"Where exactly are you taking me?" she asked as they rounded yet another long corridor on the second floor of the Manor. The past dozen turns seemed only to have led to another labyrinth of hallways.
"We're nearly there, Granger. It's right through that door." He pointed to the end of the hallway, where stood an elaborately carved oak door, imposing for both its size and impeccable detail.
With a rather sophisticated unlocking spell, the door creaked open to allow the pair entry. Hermione reluctantly stepped over the threshold first, despite the room being entirely blanketed in darkness.
"Lumos," Draco muttered, as the sconces lining the walls ignited a fiery orange.
Hermione gasped at the sight that bloomed to life. "Malfoy, wha-?" Her words died in her throat when her eyes scanned the breadth of the awe-inspiring space.
Draco laughed. "It's not often Hermione Granger is at a loss for words."
"When you said you still dabble in potions, this is most certainly not the image I'd conjured in my mind. This is unbelievable."
She could hardly take in the scope of it all, perhaps not the overall size of the room itself, but the mere extravagance of what it contained. A countertop ran the entire length of one stone wall above which glass-paned cabinetry hung, filled with jars of every herb or fungi that one could ever dream of procuring.
The counter was demarcated into distinctive workspaces, each designed around a pewter cauldron perched directly at its center. She counted each cauldron as her eyes roved the length of the room. Ten. She was lucky to squeeze two cauldrons into the potions room at her flat, a mere clothes wardrobe compared to this one. Several of the cauldrons were emitting a swirling vapor, evidence of their various stages of brewing. As she approached the third cauldron in the rather long chain of workspaces, she inhaled deeply.
"Powdered moonstone, unicorn horn, and porcupine quills. Draught of Peace," she stated plainly, looking over her shoulder at Malfoy for confirmation.
He swiveled to face her. "Ten points to Gryffindor," he said with a wry smile.
"Why do you need extra reserves of Draught of Peace? That's for relieving anxiety and soothing agitation- neither of which you could possibly suffer living here in the lap of luxury."
His crooked smile withered into a strained line as a more somber mood suddenly rent the air around them.
"When you've seen the things I have, then you can inquire as to why I might carry extra reserves of that particular potion."
"I didn't mean to judge, I only meant to-"
"It's fine. Be glad you don't need it, is all I'm saying." He rigidly tucked his hands into his pockets and shifted to sidle past her.
She stood there, unblinking, a slight wrench twisting in her chest at his obscure admission. Admittedly, she hadn't exactly taken much time, if any, to consider what skeletons from the war he carried with him.
One thing was certain, the enigma that was Draco Malfoy continued to confound her. She took a deep breath and scrambled to catch up with him as he came to a halt in front of an antique chiffonier. Her eyes narrowed with interest as he carefully opened the two oversized doors, revealing the object currently needed for their research- a shallow stone basin, adorned with the Malfoy family crest and inscribed with a series of ancient runes. The Pensieve.
"Here it is," he declared blithely as if oblivious to the prior exchange.
She desperately wanted to inquire as to what might be troubling him, ask him why he needed the Draught of Peace, but everything about his cursory countenance told her not to push.
"Is there a place- a table of some sort- where we can get set up?"
He pursed his lips. "I can't say I use this often enough to know where may be fitting, but when I do anything that requires a bit of extra space, I typically head out there." He gestured to a set of double doors on the wall behind him that she hadn't noticed before.
She quirked an eyebrow up at him. "Where exactly is there?"
Muttering yet another wandless unlocking spell, the double doors began their slow glide outwards as near blinding light saturated the hardwood floor of the, by comparison, dark potions room. Hermione squinted, reaching up to shield her eyes from the glaring intrusion. It took a moment for them to adjust, but when they did she found herself yet again flummoxed by what she saw.
Taking several measured steps forward, she crossed the threshold into a domed room entirely made of glass- a conservatory the likes of which she had only ever seen in Victorian magazines. Her covetous eyes momentarily devoured every detail as if they were seeing the world for the very first time before she closed them, inhaling deeply to allow the crisp oxygen-rich air to cleanse her lungs.
There was something about stepping into this enchanting space that transported her to another time and place. Everything was bursting with color. Vibrant red and yellow flowers clawed their way up trellises as their violet and titian counterparts hung from within enchanted pots. Lush foliage meticulously organized by temperature and humidity requirements assembled in a section all their own.
As she absently traversed a winding pathway that hugged the rounded edges of the room, shadows danced across the porcelain tile floor producing a kaleidoscope of asymmetrical patterns.
She paused to gaze out the crystalline window pane toward the sprawling Manor grounds.
The sun fought for dominance and won as silky streaks painted the cerulean sky with wispy white trails. In the distance she could barely make out the fountain visible from the house's library, giving her some indication of the relative position of the Conservatory from within the Manor.
It took immeasurable self-discipline to tear her eyes away from the all-encompassing scene before remembering the reason why she was there in the first place.
She pivoted back around to find Malfoy casually reclined on an oversized crescent-shaped couch at the center of the room, his legs crossed at the ankle upon the glass coffee table in front of him.
His piercing stare held her gaze.
The sun's afternoon rays intensified the angles of his aristocratic features, defining his sharp jawline and illuminating his flawless porcelain skin. His shock-white hair took on a demure silver appearance as the light weaved through each pearly strand-making him look almost regal as it cascaded into his sterling eyes. Images of a Greek god conjured in her mind at the sight of him sitting there, drinking in her every move.
"Do you like what you see?"
She cleared her throat as a flush of color stained her cheeks. "Excuse me?"
"The Conservatory. Do you like what you see?" he clarified, mouth twitching up into a half-smirk.
"It's positively exquisite," she answered with some difficulty, attempting to recover from the momentary distraction of ogling Draco Malfoy while he was sitting there looking like a work of art. She inwardly admonished herself for the unbridled unprofessionalism.
"This is where I spend most of my time. When I'm not at the Ministry, that is." He sat up, casually carding his hands through his hair.
She glanced around covetously. "I can see why."
"It's peaceful. Respite amongst the chaos is how I like to think of it."
She padded over to the sweeping couch and took a seat at his side, close enough to not appear unsociable, but far enough away to not set her pulse on edge with the proximity.
"Are you sure my presence isn't infringing on your tranquility?" she asked with a hint of sarcasm.
His throaty chuckle chased a current up her spine. "As long as you don't go off on one of your unpleasant diatribes, we should be fine."
"I beg your pardon. I do not have unpleasant diatribes- I merely speak with enthusiasm from time to time."
"Call it what you will, Granger. You are the single most volatile witch I have ever had the misfortune of knowing." His mouth curved into a smile when he saw her move to protest. "But as much as I'd like to debate the calamity that is your personality, we are here to get our work done."
He rose to his feet, turning to offer his hand to her. She narrowed her eyes skeptically before taking it as he helped her to stand, the force of it pulling her forward until she landed helplessly in his arms. His firm hold steadied her as she grappled to find her footing. Not for the first time that day, an untamed blush crept up her neck.
"Sorry," she breathed, staring up with wide eyes at his towering form, the heat emanating between their bodies igniting a spark of nervous energy that rippled across her skin.
He looked down at the negligible distance between them. "Better that we get used to this now before tonight when we have a captive audience."
Her heart pounded fiercely in her throat. "Right. I hadn't thought of that."
He leaned down only a fraction of an inch from the shell of her ear and whispered, "You won't succeed in convincing anyone we're smitten with each other if you can't even bear the thought of us touching."
The words burned a trail across her ear and down her neck. Their close proximity intermingling with the charged air between them caused the synapses in her brain to misfire as she unsuccessfully attempted to analyze their current position.
All of a sudden she was acutely aware of the suffocating humidity of the conservatory, oppressive in its weight against her chest, making it nearly impossible to formulate a coherent reply.
But before any words had the opportunity to emerge, Draco stepped back, all but sucking the oxygen from her lungs with the maneuver. A numbing chill spread across her skin, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of moments prior.
"You can't seize up like a corpse every time I come near, Granger. My parents aren't fools."
He swayed with an air of strained irritation before sauntering back into the Potions Room without a backward glance.
It took her a moment to gather up her wits enough to follow him. Years of building up her grit and resolve told her she would not take his unwarranted criticism lying down.
In the heavy darkness of the Potions Room, she caught up to the contentious wizard, tugging him around by the sleeve to face her. "It isn't my fault you've found yourself in this predicament. The least of your concerns should be our apparent lack of chemistry. Have you even stopped for a moment to consider what your parents might think of you sullying yourself with a witch of dirty blood?"
She glared up at him challengingly, taken aback by the way the reflection from the sconce's flames ominously contorted his face. A distinct contradiction to the striking wizard of the Conservatory.
His schooled features revealed nothing as he replied in a dull tone. "My parents no longer think that way."
Her chest rose and fell as she reigned herself in for her next round of questions. "If they are so reformed, then why are they forcing you into an arranged marriage in the first place?"
"I wouldn't expect you to understand centuries of Pureblood tradition, Granger. It's always been that way, it will always be that way. No witch or wizard I know has ever been afforded the luxury of marrying for love. At least not from my family tree." He choked out a bitter laugh.
"Not even your parents?" she asked incredulously.
"Especially not my parents," he said. "My father was betrothed to Bellatrix right up until the moment she ran off with Rodolphus. The Black family was horrified and only offered up my mother in her stead to save face for the blatant indiscretion. That's how they ended up together, not by some fanciful fairytale. So whether or not my parents believe I've fallen broom over handle in love with you is of no consequence to the final outcome. It will only bide me some time to figure it out on my own." A muscle twitched in his jaw at the admission.
"So you're saying regardless of what happens, your fate is inescapable?" She looked at him as if he'd grown two heads.
"Why are you so worried about it?" he asked, leering down at her. "By then you'll be up to your eyeballs with red-headed Weasley-spawns, my calamitous predicament long-since forgotten."
She rolled her eyes at the blatantly outlandish foretelling.
"For the last time, Ron and I are not together. And furthermore, even a well-aimed Obliviate would render it impossible for me to forget this calamitous predicament."
She smiled up at him with a false cheerfulness before stepping forward to reach into the chiffonier. "Just know that regardless of the outcome, this corpse is not going to let you go it alone."
He huffed in reply. "I'm not one of your charity cases, Granger."
She inclined her chin, smiling more fully as she moved past him with the Pensieve carefully balanced in her hands. "No, but you are my fake boyfriend and I like to be sure all my fake boyfriends are properly supported in their respective endeavors."
He had no choice but to follow her into the Conservatory.
"Exactly how many fake boyfriends do you have?"
"Right now, only you. But I imagine there will be more once they see the success of this one."
"Is that so? You seem overly-confident for a witch who only moments ago turned into a slow-moving glacier at my mere touch."
She reached down to gently place the Pensieve onto the glass table in front of the couch. "Perhaps I wasn't aware of how calamitous your predicament was at the time," she said, standing upright with both hands on her hips. "Besides, I didn't see you winning any awards for Most-Convincing-Cad."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means worry about your own performance, not mine. I've never shirked away from a challenge before and I don't intend to now." She reached her arm into the depths of her beaded bag shuffling through its sundry contents. "Now come over here so we can have a look at these." She placed the worn rack containing the memories down on the table next to the Pensieve. "Which one should we have a look at first?"
He rounded the corner of the sofa and came to a halt next to her. "I suppose it hardly matters since we've no idea whose memories they even are." He reached down, plucking one of the vials from its receptacle. "This one is as good as any."
She nodded, pulling the strap from her beaded bag over her head and placing the satchel on the couch. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" she asked, looking over at him with unease.
"As ready as I'll ever be," he answered, as he unstoppered the tube and poured the fibrous liquid into the bowl.
They gave each other one final cursory glance before leaning over in unison and tumbling head over feet into the basin.
Mere moments later, they landed with a thud within a dimly lit room.
As the memory came into focus, Hermione noticed that everything around them appeared somewhat obscured, not in a way that indicated the memory had been tampered with, but reflecting perhaps diminished quality from the passage of time. Draco's furrowed brow as he took in their surroundings told her he recognized it too.
In the center of the room, three youthful women convened. One of overt royalty reclined upon a golden chaise, wearing a pharaonic headdress that Hermione had seen countless times throughout her study of ancient civilizations. This one appeared to be distinctly Egyptian.
The other two women were hunched over closely at her side communicating in hushed whispers while the regal woman struggled to unfurl a small piece of parchment from within a tear in the chaise's cushion.
She and Malfoy ambled closer to see if they could overhear their muted conversation.
As their hushed tones became more audible with the increased proximity, Hermione noted they were speaking a language she couldn't fully discern. But from what little she could glean from the intonation it was likely Greek.
Glancing up, she saw faint rays of light pouring in from a small opening in the towering structure, illuminating the small area where they stood. Behind the three women, a soaring heap of treasure lay piled several meters high, glinting in the errant daylight's reflection. She looked back over her shoulder to find Malfoy crouched down alongside the women watching and listening with rapt attention.
"What's happening?"
"Shhhhh! I'm trying to listen."
Hermione wanted to call him out for his feeble attempt at confidence, considering he remained blissfully unaware they were speaking a foreign language, but she decided it would be more prudent to instead have a look around to unravel the significance of the memory.
Everything about the room and these women felt strikingly familiar, although she couldn't quite place why. The Egyptian woman, the imposing stone structure, the heap of treasure- until it hit her with the force of a rogue bludger.
"Malfoy!" she hissed. "Malfoy!"
"Shut it, Granger!" he seethed.
She darted over to where he crouched, bending forward and whispering animatedly in his ear. "Draco, it's Cleopatra! And these are her two maidservants! Malfoy, we're in her mausoleum in Alexandria- where if legend is to be believed, she dies from the bite of a poisonous asp!" Suddenly grasping the gruesome weight of her assertion, she glanced around apprehensively in search of the slithery creature.
"I'm already aware of that fact, Granger! Now if you please, give me another moment without you hissing in my ear!"
She backed away plainly affronted, her mood suddenly shifting as she watched a steady stream of tears run down the sovereign's face, a look of utter despair and agony marring her otherwise beautiful features.
The woman leaned forward to engulf each of her maidservants in a hopeless embrace before reaching over the edge of the chaise to a table where a lone flower lay housed in a pot out of view.
She picked it up, placing it onto her lap as Hermione gasped.
"It's the Soleada!" She bent over, smacking Draco on the shoulder. "Malfoy!"
"Yes, Granger! I have a pair of eyes that can see exactly what you are seeing!" he snapped. "Now put a lid on it so we can see what happens next!"
The two attendants nodded their heads in solemn acknowledgment before taking the flower from her outstretched hands and rising to stand. With a guarded shuffle, the taller of the two women assisted in adjusting the woman's headdress and supported her head as she restlessly moved to recline across the length of the chaise.
With a final bow, they slinked out the tomb's massive door and as they went, the memory deteriorated into obscurity, tossing Hermione and Draco back out onto the floor of the Conservatory.
"For fuck's sake, Granger! Next time I'm casting a Silencio on you before we leave!" he bit out sharply while simultaneously adjusting his disheveled robes. "Of all the occasions you choose to begin a discourse on your field of vision, it's this one! Could I have made it any more clear that I was attempting to hear what they were saying?"
She endeavored and failed to settle her unruly hair while moving to launch herself at him in self-defense. "They were speaking Greek, Malfoy! Forgive me if I thought listening to what they were saying was a lost cause!"
"You can't be serious right now." He scrutinized her through narrowed eyes, but she remained unflappable with her chin jutted out and both hands pressing hard into her hips. "Might it ever have occurred to you that I'm proficient in the Greek language and was on the verge of a rather momentous discovery when you decided it would be the perfect time to come over and whisper all your life's secrets in my ear?"
"You what?" Her eyes widened in disbelief as she stepped back, abject bewilderment etched across her face.
"Yes, Granger- I know Greek. Don't act surprised."
"Well, I nev-"
"Right. You never stopped to consider it."
"Malfoy, I'm sorr-"
"Yes, it seems to be a nasty habit of yours- always underestimating my capabilities. I'm not Potthead or Weasel. I can function perfectly well without requiring the use of that oversized brain of yours."
She exerted great effort to stare down at the floor, nodding in contrition. "I know you can."
After a protracted moment of being able to hear a pin drop, she blinked up at him with doleful eyes. "Look, I'm sorry, Malfoy. I admit, I underestimated you. It's just- I'm not used to working with someone who brings their own set of talents to the table. Please understand, I am trying."
Their eyes locked in a feverish exchange hovering somewhere between acrimony and absolution.
"Don't look at me like that, Granger. You look like a lost puppy."
He sniffed indifferently, looking away.
"So does that mean you forgive me?"
"It means for now I'm willing to give you another chance- and let's hope that this time you don't muck it up."
He risked a glance down at her, intending on his assertion being a firm reprimand but when he saw her smiling up at him, his resolve collapsed.
"Let's get on with this," he clipped, all at once gesturing to the Pensieve. "Have a seat and I'll tell you what I heard."
Hermione shoved her beaded bag aside and reclaimed the seat she'd inhabited earlier, watching as Draco did the same. "I was just telling Ron and Harry about the Ptolemaic Dynasty the other night- I can't believe this somehow has anything to do with Cleopatra."
"It has everything to do with Cleopatra from the sound of it. After what I saw and heard, I am certain this is what MacNair and his cohort are after."
"What did they say?"
"Well, first of all, it's not just about what they said. Cleopatra passed a piece of parchment into the other woman's hand and wait until you hear what was on it."
"What?"
"A list of ingredients," he declared. "And from what I saw, they were the same ones recorded on that bit of parchment you gave me from Potter."
"Really? Did she say why- did she give her any information to go along with it?"
"She told her it was the lifeline to her legacy. Said in order to fulfill some Ouroboros Prophecy, she needed to do as she asked until her son arrived."
"The Ouroboros Prophecy?" she asked, brows furrowing in thoughtful concentration as she pressed a finger to her bottom lip and gnawed at the skin.
He studied her pensive face until he could no longer handle the intrigue.
"What is it, Granger? What is the Ouroboros Prophecy?"
"Well, I'm not entirely sure what the Ouroboros Prophecy is, but I do know that the ouroboros is a circular symbol- of a snake devouring its own tail- that originated during ancient times. It is said to represent the eternal cycle of destruction and rebirth. So, I'm guessing if there was a prophecy made about it, perhaps Cleopatra's death could be the destruction and something pertaining to the lifeline to her legacy is the rebirth?"
He paused to consider it.
"How is it you're always a seemingly bottomless pit of randomly useful information? You've no idea how much it pains me to say this, but you can be pretty brilliant when you want to be, you know that?"
His eyes glinted in awe as they roved her contemplative face before a wide grin washed across her.
"That means a lot coming from you," she said wryly before wiping her sweaty palms on her lap. "Did she say anything else about her son?"
"Not exactly. Just that at some point her son would come looking for the flower and that the maidservant would know it was him by what he brought with him."
"Hmmmm." Hermione took another long moment to process the additional information. "Did she happen to say why she was entrusting her with something so important?"
His face flickered with something that could have been mistaken for sorrow had it not been for the fact that Malfoy was proficient at schooling his features.
"It sounded like she didn't have a choice in the matter. Those tears you saw falling- she had just learned Mark Antony had taken his life by the tip of his sword. She had to have known her own death was near- particularly if we're going off the assumption they used the Soleada to tether their lives to one another. I'm guessing her only hope was to carry on their legacy through her son."
"But we all know that's not what happened," she interjected, all of a sudden sitting more upright in her seat. "The Ptolemaic Dynasty fell with Augustus Caesar. So are we to assume her son never found her maidservant?"
The mystifying inquiry hung heavily in the silence between them.
Outside the cirrus clouds swept through the clear blue sky along with the easterly winds while inside the air was thick with consternation.
Hermione knew they were agonizingly close to making a connection between the past events and those of the present. The question remained of how the Soleada flower migrated from the maidservant's hands to Miriam Strout's over two thousand years later. And who would be the likeliest person to still be seeking it out if Cleopatra's son did not in fact succeed in acquiring it?
"Does any part of you think that the maidservant is Miriam Strout?"
"What?" she asked incredulously.
"Hear me out. If this Soleada flower is said to tether one's life to another, who's to say the maidservant wasn't instructed to utilize it until Cleopatra's son arrived. If we're to assume he never found her- as evidenced by the fall of the dynasty- perhaps she never gave up on the endeavor and is still alive somewhere? Well, she was alive," he amended. "Right up unto the point where someone did come. That's probably why she kept this memory locked up in a safe under her kitchen. She knew one day it would be the answer to some long-lingering questions."
"Perhaps. But after a while, she would have known he'd never be coming I'm sure. Was she really going to wait forever?"
"Maybe she'd made an unbreakable vow. I mean, we only saw a small fraction of what happened."
She paused seeming to consider it. "I suppose anything is possible at this point." Mindlessly fiddling with the fabric of her jumper, she added, "Have you considered who the other woman that was with them might be?"
"She's undoubtedly a part of all this," he answered without hesitation. "If I had my guess, I'd say she's who Miriam tethered to. And there's only one way to test out my little theory." He stood up and began to pace pensively along the outer edge of the couch.
"Which is?"
"Which is as I said before, we need to go to Egypt."
She rolled her eyes and huffed in opposition. "I think our research is coming along just fine without traveling thousands of kilometers away to Egypt."
"Granger, someone died at nearly the exact same time Strout did," he pointed out, his voice the usual pitch of self-assuredness. "And I'd be willing to bet it's the other maidservant. The only evidence we'll need to prove my theory is correct is if there's a body somewhere with no birth record and no next of kin."
"Malfoy, the woman could be anywhere in the world if you base it off the fact that Miriam was in Britain. What makes you think she would still be in Egypt?"
"Just going off the notion of looking in the last place she was known to be," he replied shrugging.
She chuckled under her breath. "Yes, the last place she was known to be two thousand years ago. Am I the only one who sees a problem with that logic?"
"Do you have a better plan to offer up?" he asked, eyebrows raised in indignation.
She sighed, her head dropping into the palm of her hand. "No, but this plan seems pretty flimsy if I'm being honest."
"Flimsy or not, it's a plan."
"I suppose."
Just then a muffled rumble issued from her stomach announcing to the room its dire need for sustenance.
She clutched herself loosely around her middle, cheeks lightly flushing. "Sorry. I skipped breakfast this morning in my rush to get to the Ministry."
"No worry. I can have Baron bring us a service if you'd like."
"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude. I can run into Diagon and grab something quickly. It should only take but a minute." She hastened to depart but Malfoy was quick to stand in her path.
"I wouldn't have offered if it were any trouble."
He was so close, she suddenly found herself afraid to incline her head.
"Right, well. I don't want to impose. It's nearing the lunch hour anyway and I would never assume we'd be taking it together."
He leaned down until his eyes were level with hers, placing heavy hands upon her pliant shoulders. "What kind of a fake boyfriend would I be if I didn't offer to provide lunch for my peckish girlfriend?"
Hermione hoped the flush in her cheeks could pass for exercise, but seeing as she'd been seated for well over twenty minutes, it was a bit of a stretch.
"When you put it that way, it makes perfect sense," she said only slightly above a whisper.
Something in her stomach fluttered, much like the riotous pixies from second year, suggesting perhaps she'd waited much too long to have a meal.
He took her hand in his, brushing his warm lips across her knuckles, muttering blithely, "Anything for you, my love," before sweeping away into the darkened corridor of the Potions Room.
It took a moment for her to realize the pixies had given way to a dizzying feeling, causing her to sit back down on the sofa. Her head involuntarily fell back against the edge of the cushion, dark lashes fluttering against her cheek.
Why did Malfoy keep it so blasted hot in the Conservatory? Rationally, she knew the reason why- the plants required a maintained temperature of between 26 and 30 degrees Celsius. But the more time she spent there, the more she considered the heat and humidity to be a detriment to her overall enjoyment of the space.
"He should be here with food in just a moment."
Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see Malfoy nimbly approaching from behind. She quickly sat up, irritated by how suddenly out of sorts she felt.
"Everything alright?" he asked, artfully affecting a concerned drawl.
"I think I've just been overcome by the heat as well as my rather unfortunately boisterous hunger," she replied, taking the wand from her pocket and muttering a cooling charm.
"It is quite warm." He made swift work of slipping his outer cloak from around his shoulders and tossing it over the arm of the couch. "It might help if you remove some layers," he said, bemused at the seemingly obvious advice.
She swallowed, trying not to eye the contours of his chest.
"Right." She stood up, shaking off her cloak while also forcefully attempting to tamp down the gravely unfamiliar uneasiness in her stomach that occurred when Malfoy took it from her and placed it next to his on the couch.
"Better?"
"Much," she said, even though her mind was still spinning with thoughts that had never plagued her before like when did Malfoy become so bloody fit.
She sighed, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. She could admit to herself at the very least, he had quite obvious alluring physical attributes that were notorious for intriguing many a witch, Hermione just never before had counted herself one of them.
"You sure you're alright, Granger?" he asked with a smirk after catching her eyes roving. He placed the back of his hand on her forehead which then trailed down to cup her cheek.
She swatted it away. "Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Or at least I will be once I get some food in me."
"Always so temperamental," he said, turning away stiffly and transfiguring the end table into a larger space where they could eat their lunch together.
He hesitated before looking over his shoulder at her rooted to the spot and inquired with a throaty chuckle, "Do you plan on taking your lunch at the coffee table?"
She shook her head with mirthless exasperation before tottering over and helping him to transfigure chairs from two throw pillows.
Once they were seated comfortably, Hermione asked the question that was currently niggling at the back of her mind. "So, how does MacNair fit in with all of this?"
"How did he fit in with Voldemort?" he countered. "He's a shady sod- always has been. People like that always seem to end up with other dregs of society."
"Right, but how-"
"Granger, I'm on my lunch break. So if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not hash out the case while I'm fixing to tuck in."
Hermione stifled a laugh. "Ok, Malfoy. No talk of the case. What then did you have in mind for your little time out, sitting here and staring at one another?"
"There are plenty of other things to talk about," he said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Hermione noted the telling shift in his position before he looked across to face her. "Like our backstory, for example."
"Our backstory?"
"Yes, Granger. Our backstory. Like what we're going to tell my parents about how we met, when we started courting, etcetera. In case you've forgotten, both my parents are Slytherins. If this little sham has any chance of floating, we need to be one step ahead of them."
She flashed him a dubious stare. "You seem to have given this a lot of thought."
He met her stare head-on. "I have a lot more riding on this than you do."
"We met at a book-signing. A few weeks ago. You invited me to lunch. I accepted. We hit it off and now here we are."
Draco huffed, shaking his head. "You can't be serious. We met at a book-signing, had lunch, and then I bring you home to meet my parents? That is the most pathetic backstory I have ever had the misfortune of hearing. Also, completely implausible."
"What exactly is so implausible about it?" she challenged, leaning forward with a severe look on her face.
"It's implausible because it would never happen that way."
"Well, seeing as you seem to be the backstory expert- how exactly did it happen then?"
"We met at a Ministry gala. Several months ago. I invited you to dinner at the Manor. Flawlessly prepared it myself, by the way. We enjoyed each other's company immensely and agreed to a second date. I've been actively courting you ever since and could very much see a future with you should you see fit to allow it."
She swallowed hard, momentarily caught up in the description of their blurred reality. "Right, well- we'll go with your version of events then- seeing as I was blissfully unaware it was still the 1920s."
"I come from a family where propriety takes precedence over practicality," he pointed out stiffly, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. "A certain code of conduct must be employed when establishing a romantic relationship and my deportment in that regard must never come into question."
"I see," she replied with a wry smile. "My apologies for outlining such an unconventional way of doing things. I'll be sure tonight to make no mention of book-signings, or lunch, or-"
"Miss!" Baron squealed, bowing so low to the floor Hermione could barely see him beyond the lunch cart. "Baron hoped he'd be seeing you again! Master Draco never has a witch-"
"What have you brought for the Missus today?" Draco cut in, glowering down at the house-elf and pointedly avoiding eye contact with Hermione.
"Baron brings cold meats, buttered bread, chutney, pickles and tomato soup," he replied proudly, lifting the tray from the cart and placing it on the table between them. He made a particularly grand display of laying each linen across their laps and painstakingly setting out the elaborate tea service. "And the Yorkshire pudding will bees coming out shortly."
Hermione's stomach rumbled at the sight of the mouthwatering spread. "Thank you, Baron. This is quite lovely." She moved to pat him gently on the head, but he had already bent over in overt reverence for his permitted service.
"Yes, thank you, Baron. "I'll call you when we've finished."
There was a considerable silence that descended on the room with his departure. A comfortable shifting of plates and silverware, offerings and acceptings.
"Everything look up to your standards?" he asked drily when they had begun to tuck in.
Her eyes fluttered shut at the first taste of the warm tomato soup on her tongue. "If I lived here, I'm not sure I'd ever have cause to leave."
"There are plenty of spare rooms- you could have your pick," he offered up, humorously indulging her. "I'm sure Baron wouldn't mind- he seems to be quite taken with you."
She blinked in amusement.
"It may look like some sort of fool's paradise here, but I assure you, the Manor does have its drawbacks."
"From what I've seen, I can't imagine what those are."
"For starters, it's much too large for one person."
Hermione snorted inelegantly. "Too much space? I somehow fail to see how that's a problem."
"Secondly," he added, furrowing his brow, "there are far too many bleak memories here to ever find joy again within these walls."
She froze for a moment, tensing slightly.
It was on the floor of the Manor drawing room that her worst nightmare came to fruition at the end of seventh year. The end result, an offensive slur carved into her arm by his deranged aunt's cursed blade, earning her a lifetime worth of traumatic flashbacks.
She had never given a spare thought to how watching the torture unfold may have affected the wizard sitting across from her. Her recollection of that chilling moment had only been from her vantage point.
Perhaps she needed to have another look.
She hoped he'd have the good sense not to bring up the subject over lunch, but when she peered at him through her copper lashes, his face was all the confirmation she needed that yes, they were definitely going to go there.
"I replay that moment in my head every single day," he confessed, jaw tightening in a way that reflected the emotion he fought to hold back. "And I wish I would have done something- anything- other than stand there like a coward and let it happen."
"I don't think you are a coward." She shook her head, hand reaching forward to place over his. "Malfoy, your aunt would have killed you on the spot if you dared to intervene. There was nothing you could have done- nothing anyone could have done- to change what happened that day."
His head dipped, staring at their conjoined hands, and trying to absorb her absolution.
"Whether or not that's the case, that day haunts me- and probably will for the rest of my existence."
"Malfoy, look at me. It does neither of us any good to dwell on the past. That only gives them power of which they're undeserving. It haunts me too, believe me, it does- but I don't let it define me- or better yet, consume me. And you shouldn't either. The fact that you are sitting here, with the likes of me, tells me everything I need to know about who you are as a person."
"The likes of you? What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
"That I'm Muggleborn," she stated plainly. "That you are able to be here with me tells me you've moved past some of your former childhood prejudices."
Something in his brain fractured at her words. He shook his head in disgust, drawing back his hand from her grasp. "Is that what you think? That I'm doing you some sort of favor by allowing you to remain in my company?"
Her brow furrowed, confusion suddenly marring her face. "That's not what I said. I only meant-"
"Because you are the single most brilliant witch I have ever met- Muggleborn or not. And if you think for one second that I'm going to allow you to think you're some sort of consolation prize of my supposed reformation, you're wrong. I never should have treated you the way I did. No one should have. I don't deserve some sort of a medal because I allow you to be in my company. If anything you deserve a medal for allowing me to be in yours." His voice elevated uncharacteristically as he lurched forward in his seat raking a hand through his hair.
She reached again for him, this time gently resting her hand on his arm. "We both can do a better job of understanding one another, Malfoy. I've made mistakes too when it comes to you- always assuming the worst. Neither of us is perfect. But we're growing and learning and changing every day. And that's what matters. Look forward- make new memories that allow you to forget the old- or at the very least, not dwell on them. This Manor may contain the ghosts of your past, but I assure you, they won't remain if you don't allow them to."
He released a stifled breath. "Only you could turn a work lunch break into a bloody circus of emotion, Granger. Maybe you are lucky I keep you around after all."
Hermione's grin spread into a smile. "I'd say it's no small feat we've yet to kill each other- or at the very least severely maim one another. I'll take that as a step in the right direction."
He managed a crooked smile as he shifted to continue assembling his deli sandwich.
"So, what are the other drawbacks?"
"Drawbacks?" he asked, inclining his brow.
"Drawbacks to living at the Manor. You stated it's much too large and holds too many bleak memories- but, is there more than that?"
She popped an extra-tart gherkin into her mouth, savoring the initial crunch as it ground between her teeth.
"Merlin, Granger, we're back to that?" he chided, rolling his eyes. "It wasn't enough that I already laid my soul out on the table for you? You have to come back for more." He shook his head in feigned condemnation, his pursed lips revealing a rather charming dimple she'd never noticed before.
"I didn't know it was such a sore subject. Forgive me- I'm still trying to riddle out the mystery that is Draco Malfoy. Your Gringotts vault is bursting at the seams, yet you remain residing in a home that causes you such immense distress. It's a rather intriguing incongruity."
"Add this to the rather lengthy list of Pureblood customs you'll never quite understand," he sighed, growing impatient with having to address yet another of his family's expectations.
"They're forcing you to live here?" she asked, validating for him her naivety on the matter.
"Right now my father remains the Patriarch of our family, despite the fact that he no longer resides here. However, someday when he is no longer with us, I will assume that role- and the expectation is that I will carry on the Malfoy tradition of marrying and living with my family in our ancestral home."
The way he described it seemed so emotionally detached, she wondered if he'd rehearsed it. "I see. So this is yet another matter you've no say in then I take it."
He didn't look up from his plate, confirming what she already knew.
He set down his fork with a clatter, opting instead for a sip of tea. "We've talked a lot about my family, but I've yet to hear you mention yours. Are you an orphan or just heavily guarded in your privacy?"
She felt the question fall like a boulder into the harrowing depths of her stomach. The topic of her family wasn't one she talked about frequently, least of all with someone she barely knew. But Malfoy had been so candid about his struggles that she felt it only fair to do the same.
"Well, first of all, I'm an only child- so I suppose we do have that in common." She forced a smile, tucking an unruly lock of chestnut hair behind her ear. "And my parents- well, I don't exactly see much of my parents. Anymore, that is."
Draco's brow furrowed, a look of intrigue written across his face. "And why is that?"
She remained momentarily silent, searching for the appropriate words to relay the tragic story of her family's estrangement.
"Well, they don't exactly remember me," she began, shrugging away her despair with a twitch of her shoulder. Seeing his look of confusion, she added, "During the war, when the Death Eaters were killing Muggles and Muggleborns, I Obliviated them and sent them to Australia- for their safety." A lump began to form in her throat at the agonizing recollection. "And well, when the war ended, I went there to try to reverse the charm- and let's just say, thus far, I've been unsuccessful."
The silence that invaded the room was so deafening it pervaded her senses, causing her to hear acutely each heartbeat, each breath as if she were in an echo chamber. She would have wondered if he'd heard her, had it not been for the pained look that marred his features.
"I had no idea," he finally uttered with considerable effort, looking up with something akin to pity in his eyes.
"It's fine," she replied with a tremble in her voice. "They seem perfectly happy with their life- blissfully unaware that they have a daughter."
Tears were threatening to escape, but she sniffed them away.
Draco's eyes never left hers as he made quick work of sliding his chair across the floor, coming to a halt directly beside her. He deftly tucked his outstretched arm behind her head and pulled it down to rest delicately against his shoulder. "Fuck, Granger. I'm so sorry."
A stray tear broke free and slipped down her cheek and he swiftly moved to swipe it away. Some baser instinct at seeing her sorrow caused an unfamiliar desire to mend her pain.
"Granger, I swear to Merlin- when this case is solved, I will go to the ends of the earth to help you make this right. My family has connections to the best healers money can provide. We'll stop at nothing." He paused, his head sinking with shame. "Fuck, this is all my fucking fault."
"Would you please stop blaming yourself for everything? Look at me. You were just as much a victim in all of this as I was. What happened with my parents is not your fault. If anything, it's mine." He was shaking his head in disagreement as she continued to speak. "At the time it was the only way I could think to protect them. They're alive, Malfoy- and right now that's all that matters. But I don't blame you- and you most certainly shouldn't be blaming yourself."
He seemed to take in every single one of her conciliatory words. "I will do everything in my power to make this right," he assured her, the look of sheer determination in his eyes. "It quite literally may be the only thing I can do to make at least one blasted thing from the war right." He blew out a huff, shaking his head. "And to think, you've been sitting here listening to me go on about my meddlesome parents when you-"
"It's alright, Malfoy. I'm hardly alone in this world. The Weasleys are practically family in their own right. And I have Harry and Ron- and of course, Crookshanks."
"Ugh, you had to bring up that nettlesome monster," he decried, raking his hand emphatically through his hair.
She gave his shoulder a playful shove. "Crookshanks is not a monster!"
"Perhaps not, but he is quite assuredly walking around masquerading as one then."
"Would you stop," she chuckled, eyes glinting with levity. "Crookshanks welcomed you into his world without so much as flinching and this is how you show your gratitude?"
Malfoy snorted as he inched his chair back into place on the other side of the table. "Forgive me for not showing your cat proper gratitude. I mean seriously, do you even hear what you're saying?"
"All I'm saying is he's never taken a liking to anybody before and he seems to like you- although I'm not exactly sure why, "she added under her breath with a twisted smirk. "But the least you could do is give him a chance. He's quite charming once you get to know him."
"You speak of him as if he's huma-"
"Is the missus ready for Baron's Yorkshire pudding?" Baron popped into the room, precariously balancing a tray of sweets on his shoulder.
"Why, yes, Baron- that looks absolutely delightful." She gave Malfoy a reproachful look that said don't you dare scold the elf for coming back before having been called.
Baron made quick work of setting the tray down on the table and refilling their teacups. "Will missus be staying for dinner?" he asked Hermione hopefully as she reached for a serving of pudding.
"Oh, um- no, Baron. Master Draco and I have some business outside the Manor to tend to this evening so we'll be-"
"Will missus be here tomorrow for lunch?" he asked, his bright orbs shining at her imploringly.
"Why, no, Baron. I'll be at work tomorrow." She squinted across at Draco who was unhelpfully eyeing the exchange with an entertained grin and making no move to intervene on her behalf. "Perhaps I'll be back some other time though."
The elf bowed low to the ground, seemingly satisfied with her response. "Baron will be back soon to clear your dishes." And with a pop he vanished.
"I told you he is quite taken with you."
"You mean to say he's not equally pleasant with all your house guests?"
"Apart from Theo and his revolting habit of dropping by uninvited, I wouldn't exactly say I have a plethora of house guests here at the Manor."
"I see," she said, before taking the first bite of Yorkshire pudding. "Gods this is good," she hummed. "You should have some." She pushed the dessert tray closer to him.
"I would, but we need to get back to work if we're going to finish up in time to get to France- no rush, of course- enjoy the pudding. It's one of Baron's finest concoctions." He glanced at his watch. "I wonder when Potter is going to get here with the Portkey."
"Harry's nothing if not reliable," she assured him. "He'll be here."
When lunch concluded and Baron returned to clear their dishes, the pair reclaimed their seats on the sofa and resumed their perusal of Miriam's memories.
The second and far more recent memory left them more perplexed than had they not seen it at all. Neither could sort out the significance of being deposited into a back room of St. Mungos, alongside Miriam and MacNair, on the night Broderick Bode was murdered. At the very least, it drew a parallel between the two, confirming that they once knew each other- but it left more questions than answers as to the true nature of their relationship.
The night of the Broderick Bode murder, as the sole healer on duty, Miriam had been brewing a potion in the back room of the hospital, when suddenly, movement from the outer hallway startled the witch. In a rather charged exchange of words, MacNair exacted her silence regarding his crime for that of his own, leaving Draco and Hermione to wonder what specifically she had been doing that could possibly have warranted the sobering force of blackmail. They mulled over what they saw for the better part of an hour before Harry finally arrived with the Portkey.
After filling him in on the most recent case developments, Harry departed, leaving Draco and Hermione in the Potions Room casting diagnostic spells on the trace potion residue Hermione had retrieved from the cauldrons at Miriam's residence.
"I'm glad I thought to take these." Hermione jotted down on her parchment the last of the ingredients. "With mistletoe berries and newt spleens, that gives us an exact match to the ingredients list Ingrid provided. Miriam was brewing what MacNair and his partner are after." She looked up, studying Draco's contemplative face. "Which means, they are attempting to brew the exact same potion Cleopatra instructed her maidservant to make. This is it! This is exactly the link we needed to confirm what we already suspected."
"It may confirm what we already suspected, but we're no bloody closer to finding out why they want it- or better yet, how to stop them." His frustration was slowly edging to the surface, seeping through in his brusque tone. "And who the fuck is that tosser MacNair is running around with anyway? Until we find out who he is, we're-"
"Malfoy, we're making progress. We're not going to learn everything there is to know overnight. It's obvious you're growing tired from all the work we've put in today. I'll tidy up." She began gathering up her parchment and quill, placing them into her beaded bag along with the vials. "Let's break for the day. I should be getting home to Crookshanks anyway. We'll regroup for a spell and then fix to leave the Manor for your parents' house at - what time are they expecting us?"
Malfoy looked over to a place just beyond her shoulder, shoving his hands into his front pockets. "Well- they're not exactly expecting us per se."
"What do you mean they're not expecting us? Did you not tell them we're coming?"
"If my father knows we're coming, he'll have plenty of time to coordinate his counter-efforts. I'd rather not give him the upper hand."
"So we're basically going to ambush them is what you're saying- that should go well." She crossed her arms over her chest, mouth twitching in a barely-concealed smile.
He smirked, raising a brow in challenge. "Are you having second thoughts, Granger?"
"I'm in far too deep at this point. Much too late to turn back now."
"Then be ready at five. I'll come by to collect you and we can Portkey from your flat."
"And what does one wear to Chateau Malfoy when being introduced to the Lady and Lord of the Manor?" she asked, intimating her finest French accent.
His eyes narrowed. "I hardly think that matters, seeing as we will only be there long enough to exchange pleasantries and retrieve the book."
"Fair enough. I will see you then at five, my Lord."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "For the love of Circe, Granger, lose the accent."
