Chapter 7: They Come to the Land Down Under

Draco wasn't sure what he hated more: the relentless cacophony of the Australian birds outside—a shrieking, chittering noise that sounded like the jungle had declared war on his ears—or Granger's insistence that they leave their hotel rooms before 8 a.m. to sample what she referred to as the "best coffee in the world." He was skeptical, to say the least, and in any case, why must it be sampled at such an indecent hour?

Perhaps it was the fact that, somehow, he'd been coerced into joining this ridiculous charade with a woman who, at best, barely tolerated him. Yet here they were, him on his second cup of something outrageously overpriced called a flat white. Granger, of course, wasn't even drinking coffee. She sipped tea, prim as you please, and Draco fought the irrational urge to find this offensive.

Their so-called "cultural liaison," Deb, sat across from them, her posture casual yet radiating an air of mild disapproval. She had a round, pleasant face with large brown eyes that reminded him faintly of a deer—or, irritatingly, of Granger. Despite her warm exterior, Deb's sharp gaze flicked between them like she was sizing them up, already regretting her involvement.

The city of Canberra buzzed around them, or at least, "buzzed" as much as an overgrown country town could. Sunlight bounced off the glass buildings, casting bright reflections on the waters of the nearby lake. It was… sparkly. And Draco did like sparkly things. Still, the Muggle hustle and bustle was an assault on his sensibilities.

"So," Deb drawled, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "You two are looking to set up a potions supply chain, was it?"

Granger, ever the diplomat, nodded eagerly. Draco, however, couldn't quite keep the skepticism from his face. The lie felt thin, as insubstantial as the so-called "air conditioning" barely blowing around the warm Australian air.

"Potion ingredients from the Antipodes are quite rare," Granger said, her tone bright but slightly forced. "Certain plants and minerals, specific to this region… very high demand."

"Yes, and let's not forget the fantastic export opportunities," Draco added dryly, voice dripping with sarcasm. "We're practically bleeding with enthusiasm over the profit margins."

Granger shot him a glare. It was one of her patented looks, composed of about 60% condescension and 40% seething reproach. He'd seen it plenty of times during their school days, though he supposed the setting was novel.

Deb didn't miss a beat. "I see," she replied, her tone laced with disbelief. "Well, if you're after exotic ingredients, I suppose I could put you in touch with some indigenous suppliers. Some of them even specialize in traditional ingredients."

Granger responded enthusiastically, her hands fluttering like a hopeful bird, while Draco's attention drifted. They carried on their farce of conversation for a time, and Draco's patience grew thinner with every passing second.

Finally, he couldn't resist. "Did you tell her we're also after a mystical, possibly mythological fountain that cures ailments and has the power to bless people with eternal youth? You know, just in case there's a map tucked behind the counter."

Granger looked like she was seriously contemplating kicking him under the table, but Deb merely rolled her eyes. "Oh, the bloody water hole, ay? I knew it had to be something like that," she said, her tone dry as dust. "Let me guess. You've read the tales and now you think it's some grand treasure just waiting for you white folks to claim?"

This stirred something in Draco, a flicker of the drive that had brought him all this way to begin with. He leaned forward slightly, catching Deb's gaze. "Yes, that one," he replied with less irony than usual. "I assumed you would tell us it's little more than a bedtime story for misguided tourists?"

Deb sighed, shaking her head. "Oh, it's real enough, although I don't have a clue where to go looking for it. You're definitely not the first people to be asking. You had that look in your eyes like you wanted some adventure. I thought it would be something like this or wrestling with crocs."

Draco recoiled slightly. Wrestling with crocs? Did that mean what he thought it did?

Granger jumped in quickly, palms upturned in supplication. "Deb, I promise you we're not interested in stealing anything from your people or using something sacred for our own gain."

"Pull the other one," Deb replied acerbically.

"No, really," Granger insisted, her voice earnest. "You know me. You know I'm not like that." She gestured toward Draco. "His son is sick. It's a curse. We're just trying to find a way to lift the curse."

Deb's skeptical gaze shifted to Draco. He sighed, irritated that once again, he had to convince someone of his good intentions.

"It's true," he said simply. "I lost my wife to the curse three years ago. It's carried by her bloodline—a Maledictus. My son, Scorpius, is at risk."

Granger quickly thrust her phone under Deb's nose. A photo of Scorpius and Albus filled the screen, their arms slung around each other in youthful happiness.

Deb stared at the photo for a long moment. "No need to ask which one he is," she said, quirking an eyebrow at Draco.

Granger barreled ahead, her voice quick and compulsive. "He's just sixteen. He's been through so much, Deb. It's not fair, and that's why I'm here… with Malfoy… to make sure his childhood isn't stolen by some infernal curse."

Deb held up a hand, silencing her. "All right, all right," she said. "I get it. But there's still no way I'm telling you any secret business."

Draco sighed deeply, his patience waning. "Fine," he drawled. "Let's speak hypothetically. If you were inclined to point us in the right direction, where would you suggest we start?"

Deb smirked, leaning back. "You're persistent, I'll give you that. Hypothetically, you'd need someone to help—someone who understands more than just the lay of the land."

Granger perked up, and the conversation shifted again. Draco zoned out, only half-listening as they discussed logistics. His mind lingered on Scorpius, on Astoria, and the quiet dread that had driven him halfway across the world.

Draco wasn't sure what annoyed him more—Deb's unflinching stare or the faint smirk tugging at her lips. It was a smirk that said she already had the upper hand, and he was loath to admit that she might be right.

Granger, ever the eager diplomat, leaned in as Deb continued, her tone shifting to something quieter, more measured. "Look, if you're really serious about this… you're not just wandering onto uncharted land. These places are part of something deeper. Traditional lands, with magic older than anything you'd know. Boundaries. Rules."

Draco rolled his eyes. Rules were hardly a foreign concept to him—his life had been governed by them. But Granger looked enraptured, leaning forward like Deb had just recited the first chapter of a particularly riveting textbook.

"Boundaries?" Granger asked, her curiosity sharpening.

Deb nodded. "They're protected. And not by Ministry wards or anything you'd be familiar with. This is ancient magic—woven into the land, passed down through the generations. It's alive in a way you might not understand, and it doesn't take kindly to outsiders. Disrespect it, and you'll know soon enough."

Draco snorted. "Oh, don't worry. I'm intimately familiar with the consequences of one's misguided actions."

Granger shot him a glare, but Deb ignored them both. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "If you want to do this, you'll need more than just directions. I'll need to consult someone who knows the customs, someone who can help you navigate. Otherwise, you're likely to end up with more than just a few scratches."

"Sounds delightful," Draco muttered. "And let me guess—you know someone?"

Deb tilted her head, her smirk softening into something more genuine. "I might. But it's not going to be easy, and it's definitely not going to be cheap."

Granger nodded quickly. "We understand. We're prepared to respect the customs and do whatever's necessary."

Draco sighed, leaning back in his chair and waving a hand dismissively. "Fine. Let's get on with it."

Deb's gaze flicked toward the corner of the café, where Titus was sitting, pretending to be engrossed in his food. "First, you'll need to deal with your little shadow."

Draco followed her gaze, his lips curling into a frown. "Our security detail."

Deb's smirk returned. "My nan's doing, no doubt. And let me guess—you'd rather he didn't tag along?"

Granger hesitated, glancing at Draco before nodding. "He's… complicating things."

Deb tapped her fingers against the table, her expression thoughtful. "I might be able to help with that. There's a little something I can arrange—a portkey."

Draco raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Go on."

Deb leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "It's unregistered, obviously. You slip it into his bag, make sure he's close enough to activate it, and poof—he'll be halfway across the world before he knows what hit him. Let's say… the Galapagos. Nice, sunny spot. He'll get a lovely holiday, and you'll get a few days to sort yourselves out."

Granger's eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. "You're suggesting we just… send him to another continent?"

Deb shrugged. "He'll be fine. He'll make it back eventually, but not before you've made some progress. Consider it a tactical retreat."

Draco's lips curled into a grin. "I think I'm starting to like you."

"Don't get used to it," Deb replied dryly. "It won't be cheap. Unregistered portkeys are tricky magic."

"That's not an issue," Draco said with a wave of his hand.

Granger, still looking slightly horrified, bit her lip in thought. After a long moment, she sighed. "It's drastic, but… it could work."

Draco clapped his hands together in mock celebration. "Excellent. Shall we?"

The plan for Titus set, Deb shifted her gaze from Draco back to Granger, an amused glint in her eye. "Now, if you're serious about trekking into the bush for this, there are a few… locals you'll need to be prepared for."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Locals? You mean people?"

Deb shook her head, smiling. "No. I mean creatures. And one in particular you're likely to encounter is the drop bear. I've been hearing about attacks every second day at the moment. Something weird's going on."

"The drop what?" Draco asked, his tone incredulous.

"Drop bear," Deb repeated. "Think of them as the grumpy cousins of koalas. Only much bigger, with claws like steak knives and a penchant for launching themselves at unsuspecting passersby."

Draco snorted. "You're joking."

Deb's smile widened, but her expression was somehow entirely serious. "I assure you, I'm not. Drop bears are a menace to anyone who doesn't take the proper precautions. They're heavily territorial and have a particular dislike for wizards who wander into their space."

Granger leaned forward, intrigued despite herself. "So, what do we need to know? How do we avoid attracting them?"

Deb leaned back, crossing her arms with a knowing look. "Well now, drop bears are drawn to loud noises. So, if you're the type who likes to argue or monologue, you might as well paint a target on your back."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Lovely. So, Granger needs to learn how to be quiet. Anything else?"

Granger shot him a scathing glare. "Yes, and perhaps you could try not to be so overwhelmingly irritating."

"They can also smell unfamiliar magic," Deb cut in, ignoring their bickering. "Once you're in their territory, it's wise to keep spellwork to a minimum. They sense magic as a disruption in their surroundings and don't take kindly to it."

Granger gave Draco a pointed look, her lips twitching in amusement. "This might be a challenge for you, Malfoy."

Draco sneered. "I can manage discretion when it's required."

Deb raised an eyebrow, "one more thing—if you do encounter a drop bear, whatever you do, don't make eye contact. It'll interpret that as a challenge, and trust me, you don't want to challenge a drop bear. They don't back down."

Draco leaned back, folding his arms. "So, in summary, we're to be quiet and submissive to a creature that sounds like a cross between a lion and a tree sloth."

Deb laughed. "Pretty much. They're territorial, unpredictable, and utterly unpleasant if provoked. But if you stay alert, you should be fine."

She smirked, leaning forward conspiratorially. "One thing to remember: Australia's magical wildlife isn't like what you're used to in the UK. These creatures are more attuned to the land, more connected to it. They have a sort of… understanding with the environment, and they'll know if you don't respect it."

Granger nodded, while Draco tried to mask his mild exasperation. This fountain hunt meeting was quickly turning into a briefing about the nature retreat from his worst nightmares.

"Wonderful," Draco muttered, glancing warily at the vial Granger was now tucking away. He wondered if this entire expedition was some cosmic punishment for his past crimes.

Deb leaned forward again, her voice dropping to a more serious tone. "Remember, you're not just guests here. You're trespassing, in a sense, and the land has its own ways of dealing with that."

Draco met her gaze, holding it for a moment. He hated how she spoke as if the land itself was alive, as if it had already judged him and found him lacking. It was ridiculous, of course. Magic was power, not some mystical morality test. And yet… here he was, forced to listen to rules he couldn't simply buy his way out of. He'd grown used to bending the world to his will, but this—this was different.

Granger, of course, was probably thrilled at the prospect of blending ancient magic with respectful exploration. Draco, on the other hand, felt his patience thinning by the second. But something about the quiet intensity in Deb's words reminded him that this wasn't a game.

"So," he said finally, "we'll take the necessary precautions, avoid the bloodthirsty drop bears, and follow the local customs. And in return, we get to hunt for the fountain in peace?"

Deb nodded, giving him a half-smile. "That's the idea. Just remember: show respect."

"Fine," Draco said, with a resigned sigh. "But if I get mauled by a drop bear, I'm blaming you both."

"Thanks, Deb," Granger said sincerely, ignoring him.

"You know," Deb replied, "I have no idea where you should start looking, but if the stories are true, that old explorer did find it once. The cities are chokkas full of museums and things dedicated to old white men. Maybe you should start by looking into him. Could pinpoint where you should be looking a little better."

Draco resisted the urge to sigh deeply at this suggestion. As if Granger's first agenda item wasn't visiting a library.

"Thanks, Deb," she said, her tone brightening. "Excellent suggestion."

With Deb's warnings still echoing in their heads, Draco reluctantly pocketed the vial. The sunlight outside was sharp and blinding, casting a harsh glare over the crowded streets. Draco squinted, adjusting to the brightness as he walked beside Granger. Behind them, their ever-present shadow loomed a few paces away.

Titus.

Draco sighed heavily, turning slightly to glance back at their so-called security detail, who'd been trailing them like a particularly stubborn crup. Titus met his gaze with a cheery, oblivious smile, clearly unfazed by Draco's scowl.

"Does he ever blink?" Draco muttered.

Granger, engrossed in her phone, didn't look up. "What are you talking about?"

He inclined his head toward Titus, who had stopped to feign interest in a tourist kiosk but was obviously watching them from the corner of his eye. "Your minder. Our minder. Does he think he's being subtle?"

Granger finally looked up, tucking her phone into her bag. "He's just doing his job, Malfoy. Maybe if you didn't spend the entire meeting antagonizing Deb, he wouldn't feel the need to hover quite so much."

Draco huffed. "He's the one complicating things. We can hardly plan our next steps with him breathing down our necks."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Granger said sweetly. "I didn't realize your underhanded schemes required absolute privacy."

"And yet, here he is, following us everywhere. Like a lost thestral."

Behind them, a polite cough broke through their bickering. Both turned sharply to find Titus standing closer now, hands clasped in front of him like a patient tutor waiting for unruly students to settle.

"Sorry, ma'am, sir. Just thought I'd remind you both that you've got an afternoon appointment with the concierge back at the hotel. Don't want to lose track of time," Titus said, his tone maddeningly cheerful.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. Granger, for her part, managed a polite smile.

"Thank you, Titus," she said diplomatically. "We'll keep that in mind."

Titus nodded and retreated to a more "discreet" distance—though his attempts at subtlety were as effective as a troll in a tea shop.

Draco turned back to Granger, his expression flat. "We need to get rid of him."

She sighed. "I know."

With Deb's warnings still echoing in their heads, they left the café and they stepped out into the glaring sunlight. The streets of Canberra bustled around them, and the faint sound of birds chittering in the distance added to Draco's growing headache.

Granger had her nose almost pressed up against her Apple while they walked. Behind them, Titus loomed a few paces away, his oversized frame far too conspicuous for someone who was supposed to be discreet.

Draco sighed heavily. "What's the plan now, Granger? Care to colour-code the itinerary for me?"

She didn't even glance at him. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, slipping into a mock casual tone. "Just wondering how your encyclopedic brain will fare against an actual drop bear. Seems like it might be the challenge of a lifetime."

Granger's eyes sparked with amusement as she glanced up. "I'd manage," she said, feigning sweetness. "I've faced worse than an oversized, angry koala, you know."

Draco gave a short laugh. "Oh, really, Granger."

She arched an eyebrow. "I'm not sure why we're questioning my capability," she replied with a casual shrug. "Considering, well… you might just run in the other direction."

"Oh, I'm wounded," he drawled, feigning a yawn. "You're reaching all the way back to the Battle of Hogwarts now?"

Her smile turned dangerously sweet. "I'm not trying to be clever, Malfoy. I'm just reminiscing. When was it I last saw you that day? Oh, that's right—you were running from the Room of Requirement."

"Har har," he said, rolling his eyes, though a reluctant smirk tugged at his mouth. "So noble of you, Granger, dragging up the past to make a point."

"If I don't, who will?" she teased, her smile widening. "Someone has to remind you that there's more to courage than looking good in a duel."

Draco raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. For a moment, it had almost seemed like Granger was flirting. The thought of it did something odd in his stomach—an unfamiliar twist he wasn't sure he liked.

"Good to know you've noticed how good I look when I duel," he retorted after too long a pause.

She rolled her eyes, quickening her pace. "Of course you'd focus on that."

Draco let out a huff of amusement, shaking his head as they continued down the street. Their footsteps fell into an unintentional rhythm, and for a fleeting moment, the silence between them felt almost companionable—if not for Titus's looming shadow a few steps behind them.

A couple of hours later, Draco sat by the window in his hotel room, staring out at the orderly sprawl of Canberra. The sunlight, once glaring, had softened into the golden haze of late afternoon. The faint pulse of a headache lingered at his temples, a reminder of the day's long lunch with Granger and her endless connections. Every conversation had felt like wading through knee-deep mud, weighed down by complex details he didn't fully grasp.

He didn't mind complexities—usually—but today his thoughts were split, fraying at the edges.

He pressed a thumb to his temple, trying to quell the ache, but the quiet dread he'd carried with him for years lingered at the edge of every thought. Scorpius.

The blood curse.

How many nights had he stayed up, running through every bit of research, every cure he could hope for? And now he was here, halfway across the world, chasing a lost fountain. The whole thing was madness. A sliver of desperation, sure—but madness, too.

He let out a slow breath, his gaze dropping from the window to his hands. What he hadn't expected was this strange awareness of Granger that had been creeping up on him all day—a prickling sense of gratitude for her relentless competence in these unfamiliar surroundings.

And then there was the warmth. A strange, unfamiliar warmth that softened her edges, as if her infuriating tendency to plan for every possible outcome might be comforting in a way he hadn't noticed until now.

He shook his head, trying to brush it off, but his thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Astoria. Her calm, steady presence. The way she had balanced his darker edges, made his anger and bitterness feel like minor inconveniences. She'd known about the blood curse, known what was coming, but she'd never let it consume her. He could still hear the soft melody she used to hum as she brewed potions in the mornings, her voice steady even as her hands trembled.

What would she say if she knew I was here? he wondered, glancing down at the table where he'd placed a few stray notes and maps. She'd probably be laughing at me. Stuck here with Granger, letting her call the shots. The thought made him almost smile.

But the ache of loss tightened his chest. He'd lost her, and that pain had transformed him in ways he hadn't expected. The thought of the same thing happening to Scorpius was a constant shadow over every step he took.

A sharp knock came at the door, jolting him out of his thoughts. He startled, not realizing how far he'd drifted. With a scowl, he straightened, clearing his throat.

"Coming!" he called, standing up and smoothing his shirt.

Draco stretched out in his chair, doing his best to ignore Titus, who had stationed himself near the lobby bar, pretending to enjoy a bright orange drink but clearly keeping an ear on their conversation.

Across the table, Granger spread a map wide, already scribbling notes and muttering to herself. The tension in her shoulders suggested she was doing her best to pretend Titus wasn't there, but Draco knew better. She'd snapped her quill at least twice already.

"So," she began, speaking just loudly enough for him to hear over the faint clinking of Titus's drink. "Here's the plan. Tomorrow, we'll start at the State Library. I've identified a few promising leads on Fairweather—there's a chance we might cross-reference his travels with early magical expeditions."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "The library, Granger? Really? Is that where all our leads go to die?"

She glared at him, then threw a glance toward Titus. "Do you have a better idea? Or are you just here to mock me while I try to keep this entire operation from falling apart?"

"I'm just saying, we don't need to involve every dusty scroll in Sydney to—"

"Dusty scrolls?" she hissed, leaning forward to jab her quill at him. "You do realize those 'dusty scrolls' are the reason we even know about the fountain, don't you?"

Draco smirked, leaning back in his chair and saying loudly: "If the library's so critical, maybe you'd like Titus to join us. He seems like the academic type."

Granger froze, her eyes darting toward Titus, who was now openly watching them, his drink untouched. She let out a heavy breath, clearly recalibrating.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "You can stay behind tomorrow if you're so set against it. Titus and I will go to the library."

Titus perked up, his chair scraping the floor as he turned to face them more fully. "Did you need me to come along, Minister Granger? I'm more than happy to assist."

Granger's eye twitched. "No, Titus. I think I can manage the library without you."

"Oh, but I wouldn't mind," Titus replied earnestly. "Always happy to help with research."

Draco's smirk widened as Granger visibly wrestled with herself. After a long pause, she turned back to him, her voice low and biting. "Happy now, Malfoy? You've inspired Titus's academic awakening."

He leaned forward, smirking as he lowered his voice to match hers. "Just trying to make sure you don't get lonely."

She set her pen down with a sharp click. "You're impossible."

"And you're wound tighter than a clock," Draco replied, shrugging. "Maybe Titus can help with that."

"Fuck off!" she snapped, shoving the map aside and storming off.

A moment later she stomped back into view and without saying a word or meeting his eye, grabbed her papers and her bag from the table in front of him. Her lips pursed in a perfect imitation of Madame Pince the entire time. It sent shivers down his spine, it really did.

"Smoothe," he told her smiling.

She sniffed in his general direction as she stormed away for the second time.

Draco stared at his phone for a few moments, debating if he should swallow his pride and text her. After a moment's hesitation, he typed out a quick message:

Draco: All right, Granger. This is stupid. Dinner?

He watched the screen, wondering if she'd ignore him out of sheer stubbornness. A few moments later, his phone buzzed.

Granger: Fine. 7 o'clock.

He felt an odd mix of relief and satisfaction.

Draco: This time don't bring a map.

Her response was instant:

Granger: Maybe you could do with a map. Seems you could use help finding a way to pull your own head out of your ass.

Draco couldn't help but chuckle as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. The sound of a throat clearing behind him made him freeze. He turned, expecting to find Granger looming over him, but no—it was Titus, standing a few feet away, watching him with the exasperated look of someone whose job was rapidly testing his patience.

"Problem?" Draco drawled.

"No problem," Titus replied blandly, though his tone suggested the opposite. He gave a subtle nod toward the phone in Draco's hand. "Dinner plans?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "What's it to you?"

"Just making sure the two of you don't get yourselves killed," Titus said, his voice carrying a faint note of resignation. He turned on his heel and strolled away, leaving Draco muttering under his breath about invasive babysitters.

Later that evening, Draco leaned back in his chair, half-heartedly swirling the remnants of his drink as Granger glanced around the softly lit restaurant. Titus was seated a few tables away, doing a spectacularly poor job of pretending he wasn't watching them.

Granger's gaze lingered on him for a moment before she turned back to Draco, her brow furrowed. "When do you think he's going to sneak off and make his report on our day?"

Draco smirked. "No doubt he'll include details about how you nearly took out the concierge earlier."

Granger's lips twitched. "I was not that dramatic."

Draco leaned forward, his expression entirely deadpan. "You could've won an award for that exit, Granger. Most Dramatic Storm-Off in a Hotel Lobby."

She fought a grin, her cheeks flushing as she looked down at her plate. "Fine. Maybe I was a little... tired. Jet lag, you know."

"Mm, yes," Draco said, feigning deep thought. "Watching you have a meltdown over the Sydney public transit timetable was the highlight of my day."

Granger gave a little laugh, finally relaxing. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, here we are. Having a lovely meal in a surprisingly decent restaurant." Draco picked up his glass, raising it toward her. "To surviving this nightmare together, Granger."

"To not strangling each other," she replied, clinking her glass against his with a faint laugh.

GRanger let out a small sigh, "Do you know," she said, picking at her meal, "for the life of me, I can't figure out how we ended up here. You and I? Working together? This is like… like some bizarre alternate reality."

"Bizarre," Draco agreed smoothly. "Though of course, I'm going to try to ditch you at my earliest convenience." His tone was so matter-of-fact that for a moment Granger blinked, then laughed.

He didn't.

She caught herself, narrowing her eyes. "A small part of me wonders if everyone in your orbit is pulled into one of your grand schemes at some point."

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back with exaggerated indifference. "Isn't this your grand scheme?"

"Ah, yes, I keep forgetting," he continued, his voice dry. "What with the way you keep steamrolling me at every opportunity."

Granger rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched at his absurdity. "I think you're actually starting to realize how much you needed my help, Malfoy."

Draco's smirk faltered slightly. He hesitated, his gaze drifting to the flickering candle between them. Growing up, he'd watched the three of them—Potter, Weasley, and Granger—always caught up in some secretive plan. They'd been reckless and impossible and, worst of all, inseparable. From where he had been sitting, it had looked enviable at times.

He'd wanted that, if he were honest. To be part of something. To belong. And as much as he'd scorned them back then, a darker, quieter part of him had wished he could join them.

At times, he wondered whether that same desire had been his driving force in those darker years—when he'd gravitated toward a different sort of community, one that had given him purpose but stripped him of agency. He thought of Astoria's soft voice, her whispered assurances in the aftermath of the war: You can build something better now.

He'd even confessed some of this to Potter once, years later, when they'd found themselves wrapped up in that business with the time turner and the boys. Actually, come to think of it, the time-turner escapade had been classic Golden Trio hijinks, and somehow, Draco had been right in the thick of it. So perhaps this wasn't his first scheme with Granger after all.

And now here he was, sitting in a restaurant on the other side of the world, smack bang in the middle of another one.

"Malfoy?" Granger's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.

He blinked, realizing he'd zoned out. "Just reminiscing," he said smoothly, giving her a lazy smile. "Thinking of all those ridiculous escapades you, Potter, and Weasley got up to. I'd almost forgotten how bizarre it was to watch you three on your path of destruction."

Granger raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of his suddenly reflective tone. "Bizarre? You mean from your seat of moral superiority?"

"Touché," he said, raising his glass in acknowledgment. "But I'll have you know, Granger, I was immensely jealous of those absurd little crusades you were constantly undertaking."

She tilted her head, skepticism written all over her face. "Jealous?"

"Oh yes," he drawled, leaning forward. "Watching Potter dive headfirst into every trap set for him? Irresistible. Practically a spectator sport." He paused, a genuine grin slipping through. "But seriously—your little trio had the run of Hogwarts, didn't you?"

Granger softened, her expression thoughtful. "I suppose we did, in a way."

"Well, good to finally be included," he said, his tone mocking, though the sentiment lingered in the air between them.

She studied him, her head tilting slightly, as though fitting a piece of a puzzle into place. "I'm sure we had no idea you even wanted to be included, Malfoy," she said lightly. "What with the constant insults and curses."

Draco smirked into his cup. "I was a jealous little shit, Granger. In first year, I asked Potter to be my friend, and he rejected me. I'm not sure I ever quite got over it."

Granger leaned back, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing her face. She didn't say anything, but her silence felt weighted, contemplative. Draco let the moment stretch, not entirely uncomfortable with it.

Suddenly, across the room, Titus' phone buzzed. He immediately answered and put it to his ear, making his way to the front of the restaurant and shouldering his way through the doors and out onto the street.

Granger looked at Draco, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "Do you think he's making his report on us right now?"

"Oh, undoubtedly," Draco replied, leaning back in his chair. "I'm only sorry we didn't give him anything more interesting to talk about."