pulled Hermione from her thoughts. She looked at Hermione as if she was waiting for an answer.

"Did you ask a question?"

"I asked you to describe your ideal partner."

"Funny." Hermione was shocked by how quickly she responded. She added, "I, um, I have a serious career and everyone expects me to be on all the time. Truthfully, I like to laugh. Ron was good at that, making me laugh at the worst times, which made everything that much funnier."

"Anything else?"

"I don't know. If you asked me to describe what I wanted, it's Ron. What I believed I wanted didn't work out in the end, so we are both flying blind on this."

Narcissa asked, "Do you have any physical preferences?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Tall? Short? Handsome? Ginger?"

She shook her head again and insisted, "I don't have any preference. If you can find a man who makes me feel like it's okay to be in one spot for more than an hour at a time? If you can find a man who isn't intimidated by me or my career? What he looks like doesn't matter much."

"Right. Let us return to you, then. What are your hobbies? How do you spend—"

"Mémère Cissa!"

A child's voice sounded from the doorway. Narcissa turned to look and the composed mask finally cracked as she could not hide a smile. Hermione turned to face the doorway as Mrs. Malfoy said,

"Blaise returned you early, mon ange. Where is he?"

"With dad!"

The child was small, with white-blond hair and light grey eyes. He clutched the straps of his purple rucksack with both hands and smiled up at Hermione. Out of habit, she offered her hand and said,

"My name is Hermione Granger."

The small child stepped toward her and shook her hand with an earnest sincerity that eased all the stress Hermione had felt in Narcissa Malfoy's presence.

"I'm Scorpius Malfoy."

"Good to meet you."

"Thanks!" Scorpius grinned up at her. He was missing a tooth on the lower row. "I like you." He looked at his grandmother and asked, "What're you talking about?"

Narcissa quickly glanced at Hermione as if to say, Do not so much as hint at the real reason you are here. To Scorpius, she said,

"I was about to ask Hermione what she likes to do for fun."

"Oh." Scorpius turned back to Hermione and asked, "What do you like to do?"

Hermione leaned on the arm of the chair to be a bit closer, Narcissa and her assistant all but forgotten on the other side of the desk. It was clear that this little boy was the light Malfoy Manor had missed.

"I like to watch movies. Sometimes I like to go shopping. Mostly for shoes," she amended, "because I really enjoy them and I'm rather short. I like when it isn't so hard to reach the top shelf."

Scorpius nodded solemnly and said, with a straight face, "I understand. I'm short, too."

Hermione just barely managed to hold in a laugh before she replied, "Maybe we can go shoe shopping together."

"Yes!"

"But do you want to know my favourite places in the whole world?"

Scorpius's eyes went wide as he shouted, "YES!"

"Libraries," replied Hermione. "I love books."

Scorpius jumped up, clutching his rucksack, practically vibrating out of his skin with excitement.

"I have a library! Do you want to see my library?!"

Hermione would love to see a private estate's library. Even more importantly, though, she wanted to encourage this child's enthusiasm for books. When she was that age, books were her whole world. Hermione glanced toward Narcissa, who nodded the slightest bit. Hermione took that as permission to say yes.

"I would love to see your library."

"Yes!"

Scorpius Malfoy grinned and ran out the door, down the hallway as fast as his tiny feet would take him. Hermione stood up from the chair and made for the door but turned around halfway. She said,

"Before, when you threatened to drop me as a client … You did that to irritate me."

"Yes, I did. It got you to see that there is part of you, however small, that wishes to give this process a try." Narcissa Malfoy added, "I like you, Miss Granger. Take care of my grandson; when he gets excited he tends to trip over his own feet."

As if on cue, a loud thunk sounded from a few metres down the hall. Before anyone could ask, Scorpius shouted,

"I'm okay!"

Hermione shook her head in fond exasperation and followed him to a part of the manor she hadn't seen on the way in. These hallways weren't quite so lifeless anymore. Scorpius stuttered to a stop and pushed open one of the double-doors on the right side. He gestured to the room and said,

"The library!"

And what a library it was. Hermione stepped through the door and her jaw dropped. It spanned nearly the full length of the house with floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall, looking out to the garden. There must've been ten freestanding bookshelves, each with a long table between them. The library was bathed in natural light, and Hermione felt like Grandpa Joe walking into Wonka's Chocolate Factory.

Scorpius took Hermione's hand in his own and pulled her over toward the wall at their left. On it was a massive world map, larger than any she'd ever seen outside a museum. It was beautifully drawn, if a bit outdated. The oceans were textured, patterned with small waves. The largest mountain ranges were shaded as if the sun was rising in the East. It was a breathtaking work of art. Hermione stepped back just to take it all in. Judging by the territorial lines, the map was most likely from the seventies. Scorpius revealed,

"This is the best part of the library."

"Oh," Hermione teased, "it's not the books?"

Scorpius shook his head. He admitted,

"I want to draw like this when I grow up."

"Do you have a favourite country?"

"This one!" Scorpius jumped up, rucksack swinging against his back, pointing to the western side of South America. "Because it looks like a green bean."

"That," Hermione replied, "is Chile."

Scorpius repeated, "Chee-lay."

"Yes. I've been there, actually. It's quite nice. Very beautiful."

"Wow." Scorpius looked up at Hermione with eyes so wide she thought his whole face might break apart from the effort. "Where else did you go?"

"I've been many places. This," she pointed to Brazil, "is where I had my first assignment as a foreign correspondent. Beautiful scenery and great people. Though this place right here, Peru, has the best food. Now this," she moved to Europe and pointed at Greece, "is where my parents took me when I was little. Just a bit older than you, it was our first family vacation I can remember. It's warm and I am always happy when I think about our time there."

"What about," Scorpius jumped up and hit another spot in Europe, "this one?"

"Sorry Scorp, but that one doesn't exist anymore."

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin, then turned around to find a man she assumed was Scorpius's father. He had the same eyes, the same hair, looking like an aged carbon copy of the boy beside her. Scorpius confirmed this by shouting,

"DAD!"

The man grinned and knelt down to scoop Scorpius into a tight hug. Hermione surveyed him as best she could and … wow, he was handsome. Scorpius's father wore a silk button-down with the top four buttons undone. The trousers hugged his bum perfectly. He had long hair, lighter than his mother's, pulled back into a tight bun on the back of his head, though some of it was spilling out. He was wearing a twenty thousand-plus Pound watch on his left wrist. Hell, why bother going through the matchmaking process when—

Wedding band.

Right. He's married. Of course he's married, he has a wonderful son and a business to run. Hermione shook the thought from her head. Scorpius stepped out of his father's embrace and shrugged off his rucksack.

"I have drawings!"

"Of trees?"

Scorpius nodded and pulled out five bits of paper. Before he could get any further, his father said,

"Will you put them in my office? Uncle Blaise is waiting for you."

"Okay." Scorpius turned to face Hermione and held up one of the papers. "This is for you."

"I can't—"

"Please?" Scorpius insisted. "Dad has so many drawings. You need one, too."

"Okay." Hermione accepted the gift and insisted, "But only if I get to give you a gift as well. You and me, shoe shopping."

"Promise?"

Hermione looked over at his father, who winked. She ignored the tiny flutter in her stomach and told Scorpius,

"I promise."

"Yes! Bye, Hermione!"

He was out the door before she could so much as reply. Hermione glanced down at the piece of paper in her hands. It was a crude drawing, but quite clearly a tree with an orange cat curled up at the base. He'd even signed it with a little "S" in the lower-right corner. He'd used two different shades of brown marker for the trunk, and what appeared to be as many shades of green marker as he could find for the leaves. Hermione was overcome with a sudden fondness for this drawing.

"It's a high honor," his father said, standing up to his full height. "He doesn't give artwork to people who aren't family."

"Well we are best friends, now," teased Hermione. "He wrangled me into taking him shopping, and I think we may end up planning a trip to Greece."

"Be warned, he can rack up quite the tab. How so many chips can fit into that tiny body, I will never understand. Apologies for not introducing myself, my name is Draco Malfoy." He offered his hand and said, "I see you've already met the other two generations in the house."

Hermione accepted the handshake and introduced herself as, "Hermione Granger."

"Oh, I know. It's not every day an internationally-renowned journalist gives my five-year-old a geography lesson."

"It's not every day I see a library that makes me want to take up residency."

"You are welcome to use it any time you like. God knows this place doesn't get appreciated enough."

"Seriously?" asked Hermione. "If you mean that, I'll be here every moment I can spare. There is nothing I love more than curling up in the corner of a library with a good book."

"I am serious. When you can find the time, that is, what with you being the personal shopper for my son."

"He's wonderful. You and your wife have raised a great child."

Malfoy's face fell. He looked a bit pained when he said,

"I suppose in a way we have." He took a deep breath then sort of blurted out, "Is it true you're moving to BBC Breakfast?"

"Lovely to know your mum is sharing that bit of information." Hermione hedged, "Nothing is final."

"Hmm."

It was the same judgmental hmm she'd heard from his mother a half hour earlier. Hermione asked,

"Do you have an opinion?"

Malfoy grinned down at her and replied, "Clearly not one that would matter to you."

"True, though I am sure you would be devastated not to see my face on the news between naps."

Draco Malfoy threw his head back and laughed. Hermione was caught off-guard; his mother was so poised and stiff while Draco just … laughed. He gathered his breath and sighed lazily, shaking his head.

"I suppose my mother would have mentioned that."

"It was the opener to a rather invasive line of questioning."

"You don't need to tell me; I grew up with her. Believe it or not, my father was even more terrifying. Did she sit at the desk and stare at you, wordlessly, until you've got no choice except to feel like you haven't met her expectations?"

"Yes, actually."

"I know how easily that can ruin a day. As you can imagine, when I was a child my parents were positively delightful to have 'round at my birthday parties."

Hermione snickered before saying, "I want to know, what do you have against BBC Breakfast?"

"I've got nothing against it, but it would be strange to lose your analysis on foreign policy in favour of you discussing box office numbers and making small talk with the meteorologist about the weather."

"You like my analyses?"

Draco scrunched his nose a bit and shook his head.

"I don't have to like it; I trust what you're telling me is true. If you give me the proper facts I can form opinions for myself. My family aren't the biggest fans of the press, so when I find a reporter I believe …" He shrugged. "You could do the news at two in the morning and I'd still find a way to watch."

"Perhaps I'll pitch it to BBC," teased Hermione. "Granger After Dark."

Draco offered, "Hermione After Hours."

"Ooh, I like that. Maybe a radio show."

"Great catch. Don't tell her I mentioned it, but my mother is mad for women's hour on radio four." Draco shifted on his feet and glanced toward the door. "I really should be getting back to my son, though. He stays with Blaise through the week for primary school in London. I only have him Friday to Sunday—"

"Of course," insisted Hermione. "It was good to meet you."

"Can you find your way out?"

Hermione blanched. Hallway down to Narcissa Malfoy's office. Downstairs. Another hallway. Another hallway. Right? Draco Malfoy raised a single eyebrow and nodded toward the door.

"I'll walk you out."

"No, that's—"

"Please. If I don't, you won't ever find your way out and I'll be running into you in my kitchen on Monday evening instead of seeing your face on the telly."

Hermione nodded.

"Lead the way."

Malfoy nodded and led her out the door and down the hallway. As they descended the staircase Hermione said,

"Your mum mentioned that you run a business?"

"Oh." Draco nodded. "Real estate development. Right before my wife died I also purchased a concrete manufacturing—"

"Oh my God." Hermione's heart dropped straight to her stomach. She paused at the foot of the stairs and insisted, "I am so sorry, I thought—"

"No need." Malfoy shrugged it off. "You made the assumption most people do, which is why I keep the ring on. I may not be married, but my heart is not available for the taking." He nodded for Hermione to keep following him toward the entrance. "It also feels like I have a piece of her with me."

Hermione eventually convinced her feet to move, staring at the floor as she followed Malfoy down yet another hallway. When she didn't say anything, Malfoy turned to look at her over his shoulder.

"Don't go quiet on me now, Granger."

"I don't know what to say."

"Does that happen often?"

"Never."

"Well," Malfoy held the front door open and gestured for her to go through, "I don't know, then. Maybe you're not cut out for the hard-hitting world of BBC Breakfast. Hardened war criminals are one thing, but do you really think you can handle the cutting wit of BAFTA nominees?"

Hermione laughed.

"It's been a strange few hours so I am rather off my game. My publicist didn't tell me why I was coming here until I was already in the car on the road."

"To be fair, my mother is not the sort of person you can prepare for. Now, Blaise drives the Jaguar so I am left to presume the X5 is yours."

There were two vehicles parked in the driveway. A four-door Jaguar with a child's seat in the back, next to the BMW X5 with Hermione's driver sitting behind the wheel. Colin stepped out and made to open the back passenger door.

Hermione insisted, "It belongs to the network. I rent it from them."

"Right, well, it was good to meet you. Perhaps next week I'll ask Blaise to record your program so Scorpius can see his new best friend."

"I would love that. I'll be in touch with your son's publicist so I can put our shopping date on the calendar."

Malfoy chuckled softly and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Hermione awkwardly cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest, careful not to crease the drawing between her fingers. She looked up and, goodness, he was tall. Fit. That silk shirt was hanging a bit loose and if he'd open just a couple more buttons—Hermione put a stop to those thoughts. God, the Malfoys made her feel some sort of way she couldn't name. Draco just said his heart wasn't available. He was unavailable and she was about to pay his mum an insane amount of money to set her up on dates with other people. Hermione glanced at her driver, standing by the open door, waiting.

"I should…"

"Yeah."

She turned to face Draco full-on and asked, "When you see me on the news, what do you think of me?"

"That I can trust you."

"No, but … What I look like. How I sound. Those sorts of things."

"I dunno," Malfoy shrugged. "I don't notice much except that you have incredibly puffy hair. Figure that's where they keep government secrets."

Hermione nodded and made to walk away, but Draco shouted after her.

"Why do you ask?"

She shouted back, "Probably the same reason your friend drove Scorpius two hours through the country in a flashy car: because we can."

Draco laughed again, that same carefree laugh as before. He walked backward toward the steps and waved.

"Be seeing you!"

Hermione nodded then hopped into the back passenger seat. Colin shut the door then made his way to the driver's seat. As he drove the car through the gate, he said,

"Doesn't look like you had a failure in there after all."

"No." Hermione smiled softly at Scorpius's drawing before placing it on the seat next to her. "I think this will go horribly wrong at some point, but failure is not the word I would use for today."

Colin asked, "What word would you use, then?"

"I dunno …" Hermione trailed off, lost in thought. "It feels like I've just been strapped into a roller coaster with no way out." She glanced back at the drawing again and said, "Perhaps this is a ride I am finally ready to take."