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2017-08-18T04:04:43Z

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FIC: The Letterpool (Multiple pairings, PG-13) Part 3 of 3

2016-11-26T07:57:23Z

Back to Part 1
Back to Part 2

“Whoa! Draco! Merlin, I’m not even good at potions and even I know that combination would have blown us to bits. What’s going on with you?!” Neville had just saved them both from what a very big explosion.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t paying attention.”

Neville basically had had enough. Draco had been like this ever since he got back from Australia with Hermione. It was as if someone had let the Dementors come back to Hogwarts to just drain him specifically. Susan knew what was going on, but she had given her word to Hermione that she wouldn’t talk about it, leaving Neville in the dark.

Draco reached out to Neville because a) he needed the help and b) he couldn’t confide in Theo, Blaise, or Daphne right now because they were blissfully in love. Draco basically didn’t want drag them down with them, plus it would have meant revealing what he’d been doing in Australia. That was Hermione’s secret, not his.

Draco was about to make another potentially fatal error when Neville intervened yet again, dumping the obviously failed potion.

“Okay, enough, tell me what happened in Australia or I will hex it out of you.”

“Neville—”

“No, Malfoy, you’ve nearly blown us up twice within the last 2 minutes, a feat that not even I could accomplish. I’ve tried to keep my nose out of it, but this is ridiculous. Out with it, what happened.” It wasn’t a question, and Neville would be damned before Draco would dodge the subject again.

Draco took a breath. “I kissed her.”

~~~

“So after we get my parents’ memories back, everything is fine… and… he’s perfect. He took the time to introduce himself to my parents, and he gave us space to reconnect. It was great, and when I when I went back to the hotel to meet up with him, I told him all about it. I dunno what happened we were just having fun, being silly—”

“They had a pillow fight,” Susan explained.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Ginny.

“That’s always a bit of fun.” Luna remarked. “What? It really is a lovely activity, a little frivolity never hurt anyone. Sorry, Hermione, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Thanks, Luna, um… well so yeah w-we were having a pillow fight, and I tripped, and he caught me, then all of a sudden we were kissing.”

~~~

“You. And Hermione… had a pillow fight?”

“Shut up, it’s not as stupid as it sounds,” Draco grumbled at Neville. He hated to admit it, but it was actually a lot of fun.

“No judgment, it sounds kind of cute I guess? It’s weird to picture you as being cute— sorry, keep going.”

“So I kiss her and—”

“And what? Did she not kiss you back?”

“No.”

“No, she didn’t kiss you back.”

“No, I mean she did kiss me back.”

“So then… what is the problem?”

“Nothing, I dunno, I just. She was kissing me back and it was great because I could push everything out.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“Did you want to hear what happened or not?”

“Fine, continue, ya git.”

“She said my name, ok? Not Malfoy, she called me by my name, and I froze. I get that doesn’t make sense, but I’ve always been Malfoy to her. Never Draco, and that’s good. That’s fine because I shouldn’t be anything but her friend. And it was all normal and everything b-but she said my name and suddenly everything was real.”

Neville was trying to wrap his head around this. “Wait, so, you stopped kissing her and are freezing her out because she wants to be close to you? It sounds she really likes you the way you like her. I guess I just don’t understand what the problem is?”

~~~

“How was the kissing?”

“Gin, come on, ease up will you?”

“Hermione, you kissed Draco Malfoy, he’s supposed to be a pretty good kisser, and I’m a little pissed that I’m only hearing about this now. We’ve been back for a month.”

“Is that really going to be the only thing you focus on? Never mind that my friend hasn’t spoken to me in a month, you’re annoyed with my lack of kiss description.”

“Yes.”

Luna looked at Hermione with a curious expression. “I have to admit, Hermione, that even I’m interested.”

Hermione gave Susan a death glare, and Susan very much did not care. Hermione did need a second opinion on this, especially from those who were actually dating. Besides, because Ginny and Luna hadn’t heard the story before Hermione had to tell it from the beginning. It would give Susan the chance to potentially pick up on something she had inadvertently overlooked.

“Yes okay, it was the best kiss I’d ever had… which is why this is pretty horrible. I thought he might have fancied me, but instead, he pulled away.”

“Okay, but what happened that might have made him pull away? No offense, Hermione, but I’ve heard this story before, and it always feels like there is something missing from it.”

“Um… well when we broke for air I called him by his first name… after that he just became completely different. Like he wished I was a completely different girl.”

~~~

“The problem is, she shouldn’t be getting involved with me! She should be getting involved with a different guy. A good guy. That’s not me… and it never should be. Hogwarts is coming to an end, we weren’t even close before, and maybe it should have just stayed that way. I really like being her friend, and being there for her anything else is impractical… I’ve done some pretty irredeemable things to her, which even with helping her parents, it doesn’t erase that.”

“Wow… Look, Malfoy, I get why you think you should feel that way, but I don’t agree with it. All the things you did before last year… You had an abusive parent who was holding your mum hostage. You had to do what he said. If I had been in your position I’d have done the same things. I think you’re being way too harsh on yourself, everyone has been through it’s time to let yourself be happy, you deserve it, and if anyone understands that, it’s Hermione.”

“I appreciate it Neville but… it’s a lost cause. I’ve fancied her for a long time, and I brought her unhappiness for the majority of that time. I’m not looking to impose myself on her life anymore than I already have. Now come on, let’s keep going.”

~~~

Lee: Well then, it’s just George and me for today. Fred is taking Angelina out for Valentine’s Day. We’re still no closer to finding out who wrote The Letter, but my goodness the bets certainly have gotten creative!

George: It’s probably because of Valentine’s day, but this is has been the most bets we’ve received since the day The Letter landed on Gryffindor’s table.

Lee: True, very true. Well, today we’re here with Susan Bones. Susan? Do you want to have a go at who wrote this letter? *George holds up the letter* Or you could tell us if Malfoy and Hermione have patched things up yet.

Susan: No, and please stop asking. I’m more than happy to talk about The Letter, but Draco and Hermione have to sort that out on their own. *Susan takes the letter* Um… Well, it’s quite romantic, and wait. Wait what? *Susan immediately starts rummaging through her rucksack*

Lee: Susan?

George: Are you okay?

Susan: Shut up! UGH GET OUT OF MY BAG YOU STUPID SCROLL—FINALLY *Susan pulls out a scroll and checks the handwriting back and forth.* Holy Hippogriffs… No way, no way, No Way!!! I KNEW IT! I know who wrote the letter! Gotta go, boys!

Lee and George: WAIT WHAT?!

Susan: Sorry, but I really have to go.

Lee: At least tell us who you think it is?!

Susan: Well it’s *massive feedback from the radio* I’d bet my life on it! Anyway, yeah seriously I have to go *Susan runs off with the letter*

George: Well, wow. I’ll admit I was not expecting that.

Lee: How could we have let her go?! We have to get her back for another interview!

George: Quick, let’s take the equipment. The whole school needs to hear this!

Lee: Yeah, I’m still reeling. Wow, I mean who would have thought that the letter was for *radio static* and the one who wrote it was *radio static* I can’t believe Fred’s going to miss this!

George: I know! This is going to be totally awesome. * The pair of them bustles out, following to where Susan went*

~~~

“Hermione!” Susan ran up to Hermione, completely out of breath.

“Susan, are you alright?”

“Yes!” Susan panted, “Just shh, Hermione… I need to talk to you. The Letter was for you! It was written for you!”

“Susan, what are you talking about?”

“Just listen, ok? I was able to see the letter. I knew what it said, but I only saw it as in the handwriting today!

“And this has to do with me because?”

“Because I know whose handwriting it is, and because I think you’ll be very pleased to know who it belongs to.”

“Susan enough buildup, who wrote it?”

“My Charms partner.” Susan took out the stolen letter and put it side by side to Susan’s Charms essay co-written by…

“Draco Malfoy? Your charms partner is—”

“Yeah, we’ve been partners since first year, I’d know that handwriting anywhere. Just look at it.”

“It’s exactly the same…”

“This makes so much sense now, this is why he freaked out when he kissed you. He for whatever reason is afraid of getting close to you, and The Letter pretty much sums up why—” Susan kept talking, but Hermione wasn’t really listening, and who could blame her? After, all this agony for the past month and a half, it turned out Draco sodding Malfoy had felt the same way she had?

“Susan, do you know where he is?”

“Yeah, I think he’s by the Courtyard, it’s about to rain and he likes watching the rain from there. He reckons it’s peaceful.” As if on cue thunder clapped echoing through the halls. “Why do you know what you’re going to say to him?”

“I’m not going to say anything, I’m going to kill him!” Hermione stormed off to find Malfoy, taking The Letter and Susan’s essay with her.

“Oh dear…”

Susan followed Hermione, and not too far behind Susan were Lee Jordan and George Weasley, who were covertly broadcasting the entire exchange.

~~~

“Hey!” Hermione was out of breath and furious. “Hey, you annoying albino flying Ferret!” Hermione threw a book at him.

“Shit!” He managed to dodge it before it hit him. “Hermione, what the hell?!”

“Oh, it’s Hermione now? After a month and a half of not even looking at me, let alone speaking to me, we’re back to calling each other by our first names? Well fuck that, Malfoy, why didn’t you just tell me?”

Hermione started reading The Letter out loud:

“Dear Friend,

Our years at Hogwarts are coming to an end. You will probably remember these halls fondly, and everyone will remember you, but I’m quite certain you will not remember me.

There have been certain things that I have left unsaid, so I am telling you now… before it’s too late.

I know I’ve done things… said things in the past that are irredeemable. I’m not writing you in an attempt to erase those errors. I’m not expecting these words to suddenly change things, or win you over either.

This is just to let you know how much I genuinely care about you. I don’t have the words to describe how much being your friend—as brief as it’s been—has meant to me… I can honestly say it’s more than you will ever know.

Again, I’m not looking to impose myself in your life, after Hogwarts, and even if I were to never see you again, that would be okay.

This is just to tell you, that I wish you every happiness.

With all my affection…

A Friend.”

After she was done, she thrust The Letter into his face along with Susan’s essay.

Draco felt his cheeks burn. “Fuck… Susan… shit.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to blame Susan. You don’t get to do anything except explain yourself! Why didn’t what tell me that you wrote the letter?”

Draco balled his hand into a fist and shouted right back at her. “Why do you think?! Because it’s a lost cause, Hermione! That’s why! I’m not a good guy, I’m not even a nice guy! I don’t deserve… look, you deserve to be happy alright? But for me? No. I meant everything I said in this stupid piece shit letter. I should never have sent it in the first place.” He took a breath to calm down. “Hermione, I want you to be happy, you deserve everything you want because you are a good person. You actually deserve every single good thing life has to offer. I am not one of those good things, surely you know that by now.”

“Draco…” Hermione murmured. “You can’t actually believe that. You may have said a lot of crappy-bullying-annoying bullshit when we were younger, but look at what you did during the war—hell, even before the war, look at what you’ve done for me! I’m so mad at you right now!”

“Good, you should be, and you should get me out of your life! I’m bad fucking news!”

“No, you’re not. I know we both said things when we were younger that we regret, but when I really needed someone to keep me sane you were there! So you have any idea how much I’ve been beating myself up since Australia?” Hermione was red in the face, she knew things were always explosive with Ron, she did. However, now that she was going through her mental catalog of all the stupid things she and Ron had gone through, she came to the conclusion that, no. Ron had never managed to piss her off this much.

“Listen here, Malfoy.” She took a breath and tried to remove as much anger as she could out of her voice. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed just talking to you? You don’t get to pick this for me. I know you think you’re this terrible person, but you’re not, at least you’re not to me… and if you want me to be happy? Really, truly, happy? Then you’ll consider my feelings for five seconds and realize that it’s very simple. I like you as much as you like me and life’s too fucking short so… if you really want me to be happy, you’ll indulge me with this.”

“See this is exactly what I was afraid. I never wanted this, I don’t want you to feel like you owe me a date or—”

“Hey, you arsehole, did you hear me at all? You don’t get to just tell me how I feel, ok? I doubt you even know how much I want to strangle you and kiss you right now.” She sighed. “This is silly, I want to try this, even if it’s a mistake, don’t you?”

“Of course I do… but Hermione… I’m a human disaster.”

“Well,” Hermione let out a humorless chuckle, “welcome to the club. You helped me, you were there for me, and I know you weren’t expecting anything out of that. I know you did all of that—this because you genuinely care about me. So won’t you let me just care and love you back?”

He swallowed hard. “You love me?”

“O-Only if you love me back.” Hermione felt so vulnerable she could barely even look at him.

Draco looked down as well and placed both of her hands in his. “ I do. I just don’t want to ruin things like I usually do.”

Hermione blushed and looked up into his stormy gray eyes. “You only will if you pull another stunt like not talking to me for months. Although that would be better than giving up on this before we’ve even started.”

“Heh, you’re really not going to give this up are you?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

He nodded and considered this. “Okay then, I guess I should start by apologizing and take you out for dinner sometime.”

“Sounds like a start at least…”

Draco smiled and pulled Hermione in close. “I promise I will make it up to you. I’ll even learn how to get along your sidekicks.”

“Much appreciated, now can you just shut up and kiss me?” Hermione started playing with his tie. “It is Valentine’s day after all.”

“I think that can be arranged… and, thank you—thank you for your patience in all of this.” He tucked a strand of Hermione’s gorgeous unruly hair behind her ear. Hermione stood on her toes, just like she did in Australia. Finally while listening to the rain outside, did they kiss each other again, and this time they wouldn’t shy away from each other, not ever again.

~~~

Lee: Hello, Hogwarts! This is Lee Jordan, and wow what an interesting Broadcast from last time, eh? Now we have received death threats from both Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, so we’ve taken that recording out of the broadcasting loop. Sorry, folks, but if you didn’t hear it before then, unfortunately, you won’t ever. Also in the studio are my trusty co-hosts and our guest, Susan Bones! Susan, lovely seeing you again so soon! How does it feel, Bones, discussing Letterpool, after all, she our one and only the winner!

Susan: Wait, what? But I didn’t even make a bet.

Lee: Well, you did bet your life on it.

Susan: That wasn’t serious!

Fred: Relax, Susan, we wouldn’t have let anyone take ownership of your life if you had lost, but you did bet, so therefore you win!

Susan: Oh I—I dunno how I feel about that.

George: Anyway, so Susan, what was the thing that gave it away?

Susan: Well um, the handwriting was a dead giveaway really, but I guess everything that happened between Hermione and Draco made it that much more obvious.

Lee: Wow, well so what about you is there someone special for the amazing Susan Bones?

Susan: Oh well, I mean, there was the idea of someone, but maybe we’re friends, and so much stuff got in the way. If he ever did feel the same way about me, it was never really put out there. So I dunno I’m okay, being friends is great, oh god I totally see why Draco wrote the letter in the first place but yeah. You know it um *Susan continues to ramble until there’s a knock at the door and Neville walks in.*

Neville: Susan, hi. *Looks at Lee, George and Fred* Oh hi, guys, sorry, just a sec. Susan, hi, yeah, I was looking for you. I actually tried to find you er yesterday, Valentine’s day, but er but that was a bit of a bust. Then I heard the radio replay and figured you were pretty busy so I just thought I’d find you today instead. Erm, I heard what you said just now on the radio show. I am - interested I mean. So wanna grab dinner tonight?

Susan: Yes.

Neville: Great. See you tonight. Bye, guys.

*Neville heads out for about a second before briskly walking back in. He leans down and kisses her*

Neville: Right, tonight I’ll pick you up outside of the Great Hall. *Neville leaves the radio broadcast again leaving a happy and somewhat in shock Susan*

Susan: I-hihi- sorry, what was the question again?

Lee: *grinning* Nothing, Susan, we’re done here, thank you for your time.

Susan: Thanks you guys, it was nice talking to you! *Susan leaves the room giggling and goes to catch up with Neville Longbottom.*

Fred: Aww, I love those two!

George: Wow, what a wonderful Valentine’s day!

Lee: That’s right! New couples celebrating, old couples celebrating, and new loves being formed all around. Oh, and wow, yeah, that’s it for The Letterpool! Don’t worry, folks, I’ll still be here until the end of the year, then I will pass on the new radio station Hogwarts Hot Topics to the next generation. I plan on creating my own radio show after this year entitled, “Harry Potter and the Neverending story.” Just kidding! I’m still deciding on the name, but it won’t be that, I promise, Harry. After this year so if you miss me, you can still tune in. This is Lee Jordan,

Fred: This is Fred Weasley,

George: And this is George Weasley,

All three: Signing off.

FIN

Back to comment!

FIC: The Letterpool (Multiple pairings, PG-13) Part 2 of 3

2016-11-26T07:52:34Z

Back to Part 1

Seamus went to look for Daphne, he’d run into her a lot since spending time in the library. Hermione and Daphne had been paired together in Runes since Hermione started taking it in fourth year. If Hermione was the brightest witch of their year, Daphne may have been second, she just wasn’t as well rounded. There were certain subjects that if Daphne wasn’t interested, she didn’t bother, but with Hermione distracted and Daphne always here, it made more sense to go to Daphne. Daphne kept the door ajar so he found her. Knocking gently, he said, “Hey Daphne, how are you?”

Daphne looked up and smirked. “Well hello, Mr. Finnegan, I’m well, how are you?”

“Could be better, this Ancient Runes essay is kicking my arse for sure.”

“I have that book Hermione recommended, do you want to take a look?”

“That would be fantastic! And um actually, I think Hermione needs a minute so I was wonderin’ if I could stay here for a bit?”

Daphne nodded. “It’s that thing again, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, she’s all out of sorts and I dunno what’s bothering her, but I don’t want to pry.”

Daphne made room for Seamus to sit down, “Whatever it is, she’ll figure it out, I just hope if she does need help she’ll ask for it.”

Seamus smiled without humor. “Yeah, I think she’s at least confided in Susan.”

“That’s a relief, here, what are you having trouble with?”

“Everything.” Seamus and Daphne laughed.

Daphne went over all the points Seamus was having the most difficulty with, and the book helped fill in some of the gaps as well. Without realizing it, Seamus’ hand brushed against Daphne’s, and Daphne not so absentmindedly slowly interlocked her fingers with his. Seamus may be a bit thick at times, but even he noticed that.

“Daphne?”

Daphne looked at him unapologetically. “Yes, Seamus?”

“Err—” Before Seamus could even finish that thought, they both heard a very frustrated Hermione Granger yell and throw the book she was reading across the room. Seamus and Daphne both got up and went straight to her.

“Granger, are you okay?” Daphne was concerned but a little annoyed. She nearly had Finnigan in her clutches after all.

“Yeah, what happened, you gave us a bit of a fright.” Seamus rubbed the back of his neck.

Hermione looked like she was on the verge of tears but quickly composed herself. “I—I got carried away, I guess… sorry.”

Without missing a beat, Daphne said, “Okay well, Seamus and I were going to wrap it up here, did you want to come with us?”

“Oh no, I need to do a bit more reading… Thanks, though.”

“Sure thing, night, Hermione.”

“Night, guys.”

“See you tomorrow,” Seamus mumbled lamely.

As Seamus and Daphne left the library, Daphne took it upon herself to be the one to talk before the awkward silence settled in.

“So, that’s the most stressed I’ve ever seen her, you’re sure she’s okay?”

“To be honest? I’m not sure myself, but it’s Hermione, it will be okay eventually, and all that.”

“I suppose it makes you think, though, doesn’t it?”

“Sorry?”

“Well, this is going to be a terrible thing to say, but it’s nice to know she’s not perfect.”

“You’re right, that’s not a nice thing to say.” Seamus smiled. “But I get what you mean. She’s going to work herself sick.”

“It must be hard, everyone thinking you’re this unstoppable force who has all the answers. I know it eats away at the one and only Draco Malfoy.”

Seamus raised his eyebrows. “Not really? Malfoy admitting to not being perfect? Now that’s a scandal.”

Daphne laughed then paused. “I’ve never been so happy to be a part of the background.”

“I know whatcha mean. I used to want to be a part of the spotlight but forget that,” said Seamus.

“Look at what all of you are going through right now, and just how are you dealing with it?”

“Pardon?”

“The Letter?”

“Oh right, I forgot about that.”

Daphne snorted. “Right, because an anonymous love letter that the gruesome threesome made into a betting pool and radio show is somehow forgettable.”

“The gruesome threesome?”

“Lee, and the weasels, it’s the best I could do on short notice.”

“Riiiight, them. Oh but er yeah the letter? It’s not for me.”

“Oh?”

“Oh please, Greengrass, why would it be?”

Daphne shrugged. “ I dunno, but if I had written a letter like that, it definitely would have been for you.” She smirked. “Night, Seamus.” Daphne went down to the Slytherin dungeon, leaving Seamus completely dumbfounded for about two seconds, and then he realized what exactly she meant and groaned thinking about how much he blew it… Then he had a thought, and he ran up to the Gryffindor common room, rushing past Dean.

“Seamus? You alright?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I just have to write this thing.”

“Essay?”

“No, I gotta write Daphne Greengrass a letter.”

“Oh?” Dean asked with a lot more interest, “Study sessions going well then?”

“Yes, very.”

Seamus used a school owl to send his letter to Daphne. Scribbled on it said, “If I had written the letter, it would have been to you too, and considering I have now… Wanna give dating a go?”

Daphne smiled at the letter and wrote back “Well Finnigan, if you insist… I suppose I could be generous. After all, you Gryffindors are in need of some sort of charity for your obliviousness. See you tomorrow, Seamus, hopefully, you’ll start paying more attention. xoxo.”

~~~

Lee: Hello, this is Lee Jordan from Hogwarts Hot Topics interviewing Miss Daphne Greengrass! How are you, Daphne?

Daphne: Hullo, I’m alright I suppose. *Daphne checks her fingernails for any chipped paint, already bored.*

Lee: I’m glad you’re well! So let’s get to it, word is you and Seamus were seen—

Daphne: Yes, Seamus and I are seeing each other. No, I did not write the letter. The Letter is not for him.

Lee: Oh—well wow, that’s quite helpful, how do you know it’s not for him?

Daphne: Oh I don’t, but if anyone even thinks about coming forward in an attempt to win over my boyfriend… Well, should how should I put this? They’ll wish they hadn’t. *Shoots him the most frightening smirk he’d ever seen* Now, you’ll stay out of Seamus and my business, won’t you?

Lee: R-Right, well er—Thank you, Daphne, um and congrats to you and Seamus, erm, yeah, I guess w-we’re done, h-heh.

Daphne: Thank you, Lee. You’re far less stupid than people give you credit for. *With that Daphne glides out of the recording studio*

Lee: *barely audible* I think I just looked the angel of death in the face and somehow came out the other side. *Lee quickly snaps out of it and finishes up the show* Erm right, that’s it for Hogwarts Hot Topics, and I’m going to hug Fred and George now.

~~~

“Fuck!” Hermione shouted.

Hermione Granger felt defeated. Every book, every interview, every scrap of research pointed to one thing. She was never going to recover her parents’ memories. She could feel the pressure against her eyes and fully expected to start crying at any moment until Daphne and Seamus came to check on her. She was used to keeping it in at this point, and so she waited until they left to let it out.

“What have I done?”

“Granger?” The familiar voice struck her, and she tried desperately to stop crying.

Recognizing the voice instantly, she put her guard back up. “I’m fine, Malfoy.”

It was a reflex. She didn’t need to put her guard up, after all he was not even remotely close to the bullying boy she thought he was when they were young.

Hesitantly Draco Malfoy approached her, putting a hand on her shoulder. People often referred to him as Malfoy, and if he heard certain people call him anything but, then it just felt weird. However he always held out hope that one day she would call him Draco, but that didn’t matter right now. The fact that Hermione was crying or on the verge of crying was far more important.

“You’re not… D’you want me to get Susan or Ginny?”

“No, Malfoy, I said I’m fine!” He flinched, but she continued. “I’m sorry, I just need to be alone right now.”

He paused, but then sat down. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, Granger. Everyone around you is worried sick, Ginger Weasel and Potter are hilariously losing their minds, Susan is barely keeping it together. It is very hard for her right now. I mean, after all, she’s working with Longbottom, Neville Longbottom, as in the Neville Longbottom she’s been fancying since 4th year.”

She smiled at that; it was cute to see Neville and Susan together, but Malfoy continued, “Look, you’re not okay, and since I am insufferable and you are annoying, Hermione Granger, it is my personal responsibility to goad you until you have to tell me what’s what.” He noticed Hermione looked like she had calmed down a bit, so he asked softly, “So, what’s really going on?”

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this but… Before the war… I—I erased my parents’ memories. I’ve visited them a couple of times. I’ve tried everything, and sometimes I get lucky and they remember me for a handful of seconds, but nothing sticks past that. I didn’t mean to make it this strong, I just wanted them to be safe.”

‘There I go again,’ she thought to herself, she was so sick of feeling so helpless.

“Okay. Look, I know I’m not your favorite person in these situations but I do have an entire library of books back at… home. Some of them not even Hogwarts has, so here’s what we’re going to do, Granger. Make a list of all the book’s you’ve read, and I’ll owl for the books Hogwarts doesn’t have. I’m going to help you with this. No, you don’t get a say in it, because you look like the walking dead and clearly you need someone to help you do some research, so move over.”

Hermione didn’t even want to say no, she was so tired she was hearing colors and seeing sounds. “Y-you’d really do that?”

Malfoy stared at her as if she were insane. “Yes, Granger, after what we’ve been through? Trust me, we’re there. I think if even we haven’t been ‘friendly’ during the war, or since its end, we’ve spent enough time together to be friends by default.”

She let out a soft chuckle, and Malfoy was grateful that she was at least laughing at all.

“So, books, now Granger, the Holidays are coming up in a little over a month or so, and we’re going to figure this out by then. Right?”

“You’re still the worst. I hope you realize that.” Hermione chortled

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Granger, books, now.”

Hermione handed Draco a couple of book from her to-be-read pile on memory charms, and luckily for the both of them she had already made a list of all the books she’d read so she wouldn’t read the same thing twice. She quickly scribbled down a list of all the books she wanted to read that Hogwarts didn’t own. Draco took the list and started checking books he knew the Manor had.

“Alright, this is good. I’ll get someone to grab them from the Manor and send them along.”

“Again, thank you… I hate asking for help. Everything is usually easier than this…”

“Granger, this isn’t a classroom setting, you’re exhausted, and you’re way too hard on yourself. As much fun as it is to see you suffer, it’s just sad at this point. I’ve seen you work, you would have annihilated this if it had been anything else, but this is too much to do by yourself, even you need help sometimes. So come on, let’s just thunder through this.”

“Thunder through it?”

“Shut up, Granger, I’m trying to make a point. You’re used to relying on yourself because Potter and Weasley are lazy. Even with you, they’d be distracted, they’re great for emotional support I suppose, but when it comes to solving things, you need people who work hard.”

“They work hard! Ron was a prefect!”

“Yeah, but he’s one of those people who gets concepts and gets good enough grades—sometimes even great grades without really trying. You don’t. They’re tolerable enough—ugh don’t tell them I said that out loud—but even you have to admit they’re somewhat incompetent when it comes to real research. However, you do need the gits, so start unloading on them so you can have someone to talk to, meanwhile, let us hard working people aka me, Susan, and Neville help you solve the problem.”

“Oh fine, as long as you shut up, I’ll agree.” The truth is she knew she needed help, but she needed the kind Malfoy was offering, of course, she also needed Harry and Ron but she couldn’t ask them for this kind of work. Not because they couldn’t do it, but because she knew they wouldn’t be able to keep up at her pace. So Malfoy deciding to help? Yes, please.

“Oh my god, dammit, where are Weasleys and Jordon? I need that recorded or in writing. Did you, Hermione Granger, just agree with me, therefore saying I was right?”

“You’re pushing it, Malfoy.”

“But you did, right?”

“Urgh yes. I agree with you, now let’s get to it.”

“Yes, Professor Granger.”

“Ah, I now remembered exactly why I hated you, twitchy ferret-faced fiend.”

“Nope, you totally were infatuated with me, especially since I’m the reason you got to shrink your teeth down.”

“What?!”

“Shhh, Granger, we are in the library.”

“That was one of the most traumatic things I ever went through. Everyone made fun of me!”

“No offense, but everyone always made fun of you.”

“I actually despise you, now.” She made sure she said this in a jovial tone so that he knew she was kidding. After all, she didn’t hate him, and she desperately needed the help.

“No, you don’t,” said Draco coyly.

“I guess not… but why did you use that particular spell?”

“Oh I overheard you talking about it to Susan, but because your parents were teeth healers—”

“Dentists.”

“Is there really a difference? No? Didn’t think so. As I was saying before you rudely interrupted. I heard you talking to Susan about it and how ‘it would be so easy to fix and straightening can be achieved with braces but that would take much longer.’” Hermione gave Malfoy a look that could kill so he wrapped it up. “So I gave your teeth an engorgement charm, that way your parents couldn’t complain because it had to be fixed.”

“You are a sad, strange little boy.”

“Yeah well, I guess it was a backward way of helping, sort of like steering you, Potter, and Weasley away from the Death Eaters during the Quidditch World Cup.”

Hermione gaped at him; she had completely forgotten about that.

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Anyway, reading time, yeah?”

“Oh? Right, yes, thanks um again… for everything really.”

“You too, Granger.”

It was unspoken, but they had an understanding, both of them had a history of being unkind to each other, but they acknowledged that things may have ended a lot differently if they hadn’t helped each other almost a year ago in the Malfoy Manor. Upon that, they read until the Library closed for the night and decided they would meet up tomorrow for their research on how to heal Hermione’s parents. Unfortunately, it would take a long longer than either of them suspected.

~~~

Susan was tired, so very, very tired, but she had to make sure these hybrids that she bred together were perfect. It looked like these little guys might actually do the trick, unlike all of the other plants she’d bred together. Susan had been wishing for them to just mature without a hiccup in their growth but since when was life—especially theirs—ever easy?

She sighed loudly only to jump when Neville knocked at the Greenhouse door.

“Oh hi, Neville…”

“Sorry, Susan, didn’t mean to startle you… You look a lot more tired than usual, you should take a break. I can watch over your plants.”

“No way. Neville, mine might work, ‘might’ being the operative word there, yours undoubtedly will. You’re basically the god of Herbology, I’ll look after my little guys…”

“Susan, your plants are great, also, I’m not the god of Herbology.”

“Neville, you are, and sorry it’s just getting more and more difficult… Hermione’s never let me down, and every time my plants almost work, key word there being almost, it kills me. I’d rather have nothing happen than to give Hermione a minute of hope before it fails again… I just don’t know how to fix it…”

“I know, but you’re not the only one. I feel it too being so close, but it’s just not enough, not by a long shot.” Neville sighed.

“It was a charm that did it, so a charm might be the only way to fix it.”

“Yeah, I s’pose, but on the other hand, none of Hermione’s charms have worked, have they?”

“No… I—I can’t even imagine… I mean I can in a way, I lost my parents, then my aunt but… it’s really not the same.”

Susan shut herself up in the nick of time. Of course Neville knew, that’s why he was so invested in this. He had created a plant hybrid that had been successfully treating his parents. So it was a shock to everyone when it didn’t work on Hermione’s, but unfortunately, different traumas called for different cures. Still, she could tell how badly he felt about it, how badly they all felt about everything. Meanwhile, it was no one’s fault. Susan broke the silence that had fallen between them by realizing her plants were going to wilt if she didn’t remove them from the light.

“AH! They matured quicker than I thought, no nonono!” Susan did her best to move them quickly, and Neville helped save the ones furthest away from her. Between the two of them, they managed to save the whole stock.

“Phew, close one,” said Neville. “So, erm, what are these?”

“Well, these are hybrids between Moly to help counteract the memory charm especially since it’s used in awakening potions like the Wiggenweld potion. So I thought, it might ‘awaken’ dormant memories, and well, Dittany. I know Dittany is typically used cure physical wounds but I thought—”

“Oh right, it’s restorative healing powers might work with the Moly. Susan, that’s brilliant! I didn’t even think of that what I did was breed Galanthus Nivalis with Bloom berries.”

“Neville, that’s amazing, I didn’t know you did that. Bloom berries are also used in the Wiggenweld. The Galanthus Nivalis helps heal memory illnesses, right? Maybe if our hybrids went into a potion that could actually work! See, you are the Herbology God.”

Neville blushed. “Again, I wouldn’t go that far. Trouble is, how do we even test this?”

“I dunno… we would need a volunteer, and even then we still don’t know the possible side effects or anything.”

“I have a pretty horrible idea…”

“I doubt it, Neville, why what is it?”

“Well… maybe we should test it on someone who also suffered from a strong memory charm? Maybe someone like… Gilderoy Lockhart.”

Susan’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Well, I mean we obviously ask the Healers if it’s okay and if you know he’d consent to try it…”

“Neville, he doesn’t even remember magic is real anymore.”

“Well, yeah.”

“So you’re saying we should use our potential cure on Gilderoy Lockhart. The same Gilderoy Lockhart who hurt a ton of people just to get famous. The Gilderoy Lockhart who was going to let Ginny die in the Chamber of Secrets and who was going to Obliviate Harry and Ron. Why on earth would we do that?”

“If it cures him, it could cure his victims and Hermione’s parents. Also, he’d remember everything and could stand trial afterward. Also, it’s not like he won’t understand that it is an experimental treatment, and like I said of course we’d consult his Healers.”

“Okay, but what if the Healers say no?”

“Oh… I dunno we give it to Hermione hoping for the best? Maybe we can work with animals and ask the Healers for help?”

“That could work. Hopefully, plan A will work and the Healers will approve, but plan B isn’t so bad. So it might take longer than we’d hope, but this still could work. Who knows maybe Lockhart will be able to take it, and we can work with Draco on the potion aspect of it, you know, give Hermione a bit of a break?”

“Alright, Susan, that’s the spirit.”

“Okay! Let’s do this!”

~~~

After much of trial and error, Neville, Susan, and Malfoy had finally brewed a potion that didn’t evaporate, blow up, or melt their cauldron. This project had been exhausting, and all of their eyes had bags under them that were as dark as Hermione’s. They had had a number of bumps in the road and hit a wall when they had no way of testing the potion to make sure it was safe. Well, until Trevor missed catching a fly—that had landed on the rim of the cauldron—and inadvertently drank some of the potion instead.

Poor Neville had been terrified, but after 20 minutes with Susan and Draco calming him down, they realized Trevor was okay. Since Trevor hadn’t died, everyone came to the conclusion that the potion was suitable for consumption, and therefore ready to try on Lockhart. Well… If the Healers allowed it, anyway.

They were finalizing the arrangements when Susan asked, “Maybe we should tell Hermione after all, I mean… It feels like we’re lying to her.”

“I know what you mean,” said Neville. “But Susan, you said it yourself ages back, it’s better for it to not work than to give her false hope. I mean, can you imagine if this doesn’t work?”

“It would crush her, Susan.” Malfoy sighed. “I don’t think she can handle another blow right now. If it doesn’t work out, then we’ll work on more potions and plant hybrids. At least it will give us a general direction to follow.”

“True.” Susan yawned. “Let’s hope Lockhart and his Healers say yes to this and that it works. It just has to. No! This will work. It will because everyone is slowly getting back to normal. Everyone is slowly healing, and it’s Hermione’s turn. I believe in this potion, and I believe in all the hard work we’ve all done. I have hope this will work, besides it would be a pretty great Christmas present to give to her.” Susan looked like she was ready to pass out from exhaustion, and she knew she just sounded like a raving lunatic, but she didn’t feel it. For the first time in a long time, she felt a pure sense of joy, and it was contagious. Soon they were all feeling optimistic and thoroughly excited for the next day.

The plan was simple. Hermione felt bad for dodging Harry and Ron the past couple of weeks so she’d agree to go on a trip to Hogsmeade, just the three of them. Unbeknownst to her, Ron and Harry had been the ones to arrange this little distraction, allowing Susan and Neville to go up to St. Mungo’s. Harry and Ron also planned a small party in the Gryffindor common room to further distract her just in case Susan and Neville needed a little more time than anticipated.

The pair of them were to send owls back as soon as they knew if the potion had worked, if it hadn’t, or if they even had gotten a chance to give it to Lockhart.

With the plan set, they all went their separate ways to their own dorms. Neville, of course, had split from them early on, heading up towards Gryffindor Tower. Leaving Susan and Malfoy did the familiar split. They hugged goodnight, then she headed towards the kitchens while he went downstairs to the Slytherin dorms. He felt like he was walking through water, everything felt heavy, and that’s what he blamed his insane jealousy on.

Yes. He conceded that he wasn’t thrilled at the idea of Potter and Weasley being included in this plan. He was particularly sore over the fact that they would be with her all day, which meant they would undoubtedly be the ones to tell her the news from Susan and Longbottom.

‘What’s wrong with me?’ he thought to himself. ‘I don’t matter here. Wasn’t this the whole point? To make sure she was okay? To help fix something that—ok, I didn’t directly do this to her, but I did a lot of bad stuff to her. Who cares if I’m not the one who gets to tell her? I do, I do, and I need to stop. Stop it right now. Hermio—Granger, she is going to get her life back. Dammit, stop being selfish. You finally did something right, so don’t muck it up now, and go to sleep before you get interrogated by Blaise, Theo, and Daphne yet again.’ With that, he marched himself to his bed and just collapsed on it instantly going to sleep.

~~~

Lee: It’s less than a week ’til Holidays, and we still haven’t made much progress with Letterpool so to kick things up a notch, we are now going to try interviewing the first people we see. Ah! Look, here’s Neville Longbottom.

Neville: *sighing heavily* H-Hey guys, I don’t really have the time today, and I dunno this seems very personal and private, I don’t think this very nice to Hermione, Harry, Seamus, and Lavender. I especially don’t think it’s nice that people are betting on this as if it’s some sort of sporting event…

Fred: Aw, Neville, come on, it’s meant to be in good spirits!

Neville: I know you think it is but—

George: Think of it this way, what if our investigation puts these two closer together? Maybe the sender just needs a push of courage eh?

Neville: I—I guess, but I still don’t like this…

Lee: Well, well, Neville, and did you write the letter?

Neville: Huh?

Fred: You do seem a little defensive.

Neville: A little defens—look you guys. No, I did not write the letter, I just think this is an invasion of privacy and like I said, I have to go.

George: Okay, okay, but Neville, if you wanted to wager a guess, who would you pick?

Neville: Well… I dunno maybe Th—Oh hey Susan, time to go? Right, sorry, guys, I have to go to St. Mungo’s, and come on, ease up, will you? *Neville leaves with Susan*

Lee: Well, well, leaving with Susan Bones to go to St. Mungo’s? That’s a bit of a stretch. I wonder where they’re really going?

George: Or maybe it was just Susan saving Neville from us? Who really knows with those two.

Fred: Yeah, I’ll bet that was just Neville dodging us. Who knows maybe they are going on a date. Ooooh, maybe Susan wrote the letter for him, but the letter got knocked around so much, that it fell in the wrong place completely!

Lee: Oh? Now that would be interesting—Oh hello! Theodore Nott, want to comment or make a bet for Letterpool?

Theo: Theo’s fine, and I dunno.

Fred: Oh c’mon, Nott, unless you wrote it, perhaps?

Theo: Like I said, Theo’s fine, but no, I didn’t write the letter. I should have written a letter like that… Heh, I wonder how many people have said that since The Letter. You I thought about sending one once, but nothing ever became of it—Why? Y-You don’t think it’s for Lavender, do you? Did anyone bet it was for her? How many people?

…

I mean what, what am I talking about? *Nervous laughter* I mean I don’t fancy Lavender Brown. I—I definitely don’t. I mean she’s like really nice and-and brave and stuff. Also compassionate, and kind and all that, but that doesn’t mean I like her.

No. I definitely do not fancy Lavender Brown…

Shit this is live, isn’t it?

*Fred, George, and Lee evilly grin at him and give a quick nod*

… I gotta go.

*Theo Nott darts out of their broadcast to find Lavender at breakneck speed*

Fred: Well, that was unexpected!

Lee: No kidding!

George: Good luck, Nott!

Lee: Anyway, that was quite enough excitement for today. Actually you know what? I’m going to wrap this up early. It will be our Holiday gift to the four letter candidates. So Happy Holidays, take care, don’t forget to miss something while packing off to go home. Bye, Hogwarts, see you next time for another session of Hogwarts Hot Topics on Letterpool. This is Lee Jordan signing off.

~~~

After his disastrous interview with the radio hosts of Hogwarts Hot Topics, Theo ran to find Lavender Brown to try and explain himself. He found her, the Patil twins, and Hannah Abbott all together. They were having a small get together right before the holidays when our dear Theodore blundered into the group. After startling them, he realized he didn’t exactly have anything prepared to explain himself.

~~~

“Lavender, hi, wow hi—hi um hi.” Theo could only cringe as heard his own words from the radio being used against him and how his vocabulary apparently consisted of the word ‘hi.’ He shook his head and told himself to get a grip. “Look, I can explain, they caught me off guard and—well yeah—and I yeah no, I’ve got nothing.”

“HA!” Parvati cried and pointed at Lavender. “I knew it, I totally knew it. I told you! I told you, Lavender. I knew he fancied her. I knew you fancied her.”

Normally, Lavender would have snapped at Parvati (who was thoroughly enjoying Theo’s suffering,) but Lavender couldn’t speak, she couldn’t do anything but breathe and stare at him. Meanwhile, all he could think to do was bury his face in his hands and groaned.

Lavender felt her cheeks burn. “I-is that why you started becoming so distant since this summer? I mean so… you do fancy me?”

Theo swallowed and looked down. “Yeah I—Yeah…”

Lavender: “Well you should have just said so, you idiot, we could have started dating ages ago.”

Theo raised his head out of his hands. “Wait, what?”

“Well, this letter business had me thinking, and I knew The Letter could never be from you—the handwriting—but I wanted it to be.”

Lavender was dreading what was about to follow. This seemed like it was too easy, that somehow this was either an elaborately cruel practical joke or that he’d suddenly come to his senses and change his mind. Judging by the look on Theodore Nott’s face, neither of those things seemed plausible.

“Really?” Theo blinked. “Well, I don’t know about you, but if dating would be like anything it was this summer, I think it would be fun. Look, I’m not great with words, and I don’t know if I’d colossally mess this up, and I’m so sorry I didn’t ask sooner… but yeah um would you want to go out with me?”

“Yes.” Lavender gave him the sincerest smile. “That would be pretty great, maybe um we could see each other over the Holidays too?”

“Yeah, that’d be wicked.”

Lavender made a quick nod. “Deal.”

Theo couldn’t help grinning. “Yeah, wow um. Oh.” Theo looked around the room and realized they weren’t alone. “Right, I should let you guys celebrate. Happy Holidays, everyone.”

Theo crept out of the abandoned classroom, leaving the girls, who were softly giggling.

“That was adorable!” Hannah squealed.

“Theo Nott, who’d have known?” Padma mused.

Lavender could feel herself blushing. “Anyway. Sorry, guys, didn't mean for the, erm. brief interruption?”

“Are you kidding? That was amazing! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone from Slytherin that frazzled in my life!” Hannah couldn’t help from bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Well, he is pretty cute.” Lavender looked at the door fondly.

"Cheers.” Parvati raised her glass. “To me being right, to Lavender and Theo, and to the Holidays!

“Cheers!”

Everyone clinked their glasses and started laughing at the amount of butterbeer spilled on the floor. They did their annual Holiday gift exchange and ended it with Parvati and Lavender threatening to play matchmaker for Padma and Hannah.

It was going to be a very Happy Holiday indeed.

~~~

“Sorry, Susan, thanks for getting me out of there,” said Neville, glancing at Theo sympathetically.

“Oh don’t worry about that, besides I think the twins forgot what we were doing today. Oh poor Theo, that’s got to suck.”

“You’re really close to the Slytherins, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, it just sort of happened. Flitwick, in an attempt at house unity, made the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins sit together during our first year. Eventually, everyone just sat where they liked, but Draco and I were used to studying together so we just stuck with it. Plus we both did an equal share of work, and no one is really bothered by Hufflepuffs, you know? Well, except Zacharias, hmm, I’m not quite sure what’s wrong with that boy but I think he’s calmed down a bit.”

“Yeah he is sort of a special case. Anyhow we should probably get to the Hogwarts Express before Hermione sees us.”

“Definitely, although I will miss the interviews from Hogwarts Hot Topics.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Hey, I know this will sound ridiculous and reveal how much of a hopeless romantic I am, but you have to admit the Letter has brought back a certain sense of joy to the school.”

Neville chuckled. “Aww.”

Susan hit his arm playfully. “I’m serious, it’s sweet. I mean the sender obviously meant what they said. I mean no one’s come forward right? Didn’t the sender say that the letter was just to let the recipient know how much they loved them? They weren’t expecting anything in return. It’s just nice and thoughtful.”

“Wow, I dunno what to say to that.” Neville was in awe of Susan’s insight. After all, she had a good point, as soon once the letter had dropped, Hogwarts felt more like a school and less like the ruins of a war zone. “The only thing to really say is you’re right, the letter is nice and as chaotic as everything is, it does feel like a weird sense of normal, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does.” Susan smiled and with that they drifted into a peaceful sleep, waking up in King’s Cross realizing they had fallen asleep on each other. Both of them blushed whilst hurrying to get their stuff off of the train.

“Sorry, Susan, about er sleeping on you,” said Neville.

“I’m guilty of that as well, I guess we needed the sleep?” Susan snorted lightly, before looking up at St. Mungo’s.

“Well, here we go.”

~~~

It didn’t take very long finding Gilderoy Lockhart; it took less time for his team of Healers to refuse using their memory potion. They deflated instantly and sat down in the waiting room, astounded that they’d been refused before even making their case.

“I can’t believe it… I just can’t believe they said no.” Susan put their vial of the memory potion on the small table next to her. She could feel the tears brimming quickly wiping them away before Neville could notice. Maybe it was because she was so sure it would work, but she cracked and let out a sob, “All that work, all that research, and it’s not worth anything!”

“Hey, stop that. Look we just can’t test it on Lockhart, we could try volunteer testing or maybe talk to a family member of another person who suffered through a similar memory charm. We’re not out of options yet, don’t give up, I haven’t.”

“I know all of that rationally, but it’s going to take so much longer. I just wanted to help Hermione fix this now. She’s been waiting so long,” Susan took a deep breath, “I just—I just had a feeling that this would work…”

A silence fell between them. Neville had to admit he thought the same thing. He was so sure this would work. There were plenty of options but it would have been nice if it had run smoothly. Neville was pulled out of his train of thought when Susan cried out in surprise. A new Healer attending to Lockhart was about to give him his daily potion when he’d bumped into the table right next to her, thus knocking over the vial he was supposed to administer to Lockhart and their vial.

“Sorry about that!” said the Healer. He quickly picked up the two vials, putting theirs back on the table and taking Lockhart’s to him.

Or so they thought. Susan took a look at the vial and puzzled over why the potion didn’t look the same and why was the vial a different shape—Susan stood up. “Oh no! Oh no oh no!!!”

“What’s wrong?”

“He took the wrong vial, Neville, when he bumped into the table he took our vial and left his.”

“What?!” Neville ran forward. “Wait, stop! You’ve got the wrong—” Before he could even finish the sentence Lockhart had downed their potion. “Oh no…”

Neville quickly explained to the Healer what had happened and a team of them swarmed over to Lockhart. Everyone held their breath for what seemed like ages until Lockhart looked around the room.

“What the devil am I doing in St. Mungo’s? Wasn’t I teaching at Hogwarts just a few moments ago?” All of a sudden all of his memories came rushing back to him. “Oh now I remember… oh dear.”

After that everything was a blur. Healers went to examine Lockhart at an inhuman speed while Neville and Susan stood there dumbfounded. The first hour had gone by with Lockhart retaining all of his memories, then the second with him still retaining them. The third hour came around, and he still remembered everything. It had been the longest any patient who had suffered a traumatic memory charm injury retained their memories, and it looked like the cure was permanent. They were going to keep Lockhart for observation (but also because he would have to face the Wizengamot for his crimes against his fellow witches and wizards).

The Healers had circled around Susan and Neville, asking them so many questions they both felt like they’d been Confunded. After their interrogation Susan and Neville went to send the owls grinning in their triumph.

~~~

Malfoy had gotten the owl and no doubt Potter and Weasley had too, despite feeling an acute jealousy and a twinge of resentment he felt himself smile. ‘We did it.’ He marched up to the Library lost in his thoughts and trying to ignore the party he could hear from Gryffindor tower. He was going to have a restful study session until the Ginger Weasel stormed up beside him.

“Oi! Malfoy! For fuck’s sake, I’ve been looking for you since we got the bloody owl!” A very annoyed Ron glared.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Why? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with Hermione? Leave me be, peasant.”

“Look you annoying, gross bouncing ferret—”

“Oh give it a rest with that, will you?”

“Shut up, Malfoy! Just listen for once in your plaguing existence. Come up to Gryffindor Tower.”

He cocked his eyebrow. “Why would I do that? To suffer through your pathetic attempts to insult me with your inadequate brain?”

“Look, I don’t like you either, but,” Malfoy rolled his eyes while Ron ignored him and continued, “that’s not to say I don’t respect you.”

“What?”

“We didn’t tell Hermione yet, arsehole. I told Harry we should wait for you to tell her—and I’m getting to the reason, you rude git, so don’t interrupt—I told him to wait because no matter what we think about you, no matter our history… You gave her back to us. It’s no secret she was becoming a shell of what she once was, and even with Susan and Neville’s help, she was breaking. All we could do was watch. She wouldn’t let us in, she wouldn’t let us help. It was hopeless, and we were really afraid of losing her. It was only when you imposed yourself that she started coming back to the world. She only got better because you helped.

“Harry and I, we’re good in tight spots. We can think on our feet and make snap tactical decisions quickly, we can to the brave and reckless things. What we couldn’t do is help her muddle through this. We couldn’t see the whole board so we didn’t know what would help her and what would hurt her. We would have just ended up snapping at each other, and honestly what good what that have done? All we could do was mess with her alarm thing so she could get more than two hours of sleep.

“Everything changed when she had you to fall back on. You worked hard, and you kept working while she could rest. I don’t really care if it was guilt from when we were younger or if you always had this in you or what have you. The point is what you did for her didn’t go unnoticed. So… it just seems wrong for you to not be there when she finds out. It seems wrong to let you miss out on celebrating with us—with her.”

Malfoy blinked. “Oh.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Malfoy, I still think you’re a ferret-faced wanker, but you could be worse, I s’ppose.”

“Okay then, good because I still hate you too, Weasley”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Ron started to walk away from him, he realized Draco hadn’t moved from where he was standing.

“Oi, you coming or what?!”

Draco couldn’t really think of anything else to say so he just ended up following Ron into Gryffindor Tower. When they both entered, Hermione was pleasantly surprised, then Draco showed her the letter Neville and Susan had written. After some hugging, a lot of laughter and a couple of tears Hermione had managed to hug everything who moved in Gryffindor Tower (yes, that included Trevor). Much to Draco’s chagrin, he suffered through a hug from Potter and ugh—the entire Weasley clan too— he was pretty much convinced they only did so to torture him. After all of that Hermione started planning her trip down to Australia, forcing Draco to go with her. If he was honest, it didn’t take much convincing. Once the impromptu party started to calm down, Hermione went up to her room to pack but ended up crashing on her bed getting the best night’s sleep she’d had in over a year.

~~~

“So this is an airport?” Malfoy looked at Heathrow like it was a Norwegian Ridgeback. Hermione chuckled, everything was finally coming together. Hermione wished that they could have had more time in Australia but because they’d book the flight in such short notice they were lucky to even go. The flight they had secured only bought them 3 days to find Hermione’s parents, give them the potion, and see if it worked then get back to school. Although it seemed like they would need a lot of luck was needed to pull this off, they were optimistic it would work. After all, they’d manage to come this far, hadn’t they?

“Yes, Malfoy, it’s an airport, we’re going to get on a plane to Australia. Muggles use planes every day.”

“Right… So these things are like the Ministry’s flying cars?”

“Well yes, actually. Except bigger and it carries more people.”

“Oh okay, well I guess here we go then, um, where that thing you said I needed? A passport.”

“Oh uh yeah I have it.” Hermione smiled. “I can’t believe that’s all the explanation you need on muggle air travel.”

“Well yeah I mean, it makes a certain sense, I guess. Also, I happen to fly on a broom if that’s safe this must be right?”

“Well now Malfoy, you are certainly full of surprises.”

“Easy now, you’re in danger of paying me a compliment.”

Hermione let out a soft laugh and got them through security. That was the hardest bit; everything else went rather smoothly. Malfoy, aside from the occasional question, was pretty much silent throughout the trip. Flying to Australia was a long, long trip even in first class (compliments of Harry and Ron). It was very taxing. As soon as they got off the plane, they went to their hotel room to unpack and shower, only to discover of course they got one room not an adjoining two rooms.

“Well, that figures, at least we got a double bed, not a single one.”

“Honestly, Granger, I’m too bloody tired to care. Do you want to shower first or can I?”

“Go for it. I feel like I have to wash my hair and that can take a while.”

“Ok, afterward we sleep and then we find your parents tomorrow?”

“Yes, definitely.”

With that, he took some clothes into sleep in with him to the bathroom so he could change in peace. Hermione did the same then both of them crawled into their separate beds.

“Night, Granger.”

“Night, Malfoy… and er… thank you for coming with me.”

“No worries, Mum’s still reconnecting with the rest of the Black/Tonks clan, and I didn’t really feel comfortable so really you spared me that agony.”

“Still.” Hermione smiled. “It means a lot that you did.”

“Sure thing, now let’s get some sleep.”

With that, the two of them crashed from jet lag and exhaustion. Tomorrow it was off to see Hermione’s parents, which would be a lot more than they’d bargained for.

~~~

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I knew I had forgotten to call someone. Dr. And Dr. Wilkins are on holiday right now. I can rebook your appointment, although if it is an emergency I could call them in.”

“No, that’s alright, these things happen, thank you for all of your help.”

After Hermione and Malfoy left the dentistry offices of Dr. Monica and Dr. Wendell Willkins aka the Grangers, Draco expected Hermione to lose hope, but it was quite the opposite.

“Okay well that’s not ideal, but at least we know they’re still in town, and you know I came here with my parents when I was little. Anyway, I think I know where they might be, when do you want to head out?”

“Well, it’s great to see you upbeat. Come on, Granger, there’s a wizarding part of the city, maybe we could ask around if we hit any dead ends?”

Hermione agreed. Meanwhile, Malfoy was silently praying to whatever was listening that they’d find them soon, after all of this strife, could this one thing just be easy for her?

So the first day had been a bit of a bust and nerves were settling in. They only had three days until they had to be on a plane. They’d search beaches, shops, name it and they looked there.

It wasn’t until the end of the second day when they took a break to eat that they got lucky. Malfoy went to great lengths to keep Hermione’s spirits up, which did help until Hermione looked across the restaurant they were at.

“Oh, my god. I see them they’re right there.” Hermione’s words were barely audible. Draco spun around to look where she was, and sure enough, there they were. Hermione and Draco floundered a bit before figuring out a way to slip them the potion. They ordered the Grangers two glasses of champagne, slipping the potion into the glasses under the waiter’s nose. Hermione hovered around their table pretending to wait for the bathroom. She tried not to stare as they drank the potion in disguise. They swallowed enough of it for it to work, and just when Hermione had lost all hope, her mother looked up. “Hermione?”

~~~

As you can imagine it was a very tearful and intimate reunion, which is why Malfoy introduced himself briefly and politely exited from the vicinity, letting Hermione spend some time with her parents alone. He could only imagine what they must be going through. He remembered his mother and trying to keep her safe while staying alive. This was Hermione’s version of that, but it was still going to be a very draining conversation, happy but enormously emotionally taxing. So he went back to their hotel to wait for her.

‘This is family time, god she needed this,’ he told himself and smiled. ‘I’m so happy she’s ok.”

~~~

The Grangers caught up as well as they could have, given the limited amount of time Hermione could stay in Australia.

“But you’re okay here? You’re both happy?”

“Hermione of course we are.” Mrs. Granger reached out and held Hermione’s hands. “We really are, but my goodness what would have happened to you, if we couldn’t remember?”

“Your mother’s right, Hermione, just thinking about how hard this must have been…” Mr. Granger was near tears but regained his composure. “We wish we could have been there for you, that’s all. You’re our little girl, Hermione, you always will be.”

Hermione rubbed her eyes, “I wish I could have more time with you, but school…”

“Hey… We’re back, Hermione. Let’s catch up as much as we can now, and once you graduate we’ll all the time in the world and then some.” Her mother smiled

“Mum’s right, now is the time to enjoy life. We’re so proud of you, and we’re so happy that you're safe.”

Hermione broke down laughing while crying, all the while sitting there catching up. They spent the whole rest of the day together, overnight, and finally saw her off to where she could floo back to Melbourne for her return trip to London. The only thing that puzzled her was what Mrs. Granger said to Hermione about Malfoy. Hermione agreed with her in the respect that Malfoy seemed like a “nice young man,” especially now that they knew why he did the things he did. What she didn’t understand was when Mrs. Granger added, “Funny the lengths people go to, to protect those they love.”

Whatever she meant, there was no way she was actually implying that the notorious Draco Malfoy “loved” Hermione. ‘That would be absolutely absurd. Besides it’s Malfoy. Sure, we’ve come a long way, but we haven’t come that far yet.’ Hermione shook her head to get those thoughts out of her head. ‘Yeah, there’s no way that’s ever happening.’

~~~

“Hi, Malfoy!”

“Oh hi, Granger, everything went well?”

“Yes, it really did. Thank you for giving me space so I could be with them. They’re going to write me every week, so we can catch up, and so it will let me know if they’ve relapsed. I don’t think that’s an issue but heh you know just in case…” Hermione laughed nervously.

“They won’t relapse, and of course, I was more than happy to give you guys your time. It would have been a little weird for me to be there. This was about you, for you. You deserve every single bit of happiness, Granger. After all, without you, we probably would have lost the war.”

There was something familiar about the way he described her happiness, but Hermione supposed she was tired and had probably just read something similar somewhere. Still, something about it made her cheeks burn. This was all her mother’s fault because of that silly—ridiculous really—implication that Malfoy might actually fancy her.

“I’m sorry that you couldn’t have more time with them. I can’t believe we have to fly back tomorrow.”

“Why’s that? Did you finally realize that you need a bit of sun get rid of how sickly you look?”

“Excuse me, Miss Granger, but did you just insult my flawless skin?”

“You mean your pasty complexion? Then yes, yes I did.”

“I could say something about your hair, but I’m a gentleman.”

“Malfoy, you could not be a gentleman if your life depended on it.” Hermione gave him her best Malfoy smirk.

“Annoying know-it-all.”

“Annoying pasty ferret-faced git.”

He was about to come back with something when all of a sudden Hermione decided she had been quite grown up enough in the last 1 and a half years. This is when she threw a pillow at Malfoy’s face, and it all went downhill from there and the feathers went flying.

Normally they would have laughed and gotten something to eat or what have you. Normally they probably would have been worried at the clean up of feathers after their (awesome) escalation of immaturity, etc…

However, in this particular moment, Hermione and Malfoy didn’t really care about what they normally would have done. So of course, as you’d expect they let their guards down, it’s what anyone would do when you’re kidding around with a person you trust. Which is how the following moment of disaster happened.

They got caught up in the moment, the joy of it all was so consuming it was hard not to give in. Hermione was blissfully happy, and Malfoy found himself being happy just because she was. They both couldn’t remember how long it had been since they had laughed like this. Hermione was so focused on booping him on the nose one more time that she tripped. She had expected to come crashing with the floor, but instead, a strong pair of arms caught her instead.

“Whoa, easy, Granger,” he said, still grinning

“Sorry, thanks for the save.” She giggled, slightly out of breath from all running and laughing. Then they both realized how close in proximity they were to each other, and it was like all the levity had been sucked from the room. Slowly their laughter faded into smiling and in seconds there were just stand there holding each other with a million thoughts racing through their heads.

He couldn’t look away from her eyes, silently pleading that she wouldn’t look away either. Hermione didn’t disappoint, she stayed there contemplating how much she liked being in his arms.

When he finally leaned down bowing his head to hers, she stood up on her toes to meet him, they kissed, and the whole world fell away.

~~~

Lee: Hi there, Hogwarts! Sorry for the week late welcome back broadcast. This is Lee Jordan with my amazing co-hosts Fred and George Weasley. Today we’re interviewing the one and only Draco Malfoy about the Let—

Draco: No.

Fred: Come on, Malfoy, out with it! Did you write the letter?

Draco: -__-

George: Aww Malfoy, pleeease?

Draco: I know the war’s over, and we were on the same side… but I still hate you guys.

Lee: *gasp* That’s not a very nice thing to say.

Draco: Stop talking to me about the letter, ok? I have… *stares at Hermione* more important things to worry about?

Fred: For the record, folks, he’s staring at Hermione Granger, which brings us to our next question: what exactly happened in Australia?

Draco: Look, nothing, okay?! And unlike you lot, I actually have a class to go to, get out of my way.

*He leaves and slams the door behind him*

Fred: So something did happen. Anyone know what?

George: No idea, Ginny wouldn’t tell me. None of the girls would.

Lee: Yeah, wow, I thought I was the only one who got the freeze out from the girls. I’m not worried, though, they’ve become good friends and Malfoy is way less of a git. I’m sure this will all be sorted out in a week or two.

Anyway getting back on topic, we’re still in the dark on who sent the letter, so yes Letterpool is still going on. However, Fred and George have extended the same offer to those who picked the coupling combinations for Seamus/Daphne and for Lavender/Theo - you’ve won the 10 Galleons off coupon for a 35 Galleon purchase at WWW! We’re still trying to wrangle Theodore and Lavender in for an interview, but Lavender pulled the ‘I dated Ron Weasley so please stop if you know what’s good for you card,’ so that’s that. Well, this concludes the coverage for this week this is Lee Jordan signing off! See you next time at Hogwarts Hot Topics!

~~~

Hermione had tried everything to get him to talk to her, but he barely said a word…

They were pretty much silent all the way back to Hogwarts. Hermione didn’t know what had happened. She pretty much told Susan just that. “One minute we were kissing, and it was fantastic, I was happy. I thought he was happy, everything seemed like everything was fine. I miss him, Susan. I miss his god awful jokes and the way he carries on. I miss how he always knew exactly what I needed whether it was distance or talking… When did this happen!? When did I care about Draco sodding Malfoy, when did we become this close?”

Hermione was about to add the wrong ingredient to the potion they were working on for Slughorn.

“Hey! Careful with that.”

“Sorry…”

“Oh look, it’s okay,” Susan tried to comfort Hermione as best as she could. “I think we should take a break and really talk about this. Tell me what happened from the top.”

“What again from the top?” Ginny and Luna had just walked into the empty classroom Hermione and Susan were using.

“Well, Draco kissed Hermione in Australia, and that’s why they haven’t spoken since they came back,” Susan replied, trying to not sound as bored as she felt by the subject. A feeling Ginny Weasley did not share. In fact, she could barely keep herself contained.

“WHAT?!”

“Susan!” Hermione exclaimed

“What? It’s just Ginny and Luna, they’re our friends they might be able to give you some fresh perspective.”

“Hmm, I thought something like that must be the cause of all this friction,” said Luna thoughtfully. “Hermione, could we hear what went on?”

Hermione took a deep breath to prepare herself to tell the story.

On to Part 3

Back here for comments!

FIC: The Letterpool (Multiple pairings, PG-13) Part 1 of 3

2016-11-26T07:50:07Z

Title: The Letterpool
Author/Artist:
Characters: Hermione Granger, Seamus Finnigan, Lavender Brown, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Cho Chang, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones, Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, The Patils, The Weasley twins, Lee Jordan, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, Ginny Weasley, Astoria Greengrass, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I probably left someone out nu… sorry
Prompt number: 96
Word Count: 22,924
Rating: T
Warnings: A lot of swearing, mild hurt and comfort
Summary: It’s October, and everyone has come back to Hogwarts to complete their education. Except space is cramped, Hogwarts is still somewhat in ruins, and getting the morning mail is a disaster. Things only get worse when a love letter that was both anonymous and unaddressed lands squarely in between Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown, Harry Potter, and Seamus Finnigan. Lee Jordan and the Weasley twins make it their business to fully take advantage of the situation by creating both a radio show and a betting pool to find out who the letter was for and who it was from. Thus leaving all the students to wonder… When will there ever be a quiet year at Hogwarts?
Disclaimer: Here’s the standard ‘I don’t own HP and I’m not making any money off of this,’ speech, because lol I don’t. Though there is a lot of hurt/comfort in this. It’s WAAAAY more comfort than hurt. Please forgive the formatting of the Radio show and the Radio Show’s name… It was meant to be a place holder but I couldn’t think of anything to replace it with.
Author’s Notes: Well after countless cups of coffee, and crying to my beautiful, wonderful betas Orgnzdchaos (for moral support, ethics questions, monitor of ridiculous cheesy moments and canon), Traincat (moral support, and helper of writing kiss scenes), and to gelsey-mod who generously helped catching the MANY embarrassing mistakes I thought I had fixed... -___- >__

~~~

Every morning the owl post came in, and every morning it was a mess.

The new protocol everyone had adopted (although was still hard getting used to), had helped when to collecting your mail. All you had to do was wait out all of the mail scattering down from the poor overworked owls who lived in the overcrowded owlery, to land then retrieve it.

The reason behind the space issue had to do with everyone needing to repeat the previous year, at Hogwarts. The disastrous curriculum from last year was so barbaric and out of date that it left the students worse off than if they hadn’t learned anything at all.

So, unfortunately the first years and the second years were stuck sharing the same classrooms due to the second years like everyone else had to repeat the previous one. The living situation as you can imagine, wasn’t much better...

At least the temporary living quarters that were set up just outside of the Quidditch pitch were taken down. The volunteer reconstruction workers had managed to expand the common rooms and dormitories for each House giving the surplus students space to live in the castle again.

The majority of the repairs being done to the school grounds were volunteers most of which were recent graduates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Namely, the Weasley twins, Lee Jordan, Cho Chang etc… It was a great chance to rebuild Hogwarts for the better but it was also a nice chance to say goodbye, too.

So like I said, space was luxury that nobody had. Everyone was cranky, and so as usual the morning owl post chaos came in, and by October no one even bothered looking through the stacks of mail to find their letters until all of them had stopped fluttering down— the only problem with this system was if a letter wasn’t labeled, then, it would take forever to find the person who it was supposed to go to.

As it turned out, this was exactly what one person was counting on.

A letter that had a sort of thickish card-stock and landed directly in between four students. Harry, Hermione, Lavender, and Seamus, amazingly enough, it managed to miss landing in any food too. But there it sat, untouched because it was unlabeled. Finally, Seamus took a look at it and handed it over to everyone’s favorite Gryffindor.

“Oye Harry, it’s probably for you,”

Harry took the envelope and spun it around and briefly glanced inside. “Oh wonderful.” He looked at them darkly. “s’not labeled.”

“No, it’s not, er that’s why I said it’s probably for you.”

Harry sighed. “Wait then, why are you sure it’s for me?”

“Well it looks like a girls’ handwriting, and it ain’t my mam’s, I can tell you that.”

Lavender and Hermione had the same look of annoyance on their faces.

“And what exactly is ‘girls’ handwriting,’ Seamus?” Hermione asked.

Lavender chimed in right after: “Yes, Seamus, please tell, us.”

Seamus could feel his cheeks burning. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just the handwriting looks nice, and I dunno girls seem to have nicer handwriting? At least my partners in classes always did, and well if it is a girl’s it wouldn’t likely be for me now would it?”

“Hey,” Lavender said. “Don’t think like that, but that’s beside the point. Seamus, have you seen Hermione’s handwriting? Or mine for that matter. It’s dreadful, plus if it's from a girl it could still be for me or Hermione.”

“Lavender’s right,” Hermione agreed. “It might help if we actually read the blasted thing.”

Lavender couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

Two years ago if you were to tell Hermione Granger that she and Lavender Brown would be friendly towards each other, she would have definitely hexed canaries at you. When Hermione saw Lavender being attacked by Greyback it put a lot of things into perspective. After mourning the losses of all those who fell, a lot of things seemed small, the differences between houses, blood status, and different races of magical people, diminished.

These differences weren’t gone, not by a long shot. Although at least the Wizengamot trials for Voldemort’s Death Eaters went considerably better than they did after the first war. That was mostly in part to Draco Malfoy, it wasn’t uncommon knowledge that he’d ‘joined’ the Death Eaters at barely 16, if you could really even call it ‘joining.’

He took it upon himself to try and sabotage the Death Eaters from the inside with others like him, who were forced into joining because of blatant threats against their families. He willing took Veritaserum and told the Wizengamot absolutely everything, putting major emphasis on who was innocent and threatened to who signed up willingly. (To answer your question, yes Dolores Umbridge was on that list).

It had been a very dark, very long year, but in the fall when it was time to leave for the Hogwarts Express, it was like everyone had hit the refresh button. There was a stark realization: they were all alive, the war was over, and despite all of it there were countless friendships and bonds that came out the other side. A lot of people didn’t want to forget what happened and were committed to ensuring it never would again. More group projects were assigned in classes, and a variety of extra circular activities were included to boost inter-house unity. However, the House Cup and Quidditch would always be there for some healthy competition.

So Hermione and Lavender’s new found friendship wasn’t so strange. After all, they had fought a war together it.

“Alright then, ease up a bit, I’m only human. Who’s going to read it?” said Seamus.

“Oh, I’ll do it.” Harry took the letter, rolling his eyes. He was about to read it when he found that this wasn’t an ordinary letter. “Er… it’s er, this is a very personal—look it’s a love letter, alright?”

“Oh?” Seamus lifted an eyebrow

Hermione: “Haha, very funny, Harry.”

“Hermione, I’m not kidding around, it’s an anonymous love letter.”

“Give it here?” asked Lavender. As Harry passed the letter to her, she looked around the room and realized everyone in the Great Hall had stopped what they were doing to listen in on what was happening at the Gryffindor table.

Lavender cleared her throat and read the letter out loud.

“Dear Friend,

Our years at Hogwarts are coming to an end. You will probably remember these halls fondly, and everyone will remember you, but I’m quite certain you will not remember me.

There have been certain things that I have left unsaid, so I am telling you now… before it’s too late.

I know I’ve done things… said things in the past that are irredeemable. I’m not writing you in an attempt to erase those errors. I’m not expecting these words to suddenly change things, or win you over either.

This is just to let you know how much I genuinely care about you. I don’t have the words to describe how much being your friend—as brief as it’s been—has meant to me… I can honestly say it’s more than you will ever know.

Again, I’m not looking to impose myself in your life, after Hogwarts, and even if I were to never see you again, that would be okay.

This is just to tell you, that I wish you every happiness.

With all my affection…

A Friend.”

The Four students looked absolutely dumbfounded. They didn’t even notice that the entire Great Hall was in chaos over the letter.

“Did you hear?! A secret love letter was sent to either Hermione, Harry, Seamus, or Lavender?!”

“I know! Who could have sent it?!”

“Who is it actually to?”

“Has anyone started up a betting pool?” George asked while Fred and Lee had the savvy to create a betting pool. In a matter of minutes they had already set up a ballot box to allow people to submit their bets. Lee went to work on hosting a radio show to update the progress of “Letterpool.”

As much as they hated to admit it, secretly the four Gryffindors were happy. What had seemed like weeks of misery had suddenly lifted, all due to this letter. After that brief moment of joy, they were all hit with the same sinking feeling: they were this year’s gossip, and on that note, it was time to act accordingly.

~~~

Ron, Harry, and Hermione had barely made it out of the Great Hall alive. They hoped Lavender and Seamus were able to escape unscathed. Once they were out of the mob scene just inside the Great Hall, the Golden Trio made their way to Hagrid’s Shack for a quick visit before Potions class.

“What a load of rubbish,” protested Hermione, but it didn’t stop the blush creep to her cheeks. “It’s obviously meant for you, Harry.”

“Oh? Weren’t you having a go at Seamus for saying exactly that?”

“No, I was having a go at Seamus assuming the handwriting must be a girl’s, just because it’s neat. I think it’s for you because… well, look at who is volunteering for the reconstruction of Hogwarts is.”

Harry slightly puzzled by what she meant, looked around the grounds. At first, he didn’t get what Hermione was on about, there were a bunch of people who they knew from their younger years. The Weasley twins, for example, were back; so were Lee Jordan, Oliver Wood, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Adrian Pucey. Hell, even Marcus Flint came back to help rebuild. He might have been an ugly git, but he was one of Malfoy’s undercover agents aka the Blood Breakers. Who knows how many more lives would have been destroyed that if it hadn’t been for Malfoy’s little undercover spy network? Fred certainly would have been…

Fred had been distracted by having Percy back that he had gotten careless. If Pucey (one of the best Slytherin Quidditch players of all time) hadn’t shoved Fred out of the way just in the knick of time Fred might not still be here.

Still, Harry kept searching then finally his eyes settled on Cho Chang.

“Oh come off it, Hermione, she didn’t write it, and besides that is never going to happen.”

“Mmaht?” Ron asked while chomping down on a blueberry scone. “Sorry, what?”

“Eh, nothing. Hermione just thinks Cho Chang sent the letter to me. Now that is a load of rubbish.”

“Actually,” Ron reluctantly countered his best friend, “Harry, I mean… well, it would make sense, wouldn’t it? You guys were super unlucky with your timing, and the letter sort of makes sense when you think of your history with her.”

Harry scowled and had a sneaking suspicion that Ron was only agreeing with Hermione because of their awkward breakup, but once he started thinking about it, he realized that they did have a point. There were certain pieces of that letter that did seem like it applied to his relationship with Cho… Not that he was going to admit this out loud, of course.

Hermione beamed in triumph. “Thank you, Ron, I knew there was a brain in there somewhere.”

“Oye! I was selected as a prefect alongside you, remember?”

“Fair enough, but Harry only takes your word when it comes to matters of the heart, Merlin only knows why.”

“Come off it, I am not that bad, Hermione, at least not anymore, right Harry? … Harry?”

But Harry was off in his own world thinking about Cho and how hilariously badly things went. They definitely had the odds stacked against them from the very beginning. Her friend “betraying” the DA wasn’t an easy thing to swallow, but Harry did admit shamefully that he resented her for it. The truth of it was, they were children and her friend was terrified for her parents, the only person they should have blamed was Umbridge… Maybe things could be different now?

“Yeah er… right, give me a moment?” Harry didn’t wait for a reply and walked over to Cho.

~~~

Harry wandered over to Cho, leaving Ron and Hermione behind. It had been a while since they were alone together. After the war, they tried dating, and at first it went fine, but they soon realized they just weren’t the same people after the war. Between Ron’s experience with the locket and Hermione’s understandable concern with getting her parents’ memories back…

It left them way too out of sync… perhaps if things had been different, then maybe things would have worked out. Still, as much as the break was mutual, they were still doing the awkward dance of working out the new dynamic of their relationship.

Yet here they were again preparing for class, and Ron out of habit asked Hermione, “Please help me write this essay? I will honestly do anything and I will make it up to you this time. I mean, I know I’ve said that before bu—”

“Ronald, we both know you won’t, and if you did, I think I’d die from shock.”

Hermione’s scolding sent Ron bursting into laughter. “Sorry, ‘Mione, you’re absolutely right.” Hermione rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, but it was all in good fun.

“Blimey… We haven’t laughed like this since 6th year,” he said whilst wiping his tears from laughing.

“Yeah, and let’s face it, 6th year was a disaster.”

“Heh yeah… I’ve missed this, us being normal, you know?” Ron hoped he hadn’t just crossed a line, but it was the closest they’d been since the breakup.

Hermione picked up on his slight anxiety and smiled. “Yeah… Listen, Ron, I know we’re both sorry it didn’t work out, but this is ridiculous, we’ve been friends for ages.” She’d been waiting for the right time to approach the subject and was glad that they were actually talking about it.

“Completely agree.”

“So it’s settled then,” Hermione chuckled. “We’re mates and all that?”

“That is just weird when you say it, but yeah, ‘Mione, of course, ‘we’re mates’ and all that.”

They grinned at this new understanding, and it was like a weight had been lifted, no more awkward tension, no worry careful words and glances. They were aggravating Ron and know-it-all Hermione Granger again.

“Hey, Ron… One more thing before we completely move on?”

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to let you know. You were the best first love anyone could ever ask for.”

“Hermione, without you I’d still—what was it? Oh right, I’d still have ‘the emotional maturity of a teaspoon.’ We really helped each other grow, didn’t we?”

“We really did.”

They hugged for a while, and the last of the awkwardness that had plagued them disappeared.

“Just promise me one thing, next time I snog a girl please don’t send scary birds after me?” Ron smirked then started to lightly jog.

“Ronald Billius Weasley! Get back here, you cowardly git!” Hermione yelled after him

~~~

Cho was always a fan of how the interior of Hogwarts castle operated. The constantly moving staircase she realized actually were a huge help during the battle of Hogwarts. The students knew their irregular patterns much better than Voldemort’s Death Eaters who left the castle years ago.

The Death Eaters had a dreadful time trying to figure out where to strike in the castle all because of the enchanted stairs. That was why Cho was working on fixing the staircases. It was one of the students’ best defenses against outsiders who meant to do the school harm. Fixing them was very important to her, and she hardly let anything distract her from them, which was why when Harry Potter stood right beside her she didn’t even notice.

“They’re looking a lot better.”

Cho jumped. “Oh, Harry, hi, I didn’t see you there,” Cho rambled. “Thanks for noticing the work on the stairs, they still have a long way to go.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Harry chuckled softly. “I just wanted to see how it was going… w-with the stairs. Er… I mean, Hermione mentioned that there was a ton of sophisticated magic that got them working the way they did. I figured it must be very time-consuming.” Harry hated himself all over again. Wasn’t he too old to be this nervous around Cho Chang?

“Hermione’s right.” Cho smiled. “It’s been difficult to replicate, but I think I’m getting the hang of it. Luna and Padma offered to help a bit… d-do you think Hermione would like to join in?”

“Oh, um, yeah. I’ll ask her. She’d probably—uh…” Harry’s expression darkened, “Actually er… Hermione’s pretty overwhelmed at the moment, but I know she can probably take a moment if you need help… You should really ask her—or I can.”

“O-Oh sorry are you two dating? I don’t want to step on any toes—”

“What?! No, god no, I mean no. Er I mean yeah I love Hermione but no, no still just and will always be just friends, and that is it, forever.”

Cho was trying desperately to not laugh at his expense, but she had to wonder. “Oh then um… why?”

Harry sighed. “She… before the war, she cast a memory charm on her parents… it’s apparently a lot stronger than she anticipated, and she’s been trying everything to get it lifted. Oh, bloody hell, Cho, sorry, I wasn’t supposed to say anything—please don’t tell anyone that… she doesn’t want—”

“No! Oh, of course not I won’t tell anyone… Oh, Hermione… I can’t even imagine…” Cho quickly glanced in Hermione’s direction where she went from arguing with Ron to hugging him to playfully hitting him which was the norm for them at least before the war. “I feel terrible, it should have occurred to me, she’d have to do something like that for her parents. Is she alright, though? I mean she and Ron look like they’ve sorted themselves out, but I mean otherwise is she ok or does she need any help?”

He wasn’t expecting this to be her reaction, and it made him hate himself all over again for how harshly he’d judged her during his 5th year. “I—Cho that’s really kind, but I think Hermione feels like she has to do this on her own. I know the only reason she’s agreed to let Neville and Susan help her with it is because,” Harry broke out in a grin, “Well, Susan’s had a mad crush on Neville for ages so, er, Susan may have let Hermione think this was her idea to get them to spend some time together alone.”

Cho laughed. “I bet Hermione sees straight through that but has every intention of setting up them up anyway.”

“Oh, does and she is.” Harry laughed along with her until he heard the bell signaling his next class. “Ah crap, I’ve gotta go to potions…”

“Oh right sorry! I didn’t mean to hold you up, but this was fun, Harry, it’s great seeing you.”

“Yeah, we should hang out again.”

Cho blushed. “Yeah, sounds good. Hogsmeade?”

“Definitely.”

“Ok, but one condition, do not even think about taking me to the Madam Puddifoot’s.”

Harry cringed but smiled. “Right, duly noted. Three Broomsticks ok then?”

“The Three Broomsticks is perfect, now get to class I’m not going to be your excuse for being late.”

“Harry! We gotta get a move on before Slughorn gives us cauldron cleaning duty!” Ron shouted impatiently. Clearly Hermione was being too good of an influence on him.

“Right, on my way!” Harry grinned. “Er, heh, thanks, Cho, for the chat.”

“No problem, now go.” She smiled.

Harry jogged over to Hermione and Ron. Hermione was smirking. “That looked like that went rather well.”

Harry gave them both a crooked grin. “Well yeah, at least we’re going to talk again at Hogsmeade, and who knows we might have actually gotten the timing right this time.”

“That is wicked, but try not to mess up as badly as last time.”

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, Ron, what did I ever see in you.”

“Must have been my excellent sense of humor and charm.” Ron made a point of wiggling his eyebrows, sending the three of them into fits of laughter before they went off to Potions class.

~~~

Dean had finally gotten Seamus out of the Great Hall. “Bloody hell, what a nightmare. You alright, Seamus?”

“I-yeah-I they actually think that’s for me? I mean that’s ridiculous.”

“Why’s it ridiculous? Seamus, you’re great.”

“No, Dean, you are… you were in it with Luna and Malfoy up at the Malfoy Manner. I— I’m probably the biggest git Gryffindor ever had.”

“Aw, Seamus, you can’t still be upset over 5th year? Harry’s long since forgiven you, and besides we were all scared. You fought alongside us in the war, not for nothing—that trumps being a 15-year-old idiot.”

“Who was a 15-year-old idiot?” asked Luna dreamily. “I think I bought both you some time, I started talking about Wrackspruts. It’s the oddest thing, for some reason Wrackspurts always makes people nervous. So they should stay away for now. However, you may want to move away from here sooner rather than later.”

Dean grinned. “Thanks, Luna, you’re the best.” Dean gave Luna a quick peck on the lips, and she smiled sweetly at him. Seamus thought Luna was—well, you know—looney at first, but after getting to know her, his opinion completely changed for the better. She made Dean happy and had helped keep him safe along with Malfoy. He regarded both Luna and even Malfoy with respect after that.

“Yeah, thanks, Luna it was getting overwhelming.”

“Not a problem, Seamus, Ginny offered to help, she’s still quite good with the bat bogey hex, so you really ought to use the 5 or 10 minutes we’ve bought you.”

“Will do, thanks again, Luna!” Seamus grabbed Dean and off they went to Potions early.

“Ugh, what a nightmare… least we managed to avoid the Weasley Twins and Lee Jordan.”

“Ha! Dean, don’t you mean we did for now? You know them, they’ll eventually corner us for sure.”

“C’mon, where’s the infamous Finnegan optimism?”

“It’s here, just buried.”

“Alright, mate, whatever you say… Listen, Luna and I can change our plans so that you could come along to Hogsmeade later tonight. I’m sure Luna wouldn’t mind, ya know.”

“Dean, it’s your bloody anniversary, no way, thanks fer the offer, though.”

They went off to Potions quickly before the mob arrived.

~~~

Lavender watched as Harry, Hermione, and Ron, who were used to gossip at this point, quietly but quickly walk out of the Great Hall. After they were gone, a considerable number of students swarmed Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. Dean Thomas was doing his best to fend off the horde of students plus the betting pool animals, aka the Lee, Fred, and George. Lavender, not wanting to stick around, decided to depart rather briskly while everyone was distracted with getting Seamus’s comments.

“Lav!” Parvati ran up to her best friend. “Wait up!”

Lavender slowed down, waiting for Parvati to catch up, although Lavender made a point t to respond to what she assumed would be Parvati’s line of questioning. “Before you start, no, there’s nothing to say, it’s probably meant for Harry, I mean he did save us all. Maybe for Hermione, although I think Seamus would be an interesting candidate. After all, he does have a certain charm. I highly doubt it’s for me, even if it were I’m just not in that head space, just no.”

“Suuuuure, says the girl who snogged Won-Won all throughout our 6th year.”

“Ugh, why do you always have to bring that up?” Lavender cringed at the memory.

Out of all the things she’d ever done in her life, the top thing she regretted was her behavior when she dated Ron Weasley. Sure, she fancied him and all, but ugh the way she acted.

“Alright, alright, sorry, but seriously now, you aren’t interested in the letter at all? Who are you and what have you done with Lavender Brown?”

“Parvati, I’m serious, I just want a normal year of Hogwarts. Passing my classes, maybe getting more into divination, despite what everyone says it can be quite useful.”

Parvati looked a little worried and softly comforted her friend. “Look, I get it, that 6th year wasn’t exactly a great one for us, but come on, Lavender, it’s in the past and no one cares about that. I guess I just want to make sure you’re ok… but you have to admit it’s rather exciting, isn’t it?”

Lavender rolled her eyes grinning. “Oh, I suppose…” She laughed. “ Thanks, Parvati, I am okay. I know the Greyback thing freaked you out and fair enough, but I’m okay and you know Bill Weasley and Professor Lupin have been really helpful through the whole thing.”

“Hey, anytime Lavender, and remember you can always talk to me about that stuff too.”

“I know.” There was a brief pause before Lavender lightened the mood. “So spill: who did you bet on?”

“Lavender Brown, what kind of person do you take me for? Hmmm?”

“Don’t Lavender Brown me, I know you placed a bet.”

“Ah, you know me well. Ok, Ok I bet that— ” Just then the two bumped into Theo Nott and Draco Malfoy.

Lavender dropped all of her books and sighed, thinking, ‘oh great, this is just what I need, bumping into these two…’

Everyone knew that the Slytherins who attended Hogwarts this year were a part of the Blood Breakers, and if it hadn’t been for them, many more lives could have been lost. Still, there was something about Malfoy that left a sour taste in her mouth. It was unfair, and she was continually trying to get over that (his lack of smirkTM) certainly helped. Theodore Nott was another thing entirely. He had been the one who picked her up and carried her to Madam Pomfrey after Hermione blasted Greyback off of her. After the war they had been on friendly terms, but now, nothing aside from a polite hello.

“Sorry,” Theo mumbled in his usual way, he was always so quiet.

“S’alright…” Lavender said, examining him closely

“You ok?” he asked, handing Lavender her books.

“Er… yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” She took her books and noticed Malfoy masking a smile the best he could. “Thanks…er bye?”

“See you…” Theo mumbled as Draco and he went down to the dungeons for Potions.

“What do you suppose that was about?”

Lavender and Parvati proceeded to climb up to Divination class. Lavender wondered which god she had to thank for Divination overlapping with Potions.

“I haven’t the foggiest, it was rather odd.” Parvati shrugged. “But I wouldn’t be too worried about it, though.”

“I suppose…” Lavender hummed. “Theo’s been really weird lately, he used to talk to me a lot over the summer and now? He’s barely glanced my way since we got back to Hogwarts.”

Parvati grinned. “Well maybe he likes you. Or… maybe he sent the letter to you. Well, that’s my bet anyway, luckily I was able to place it before the FLG could wrangle me into their show.”

“Parvati. You either have been confounded or would make an amazing comedian, but wait who now? What show?”

“Uh, Fred Lee and George, who else? They’re doing a radio broadcast of ‘Letterpool,’ least that’s what they’re calling it.”

“Wonderful… Seriously just one year. Can we just for once have a normal sodding year at Hogwarts? Ever?”

“Considering this is our last year? No, which brings me to my point, Lavender, dear friend of mine. Theo definitely wants to hold you in his arms and snog you.”

Lavender felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “He does not, what gave you this insane idea anyhow?”

Parvati sighed and went still. “Because of what happened with Greyback, and the fact that you both sent each other letters all throughout the summer. You guys even met up a couple of times.”

“One. Everyone was worried about me after Greyback. Two. Okay yeah, we spent some time together over the summer. Three. Yeah, we wrote letters to each other. I know his handwriting, Parvati, and it definitely wasn’t his. Although I have to admit, I miss spending time with him.”

“Well look you don’t know he could have disguised his handwriting or maybe had someone else write it.”

Lavender rolled her eyes at Parvati.

“Oh fine, maybe he didn’t write the letter. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings of a romantic nature towards you.”

Lavender blushed, and Parvati smirked. “And upon that realization, I will let you ponder all things Theodore Nott. Just remember tonight I’m out, so say hi to Pads and Hannah for me.”

“Ah, another date with Astoria.”

“Yes, who else?”

“You know if you hurt her, Daphne Greengrass will have your head on a platter.”

“But that’s why I’ve got you and Pads, you’ll protect me.” Parvati pulled Lavender in for a side-hug.

“Oh alright, at least one of us is dating.”

~~~

“Smooth, really smooth.”

“Oh come on, Draco… it’s just really—”

“Oh, Theo blow it with Lavender again?”

“Oh Blaise, shut up, you honestly can’t talk, have you even spoken two words to Ginny?”

Blaise stammered, “Hey, not so loud, Weasel just sauntered in! And as it happens, we’re going out, actually, so you two losers can stick it up your robes.”

“Well hey come on now, how did I get dragged into this? You can’t honestly put me into the same category as Theo.”

“Oh please I’m way better than you are, Draco.”

“Oh and how’s that?”

“‘Cuz I can at least admit I have feelings for someone, whereas you can’t.”

“Haha funny.”

“Oh stop it, Draco, WE KNOW,” Blaise and Theo said simultaneously

“Right, I honestly have no idea what you’re on about, also Theo that was a shocking performance. Seriously, weren’t you and Lavender ‘almost’ dating this summer?”

“Merlin, you boys are loud,” Daphne Greengrass remarked. “Well, loud and sad, honestly, grow up, for crying out loud. Oh and Draco, we know your secret crush so you can stop lying to us now.”

“That,” Draco responded sharply, “is not a thing up for discussion.”

“Ah, not so funny when it’s your love life eh?”

“Oh Theo baby, not now the grown-ups are talking,” Daphne chastised him.

“H-Hey…”

“Look, boys, the girls you fancy? They aren’t going to know you care about them if you don’t put yourself out there. So stop whining and do something about it.”

“Might I point out again that I am dating Ginny Weasley.”

“Blaise, that does not count.”

“Why?”

“Because she asked you out, idiot.”

“Shut up, Daphne,” Blaise mumbled. “At least I am dating…”

“She never will, you know, shut up I mean,” said the younger Greengrass, who popped into their Potions class.

“Astoria, shouldn’t you be in class somewhere?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just wanted to remind you that I’m out tonight.”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “Right… Tell Patil that if I see you crying for any reason I will viciously take it out on her, and I won’t care if it’s because of her or not.”

“Please don’t, start that again, while I do appreciate your support, I’d prefer you not threatening the girls I go out with.”

Daphne gave a look that could turn Medusa into stone. “No promises.”

“Well, thank you for at least trying. Ciao, big sister.” With that, Astoria left

Theo gaped at her. “Somehow, I always forget how scary you can be, Daph.”

“Ah yes, that is because I’m a superior being than you lot. Anyway, this ‘Letterpool’ business is interesting, hmm?” Daphne cast a look directly at one Gryffindor boy in particular. “I wonder who could have written it, and who it could be for.” With that, Daphne left to sit by her cauldron and prep for class.

“You don’t think she wrote it?” asked Nott.

“Nope,” Malfoy said curtly.

“Maybe, there have been weirder things, but honestly, I don’t want to know. Daphne’s love life is not to be meddled with, I think the only person who has and lived to tell the tale is Astoria.”

“And that’s only because Astoria is her little sister.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Draco huffed. “Focus up, Slughorn’s here.”

Blaise and Theo gave each other a questioning look; clearly, the previous topic had shaken Malfoy far more than they had anticipated, and just this once they decided to let it go. Besides potions with Slughorn wasn’t exactly an easy 'O' after all.

~~~

Dean had been wandering around looking for Luna so they could go out on their date. Little did he know that his plans were going to be interrupted by a very enthusiastic Fred, Lee, and George. Thus starting the interviews for Hogwarts new radio show:

*Fred, Lee, and George pop out of nowhere with a microphone*
Lee: Heeeello, Hogwarts! This is Lee Jordan from Hogwarts new radio show Hogwarts Hot Topics! I’m am currently broadcasting with the illustrious Weasley twins, Fred and George! Remember, kids, Zonko’s is classic but if you’re bored definitely check out FG’s Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes on your next trip to Diagon Ally!

Fred and George: Hello, hello!

Lee: Now for the real news, we’re interviewing Luna Lovegood and her beau Dean Thomas about the anonymous love letter that fluttered down to the Gryffindor table. We are taking bets on who it is for and who wrote it, so ladies and gents, if you would like to have a bet on our Letterpool, please see me, Fred, or George. Over the course of the year or at least until the author and/or recipient are revealed, we’ll be collecting data to help stabilize the odds on the four candidates. In case you’re unsure of who they are, let me remind you we have: the one and only Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, best Gryffindor seeker and the one who defeated He-Who-Must-oh sod it Voldemort technically twice; Fire Master Extraordinaire Seamus Finnegan; Champion of true Love herself, bearing her heart bravely on her sleeve, Lavender Brown! And last but certainly not least, the Lionhearted Brightest Witch of—well I dare to say it Brightest and Bravest Witch of the century, Hermione Granger! Which brings us back to our guests! Hello, Dean! Hello, Luna! Any thoughts?

Dean: *rolls eyes* Must we do this?

Luna: I think we should, Dean, it would certainly help our friends.

Fred: Lee, perfect announcing as ever!

Luna: Yes, Lee, you’re quite good, I would have some one-on-one meeting with you on announcing the Quidditch House matches if that’s still a possibility.

Dean: Wait a minute! Hang on, when was that discussed?

Luna: Only just now, I thought it would be a good idea, my humor tends to be accidental. Although it was nice of Ron to compliment me on it.

George: *chuckles* That’s our Ron! Now as Lee said, the Letterpool is going on until we figure out who the letter is to, and who is the sender! Dean, Luna, any thoughts?

Dean: Oh come on, guys, we’re supposed to be on a date now.

Luna: Dean, it will only take a minute or two, plus it will only delay us longer if we don’t.

*Dean casts the pranking trio a dark look, that even causes Fred to shrink back a little bit*

Dean: These three jokers better not hold us up for long…

George: Really we’re just curious, and I think we all need this bit of amusement, no?

Luna: It might help to see the letter again… *Luna skims it.* Hmm, something about the handwriting is familiar.

Dean: *peers over her shoulder* Oh wow, yeah, Lune, you’re right… Where have we seen it before?

Luna: I’m not sure… I do think the person who wrote it may be on the reconstruction team or—

Fred: Like Cho Chang for example?

Lee: ‘Fraid that looks like that might be a dead end, although allegedly Harry Potter and Cho Chang were seen talking earlier today.

George: Excuse these two, Luna you were saying?

Luna: Well it’s possible it’s from Cho, especially since I think they’re going to the Three Broomsticks together tomorrow. However, I think it could be anyone who’s graduating this year due to the fact that the letter describes the sender not being able to see the recipient again. Also, although the letter is anonymous, it does seem like the sender knows the recipient well but not well enough that they’d see each other after school.

Dean: *beaming at Luna*

George: That is a good theory!

Dean: Of course it is, Luna’s brilliant! *Dean holds her hand, and they both smile*

Lee: It’s a really touching scene here between Dean and Luna, definitely a cute couple.

Dean: I really like you, Lee, but you’re pushing into Rita Skeeter territory.

Lee: *Lee gasps in mock offense*

Fred: That’s a bit much.

Dean: Oh I’m sorry, how would you lot feel if I interrupted a date between you and Angelina, Fred? Or well I don’t actually know if George or Lee are seeing anyone, but same concept.

George: Come on, be a good sport, Dean, have some fun. You do remember fun, right?

Dean: Ugh, can we get this over with!?

Fred: Yes, sorry, continue.

Dean: I want it to be for Seamus, and if it is I’m willing to bet it’s either a Slytherin or Hufflepuff.

Luna: I’m not sure, and I don’t have any evidence on who it’s for but as long as both parties are happy I suppose that’s all that matters, I know we are. *Luna looks at Dean fondly while Fred, George, and Lee mumble how odd it is that Luna looks at evidence in this case rather than the things that are posted in the Quibbler*

Dean: We certainly are. *Dean kisses Luna’s forehead and they go to Hogsmeade*

Lee: Well, that was vague; enlightening, but vague.

Fred: Also borderline sickening on how sugary sweet these two are.

George: But still enlightening nonetheless. This at least gives us some intel on the ages/years the sender could be from, and there’s a boost in Seamus Finnegan’s odds.

Lee: I just want to point out that Luna Lovegood is the second best announcer after yours truly, and I look forward to hearing more of her Quidditch commentating.

Fred: *snort* Yes, Luna does have a unique take on it, doesn’t she?

George: Alright, boys, back to Letterpool. So in conclusion, Dean has not made a formal bet, but he has given Seamus a bump in his odds, and Seamus’ sender most likely is someone from Slytherin or Hufflepuff.

Lee: Well that’s all for today, once we gather up more information we will post some odds to help create informed betting decisions! Until then, anyone may vote accordingly. This is Lee, George, and Fred signing off!

~~~

Lee: Hello, Hogwarts! Good morning! I hope you’re all rested up from yesterday! This is Lee Jordan from Hogwarts Hot Topics interviewing the youngest of the Weasley family on her bet for the Letterpool!

Ginny: Hi Lee, nice to see you.

Lee: Well Ginny, after yesterday’s excitement and Dean and Luna’s quick interview, we were wondering if we could get your input on the situation?

Ginny: Oh come on, they had reservations, I hope you lot didn’t make them wait that long…

Fred: Oh I think we only kept them for about 10 minutes.

Ginny: You better had, it was their anniversary, you daft gits.

George: Oh… yikes now that you say that they may have mentioned something like it…

Ginny: *annoyed sigh* Perhaps we should stick to the topic, yeah?

Lee: Of course, here is the letter in case you wanted to have a look at it. *Lee hands it over to Ginny, and she glances over it quickly before handing it back*

Ginny: Thanks, Lee, well the person who wrote it definitely isn’t a Gryffindor. I don’t have proof but I feel like if they were, they’d just come outright and say it, ya know? I don’t know who it’s for sure, but I have a feeling it’s for Hermione. Still, that doesn’t mean much, but I know it’s not from Ron.

Lee: That’s right, they broke up recently. That must be a bit awkward, yeah?

Ginny: *glares at Lee as the twins shift uncomfortably* Yes, it was at first, but Ron and Hermione were always friends first, and recently they patched things up, I mean really patched things up and now it’s back to the way it was before.

Lee: Well that’s great to hear! So you’re betting on Hermione Granger, any idea who wrote it or from which house? Was it from you?

Ginny: No, Lee, I didn’t write it, but to answer your other question, if it is for Hermione then good luck to us all on finding who it could be from.

Fred: Why’s that?

Ginny: You’re kidding, right? Didn’t you guys even look at your stupid Letterpool? Hermione is in second place to Lavender Brown on the amount of suitors who could have written the letter for her. You guys have anyone from Justin Finch-Fletchly to—ugh—Cormac McLaggen. Please, Merlin, let it not be from that prat.

George: HA! Yes indeed! We all remember McLaggen’s desperate attempts to seduce Hermione Granger. No offense, McLaggen, but no way.

Ginny: Yeah, oh but yeah, my bet is for Hermione. *Tosses some galleons to Lee*

Lee: Alright, well this concludes our session with Ginny Weasley on the Letterpool. On a more personal note, Ginny, are the rumors true? Are you and Blaise Zabini dating?

Ginny: They put you up to this, didn’t they?

Lee: *sees Ginny’s dark seething anger* Which answer gets me into less trouble?

Ginny: I knew it. Fred? George? You are about to be very, very sorry. *Ginny gets up and stares at them*

Lee: H-Heh *Lee clears his throat* Well then, that really does conclude Ginny Weasley’s input on Hogwarts Hot Topics I’m Lee Jor—*Crashing noises and screams of horror in the background* H-Heh that’s, OhI’mOutOfHere!

~~~

George: H-Hello, Hogwarts, this is George Weasley interviewing Cho Chang for more insights on the Letterpool… *groaning in agony*

Cho: G-George? What happened?! Are you alright? How did you get that black eye?!

George: Y-yeah, oh well er… we may have teased—I mean Fred and me may have teased Ginny a little too much about her love life. And that was wrong. Very, very wrong. Fred’s still in the Hospital Wing, and Lee’s away right now to give some Luna Quidditch commentating tips. So it’s just me for now.

Cho: You’ve already seen Madam Pomfrey?!

George: Yep…

Cho: *wide eyed in shock* R-Right then, erm, you were saying?

George: Right, right. So, Cho, you, and Harry Potter have had a history of a romantic nature… word is you two have arranged a little rendezvous together for tonight. Are you off to meet him now?

Cho: I-uh-well I mean yes, I am on my way to Hogsmeade now, but it’s not a date or anything, it’s just us meeting up and talking.

George: I didn’t say anything about a date per se.

Cho: You implied it.

George: I’m offended by your accusation.

Cho: -__- No wonder Ginny pulverized you.

George: Like I said, you’re the one who mentioned a date, not me, and speaking of things in a romantic nature… any idea who could have written it, Cho?

Cho: If you’re implying I wrote it for Harry, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you, although it wouldn’t surprise me if it was for Harry.

George: Oh yes? Why is that?

Cho: Well sure, I mean he is very well-liked and charming and easy to talk to—

George: Sure you still don’t fancy Harry?

Cho: -__- Someday, George Weasley, something like this will happen to you, and it won’t seem so funny. *Cho gets up and walks away.*

George: Well, there you have it, folks. Cho thinks it’s for Harry, Luna had thoughts on it being for Harry and written by Cho, although it looks like that is a dead end… Dean is rooting for Seamus, and Ginny thinks it’s for Hermione. That concludes tonight’s interviews, keep tuned into our show for recaps and new interviews, and remember if you want to place a bet in the Letterpool visit me, Fred, or Lee. Good night, Hogwarts.

~~~

Maybe it was the change from Madam Puddifoot’s to the Three Broomsticks, maybe it was because they were older now. Either way Harry Potter and Cho Chang were having a great time hanging out together.

“I will never get over that game. Cho, you were fantastic! I wasn’t even angry about missing the snitch, it was incredible.”

“Oh please, that was all luck.” Cho laughed as she sipped her butterbeer

“I caught the snitch with my mouth once; trust me, that was not a strategic choice.”

“Oh yeah! Ugh, that looked awful!”

“It wasn’t fun, that’s for sure.” Harry grinned. Talking about Quidditch was always easy, and it was nice for once to talk about it with someone who wasn’t obsessed with the Chuddley Cannons.

“Yeah, and you know, Cedric was great at—” And just like that, the conversation crumbled. ‘Way to go, Harry, this was actually going well then you have to go and say that with your big trap,’ Harry thought to himself.

Cho smiled sadly. “Yes, yes, he was…”

“Sorry… I should have thought—we don’t have to talk about him.”

Cho rolled her eyes. “Harry, that was our problem last time.” She paused. “He’s missed, he’s very dearly missed, but this is a crap way to honor him. He and everyone who died to make this world a brighter place. I think we need to stop beating ourselves up for everything that happened, you especially. You have the whole world on your shoulders, you have since you were a kid, and everyone forgets that. Sorry, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about this, but just know you can talk to me about it. I don’t want it to be like last time, we were both grieving and everything was a mess, but I had people to talk to… I know you did too, but I’m hoping you’re talking to someone now. Harry, you’re not invincible, and you shouldn’t have to be.”

Harry swallowed hard. “I guess I know why you’re in Ravenclaw now, no one’s ever really tried to talk to me about this stuff. I mean, Ron and Hermione, sure, but they’ve had a lot to deal with too. I guess I just… no, I guess I’m not talking to anyone about it. I dunno why but I always feel like it’s selfish of me, after all, I am ‘the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“Harry…” Cho reached out and held his hands in hers. “People forgot that you are human, and it’s obvious you carry the guilt for all of us, but you don’t have to because what happened is not your fault. It’s not selfish to ask for help when you need it. When you asked me out tonight, I was actually really happy because I could apologize and make sure you were okay. You can talk to me anytime, and maybe we can even be friends again.”

Harry was stunned into silence.

“You deserve a happy life, Harry, never forget that people who love you for more than just being the Boy-Who-Lived. You are not perfect, you are not a god, you are a person who deserves more than to just be idolized. You deserve a life that you should have had, happy and unextraordinary—normal, life. You should live it now, not for anyone else, just yourself.”

Harry had to take his hands from Cho’s to rub his eyes. “Thank you.” He sniffled.

“Oh wow, who do we always end up with one of us crying?” Cho joked.

Harry smiled. “S-Sorry, it’s just no one, no one has ever—I didn’t think—Aside from the Weasleys and Hermione… Sorry, words are hard right now. I don’t really have the right ones to say at the moment but thank you. Just—thank you.”

Harry reached out for her hands again, and she took them immediately and squeezed.

“Hey, let’s just take our time to get to know each other again. No need to rush this time around, and remember I’m here, okay? As a friend, or whatever.”

“Just a friend?”

Cho blushed. “I—yes, for now just a friend. Let’s do the boring thing where we hang out, get to know each other, then start dating. Maybe after that… I’d like to be more than a friend, but I don’t think you need a girlfriend right now.”

“Yeah…” Harry started. “But I think I like this boring thing. I do have one question, though… the letter?”

“No, I didn’t write it, I should have, I should have come to you. But as always, you’re the brave one.”

They both took a minute to let everything sink in. It was as if an entire weight had been lifted from his back. “So we do the boring thing for now?” he asked.

“Well, boring for Harry Potter standards anyway.”

Harry laughed. “It’s not my fault weird shit is attracted to me.”

“I’ll say.”

They both took deep breaths and eased back into their earlier easy-going vibe.

“Hey, Cho? Want to be boring together again soon? It doesn’t just have to be the two of us, we can do other boring stuff like a party, or hang out, or something normal.”

“Harry Potter, I think that sounds brilliant. I’m definitely in. I think this calls for a toast? Cheers, to being boring… by Harry Potter standards anyway.”

Harry laughed. “Yes. Cheers to that and new-old friends.”

They clinked their glasses together and ended up talking all night. No, seriously, it was just talking get your heads out of the gutter.

~~~

Lee: Hello, Hogwarts, this is Lee, Fred, and George, discussing Letterpool with Harry Potter!

Harry: Hi guys, how’s Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes going?

George: Oh well actually it’s going quite well, Harry, thank you—

Fred: Hey! I know what you’re doing, no-no, Harry, you’re talking about your new girlfriend, Cho Chang.

Harry: We’re not—we’re just hanging out but dating might be in the future, and that’s all anyone needs to know.

Lee: So… gotta ask, did she write the letter?

Harry: *laughs* No, she didn’t write the letter, so, er, sorry if the letter was for me. I am a taken man.

Fred: I thought you said you weren’t in a relationship.

Harry: *rolling his eyes* Come on, give me a break here, I only saved the entire world.

Fred: Okay, okay, fair enough… we’re coming to the wedding, though, right?

Harry: Sure. *chuckles* Bye, losers.

Lee: Ha! Well, that’s it, you have it from boy wonder himself. Cho Chang did not write the letter, so unfortunately for those of you who guessed it was Cho to Harry, you did not win. However, Fred and George have very generously decided—if you did pick that ‘coupling’—they are going to give you 10 Galleons off of a 35 Galleon purchase at WWW!

George: That’s right! Congratulations almost winners!

Fred: Too bad you didn’t win, but we’ll love seeing you at Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes in Diagon Alley!

Lee: This is Lee Jordan from Hogwarts Hot Topics signing off.

~~~

It had been two weeks since the Letter had dropped to the Gryffindor table, causing quite an annoyance for Seamus. Lately, he headed to the Library after class thinking the hosts of the new Hogwarts radio station would never think to look for him there. Also, Hermione was sure to be there. If there was one person those three weren’t going to mess with, it was her. (Especially after Hermione and Ron’s break up.) It proved to be a successful tactic, and he would walk with Hermione back to the Gryffindor tower because again, the twins never approached him as long as Hermione around. They had made it a point to sort of let her slide under the radar with the whole letter thing. The key term there was sort of, sure they mentioned her, but not to the same extent as they mentioned the other letter candidates.

Hermione quickly picked up on why Seamus was spending so much time with her, and to his surprise she understood. So they started studying together and got a lot closer in the past two weeks. Enough for him to realize something was bothering her, and it was getting a bit hard to watch. She had bags under her eyes. She and Ron had patched things up, but she would snap at him when he whispered something to her. The same thing when Harry did it as well, she’d snap at him, apologize for doing so, and storm off. Seamus didn’t want to pry, but Harry and Ron asked him if she had said anything to him. If Harry and Ron were coming to him for help, then whatever was going on with Hermione was bad.

“Hermione, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, thanks for checking in, I just think I’m about to get a cold that’s all.”

“Well then it’s good the holidays are coming up, we get to go home and rest for a bit and spend time with our families, yeah?”

Hermione smiled sadly. “Yeah, that’s always a nice thing to look forward to.” Hermione went back to reading something that definitely wasn’t on the syllabus, or at least… Seamus thought?

“Er, Hermione?”

“Yes, Seamus?”

“We’re not getting quizzed on that, are we?”

Hermione looked puzzled and looked at the book. “Oh!” She laughed. “No, heh, this is just research. I'm thinking about doing a study on memory charms. They are quite fascinating”

Seamus couldn’t pinpoint it, but the way she said that seemed like this was more than just a strictly academic study.

“Oh yeah, that does sound interesting. Might really help with studying for a test or recalling important details, like auror stuff. You thinking of becoming an auror like Ron and Harry?”

“Yeah, I am considering it, and thanks for at least sounding interested. I know my extra reading can be a bit boring,” said Hermione.

All Seamus could think was, ‘That was total bollocks. This is Hermione Granger, and yeah she does a bit too much of extra reading, but usually she jumps at the chance to engage with anybody on the stuff she’s reading.’ Her expression spoke volumes; this was not something she liked to talk about, so Seamus decided to leave it.

“Hey, Hermione? I gotta finish this essay on Ancient Runes, what was the book you recommended?”

Hermione perked up at that. “Oh, it was Runes: Quest of the Unknown. It was really helpful! Oh but I think Daphne Greengrass is using it right now. Although she’d probably let you share it alongside her, she’s in one of the reserved rooms.”

“Wicked, thanks, Hermione.”

“You’re welcome, Seamus!” Hermione grinned and went straight back into reading.

On to Part 2

Back here for comments!

Interhouse Fest 2016: In the Moonlight, Red (2 of 2)

2016-11-24T03:32:04Z

At first Padma did not notice it. She had recipes to try, little baking explosions to contain. Parvati regularly sent photos of butterflies enclosed in glowing reports. Mum and Dad wanted to know if Padma had applied for a job yet. And Mandy had announced over Floo one night that she had proposed to Lee Jordan.

“We’re going to marry on the 25th of March!” Mandy had said, before cackling. “First day of spring. Isn’t it grand, Paz?”

Padma had dipped her spoon into the sauce pan with melted chocolate bars. “So that’s in two months?”

“Why not. We agreed we’ll be courting each other for the rest of our lives.”

“I’m so happy for you, you squirrel,” Padma had said with a smile.

“I’m so glad that you’re so happy for me, love,” Mandy had said, “because I have a request for my best mate in all the world.”

“She wants me to bake her an orange wedding cake,” Padma grumbled to Lavender Brown. It was a grumble of love, because Padma would always love Mandy and her inexplicable choices, amongst them: having vile raisins with cream like one would have strawberries with cream, and wanting an orange wedding cake. “Just imagine it.”

“I won’t,” Lavender Brown said, cheerfully. “I’d like for my imagination to remain untraumatised. D’you think this is a good potato?”

“It is.” Padma slid a bunch of celery in her own basket. She rather liked Muggle groceries, with their baskets and trolleys and plastic rolls for produce. “But – orange cake. It’s like a pink elephant.”

“Not for me. No pink elephants,” Lavender Brown insisted as she twisted the plastic bag with six potatoes and put it in her own basket. “Have you had lunch? Fevered imagination, I’m telling you. Alert the Rorschach constabulary!”

“What are you on about?” Padma said with mild amusement.

Lavender Brown shrugged. “Not much. No pink elephants for me, is what I’m saying. Although pink is my favourite colour.”

They advanced to the meat section. Lavender Brown ordered six steak cuts.

“Two weeks of rare steak sounds good,” she casually told Padma.

Padma almost did not notice but it had been two months since they started this. There had been a handful of chocolate cream cheese buns left in the basket, and Padma had insisted that Lavender Brown take home the basket. A week later Padma had pushed into that Muggle café with the plastic oranges to retrieve the basket and found Lavender Brown eating a “£2 chocolate cake.”

Lavender Brown had greeted her with, “Your chocolate tastes better. Thicker. More moist.”

That Saturday afternoon started with Padma surreptitiously Conjuring a fork of her own to take a bite of the chocolate cake slice and offer her critique, and ended with an offer by Lavender Brown to shop in the nearby grocery for dinner.

Padma had come and was introduced to a whole shelf of different kinds of butter. It had been almost orgasmic. Suddenly the world had been suffused with a gentle buttery glow. The glow had carried her and her armful of butter all the way to the till, where Lavender Brown had purchased three balls of yarn.

Padma kept coming back for the butter. And the eggs. Muggles did something with their eggs.

Padma stayed even as Lavender Brown had started chattering about knitting patterns. Padma remembered briefly wrinkling her nose. She also remembered trying to be interested since Lavender Brown had seemed interested with Padma’s solemn rant on cocoa to sugar ratio back in the café with the plastic oranges.

They had been really fun outings. Padma had to admit that she really how Lavender Brown could be so intent and determined in almost everything, from practising new knitting patterns to searching for a particular shade of nail polish.

It was only now that Padma realised how “grocery shopping with Lavender Brown” had sidled into her routine, four times a week at six in the evening.

It was only now that Lavender Brown alluded to a coming full moon.

“Take it with roasted potatoes,” Padma told her. “Roasted golden. Salt and pepper. A lick of butter as they roast. Buttered French beans, too.”

Lavender Brown’s wide smile was limned with the light and shadow of the contrasting grocery lights and the meat section’s lamps. “You love butter way too much. But yeah, okay, I’ll have buttered potatoes.”

“I’m despairing at orange cakes way too much,” Padma muttered.

“You could contrast it with white, I think?” Lavender Brown said. She pursed her lips in thought, glossed with the stick that Padma had helped her pick. Padma’s eyes flicked to them and she bit on her own. She did her best not to hack out the bitter taste of her own lippie. “Does she want it to be orange in flavour, too?”

“She didn’t say,” Padma said slowly. Well.

“Carrot,” Lavender Brown said. “Carrot, I’m telling you. All of my health-crazed mates are all about carrot cake.”

“Mandy’s not health-crazed.” Padma was curious about Lavender Brown’s friends, though. They had to be Muggles. She hesitated before deciding to talk about her own friends. “A big part of Mandy’s right cheek is burned from the Battle. She also likes the thought of investment banking.”

Lavender Brown said nothing as they loaded their shopping on the till.

When they stepped out of the grocery a light rain was pouring. The street lamps lined the rain in silver.

Padma persevered to connect with Lavender Brown. She had to admit that it felt nice to have someone new to talk to. She wanted to know about Lavender Brown’s friends.

“Lee Jordan is all right,” Padma continued. “A right laugh, and warm. He’s all right with Mandy’s burn since he’s also got a slash across his face –”

“Can we please,” Lavender Brown cut in, “just talk about cake?”

The fairy lights strung up above the shop’s doors sparkled against Lavender Brown’s face. Her eyes were hard, and there was no smile on her lips.

“I was about to ask about your friends,” Padma said, confused. She shifted her bags, the plastic crushing as they knocked against her leg. “I thought – it would be all right to talk about mine.”

Lavender Brown let out a humourless little laugh. “Okay. Even in small talk you’re always intense. Like, hmm, let’s see. A common topic between us: let’s talk about lycanthropy! D’you know my friend? She likes tea with no milk, and oh, she’s also burned!”

Padma could feel irritation rise up in her. “What in Merlin’s name are you on about?”

“I meant it when I asked you for things to be nice.”

“So friends are not a nice topic, is that it?” Padma breathed in. She tried not to be hasty with words even though this conversational turn was making her head spin.

Lavender Brown started to tug on her hair. “It is. It is, but not that.”

Padma breathed out slowly. Still she could feel the irritation simmering. She had been coming to learn that Lavender Brown was difficult to communicate with. “Did you also mean it when you said we will be familiar with each other?”

“Yeah, yeah I did.” Lavender Brown’s vigorous nod made her pile of hair bob. “I do mean it.”

“So I am also trying to be,” Padma told her. “I thought part of getting to know each other is to talk about each other’s friends?”

“You’re talking about unpleasant things just now,” Lavender Brown said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t want to think about the Battle.”

No pink elephants.

“So all you want to talk about is nonsense things,” Padma said.

“Not nonsense!” Lavender Brown burst out. “Is baking nonsense to you? Is knitting?” An expression must have passed through Padma’s face because Lavender Brown curled her lip. “Oh, right. You don’t have too much regard on knitting, do you? Or nail polish, or curling your hair, or magazines, or any of that.”

“I don’t understand what you’re bloody on about!” Padma said. Passing people had begun to cast curious looks on them.

“None of the things we’ve learned about each other is fucking nonsense!” Lavender Brown’s voice had gone tight, and Padma heard the tear of the plastic of Lavender Brown’s bags. “I just want for things to be nice!”

“That’s not how friendship works,” Padma snapped. “It’s not all about nice things.”

Lavender Brown whirled around and stalked through the rain.

Padma was left standing there, stunned.

*

They didn’t talk to each other for two weeks.

On the afternoon after the full moon, Padma’s post included a letter.

I’m sorry I walked out on you, Lavender Brown had written. I didn’t mean to leave. I didn’t want to hurt you or anyone there. It was near full moon.

The green lace curtains behind Padma’s sofa fluttered. The pink stationery paper was thick between her fingers, and she contemplated it for a long time. Her coffee had nearly gone cold. Wendelin the Weird’s biography was momentarily forgotten, softly thumping back on the pile of new books by Padma’s apple-red sofa.

Lavender Brown had walked out on Padma twice now. First because Padma had been gross, and then because Lavender Brown had been difficult to communicate with. And before either of those, Lavender Brown had walked off the British Wizarding World.

Padma had walked off her presumed map as Arithmancer as well.

It seemed like the both of them were the types who leave.

Padma tapped the embossed silver flowers on the pink stationery.

But she had sought out Lavender Brown again to give her a basket. And Lavender Brown had sought her out to return the basket, and now a letter after a full moon. Besides Padma had really liked spending time with her.

Padma sat in her cluttered flat for a few more moments, mildly stricken. She didn’t have a map for this one.

She had had a map with Arithmancy but she didn’t like spending time with that one: it had felt more like a countdown. So she had left without looking back.

But Padma had looked back for Lavender Brown through the mists since that first night.

Padma knew this was not going to be easy. But really, not everything had to be all about nice things.

Carefully Padma folded the stationery and tucked it in her book. She picked up her nearly forgotten coffee, nearly gone cold, but she still finished her cup, chasing the warmth. Then she Conjured a piece of parchment and a quill.

After a beat, Padma wrote: How are you? Would you like for me to pop by?

*

Lavender Brown’s street had crumbly grey and white cobblestones. It was beyond the right fork of the road, after the right fork yawns into a residential area tucked beside the woods and cottages.

The first thing that Padma noticed was how neat and orderly Lavender Brown’s flat was. There were no piles of books sprouting like mushrooms: there were coffee table books and there were books neatly stacked in a bookcase. The curtains were drawn as wide as possible, tied together with knitted ribbons, as if to let in as much sunlight as possible through the casement windows.

Of course. Lavender Brown liked things to be nice.

In fact she was there lying on an aggressively floral sofa.

“Hello,” Padma managed to say. She pressed the parcel of brownies closer to stomach. She didn’t know how to pick her way across an orderly room.

Lavender Brown sat up on the sofa, and patted it. “Hey. Come sit. You can hang your cloak here.”

Curls had escaped from Lavender Brown’s hasty bun. There were deep shadows under her eyes and her jumper-clad shoulders were drooping. She had been cuddling a little white rabbit.

“I brought you brownies.” Padma sat on the flowery sofa after laying her red cloak on the sofa’s arm. The rabbit sniffed curiously. “What’s the rabbit’s name?”

Lavender Brown opened the parcel and smiled. “I don’t know. I met it last night. Fancy a cuppa?”

“All right,” Padma said, and was assaulted by an image of a werewolf making friends with a rabbit. She didn’t know whether to find it fascinatingly horrifying or too adorable.

Lavender Brown made fetched her wand. It was resting on the artful and precise doilies covering the coffee table.

“You know what,” Padma said, “I can do it.”

Lavender Brown’s lips quirked. They were pale and chapped. “I can manage it, you know. I just feel, like, sluggish. Everything I do will be tortoise-paced.”

“All right,” Padma said briskly. “So you just sit there. You can tell me how to navigate your kitchen.”

Lavender Brown’s tea cosy was a bright knitted creation studded with large buttons. Padma couldn’t help smiling at it as she set down the tray on the coffee table.

“Did you knit this?” asked Padma, taking Lavender Brown’s proffered brownie.

“Yeah.” Lavender Brown bit into her brownie and gave a happy sigh. “All the knitting you see is by me. This is delicious.”

“Thank you.”

Padma catalogued the tea cosy, the doilies on the coffee table and in the kitchen table, the ribbons for the curtains, the lamp wrap, and the sprawling piece framed on the wall across the bookshelf.

Just looking at those on the coffee table made Padma curious. The patterns were so precise and looked like a lot of thought and effort went into them. Knitting looked far from trifle.

“Your knitting work is amazing,” Padma said at last. “They’re actual pieces of art.”

“Oh, well, you know,” Lavender Brown said with pride. “I love nice things.”

“They’re more than nice,” Padma pronounced. “You have a deft hand. And a great eye for colours and patterns.”

Lavender Brown tilted her head with a soft smile. “That’s such a nice thing to say. Thank you. I’m growing flowers in my balcony, too. My friends often tell me I’ve got a green thumb.”

They smiled at each other. Padma rather liked the curve of Lavender Brown’s lips.

“There’s a saying that good gardeners are also good with weather,” Lavender Brown said. She poured herself another cup, and drank with neither milk nor sugar. “So I like making my home pretty. Most people, they think homemaking isn’t that worthwhile. I think there’s an art to it.”

“I never thought of it like that before,” Padma said with a bit of awe.

“I don’t know if it’s like – the high arts,” continued Lavender Brown. “I can’t say that it’s a low art, mind. Whatever, I don’t fancy referring to art as high or low. Do you – do you get what I’m saying? Am I saying it right?”

Padma looked at the faint crease between Lavender Brown’s impeccable dark brows. “I get what you’re saying.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Then Lavender Brown let out a little laugh. “I’ve never been good at saying what I want to say. Especially the important ones. They always come out wrong. I had to think about how to say all that.”

Padma hesitated. “I misunderstand a lot of things.”

“You’re very smart,” Lavender Brown said, frowning.

Padma shook her head a little. “That’s different. I misunderstand a lot. Mostly that’s because I judge too fast. So, please tell me.” At Lavender Brown’s puzzled look Padma said, “Whatever you want to say to me, you can take as long as you like to say how you want to. Or you can just throw it all on me and I’ll do my best. I just – want to understand.”

Lavender Brown turned her face away to pour more tea. She was silent for quite some time, so Padma fussed with the hem of her red cloak as the shadows from the windows lengthened.

Then she heard Lavender Brown suck in a breath.

“Right, okay,” said Lavender Brown. When she turned to face Padma half her face was touched by the shadows but there was a burning, intent look in her eyes that jolted through Padma and made her quite weak in the knees.

“Okay,” repeated Lavender Brown, her mouth a determined line. “So I have this – thing. That when I have a problem, or when a situation makes me feel really sad and heavy-like, I do this thing where I, um, block it. I refuse to entertain the sadness. It makes me feel lousy. I hate that. So I do all I can to not think about it.”

No pink elephants, Padma fleetingly remembered. That couldn’t be healthy.

“That’s your coping technique,” Padma said, slowly.

Lavender Brown appeared to consider this. “I suppose.”

“Is that healthy?” said Padma.

Lavender Brown lifted her shoulders. “I’m happy. I reckon. I’ve got mates from work. And ones I’ve met from uni. Great people. My family knows and they’re supportive, and that’s all that matters.”

Padma set down her cup and shifted on the sofa so that she was fully facing Lavender. “You can talk to me.”

Lavender peered at Padma from between her escaped bright curls. She tucked a lock behind her ear. “You know, I’m getting that impression. It’s – lovely.”

Evening had fallen now. The shadows mingled with the flickering on of the hazy street lamps outside, and here inside Lavender pulled on a beaded cord to turn on the lamp.

After a beat she said, “Speaking of art – what, what’s so funny?”

Padma lowered her palm from her mouth. “That’s quite a shift.”

“Are you starting with the werewolf puns now?” Lavender asked lightly. “I am a woman of talents. But speaking of art, your baking is art. Have you ever thought about turning it into a business?”

“It’s just a hobby,” demurred Padma.

“You told me people loved your baking,” Lavender pointed out. “I love your baking. It’s truly great, by the way. But anyway, people loved it enough to request more baked goods from you. There’s a demand, I’m telling you.”

Padma was a bit dubious. “I’ve got exactly two demands. That’s not exactly a clamour.”

“Well, see what they think during the wedding,” Lavender told her.

*

It would be quite a while before Mandy’s wedding. Padma had time to despair at Mandy’s colour choice and still feel suspiciously teary at her best friend getting married. Padma had time to experiment on carrot and cream ratio.

During the days when she and Lavender didn’t go to the grocery, Padma had time to slip out of her carrot-stained apron and give Lavender a Floo call.

“I had the worst day,” Lavender was complaining one night. Padma could see her swing her purse on the floral sofa and shrug out of her blazer.

“Tell me about it.”

Lavender sprawled by the rug in front of the fireplace. “D’you know how vital the Muggle underground train is to Muggle mood? They call it the Tube.”

Padma frowned. “There’s a Muggle mood called the Tube?”

“No,” Lavender laughed, “the Tube’s the Muggle underground train, sorry. When it malfunctions especially in the morning it’s not very pretty at work. I don’t take it, but my office do, so. Tempers! Flying like pigs!” She leaned back on the rug. “So how are your carrot adventures?”

Padma had more adventures in the Muggle world when Lavender took her along to a pub just off Brompton Road. Around a cherry wood table, with her hand curled around a mug of hot chocolate with spiced rum, Padma met Lavender’s friends: Sarah had a shock of pink hair and discussed Muggle music magazines with Lavender. Arianne knew a lot about earthquakes, septum piercings, and also crocheting. Rob was a very tall lad who got very excited about Bulmers and candy floss. Juhara seemed to know what book to recommend at all occasions and had an armful of bangles which clinked when she leaned on the table and addressed Lavender and Padma with, “So are you two dating?”

Padma nearly choked on her tiropita.

Lavender was in the middle of picking off the raisins Padma had left on a napkin, having known about Padma’s aversion to raisins for months now.

They glanced at each other, and Lavender laughed.

She had such a glowy laughter, Padma thought as she hurriedly sipped on her mug. Padma loved overcast days: she didn’t care for sunshine much, and she came alive the most when night had fallen. So she couldn’t say the Lavender’s peal of laughter was bright as the sun. But it made her feel like she was tipping her head back as the glow of the moon melded with the sturdy lights of the street lamps.

“We didn’t see each other for nearly a decade,” Lavender was saying.

Padma didn’t say anything but she could feel an unhelpful smile tugging at her lips.

Lavender’s friends was a great lot, Padma decided as they gathered their coats and in Padma’s case, her red cloak. They made Lavender laugh and they knew almost all the things Padma had come to learn about Lavender. Except for the werewolf bit.

“I can’t wait for warm weather,” Lavender said when there were just the two of them on the pavement. She had a sparkly blue scarf on.

They found themselves aimlessly ambling around as people hurried by them and as the sky spilled an indigo winter evening, the city lights all coming alive to drown out the half-moon distant in the sky.

They Apparated behind a telephone box so that Lavender could show Padma the Muggle university she had attended, which was in the same city.

Old London Road was glowing, the foot traffic a steady clacking against its sandy-grey pavements. They bought candy floss near the archway, and as they walked on Padma haltingly told Lavender about Arithmancy.

After a moment Lavender said, “Baking could be your thing, you know.”

Padma shuffled closer to Lavender so that she could hear her clearly over the din. Lavender angled herself towards Padma, thoughtfully chewing on candy floss.

“Think about it,” continued Lavender. “You’re great at it, and it makes you happy. I mean, it sounds like you feel fulfilled when you described it?”

“Yes.” Padma nodded slowly.

They paused by a sculpture of telephone boxes falling over and onto each other, like a bunch of brightly-coloured gits.

“Do you really think my baking’s great?” Padma said.

“Sure.” Lavender smiled at her. “The best I’ve ever had. It’s true. When I tasted your chocolate buns I thought I might cry because it’s so good. Even your brownies. They’re magical.”

Padma ducked her head and huffed out a laugh. “Thanks.”

Then she felt Lavender reach for her hand. Padma looked up from Lavender’s bare fingers around her red-gloved ones, and into Lavender’s face.

“You are great,” Lavender said, carefully. She looked and sounded tremendously sincere. “I really like you, Padma.”

Padma shouldn’t have eaten too much candy floss. Her throat felt dry. After a beat she turned her hand palm up so she could hold Lavender back. “I really, really like you, too, Lavender.”

“Would you like to date me?” Lavender continued, as if it were the easiest thing to say in the world. Her long-lashed marble eyes were intent on Padma.

Padma could feel her fingers tightening around Lavender’s. She’d never been as bold as that. She wished she could be.

“Yes,” Padma found her voice. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

A grin bloomed on Lavender’s face, and she drew closer, still holding Padma’s hand. “Is it okay to kiss you, then?”

Padma couldn’t help but laugh a little, something burbling in her chest coming out as a little laugh, before nodding. She thought it sounded relieved. She thought it sounded happy.

Lavender was soon leaning forward.

Lavender was so bold, was all Padma could think about, a heartbeat before feeling Lavender’s grinning lips on hers. She could feel her red cloak fluttering about her ankles. Her cheeks were shielded from the wind’s bite by the fall of Lavender’s tight curls. Lavender’s boldness might take Padma by surprise, but Padma had always been a quick study. She drew herself closer by their joined hands. When she felt Lavender grip her back and hum into their kiss Padma could feel her heart soar: she liked that she viscerally affected Lavender.

When they broke apart, but still close enough that their giddy breaths warmed them, Lavender said, “I’ve always loved your lipstick. It’s so red. It looks so warm.”

Padma laughed and leaned in for another kiss.

*

“Won’t you consider?” Padma said not for the first time.

“I’m not invited, so nope,” said Lavender.

They were in Padma’s flat the morning of Mandy’s wedding. The carrot cake had been finished, carefully shrunken so that it wouldn’t lose flavour and freshness. Padma was balancing her leg on a chair as she put on her red silk stockings. Lavender stood leaning against the door to the kitchen, still in her pyjama bottoms.

“That robe is so amazingly cut,” Lavender commented.

Padma flashed her a smile and returned to rolling up her stockings.

But the sight of Lavender sleep rumpled swiftly followed by the stockings distracted her a bit. Last night Lavender had slowly rolled up Padma’s stockings, trailing each inch up by an open-mouthed kiss. It had left Padma breathless and sweating, naked in nothing but her red lace stockings.

Padma cleared her throat and straightened up.

Her hair fell in a black sheet around her shoulders. She still had to dress her hair and put on her lippie, but she approached Lavender first.

Lavender had never taken off her glamour, not even when the both of them were tumbling into bed at four in the morning after delicious orgasms. Padma had thought that maybe this wedding would be a chance for Lavender to consider coming back to Wizarding society, but Lavender was resolved not to.

She cupped Lavender’s glamoured cheek now, and pecked her on the lips. “All right. I understand.”

Lavender caught her wrist in a gentle grip. “Have a great time,” she murmured. “Don’t be too nervous about the cake. How many guests?”

“A hundred.” Padma’s heart thudded. “Mandy said they wanted an intimate setting.”

“Okay, then.” Lavender’s thumb ran soothing circles on Padma’s wrist. “Okay, so a hundred people about to be blessed by your cake.”

“What are you doing today?”

“I’m finishing a chapter on your book,” Lavender said with a sudden grin. “Wendelin the Weird’s biography. She’s got this diary entry waxing on and on about a cake, but it’s not a cake on a plate at all.”

Both of them started to snicker like children.

“I know that,” Padma said. “The cake under Lucia’s skirts. I can’t believe you’re making me think of cakes like that.”

“Then I’ll check on my plants,” continued Lavender, “feed the rabbit.”

“Will I see you later?”

“If you like.”

“I’d love to,” Padma promised.

With a last look over her shoulder at Lavender’s encouraging smile, Padma departed for Mandy’s wedding.

Mandy’s wedding made Padma tear up a bit. It was intimate, with honeysuckles dripping from the marquee and heartfelt speeches and Mandy and Lee both doing an interpretative dance.

Padma got a lot of compliments on the cake, and soon her red purse was full of scraps of parchment scribbled with people’s Floo addresses. Her purse felt heavy with hope.

It was a lovely time. She saw Teddy Lupin chasing the blue bubbles that Harry Potter kept Conjuring. Mrs. Longbottom was deep in conversation with Mrs. Tonks over glasses of sherry. Mandy was dancing and throwing flowers whilst Cho and Luna chased the flowers with their wands, soon unravelling a giant flower wreath.

“You look good,” Parvati told Padma at one point, and added, “You look like you’re not telling me something.”

Padma turned to consider Parvati and the pink glittery butterfly clip perching on her twin’s hair.

They’d always known each other well. And Parvati had been Lavender’s best mate.

“Maybe some time,” she told Parvati.

*

Lavender did not sidle into the wedding nor did she stalk about nearby only to be inevitably discovered by the party, like in storybooks. Padma found her in the park near Lavender’s flat, knitting in the spring sunshine.

“Well?” inquired Lavender as Padma took off her red cloak and settled on the blanket.

Padma felt her own cheeks lift, and Lavender answered with a grin.

“See? Your baking is an art.”

“I’ve missed you,” Padma told her, and Lavender’s grin softened to warm smile, her eyes shining in the sun.

Still smiling, Padma laid out her red cloak over her patch of the blanket and laid down on it. She nuzzled at the orchid scented cloak, kicking off her shoes and stretching her legs. She watched Lavender knit for several minutes, feeling the restlessness of not having a map waft out of her.

Eventually Lavender put down her knitting. She shifted over to where Padma was laying, gently straddling Padma’s thighs. Padma watched Lavender watch her.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Lavender said, and reached for her wand.

Padma blinked. There Lavender sat without her glamour. The sunlight touched on the thick rope of scar clawing from Lavender’s ear to the tip of her chin, on another scar from her jaw and forking down to her collarbones. Scratches painted Lavender’s bare arms beneath her pink T-shirt.

Padma felt a breath of relief leave her. It was still her Lavender. It was only Lavender.

Padma ran her hands up and down Lavender’s arms. She peered up at Lavender’s hesitant eyes, and smiled. “Kiss me.”

She saw Lavender’s lips tremble on a bright smile, before she felt them on hers. Padma put her arms around Lavender’s strong shoulders, drawing her closer. Padma buried her fingers in Lavender’s thick pile of her and showered kisses on her scarred face, until they were both laughing.

When Lavender sat up again, her thighs like steel on either side of Padma’s own, she tipped her head back and basked in the sun. Her face was as scarred as the moon, but infinitely more beautiful than the combined glow of the moon and the streetlamps.

Padma sat up as well so she could draw Lavender’s face close to her again. When they kissed again, it was more languid, like coming home to something familiar, and all around them spring’s new leaves fluttered, murmuring hope and promise.

fin

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Interhouse Fest 2016: In the Moonlight, Red (1 of 2)

2016-11-24T03:29:01Z

Title: In the Moonlight, Red
Author/Artist:
Characters: Padma Patil/Lavender Brown
Prompt number: 201
Word Count: 11,478
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Summary: The Wizarding World long thought that Lavender Brown had died. Padma runs into her in the Muggle world.
Disclaimer:The universe and characters of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling.
Author’s Notes: Thank you so much to C for the speedy beta. All remaining mistakes are mine. Thank you so much to the mods as well for being patient and for excellent work on the fest.

Parvati had said, “Padma, I’m trusting you to bake an apple cake for Cho’s birthday.”

Mandy had said, “Padma, for the love of Wendelin, do not just quit your job.”

Only one of them turned out to be right, Padma mused as her ankle boots crushed red and gold leaves along a narrow road.

This was not because of Padma harbouring a blithe disregard for Mandy’s advice. She had taken to heart plenty of Mandy’s advice through the years, because aside from recommending excellent quill brands and Flooing each other at odd hours to squeal over Agatha Shafiq’s latest book, best mates also carefully considered each other’s advice.

During First Year Potions when Mandy had said, “I think we should add just a pinch – just the tiniest pinch – of powdered horn of bicorn,” Padma had added a pinch of said ingredient and they had received top marks. So Padma had shared her mango tarts from home with Mandy Brocklehurst and they had become best mates.

During Seventh Year when Mandy had tearfully said, after a narrow escape from the Carrows, “Don’t move your ankle, please, Padma, please, it’ll only get worse,” Padma had gritted her teeth, accepted that she wouldn’t be able to finish her Arithmancy homework on time after their DA activities, and had not moved her ankle.

Last year when Mandy had suggested, over a jumble of lipsticks in a cosmetics shop, “Want to have drinks at The Unicorn,” Padma had picked a scarlet shade of lippie and spent the evening in said pub, and the night on the rug by the Harpies’ Chaser Valmai Morgan’s coffee table, one sweaty hand gripping the walnut coffee table leg and the other gripping Valmai Morgan’s green-tipped hair.

But last month when Mandy had dramatically wailed, “What about revolutionising the future of banking? Padma, love, what about stocks? What about investment banking?”

“Cho has corrupted you,” Padma had replied, tossing bits of cereal on Mandy’s auburn curls.

Mandy had only brushed off the cereal, lamenting about the wasted Muggle inspiration on Padma as they had finished their breakfast in a coffee shop.

And so halfway through the first decade of the new millennium, after stepping out of the coffee shop and into the sunlit Diagon Alley, overcome by either madness or a rare daring, Padma had promptly strode over to Gringotts and quit her job.

Padma slowed her steps. Daylight was melting away from the sky, turning into the mist cloaking the slick leaf-strewn path ahead. The road forked into two narrow, equally leaf strewn paths, and there were some people around. On the left fork three teenagers in uniforms were ambling home and an old man was walking a dog. On the right fork a lady had just emerged in running gear, jogging past Padma. A schoolboy was bent over beneath a rustling oak tree, tying his shoe laces.

Padma huddled into her crimson cloak and pressed the cake box closer to her chest. Luna had said that this part of Gloucester had a handful of Muggleborns and Half-bloods so the Apparition point had been pushed back to a few kilometres for safety purposes. A girl with some white cords stuck in her ears cycled past Padma towards the right fork, and Padma followed her. Luna had instructed to take the right fork. In this Padma was sure that she wouldn’t be lost.

Padma was still getting used to disappointments. She had been academically gifted, rivaling only Hermione Granger in their year. Dad had often patted her cheek, his hand heavy with gold rings and approval. Mum had frequently packed her extra mango tarts before engulfing her in melon scented hugs. Parvati used to braid Padma’s long hair and tell Padma of how promising Padma was.

How promising. How promisingly lost Padma felt right now.

Arithmancy had been as easy as unwrapping sweets. Padma could do Arithmancy backwards, sideways, and with her eyes crossed. It was Professor Vector who had put in a recommendation for her for Gringotts, smiling over her spectacles at Padma, because of course it was to be expected that Padma would pursue this even after the war. Padma had expected it herself, a map of sorts, precise and tangible and real enough to hold on to. It was economically safe, and practical, and she was more than good at it.

But for the longest time it had been a chore to claw her way up and stagger from her bed every morning. More than once Padma had looked up from her Arithmancy sheets, at the ink stains blotting black on her deep brown skin, wondering what she was doing and seeing no light at the end of a long workday apart from the weekends.

So there had been something equally terrifying and liberating when she had submitted her last impeccable Arithmancy sheets to Nagnok and a copy to Bill Weasley.

Mum and Dad were still grappling with this sudden life choice of hers, but Parvati had been supportive even when reports of Padma’s unemployed days only consisted of dabbling into baking and innumerable trips to the bookshop and the grocery.

For the first time in her life, Padma had no map. There were no precise steps to take. Her future, when not tottering from uneventful to terribly bleak, looked as shapeless and vague as the mist.

Padma glanced at the cake box now, hoping that Cho would like this little surprise.

When she looked up again, the cycling lady had disappeared into the fog. The sky was considerably darker now, more indigo and dangerously close to blending in with the mist, so that it took a few blinks before Padma realised that another person was on the path, jogging to her direction.

Padma would not have paid much mind to the jogger had she not glimpsed at the face underneath the pastel blue cap.

It startled her so badly. Padma’s muscles jolted that she almost dropped the cake box.

Through the dewy russet gleam of the fast falling night, Lavender Brown emerged, very much alive and jogging on a rain-slick path.

Dead people did not jog. Dead people did not slow their jog, casting a curious look on a stiff-shocked figure in the middle of a path.

But Lavender Brown was apparently so very much alive that she gasped out, “Padma?”

It was very cold. Padma wished she had worn her gloves. Her fingers felt ghostly, as if they were someone else’s stiff fingers clutching on a cake box.

The cake box. Padma steeled herself, and she was reorienting herself with her hands when Lavender Brown made a hesitant step forward and Padma felt her muscles shuddering into a shocked recoil again.

“Hey, um,” Lavender Brown said, a hand halfway outstretched, “you look like you’re seconds away from keeling over.”

Padma took in a breath of the cool air. “Yes, well.” She firmly told herself to get it together. She must not drop the cake box. “I’m usually more alert than this. You’re – you are Lavender Brown, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am.” Lavender Brown’s hand fell on her side, a crooked little smile on her lips. She was taller than Padma remembered, but that had been years ago when they were little more than kids: when Padma had only associated Lavender Brown with the summer holidays she had spent in the Patil house, sleeping over and painting nails and eating jalebi with Parvati, whilst Padma often sauntered out of their way to Floo over to Mandy’s.

There were other memories too. But Seventh Year memories were a bit of a blur now. Sometimes a specific one would assault Padma in vivid detail and she would break into cold sweat, but thankfully they remained vague.

The memory of everyone thinking that Lavender had died was not vague, though.

“This is,” Padma ventured, a bit feebly, “very unexpected.”

“Yeah,” Lavender said, before beaming, as if they were neighbours having a bit of a chat. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

A twining feeling of disconcertment and surrealism was crawling up Padma’s spine. It must be the wind whipping past the oak and nut trees curving over their heads. “I’m just visiting someone. Cho Chang, in fact.”

Night had fallen, and the mist was fast turning into shadows.

Lavender furrowed her brows, tilting her head so that half her face was shadowed under the pastel blue cap. “Cho Chang’s living here?”

“No. She’s just having a bit of a holiday.”

They stared at each other awkwardly. Padma had so many questions but she wanted to keep the cake fresh. She just wanted to make sure one thing, though.

“Does Parvati know?”

Lavender bit on her lip. “Ah, no. No.”

The wind that blew was shockingly cold and biting. Padma looked at Lavender’s tank top and cycling shorts with vague worry.

“No one knows,” Lavender added.

Padma nodded. “All right.” It felt like an agreement to a secret.

Lavender smiled an open, easy smile. Padma thought that she should be comforted by it, but she didn’t know how to feel. “Okay. I’m not keeping you any longer.”

“I hope you’re well, Lavender.” Padma had so many questions. “Be safe – on your jogging.”

Lavender’s good-natured giggle followed Padma along the faintly lit path. The moon was mostly hidden and there were no stars shining. Padma reached for her wand, for light, but she kept looking over her shoulder at the gloom of the mists where Lavender had been, until she reached Cho’s cottage.

*

“Padma, this is divine,” Cho gushed, swiftly following it with another forkful of the apple cake. “Oh, Merlin.”

From the sofa Mrs. Longbottom said, “Marvellous cake, my dear. You said you have just been dabbling in baking?”

“Yes, Mrs. Longbottom,” Padma said. Her neck was warm.

“I like the sugar to butter ratio,” was Luna’s verdict. Her apple earrings swung jauntily when she reached for the teapot. “Do have a slice yourself, Padma. It’s delicious.”

Padma had been very precise in her measurements. She plated a slice for herself and stood against the draining board. In the bright light of the cottage lamps, with the lumpy sofa and armchairs and half empty tea pots, and most of the flat surfaces covered with parchments and quills, everything so familiar and precise that Padma felt reassuringly grounded.

It was like the secret in the dark mists never happened.

“How long will you be in retreat?”

“We’ve got another five days, and we’ve got loads of work done,” Cho said. She sidled up to Padma to lay an apple-y kiss on her cheek. “Thank you so much, Paz.”

The three of them were in vastly different interests. Cho was the assistant of Agatha Shafiq’s editor. Mrs. Longbottom was completing a memoir. Luna was compiling her notes on fauna from various places. All of them had met in a knitting club that Luna had organised.

Padma found that she had no use for knitting. She had no use for frills and trifles.

“When is your sister returning?” Mrs. Longbottom said.

“In a month. She says she still has twenty countries to go through.”

“Butterflies,” Cho chuckled. “Parvati is such a darling.”

“I offered her my notes, you know,” Luna said. “Although Parvati is a much more avid observer of butterflies. I never knew that Harry also is.”

That bit was quite surprising, and amusing. Padma remembered Harry Potter’s narrow figure standing on the platform with Parvati, the mellow sun on his brown face and the too-long hair on his nape caught in a tiny tie.

Mrs. Longbottom’s lips were curved behind her cup.

Cho had a fond look in her limpid brown eyes. “That’s cute. I also didn’t know Harry loves butterflies. Reminds me of the time I saw Hermione Granger carrying a massive book on butterflies in the Ministry.”

Padma knew that Harry Potter and Parvati were not seeing each other, just two people brought together again by their inexplicable love for butterflies. She would have spelled it out in precise terms there in the cottage, but she also knew that war had changed a lot of relationships and how they saw one another.

Besides the lot of them grew up, in their own ways. Padma found that her terrific crush on Angelina Johnson was nothing more than a passing admiration nowadays. She found that what she had liked when she was fifteen was very different from what she liked now.

Padma knew that Cho was casually seeing a Muggle guy from London. She steered the conversation there, and they learned terribly fascinating Muggle ways like pens and calculators and cellphones, Sugababes and Pussycat Dolls. Mrs. Longbottom took interest in the keyboards and mused if they would be easier on her cramping fingers. Luna happily rambled about her trips to Muggle record shops with Harry Potter.

They chattered until they were full of cake, and afterwards they sang another song for Cho.

The three ladies also insisted that Padma stay the night because the fireplace was not connected to the Floo Network.

“Best not risk it, my dear,” Mrs. Longbottom said, her bony fingers tight on her copper-tipped cane. “I hear there are wild animals in these woods. Wolves and that sort.”

“No, Luna, there aren’t any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks here,” Cho said when Luna opened her mouth.

Luna looked quite put out. Cho squeezed her arm in comfort.

Padma put away her hoop earrings, choker and necklaces, rings and bangles, as she gazed up at the starless black night through a diamond paned window. As she fell asleep to the faint sounds of scratching quills, Padma thought that the wallpaper had a nicely precise pattern of blue flowers.

*

Padma left the cottage of well-meaning insistent ladies the next morning, nibbling on a chocolate macadamia biscuit from Mrs. Longbottom. She liked the chocolate but it could use another three-fourths teaspoon of brown sugar.

A long way from the merging of the forks, Muggle shops and houses beckoned to Padma with their sheer stodginess. There was a poster of a man kicking a ball on the shop window. The man and the ball were stationary, as if someone had cast a spell on them. Padma was so intrigued by this that she pushed into the shop behind a gaggle of schoolgirls, one of which eyed Padma with clear yet inexplicable judgment. Padma just raised an eyebrow at the girl which sent her scurrying.

The shop lights were inconsiderately bright. Padma blinked, scratching her cheek before shielding her eyes to peer up at the very bright light on the ceiling. Interesting. They were like flat, white lamps.

Padma gradually cheered as she strolled down the aisles, in this very strange shop, with its very strange wares: almost like magic. Feeling benevolent, she decided to purchase a bottle of a wine called Prosecco. She swung out of the shop with the plastic bag swinging by her leg when she promptly bumped into Lavender Brown by the door.

A gasp snagged on Padma’s throat.

Lavender Brown’s sun-bright hair spilled over her shoulder, its dark roots showing. She looked surprised to see Padma as well, and her face looked glamoured. It was a subtle charm, unnoticeable to Muggles but obvious enough to any witch worth her wand. In the morning light she looked more real though no less bewildering.

The metal handle of the door was reassuringly solid under Padma’s suddenly clammy palm. She narrowed her eyes. “Are you following me?”

Lavender Brown scoffed. “I have to get to work.”

Padma hesitated for a split-second before darting back inside the shop where Lavender Brown was grabbing two pens from a rack. “That’s not an answer.”

“Why would I follow you?” Lavender sighed. “I live around here.”

She was wearing that odd Muggle garb, Padma noticed as she watched Lavender Brown walk up to the till. That garb that looked like the love child of a cloak and a robe, except that the black one that Lavender Brown was wearing stopped short on her mid-calves.

Lavender Brown turned away from the till, cast a suspiciously exasperated look on Padma, and said, “Fancy a cup of coffee?”

“I thought you have to get to work.”

“Oh, do come on, Padma,” Lavender Brown said with a little laugh. “You’ve got to stop standing there with that cloak on.”

“What’s wrong with my cloak?” Padma said, and frowned down at the length of crimson which reached down to graze the tiled floor. It was her favourite cloak. It went well with her lippie and hair ribbon.

“It’s too witch,” Lavender Brown muttered, “and you’re in a Muggle area. So – no caffeine for you?”

Padma continued frowning. “You’re very insistent on this caffeine matter.”

“Because it’s early in the morning and you’re Padma,” Lavender Brown said, a smile tugging up the right corner of her mouth. “Parvati used to say you’re less of a scowly cloud after a good cup of caffeine. Also I’m starving.”

“Scowly?” Padma said, trailing Lavender Brown out of the shop.

“After a caffeine dose you turn into, like, a ray of sunshine,” Lavender Brown conceded. “A – marginal ray of sunshine.”

“I’m solemn-faced.”

“Okay,” Lavender chuckled. “Anyway I could always tell you two apart. Red and Pink.”

They ended up tucked in a café, between a frosted glass window and a small ornamental orange plant, its plastic oranges hanging low from plastic branches. Padma wistfully thought of her empty fruit bowl. She needed citrus. But right now her brain needed more sugar so she could take note to acquire Muggle garb when venturing to Muggle areas.

Padma hung her crimson cloak on the back of her chair and tried not to regret wearing only slate-grey pantaloons and a jumper under it. A jumper cut short on the midriff. She eyed Lavender Brown’s peacock blue ensemble underneath the black Muggle lovechild garb, and saw that Lavender Brown was already eyeing her midriff and the crescent ring glinting there.

“Eyes up, lass.”

Lavender Brown met her eyes and grinned. “Now I’m inspired to have my own piercing.”

Padma raised her brows. “Where would you be pierced?”

“In a Muggle place, obviously,” Lavender Brown breezily replied.

The body artist Sophie had told Padma that it was more painful in the Muggle shops, and riskier as well. Padma doubted that it would be Lavender Brown’s sort of scene.

Padma nibbled at her cream cake. It was rich and had excellent ratio of butter and cream, like mild golden sunlight frothing on Padma’s tongue. After taking a fortifying sip of coffee, Padma went ahead and shoved at the elephant in the room. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you.”

Lavender Brown glanced out the window. “Yeah. It’s for the best, really.”

“What do you mean?” Padma asked, frowning.

With a steady marble gaze, Lavender Brown answered, “Come on. You must see my glamour.”

“Any wizard or witch can –” Padma began, and shut up.

Lavender Brown’s lips twisted wryly. “There you go. But not the Muggles.”

“Brown –”

“It’s fine.” Lavender Brown shook her head. “I’m mostly over it. Have to make the best of it, haven’t I?” She beamed over her cup of Assam as if that was supposed to reassure Padma. For a moment it did, and it looked like she was seeing the Lavender before 1997, unfailingly giggly and intimidatingly chipper and not pretending to be dead.

Padma curled her hand around her hot cup. She almost feared the answer, but she still asked in case she was misunderstanding it. You did not let people think you were dead if you just thought they wouldn’t like how you looked. “How did you – I mean, beneath the glamour. What is it?”

“Greyback,” whispered Lavender Brown.

Padma heard herself suck in a breath. She noted in sudden clarity Lavender Brown’s weather-inappropriate attire from last night. Lavender Brown must have been warm enough. No wonder.

The morning light from outside was turning softer, brighter, and Padma stared as it touched Lavender Brown’s glamoured face. Padma had to tamp down the instinct to recoil. Werewolves were still shunned, especially after the war when the numbers of those affected with variations of lycanthropy had ramped up. Little Teddy Lupin had to have Ministry officials come calling to Andromeda Tonks’ doorstep every month to monitor him to make sure that lycanthropy wasn’t hereditary.

But this was Lavender Brown. Her twin’s best mate. Lavender Brown, whom Padma knew of but didn’t really know, who had played with colourful bubbles in the Patils’ upstairs bath with Parvati and who was a frequent dinner guest in the summers.

Padma breathed out slowly. She cast a glance around the sedate and false fruit-laden café before turning to say in a low voice, “Are you taking Wolfsbane?”

“No need to be clinical about it,” Lavender Brown said, lightly.

Padma scowled just as lightly. “I’m not being clinical. I’m just asking a question.”

Lavender Brown cut up a piece of her chicken pie. “You are. Parvati called it your Swotty Voice. But it’s okay.” She popped the chicken in her mouth and said, “And I do. Take the potion. My aunt in Granada is a Potions Mistress.”

Padma processed this. She tipped two more teaspoons of sugar, in almost identical heaps, into her black coffee. So Lavender Brown was a werewolf, a full one. Bill Weasley with his scars did not let people think he was dead.

When Padma looked up from her measured stirs, she found Lavender Brown peering at her over that stout cup of Assam, eyes amused behind the steam. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. I think I’ve missed you. You were always so very particular.”

Padma clinked her teaspoon twice on the mouth of her cup. “Why are you telling me all these?”

When they were eleven, Padma and Parvati had come to terms with the world-altering fact that they were two completely different people. But that still meant that they tolerated each other’s friends, even though Padma had never really made the effort to get to know Parvati’s, turning up her nose at their constant boy-talk and overly complicated nail art. Padma had been fine with what she’d seen of Lavender Brown back then.

But this was now. She didn’t know the woman sitting across from her. Padma had no reason to trust her. Lavender Brown did not trust Parvati with this secret.

Lavender Brown shifted in her seat, and Padma saw her swallow. “Well, um. I didn’t exactly plan it. It was – a snap of the moment. You already saw me and you must have lots of questions, and you saw me twice so I thought, well, why not.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone, if that’s what you want,” Padma told her. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“That’s very nice. I appreciate that.” Lavender Brown beamed at her again before glancing at the clock. “And now I must dash.”

“That’s it?” Padma said, blankly. “You wouldn’t – you wouldn’t extract more promises to keep your secret?”

The smile melted off from Lavender Brown’s face. “Like what? An Unbreakable Vow? A threat to you?” When Padma did not answer, she abruptly grabbed the black Muggle garb from her chair and stood up. “You’ve already given me your word. And I have more pressing concerns than chasing after you to rip out your throat.”

Padma flinched. Lavender Brown gave her one last cold look.

She stayed seated there long after Lavender Brown had strode out of the café.

*

The musical artist Shores was crooning and drawling atmospheric songs from the Wizard Wireless. Padma felt a profound sense of well-being as she stirred the chocolate with the cream cheese that would go in the buns she was baking.

It was an overcast day. Padma paused her stirring to light her pumpkin lamp with a flick of her wand. She picked up her spatula again as the amber glow crawled from the carved frames on the walls to the tottering pile of books on the oven, from the trail of quills on the kitchen table to the discarded silk stockings hanging on the kitchen door’s handle to the jumble of unwashed crockery by her cook book.

Padma’s flat might be quite – cluttered. Well, more like a storm-wrecked site with fetching red stockings draped around. But she still kept her cook book in healthy condition.

She glanced at her page now, rechecking the procedures as she set aside her mixing bowl and started on the buns.

There was something infinitely comforting about baking: about the list of what to put together, and the list of how to put it all together. Sometimes she had to experiment and make amendments to the lists, but having lists at all was a win. Lists were like maps. And baking was rather like Potions only Padma got to have fun having a taste, and if she did it right there was also something comforting about other people liking it. And if she dared she might assemble recipes of her own, and wouldn’t it be great if people liked them as well?

Padma liked that: she liked seeing people viscerally affected by what she had wrought.

Mrs. Longbottom had Owled her to compliment the apple cake again. Apparently Mrs. Longbottom had mentioned this to Andromeda Tonks.

“I devoutly hope that I am not bothering you, Miss Patil,” Andromeda Tonks had said, as dark wisps of her hair had floated in Padma’s fireplace.

“Of course not, Mrs. Tonks,” Padma had assured her.

“My grandson also likes a touch of blue with everything he comes in contact with,” Andromeda Tonks had added. “I suspect it has to do with the blue bubbles his godfather always magic with him.”

Little Teddy Lupin, Padma wondered as she put the chocolate cream cheese in the buns. Who was not a werewolf at all.

But his father had been.

Padma slid the tray of buns in the oven and leaned her hip against the counter in thought.

Professor Lupin had been her favourite, second only to Professor McGonagall. He was patient and kind and mild-mannered, and his classes felt like it wouldn’t be too bad if you made a mistake. If you had made a mistake it had been all right: he would correct you as a teacher and you would learn as a student. Padma had adored him for that. She had learned to see learning in a different light.

And then they had learned that he was a werewolf.

But he was a werewolf all along. All the while he had been adored and admired Professor Lupin he had been a werewolf. They had just not known before. But he had still been Professor Lupin.

Padma bit on her lip. The whispering tunes of Shores washed over her along with a feeling of lousiness.

She could still see Lavender Brown’s easy open smile, and how it had shuttered.

Viscerally affected by Padma’s words, something Padma had wrought.

When the buns finished baking Padma set aside half of the batch so she could charm the flecks of chocolate on them to be blue.

Then she paused in the middle of her pumpkin-lighted cluttered flat, quickly categorising: the buns tucked in the wicker basket with a warming charm, the barely consumed bottle of Prosecco from the Muggle shop, the red silk stockings by the door knob.

It all slid into place in Padma’s mind, and she was grabbing her cloak shortly before dashing out of the door.

*

Now that she had left Andromeda Tonks’ there were less buns in Padma’s basket although there was more nervousness in what she was about to do.

The cold wind prickled Padma’s cheek, whispering through the crooked curve of the oak branch over Padma’s head and making Padma’s red cloak flutter. She shifted the basket on her arm, waiting.

Through the freshly fallen evening, Lavender Brown emerged from the right fork of the road at last.

Padma’s nervousness spiked. She started to feel ridiculous, dawdling here where the roads forked in this Muggle place.

“I thought there was something different,” said Lavender Brown, her face neutral. At least Padma couldn’t see a wide smile beneath the shadow of the pale blue cap. Mist and wind did not appear to perturb Lavender and her blue tank top.

For several alarming heartbeats Padma couldn’t think of what to say. She gripped at the handle of the basket, digging her palm on the cold wicker coils, and blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

Dear Wendelin. Let the mist transform into a hand and smack her now.

Lavender Brown’s head made a sharp little movement, but she remained silent.

“I’m sorry,” Padma rushed out. But before she rambled like what she felt was going to happen she gripped harder at the basket handle. She wanted to choose her words carefully, communicate precisely. She’d never been quite as daring as Parvati when it came to confrontations.

“Look, Brown,” Padma tried again, her voice measured. “I am sorry for what happened at the café. I was being gross. I didn’t – I don’t know how to handle myself when with people affected by lycanthropy. I’ve never had to. But just today I thought about Professor Lupin, and his son, and –” Padma took a deep breath, wishing she could clearly see Lavender Brown’s face – “and I want to learn. I want to be less gross. I am very sorry.”

Lavender Brown took half a step towards her. Padma heard her clear her throat. “Okay, Padma. I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” Padma said.

“Right,” Lavender Brown said, “right.” After a pause she continued, “Are you going somewhere? To visit?”

“Oh,” Padma said, gesturing at the basket, “actually these are for you.”

“Really?”

“I’ve just come from Andromeda Tonks’ Halloween party. I’ve baked a batch for her grandson and I saved some for you.”

This time when Lavender Brown tilted her head, her face was dressed with shadows and a smile. “Thanks. Ah, wait, give me a moment.”

Padma watched her reach to her back and pull out her wand.

Lavender Brown laughed at Padma’s raised brows. “I keep my wand at the back of my bra when I jog.” She swiped at her cap with the same hand holding her wand, revealing her bright hair tied in a knot, and a grin on her face.

She’d just glamoured her face, Padma realised. Padma wanted to assure Lavender Brown that she wouldn’t mind but it struck her that Lavender Brown might.

“We can share the basket,” Lavender Brown said. She approached Padma, and her hand touched the curve of the wicker. “I mean, if you like? There’s a park nearby. We can share the basket in the park. If you like.”

“Yes,” Padma said. “Where’s the park?”

Lavender Brown fell in step beside Padma. A silence fell between them as well. Padma couldn’t tell if it was awkward or not. Padma groped around for a common topic and picked one. “Thank you for accepting my apology. I can’t stress how sorry I am.”

“Yeah,” Lavender Brown said, glancing at her. “Like I said, I forgive you. I’m glad you’re sorry. It was dreadful, to be honest. But it’s nothing I didn’t expect.”

Padma flinched. “That’s terrible, I’m sorry. Look, Brown, if I ever stupidly say more gross things tell me.”

“Okay,” Lavender Brown said, “right. I’m taking you to picnic.”

An autumn picnic, Padma mused. There were first times for everything. Then her brain caught up with the conversation. “A picnic, yes. Like a test?”

Lavender Brown tilted her head, without ever fully facing Padma, so that Padma could still see her frown. “Like a – well, um. No? But maybe. Yes? But like, to catch up properly.”

“I didn’t understand half of what you said.”

They paused in the middle of a slick road, at the mouth of the town. Lavender Brown exhaled and ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers snagged on the knot. “Okay. How do I put this?”

Lavender Brown tugged off the band. Her hair came loose in a fall of tight curls. She ran her hand from the dark roots to the sun-bright tips, frowning in thought. Padma waited.

“Okay, right,” said Lavender Brown. “You know when you use tea bags?”

“Yes?” Padma was quite bewildered, but she believed in diverse expressions. “Sometimes I use tea leaves.”

“Or tea leaves, right.” Lavender Brown nodded. “So the point is when you let the tea steep. That is what we’re going to do. Also it would be nice, because I haven’t talked to any witch from school for years. D’you know what I mean?”

“I – think so, yes.”

“Am I saying it right?” Lavender Brown restlessly tugged at her hair. “You can think of me as the tea bag. Or the tea leaves.”

“All right,” Padma said, feeling the corner of her mouth tug upwards. “I understand what you’re saying.”

“Do you? Thank Merlin.” Lavender Brown resumed walking, and Padma did as well. “Often I don’t get across my meaning well.”

Padma bit her lip. “I’m sure the – er, steeping will help you practise.”

Lavender Brown beamed. “Right? Cleverly said. Yeah, you do get it.”

In the park they found a stone bench at the curve of the stone path. There were no stars tonight, and the moon was hidden but there was a tall odd lamp beside the bench.

“That’s an electric lamp,” Lavender Brown informed Padma. “Street lamp.”

There were quite a few street lamps around here. Padma gazed at the one beside their bench with hesitant approval. “They seem to have sturdy light.”

Lavender Brown laughed. She explained electricity as they opened the basket and out came the chocolate cream cheese buns, still hot, and the couple of red apples, and the bottle of Prosecco. Padma Conjured two glasses for them.

“So as long as there is no power outage,” Padma summarised, “you don’t need to bother with logs or coal or oil. That’s very convenient.”

“A very sturdy light,” Lavender Brown agreed, with Padma’s words, a laugh in her eyes.

“I feel hurt by this mockery,” Padma said, lightly.

Lavender Brown burst out giggling. She set down her half full cup with a trembling hand as her shoulders shook. “You always do that. Be funny with a straight face.” She raised a deeply pink finger. “Oh wait! Be funny with a solemn face. Careless of me.”

“All right,” Padma said, feeling her lips twitch. She wondered how Lavender Brown managed to be always bubbling with mirth, as if with just a shake she could fizz and splash out good humour.

“So what do you do,” Padma said, “aside from being versed in electricity?”

Lavender Brown rolled her neck and shoulders, like Padma often did as soon as soon she woke up. She paused with her face serenely tipped up towards the glow of the street lamp, so that Padma could clearly see the glamour on her face and shoulders and arms. Lavender Brown’s thick lashes were tipped with gold by the lamp light.

Padma blinked.

Then Lavender Brown seemed to remember Padma was there. Lavender Brown quickly half-turned her face away again and fiddled with her cap.

“I work in a Muggle weather office.” Lavender Brown picked up her glass. “I predict the weather.”

“Predict.” Padma couldn’t help but think of kooky Professor Trelawney and that one awful term involving crystal balls.

“Don’t start,” Lavender Brown said. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s not like divination. Or even astrology. It’s all charts and graphs.”

“Muggles can do divination with charts and graphs.”

Lavender Brown laughed. “In a way. I attended a Muggle university, you know. Had to take their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s first, of course. The exams are named differently. I was older than the usual lot. Mum and Dad had to do some, um, smoothening with my previous records. So, then! I am a very accomplished weather seer.”

“You love being a weather seer,” Padma observed.

“Yeah, very much.” Lavender Brown pointed to the inky black sky over them. “There will be a storm next week. There’s a tropical depression so lots of rain than usual, no stars tonight. I did a graph for the storm’s path and expected deviations.”

Padma was quite impressed, and a little envious. “And it all comes true.”

“Yeah,” Lavender Brown said with a grin. “There’s, like, 60% to 70% chance of predictions coming true. It’s why I love it so much. It’s the weather, after all, so it’s not 100%. And thank Merlin for that if, say, it’s predicted that a hurricane will be hitting us hard in its path.”

Padma didn’t expect Lavender Brown to love charts and graphs, with what she knew of the other woman back in Hogwarts. But then, Padma thought wryly, she also didn’t expect to be a resigned Arithmancer so she had to rid of herself with such judgments.

“It’s a shame that there are no stars tonight,” was all Padma said around her apple. “At least I can properly appreciate this street lamp.”

Padma liked the street lamp’s precise and sturdy light. No flickering, no crackling, no nonsense.

“Yeah,” Lavender Brown said. “I like it better. The street lamp, I mean. It makes for a better moon.”

Padma slowly lowered her apple. “Brown –”

“Don’t you think it’s too formal?” Lavender Brown said, still in her lively voice. “That you call me Brown? Come on, I slept over hundreds of times in your house. We wrestled for a stuffed pony one Easter hols and Parvati had to pull at my hair.”

Padma couldn’t think of anything to say to the moon bit, and it wasn’t any better with this one. “You – don’t want to talk about the street lamp moon?”

“No,” was Lavender Brown’s firm reply. She still had a wide smile, but her eyes were hard. “I’d like for things to be nice.”

“All right,” Padma said, quite taken aback.

Lavender Brown did not miss a beat. “Okay! I call you Padma because I can’t call you Patil, it’s too weird, with Parvati and everything.”

Padma hesitated.

“It’ll be fine,” Lavender Brown said. “I mean you already know my secret, and I already ate buns out of your basket.”

“Buns – my basket –” Padma frowned. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be too familiar? We don’t feel too familiar.”

Lavender Brown considered this in two seconds flat before nodding sagely. She took a sip of her wine and gestured at Padma with the glass, as if Padma were the weather chart. “We will be.”

Continue to Part 2

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Interhouse Fest 2016: The Children Left Behind (2 of 2)

2016-11-19T01:11:30Z

~oOo~

That summer, he was determined to put all those thoughts and feelings about his mother, Remus Lupin and his father out of his mind. Many times, it was on the tip of his tongue to ask his mother all the questions that burned inside him, but he couldn’t. He didn’t even ask for the stories anymore. He was too old for fairytales and pretty fictions and lies. He needed too desperately to believe in what he’d always thought. That Remus Lupin was a fairytale; his mother spun fantastical fictional stories, and his father won his mother over eventually no matter how their marriage began.

Without consciously setting out to do it, he found himself pulling away from his mother. He was still devoted to her, but he couldn’t help thinking there was so many things she was keeping from him, so many things she’d lied about. He knew her well enough to be pretty certain that the lies— in her mind at least— were for his own good, but still, distrust set in. But, it was only one of the things that happened that summer. There were whispers about a rejoining of secret societies and pureblood gatherings. Draco was quite pleased to discover that finally his father deemed him old enough to participate in some of his clandestine meetings.

What Draco had always assumed were family reunions where he’d been delegated to the “Kiddy Table” was now revealed to him as meetings, planning sessions. There were whispers of the Dark Lord’s return, which had seemed preposterous to Draco if he hadn’t spent the last three years at Hogwarts where every year ended with a dark revelation only hinted at to most students, but Draco wasn’t most students. He had a way of gathering information, making seemingly innocent queries in unlikely places that proved increasingly beneficial. He proved himself by sharing what he’d learned about Marauders and werewolves, scapegoats and escape artists. About rats and fulfilled prophecies.

He was their Golden Child. Their salvation and future. He had found his calling.

And every time he thought about his mother, thought about Remus Lupin— and he tried so very hard not to think of them together— he would throw himself further into the cause of his father, the cause of his family. He was going to restore them to their past glory. Nothing could touch him then, not even The Boy Who Lived or fictional werewolves who didn’t know their place belonged in stories and not in life.

The next year when everyone else was talking of Triwizard Tournaments and the loss of Quidditch, he did his duty and began his recruitments of students, while doing his part to undermine Potter’s place as Savior of the World. He tried not to be bitter when his mother didn’t visit that year like she had repeatedly the year before, the year of Remus Lupin.

Draco hadn’t heard anything about his old professor, or his cousin, the escaped convict. He was pretty sure his mother hadn’t either. There was something withered and almost heartbroken about her and Draco didn’t know if it were because of Remus Lupin disappearing again, or if it were the loss of her son’s unconditional devotion. But at the end of the year, when the Dark Lord rose, when the panic subsided and his loyal followers fell in line, Draco got a glimpse of what was really upsetting his mother so much.

He saw it the first time Voldemort came to their house. No one else picked up on it, not even Lucius, but Draco did. Draco who had spent so much of his life watching his mother, reading her every facial expression. He could see how very hard she was trying to keep her skin from crawling. How hard she tried to school her features to play the gracious host.

It was Draco’s first time in the Dark Lord’s presence and he understood to some extent his mother’s revulsion. Like with Dumbledore, it was hard for Draco to sort the divide between myth and reality. You expect so much from the characters in your stories, the heroes, the villains, the knights in shining armor. So far, none of them have lived up to the ideal.

And though he was too old for bedtime stories anymore, too old to go to his mother with all his concerns and questions, he couldn’t help himself. She still came to his room every night to see if you needed anything, to wish him pleasant sleep. “Mother?”

“Yes, dear,” she stood at the door, her voice so eager it broke Draco’s heart a little bit, like she’d been waiting so long for him to need her for anything again.

“May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

She turned to shut the door when he asked. “How did the Dark Lord convince everyone to follow him?”

She turned and looked around the room, clearly frightened. He watched her take some deep breaths, composed herself. By the time she perched on his bed, she was again her usual self. But she still spoke in a hushed whisper.

“At first, charisma. He was this man who came from nowhere, had no pedigree that anyone knew about, he exuded charisma and class. He just knew who we were, what we feared and the resentments that we’d had to swallow down for far too long. So we listened, and we gave,” she looked around again, “and we gave. We gave him our respect, our faith and then somehow, we gave him our lives. Now, we… we…” she faltered. “From charisma came power and power has lead to fear. Some of us, not all, follow him because there is no choice. Those who are not with him are against him. There is only black and white.”

“Are you afraid?”

She looked at him for a very long time before she answered. “I’m not. I’m cautious. Always cautious. I’m serious when I tell you in the environment we live in, it does not do well to ostracize Harry Potter. I know you hate when I lecture you on this, but I’d like very much if we, you and I, position ourselves so that no matter how this battle ends, how it all plays out, we are in a position to survive, to prosper even.”

“I’ll be a model student, Mother. But as for Potter, it’s never going to happen. I’m never going to be able to play nice where he is concerned.”

She sighed and smiled. “I know, and from what I’ve heard, you might not have to this year. Dumbledore and his Golden Child might be having a bad year and as long as you stay out of it as much as possible, you should be fine.”

He smiled too. “I’ll do my best.”

And he did. His mother was right; it was a good year for him and an incredibly bad one for his least favorite person. Draco again found his calling, this time in Law and Order. As a member of the Inquisitorial Squad he was instrumental in shaping and implementing order from the chaos of the Hogwarts under Headmaster Dumbledore’s neglect and short-sidedness. He loved policing and enforcing rules, especially after he learned what no one said aloud; the only people who have no rules are those who enforce them.

Power sizzled under his skin.

The more power he was given, the more he understood why people fought so hard to get more, to hold on to the little bit they had. He understood the allure of following a man who promised the lost power back to a group of people who saw it as their birthright. He just, for the life of him, couldn’t understand how so many people were so willing to follow when they were born to lead. It made him question every person he’d ever met in his parent’s circle.

Then the first week of the new year his parent’s circle got much bigger. Ten broke out from Azkaban and his side was ecstatic to what it all means. That a prison break was even possible. That the Dark Lord’s most devout were once again amongst them. It was like a sign that the fates were on their side. Draco thought the same, until he met them, his aunt that he’d never met, her husband and his brother, all the others.

They were fuckin’ nutters. The lot of them.

He took two very important things from his first meeting of the original and complete Death Eater Brigade: He never, ever wanted to wind up in Azkaban, not ever. And most importantly, he learned that there were two sorts, fanatic followers like his Aunt Bellatrix and pragmatic supporters like his mother who saw the Dark Lord and his seemingly random schemes and demands as a means to an end, nothing more. It wasn’t until he tried to sort which camp that his father belonged in that he realized that there were actually three sorts, and most of them fit in this last category, supporters trying desperately to convince Voldemort that they were fanatics. They would do anything to prove their devotion.

Like some bizarre project having to do with Sirius Black, Harry Potter and the Department of Mysteries. Some bizarre project that sent his father to Azkaban and changed Draco Malfoy’s life forever after.

The swift and corrupt trial of Lucius and the others was barely finished and his father carted off to the island prison before there was a powerful knock on the door of the Malfoy Manor. Moments later, a House Elf notified Narcissa and Draco that the Dark Lord himself was there to see them. As they stood to greet him, Narcissa clutched Draco’s arm frantically. She exuded grace and hospitality as she welcomed Voldemort to their home, but Draco could feel by the pressure on his amulet how very terrified she was.

“Again, My Lord, let me again apologize on behalf of my husband that the attempt on Harry Potter’s life failed—”

Yet again, Draco finished in his head.

But, that was the last snarky thought that entered his head for a long time, for he was suddenly deluged with an onslaught of thoughts, feelings and sensations. They all correlated with Voldemort looking him in the eye, studying him, for the first time in his life. He felt as if thoughts and small, unnecessary parts of his body were trying to float away, as if being pulled out, He also felt as if his heart and soul (if he’d believed in such things) were physically trying to recoil from the scrutiny. All the while, he felt something else too, he felt his mother’s fingers on his amulet, heard the sing-song chant he’d heard so many times before, this time only in his head, but effective just the same in steadying him, giving him power to fight the other sensations.

And while this all was happening, there was a conversation taking place too that he barely registered. But he did register the ingratiating smile on Voldemort’s distorted face and a velvety voice emanating from him. He remembered what his mother had said about charisma and believed it, but wondered if there wasn’t some sort of magical manipulation happening as well, some low-level Imperius. It was the only way he could rationalize how it was that while his whole being was telling him to run, hide get out as fast as he could— except for another unknown part of his physique that even more terrifyingly rose up to demand he reject his promotion in the ranks of Death Eaters, to instead fight— he found himself swearing allegiance to the Dark Lord.

Like I had a choice, he thought immediately after Voldemort had left, entrusting Draco with many high-profile and important tasks, and also inviting him to the next meeting.

Throughout this exchange, Narcissa remained calm and cordial. The minute the door closed behind Voldemort however, she crumbled to the floor in a display of terror and grief that Draco had never seen before. He bent down and attempted to help her to her feet, but she seemed incapable of gaining the strength to stand. He picked her up and carried her to the settee where he laid her down and kneeling beside, took her hand.

“Mother, you mustn’t worry. We will get through this. Together.”

She reached for him frantically, grasping at his left arm, clutching the amulet like she’d done so many times in his life when there was any sense of danger. This time she pleaded. “You must promise me, Draco, never, ever take this off. Promise.”

“I promise.”

“No, you must really mean it. No matter where you go, what you do, you have got to keep this on your wrist. It will protect you when I can’t.”

“Mother, I don’t need your protections.”

She sat up, her strength obviously restored as she continued to hold onto him, not allowing him to free himself. “You have to trust me on this without question, please! There are dangers that you can’t know, secrets that must be kept at any cost.”

“What do you mean?”

She shook her head vigorously. “I said without question.”

“You can not be serious.”

“Draco! I said no!”

Draco recoiled, pulling free finally. He’d never been spoken to like that from anyone, especially her. He didn’t know how to react, so he just walked out of the room.

The thing was though, he’d never even considered taking off his bracelet. He’d never had and he’d pretty much forgotten it was there most of the time. But for days after, that was all he thought of as he silently watched his mother fall apart. She spent all day wringing her fingers, and all night pacing back in forth in front of the large parlor window lit up by the full moon.

Just when she seemed to have calmed down, they were visited again by someone that sent her nerves on edge. Fenrir Greyback. He was sent as protection. Narcissa spent her time in her private rooms while he remained in the house rather than allow him to see what his presence was doing to her, but Draco saw it and wished he could do anything to ease her anxiety. But he too had a part to play, thankfully, he played the petulant heir-apparent very well. Even with— or especially with— people who made his skin crawl. Fenrir was repulsive and the way he looked at both himself and his mother froze Draco’s blood in his veins. It was predatory and ravenous and both of them made sure they were never alone with him. They even welcomed the company of Narcissa’s crazy sister, Bellatrix.

The two sisters had many raised-voice conversations behind closed doors that Draco didn’t even need to eavesdrop to know were about him and his role in Voldemort’s upcoming plans. One night, after a particularly vicious exchange, Bellatrix left in a huff, and shortly after, Narcissa also Apparated away without so much as an “I’ll be right back.”

Draco ran to his father’s study to retrieve a magical instrument that would allow him to find her if she were to speak his name, and of course she would. Wherever she was going, she was sure it was to discuss him. She seemed to be obsessed with his safety. He got it. He shared much of that obsession, of course, and was touched, but there would be no safety until Voldemort succeeded or was defeated. He’d always hoped for the first, but now, he didn’t know which solution would be better for him and his family.

It was only a moment after he’d retrieved the device, it emitted a small orb of light and when Draco touched it, he was transported instantly to the place his mother had gone. Thankfully, he was outside and he heard the voices coming from inside a small cabin in the woods. He didn’t even need to hear the voices to recognize where he was, who his mother was talking to. She’d described these forests, this house enough in her bedtime stories that he felt he had walked into a fable.

“...I don’t know what you think I can do, Cissa.”

“He’s in our house, breathing our air, stalking my son like he’s his next meal. Remus, you of all people know how dangerous he is, there has to be something you could do to protect… something you could do to get him out of my house…”

“The way I hear it, your son is very important to Voldemort’s plans, I’m sure he’s not going to let one of his pets use him as a chew toy.”

Draco had crept closer and could swear he could hear the intake of breath in his mother’s gasp. He went to stand beside a window and leaned over to see Lupin with his back to his mother, as if he couldn’t look at her. Draco’s first instinct was that Lupin was afraid of a spell being cast if he were to look at her, but then his mother reached out and touched Lupin’s arm and Draco saw in Remus’ reaction that he was terrified of something much more powerful than magic.

She whispered almost too quietly for Draco to hear. “Remus, please. If you ever loved me…”

Draco watched as the softening in Remus when she touched him, was replaced with a rigid and forceful anger. He swung around and grasped Narcissa’s arms. Draco took one look at the fire in Lupin’s eyes and drew out his wand.
“How dare you! How dare you use my devotion that you tossed aside as if it were nothing, against me! You knew how ardently I loved you, how dedicated I was to you. I would have given you anything! You made your choice.”

Narcissa wrapped her arms tightly around Lupin’s waist and this time her whisper was so low, Draco wasn’t even sure Remus could hear it. “I had no choice.”

Draco watched as Remus stood there, stunned, before he slowly and tentatively— as if in a dream he feared to wake up from— wrapped his arms around her too. She looked up to him with an expression Draco had never seen before in his mother. Remus though, obviously had, for without any hesitation this time, he bent his head and met his lips to hers.

Draco moved away from the window, putting his head against the side of the cabin and reeling. It was one thing to know about his mother and Remus in a long-ago past, but to see the acknowledgement of it and to see how much was still there all these years later was overwhelming. It hit him that in even this small exchange, he saw more love and passion from her to him than he’d ever seen between her and his own father.

“I know you can’t tell me what Draco’s tasked with for your and his safety, you took a reckless risk just coming here,” Remus said in a low voice, drawing Draco back to the window. They were still holding onto each other, though not as desperately now, more like it was the only place they belonged. “I wish I could do something, but that would be just as dangerous. He’ll be going back to school soon, yes? Go to Snape.”

“Severus? You trust him?”

Remus stroked her back. “I don’t trust Snape in a lot of things. But to protect a child, your child? Without a doubt, you can trust him.”

She didn’t respond, just continued to rest her head on his chest, her arms still wrapped around him. Remus still looked like he was sure this was a dream that he would soon wake up from. He took one last deep breath, held her tight for a moment before saying, “You should go.”

She sighed, but made no attempt to separate herself. “I had to come. I’ve wanted to so many times before but…”

“You couldn’t. Can’t. We can’t be what we were. You have a husband and a child—”

“And you’ve got my niece.”

Remus froze. “I wouldn’t say I’ve got Nymphadora.”

“I hope she makes you happy. You deserve to be happy, Remus, and I don’t think you have been for a very long time.”

“It’s been a very long war.”

“I’m sorry about Sirius. I know he meant a lot to you.”

There was a hitch in his breathing before he pushed her gently away. “I can’t… it hurts too much, seeing you, holding you, pretending that the world outside doesn’t exist, that it’s just you and me and there’s no sides to choose, no dangers around every corner. If I look at you too long, if I feel you in my arms for another minute, I’ll never have the strength to go back, to fight. I’ll never be able to let you go again, the world be damned.”

She reached out as if to stop him, plead with him to do just that— Draco saw it all there in her eyes— but she stopped herself. Instead she raised the hood to her travel cloak and turned toward the door.

“Don’t worry about Greyback,” Remus called when she opened the door. “He wouldn’t risk angering his master, not now. Just make sure you and Draco… and anyone else you care about isn’t around in the days before and after the full moon, okay?”

She turned and smiled but didn’t say anything else before she walked out into the night.

Draco heard the pop of her Apparation, but stayed and watched the man she’d left behind… again. He just stood there for a long time; as if afraid he’d go after her if he could muster the strength to move. But then when he was sure she was gone, he went to a corner of the cabin, knelt down and pulled up a base board and reached in and withdrew a dusty, beat up metal box. He sat it down on a table that looked like it got repaired on a regular basis, and pulling out his wand and running it over the box, opened it.

When Remus held up what he’d removed from the box, Draco gasped. It was an emerald the exact shape and size as the one Draco wore on his wrist. This one hung from a thick golden chain. If Draco had any doubt of who’d given Remus the gem— which he didn’t— they would be dashed when the man raised the emerald to his pursed lips. “Always, my love.”

He staggered backwards away from the cabin, tripping over tree roots and shrubbery without thought. When he’d finally gotten far enough away that he could Apparate without being heard, he did so. Later, he was amazed that he hadn’t Splinched himself, or gotten busted by the Ministry stooges. But neither of those things seemed nearly as life-altering as the thoughts and realizations he had running through his mind.

How were there two “Black Family Heirlooms” and why did she give one to Remus Lupin? What was the connection between the two stones? If they were for protection, what was it protecting him from? Why didn’t he have to wear it at all times? And then finally he arrived at: What would happen if he took it off?

He ran up to his room, cast as many protective spells as he knew, and leaned against his door, took a deep breath and did something he’d never done before in his life, he defied his mother, he slipped the clasp and let the amulet fall to the ground.

It happened instantly, painlessly and yet he still staggered against it. He felt his whole body was shifting and changing. He made his way to the mirror over his dresser and shrieked. The man standing before him was not him, was not Draco Malfoy. His nose was stubbed, his mouth was fuller, and his hair instead of the palest of blonds was light brown. But it was the eyes that revealed all he needed to know, no longer did he have the steely grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy, he now had the soft green eyes of Remus Lupin.

It was all too much. His head felt like it was going to explode and he fleetingly wondered if his insides had changed as well. He went back and retrieved the bracelet, terrified that he’d need the chant of his mother’s to restore its power, but sighed when the moment its clasp fell into place, so did his world. He was him again.

The next morning he was amazed that he’d actually fallen asleep and had a dreamless sleep. He’d only remembered tossing and turning reliving every conversation he’d ever had with his mother, especially the ones that had to do with what he had assumed at the time was his father. How many times did he ask if his father was a good man, and how many times did she look him in the eye— always holding his arm, touching his bracelet— and say yes, “Yes, your father is the greatest of men.”

How had he never seen it? He berated himself, remembering how his mother could hardly even look at Lucius. How could he possibly of thought she’d hold him in that high of regard, even to her son? That train of thought, however soon turned to a rage that bordered on an odd admiration for his mother’s deceits and lies. How was he supposed to have seen something she worked so very hard to conceal? Why did she have to conceal it?

Well no, he didn’t wonder that, he knew the dangers they both faced, and deep down he knew these dangers weren’t all her fault and how could she put them in this position, but it was hard to hold on to anything close to charitable feelings towards her— or Remus Lupin— at the moment. And he probably would have wallowed in these self-pitying thoughts if that morning he hadn’t been woken up by a House Elf telling him that the Dark Lord had summoned him. His blood ran cold. It was really the worst day to have to stand face to face with Voldemort.

As much as he hated to admit it; he needed his mother. He needed her example for putting on a good face and playing a part, but he really needed her to hold his hand and do her chanty thing. Badly. He did not trust himself to keep it together if anything close to what happened last time he faced the Dark Lord recurred.

He made his way down to his visitor. His mother was waiting for him outside the door. He studied her demeanor, totally calm, totally composed and he mimicked it. Taking her hand, they walked in together. The chanting he had heard in his head the last time they’d faced Voldemort, was there again, only this time it completely halted all his other feelings. Nothing touched him, not even the fear when Voldemort began mapping out for Draco all that was to be required of him to make up for his father’s failures and how to restore the Malfoy good name. The irony of being tasked with this on the day after discovering that he wasn't, in fact, a Malfoy at all was not lost on Draco, but he hid it well. He also hid his doubt in Voldemort’s objectives when he was told that his most important mission this year was to kill Headmaster Dumbledore. Narcissa even gasped at this news, but not Draco, he was numb.

He bit his tongue so hard he tasted the ting of blood, and instead of saying what was the most obvious of things— if Voldemort wanted him to kill someone, why the fuck wouldn’t it be Potter himself? He could do that any day, anywhere. But no, he had to kill the only wizard, rumor had it, that Voldemort himself feared, sure, no problem. He kept his mouth shut, through most of the visit, he was barely paying attention, nodding when he felt it appropriate, “Yes, My Lord”ing when it fit. What he was really doing was focusing on the chant in his head. He was going to need that in the coming year far more than he’d need what the Dark Lord obviously thought were uplifting words of wisdom.

That year, he did as he was told, attempted to do every task given to him. He had Professor Snape breathing down his neck— obviously his mother had taken her lover’s suggestion and went to Snape— and while he didn’t trust Snape with the details of his mission, he did ask Snape to teach him Occlumency. He knew Harry had learned from their professor the year before and Draco was sure he’d need it himself by the time this was over and he was free.

Even though he played the part of the dutiful protégée, Dumbledore was right when he had Draco on the Astronomy Tower; his heart just wasn’t in it. He just couldn’t get his mind off of the idea of his mother and who she was with Remus Lupin, who he could have been, the life he could have had. What would that have been like? He didn’t know that much about Lupin, but what he did know made him want more, want to know more, want to… he didn’t know, have some sort of relationship? Something. Mostly, he just wanted Lupin to know about him, know he existed.

And there was Harry Potter and the fucking Weasleys having Christmas holiday with him. He’d hated Potter for a long time for a lot of reasons, but this one was such a new sensation, such a new emotion, it consumed him, until one day, already at the end of his rope with too many responsibilities, and all his jealousies bubbled over and caused him to be incredibly reckless. Fortunately— and unfortunately— Potter was even more reckless.

Draco never recovered from that. He and Voldemort now had the same ultimate goal: destroying Harry Potter. They just had very different ideas of how that could be achieved. But, since Draco was a child, and Voldemort was the Dark Lord, Draco’s ideas meant nothing. And after he failed so spectacularly in almost all of his duties, they meant less than nothing. He learned not to have any ideas. He learned how to be a good mindless, soulless soldier, like his family before him.

That summer it hardly even registered that Voldemort and the most unsavory of his followers had moved into the manor, or that Lucius and the rest of the incarcerated prisoners were set free now that the Dementors served a new master. His new mantra was the same as the one his mother had been muttering under her breath for years now, Just survive, just get through this.

Then he went back to school and saw what it really meant to have his side running the government, winning the war. A part of him died.

Another part of him thought of his mother, and how she must have been having these same feelings for years— at least since Voldemort rose from the dead and maybe even longer— and unlike him, she had made the choice to align herself with this side. How many times since must she have berated herself? Not that she’d have had any easier life if she’d chosen differently, still, the things she sacrificed, and for what?

A few months into his last year at Hogwarts, Draco came across a wireless left on to a station he’d never heard before, nor had anyone else he knew, he thought as he listened. There was a commentator and two correspondents discussing the news of the day. But it was different news than he’d been hearing from his friends and the staff that still shared news with Slytherins. This was news of sightings of Harry Potter and of enclaves where the resistance was gathering strength and support. This was people paying tribute to those they’d lost so that they would not be forgotten.

His first thought as he listened was, what would his reward be for alerting the authorities to this illegal broadcast, but as he listened that thought was replaced with another thought. Two men, Royal and Romulus were discussing the student resistance group known as Dumbledore’s Army. Draco, of course, knew all about them, even knew who most of them were. No, what stopped him was the voice of Romulus. He knew who that was, recognized his voice as if he’d heard it every day of his life, and was shocked when the name that came to his mind wasn’t Remus, but Father.

He nicked the wireless, just in case it was the only one that would broadcast the radio station, and the next time he found the station— using the password Phoenix— he was in his room, his drapes closed, a silencing spell cast. When he was absolutely sure that he was alone in the room, he slipped off his bracelet and slipped off the Malfoy.

Every night he tuned in he learned more, not about the news of the day— he hardly understood with all their secret names and covert language— but about his father. He learned he was braver, stronger and smart, but also suffered sometimes from a crippling self-doubt He marveled that Remus was actually really funny when he was with people he trusted, people that knew him. He was a good person, not in the dark vs light side, or even the moralistic sense— though Draco conceded that both of those things were maybe true— but in the purest sense of what made a man good; kind, thoughtful and extremely loyal. Draco wondered fleetingly when those things became important to him. Surely not when he had gathered his group of friends to him.

Not that he really had friends anymore. He found it easier to exist these days when he kept mostly to himself. Subsequently, Crabbe, Goyle and all the rest, stopped going to him for leadership. For a while, Draco missed being the one with the plans, the one with followers, but he watched these people he’d once called friends gleefully torture firsties with new regime sanctioned methods and his stomach turned. Not that he didn’t still relish the idea of certain people being tortured, fantasized about doing it himself, but to children? Innocents?

However, no matter his changing beliefs, he played his part, always played his part, but again he heard Dumbledore’s voice in his head, “...I wonder whether your heart has been really in it.”

When he went home for Christmas break, he saw that he was not the only one who’s heart was no longer in it; his mother looked like all these people in her house, all the goings on in the confines of her family’s home was wearing on her drastically. Even Lucius, never really the same since Azkaban, seemed like a shell of his former self. His transformation so drastic that he wondered if he’d ever be able to regain any of his past stature and clout.

They were all prisoners in their own home. And they weren’t the only ones. Draco was terrified when he’d learned that while his mother and her Death Eater escorts were at the train station picking him up, there were others taking Luna Lovegood by force to the same location.

So many nights, he toyed with the idea of slipping off his bracelet, becoming someone else and going to Luna’s rescue. It’s what his father would do, wasn’t it? In the end though, he did nothing except become ridiculously relieved when the holidays were over.

While in school, while spending more and more time alone and feeling like he’d never belong anywhere anymore, the desire to remove his bracelet got stronger and stronger. He could just take it off and go away and be anyone he wanted to be, anywhere he wanted to be. First though, he’d have to work up the nerve to take it off when he wasn’t under protection spells in the confines of his bedding, which he’d never done. It didn’t stop him from planning it out in every detail. He’d first need to get out of Hogwarts, how? He knew there was a way, he’d heard Longbottom on Potterwatch a few times— under a codename of course, but he knew it was him— and he knew they weren’t broadcasting from the castle. He toyed with the idea of following Neville, putting a trace on him, but the second time he was on the broadcast, he was joined by Romulus and that odd jealousy he’d felt about Potter’s friendship with Remus was back with a vengeance.

Instead of following Neville, because he didn’t see how that could happen, even if he wasn’t Draco Malfoy anymore, he’d still be discovered. Longbottom might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t an imbecile— not anymore anyway— he’d wait until Easter holiday. He’d ride the train to the station and then just disappear. Leave behind all he was, all he was supposed to become; leave behind his life, his associations, his status and his family. All of it.

Where would he go to ride out the war? He hadn’t thought that far forward. Maybe he’d live amongst the Muggles, attempt to blend in. His skin crawled. No, he wasn’t ready for that yet. He might be ready to let the Malfoy go, but he was still a pure-blood wizard raised on the axiom of not just “otherness” with Muggles, but also of superiority. He wasn’t ready to test that belief just yet.

None of his plans mattered anyway, because the first thing he saw when he got off the train was his mother. She’d aged another decade in the months since he’d last been home. She didn’t even attempt to hide her fear, her panic as she searched the crowd for him. He couldn’t leave her. Not now, not when her whole life was uncertainty, not after she’d spent her whole life protecting him.

So, he sighed, clasped tightly the amulet he’d been about to remove, and with his head bowed low, followed his mother and her ever present “protectors” to the Apparation spot and went dutifully to the prison that he once called home.

The real shift came for him during that trip home, when this time, when asking himself what his real father would do, while standing before Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger in his house, surrounded by his raving aunt and her sleazy cohorts, including the werewolf who was responsible for Remus’ curse, instead of taking the coward’s way out, he lied. He stood there and looked Harry Potter, the man he’d hated for what seemed his whole life in the eye, and he had the chance to end it all, to get his ultimate and final revenge. Instead, after a long moment, he, grasped the bracelet on his left hand with his right and took a deep breath, looked at his mother, and lied.

There was a flicker in her eye that he wasn’t sure the meaning of, but he hardly took the time to question it because there was such an immense feeling of weight being lifted, of a calming peace restored, that he couldn’t focus on anything else.

If he needed a sign that what he had done had been the right thing, moments later, after chaos had reigned and he’d stomached Bellatrix’s torture of Granger, something that he’d have happily enjoyed even a year ago, after he’d lost his wand to fucking Harry Potter, after he’d watched a dagger his aunt kept strapped to her thigh, fly into the chest of a House Elf he’d known his whole life, after he’d had a chandelier smash to the ground inches from him, after he’d survived all that, he’d discovered that not only had Potter and friends gotten away, but they’d taken Lovegood and the old wandmaker with them.

Something like redemption blossomed in his chest and stayed there for a long time after.

It was there when he returned to school and was fueled by the voice of his father on the radio as more and more broadcasts made their way over the wireless. He pieced together through vague mentions that Remus and Nymphadora had had a baby. While he was jealous of Harry and Neville’s friendship, mentorship and inclusions in his father’s life that he’d never had, he didn’t feel the same about this child. He was rather shocked by his lack of animosity seeing as how this kid was going to get the life that should have been his, but he just couldn’t muster that emotion. Instead, it was another reason to wish for a speedy conclusion to this seemingly never-ending war.

It was there when he stood in the Room of Requirement, again looking in the eye of the man he once wished suffering upon daily and instead of wielding any power he had left with his friends to destroy him, he fought to protect him as well as he could without divulging his changing allegiances. And sure, technically Potter and Weasley saved his life a time or two, Draco also saved theirs whether they were aware of it or not.

And in the end, it was there as he rounded a corner and saw as Antonin Dolohov drew his wand at Remus and sent him careening down a flight of stairs. He watched as his father, that he’d hardly ever shared a single sentence with lay in a motionless lump. Without even a thought, he pointed his wand at Dolohov and slammed him against the wall and watched him bounce off it. He didn’t stick around to see if he’d actually killed the man or just damaged him. Sprinting down to Remus he bent down, looking around for anyone who could help, anyone who could fix him. He was even afraid to turn him around, but he did, he had to see him, had to have Remus look at him if he could.

“Draco,” Remus stuttered, blood caking the corners of his mouth. “Please, listen… take a message… a message to your mother…”

“My mother?”

Remus winced. “No time to… to explain—”

“No need to explain,” Draco said, and then with a deep breath, he slipped his amulet off and let it fall to the floor. He could track his transformation on his father’s face. Confusion, shock and then a stunned understanding.

“I don’t… how? Why?” Remus gasped, but he didn’t seem to be looking for the answers, more like working it out in his own mind. “All this time? A son?”

He weakly reached up and wrapped his fingers around the back of Draco’s neck and pulled him down closer. “Look at me.”

Remus studied Draco’s face for a long moment before he settled at his eyes. “You have my eyes,” he whispered, amazed.

He pulled Draco even closer, their foreheads touching. Remus sobbed. “Two sons that I never got… that I will never…”

There was a prickle in the back of Draco’s eye that he was unfamiliar with, he closed them and took a deep breath, holding on to the moment. There were so many things he wanted to say, to know, so many things he wanted to tell him.

“I know I have no right to…”

Draco rubbed his head against Remus’, “Anything.”

“Ask your mother to tell you about me, the me she knew, then please… please tell Teddy… tell my son these stories. I want him… want him to know me from then… the best version of me… please…”

The prickle in Draco’s eyes stopped and dripped down his face in big salty tears. “My whole life, from the moment I understood language, you were a fairy tale my mother told me every night. I promise, Teddy will hear these stories.”

Remus wheezed a wet-chested sob. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, no, no,” Draco chanted because she didn’t know what to say, he just did not want the last words from his father’s lips to be ‘I’m sorry.’

“Draco, Draco, Draco.” His eyes scanned around him as if he was struggling to see him. His hand, still wrapped around Draco’s neck, moved to his cheek. “Tell your mother… tell her… I understand… I understand everything now…”

Draco nodded. He did too. He understood that her whole life, every decision she’d made, every choice had been to protect him, to give him the life she thought he deserved.

Draco watched through the blur of his tears as Remus breathed his last. He was just reaching to slide his eyelids down when he heard a sob. He looked up and watched as his mother slowly made her way to them, stumbling over debris. Her hand covered her mouth, and tears flowed down her cheeks. Draco hadn’t even noticed that there were people all around, fighting, weeping over their dead. He was just one of the number, no one who needed any notice. She was almost to them when she stopped with another sob. Draco looked to where she had stopped; Nymphadora lay a few meters away from her husband.

Draco’s first thought was of Teddy. He had an almost urgent need to go to him and protect him. Then he thought of how he had taken Remus’ last moments away from his wife. He didn’t regret a single moment he had with him, they were the only ones he ever got and he was due. Still…

He stood up and cast a levitation spell that raised Remus gently off the ground and with a point from Draco’s wand, sent him slowly to lie beside his wife’s side.

Now he was standing beside his mother, who was studying him. “Draco?” she asked as if she still couldn’t believe what her eyes were telling her.

Draco turned to her and without a word, wrapped his arms around her and just wept. “I… I barely… barely knew him…”

She held him tight. “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” she chanted into his hair.

“You could have told me. I would have understood. I would have kept your secret. It could have been our secret.”

“I couldn’t… couldn’t do that to you…”

He didn’t want to argue. It wasn’t worth it.

He pulled away and took he hand and began to walk with her out of the castle. She held firm. “Draco, where is your bracelet?”

“No mother, I’m done with that. This is who I am, who I’m always going to be from now on. You can either come with me like this, start a new life in the open, being who we are, loving who we love, or you can stay here and maybe be safe, maybe be protected but maybe never be free, be at peace.”

“But, where will we go?”

“I don’t know where we’ll wind up, but I know the first place we have to go.” She studied him so he explained, “I have a brother who’s going to need me. You have sister who’s lost a child who’s going to need you.”

She looked around the castle for a long minute. He did likewise. It no longer mattered who won and who lost. He’d already lost and he’d already won and now he was just determined to live.

To just live.

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Interhouse Fest 2016: The Children Left Behind (1 of 2)

2016-11-19T01:07:17Z

Title: The Children Left Behind
Author:
Characters: Draco, Remus/Narcissa
Prompt Number: #216
Word Count: 13.5K
Rating: Rish
Warnings: canon-divergent AU (I tried to stay as canon-compliant as I could while telling a completely AU story, so every once in a while I had to use the old adage: Never let facts get in the way of a good story… )
Summary: He had been a fairy tale, a story Draco’s mother told him every night…
Disclaimer: Not now or ever before have I been JK Rowling. Not now or ever before have I made a dime from these yarns I spin.
Author’s Notes: Before the apologies and the But I Meant to’s I owe to the prompter, a huge shout and love fest for my Alpha and Beta, by beginning and end, dear, sweet, always encouraging and grounding C. You made this fic so much better just as you’ve made me better with each story we’ve told together!

Prompter, I’m so sorry there’s very little actual Remus/Narcissa in this Remus/Narcissa story you requested. :( Draco sort of took over, as he’s want to do. But, on the plus, there’s always characters that I very rarely write because they scare me, but when I take the risk, I fall more and more in love. ♥ Draco ♥

I also didn’t intend to tell the little shit’s entire life story in the time I had allotted. :( So, huge shout outs and THANK YOU DEARLYs to the wonderful mods who were above and beyond patient with me.

Title taken from a JK Rowling interview explaining why she gakked Remus: "I think one of the most devastating things about war is the children left behind. As happened in the first war when Harry's left behind, I wanted us to see another child left behind.” STILL NOT FORGIVEN MS. ROWLING!!

Anyway… enjoy!

He had been a fairy tale, a story his mother told him every night, showing him a side of her he never saw in the light of day, surrounded by her facades and her pure-blood responsibilities. Draco knew at a very young age how to read people, how to see their hidden agendas, all the things they didn’t say, wouldn’t admit. So when he would ask for a bedtime story and she would sigh, look out the window and begin in a faraway lilt to her voice, “Once upon a time…” he knew there was something behind the fiction she weaved. He knew there was something almost like a confession, a cleansing in her words, as if asking Draco—even as a toddler—for absolution.

She would hold him tight to her and tell him about a girl; a girl who lived in a castle with her whole life planned out for her; like a garden, her whole life cultivated and pruned to be beautiful, nutritious and completely tasteless. She told him about how this girl would sit in her room a top the tallest tower of the castle and look out the window to the manicured lawns inside the castle walls, the raised bridge, the moat that kept the outside world where it belonged.

The young girl would strain to see past the dull perfection, to the chaos of forest and wilderness beyond, to the unknown and the untamed. Her heart would race as she contemplated all the life being lived there in the mysterious flora and fauna.

And while she held Draco tight there in his bedroom, her son’s eyes drooping with tiredness, she was far away as she continued her fairy tale. She told about a boy; a boy who lived in those forests, or just beyond them, in the outskirts of the village, but he was as wild as the untamed woods. He never so much as looked at the castle in the far distance, never once tried to imagine the life that was lived over the tall walls, past the many windows. He was too busy surviving.

This boy’s childhood had been marred by a terrible tragedy no child should have had to endure, an attack by a monster that destroyed this boy’s innocence and turned him into a monster himself. So, if he didn’t have the time or energy to consider her petty problems, she could hardly blame him. And after meeting him, her problems, her responsibilities to her family, to her community, didn’t seem all that important anyway.

When Draco was a bit older, she elaborated and revealed more of the story, more of her life. She would still hold him tight, holding his wrist, subconsciously rubbing along the emerald bracelet that he had worn there for as long as he could remember, a Black heirloom his mother said, a protection that he must never take off, she warned.

“Once upon a time, this princess, this darling of the family, who had watched one sister betrothed to a man she barely knew and forced to live in a loveless marriage like so many of her ancestors before her and another sister banished from the family for daring to go off and find a love on her own, find someone not picked for her since birth. And this youngest daughter, who so very much saw these two choices her sisters had made and wanted neither, and both. She wanted to be free to make her own choices, but she never wanted to be cast aside, never wanted to lose all that she had known, no matter how much of a prison it sometimes seemed.

“So, she ran away, determined to see what was out there and then dutifully return to follow the family tradition of arranged marriage and pure-blood society.

“The sun was just setting when she ventured out, it was the only time she had hours to herself that weren’t devoted to her education, her training or her family obligations. She wasn’t afraid of the forest, having no firsthand knowledge of the dark and dangerous that lived there. Bad things happened to lesser people, people without privilege, without magical protections. She wasn’t hesitant, she was anxious to see what she had only imagined from her view at the top windows of the castle.

“It was still light when she stepped into the canopy of the trees, not from the sun, but from the large harvest moon, full and hanging low. There was an odd stillness to the forest, as if the wildlife had all burrowed underground, had all sought shelter. The hairs on the girl’s arm stood up and there was a tingling of excited danger under her skin.

“She could almost make out the glow of candles burning in the window of the boy’s home when she heard them. A strange bark and a howl in response, a whine from farther behind and another howl from closer—-too close. She turned around, there were eyes, glowing in the underbrush, approaching slow and low. She backed up but heard an approach from behind as well, turning again, she saw eyes there, and everywhere. She was surrounded. They were coming out of the darkness, out of the wilderness onto her path. Werewolves. Dozens of werewolves. She didn’t know what to do; there was nowhere to go, no way to escape. She closed her eyes, but the noise from the unknown darkness was even worse.

“She heard a howl from the distance that sounded different, menacing, but somehow not directed to her. It wasn’t moving slow, it wasn’t moving low, it was galloping loud and before she even make out the features of the creature, it had pounced on one of the werewolves, snarling and biting, pulling it down to the ground and tearing at its flesh with its clawed paw. They rolled away from her and she watched as the pack that had been surrounding her left to circle the dog fight moving into the distant forest.

“The girl stood for a moment, too mesmerized to flee, to escape, but soon she regained her wits and instead of risking the long way back to her house, she ran as fast as she could to the house whose candles burning in the window had beckoned her all this way. She knocked furiously on the door but no one answered. Feeling slightly like a golden haired character in a Muggle fairy tale, she opened the door to the cabin and let herself in.

“It was the boy’s house, she recognized him in a few of the pictures that moved in their frames, pictures of him as a child that he had been when they had first met, pictures of him with people she had to assume were his parents, and then a lone picture of him as a bit older and a bit sadder. But only the one.

“The pictures were in disarray, as were the furnishings. There were scratches and marks on the wood of the walls and door frames, one door hung off its hinges. She had, of course, never seen the boy in his werewolf form, but she had no doubt that he had been the wolf savior in the forest that had pulled the pack away from her. She was also sure that he would not be returning until he’d retained his human form.

“She stilled her fragile nerves enough to put on a kettle for tea and after drinking a cup of it, went about straightening and repair as much of the cabin as her wand and magical skill would allow. After that was finished, she waited. Waited to make sure it was safe to go back home, waited to make sure that he had survived the night.

“She must have fallen asleep, because she awoke to a thud against the house. Sitting up with a start, she looked around her in terror, forgetting where she was for a moment. Light shone in through the shredded and torn curtains. There was the thud again. She rose and rushed to the door, listening. She could hear heavy breathing, but only coming from one set of lungs. Whoever it was, they were alone. And it was daylight. She took a deep breath, pulled out her wand and opened the door a sliver.

“At first, she didn’t recognize him. He lay at the door, as if it took all he had left just to get home and he didn’t have the strength for those last few steps. His back was towards her, his shirt hanging on by the bloodiest of fabric strips. She recognized his hair though, matted and muddied as it was, she knew it was him. Rushing to his side, she turned him gently to assess his wounds fully. He screamed against the movement.

“The sound of his anguish reverberated through the forest, setting resting birds to scatter, animals to flee and the very wind to shift and swirl around her. Instantly, she stopped what she was doing and using her wand and all the magic she had yet learned to magically and painlessly lift him off the ground, through the door and to the small, shabby bedroom.

“She scoured the house for medicines, potions and bandages to tend to his wounds. Of course he was fully stocked. Working on his injuries, she saw layers upon layers of scars from years of nights like last night's and marveled at the life this boy led.

“He was unconscious through most of the tending she performed, and she was glad for it. She couldn’t imagine the pain he was enduring and she took comfort in the fact that he could shut his mind down to avoid it. She made sure to apply as much soothing and healing ointments as she could, so that when he did finally awake to his fate, the pain would be lessened as much as possible.

“She was singing a healing verse over him when he finally did open his eyes. After a moment of focusing, his eyes widened in terror and he attempted to sit up. ‘What are you…? Are you okay....? Did anything…?’

“She stilled his lips with her fingertip. ‘I’m fine.’

“‘You are?’

“‘Completely.’

“‘Then…’ he paused, clearing his dry, scratchy throat. ‘Why are you… what are you doing here?’

“She smoothed the damp hair from his forehead. ‘You saved my life last night; I wanted to return the favor.’

“He stared at her a moment, as if dazed and not comprehending her words. ‘You… you shouldn’t be here… I’m still… still dangerous…’

“She looked down at him; weak and seemingly unable to even move, let alone do anything even remotely dangerous. ‘I’ll take my chances.’

“He struggled to sit up, wincing with each millimeter of movement. ‘No. Please. I… I don’t… I don’t want you to… to see me like this…’

“She went to protest, but this time, he stopped her with his finger to her lips. ‘Please. Just go.’

“She sighed, then nodded and arose. She was at the door before she turned around. ‘Thank you.’

“‘For what?’

“‘For saving my life last night.’

“He smiled. ‘You’re welcome.’”

Narcissa usually stopped her story there, but sometimes Draco would press her to continue. “Then what happened? Did she ever run away again? Did she ever see the werewolf again? Did they remain friends?”

She would answer her questions in short sentences, the magic of storytelling completely gone and replaced with a wistful sort of melancholy that Draco didn’t understand but always made him hug her tight. “So, she never ran away again?”

“Never on a full moon, no. From time to time she did venture out, but she’d learned a valuable lesson about responsibility, about duty. More importantly though, she learned that as sad and often times lonely as her life was, it could have been much, much worse.”

When Draco got a bit older and understood more that she was talking about herself and that the man in the story who her character self pined for, was not his father, he would press even further for a happy resolution to the story. “But, she learned to love the man she was forced to marry right?”

Narcissa would look down at him and smile sadly. “Yes. She did.”

“And he loved her back?”

She would look out in the distance. “He did. You have to remember; this marriage was just as much planned and prepared for him against his will as it was for her. They learned to love each other as well as they could.”

As well as they could... that phrase stuck with Draco. So, he would ask the only question that mattered to him as a child. “But they both loved their child, right?”

Narcissa hugged him tight. “With all their hearts. They were so proud of him, and he made them happier than anything else in the world.”

Sometimes Draco would watch his mother and father very closely. They seemed happy… ish. He didn’t really have anything to compare them with though. They certainly looked happier than his grandparents did, or his aunt Bellatrix and Rodolphus, from the pictures of their wedding. They seemed more siblings than man and wife. Still though, with all her reassurances of the opposite, he couldn’t help looking at his mother knowing she had a past (no matter that most of what he knew was probably some sort of fiction) that she still held onto, and always seemed a bit saddened by what could have been and would never be.

But, if she had gone a different way, if she had been allowed to love another man, how would his, Draco Malfoy’s life be? Without Lucius Malfoy as his father? Not being a Malfoy at all? With a werewolf as a father? Draco shivered at the thought.

Sometimes though, when he catches his father in suspicious circumstances, when he sees that the nobility of pureblood wizard had an unsavory side that no one talked about, that everyone looked the other way about, he wondered.

“My father,” Draco started one night as Narcissa helped him prepare for bed, “He’s a good man, yes?”

She settled his blankets up under his chin and sat beside him, reaching for his hand and the bracelet he still wore at all times. His mother had always insisted and he had never questioned it. He imagined some sort of magical protection, some family curse the emerald amulet countered. She stroked the stone as she answered. “Your father is one of the best men.”

He rolled onto his side and curled into her hip. Content with the answer and his place in the world, and more importantly, his place in his parents’ world.

~oOo~

His years at Hogwarts were filled with crushing defeats and small victories. Being pureblood set him up in the right circles, like it did in the wizarding world at large, and he made friends easily… well, mostly easy. In his parents’ day, however, Hogwarts was the bastion of pureblood privilege and rule, but it wasn’t that way for Draco. Not with a Headmaster who seemed to prefer mudbloods to nobility, who hired the sketchiest sort of staff and who gave the very most special treatment to a runt who had supposedly stopped the Dark Lord with his bare hands, or the smell of his baby breath, the shriek of his baby lungs. Whatever.

It was all myth and folklore, whispered rumors and lies and that little puke was going to ride it for the entire time he spent at Hogwarts, no matter how it affected anyone else. It was one thing that the entirety of the student body seemed to bow to the boy— all but his faithful Slytherins that was—
but that the staff also held the insignificant child in such high regard as well was sickening. The only staff he felt any kinship with his hatred for the Boy Wonder was Professor Snape. Of course Filch gave Potter trouble too, but what did he matter? He was a nothing. Draco could care less what the worthless and insignificant thought of Harry Potter.

Like that Hagrid monster who devoted himself so fully to Potter. The day that he discovered he’d be calling that oaf Professor was the day that he completely gave up on any thoughts that Hogwarts was still a great institute for learning. And it was only the first day of classes that his beliefs were so completely proven correct, after being almost immediately sent to the Hospital Wing with a broken arm— okay, fractured, whatever, it hurt a lot. He’d even lost consciousness, and when he came-to what felt like moments later, but must have been hours, he was shocked to see his mother sitting beside his bed.

“Mother?”

“Draco, darling! How are you?”

“I’m fine. I think. Why are you here? Am I dying?”

“Of course not. But you were hurt and I was made aware of it. Your father has some business to conclude, then he will be here to meet with the Headmaster about what is to be done.”

Part of him was deeply embarrassed that she was there to baby him, but a bigger part was quite pleased that he had someone who was this devoted to him. It set him apart, made him special. Important.

His father usually came to deal with school situations, being on the Board of Governors and deeply concerned about the school and its declining reputation, but his mother had never came, sending care package after care package instead.

Many people came in to visit while she was there, the Headmaster, who was oddly sprite and jovial. Well, it wasn’t that odd, but Draco was unsettled by it, having hardly ever seen him except in large groups— Opening Feasts and the like— and it was strange to see he was the same in a large crowd as with an audience of two. Draco wondered how this man had the history he did. How did this man defeat anyone? How did he strike fear in the heart of someone like the Dark Lord? He was a joke.

Professor Snape also came by. Of course he did, he was the Head of Draco’s house and he knew that Snape had once been friends with his parents. What Draco wasn’t expecting was a visit from Professor Lupin.

“Lupin,” Professor Snape snarled when the man entered the room.

“Severus,” Lupin responded cordially. If he’d heard the loathing in Professor Snape’s voice, he hid it well. Draco got the distinct impression that was very much the case, that Professor Lupin somehow reveled in Professor Snape’s displeasure.

So fascinated by this exchange, he didn’t notice his mother’s reaction to the exchange until he felt her hand clutch tightly to his wrist and the amulet that rested there. Thankfully, it was his uninjured arm, but it still hurt.

Professor Snape left with a flourish of his robes and mumbling something about a potion needing his attention.

There was a weird quiet in the room after Snape left. Draco studied the odd Defense Against the Arts Teacher that he had just met earlier that week intrigued by the exchange between the two professors and determined to get to the bottom of it.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Professor Lupin finally said, and there was a weird lingering in the way he pronounced her name. He had done the same thing during their first class when he’d come to Draco. Again, there was something there.

And then his mother talked and he knew there was some sort of history.

“Remus.”

They just stared at each other and if it weren’t for his mother’s hand on his wrist, her thumb rubbing along the emerald, Draco might have felt as if the room had forgotten about him.

“How is he?” Lupin asked.

“He?” Narcissa said.

“Your son, Draco.”

“My son…” Draco turned to her. He’d never seen this expression on her face. He’d never seen her… flustered was the only way he could describe it. “My son is fine, aren’t you, Draco?”

“I’m fine. Just a little pain.”

“Good. Glad to hear it,” Professor Lupin said, but he was no longer looking at Draco. It appeared that he had no more to say, but he still stood there for a very long, awkward moment before mumbling something too low to hear, and then turning and walking out.

Draco was almost afraid to look at his mother. She seemed to feel likewise, because when he did finally turn to her, she had turned her back to him. He watched as she did what he’d seen her do many times before. He watched her shoulders rise and fall in as she took long breaths and when she turned back, all was right with the world again. She looked strong, powerful and in complete control.

He wanted to say something, ask so many questions, but he was afraid to break the spell. It wasn’t worth it. He never wanted to see his mother unsure of herself again.

So, instead, he faked sleepiness and accepted her mothering attentions with a sigh. He was just about to fall asleep for real, when he felt her lightly and delicately take his hand again. He brought it to her lips and kissed it and then the piece of jewelry. He peeked one eyelid to see her look around the room and checking to make sure he was asleep. He shut his eyes quickly.

At first he didn’t understand what was happening, he felt a tingle in his arm, emanating around the heirloom, spreading along his arm, neck, face and body. And it reverberated under his skin, to his heart, his lungs. He heard a chant, a song in his mother’s whispered voice and it brought with it a childhood memory, a remembrance of this happening many times in his childhood. It was just in a dusty corner of his mind to remember more, see more, understand more, but then a fuzziness washed over him, a washing away that also felt incredibly familiar, though he could no longer hold the thought of it or anything else in his head.

When he awoke, the sun was just beginning to poke over the horizon from the eastern facing window. His mother had slumped over him, her slumbering head resting on his stomach. She must be aching, Draco thought and his heart filled with devotion. The same sort of devotion that he felt wash over her towards him. She had stayed there to protect him. But from what he didn’t know… or couldn’t remember? His head felt heavy and completely devoid of anything all at the same time.

She must have sensed his stirrings because she sat up. “Draco. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

He couldn’t think of anything he needed. Couldn’t think of anything. “What happened?”

She looked scared for a moment before the expression was schooled. “You were attacked by a Hippogriff.”

“I know that. I know that’s why my arm is in a sling and I feel pain in my chest. But, what else happened? My head feels fuzzy.”

“Perhaps a side effect of the potion you were given?”

He studied her for a moment. “Must be.” He got flashed of jumbled words, phrases, faces. “Were Dumbledore and Snape here last night?”

“Yes, your Headmaster and Head of House both came by to make sure you were alright.”

“And…” It was right at the corners, right on the tip. “Professor Lupin?”

“Who?”

“My new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I thought I remembered…” he saw her blank face. “Must have… must have been a dream,” he finished unconvincingly. Why would he have been dreaming about a man he’d only just met who had no connection with him or his family?

He asked that question then, and he continued to ask it in the months that followed as he found himself watching the new teacher, fascinated by him for reasons he couldn’t understand. Sometimes it felt as if he knew him somehow from a different life, like he had some connection to the man that he couldn’t sort out. The professor was nothing to look at, he looked very unloved and uncared for, his clothes were in shambles, everything he owned seemed to have been owned by every other wizard in the world before him and he had an odd sadness about him that only rarely lifted when he got very involved in a lesson.

Draco especially watched him while the man watched and studied Potter. He seemed to always be watching the other boy, always on the cusp of saying something to him, reaching out to him in some way in those first weeks of school. Then they started having secret meetings, extra lessons were the rumor, but for some reason it did something to Draco, burned him with an unexplainable jealousy that no other special treatment had. The whole situation and his reaction to it baffled him. So much so that he did what he tried not to do, he wrote to his mother about it. Not the feeling—he didn’t know how to explain that—but he did seethe about Professor Lupin’s preferences and Harry Potter’s special treatments.

He was shocked a few weeks later, at the second Hogsmeade weekend when his mother made another appearance.

“Mother, what are you doing here?” Draco asked as he walked out of the castle gates and saw her waiting there for him.

“I thought it would be nice to have some tea with my son, maybe get some Christmas shopping done, now that you’re allowed out of the castle from time to time. I do hope I’m not cramping your style.”

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind him. “Not at all. Tea sounds lovely.”

He left with her, turning to his friends to say he’d met up with them later.

They went to Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop and found a quiet table in the corner.

“So, how is school going?” Narcissa asked after their pot was delivered to them.

Draco shrugged.

“Tell me more about this new professor, Lupin was it?”

Draco looked at her. Her expression and the tone of her voice, the offhand of her question were all out of sorts with each other.

“Ah, he’s a good teacher, I guess. Seems to know a great deal about the Dark Arts, or the defense of them anyway…” he stopped and did the math. “Did you know him? Did he go to school with you?”

“With me?” she stammered. He continued to study her. Something was off with her. She continued. “If I’m remembering correctly, he was there towards the end of my years. He was close friends with Sirius I think. In fact, I think it was he and James Potter that made Sirius turn away from the family.”

Draco spat out his tea. “He was friends with Potter’s father?”

“I believe so.”

“Well, that explains everything.”

“Yes. Perhaps.” She was quiet again for a long time, and again she tried unconvincingly to sound nonchalant when she asked, “So, he hasn’t spoken to you?”

“What do you mean, spoken to me? He’s my professor, so yeah, we’ve spoken.”

“But he hasn’t… well, singled you out for harsher treatment or picked on you… you know, because of who you are? Who your parents are?”

Draco tilted his head and crinkled his eyes, thoroughly confused. “Because of my parents?”

“You know, because we were on opposite sides of the war? Because of our past allegiances.”

He thought for a moment. “Not any more than anyone else… in fact…”

“What?” she asked a bit too eagerly.

“I don’t know, there was a moment… that first day, during roll call, when he called out my name, he sort of… I don’t know… lingered at my name, my last name.”

“But he didn’t say anything? Not then? Not later?”

“No.”

She looked out the window and Draco waited for her to say something more, but she didn’t seem to have anything else to say. “It’s really nothing. He’s fine. I just wrote to you in a moment of frustration about the Potter special treatment.”

She sighed. “I know it’s tough. Almost unbearable, but really, in the climate of today, it doesn’t do to antagonize The Boy Who Lived.” She said the last with her lips twisted into a scowl.

Draco scowled too, then bowed his head and mumbled, “I know.”

She’d told him this same thing many times. Last year she’d actually sat he and his father down for this very same lecture after the little nothing freed one of their House Elves.

Maybe she was right, but he couldn’t help it, he liked to believe like his father did, that one day— and sooner rather than later— there’d be an uprising, a setting of right in the world that would put them back where they belonged in the Wizarding world.

Throughout the rest of Draco’s third year, his mother found more reasons to visit, Hogsmeade weekends, the rumors of Sirius’ attacks at Hogwarts. All the dark dealings. Draco couldn’t understand why this year was different than the year before when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Sure, he was in more danger from Sirius Black, his own cousin who had turned from the family before going completely mad. Even his mother didn’t know where his true allegiance lied. Was he seeking revenge on his family or on Harry Potter? Perhaps both.

Draco was glad to have so much attention being paid on him by his mother, even if each visit ended in a weird sense of forgetfulness and snatches of moments jumbled in his mind. Not memories because they made no sense, but he’d never given his imagination this much credit either. They were all centered around Professor Lupin. He was always there, lurking in the shadows of Draco’s thoughts. Draco could see snatches of moments, turning a corner and seeing the Professor’s hand on his mother’s arm, whispering something urgent in her ear. He recalled his mother’s flushed cheeks, a certain light in her eyes he’d not seen before. He could recall tears in his mother’s eyes and a something like a longing in her very being.

But then she’d be gone and all those jumbled thoughts, imaginings and memories would be gone. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Professor Lupin was somehow an important character in the story of his mother’s life.

The feeling remained so strong that when it was discovered at the last day of the term that Remus Lupin was in fact a werewolf, it all clicked in place to Draco like he’d known it his whole life. The boy at the outskirts of the forest, the girl wasting away in a castle on a hill. His mother. Remus Lupin.

Remus Lupin who had once saved his mother’s life. Remus Lupin who had most likely been the only man his mother had ever loved with her own free will. Remus Lupin who was not his father.

He shivered. Where had that thought even come from? He unconsciously clutched at the bracelet around his wrist.

Part 2

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Interhouse Fest 2016 - Hope Versus Werewolf (Part 2 of 2)

2016-11-12T04:46:33Z

Parts I and II Here

Part III

The trapdoor swung aside, revealing a wooden ladder.

The basement wasn’t very deep, but the smell was musty and the air humid and cooler than the rest of the house. Rubbing her arms to keep off the cold, she looked around the room.

The walls were made of stone, but there were claw marks all over them. The wooden support pillars had suffered an identical fate. Aside from the candles attached to the walls, the room was bare. On first look it was hard to understand what was so special about this room that Remus hadn’t wanted her to see it.

Tracing the claw marks on one of the pillars, she finally understood.

This had to be where he transformed during the full moon. He’d made these marks when his mind hadn’t been his own, and he still believed she didn’t know what he was. A thud from behind her made her jump.

“You shouldn’t be here,” said Remus.

“You should’ve shown this place to me! There’s nothing here that you needed to hide from me!”

“There’s also nothing here that’d help you break the curse.”

Remus Lupin truly had to be the thickest and most stubborn man alive.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have needed to come here if you hadn’t avoided me for the last couple of days! Which is, by the way, a rather impressive feat, considering the size of this house.”

“Let’s just get out of here, Tonks.”

“No, we will talk this out right now. I won’t let you weasel your way out of this!”

Remus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And what is it that you want to tell me?”

“For such a smart man you can be quite an idiot sometimes, Remus. I know what you are, and I didn’t need to see this room to know it.”

“I- you don’t-”

Now it was her turn to let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re a werewolf, which I already knew when you kissed me! Seeing this room was just confirmation to what I already knew, and it makes no difference to me.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying? Have you even seen a werewolf before?”

“Yeah, I have, actually. During my third year of Auror studies, Mad-Eye and I interrogated Fenrir Greyback, and I know you’re nothing like him.”

“At the end of the day we’re all the same. Monsters.”

“You’re no monster.”

“You’re being naïve, Tonks.”

“How about you stop patronising- what was that?”

They both went quiet at the sound of the trapdoor above them slamming shut. A few seconds later there was another sound, this time as if something heavy was being moved directly above the hatch.

“Sirius!” Remus yelled, climbing the ladder. He made an attempt to push the door to the side, but to no avail.

“Who’s Sirius?” she asked.

Remus released a rare curse.

“I’ll tell you later, preferably once I’ve throttled him. This door wasn’t made to open from the inside, only from the outside. And now that there’s something heavy on top of the hatch, it means we’re not getting out until someone takes it off.”

“So we’re stuck here?”

“That would seem to be the case for now.”

“That means you have time to explain to me about Sirius.”

He cleared his throat.

“I guess it does. What I’m about to tell you may upset you, but I’m asking you to listen until I’m finished and then get angry if you’re still so inclined.”

She raised her brows.

“All right. Get on with it, then. I’m listening.”

***

Tonks took the news of Padfoot’s identity rather well. She didn’t seem to think it was preposterous to believe Sirius was innocent. So at least there was one topic they had no need to argue over that night. He had no idea when Sirius would be inclined to let them out, but he doubted it’d be until the morning.

“So Sirius was in his Animagus form when you were cursed and then got stuck?”

He nodded.

“Yes. There are few people outside this house who are aware of Sirius’s other form.”

“The Ministry doesn’t know either?”

“No. I don’t think him being stuck as a dog as punishment is what any Ministry worker had in mind for him.”

Just a few hours ago his old friend had been doing his very best to convince him to go to Tonks and “finish the job,” that they were too close to breaking the curse to fail now. He’d known he’d have to at least try, but he’d never felt right kissing her without her knowing about his condition. Now that he knew the truth, he wanted to smack himself. He’d underestimated this woman again, and after everything she knew, she was still there, sitting next to him on the cold stone floor of the basement, and not refusing to look at him or talk to him. That was a miracle in itself.

“I still think we should talk about what happened between us,” she said, this time much less forcefully than earlier.

“What is there to talk about?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Did you run because you thought I didn’t know you’re a werewolf?”

“Mostly because of that, yes.”

“But I did know, so you had no reason to worry.”

“Perhaps not. I’m sorry for underestimating you.”

“Apology accepted.”

“But I can’t stress it enough that I believe werewolves to be unsuitable romantic partners as a whole.”

Tonks scoffed.

“That’s bollocks, Remus. You’re a good man who hasn’t let his circumstances define him. There are far worse men out there who claim to be wholly human,” she said, bumping his shoulder with hers gently.

He chuckled.

“On a more serious note, your transformations must be very painful. These marks here… They’re deep.”

This was yet another topic he did not wish to discuss with her, but then again, she had a way of bringing up all the things he never wanted to talk about.

“You could say so. The wolf wants to kill, and when I’m transformed, there are no humans here to prey on. It needs to take it out on something,” he replied quietly.

She suddenly pulled his right hand into her lap, tracing the scars on it before he could pull it back. Her touch on the sensitive skin burned, but not in an unpleasant manner, which was exactly why he cursed Sirius yet again for locking them in together.

“You hurt yourself too,” she said. It wasn’t even a question, but rather a statement.

He yanked his hand from her.

“It’s nothing,” he said roughly.

He made to stand up, but she grabbed his arm before he could do that.

“What-”

Before he could get out another word, her hands were on his face and her mouth on his. Her kiss was fervent and demanding. This was a terrible idea, but Merlin, she felt so good.

"We should stop," he whispered against her neck.

"Give me one good reason to."

"I'm too old you."

"Irrelevant."

"I'm a werewolf."

"I don't care. Let it go, Remus. I know you want this," she replied, forcing him to look at her.
He was tired of avoiding her, of trying to hide how he felt about her when she was right in the next room. After a last sigh of resolve, he took her heart-shaped face between his palms and kissed her.

Her eyes took in all his scars, not horrified or pitying, but accepting. She truly saw him the way he wanted to be seen, against all odds. His initial nervousness began to fade, and he allowed her to kiss an old scar on his shoulder. She was a treasure that could never be his the way he wanted her to be, but for tonight he could put that reality out of his mind. For tonight he was just a man who loved a woman, nothing more and nothing less.

***

The morning arrived too fast as far as Tonks was concerned. The warm cocoon formed by their bodies and various clothes had kept her warm throughout the night, but as she opened her eyes, she saw that the trap door was open again.

Willing Remus to stay asleep for just a little while more, she tightened her hold on him and returned to the memories of the night before. There was no way she'd ever forget about it, but she'd wasn't foolish enough to think he'd feel the same way. He'd been more than a willing participant and even called her "Dora," which she loved hearing from his lips, but no promises had been made. Yet she dared to believe that they could sort this out, that she could make him believe in them.

When Remus began to stir, she knew it was time to face the outside world and a more reserved Remus Lupin.

"Good morning," he greeted, his voice hoarse.

"It is a good morning," she replied.

He said nothing in return but to her surprise kissed her tenderly.

"Breakfast?" he suggested.

They gathered their clothes and ate in the kitchen with Sirius. Nobody seemed to know what had occurred between them, and it seemed that Remus wanted to keep it that way. He barely looked at her.

Trying to shake the hurt caused by Remus’s distant behavior, Tonks returned to the library after breakfast, intending to update Remus on her progress, but the crystal ball on the corner table caught her attention. It was showing something. She couldn't make out what was happening until she was standing right next to the table. What she saw made her want to vomit. Her innocent father being dragged out of his house by Dawlish and his minion. Next it showed them dragging him along a corridor at the Ministry and finally setting him in front of Dolores Umbridge. Tonks had never had to personally work with her, but she was aware of the woman’s dubious reputation. A cold dread for her father filled her.

The parchment in front of Umbridge stated the charges: "Knowingly protecting a well-known fugitive. Crime is punishable by 2 years in Azkaban."

Dawlish and this broad were trying to send her father to Azkaban of all places! Gasping, she ran out of the room, bumping into Remus in the foyer.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Umbridge is trying to get my dad thrown into Azkaban!"

"Based on what?"

"They're claiming that he's participated in harboring a fugitive. They must know about Sirius. Listen, Remus..."

"You need to go."

"I have to save him, but I'll come back here as soon as I can, I promise." After a quick kiss, she was out the door.

“Wait, it could be a trap!”

“Yeah, it could, but what else can I do?” she asked, turning back to face him.

“Just- just be careful.”

She nodded, and after taking a few steps from the house, Disapparated.

Why did you let her go? We have less than two days until the deadline, she'll never make it back here on time! barked Sirius.

"I know, Sirius, but how was I supposed to keep her here? Her father's in real danger, we all here know what Dolores Umbridge is capable of."

Yes, we do, but come on, she was so close to breaking the curse that I could practically taste it. She loves you, all you had to do was make her say it.

"How?"

How about telling her you love her? She would've returned the words, you know that!

Remus sighed. He knew he was responsible for his friends' fate, but telling Tonks he loved her wouldn't have been fair to her, as he had no intention of ever telling her that, curse or not. She was innocent of what had happened to them and didn’t deserve to be lead on. On the other hand, he was responsible for the fate his friends had suffered.

"Dumbledore will be here when the deadline closes; perhaps he's been able to think of another way to get us out of this. Or maybe he can at least buy as some more time," said Remus, knowing his optimism was hardly warranted. Dumbledore had already done his best, including giving them the crystal ball. It was unlikely that he'd be able to help them anymore.

Do you even believe that yourself? Asked Sirius, turning his back to Remus.

“It looks like Umbridge knows about you, Sirius. I don’t know how she found out.”

That Dawlish bloke we saw following Tonks the other night must have tipped her off someway, but how? I’ve never seen the man before.

“That’s a good question, but at this stage I think it’d be safer for you to leave. They’re bound to show up here soon, and I won’t be able to do much if I’m in the basement.”

I’m not going anywhere. We’ll see this through together. And if we’re both in the basement tonight, I doubt they’ll come knocking, if they want to live until the morning.

“And what happens after that? You know how I am the morning after a full moon, I won’t be of any use to you.”

It doesn’t matter. Look, our time’s running out anyway. I might as well go out with a bang instead of hiding out in the woods as a dog for the rest of my life, finished Sirius, stalking out of the room.

Remus had made a mess out of everything. If Tonks had broken the curse, Sirius wouldn’t have been this suicidal. He hadn't been able to manipulate Tonks the way he should have been, and falling in love with her had certainly never been a part of the plan. The one thing he wished for more than anything else was that there was a way for him to carry the curse alone. As long as the others could go back to their lives, he would manage. Even if he was never able to leave the house again as a human. His friends didn't deserve to pay for his shortcomings. Perhaps he could still ask Dumbledore if he could redirect the curse just on him once they reached the deadline, if they were still alive at that point. He sat on his bed and buried his head in his hands.

“Remus, dear?” called out Molly. Remus raised his head and offered her a wry smile. She had always been good to him, never blaming him, despite the fate she and her family had suffered.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I saw Tonks leave, and I just wanted to tell you that Arthur and I think you did the right thing.”

“She won’t make it back here on time to break the curse,” he replied softly.

“Maybe she won’t, but she’ll save her father from Umbridge. You have no reason to feel guilty about what happened to us, Remus. Arthur and I are responsible for ourselves and for our children. We made the decision to help Dumbledore, you and Sirius in the first place, and we don’t regret it. It’s better to stand for what you believe in than live your life just trying to avoid all possible dangers. That’s the way we raised our children as well.”

“But I’ve failed all of you.”

“You’ve done the best you could. You’re an honourable man and the curse that bitch cast on us was pure evil, she never believed you’d even come close to breaking it.”

“She knows about Sirius now, Molly.”

“But how?”

Remus shook his head.

“We don’t know how, but it’s likely that she’ll be here soon enough.”

“Then we’ll fight her, all of us together.”

“They just want me and Sirius, you don’t need to put yourselves at risk.”

“You don’t think we want to do anything we possibly can to get revenge on her? I’m sorry, Remus, but there is no way we’re going to stand in the sidelines.”

***

Tonks Apparated directly to London and the Ministry entrance. They were still holding her dad somewhere in the premises, and she was not going to leave without him. She'd talk to Dolores Umbridge herself.

The Ministry was mostly deserted this time of the night, but it didn't take very long for her to find out which floor Umbridge's office was in.

The door to her office was wide open, and she saw the bitch herself sitting at her desk. The entire room was so pink it made her want to vomit, especially the combination of the color and the porcelain kittens placed all around it.

Striding into the room, she didn't care if she was offending or inconveniencing the hag.

"I want my father out of here. Right. Fucking. Now."

"Evening, Auror Tonks, what a lovely surprise. Please have a seat, dear."

Tonks sneered.

"I'm not going to have a seat. I don't know why you've decided to attack my dad with these ridiculous accusations, but you're going to drop them now," she said, banging the desk with her fist.

"If you want your father released, I suggest you co-operate with me, Miss Tonks."

"On what?"

"On catching a dangerous criminal and his companions."

"And who is this dangerous criminal?"

Umbridge let out a girly giggle, making Tonks's blood boil.

"My, my, dear girl. I'm obviously talking about your cousin Sirius Black and his friends."

"I have no idea what you mean," she replied, hoping her lies were convincing enough to even just stall her for a bit.

"I've recently found out through my sources that Sirius Black is an unregistered Animagus and is being harbored in a derelict cottage by the werewolf Remus Lupin. I also know that you have been associating with this beast."

Tonks clenched her hands into fists so hard her nails began cutting into her palms. How dare this woman call him that. And how dare she try to use her dad to get to Sirius and Remus. And Remus’s house was not a derelict cottage.

"I have been trying to break a curse involving Remus Lupin, yes. But I know nothing about Sirius Black," she said through gritted teeth.

Umbridge sighed.

"Very well, then. We will have to do this the hard way then, Miss Tonks. Don't tell me I didn't try nicely at first. Dawlish!"

Before Tonks's vision blurred, she saw her colleague and unwanted suitor break out from the Disillusion charm he'd been hiding under.

***

The familiar pre-transformation symptoms took over Remus's body long before sunset. The cold sweats, aches and tremors kept him confined to his room for the rest of the day, and Sirius was nowhere to be seen.

When the transformation was than an hour away, he dragged himself out of bed and went downstairs, aiming to get to the basement with enough time to spare.

He had just reached the ladder when Sirius suddenly sprang into the room, barking.

They’re here. Umbridge and Dawlish.

Before Remus could get to the window, a familiar, sickly-sweet voice boomed from outside.

"Lupin and Black, come out immediately! Nothing needs to happen to her, as long as you comply!"

He grabbed his wand quickly and threw the front door open with Sirius at his coat tails.
Dolores Umbridge was standing on the edge of the clearing with her wand at her thrust, enhancing her voice. Next to her stood the man who he and Sirius had only gotten a glimpse of a couple of nights earlier, who was holding an unconscious Tonks. What had they done to her?

Remus watched as the somewhat nervous look on Umbridge's face turned into glee at the first step he took away from the safety of the porch.

Part IV

Tonks’s head hurt more than after the Christmas party during her 7th year of school, and that was a lot to say. As she opened her eyes, her vision was still blurry, but her hearing was just fine.

“Pete, stop hiding, you imbecile, and watch her!” hissed a voice she recognised as Dawlish’s.

“Y-yes, John, right away.” Of course he’d brought his favourite sidekick along.

“What are you so afraid of, you little twit? I’m an Auror, I can handle one werewolf and an Animagus!”

Pete didn’t reply, but she felt another presence behind her, and Dawlish gave her a little shove. She tried wriggling, but her arms and legs were bound tightly. Pete was shorter than her, and she got the feeling he was deliberately trying to hide himself behind her.

Her vision began to clear, and she could see Remus on the porch, about to step down. No, don’t do it, she wanted to scream, but her voice failed her.

In a flash, Remus turned into a wolf, who kept on advancing towards them. His eyes were blue, and the look he gave her told her that it was still Remus in there, not the werewolf. Just as she began to wonder how much time they had until the moon rose, the clouds cleared, revealing the pale orb. They were out of time.

She could pinpoint the exact moment Remus’s mind was taken over by the werewolf. The eyes boring into hers were no longer his, the look in them something much more feral than the gentleness she’d grown to associate with him. His body shook and a roar tore out of his throat. No matter how bad she wanted to do something to help him, she knew he’d tell her to run as fast as she could. She needed her wand back, now.

The ropes binding her hands to her sides and her legs together were too tight to escape from, but she was able to bend down and jump on Pete’s toes. The man screamed and staggered away from her, rubbing his sore foot, while she fell down in the ground, hitting her side. Luckily both Umbridge and Dawlish were too preoccupied with Remus to take much notice of her.

“Kill it, Dawlish!” yelled Umbridge, backing away from Remus as fast as she could, her wand pointed at him.

“That would be my pleasure! Come on, Pete, let’s get that beast!” he bellowed, striding forward. She had to get her wand fast if she wanted to save Remus.

Instead of joining Dawlish, Pete just stared at the porch with a fearful look on his face, and then suddenly he disappeared, leaving behind a pile of clothes. A rat emerged from the pile and scurried into the forest. The form Pete had taken made her heart speed up. Was Pete actually Peter Pettigrew? She decided to make sense of things later and focus on getting to her wand.

At the same time, Sirius jumped out of the bushes, tackling Dawlish and buying her more time.
Umbridge screamed when a plate smashed into her chest. When Tonks looked into the direction the projectile had come from, she saw Molly, Arthur and their kids behind the now open living room windows. They were fighting back. Another plate shot out, this time landing on Umbridge’s head, eliciting another scream from her. She pointed her wand at the house, but the various dishes flying in the air made it too difficult for her to aim properly, and she kept on missing.

Using the chaos to her advantage and trusting the others to keep Umbridge occupied, Tonks crawled to the pile of clothes left behind by Pete and began sifting through them with her legs. By the time she was finally able to locate her wand and release herself from the ropes, Sirius, Remus, and Dawlish had all disappeared.

Before she had time to guess which direction they’d taken, she heard a feral roar. Remus. Following the sound as fast as she could, she staggered through the trees until she spotted Remus and Dawlish.

"Avada-" he started.

"Stupefy!" she yelled, countering the Unforgivable.

Please, let Remus still be alive... Dawlish was out cold on the ground after having hit his head on a rock, and she had enough sense to tie him up before attending to Remus. Or the creature that was currently in possession of his body.

The wolf was bleeding from its muzzle and side, and its breathing was uneven. A branch was sticking out from its right side. She knew she'd have to get it out or he'd die. Werewolves were dangerous, but she had no time to hesitate.

She leaned over him and placed the tip of her wand on the branch. It would have to be done quickly so she'd have time to stop the bleeding. Tonks murmured the spell and watched the branch disappear, leaving a gaping wound in its place. She gasped at the size of the injury but immediately cast another spell to fix his bleeding vessels.

Unfortunately she was no Mediwitch, but there was no way she could just take him to St. Mungo's. He would need to survive until the morning at least in order for that to happen. Now all she could do was hope. Laying her hand on the wolf's side, she waited. His breathing was still shallow, and she swore her own heart stopped beating for a second when the wolf missed a breath. It was still dying, which meant Remus was dying too.

Tears sprung to her eyes; she was going to lose Remus because he'd left the house to save her. She should’ve been more careful while confronting Umbridge, he’d even warned her that it could be a trap. If she’d controlled herself better, maybe they wouldn’t have gotten her and Remus would be safely in the basement.

"You can't die... Remus, please... I love you, and I want you to hear me say it," she confessed, her tears falling on the wolf's fur coat.

Burying her face into the wolf's side, she let herself mourn for the love that she may have lost, the man who might never know how she felt about him.

"Tonks, what are you doing? Get away!" She turned her head toward the unknown voice and saw a lanky man with shaggy black hair.

"Who are-"

"Don't recognise me when I'm not a dog, do you?" replied the man, a hint of amusement leaking into his tone.

"Sirius?" If Sirius was human again, it had to mean that the curse was finally broken. But how?

"Yes, it's me, and now please, for all our sakes, step away from the werewolf. Remus is not flying that broom right now."

Before she could move, the wolf's eyes opened for the first time since she'd arrived at his side, and he released a low whine.

"It's all right. I'm trying to help you," she murmured, hoping her voice was calming enough. If she ran, the wolf would surely follow and tear the wounds open. There might not be a way to save Remus if that happened.

"Tonks, now! Go back to the house, I’ll take care of this!" yelled Sirius, and within seconds he was a dog once more. She stood up and took a few slow steps back, hoping it wasn't enough for the wolf to see her as prey.

Sirius landed on the wolf just as he made an attempt to get up. Tonks took this as a cue to turn around and run.

As she neared the house, her steps slowed down, and she felt exhaustion seeping into her limbs. She was out of danger, at least for now. To her surprise, the front of the house was full of people she’d never seen before in her life, but Dolores Umbridge was nowhere to be seen.

“Tonks, dear, you did it! Come here!” called a short, red-haired woman, pulling her into a tight embrace. It took her a few seconds to place the familiar-sounding voice.

“Molly,” she gasped.

“Yes, it’s me! I don’t think we’ll ever be able to thank you, but we’ll do our best. Come and meet everyone.”

She was hugged by the rest of the Weasley family as well as Fleur, who was so beautiful as a human that Tonks felt slightly embarrassed of having had to dress before her. Their joy was genuine but overwhelming for her, especially since she didn’t even know yet if Remus would survive. She kept on stealing glances at the forest, expecting Remus and Sirius to emerge, but instead of them she spied a group of three people, including one who was being practically dragged between her mentor and a senior colleague.

“Mad-Eye! Kingsley!” she exclaimed, jogging to meet the strange group.

“Evening, Tonks, glad to see you’re in one piece,” greeted Kingsley.

“What are you two doing here? How did you know?” she asked, finally taking notice that the man Mad-Eye and Kingsley had a death grip on was Pete.

“Long story, Tonks. I’ve been tracking Dawlish’s activities for the last week, and tonight I spoke to your father and then to someone else. After that it was just about putting all the pieces together and taking action,” explained Mad-Eye hastily, giving her a look that told her she’d be in the receiving end of another one of his lectures in the near future.

“But what’s more important is that this bloke right here is Peter Pettigrew. We’ve all thought him dead for the last 13 years, but turns out he’s been keeping a close eye on the Ministry through Dawlish. The last time anyone had seen a photo of him was more than a decade ago, and why would the Ministry insist on showing people photographs of dead people? Smart weasel, this one right here, but not as smart as he should’ve been,” muttered Mad-Eye, poking Peter’s side with his wand.

“Tonks, my dear girl, please tell them they’ve mistaken,” prayed Peter, giving her a look that she supposed could have passed for pathetic and innocent to some people. Not to her. After hearing the stories of Peter’s deception, she had no empathy left for the man.

“You’re the reason Sirius went to Azkaban, and then you tried to put my father there. It’s you who should be in Azkaban,” she replied coolly.

“We need to go now, Tonks, but I expect to see you back at work on Monday!” said Mad-Eye before Disapparating along with Kingsley and Peter.

“He does indeed deserve to go to Azkaban, and he will go there after a fair trial,” boomed another familiar voice from the shadow of the forest.

Beside Dawlish’s unconscious form stood her former Headmaster, probably the most formidable wizard of her time.

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” she greeted.

“Evening, Nymphadora. Alastor alerted me to the events and I got here just in time to assist in capturing Peter and your colleague here.”

“What about Umbridge, Headmaster? I think she cursed Remus and the others.”

Dumbledore nodded.

“I am aware of that, and she has already been taken away. She was uninjured but quite angry when some of your colleagues removed her from the premises. She will be punished accordingly; I will testify against her myself if I have to.”

“Good. What about him, then?” she asked, motioning to Dawlish.

“He tried to use an Unforgivable on Remus.”

“You are referring to Mr. Lupin’s werewolf form?”

“Yeah.”

“If Dolores Umbridge was still in charge, he would be released. However, her removal from office will make Mr. Dawlish’s life more difficult.”

“But he might not be punished?”

“He might not go to Azkaban, if that is what you’re asking. Yes, he attempted to cast an Unforgivable Curse, but he was also facing a Dark Creature. He will certainly insist it was self-defense.”

“I’d rather not be an Auror anymore, if that means working with someone like him. He’s a criminal.”

Dumbledore smiled at her kindly.

“You are a good person, Ms. Tonks. You are the kind of an Auror the Ministry desperately needs. If all the good people in the Auror Department decide to leave, what will be left? The ones like Dawlish here, I’m afraid.”

“How am I supposed to pretend that I trust him?”

“This may not be the best time to discuss this, but dark times lay ahead of us. Your considerable skills will be needed in order for our world to survive. Staying with the Ministry and gathering more experience is the best course of action, if I may give a piece of advice.”

“I’m sorry, but what are you talking about, Headmaster? Dark times?”

Dumbledore hesitated.

“I have reason to suspect that Voldemort and his ideology may not be as dead as we would like them to be. But do not concern yourself with that tonight. The feat your achieved was extraordinary. You proved that everything Dolores Umbridge believes in is untrue, and you broke a powerful curse.”

“I still don’t fully understand what exactly broke it.”

“Love. It sounds clichéd, but it was love. You love a person whom he himself, as well as Dolores Umbridge, truly believes to be unlovable. She believed that once time ran out, she would have forever rid herself of Mr. Lupin and the others. You were an unforeseen variable in this equation, as far as she is concerned.”

Love? She had broken the curse when she’d told Remus that she loved him. She almost felt like laughing. It had been that simple. Now if only she’d told him about her feelings earlier, and maybe Remus would not be mortally injured.

“But why did she curse them in the first place?”

Dumbledore sighed.

“She was hell-bent on finding Sirius and believed that his old friend would be helping him. She also knew that both Remus and the Weasley family were allied with me. It was an enticing opportunity to leave both Sirius as well as me with fewer allies.”

“How come nobody’s missed them?”

“Umbridge made sure all the Weasleys’ relatives and friends believed they’d moved abroad after Arthur had been offered a job. And I believe all inquiries that were made to the Ministry were quickly erased from official documents and the people who made them found themselves Obliviated.”

“What about Remus, hasn’t anyone asked after him?”

“He’s always lived a rather solitary life.”

She tried to suppress the sob that threatened to escape her throat. He really had nobody, outside of his friends.

“He’s dying… I – I did my best to help with the wounds, but I’m not sure…” she confessed, allowing herself to think about the possibility of losing him for the first time since she’d left him with Sirius.

“Yes, I saw him with Sirius in the forest. I don’t believe there is much any of us can do at this stage.”

“Can’t you try to help him?”

“Werewolves are another species entirely. There is little we can do for them medically until they transform back into human form. If his body is strong enough, he will make it through. I suggest you go inside and let Mrs. Weasley make you a warm cup of tea. I will be back in the morning, but until then, have faith. Love is the strongest magic in this world, and Mr. Lupin knows he is not finished here.”

As Dumbledore prepared to Disapparate with Dawlish, she realise there was still one thing she needed to know.

"Do you know if my dad's okay?"

"Yes, you'll find him at home. He's shaken up and concerned for your safety, but unharmed."

She sighed in relief. She would have to see him as soon as she could, but not until she could be certain that Remus was going recover.

"Thank you," she replied quietly.

Dumbledore’s hand squeezed her shoulder gently before he grabbed a hold of Dawlish’s arm and Disapparated.

***

Sirius levitated the unconscious and bound wolf into the house an hour later when Tonks had just managed to convince Molly that she did not need or want another cup of tea and pushed away a plateful of biscuits.

“Put him in the bedroom!” she urged Sirius, toppling over a chair as she tried to stand up.

“Yes, my lady,” grunted Sirius.

Rushing into Remus’s room at Sirius’s coattails, she pulled the covers aside and allowed Sirius to lay him on the bed.

“He’s still alive, isn’t he?” she asked, needing confirmation.

Sirius nodded.

“He’s as stubborn as they come, Tonks. He’ll make it through this. It took a while until I got him to calm down after you left, but I don’t think he tore anything open.”

Tonks stayed awake by Remus’s side until dawn arrived and he transformed back. After gently removing the ropes on his wrists and ankles, she cleaned and bandaged the wound on his side. He felt feverish, but only slightly so. Taking his hand into hers, she lay down next to him. It wasn’t her intention to fall asleep, but before she had much time to think about anything, her body made the decision for her.

***

Remus woke up to a stabbing pain in his right side, surprised he wasn’t dead yet. Turning his head, he saw Tonks curled up on the bed beside him, her fingers holding onto his gently. Oh Merlin, Tonks. She could have died trying to save him, he could have killed her. Just then, her eyes fluttered open.

"Wotcher," she whispered.

"Hello."

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Like I've been trampled by a dozen Hippogriffs, but I'll live," he replied, hoping to cast away the look of worry on her face.

"Good. I was worried there for a while."

"You broke the curse."

"Yeah... Accidentally."

"In any case, thank you. Sirius and the others are free now, because of you."

"What about us?"

Of course she would go straight to the point.This must be done, he told himself, but somehow knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

"There is no us, Tonks. I used you to break the curse, and I'm sorry for doing that, but that's all there ever was to it."

"You're lying," she replied. He could hear that her voice was close to breaking, and it made him wish he could take it back.

"No, I'm not. I think it'd be for the best if you went home now, I'm sure your father would like to see you."

She scoffed as he turned away from her but soon felt her shift and stand up. In mere seconds the door closed quietly behind her and just like that she was out of his life for good. He took several steadying breaths, hoping the hand squeezing his heart would relinquish its hold soon.

Before he'd even had time to accept the new reality, the door slammed shut.

"What did you say to her?" hissed Sirius.

"What was for the best."

"You are so full of it sometimes, Moony. She was the best thing to ever happen to you, and I'm not saying this just because she's my cousin."

"She doesn't deserve to be tied down to me, Sirius."

"Isn't that for her to decide?"

"It's up to me to be the realist in this case."

The eye roll he received from his old friend was eerily similar to the one his cousin had given him several times.

"Whatever, Remus, but I know you'll regret doing this."

***

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. The air grew cold and then warmed again. Remus did not notice most of this, as he spent most of his time working various low-paid jobs. He took as many shifts as he could, only resting when his transformations wouldn’t allow him to function normally. Sirius had grown concerned after a few months and kept on insisting he should contact Tonks. He had even gone as far as threatening to invite her over for dinner, but Remus had replied that in that case he wouldn’t be in attendance. He knew Sirius had been out with Tonks though and that she had asked about him.

His old friend was now having the time of his life and would often try to coax him to join him in some pub, insisting that a good night out was what he needed. Finding work in London was easier than it would have been in the country, so he had settled into one of Sirius's guest bedrooms. Although not having to pay rent was certainly a benefit, Remus also knew that Sirius needed the company, as without him he only had an old house elf and his mother’s insane portrait to talk to.

A few times Remus had waited around the Ministry's entrance, hoping to perhaps catch a single glimpse of Tonks but had chickened out before she'd shown up. Watching her like this was wrong and would do no good to anyone. He had to move on.

Molly and Arthur had invited him over to dinner, but he had declined out of fear that Tonks would be there as well. He must have been quite transparent, as Molly had gently told him that Tonks still missed him and that she was still available. His feelings for her had refused to fade despite the time and distance between them. He should not hope that she still felt the same way about him, but a part of him reveled in the pieces of information he’d been given. The odds had never been in his favour, but it seemed that despite the probabilities, there was a woman out there who loved him.

Christmas was approaching again, and after a few shots of Firewhiskey at the Leaky Cauldron he found himself wondering if he ought to talk to her after all. It had been nearly 15 months since he'd last seen her, but the memories of her and their brief time together wouldn't leave him alone.

If she rejected him, it would be easier to get over her... Or that was what he told himself right before finally knocking on her father's door on Christmas Eve. Of course, she might not even be there, but he didn't have her address in London.

"Hello!" greeted the familiar older man at the door, giving Remus an appraising glance. Yes, this was definitely her father.

"Hello. I'm sorry for intruding, but I would like to speak with your daughter."

Ted blinked.

"You're Remus, aren't you?"

"Errr... Yes."

"Well, better late than never! Come on in, son, I'll let Dora know you're here."

He stepped into the foyer, uncertain if he should bother to remove his cloak. Raising his head to face the sound of steps from the stairs, he saw her. Tonight her hair was a lovely, deep chocolate brown and tied in a loose ponytail, and her yellow-gold dress robes glimmered in the light. Her dark eyes were fixed on him, but the expression on her face was unreadable.

He swallowed nervously. She had a right to be angry, he reminded himself. The things he’d said to her to drive her away…

"I've been worried about you," she said quietly, at last reaching the last step.

She stopped, her hands reaching out to grasp the bannister, as if she would fall without the support.

"I've managed," he replied softly.

"Not well, I can see that for myself. You need to eat more."

"You sound like Molly."

"What are you doing here? It's been-"

"12 months, two weeks and three days."

"Yeah. Wasn’t sure if you’d counted," she answered, her voice suddenly more quiet.

He shrugged, trying to appear more nonchalant than he felt.

"I-I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Is that all?"

He hesitated. This was his last chance to back down.

"I did also want to know if you still... If you still had feelings for me."

There, the cat was out of the bag now. He'd said it.

"That was a long time ago," she replied.

"I know. I understand that I'm coming too late, but-"

"Don't interrupt me, Remus Lupin! Yes, it's been a long time, but I've been hoping you'd show up every single day." He gasped.

Tentatively, he placed a hand on hers on the bannister. He itched to pull her into his arms.

"Is that what you were hoping for tonight as well?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Then you should know that despite my best efforts to let you be with someone who can offer you more than I'll ever be able to, I haven't been able to forget you. You changed me, Dora, and if you were still willing to give us a chance, I’d be the luckiest man alive."

She smiled at his use of her pet name.

"This is probably the best Christmas present I've ever got," she admitted.

"Really? An old, bitter werewolf?"

"Don't you ever dare try to make decisions for me again, Remus."

"I can't help wanting to protect you. Even if it is from me."

"And why exactly would that be?" she asked. He knew what she wanted- no- needed, to hear.

"Because I love you."

FIN.

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Interhouse Fest 2016 - Hope Versus Werewolf (Part 1 of 2)

2016-11-12T04:43:11Z

Title: Hope Vs. Werewolf
Author/Artist:
Characters: Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Ted Tonks, Sirius Black, Molly Weasley, Albus Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, Peter Pettigrew
Prompt number: 7
Word Count: 15,177
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mild sexual content, violence and cursing
Summary: After her father meets a strange wolf in the forest, Auror Nymphadora Tonks decides to investigate, and ends up getting far more than she bargained for.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the Harry Potter characters or the original story of The Beauty and the Beast. I’m just borrowing them for my (and your) amusement and not making any money out of this! No copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s Notes: This is the longest fic I’ve ever written! And a huge thanks to my beta, you know who you are :)

Part I

Remus had always hated Divination as a school subject, and of course their best hope of breaking the curse cast upon him and his friends required the use of a crystal ball. Sighing, he took a look at the foggy image now showing up in the sphere. A plump, kind-looking man sitting at a kitchen table, reading a letter from his daughter. Somehow the man looked familiar, but he couldn’t place where they might have met.

He didn’t pay much attention to the words on the parchment, but beside the letter lay a photograph of a young woman. Her pink hair certainly caught his attention, but what truly got his heart pounding was the fact that she was wearing Auror’s robes. Not that he thought there was much of a chance of anyobody breaking the curse, but at least an Auror would probably be less frightened than the other women he’d encountered in the last five years. Sirius woke up from his slumber in the corner of the room and placed his paws on the small table. Padfoot’s tail began to wag at the sight of the girl, and he let out an excited bark.

That’s my cousin’s daughter! And She’s perfect, an Auror won’t chicken out like the other ones did!

“I know.” murmured Remus, although he was not nearly as optimistic as Sirius. Nevertheless, he had to try. His friends deserved to be free.

“Wait, what do you mean that she’s your cousin’s daughter?”

Yeah, remember Andromeda? She was disowned by the family and married that Muggle-born you’re looking at.

“Right, now I remember.” And he did. Andromeda and Sirius had been quite friendly when they were all younger, and her decision to rebel against the noble house of Black had effectively made her Sirius’s favourite relative.

Sirius barked again when the crystal ball showed Ted Tonks leave his house and head out of the village, towards them.

Let’s go and get him, Remus, then we can make him call his daughter here.

“I don’t want to kidnap anyone, Sirius! How many times do I have to tell you that? It hasn’t worked before, and it won’t work now!” Raved Remus, directing his attention on his canine companion.

The large, scruffy mutt whined and barked in answer.

A woman needs to fall for you, and we’re almost out of time, Moony. It’s been nearly five years since I’ve been able to talk to anyone else but you, do you have any idea how that feels? If this fails, I’ll be a dog for the rest of my life!

“Yes, I am aware that we need a woman here to break the curse. And yes, I am aware of how little time we have left. Nevertheless, I would still prefer not resorting to kidnapping. If you want this woman to take a liking to me, I don’t think scaring her is the way to go. You remember that redhead you dragged in two years ago? She was too scared to speak, so we never even found out her name! Or that innkeeper’s daughter, remember her? She locked herself into her room and smacked you with a candlestick when you stuck your head inside.”

Another bark followed, and the dog cocked its head. Yeah, yeah… How about we scare the man, make sure he realises you’re not a regular wolf, and then trust that the girl’s curious enough to come and investigate? And if that doesn’t work, then we can try the kidnapping again.

Remus swallowed. He wasn’t all that fond of Sirius’s new suggestion either, but it was better than kidnapping an innocent man, and then his daughter. It might work in this particular case, but it was still a risky plan. He let out a sigh.

“Fine, Padfoot, you win. We’ll do it. Today.”

***

Ted Tonks’s day was shaping up to be a good one. His beloved daughter, Dora, would be in soon for her weekly dinner with her parents. As much as he loved the quiet nights alone with a book or a nice Muggle TV show, Dora’s visits were the highlights of his weeks. Bright, quick-witted and funny, Dora’s stories of her adventures with the other Aurors offered Ted an endless source of entertainment. His late wife would have been worried about her safety, but he knew what Dora was made of.

Whistling a nameless tune he’d heard on the wireless earlier that day, he strolled through the forest after picking a basketful of blueberries. The work had left him slightly out of breath and his back ached, but the berries would make for a lovely dessert. He wasn’t much of a cook, and neither was Dora, but his household spells were just enough to whip up some cream to go with the fresh blueberries.

Consumed by his thoughts of the lovely roast he had waiting for them at home; it took him too long to notice that the forest around him had gone entirely quiet. It was as if even the air had stopped moving. He stopped to look around, dread slowly filling him and making his legs feel like jelly. There was something out there. Slowly, he set the basket on the ground and dug out his wand. He had heard of strange things happening in this forest, but had never seen anything with his own eyes, and even the stories he’d heard were vague.

The leaves of a nearby bush began to rustle. Ted swallowed. He preferred facing any beasts head on, as he knew that he was too slow to escape anything by running.

A large, black dog came out of the bush and stopped to stand right in front of Ted. It turned its dark eyes on him and revealed its sharp teeth.

“Stu- stupe-“ stuttered Ted, trying to back away from the dog, but the animal jumped at him before he managed to get the spell out.

Ted shoved at the dog in vain and tried to stick his wand into its eye, but it dodged and growled at him. Its saliva spilled onto Ted’s cloak. Why hadn’t it already sunk its teeth into his throat?

It was only then that he took notice of a new sound. There was another animal here. Turning his head, he caught glimpse of a larger canine form between the trees next to the path he was currently lying on. This one was no dog, and it was staring straight back at him.
Ted’s first thought was that the dog had simply been waiting for his friend before eating him. Maybe the wolf was the leader of the pack, and would get to eat his fill first. However, the wolf made no move to advance on him. After staring at Ted for a time that felt like minutes at the very least, the wolf turned its back on him and whined, showing its tufted tail in the process. The dog, whose front paws were still pinning Ted to the ground, barked in response to the whine and the pressure on Ted’s chest eased. Before he had a chance to catch his breath properly, he was alone again. The animals had left just as swiftly as they’d initially shown up. With a shaky hand, he reached for his basket, and continued his way home as fast as his feet could carry him.

***

Nymphadora Tonks was surprised not to find her father at his house. He’d known she was coming for dinner and should have been home by now. There were no traces of struggle or dark magic, but she was unable to stay put and wait, so she headed out to look for him.
The village main street was mostly empty, but naturally the only people around were her least favourite colleague and his sidekick Pete. Sighing, she prepared herself for the encounter. She didn’t know which one of them she disliked more; Dawlish, his leering and continued demands that she date him or his short squeaky-voiced companion who always managed to make her skin crawl when she felt his eyes on her.

“Dora, there you are! I was just on my way to the pub, care to join? I’ll buy you a drink,” cooed Dawlish. How many times would she have to reject him until he took a hint?

“No, thanks, Dawlish. And I know it’s useless, but I’m going to say this once more: stop calling me that.”

“I can’t call such a pretty girl by her last name! Especially if you still won’t call me John!” He flirted, eliciting a snort from her.

“Then don’t call me anything at all!” She yelled, rolling her eyes.

“Come on, Dora, loosen up a bit.”

“We’re not in the office now, and I happen to be busy,” she replied, taking off on a jog toward the other end of the village.

No matter where she went, there was no sign of her father. Deciding to return to his house, she took a detour to avoid Dawlish and Pete.

She reached her father’s house, but before she had time to go inside, she saw a familiar figure hunched on the street a few houses away.

“Dad?”

“Dora,” her father panted.

”Dad, what happened to you?” She asked. His face was red and he was so out of breath he could barely get out a word. Supporting him, she managed to get him into his house and seated on the sofa.

He took a deep breath and tried to say something, but instead broke into a cough.

“I’ll get you some water,” she said, summoning a glass and water from the kitchen. Half of it spilled onto the floor on the way, but half a glass was still better than nothing.

Ted downed the water and the coughs subsided.

“I was attacked,” he croaked, grasping his daughter's arms.

“What? Where? By whom?”

“In the forest. There was a dog, and a wolf. Or at least I think it was a wolf. There was something odd about that wolf though…”

“Start at the beginning, Dad,” she coaxed, sinking onto the sofa next to her father. Dinner would have to wait.

***

“Was there anything else about the wolf that seemed strange to you?” She asked, after listening to her father’s story in its entirety.

“Other than that it had blue eyes and instead of attacking me, it just stared?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not sure, love. You know I’m hardly an expert when it comes to animals. What do you think it is?”

She shrugged.

“It could be an Animagus, I suppose. Either way, scaring people like that is not all right. I’m going to go out there and see if I can find out more.”

“Dora, are you sure it’s a good idea? It’s getting dark outside…”

“I can handle this, Dad, you know that. I’ll be back before you know it,” she reassured him, giving his hand a squeeze.

“What if you’re not? When should I alert the Ministry?”

She hesitated.

“If I don’t come back, talk to Mad-Eye in the morning. But I will be back tonight, Dad.”

She knew what some of the villagers thought about her father; that he was an odd Muggle-born widower with an even odder daughter. Nevertheless, she trusted his judgment enough to know that there was reason to investigate. Glad she’d brought her winter cloak, she stepped out of her childhood home and closed the door behind her.

As she began making her way toward the forest, she briefly wondered if she was making a mistake in not alerting Mad-Eye. It just seemed silly to call upon her mentor every time something even slightly suspicious took place. She could handle the initial recon herself, and then talk to him if further action was needed. Eventually she’d have to learn to work on her own anyway and to rely on her own judgment, so she might as well start tonight.

***

The part of the forest where her father had encountered the two animals was thick, and barely any light seeped in through the trees. She didn’t particularly like using the light on her wand, but it was better than walking around blind and possibly tripping on something and falling, which was not an unlikely outcome for her.

She reached the spot where her father had been attacked, the underbrush was still flattened where her father had fallen. It was difficult to find any animal prints in the thick vegetation and the darkness, but she did manage to find two sets of paw prints. The smaller ones definitely belonged to a dog, but the larger ones… They were wolfish, yes, but something about them made the hairs in the back of her neck rise. If she didn’t know better, she’d have said they were werewolf prints. But it wasn’t even close to full moon, it just made no sense…

Following the prints into the trees, she felt the familiar signs of excitement take over her instincts; every single sound in the forest was magnified. If it really was a werewolf, why hadn’t it attacked her father?

She heard the hoot of an owl, the scurrying of mice and even managed to scare off a red fox, but there was no sign of a dog or anything else. Just as she was starting to considering turning back, she reached a clearing, and in the middle sat a house. It wasn’t large, and it looked old and in need of maintenance, but there was light in the first floor windows. Someone was living there.

So strange. She’d heard plenty of stories about her home village and forests surrounding it, but never anything about people living in the middle of it. Staying in the shadow of the treeline, she considered her options. She could go back to her father and come back tomorrow, or she could knock on the door and question the people in the house. Maybe they knew something about the dog and the strange wolf. Or maybe they were in that house…

As if it had heard her thoughts, the front door opened and a large, black dog stepped out.

***

Remus wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly hadn’t been this. The young woman they’d wanted to lure to the house practically barged inside with her wand drawn out and tripped on the umbrella stand, ending up on the floor.

“Do you need help?” He enquired, offering her a hand.

She eyed him with distrust, but then took his hand anyway.

“That was quite an entrance,” he said, trying to calm his nerves. Her eyes were busy scanning her surroundings, and he couldn’t help noticing that her chestnut brown hair was full of leaves from the forest.

She sighed.

“Let’s start from the beginning. I’m Nymphadora Tonks, and I’m looking for a dog and a wolf that attacked my father earlier today,” she said, truly facing him for the first time.

“Nice to meet you, Nymphadora-“

“Just Tonks, please.”

“Tonks, then. I’m Remus Lupin, and the dog in the corner is Padfoot,” he answered, pointing at Sirius, who had placed himself between the door and the woman.

“I’m sorry to disturb you so late, but I have to ask: Is he your dog?” She asked.

Sirius scoffed. She’s rather rude, you know. The two of you should get along splendidly.

“He’s nobody’s dog,” Remus replied, trying not to chuckle.

“Does he have a wolf friend?”

He hesitated. Surely an Auror would not be as horrified as most people, but considering what was at stake and what successfully breaking the curse required, he wasn’t sure if telling her the truth about his condition was a good idea at this point.

“Well, there are wolves in the area, although I’ve never seen any myself.”

He watched as her brown eyes narrowed. She didn’t believe him.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you any further, but please stay for tea.”

“I shouldn’t, my father’s expecting me.”

He wondered if he’d be able to explain himself to her, and took a deep breath. This was the first time he’d even made it this far.

“If you follow me to the kitchen, I think you’ll find something that’ll interest you as an Auror,” he blurted out, relieved when he managed to get it out. Perhaps he could tell her about about the curse if he was vague enough.

***

This was a strange house, and Remus Lupin was a strange man. However, she was hardly defenseless and if he was being honest with her, there was no way she’d be able to resist a good mystery.

“All right then. But I must get back straight after tea,” she heard herself reply.

She followed him into a well-lit kitchen. At first glance nothing seemed out of place and she was about to turn on her heels until she heard a new voice.

“Evening, dear! How lovely to meet you, we don’t get many guests here, I’m afraid.”

She turned towards the voice, her wand still at the ready, and was surprised to find she was staring at a teapot.

“What is this?” She hissed, turning back to Remus.

“This is Molly,” he answered, motioning to the teapot.

“Yes, dear. I’m Molly Weasley,” it said, and now she saw that it had eyes. Had Remus done this to her? So far he seemed to be the only one in the house capable of handling a wand. Cursing herself, she wished she’d talked to Mad-Eye. This was more serious than she’d thought.

“I’m Nymphadora Tonks,” she mumbled in response.

“Please have a seat, I’ll have tea for you in just a minute. Would you like some biscuits as well?”

“Errr, no thanks. Are you, Remus and Padfoot the only ones here?” She asked, wondering how many other people here had been turned into inanimate objects.

“Most of my family’s here, dear. You’ll find them in the living room.”

Family. Children. Was the dog a human too? She’d seen enough. Raising her wand, she directed it at Remus.

“You can try to change them back if you’d like to, but you’ll find that your spells don’t work on them,” he said, raising his hands in surrender.

“Did you do this?” She asked, still refusing to lower her wand. He didn’t seem like a lunatic, but then again, not all dark wizards seemed dangerous.

“Merlin, no,” he sighed.

“Then who was it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Literally can’t.”

“This place is cursed,” she said, more to herself than him. Whatever curse she was up against, it was powerful, probably more powerful than any curse she’d come across in her career before. Mad-Eye would have to be alerted immediately.

Part II

“I’ll help you, but I can’t do it on my own. We have curse breakers at the Ministry who’ll know what to do.”

The dog growled, and Remus shook his head insistently.

“The Ministry can’t get involved.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I could tell you.”

“You’re claiming this was done by someone at the Ministry?”

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

“Right. Sorry. But I still need to tell the Ministry something, if I’m not going to be showing up to work tomorrow morning. They’ll come looking for me otherwise.”

“Yes, I guess you must. But please, don’t tell them too much.”

“I’ll just talk to my mentor and make sure my dad doesn’t worry. I could use your fireplace-”

“We’re not collected to the Floo Network. You’ll have to go back to village. Padfoot will accompany you.”

“Or you could just trust me. I am coming back, you know.”

Remus smiled despite himself.

“Do you trust me, Tonks?”

“That’s different!”

“No, it’s not. Padfoot will make sure get things sorted. Good night, I’ll see you in the morning.”
Without another word to her, Remus walked out of the kitchen.

***

"Why are you sending the dog with me? Can't you come yourself?"she asked, following him out of the room. He had reached a set of stairs leading to the 2nd floor and started climbing.

"No, I can't," he replied without turning back to look at her.

"What happens if you leave the house?" she continued, ignoring his dismissal.

"I'll tell you tomorrow!"

The slam of a door upstairs told her that as far as he was concerned, they were done for the night.

"And what are you even supposed to do if I refuse to go back?" she asked the dog as he jogged beside her on the road to the village.

Padfoot replied by barking, but of course she had no idea what he was saying. The barks sounded an awful lot like laughter though, but she was probably imagining it. Meeting Molly had left her paranoid.

All the lights were still on when she reached her father's house.

"Stay hidden, or you'll scare him!" she hissed to Padfoot, who settled into a shadowy corner on the porch, growling softly.

"Dad? Are you still awake?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

"Dora, thank Merlin! Are you all right?" he asked, wrapping her into a tight embrace.

"Yeah, everything's all right, but I found something that I need to look into."

"For work?"

"Yeah. I'm going back there as soon as I've owled Mad-Eye. Is it alright if I borrow Mouse?" she asked, already looking around the kitchen for their old barn owl.

"Of course, love! But do you really have to go back tonight?"

"I really do, this case is urgent."

"When will you be back?"

She hesitated.

"I'm not sure, it might be a while, but don't worry about me. I'll be fine, I promise," she replied, flashing him a smile that she hoped looked more confident than she was feeling.

Her father didn't look entirely convinced, but he said nothing. He had always supported her career choices and had faith in her abilities. She could only hope he would trust her this time as well.

After sending Mouse on her way with her message and packing some spare clothes, she hugged her father once more. She really no idea how long this would take and if she would even be able to contact him anytime soon.

"Be safe, Dora, please," pleaded her father, refusing to let go of her.

"I will. I'll write you as soon as I can," she promised, disentangling herself from his grip.

Padfoot was still waiting for her when she left the house.

"Right. Let's go then," she said quietly.

Her father was an adult and by now used to living alone, but they were close and she would miss him. Apparently noticing her sour mood, Padfoot nuzzled her hand with his nose and gave it a single lick. She smiled.

"Thanks, boy," she said, patting the dog's head.

***

Remus's bones creaked as he rose from bed the next morning. Although the transformations outside the full moon didn't take as big of a toll on his body as his regular ones, he was still sore and irritated. He would stay in the house or on the porch from now on as much as he possibly could.

Just then he fully remembered the events of the previous day. Nymphadora Tonks. His guts twisted painfully when he thought about what he'd have to do to set his friends free. Fooling an innocent woman felt wrong, and why would she even fall for him in the first place?

As he approached the kitchen, it became clear to him that everyone had met her by now. The laughter emanating from the room was something he hadn't heard from his friends in years. As he entered the room, Tonks was sitting at the table, nursing a large cup of tea, surrounded by the Weasley children.

Ron and Ginny, forced into the form of teacups, were on the table, as was Percy, as a tableclock, listening closely to Tonks's story about her first day as an Auror. The twins, as footstools, were on the floor, while Bill, the grandfather-clock, stood in the corner, speaking to his girlfriend Fleur, a wardrobe. Molly was next to the stove, as usual, helped by Arthur, as a candlestick. Sirius was sitting on the floor next to Tonks, wagging his tail and clearly hoping a piece of her toast would find its way into his mouth.

"Morning, Remus!" called Arthur.

"Morning," he murmured back.

You should show her around the house, said Sirius.

"Fine, fine," Remus muttered, clearing his throat.

"I could show you around the house after breakfast. Not that there's much to see, but anyway."

"Sure! I'll be finished soon."

The tour of the house wasn’t exactly a long affair, as the building consisted of only three bedrooms, the kitchen, living room, two bathrooms, a library and a basement. Remus hadn’t even been planning on showing her where the entrance to the basement was located, but there wasn’t much else he could do when she tripped on the handle of the trapdoor under the living room rug.

“Ugh! What’s in there?” she asked, pushing herself to her feet.

“That’s the entrance to the basement. I ask you not to go there,” he replied, preparing himself for the questions he knew would ensue. Nymphadora Tonks didn’t strike him as someone who left stones unturned. This one would have to stay that way, however.

"Why?"

Remus hesitated.

"It's a private matter."

She frowned at him.

"You know, I don't like it when people try to make my job more difficult," she answered, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

"There's nothing down there for you to see. You won't break the curse by going in there,” he insisted, mentally reminding himself to strengthen the wards on the trapdoor. But would even that help if she decided to go in?

“Fine, I’ll let it go. For now,” she muttered in reply. She didn't seem entirely happy with the excuse he’d provided her with, but it was all he had to give.

“How about we take a look at the library?” he suggested, deciding that redirecting her thoughts away from the basement would be the best course of action.

“Sure. You wouldn’t happen to have any books that might help me break the curse?” she asked, half joking.

“I guess we should have a look,” he replied, striding past her to open the door to the library.

"Hold on a second, I'll be right there," Tonks said, stopping in front of a mirror.

He watched as she scrunched up her face and suddenly her brown hair turned into the vivid pink he'd seen in the photograph.

"Impressive. I assume you are a Metamorphagus then?"

She turned to him, grinning proudly, her brown eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, I am. No idea where I got the powers from, but it is genetic."

"That must come very handy as an Auror."

She nodded.

"It does. Concealment has always been my specialty."

He couldn't help but be impressed by her. Metamorphagi were rare, but her talents reminded him that not all shape-shifting had anything to do with dark magic.

"Let's see about that library, then!" she blurted, striding past him.

Remus smiled at her enthusiasm, although he knew it was mostly brought on by her motivation to break the curse. His library just was hardly something all that many people were interested in, no matter what their motives were. He had rarely had the opportunity to show his and his father's collection to anyone, and even more seldom had he been able to show it to someone who would probably be able to appreciate it.

***

"You've got quite the collection here," she said, genuinely impressed. As far as the Dark Arts were considered, the Hogwarts library had nothing on this room. There were dozens and dozens of volumes on curses, counter curses, and dark creatures.

She had always been more into learning things on the fly rather than by reading, but who could resist books like these?

"Most of them belonged to my father," he replied.

"What did he do for a living?"

"He studied dark creatures. It was his life's work."

"And you're taking after him?"

"It's more of a hobby than a profession for me, but perhaps you could say that."

"Can I read these? I mean, maybe there's something here that can help me find out more about your curse. The things you can't tell me yourself."

"Feel free to browse here as you wish. Like I said, you can go anywhere in this house, except for the basement."

"And I still don't understand why that is."

"And I still can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Let's have a look at these books then, shall we?"

"Don't change the subject."

"All right. Would it satisfy you if told you that there's nothing in that cellar that could help you break the curse?"

He seemed sincere enough, but there was no chance of her forgetting about the forbidden room underneath their feet. She didn’t quite trust him enough to believe that there was nothing of interest to her down there.

"You said that already, and I can't make any promises."

***

Over the next week, the two of them spent most of their time in the library, poring over one book after another. She learned that Remus's knowledge of the Dark Arts was impressive and couldn’t get enough of his stories of encountering the creatures she'd only read about in books or perhaps faced in a controlled environment.

"You'd make a fine Auror, you know," she told him one chilly afternoon, as they were enjoying tea over a large volume on Inferi.

He let out a snort, and she felt her cheeks redden from the embarrassment. He must think her insensitive, this man had been confined to this house for years after all, and unless she broke the curse, he would not get to work anywhere again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just that you know so much about all this, far more than most of the people I work with."

He shook his head.

"No offense taken. Nevertheless, I find it hard to believe that your colleagues are less knowledgeable than I am."

"If you only knew..." she trailed off. People like Dawlish were perhaps smart and physically capable but had no desire to learn anything new and lacked the ability to adapt into surprising situations. She had had the misfortune of working with him on a few missions and the man had had the guts to try and take all the credit for their arrests, claiming he’d pulled off some risky move, when in fact he’d been huddling behind something, sending a half-aimed spell at the enemy every now and then, while she’d been moving around and sometimes actually pulling the kind of risky moves Dawlish could only dream of. The Ministry would be lucky to have someone like Remus on their payroll.

***

The days passed surprisingly fast in the house. Tonks used most of her time in the library with Remus, and when she got sick of being cooped up inside, she’d throw sticks to Padfoot in the clearing. Remus had been largely absent for the last few days, but Molly had assured her that he was simply feeling under the weather and that she shouldn’t worry.

It had been five weeks now since she’d last seen her dad, and she felt nowhere closer to breaking the curse than she’d been that very first day. No matter how many times she went through all the notes she’d made on the house and its inhabitants, she felt like she was still missing the most important pieces of the puzzle.

The clock on her nightstand showed that it was after three o’clock in the morning, and she hadn’t slept a wink. Hoping a cup of chamomile tea would help, she set out to the kitchen.
She hadn't expected anyone to be awake at this hour, so she was surprised to hear the clanking of dishes from the kitchen as she descended the stairs.

Remus was standing at the stove, with his back turned to her, stirring something that smelled very
much like hot cocoa to her.

"Wotcher," she greeted.

"Hello."

"Couldn't sleep either?"

"I operate on very little sleep these days."

"I usually sleep well, but this curse is keeping me awake."

Remus sighed.

"I truly wish I could tell you more."

"I know."

"Would you like something to drink?"

"What are you having?"

"Cocoa."

"I'll have the same."

He poured the cocoa into two large mugs and set one in front of her on the table, taking a seat across from her.

***

"I'm sorry you've had to stay here for so long... I know you must miss your family and friends."

"Well, this is my job, so no apologising. You need help, and I'm not leaving until I've broken the curse."

"Where does the Ministry think you are?"

"I asked my mentor to cover for me, to tell the office that he'd sent me out on an assignment. He's a little eccentric but also the best Auror I've ever met and they don't really want to cross him there," she replied, smirking.

Remus frowned.

"Who's your mentor, if I may ask?"

"Mad-, erm, Alastor Moody."

"I thought he retired years ago!"

"You know him?"

"We worked together during the war against Voldemort."

"I had no idea! He was supposed to retire but changed his mind, and you can probably figure that there's no putting Mad-Eye on retirement unless he agrees."

Remus nodded, smiling back at her. He hadn't expected her to be Moody's protégée. Considering that the old Auror was extremely paranoid and picky about who he agreed to teach, if Tonks had managed to convince him, she must truly be quite talented even for an Auror.

“I’m sure he showed up to see my dad and to evaluate if I’d been somehow compelled to send him that letter, but I’d like to think he knows better than to think that,” she continued, letting out a small laugh.

“You miss him too,” he said softly.

It wasn’t fair keeping her there. She was young and had a life to live. So far there had been no signs of her having any romantic interest in him, and somehow he found that disappointing and not merely because of the curse. Despite himself, he had begun to enjoy their daily work in the library as well as just being in her company.

She shrugged.

“I wish I could ask him things about this curse of yours, but I know I’ll see him again and he’ll give me hell for not calling him here,” she answered, chuckling.

“Sounds like him.”

“Where have you been lately? Molly said you were ill.”

“I- I was. It was quite a bad flu, and I didn’t want to infect you.”

“Well, you do look a bit peaky and like you should eat more. Good to see you’re on the mend though, I’ve missed having someone to look through the books with me,” she said casually, and his heart skipped a beat.

How had he ever thought this was going to work out? That she would fall for him but he would feel nothing? She was everything he could have wanted in a woman: brave, clever, interested in what he did, and capable of making him laugh. With her he felt lighter than in years.

However, at the end of the day it was all a mirage. He was a werewolf, which she didn't know, and was using her to help himself and his friends, which she didn't know either. His kind didn't- couldn't- marry or have children, so pursuing a relationship with her just to get her to admit she loved him would be cruel. There was no future for them together. How could he betray her? But how could he fail his friends either?

***

Once Tonks had returned to her room, she felt like she had managed to find at least one formerly missing puzzle piece: Remus was a werewolf. He had never actually shown her what he looked like when he left the house, but he had admitted to being the wolf her dad had seen. His appearance tonight, as well as his disappearance during and after the full moon told her all she needed to know.
She had known from the start that there was something peculiar about him. After all, such a smart and powerful wizard should have had a steady job.

Remus would have been a great teacher, but she suspected lycanthropy scared any potential employers. Her heart ached for him, he didn't deserve any of this. He could have even been a great Auror, but his prospects had been taken away from him. Not for the first time in her life her blood boiled over the idiocy of people. Wizards were no better than Muggles when it came to prejudice.

Recently she had also begun to think of Remus as more than just someone in need of her help. She considered them friends by now, but there was something more there too. She knew you weren’t supposed to get involved with people you were trying to help, but she had to admit to herself that she was interested in him as more than a friend. He wasn’t like any of the men she’d gone out with, but he was kind, funny, smart, brave and respectful. In other words, exactly what she liked in a man. Sure, he was older than her, but why did that have to matter?

Maybe once the curse was broken she could tell him how she felt, but for now she would have to try to focus on the problem at hand.

***

They should have turned in for the night a long time ago, but Tonks had insisted on continuing. She was convinced that they were close to a breakthrough with a book on historical curses that involved involuntary transfiguration. It had been nearly a month since his last transformation, and the regular pre-transformation weariness had begun to take over him, but he’d stayed with her in an attempt not to look suspicious. Him falling ill once again would be certain to make her suspect something more was going on with him. He had started to lose hope that she’d be able to break the curse, as their deadline was looming merely a few days away.

Her dedication and quick mind were nothing short of incredible, and he'd found himself just watching her more and more often as the weeks passed by. Like right now, when she was sitting on the desk, leaning over the book, a finger flying on the faded letters.
A strand of pink hair fell from her ponytail, landing on her cheek. Before he even realised what he was doing, he had brushed it back behind her ear. Her concentration broke, and suddenly her eyes were on his.
"Remus," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

A heavy weight settled into the pit of his stomach, but it wasn't a bad weight. It was anticipation and desire. Her gaze moved onto his mouth, and somehow he knew what she wanted, what they both wanted.
He closed the distance between them and allowed his lips to find hers. Her hands tangled in his hair, while one of his found a place on her back and the other one traveled further down her side, onto her hip, and then her thigh.

Leaning further into her, she let him push her back closer to the desk, until he was almost hovering over her. His hand found a patch of bare skin through her ripped jeans, making her moan against his mouth.
It was the sound that made him realise what he was doing. This was insanity. He pulled away from her so suddenly that she nearly hit her head on the desk.

"I'm sorry... This was a mistake. I need to go," he mumbled, staggering away from her and out of the library. He needed to get as far away as possible.

***

The next day Remus no longer showed up to the library, leaving her to go through the books on her own. Thinking about their kiss still made her feel light-headed. Why had he run? After all, he’d been the one to initiate it and seemed to enjoy it as much as she did.

She sighed. Men had never been on the top of her priority list, and now she was dealing with a very difficult one. The good thing was that he would eventually have to talk to her, the house wasn’t big enough for them both to live in and never see each other.

Deciding to confront Remus later, she focused on the book in her lap.

Curses involving involuntary transformation of humans into animals or inanimate objects are often extremely complicated to break. They can usually be maintained only for a certain period of time at first, and only after this time has elapsed does the curse turn permanent. During this initial time period, breaking the curse is possible but there is no general counter curse. Each curse is unique and must be treated as such. In order to break the curse, knowing the witch or wizard who cast the curse and their beliefs and motivations is vital.

Well, this is rather unhelpful, she thought. The only thing she knew about the person who had cast the curse was that he or she apparently worked at the Ministry. She could think of a few people capable of this kind of evil who she’d unfortunately been forced to work with, but accusing people just because you didn’t happen to like them was not professional and sometimes unpleasant people were just that, and nothing more.
There had to be some way to find out more about the caster, but that wasn’t going to happen unless Remus decided to start speaking to her again. Meanwhile, she determined it was time to see her father and make sure Mad-Eye had stayed happy enough not to barge in through Remus’s door with the entire Auror Department in tow.

***

Tonks hadn't shown up to work in nearly two months. Old Moody kept on claiming she was away on a mission and being supervised by him, but Dawlish didn't buy it. The old man was lying, but he hadn't yet figured out why.

He had tried prying the truth out of Dora's father, insisting he was just concerned as a colleague and someone who cared a great deal for her, but he had pretended not to know anything. To his great surprise, he saw her heading for her father's house late one afternoon just as he was walking to the pub to meet with Pete. Instead of confronting her directly, he fetched Pete from the pub and set out to wait for her to come out again. He would find out where she was going.

He was lucky, and it took less than an hour until she emerged from the house. Pressing himself further into the shadows between her father's house and the one next to it, he watched as she looked around before setting out. She walked briskly into the forest, clearly knowing where she was going.

Dolores Umbridge had told him to keep an eye for anything unusual in the forest, but he'd only seen a black dog a few times. He began to think that perhaps Umbridge hadn't told him everything.
As quietly as possible, Pete and he followed her through the trees. She must have at least suspected that someone was following her, as she zigzagged quite a bit. Nevertheless, she didn't have his tracking skills, and they had little difficulty trailing her. Eventually she reached a clearing with a house on it.

The house was alight, and under the porch light he could see the familiar black dog, as well as an unremarkable man clad in a shabby jumper. He saw Dora smile at the man and rub the dog behind its ears and felt his hands curling into fists. This was supposed to be a mission?

Just then he noticed that Pete was shaking beside him. He frowned.

"Do you know that man, Pete?" He whispered.

Pete's teeth chattered.

"He's- he's a werewolf! And the dog is Sirius Black!"

"Sirius Black? What are you talking about?"

"He's an Animagus, John!"

"How do you know that?"

"I- I heard that from a friend who went to Hogwarts with them," stuttered Pete.

"And what is that werewolf's name?"

"Remus Lupin."

Umbridge would be thrilled to hear he'd found Sirius Black, and if she decided to sentence Remus Lupin to Azkaban too, all the better for him. The memory of Dora smiling at the werewolf made his stomach turn. She had never smiled at him like that, although he was actually worthy of it, unlike this beast.

"Let's go home," he told Pete, who seemed eager to get away from the house.

***

Despite greeting her the night before, Remus had stayed in his room for the entire morning the next day as well, and she was getting sick of him avoiding her. At least she had been able to tell him that she’d been followed, but he no longer seemed interested in helping her with the curse. Git.
If he wasn’t going to help her, she’d have to sort this out all on her own, and that included going into the basement. Locating the trapdoor in the living room floor was easy enough once she moved all the furniture closer to the walls.

“Tonks, dear, you shouldn’t go in there,” said Molly, sounding concerned.

“I know, Molly, but I have to. Remus says it’s not important for me to know what’s in there in order to break the curse, but maybe he’s wrong.”

“I think he’s right.”

“Well, I’m going in anyway,” she said. Her frustration over Remus’s recent behavior made her even more determined to see what secrets the basement possibly held.

Yanking the carpet aside, she pointed her wand at the hatch.

“Alohomora!”

Continue Reading (Parts III & IV)

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Interhouse Fest 2016: Where Home Is (5 of 5)

2016-11-04T13:31:15Z

Chapter 5

The next morning, Hermione woke up with a severely throbbing head, feeling disoriented, while her eyes refused to open in the bright morning light. Was it really morning? She didn't know, having lost her sense of time in her attempt to drown herself in alcohol. She groaned, and tried to remember how she got back home last night—it was a bit hazy, but somehow Draco had been involved. Draco! Hell yes, she had left him a note not to bother waiting for her to come out, and then he just picked her up... That was when she noticed that she wasn't alone in the bed but had arms wrapped around her as if protecting her from something. He had stayed. She opened her eyes carefully one by one but was still blinded by the light for a moment; she let out another groan as her head started throbbing even more. After a deep breath—and with sheer will—she was able to keep her eyes open and look down. Yes, that were his hands, lying protectively around her waist; she had to smile at the fact that he made sure that they were placed in safe spots, like a gentleman. She could hear him breathe behind her, even felt the breath brush over the skin on her neck. As weird as this might have looked, most probably, to others, she hadn't felt as comfortable and safe in months—just because he had been there when she had needed him. He, of all people. He had caught her; he was letting her feel safe now. Why was it so hard to understand that he had taken the chance to change, to open up to her? That war questioned everyone's world-view and changed people? She intertwined her fingers with his, and nestled up closer to him.

"Hey," he whispered sleepily when he noticed her shifting. "Feeling better?"

She smiled gently. "Head hurts."

"I figure. Didn't know you could stomach that much alcohol without passing out. You do remember that you threw up in front of your house?"

“I did?”

“Yes.” He let his thumb run over hers. “I could put something together for your head if you want...”

"I've got something in the kitchen. Just too comfortable to get up," she replied softly, enjoying his gentle strokes on her thumb.

"Hm-hm..."

Hermione could feel him brush a kiss on her neck, and it sent a shiver down her spine. "Hmm... That's nice."

"Couldn't resist, sorry."

“Hm-hm... Your lips are so soft, you know?” she whispered, licking hers; she had really loved how his lips had felt the last time they had kissed—though she was quite sure they hadn't kissed the night before.

“I know.”

“Wish you would continue,” she murmured, pressing his hand in encouragement; she didn't really think that he would repeat that kiss on her shoulder, or do even more, but that didn't mean she couldn't hope for it.

"Could you turn around?" he asked, letting out a small sigh.

She nodded, and then—groaning rather deeply from the renewed throbbing in her head—she eventually managed to turn around to face him. This was the first time she ever saw him in the morning, not styled or anything, and she actually liked the light mess in his hair as well as the still rather sleepy look in his eyes. Yet, there was something else as well—openness. The last time she had seen it was when he had taken her out for dinner to that small Italian restaurant, and he had ended up asking her for forgiveness. But she was mostly surprised that he let her see the affection and the respect he had for her—or at least she thought she could see it. Smiling softly, she let her hand run over his cheek, feeling the soft stubble. The feeling actually made her chuckle briefly because she had never imagined him with anything less than a perfectly shaved face.

Draco placed his hand on hers, smiling at her chuckling. "Look... I loved our kisses, they were fantastic. But this... I mean, don't you think we should know first what we really want before we go further? Because I really don't want to fuck everything up again..."

"I know." She nodded gently.

"I really mean it. I don't want to hurt you, okay?" He placed a gentle kiss on her palm, his fingers still wrapped around her hand. "You deserve something better than just a one-off, you know?"

Despite being rather hung-over and sleepy, Hermione was touched by his care to do it right this time. "It's okay," she finally said, "I don't want to fuck it up either."

He smiled in relief, and placed another soft kiss in her palm. "Breakfast?"

She shook her head. "I'd like to stay like this a bit longer; it's comfortable."

***

A few days later, Draco found a surprisingly upset Hermione when he arrived at her place. "Hey, you okay?" he asked worried when she let him in.

She first nodded, but then started shaking her head. "It was a weird day," she replied, and closed the door behind him. "Dad and I brought Mum home today. I helped him get her settled."

"You mentioned that yesterday, I remember that you were rather glad about it."

"Mum said she wanted to talk with me, said she had noticed me withdrawing, and that she couldn't bear seeing me like this any longer..."

"And? Did you talk?" He unbuttoned his coat.

"Yeah. They told me that they do understand why I had done it, to protect them from a war they couldn't fight themselves. And they are actually rather proud of me, you know?"

"I don't know whether I would be proud or scared shitless to know that my daughter fought in this War."

"Oh, you'd be scared shitless for sure," she countered, flashing a smirk, though she continued to hug herself.

He noticed her attempt to hold on to herself; in this regard she was just like him, preferring to hide her emotions, but he knew her well enough to know the signals by now. So, in order to soothe her, he took one of her hands. "But that's not what's upsetting you, isn't it?" He let out a small growl when he saw her shake her head. "It's that bunch of idiots you still call friends, I guess?"

She just nodded, and wrapped her arms around his waist for support, breathing in deeply.

"Hey..." As she had slipped underneath his unbuttoned coat for her embrace, he now wrapped his coat and his arms around her to provide a safe bubble. When he finally felt her sigh against his chest—a sign that she was feeling a bit better—he slowly opened his embrace. "It is your friends, then," he whispered, trying to keep a soft voice, though he was starting to boil on the inside. Mostly as a distraction from his irritation, he started to rake his fingers through her mass of curls—then he realised that she welcomed the distraction of his touch just as much.

"Hmm," she let out, "that's nice." She finally turned her head upwards. "You like doing that, don't you?"

"Yes." He gently started massaging her scalp, smiling when he heard a low purr. "What did they do?"

Hermione enjoyed his massage in silence for a few long moments, even closed her eyes in the process. "They've sent an owl. I tried to read it, but it was just them questioning my decisions again. I've sent the letter back with the owl."

He stopped his massage, and took a deep breath because inside, his anger was reaching the boiling point —he was close to just show up at that shack the Weasley's call home and let her friends know what pricks they were for treating her like that. Oh yes, that would definitely satisfy him!

"Why did you stop?" she asked, and opened her eyes again.

"Nothing." He smiled, hoping that his anger wasn't visible on his face. "If you want, I could take you out for a small dinner, my treat. I'm sure the Italian has tiramisù on again tonight... Or I could go and check whether they also do take away. Your choice, I'm paying either way."

"You paying—I could get used to that," she replied, returning his smile.

He chuckled, relieved to see her smile. "Of course you could."

"But take away sounds nice, you know? I'm not in the mood to go out now, though a big Peperonata sounds about perfect."

"Good thing then that I'm still wearing my coat, right?" He raked through her hair once more. "Big Peperonata for you it is. And I'll bribe them to make you an extra-large pizza."

"My hero!" she joked. "But you know what? We could watch a film while eating. You do remember what a film is and a telly, right?"

"Hero..." He let out a short laugh, and then let go of her. "Yes, I kind of remember what a telly is. But whatever makes you feel better tonight."

Hermione was sitting comfortably on the sofa, skimming her way through the TV program when Draco made it back with the orders—she had left the door unlocked for him. "Did you get it?" she asked, and turned off the telly.

"You'd be surprised." He placed a surprisingly huge pizza box on the sofa table, topped with two smaller boxes. He grabbed the bigger one. "I didn't understand everything the old lady in the kitchen said, but she looked at me as if I should better apologise to you for whatever I did that made me order a big pizza. And then she gave me this." He opened the box, and carefully showed her the contents.

"Tiramisù!"

"And she was adamant that this is for you—all of it," Draco added to her amusement. He was glad that he could make her laugh. "Italian women definitely have some fire."

"Yes, they do."

He grabbed the other box, put it on the side and opened the pizza box. "I do hope I'll get one piece of it."

"You and pizza?" she replied teasingly, grabbing the first piece and rolling it up to be able to take a bite while Draco removed his coat and then placed himself next to her on the sofa.

He watched her stuff her mouth with that first piece of pizza, little moans of pleasure escaping her that let his mind drift off for a short moment. No, he didn't need to imagine that just yet. Maybe another day... To distract himself from his straying thoughts, he finally started his own dinner, the same as last time—his now all-time favourite because of the memories connected to it, Spaghetti Arrabbiata.

"You want the last piece now?" Hermione asked a short while later, licking the oily sauce from her fingers; she had ravished the rest of the pizza in record time, and was now eyeing the box with the tiramisù. "Just be careful, it's rather juicy..."

"You mean to say that I should protect my shirt?" he replied with an amused smirk, and reached for the last piece of pizza.

"You're the one with the expensive taste in clothes, not me," she countered, cocking her eyebrow.

Her continued finger licking didn't exactly help his focus, so he folded the last piece rather slowly, and in the way he had seen her do with the rest. As soon as he took a bite, he however understood why she had been letting out all those small moans that he had found so distracting—even slightly cooled, it was still delicious.

She chuckled, and then leaned back with a spoon and the box of tiramisù, ready to devour it all, on top of the pizza she had just stuffed herself with. "I like that sound you make."

He pushed the last bite in his mouth, and then leaned back as well, feeling stuffed. "You should have heard yourself," he replied after swallowing, "lost in pleasure." He imitated one of her delighted moans.

Hermione hid her blushing cheeks behind a big scoop of tiramisù. "Just me and good food."

Draco bit his tongue to keep another teasing comment to himself. He remembered all those little moans she had let out during their second kiss, they had vibrated all the way back into his throat; so, right now he wasn't sure how suggestive she actually sounded... Or maybe she knew? "Feeling a bit better?" he asked instead.

She nodded. "Yes. Thanks for doing all this."

"You weren't the only one with a crappy day. And this is a nice distraction..."

Licking the spoon clean after ingesting another load of tiramisù, she looked at him. "But–"

"You looked worse than I felt."

"What happened?"

"The usual."

"Fight with your father, then?"

Draco nodded. Taking care of Hermione for a moment had distracted him enough from the fight. Today had even been worse because his mother had been in the room, trying to stop them. The whole situation only ended when he left the Manor, as was their habit. "He found some of my notes. I only scribbled down a few ideas, things I wanted to do now... I mean, you said I should still try to make amends when I took you out for dinner.”

"I think I said that I won't free you from making amends," she clarified with a serious tone, raising her index finger upwards—but the teasing glint in her eyes betrayed her.

“Different words, same thing,” he retorted, grimacing.

Smiling softly, she put the box with remaining tiramisù on the table, and shifted her position so that she was now fully facing him. "What did he say this time?"

He gave a brief smile when he noticed her hand intertwine with his; he loved her touch, loved how her skin felt on his. "I'm not sure whether you know that I inherited part of the Malfoy fortune when I legally became an adult. I haven't really used that money for anything... It's a substantial sum, it really is." He sighed. "I thought of maybe turning parts of it into a fund, a charity or something similar. So I scribbled down a few ideas of what might be worth supporting. Just ideas at the moment. But it does feel a bit like I have a purpose in life again, you know?" He smiled again when he saw her nod. She was right, it was great to have someone who just understood, who didn't question every step you tried to take in life. "And he found those notes. Called them thoughtless and what not. 'Malfoys are not a charity', he said. For fuck's sake, it's my money, I can do whatever I like with it." He let out a frustrated groan that turned into a low growl. He was fed up with those constant fights about what he was supposed to do. At least, he was trying to do something to stop being seen as a pariah!

"I like the idea of putting up a charity. I do think you'd be able to help a lot of people," said Hermione.

"You do?"

"Yes."

"The thing is, if I'm going through with it, I'll need someone to help me with the organisational aspects and who can be charmingly convincing..." The eagerness with which she was listening to his idea filled him with hope that it might actually work; it was the feedback he had somewhat been hoping for. “So, just hypothetically speaking, would you be interested?”Hermione mulled about his proposition for a moment; and as always Draco watched how she furrowed her brows a little—it was a sign of her thinking deeply about something, as he had learned during all their talks. “Only hypothetically speaking, what would be your conditions?” she finally asked, smiling.

Draco got the impression that she wasn't just hypothetically asking but that she was genuinely interested. “I haven't thought that far yet. But why not some sort of equal partnership? We both have a say in what to support? I don't think you'd take anything less—I know your mind by now.”

She smiled teasingly. “You’ll be surprised, but I do like your idea of working together. I most definitely don't want to work for the Ministry should I ever come back—but in the wizarding world, you're either working for the Ministry in some form, or you're a shopkeeper or you're freelance. Or you're stinkingly rich.”

“Guilty of the last. But I wouldn't want to work for the Ministry either...”

“So, yes, I like your idea, even if we're just hypothetically speaking about it.” She leaned back on the sofa, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Thanks. I wasn't so sure you'd agree with the idea–”

“Nah, you're doing it for the right reasons. And you want me on board because I'd keep you on the right track.”

“You got me.” Draco placed a soft kiss on her head, taking in that subtle scent of jasmine in it. Of course she was right, he did want her on board because she wasn't afraid to tell him her mind, and would keep him on track.

“Have you ever thought of moving out of the Manor?” she asked then, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “I mean you seem to fight with your father almost every day, that can't be a healthy atmosphere, you know?”

“Constantly. However, I told you before that as soon as anyone sees the name Malfoy, they don't want to be associated with me. I can't find anything, so I'm stuck there.”

“What about moving in here? I do have a spare room I don't really use. Most probably not what you're used to, and I don't have any house-elves, but you'd have your peace. And we could talk all night about stuff.”

“I... You think that a good idea?”

She looked up, smiling warmly. "Yes," she replied, and shifted upwards. "You're here most of the time anyway now... You arrive earlier and leave very late at night."

Draco did notice that she moved closer, until her face was only inches away from his. "Yes," he whispered, "I like spending time here..." He pulled an obstinate strand of hair out of her face, and studied her for a moment. He wondered why she was doing this, offering him her spare room, but then he got lost in her dark amber eyes, even found himself mesmerised by the fire glowing in them; only the touch of her fingers on his cheek finally brought him back.

"Then move in," she said, her eyes now fixed on his lips.

The deeper meaning of her words—that she wanted him to stay with her—let him feel a warmth radiate through his body, leaving him slightly light-headed. And the way she was looking at him right now, with that affection in her eyes, he realised that he wouldn't mind turning it into a more permanent situation. Guided by that thought, he cupped her face, and then let his thumb brush over her lips, parting them slightly.

"Draco–"

"Shh..." He stopped her by claiming her lips with a kiss. Their first two kisses had been great, exhilaratingly so, but this one was even better. It was tender, yet passionate; slow, but intense—it let his senses tingle and his heart race. Gods, she was intoxicating!

After what seemed like half an eternity, Hermione broke off, completely out of breath but smiling broadly. "Stay, please," she whispered softly, running her fingers through his hair.

"We'll collect my things tomorrow," he rasped in response, and started kissing her again, more possessive this time.

***

"Draco! What is the meaning of this?" Lucius demanded when he stormed into his son's room in the Manor.

"I think you can see what I'm doing," Draco retorted cynically. He was currently collecting his clothes, levitating them in one swoop into the magically enhanced suitcase he and Hermione had brought along. "I'm moving out."

"And where do you think are you moving?" Lucius tried to stop his son from putting any more shirts into the suitcase, earning himself a contemptuous glare from Draco, who then continued to collect everything. “You will stop immediately...”

“I won't–”

"My place, Mister Malfoy," Hermione replied from the en-suite bathroom where she was collecting the rest of his things.

"YOU BROUGHT HER HERE?"

Draco didn't even flinch at his father's outburst—he had witnessed enough of them to know that they were usually empty threads these days. "Yes, she is helping me," he replied calmly, without stopping to empty his wardrobe, not hiding the sneer in his voice, while trying to work around his father. “You're in my way.”

"Lucius? What's going on? Why are you shouting?" Narcissa joined them, though she remained at the door, watching the scene with wide eyes. "Draco! What are you doing?"

"Your son is moving out, Cissa," Lucius informed her, not even attempting to hide the spite in his voice. "That Mud–"

"Don't you dare say it, or I will make sure you'll regret it," Draco stopped his father, hissing loudly.

"Draco? Can you check the bathroom if I got everything you want to take with you?" Hermione came back into his room; she spoke calmly as if she hadn't heard the last exchange between the men, yet she threw her iciest glare at Lucius.

Draco saw her glare at his father, and nodded. "I'm almost finished here..." He put the last of his shirts in the suitcase.

"Why are you moving out, Draco?" Narcissa asked in disbelief, wrapping the house robe she was wearing these days a bit tighter around her body.

"Mother," Draco sighed. "You've seen us fight. You really think I could stay under the same roof as the man who still tries to control me, who still tries to manipulate me? This after everything he has done to us?” As much as he was looking forward to leaving his father behind, he didn't like leaving his mother in this cold place, knowing that she already felt lonely enough.

"I manipulated you? How dare you! Everything I ever did was to keep this family safe!" Lucius countered, raising his voice, demanding authority. "And you WILL NOT move out!"

"You cannot tell me what to do! You are the bloody reason why we're stuck like this, why we're considered pariahs in society. You, you selfish snake!"

“Watch your tongue, boy, or I will teach you to respect your parents–”

“Respect? For you? No. Not after everything you've done to me.” Draco shook his head; he was trembling now, his hands turned into fists.

"Draco, stop it." Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him back, fearing that the two men were going to attack each other any moment. She noticed that Narcissa was doing the same with Lucius, though more discreetly. "Let me."

"Hermione, he just used me to save his own skin,” Draco seethed; he took several deep breaths to calm himself. “I've done everything I could to save this family, and it was just about him!"

"It's okay," Hermione replied as calmly as she could. "Please, just go check the bathroom. The sooner we're finished, the faster we can leave..."

He huffed, and glared at his parents, then did indeed walk towards the en-suite, muttering all the way.

"He told me everything, Mister Malfoy," Hermione then continued icily when Draco was out of earshot. “And I've been at his hearing–”

"You don't know anything about how things work in our family–"

"THAT might be, Mister Malfoy. But–"

"You gave him ideas, you planted that damn idea about forgiveness in his head–"

"Lucius, stop now," Narcissa intervened. "I have had enough of your constant fights. You can't stop him."

"Cissa, she's beneath him–"

"She's the one who forgave him his sins... Do you really think he still cares about her blood?"

"She gave him those books to read, and it's because of her that he wants to waste his inheritance in a charity! What do you think he is going to do when he inherits the rest?"

"He tries to make amends for his family," Hermione threw in, irritated about his obstinacy. "For the mistakes you made. You forced him to do things he didn't want to. And you still try–"

"Hermione, let's go. He won't ever understand, as stubborn and self-centred as he is." Draco came back from the bathroom, a few last things in his hands that he added to the suitcase, and then, with a fast swish of his wand, he closed everything.

"Draco, dear..." Narcissa finally entered his room, suddenly looking rather lost.

"I'm only sorry for you, mother." Draco took her hand, completely ignoring his father now. "I'm going to miss you, and I do worry about leaving you alone here with him... But I cannot stay in this place any longer. It's not a good place..."

"No, it's not," she agreed. "You know, she's not what I had in mind for you when you were younger. I thought you would marry maybe one of the Greengrass girls one day, you know?” she continued with a softer voice, filled with regret. “But now, after that war, all I want is for you to be happy... You still have the chance for it. Take it, even if it's with her."

"Thanks." Draco hugged his mother for goodbye. After a deep breath, he let go of her to grab his things. He smiled faintly when he noticed that Hermione had already shrunk the pieces for easier transport through the Floo Network.

"I'm still disappointed that you no longer want to be part of this family," Lucius sneered when his son passed him.

Draco stopped, only to throw his father one last contemptuous glare. "Nothing new then. I've always been a disappointment to you. I just don't care any longer because I'm done with you. Goodbye." And with that, he continued his way back down to the main hall with its fireplace connected to the Floo, Hermione following closely behind.

****

"What's going on, Hermione?" Draco asked about a week after moving in; he held up a letter in the living room as he saw her enter the flat they now shared.

"Why are you going through my stuff?" she retorted defiantly, having just come home from her parents' place to look after her mother for a few hours, helping her father out who had been called for an emergency.

"It was lying on the table; I wasn't going through your things." He put the letter back down, straightening it a bit. "Why are you sending everything back?"

"I don't know what you mean," she huffed, pulling off her coat to hang it up.

"Oh come on, I saw you sending the owls straight back as soon as you saw the name of the sender. You sent everything back except this one, from the Weasley mother. So, what's going on?" He thought he heard a low growl coming from her in response. He just didn't care any longer, after having watched her grow more and more upset with every letter arriving from her so-called friends. Some friends they were—not caring enough to come by, or maybe not courageous enough? Gryffindors!

"Just because you live here doesn't mean I have to tell you everything," she retorted walking past him to the kitchen.

He followed her. "You know that I don't just live here, Hermione. You know it's more than that—and it means I worry, because I can see what those letters do to you–"

"I just don't want to talk to them, okay?" she growled, opened the fridge to check for something to drink.

"I think you should–"

"No!" she slammed the fridge door shut. "I'm not going to talk to them as long as they don't get it, and those letters are a sign that they haven't understood yet."

Draco said nothing, sensing that any reply would only make it worse, and he wasn't in the mood to be on the receiving end of one of her hexes. However, he had understood by now that—as much as he would have loved to have her to himself—she still needed that bunch of blithering idiots she called friends. If only they all—Hermione included—weren't so damn proud and stubborn.

"What? No sarcastic comeback?" she finally commented on his silence.

"No." He shook his head. "Not this time. As much as you'd like me to, but no."

"Why would you even care about my friends?"

"I don't care about them, I care about you! They could rot in hell for all I care, and for how they treat you. Only the gods know what you see in them, but whatever you might think, you still need them."

"I don't–"

"You do, Hermione." He took a step towards her, stretching out his hand to her in an offer of peace, and softening his voice. "I know you do, or you wouldn't react like you do to all those letters."

She shook her head in defiance, and narrowed her eyes. "No, I don't, Draco." With that, she left the kitchen again. "I'm not going to talk about it any further, understood? And I think I'd rather be alone tonight."

Draco wanted to retort something, but then swallowed his words, and only watched her leave the room to go upstairs. With a frustrated sigh, he realised that he had to do something in order to fix the situation, or else it would always loom over them, and—in the worst case—destroy whatever they had been exploring over the last few days; he didn't want to lose that, oh no! Besides, as much as he still disliked the group, he didn't want to be the cause for a break-up between them and Hermione, not after having witnessed her behaviour since their last fight... Bloody thick-headed Gryffindors and their damn pride!

****

"Potter. A word with you." Draco leaned against the door frame of Harry's office the next day, amused at the chaos that apparently prevailed any system of order.

"How did you find here?"

"Oh, I do have my charms with some ladies. But I'm not here to talk about that."

Harry closed the file in front of him and leaned back, crossing his arms. "Hermione."

"Yes." Draco acknowledged the still defiant position of the other with a short smirk. "Let me see, one of the words she mentioned most in relation to you and your gang was idiots–"

"I'm sure you suggested it."

"No, I'm even being nice right now, sparing you from the more salacious words she used. You pissed her off, not me."

"What do you want? Gloat about that fact?"

"It's tempting, Potter. But no. I'm here because I think the two of us need to come to an understanding–"

"Pff."

"Potter, stop your act for a moment. You can't be that thick-headed not to see the hurt you're causing."

"What do you mean?"

Draco was not in the least intimidated by Potter's glare in response to his words. “Really, Potter? I've seen her sent your letters back, all of them–”

"Yes, she sent them all back. Except George's and Molly's."

"Exactly."

"Why do you even care about it?"

"And here I was thinking you might have finally understood the wink, but it seems you haven't got the slightest clue. You really should have believed her when she told you that we're just talking. And no, that wasn't a euphemism... Happy with the results?"

Harry let out an irritated sounding sigh. "No."

"I figured. So, this is a favour for Hermione, because–"

"You use her first name?"

"Problem with that? Or are you jumping to conclusions again, Potter? Better live with it."

"Yeah, I figured as much." Harry rubbed his eyes. "Molly told us the same."

Draco nodded. The letter he and Hermione had argued about the day before was the letter from the Weasley matron—the only one he saw opened. The old woman had invited her for a tea to the Burrow, and asked how she was. He wasn't surprised to hear that she had given that group of tossers an earful of her mind, and it seemed to have worked, too. "As I said, this is a favour for her. I'm not here because I suddenly like you, but for Hermione's sake–"

"–we should let go of the past and be friendly enough with each other. Is that what you want?"

"More or less."

"Again, Molly said the same..."

"So, you and your friends will be coming over next Friday to Hermione, and then you'll have that deep conversation with her that she deserves, and you will listen to what she has to say...” Draco made a pause to let his words sink in, and used the time to study his old rival closely, before he continued. “However, you might need to bring the food and drinks. I'm not going to tell her that you're coming because otherwise she might disappear–"

"–before we even arrive. Yes, she can be that stubborn. Okay, we'll come over next Friday. For her, not because you asked."

"This meeting never happened."

Harry nodded, and then pinched his nose bridge before setting his glasses straight. "What's in it for you, by the way? You haven't suddenly turned into a selfless person, have you?"

"Like you? Bloody hope not. But I won't let that one person down who does have the strength to forgive me while you nurtured your prejudices..."

Now Harry started to grin. "You want her."

"Never said that, Potter."

"You know that's hopeless..."

Draco ignored Harry's remark, knowing that the situation was rather different. "You better be there on Friday. I make sure she's home."

***

That next Friday evening, Hermione was preparing for some comfortable reading on the sofa, with Draco next to her, as they now spent most their evenings ever since he had moved in to leave the toxic atmosphere of the Manor. She was, however, not at all prepared for the knock that pulled her from her thoughts.

Draco shrugged when she looked at him questioningly, and continued reading. "I don't think I should open any doors at the moment."

Hermione got up with a sigh when the knock was repeated. "They all know better," she muttered, and finally opened the door.

"Hermione! You're home!"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she retorted irritated when she saw her friends stand outside her door.

"We're here to apologise," Harry said, "all of us."

"Took you long enough."

"Hermione, we're really sorry. We were just worried you were making a mistake..." Ginny came up. "I mean it was—or rather still is—difficult to understand that you and Malfoy became friends after everything that happened–"

"Maybe you're right, and we should be the better ones," Harry added, mostly to stop Ginny from blabbering on.

"Maybe I'm right?" Hermione retorted.

"Okaaay, you are right, and we were idiots to treat you like that."

"That's better."

"Look, we really mean it—we were lousy friends to let you slip like that," Harry continued. "We didn't listen, and we'd like to remedy that." He held up a bag filled with what looked like groceries. "My pasta is Molly-approved; you wouldn't have to do anything. Well, maybe except let us know where your things are in the kitchen."

Hermione looked at every single one of them—Harry, Ginny, Ron, all of them looking something between embarrassed and apologetic. She just didn't trust the whole thing.

"Please, give us a chance to makes things better. We all promise to listen and not judge," Ginny added, sounding sincerely apologetic.

"Draco's here," Hermione replied coolly, noticing them flinch at her using his first name. "And I won't throw him out just for you..."

"We said we won't judge. So we can live with it, I think."

"All right, you idiots, come in." Hermione stepped aside to let the group in, and pointed them to the kitchen, before going back to the sofa. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked Draco, who was still reading through his book, albeit rather disinterestedly so.

"They claim to be your friends, ask them," he replied without even looking up, though he couldn't hide the smirk fast enough.

"We'll talk later,” she said, having noticed the smirk on his face. “Right now, I'd prefer if you could stay upstairs. They might say that they won't judge, but those are so far just words."

He finally looked at her, and slowly nodded before he got up. "Don't hold back, okay? They promised to listen, and they should. Let them know that they really were idiots." With that, he went for the stairs.

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

"What's going on?" Hermione asked suspiciously, once Draco was out of sight.

"Nothing."

"As if." She followed Harry into the kitchen where everyone else was already trying to find utensils and cutlery. In a way, she was glad they had the courage to come over, but that didn't mean they were excused just yet; she sat down at her small kitchen table to keep an eye on them.

"Out of curiosity—why is Draco here tonight? Did we interrupt one of your talks?" Ginny asked, filling the pot with water.

"He currently stays in the spare room." Hermione had to smirk at their reaction to that information—they all stopped whatever they were doing and just blankly stared at her slack-jawed. "What? The Daily Prophet didn't mention that he moved out of the Manor? They were so keen on everything else..."

"He moved in here?" That was Ron, finally breathing in again.

"What did you think? Nobody wants to sell or rent anything to the Malfoys, and he wants to find something in the Muggle world anyway. I'm just helping out."

"And you really aren't...? I mean... you know," Ginny stammered.

"No." Hermione shook her head; she preferred to keep any further details about her relationship with Draco a secret for the moment—him as her flatmate was already stretching it enough. However, seeing her friends' shocked faces was definitely worth mentioning his moving in.

"You should have heard Mum have a go at us after you left that Sunday," Ron finally continued. "What did she say? Stubbornly blinded by prejudices... I think, idiots was mentioned several times too."

Hermione smirked deviously. "You definitely deserved it, especially for not trusting my word when I said we were only talking."

"It just sounded so incredible, you know? He wasn't one of the good guys–"

"You mean, one of us. No, he wasn't. But who are we to judge him now for that? We all did what we had to do to keep the ones we love as safe as we could, he just had different cards to play and lost."

"But–"

"Ginny, no. You have no idea how lonely he must have been to come to my place. Lonely enough not to care any longer. You haven't seen his eyes that day, you haven't heard him talk. You just assumed. And you didn't even give him a chance when you discovered him after our dinner, Harry. You just insisted on having him chased away."

"It was based on our experience with him, Hermione–"

"Molly was right, stubbornly blinded," Hermione retorted, "I would add stuck in the past to the list."

"Hey, we learned the lesson!" Harry exclaimed, raising his hands in defence.

"Have you?" Hermione looked at every one of them, eyeing them closely. "Are you all willing to see past his mistakes?" She saw them all look at each other, questioning themselves. "Because you will see more of him in the future, whether you like it or not."

"I think we could manage–"

"We'll see about that," Hermione interrupted Harry sceptically. "Merlin knows I'm not asking you to become best friends with him, just to give him a chance to show that he has changed. Because he has. Or I wouldn't let him live here, you know?"

They all nodded. "We get that, now. It might take a while to get comfortable with the idea of Malfoy living here, though," Ron added with an unsure smile.

Hermione smiled genuinely for the first time ever since they arrived; that was what she had wanted all along. "There's another thing I think you should know—I'll return more fully to the wizarding community, and start a new job–"

"Coming back to the Ministry?" Harry asked. "You'd be perfect for that new project–"

"Or join George as a partner, he's looking for one–"

"Hogwarts is searching for new staff–"

"Neither of them. Draco is about to found a charity with the money he's so far inherited—I've seen the number, it's a hilariously substantial sum—and I join him as an equal partner. It's in his name, but besides that, we share all the responsibilities." The kitchen was suddenly quiet, except for a knife falling to the ground; Hermione had expected this reaction to the news, had even joked with Draco about it. "And yes, it was all his idea. He wants to help, and make amends for his family's wrongdoings."

"That..." Ginny was the first to break the silence. "That is... wow."

"It's not going to be easy to convince the society that he means it–" Harry added, agreeing with his girlfriend.

"That's why we join forces—his money, my reputation."

"It's a lot to get used to," Ron admitted. "He's going to be around you all the time."

"Yes. Is that a problem?" Hermione eyed her ex closely, who eventually shook his head.

"Why are you joining him?" Harry asked, sounding something between curious and still sceptical. "I mean it's a good idea and all..."

"Because it gives us both some purpose in life." She saw her friends nod. "I mean I don't want to disappear behind some desk at the Ministry, you know? I want to help others, and his idea sounded good. And maybe we can also steer somewhat against the current course of action the Ministry seems to have taken..."

"And he pays you rather decently."

"I'm not doing it for the money, but yes," she replied with a short grin. It started to feel as if she finally found the connection to her friends once again—they might struggle a bit with her and Draco working and temporarily living together, but at least they were willing to give him a chance now...

"So, want to tell us more about that charity?" Harry finally asked. “I mean it's important to you, so we'd like to know more.”

“Yeah, maybe we could even help out with showing up somewhere, you know?” Ron agreed, and snagged a piece of tomato from the cutting board.

***

It was late that evening when Hermione finally made it to bed; she was tired but content—the dinner had turned into a long-needed conversation with her friends, and she had been able to get it all off her chest. And they even listened to her in earnest when she told them more about their plans with the fund; and she had to admit that she had been pleasantly surprised about their genuine curiosity about both the fund and Draco. But now, all she wanted was drifting off to sleep while spooning comfortably against Draco's chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her. “You talked to Harry, didn't you?” she whispered, when he pulled her closer under the blanket.

“Yes,” he replied with a soft murmur. “You were upset...”

“Draco–”

“Shh...” He placed a sleepy kiss on her shoulder. “As much as I'd like to have you all to myself, I get that you come in a package. You need them, I can live with that.”

She gently took his hand that was placed on her stomach and twined her fingers with his. “Thanks. And I'll make their lives hell if they won't accept you.”

“You don't need to–”

“I do.” She pressed his hand in affirmation. “Just as you accept that I come in a package with them, they'll have to accept that I come in a package with you.”

He pulled her closer in response, and placed another kiss on her shoulder. “This is more than I could ever have hoped for when I came to your place the first time...”

That made Hermione turn around and look at him, surprised to find him gazing at her once more with a surprisingly honest face—it was an expression she now figured fitted him much better than that mask he had worn before. “I know,” she finally whispered softly, and let her fingers run through his hair, pulling him gently closer, until his lips were almost brushing hers.

“I think that saying is true,” he breathed over her lips, “home is where the heart is, I mean.” He kissed her gently, only letting his tongue run over her lips. “And you make me feel home, Hermione.” With that admission, he claimed her lips in a deep kiss.

Hermione was blown away by his words, and she responded with all she got to his kiss, relishing once more that slow, but intense passion between them. “You make me feel home, too,” she murmured breathlessly between kisses. “You, no one else.” She smiled into their kiss when he started to turn on his back, pulling her along until she ended up lying on him. Her smile grew even wider when she could feel his hands sneak under her pyjama top, brushing lightly over her skin. “Just don't stop.”

“Never,” he replied teasingly, and started pulling her top up. “Never...”

END

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Interhouse Fest 2016: Where Home Is (4 of 5)

2016-11-04T13:27:06Z

Chapter 4

The next morning, it was Draco who woke up first, with a stiff neck and feeling completely disoriented as to where he was and what happened the night before. At least, he was still dressed, and his head wasn't throbbing too much. When he opened his eyes, he realised that he was lying on a sofa, with Hermione nestled up in front of him; she was still fast asleep, and looked peaceful. Seeing her next to him, he remembered what had happened—he had had a fight with his father, and when he couldn't find her, got himself completely plastered until she had found him and brought him here. He let his tongue run over his slightly parched lips, and then further remembered that they had ended up kissing again. Gods! It had been an awkward moment already after the last time, as he really didn't know how to react to it afterwards. He had never guessed that she would be so audacious to say yes to his request that had been meant as a joke. And now she had done it again! What the hell was he supposed to do now? He had come to her place because he had hoped he wouldn't be chased away, and now she was pulling him in. He sighed. This time, they hadn't stopped after a few minutes—he couldn't stop after a few minutes because her lips had felt so damn good. This wasn't supposed to happen when he had first showed up at her doorstep...

He tried to shift his weight as gently as possible to keep her from waking, and then propped himself up; to his chagrin, she was blocking his way off the sofa with her body. Ignoring his throbbing head, he then started to climb over her. “Shit,” he murmured when he hit her hip with his knee, which caused her to stir.

“Morning,” she croaked, a soft, still sleepy smile on her lips, and opened her eyes. "You want to leave already?”

He froze mid-climbing, smiling embarrassed because she had caught him trying to get away silently. “Sorry,” he said, and tried to clear his throat. “I don't know, really.”

Still smiling, she waited for him to finish climbing over her, and then turned around to sit up. “Why not stay for breakfast?”

“Don't you have to go to work or something?” He seriously hoped he could avoid having to talk about the night before, but to his chagrin she shook her head.

“Dad decided to close the practice for a couple of weeks, only listed as an emergency contact. He doesn't want to work as long as Mum is in hospital.”

He nodded. “Okay, then.”

****

God, how much of an idiot had she been to kiss him again last night? Hermione used the few minutes in her bathroom to sort her thoughts before facing Draco again. She hadn't even been drunk this time! And they hadn't stopped after a few minutes! Her scalp tingled when she remembered how he had kept raking his fingers through her cascade of hair. If only it hadn't been so damn good both times, full of everything she had been missing whenever she had kissed Ron during their relationship. No, Ron's kisses had never given her goose bumps, nor had they ever really let her feel as excited as those she had shared with Draco. God, this wasn't supposed to happen when they had started their doorstep talks, yet... Yet now, there was some part in her that didn't want it any other way.

“I can still just leave if you'd rather be alone today. I mean I... I don't want to overstay the invitation,” Draco said when she came back to the living room.

“Please, don't worry about that,” she replied, passing through to the kitchen. “Besides, sneaking off after spending the night together would be rather rude, wouldn't it?” she added teasingly, and then started working on their coffee, while Draco sat down at the small kitchen table. She knew she had hit the nail on the head with her remark, she could see that he was thinking about something—probably the same thing that still circled through her mind as well. Their first kiss could have been excused with both of them being drunk and feeling lonely, but a second?

“How's your mother doing?” he finally asked, changing the subject to what felt like a safer territory for both of them. "She's still in hospital, right?”

Hermione opened the fridge to fish all the things out she would need for a breakfast—and today, she was in the mood for a couple of pancakes, amongst other things. “Yes, she is. The doctors are still a bit worried about her spleen, and the fractured ribs seem to be rather painful.”

“Why not give her one of the potions that help regrowing bones?”

Hermione turned around. “Honestly, I thought about that. But I shouldn't meddle with that—at least not as long as she is hospital—or I'll be in severe need of a good explanation. She's still a Muggle, so I'm a bit hesitant to just give her something like that.”

“Muggles must be patient people to go through something like that.”

She chuckled. “Gods know they aren't. And they would absolutely want to use those potions if they knew they existed. We're all just humans, after all. However, I might give her something to help with healing when she is back home—of course, only if she wants it.”

He nodded, tilting his head from side to side while staring outside; Hermione thought that he was even frowning a little.

“Are you going back home later? I mean the Manor,” Hermione asked, wincing as soon as she realised how stupid that question probably was; she could hear him groan in response.

“Yes. I only hope I'll be able to sneak in; I'm definitely not in the mood for another pointless argument with my father about you and... and what we have.”

“It's complicated enough, isn't it?” she asked, more to herself than him.

He just nodded, grimacing. “Even before, I didn't want to marry someone I don't love. I mean, all those pure-blood girls are nice to look at, but...” He let his hand run through his hair, and the rubbed his neck.

“I think I get it,” she replied, and finished preparing the dough for the pancakes. “After all, you're supposed to share your life with them, so there should be at least some affection...”

“Affection, yes,” he murmured rather absent-mindedly. “It's not as if it matters any longer, anyway, as the other families are very reluctant to let me even date one of their daughters. No one wants to be intimately connected to my family...”

“And very reluctant is putting it nicely, right?” she replied, mixing everything together for the pancakes

“Oh yes.” Draco didn't even bother trying to hide his bitterness about that.

If she had thought that occupying herself with making pancakes for breakfast would distract her from her thoughts, then she was failing miserably. All she could think of, while stirring everything together, was them—how lonely he must be, and whether it was some sort of affection they now had for each other. There just had to be something between them!

***

The following Sunday, Hermione was invited to join the Weasley Sunday lunch. And despite how their last shared dinner had ended, Ginny had still been adamant that she should join them again, as her last visit was so long ago; and Ginny added once more that as part of the family she was expected to be there, despite everything, and that they would really love to see her again. Hermione had been very reluctant to accept the invitation, partially because her last visit had ended with her abrupt departure, almost fleeing the scene after starting to feel overwhelmed with the noise; and partially because Draco was now added to the mix as well. She was sure that someone would bring him up at one point, and she didn't want to go through another interrogation-turned-argument about her motives and intentions with Draco. Yet, since Ginny had insisted, she did show up that day.

“There you are!” Ginny came running outside when Hermione Apparated in front of the Burrow, with the intention to hug her. “Mum wouldn't believe when I told her you would come, too...”

“I can imagine,” Hermione replied, trying to sound friendly but taking a small step back because she just didn't want to be hugged right now—at least, not from Ginny.

“How's everything? And how's your mother doing? She is still in the hospital, right?” Ginny asked her warmly, accepting Hermione's dismissal with a short-lived frown. “Come, let's go inside, it's cold enough.”

“Mum's doing fine, yes, she is still in hospital,” Hermione confirmed, grateful for the subject because it meant she could avoid the other looming thing for the moment. “The doctors said that she could be released soon.”

“That's great!” Ginny exclaimed in a relieved tone, and was about to open the door.

Hermione had to smile at Ginny's enthusiastic response. “How's everybody?” she then asked, and braced herself for the chaos and the noise of the Weasley family. She would definitely have preferred to go back home and just nestle up on her sofa with a book and a nice cup of tea, but she had promised to come—so here she was, being dragged inside by her friend. After a deep breath, she put on a smile, hoping it looked warm and friendly enough.

“Oh, Ron has some news; at least he looks disgustingly happy and annoys everybody else with his good mood–”

“HERMIONE!” the others shouted in unison when she entered the kitchen where they all sat around the big table; Harry as well as Ron got up to welcome her with a short hug. Hermione tried to keep them at a distance, just like Ginny moments before, but she wasn't fast enough to avoid a short, cordial hug from Harry. With their disagreement over Draco's visits still between them, this felt a bit too close for her; however, swallowing hard, followed by a quick, false smile towards Harry, she tried to contain her uneasiness for the sake of the day.

“How is your mother?” Harry asked when he let go of her again with a friendly smile.

“She will be released in a few days. Dad has closed the practice until she is at least back home, probably even longer,” she replied, trying to clear her throat. “Thanks for asking.”

“You look good,” Ron commented; Hermione was grateful that he only patted her on the shoulder, and she gave him a more genuine smile in response.

“I feel a tiny bit better. But I heard you have some news?”

His grin grew broader. “Yes, I have. But let's eat first, I'm hungry.”

“You're always hungry,” she teased him, and followed her friends to the table, where everyone wanted to know what she had been doing since her last visit.

“No way, you didn't,” Hermione exclaimed in amused surprise when Harry told her about his newest case after lunch where he had to dress like an old woman for doing observations. Ginny was in stitches, and Hermione laughed out loud at the picture, like everybody else at the table.

“Well, after all, sore muscles and strained joints do let you walk like an old woman,” Harry added, himself chuckling.

“You're still not allowed to play?” Hermione asked, wiping her eyes, chuckling repeatedly.

“I believe he's rather happy to be put out of commission, my sister really is relentless and unforgiving when she plays,” Ron commented, in between resurfacing giggles. “We're glad she doesn't want to practise on Sundays...”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Hermione smiled warmly, and finished her last bites before Molly let the empty plates float over to the sink for the washing up later. “So, what is your news then? You were grinning broadly when I arrived--”

“Yes, brother, do tell us!” George added teasingly. “You only ever smile because of two things: when Mum calls for dinner, and a new girl. And since we just had lunch, it can only mean the other...”

Molly came back to the table. “You've met someone?” she asked, a tone of happy surprise in her voice.

Ron nodded eagerly. “Yes. At work.”

Hermione joined in the happy smiles all around the table. This meant that he was no longer pining after her, happy to move on and let her go. And then she remembered Draco's cynical comment that Ron hadn't come along with Harry to their dinner because he didn't want to brag about having found someone else in front of her—she knew that Draco had meant it as a joke, but it didn't surprise that he unknowingly hit the truth. Oh yes, his ability to notice the small things about others and then wrap it with sarcasm was a refreshing contrast to her straight-forward, more oblivious friends. “Do we know her?” she then asked, feeling genuinely happy for Ron, who was beaming proudly, yet slightly embarrassed.

“No, I don't think so. She was in Ravenclaw a year above us. Tilly is her name.”

“What is she like?” Molly asked sitting down again. "And what does she look like?”

Hermione exchanged a brief look with Harry, who looked like he had known earlier than the others; he probably told Ron to move on, and take the chance to date that girl. She felt a bit disappointed that Ron hadn't told her earlier as well, but she could live with it.

“She's nice... She was the best in her year in Charms, if I remember right. And she can cook! You should taste her pies, seriously.” And Ron continued into a list of things she had cooked for him already, it sounded as if their relationship had already progressed to something more solid, which surprised then all.

“You should bring her next time,” Molly exclaimed happily to Ron's embarrassment.

“I-I don't know if she wants to come,” Ron stammered, his face red like his hair, much to the delight of the others.

“You know Mum won't stop badgering you until you bring her along, you knew the risk when you told us,” George countered.

“Oh yes!” Ginny added, grinning at her brother's on-going embarrassment.

Amidst the on-going discussion about why Tilly wouldn't want to come to a Weasley Sunday lunch, George suddenly looked at Hermione as if he was remembering something; he was sitting directly opposite her. “You know, I saw something peculiar this week,” he then started with a grin.

“What?” Hermione asked, tensing up; she had an idea where this was going, and she wasn't quite sure how to take it.

“I saw Malfoy check out our window. He didn't come in, he just seemed curious about what we have,” he replied, with a short shrug. “He seemed different...”

“Malfoy?” Harry chimed in at the name of his old rival. Hermione didn't even bother hiding her bitter smile, and slowly shook her head. It had been great to hear that Draco finally went out on his own, trying to mingle with others who seem to leave him in peace on the streets, but Harry just had an impeccable timing in destroying the moment.

“Yes, Malfoy,” George repeated; his short look at Hermione made clear that he had noticed her reaction. “He didn't do anything, just checked out our window.”

“What's going on?” Molly asked, as the conversation was now clearly taking a more serious turn.

“Malfoy,” Harry started to explain. “He was in the Muggle hospital, too, where Hermione's mum is treated.”

Of course, Hermione noticed the disappointment in the glare he shot her; it made her heave a sigh. “Yes, he was there, for the same reason you were. You make it sound like a problem, Harry.”

“I told you that you can't trust him, Herm–”

“I heard you the first time,” she interrupted him, in a clear dislike of his tone. This was what she had expected—only one more or less friendly mention of Draco was needed, and they were at it again.

“Are you still just talking?” Harry asked her.

“I ask again, what's going on here?” Molly asked, her voice clearly indicating that she didn't like the tone the conversation was now taking.

“Mum, Malfoy visits her every night for talking,” Ginny explained, forming quotation marks with her hands.

That was the last straw for Hermione. She snapped at her friend, only barely restraining from slamming her clenched fist on the table “There's no need to put it like that, Ginny. I seriously hate it. Why are doing this? I thought the fact that you were so adamant about me coming to the lunch was a sign that you were willing to put it aside. I see that I was wrong to believe that.” Hermione stood up, anger rising inside her, making her fingers twitch with the urge to hit Harry—she was sure that the sound of his breaking glasses would be a satisfying one.

“Herm–”

Hermione shot Harry a glare to shut him up; she wasn't finished. “It is the truth when I say we only talk about things. You have no idea what he's going through, Harry,” she continued, curling her lips, and crossing her arms. “You don't want to see past your prejudices because it's easier. But I did. And unlike you, he's left alone to deal with his situation in this damn aftermath. He has had a lot of time to think about things, and we talk about those things, forgiveness for exam–”

“Malfoy and forgiveness,” Harry sneered. “Hermione, he was relentless at Hogwarts, and he was a Death Eater–”

“HARRY, I KNOW! He showed me...” She was trembling by now, and took a deep breath in order not to snap just yet. “It reminds him every single day of his mistakes. He can't escape it, just as much as I can't escape this.” She rolled up her sleeve. “That is my daily reminder of the things I had to go through, of the things I had to do in order to survive. Do you know what he said when he saw this? Do you?” Taking a small step towards Harry, she held up her arm with the scars from the torture at Bellatrix' hands, daring him to say something. She had noticed that the others at the table had fallen silent by now, watching the argument with rising concern. “He fucking apologised! He told me that he should have stopped his aunt.”

“I didn't mean it li–”

“No, Harry, you did mean it! Who are we to judge others for their mistakes in such situations? You haven't been at his hearing, you don't know the whole story, yet you dare to judge him...”

“I've seen Snape's memories!”

“Then you should really know better than to judge Malfoy for what he had to do. We are no better than they are if we just put the blame on the losers of the war and ostracise them—we're just lucky enough to have ended up on the winning side. So yes, I'm willing to give Malfoy a chance to do better, and forgive him for his deeds in the War. ”

“How can you forgive him that he tried to kill Dumbledore?” Harry stood up as well to get to the same level. “I was there–”

“I know! But he had no choice, he was forced, or he would have had to watch Voldemort kill his parents.” His short wince at the mention of Voldemort gave her a short moment of satisfaction. “And he didn't kill Dumbledore, Snape did, remember? And if I remember correctly, Snape bullied you just as much, and was a Death Eater, too, yet you seem to be able to forgive him? How fair is that view, huh?”

“Snape is a different story–”

“NO, it isn't.” She let out a disappointed sigh, and rubbed her face. “He was in the hospital for support, actually willing to put up with your behaviour towards him because he wanted to make sure I'm okay.”

Now Ginny stood too. “Why would he want to make sure that you're okay? Is there something going on that we should know about?”

“Oh no, Ginny, don't even start with that. Right now, you have absolutely no right to ask me that, this is something between Malfoy and me, I think–”

“Hermione, please–”

“No. I have come here to spend an afternoon with friends–”

“You know you're family–”

“–WITH FRIENDS, and instead I get interrogated about things that are private.” Hermione looked at them once more, and then had to suppress a sob, wiping her eyes. “I have had enough. I don't need to justify anything,” she said quietly, and left the table, running out of the room.

“Hermione, dear, wait.” Molly followed her, and caught up with her in front of the fireplace, where she got ready to leave. The older woman took her hand and just pulled her into an embrace. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I know you're having a rough time at the moment.”

Hermione just nodded, her face buried in Molly's shoulder. It felt nice that at least someone seemed to understand. “I hate it when they are like that, not listening to what I say,” she whispered after a few more seconds, taking a deep breath.

“Don't listen to them, my dear. You've understood something they haven't yet—that we need to forgive so that we can move forward and grow together as a society.”

“We really do only talk.” Hermione lifted her head again. “They don't understand that I still feel lost, but he does. And he really wants to do better...”

“It's okay.” Molly rubbed her back once more, then let go. “It really is. As long as he treats you with the respect you deserve...”

Hermione nodded and tried to smile. “He does. Thanks, Molly. I'm sorry for ruining your lunch.”

“Don't be. It wasn't your fault,” Molly dismissed softly. “Just be careful, but I don't have to tell you that–”

“No. I am careful, I promise.”

“Good.” Molly smiled warmly. “You can come by any other time just for some tea and cake if you want. I can even throw them out for an hour or two...”

Hermione chuckled at that, and wiped her eyes once more. “Thanks. I better go now. I don't think I'll be joining you on Sundays again, as long as this isn't resolved in some way.”

“I understand. Don't worry about it; I'll make them see your side, my dear. Now go. I recommend that new ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley in your case—a double portion of dark chocolate."

“Bye, Molly.” With that, Hermione took some Floo Powder from the pot, and stepped into the fireplace; with a faint smile for goodbye, she called out her destination and disappeared into the green flames.

***

“Gods, Hermione!” Draco let out in relief when he finally found her that evening. She sat slumped at the bar, hanging onto her glass tightly that only had a few sips left, her eyes glazing, and all red from crying, he guessed. He sat down next to her. “Hey, what happened?”

“You're the guy she brought home last time, right?” the barkeeper asked.

Draco nodded, his gaze fixed on Hermione. “How much did she have?”

“More than she should have.”

“N-Not enough,” she protested with a heavy tongue.

“Hermione, you definitely had enough. I'm bringing you home now.”

“They think I'm wasting my time on you... T-that you bewitched me or-or something...”

“It's okay,” Draco replied, and signed to the barkeeper that he'd pay her tab. He was indeed surprised that she was still able to somewhat form coherent sentences after he heard the barkeeper list what she'd consumed so far. Whether she was still able to stand or walk was a different story, Apparating even more so.

“You need a taxi or something?”

Draco shook his head. “No, thanks. Can you walk?” he then asked Hermione, who was now leaning on him.

“I d-don't know. Maybe.” She propped herself up again, and tried to climb off the bar stool, but was only stopped from falling to the ground ungraciously when Draco grabbed her shoulders.

“We're going home,” he said, and lifted her on his shoulder, hoping she wouldn't throw up until they were at her place.

“Home? What's home?”

Draco noticed the sad tone in her voice. The state she was in, apparently, her Sunday afternoon had been less than grand, probably rather catastrophic. He didn't know whether she would tell him about what had happened, but that was not the most important thing right now—it probably was a fight about her befriending him, anyway— more important was that she didn't feel alone. “Can you hold on tight and close your eyes for a moment?” he asked when they reached the empty side street he halfway remembered from his own alcohol drowning; he knew that Apparating in this state could easily upset any stomach, but it would be even worse with the eyes open. He gently put her down on her feet. “Gods, not like that,” he added with a grin and pulled her hands up from his arse to the safer region of his waist.

“Feels nice, though.”

“I wouldn't know that,” he replied, trying to hide the fact that if it hadn't been for her inebriated state, he wouldn't have minded to let her hands remain where they'd just been. “Okay, close your eyes,” he repeated, and then focused on her doorsteps.

“Urgh. Shit!” Hermione immediately let go of him when they arrived, and turned around to throw up into the corner; Draco just made sure to keep her hair out of it until she was finished, having expected it.

“Better?” he asked when he heard her or inhale deeply. He shortly looked around when she managed to get up again, and then quietly Vanished the vomit.

“Just nothing left,” she replied, taking another deep breath, then started fumbling through her pockets. “I can't find my keys...”

“It's okay, here, let me do it.” He grabbed her hand to stop her frantic search through everything. And with a well-placed, non-verbal Alohomora, he opened her door and pulled her inside. There, he brought her straight to her bedroom, and lay her on her bed after pulling off her shoes. Then, he kneeled down next to her, noticing that she was watching him with her big brown eyes, a bit like a child. “What happened? I mean you're not the type to drown yourself in alcohol like that... That's my style, you know?”

Her eyes, still glazed, searched him for a moment. “George said that he saw you in Diagon Alley, checking out the window of his shop a few days ago, a-and then Harry wanted to know whether we were still talking. He doesn't want to believe me, and it hurts.”

“I know.”

“I just feel like I've broken up with my friends, you know? I'm not even asking them to become best friends with you–”

“Gods no! I'd rather have you tell everyone about me suddenly knowing about empathy than willingly befriend Golden Boy. Now that would be a new low...” he interjected, and smiled when he could hear her chuckle shortly.

“I just want them to be more understanding, a bit more open-minded.” She took his hand that was placed on the edge of her bed. “Is it a mistake that I can forgive you? A weakness?”

He shook his head. “It's not. I think it takes an incredible strength to be able to forgive. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

“I know. That's why you came to the hospital.”

“Yes.” He brushed over the back of her hand with his thumb, trying to calm her.

“Can you stay tonight? Here? With me?” she pleaded in a whisper. “I don't want to be alone...”

Draco hesitated with his answer—he knew that he couldn't really leave her alone like that—so, instead, he just continued to brush her hand for a long moment. She was all upset because of him, because she felt the need to defend him against her friends. Him, of all people. And on top of that, she had started to pull him in with her care and her trust. Smiling softly, he realised that he didn't want to miss her in his life, that she was the one good thing in his life that he would hold on to. “I'll stay,” he whispered, knowing that it was going to be the most comfortable night in a long while, next to her—possibly even cuddling, but that was her decision to make.

Continue to Part 5

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Interhouse Fest 2016: Where Home Is (3 of 5)

2016-11-04T13:23:51Z

Chapter 3

“Something happened, I'm at the – Hospital, Hermione”

That note seriously shocked Draco when he saw it hanging on her front door as he arrived a few days after their dinner for their usual door step talk. His day had been difficult enough with his father questioning him once more about his nightly whereabouts. Anxious, but hoping for the best, he went to the mentioned hospital—he seriously hoped that she was okay, that she wasn't hurt or worse. He didn't want to lose her now, not after she had given him something he never thought she'd be able to give—she had forgiven him his sins. So, no, he really didn't want to lose her now!

With that thought stuck in his mind, Draco arrived at the hospital—it was a Muggle hospital, and that fact didn't really calm him; no, it made him even more anxious because none of her friends would be delivered here, they would all end up in St. Mungo's for treatment, but Hermione had somewhat returned to the Muggle world, and she might be delivered to such a place... When he entered the building, he was surprised how similar it looked to St. Mungo's—medical staff walking through the hallways checking boards and its reception in the entrance hall—but yet so different—looking all so antiseptic and straight, even smelled like this. At least the reception desk was easily recognisable as such.

“I'm looking for Granger, I was told to come here.”

“You're a friend of the family?” the nurse asked, eyeing him closely.

“Their daughter, yes.” As much as he wanted to yell at her for being such a fuss, he tried to keep his impatience in check—he might have acted differently if he had been in St. Mungo's, but this was a Muggle hospital. So, for Hermione's sake, he better behaved in this moment.

“Name?”

He winced slightly. “Malfoy. ”

The nurse looked at him curiously, then checked her files; Draco knew that his last name was very uncommon in the Muggle world, but at least the nurse wasn't looking at him in disdain as a Healer in St. Mungo's might have done. “Yes, I have a note from their daughter to let a blond young man with that name through should he ask.”

“Is she okay?”
“Yes, she is okay. Don't worry about her. Her mother had an accident, and is currently in surgery. Just through that door there, some of her other friends are still here.”

She was okay. Draco never thought he would ever be glad to hear those words in relation to Hermione. In his relief, he shot the nurse a relieved smile. “Thanks.” She was okay. Those words were stuck in his head when he went for the door the nurse had indicated, and he couldn't repeat them often enough in his relief. Of course, he was hoping—again for Hermione's sake—that her mother was going to make it through as well. Peeking through the door, he immediately recognised the red hair of her Weasley friends, surrounding a group of visitor chairs like bodyguards. And Potter was there as well, the git who thought him to be a liar. To his dismay, he couldn't see Hermione, only an elder man he didn't recognise. He slipped quietly, and stayed next to the door, waiting for Hermione to return, while watching her friends—an unsurprisingly righteous bunch of people, thinking they got the right to judge others just because they were now on the good side.

Hermione returned from the ladies' restroom, looking all worn and anxious; her friends looked at her with concern, and tried to offer some solace, but she just pulled up her legs, placing her chin on her knees. She only let the older man wrap his arm around her shoulders—her father apparently—and nodded in response to something he said to her.

Draco was torn between staying where he was to avoid causing a scene with her friends and just walk up to her and make sure she was okay. But he figured there were better moments for a confrontation, and right now wasn't one of them. So he stayed put where he was, trying to get her attention as discreetly as he could, hoping she would eventually look to the door to check for him—there was no other reason why she would leave him a note other than wanting him to come as well.

A few minutes later, Hermione finally did turn her head towards the door, biting her bottom lip. Her face immediately lit up when she discovered him. Giving the others an excuse, she uncurled her legs and quietly walked over to him, a tired smile on her lips.

“Hey...”

“Thanks for coming,” she whispered in response.

“Your note had me worried, you know? I wanted to know if you were okay. You're not.”

She shook her head. “Mum's still in surgery, they said something about complications.” She hugged herself, mostly to have something to hold on to.

“I'm sorry to hear that.” He opened his arms in a small inviting gesture without realising the full extent; however, the invitation was enough for Hermione to let her guard drop and no longer care about any safely kept distance between them.

“Thanks,” she murmured, and wrapped her arms around his waist to hold tightly onto him.

Draco was rather surprised—or rather overwhelmed—about her move, about her willingness to seek solace in him instead of her friends, whom she had kept at a distance while waiting for news about her mother. When he felt her starting to even sob into his chest, he reluctantly wrapped his arms around her, stroking her shoulders carefully; he figured that she was only now allowing herself to have some sort of breakdown. Gods, what was he supposed to do now? Just hold her? Wait until she finished sobbing? He had never before experienced a girl or a woman let herself go in such a manner in front of him—even his mother usually kept her guard up; he only heard her sob once behind the doors to her rooms in the Manor. Once. And now Hermione was crying into his chest, another first in their list. Maybe he should try to distract her, with a jab at her friends? But above his insecurity how to handle a crying Hermione, Draco still saw the irony—she had preferred to run to him, the pariah of society, over letting the bunch of her probably well-meaning, but utterly blind-sighted friends comfort her. Oh no, he definitely couldn't deny the satisfaction from that! With that thought, he held her a bit tighter, even starting to enjoy the closeness between them. “Better?” he asked when he finally heard her sigh, a sign that she was calming down again. “Though I got the impression that you preferred to cry into an expensive shirt than a cheap Weasley jumper–”

“Malfoy, please!" she let out in an exasperated tone, muffled by the shirt, but couldn't stop a chuckle from escaping. "But yes, a tiny bit better...”

“Another first to tick of our list, then,” he said, trying to keep a gentle teasing tone. “And you're definitely not like any other woman I've met.”

She nodded, and tried to suppress a sob, turning it into a hiccough. “Remember that you asked about how cars work?” she then asked, and sniffed.

“Yes, during our dinner on Saturday. Something about motors and stuff.” With another nod, she turned her head to the side. “My mum had an accident with her car. Some idiot was driving in the wrong lane, and she crashed into him frontally... She had already lost a lot of blood when she was delivered here half an eternity ago. I don't want to lose her, she's my mother.”

“She's going to be okay–”

“You think?” she asked quietly, and sniffed."She's your mother, so she's probably as thick-headed and relentless as you are, not giving up so easily.”

“You think I'm thick-headed?” she replied sceptically, looking up.

“I should have said determined, shouldn't I?” He tried to put up an apologetic smile when he saw her reddened and slightly puffed eyes from the sobbing. “Because you are. You won't stop until you get what you want. And you must have inherited it from someone...”

“Thanks. Though you kind of fail at empathy, you know, calling me thick-headed and everything...”

“I'm a Malfoy, and we don't really do empathy. It's not in our genes–”

“Another first for you, then,” she countered, flashing a smirk.

“Probably, just don't tell anyone that I know what empathy is.”

“It's tempting.”

“My reputation is already ruined anyway. Just go on, destroy the image they all have of me.” Draco continued with his attempt of distracting her, as it was easier for him to just mock the situation a bit than trying to openly comfort her. Oh no, that would definitely be the death of his reputation!

“Nah, don't worry. Though you might hear a few not so nice words from my parents should I ever tell them about you.”

“Oh, definitely like daughter, like mother then.” With a relieved smile to see her relax, he rubbed her back and loosened his grip on her. “You know, I'll stay as long as you want me to, I don't have to be anywhere tomorrow...”

She leaned her head on his chest, laying on her cheek, and sighed deeply. “I just want to know if my mum's going to survive the surgery and if so, what her chances for recovery are. If only the surgery was over already...” He nodded, not quite sure what to say in response to that—he did understand her anxiety to know more, it was just that he never learned to react to something like that, at least in a non-sarcastic way. “I hope you don't mind me saying that, but watching you all, and based on the way you reacted when you finally saw me, I'd say that your friends are here more out of duty, not because you really needed them.”

She shook her head. “I didn't realise you were such a good observer,” she whispered, slowly opening her arms.

Draco immediately missed her arms around him but hid his disappointment behind a soft smile; at least she looked slightly less tense. “Probably sounded harsher than I meant it to be–”

“It's okay, you're kind of right after all.” Hermione brushed through her hair, trying to get a stubborn strand out of her face; her eyes were still a bit red, but she was smiling once more. “Looks like the doctor is back from the surgery.” Draco nodded into the direction of the others, and checked whether the others had noticed anything.

She turned around in expectation, and her smile widened when she saw the doctor. “Please wait here, okay? I just want to hear what the doctor has to say about Mum, and then they will probably leave anyway. It's getting late, and they do have jobs... Just stay away from Harry and Ron, okay? Not in the mood for more drama today.”

“I'll try...” Draco watched her join her father, even take his hand while listening to the doctor; he could see how anxious she was to hear how the surgery went. And then, moments later, he could see her broad smile appear on her face, everything seemed to be okay—at least in the long run anyway. Relieved, she and her father hugged each other tightly, as if nothing had ever stood between them; Draco wished for a moment that he could say the same thing about his relationship to his own parents. He watched all her friends hug her in response to the good news, and noticed that they were all somewhat relieved—he guessed they were glad that they finally could go home, and get some sleep before having to get up for work the next day. He slipped back through the door to hide in a corner when her friends made a move to leave; he only tried to move out of sight because Hermione had asked him to. Though it would have been fun confronting Potter and his gang in a place where neither of them could use a wand. So, instead he watched them walk by, flashing a devious smirk when he saw Potter shortly point in his direction, who at least let the red-headed devil on his arm know about his presence. So much for no drama.

After waiting another couple of minutes to make sure that Potter wasn't suddenly coming back, Draco returned to the visitor area where Hermione was still waiting. She was alone, sitting all curled-up in one of the visitor chairs. “Hey,” he whispered when he sat down next to her. “What did the doctor say? That's the correct word, right?”

She nodded, smiling softly at his attempt to get the expression right. “Several broken bones, ruptured spleen, and more that I don't remember right now. But they said she will fully recover over time.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, letting out another sigh. “Thanks for coming. Means a lot, you know?”

He nodded, resisting the urge to just place a small comforting kiss on her head. "Just let me know if you need help with something—anything.”

“For the moment, it's enough that you're here, but thanks.”

They sat in silence in that hall until her father came back, after having been able to visit his wife for a moment.

“How is she?” Hermione jerked up when she saw her father come, uncurling her legs to get up.

“She's asleep now, they given her a whole load of pain medication. They're going to keep an eye on her ruptured spleen over the night. But I think it's better if we let her sleep now, and come back tomorrow.”

“Are you okay, Dad? Want me stay at yours for the night?” she asked, sounding genuinely worried.

“Thanks for asking, sweetheart,” her father replied warmly, and hugged her shortly. “But I'm going to be fine. Won't be the first time alone in that house, your mother has been away on business trips before–”

“This isn't a business trip, Dad.”

“I know, sweetheart. But I'll need your help tomorrow, so you better get some sleep. Maybe the young man in your company will make sure of that...”

Hermione blushed rather deeply when her father mentioned him; she was clearly trying to find a suitable way to introduce him.

“Dad, he's a friend. We just talk about stuff... I mean we talk about stuff that I can't talk with someone else about.”

“Good to hear you found someone like that, you still tend to bottle things up too much, my dear. Now go home, and get some sleep.”

Draco nodded politely towards the older man when he eyed him up a bit more closely; he thought he could even see a glint of recognisance in her father's eyes. It made him wonder if he would have reacted differently had Hermione told her father his name because she surely must have complained to them about his bullying. Remembering his not so glorious behaviour back at Hogwarts, he suddenly felt a small bang of guilt. Gods, he really had been an arse, an entitled, elitist arse. It just took a War to make him realise that.

“You take care, too, Dad. And let me know if you want me to come over.” Hermione hugged her father shortly for goodbye. “Don't stay too long, Mum is in good hands here...”

Draco got up as well, and nodded once more politely towards the elder man before then finally following Hermione out.

“Are you really okay?” he asked when they reached the reception area.

She stopped in front of the reception desk, and faced him, another soft smile gracing her lips. Now that she knew about her mother's current state as well as her chance of recovery, she was now slowly relaxing. “For the moment, yes,” she then replied, nodding. “Mum's out of danger, and she's going to be okay. I'm just exhausted–”

“Will you be okay alone for the night?”

She nodded, rubbing her neck. “Yes, I think so.”

Draco accepted her answer, though he was still reluctant to leave her alone after this—it would be useless to try and convince her otherwise. “I'll come by earlier tomorrow to check on you–”

“Harry might come by too,” she informed him, stifling a yawn.

“He saw me already on his way out.” He shrugged.

Frowning, she rubbed her brow, and even let out a groan in response. “You two, seriously–”

“Hey, I'll put up with his animosities, as long as you're okay.”

“Thanks.” She hugged him shortly. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

***

“Where do you think you are going?”

Draco was in the main hall of the Manor, about to leave the building through the main entrance—the wards in place made sure that no one could Apparate out—when his father stopped him; he slumped his shoulders, and even shook his head slowly. “For a walk,” he replied with a frown.

“Don't lie to me, son. First those books, and then your disappearance every single evening. So, where are you going–?”

“What do you want me to say?” Draco retorted, raising his hands in a defensive manner while trying to keep a reasonably straight face. He shook his head once more, briefly baring his teeth in a sneer. This was but the continuation of the fallout they had over the books Hermione had lent him. This was about to go down the same path. “What do you want me to admit?”

Lucius had meanwhile crossed the hall, coming up to Draco who was still standing in the door. “The truth. Are you still visiting that Muggle-born witch?”

Yes, it was definitely going to go down that road. “If you really want to know—yes, I still visit Granger. We talk, nothing more.” Draco took a step back, wanting to keep distance between himself and his father.

“You just talk, of course. Draco, she's a Muggle-born, you seriously think that I could allow such a connection-?”

“I don't see why I would need to ask for your consent in that matter, since you managed to halfway destroy this family... I'm an adult, and if I want to see Granger, then I bloody will.”

“So you admit having a relationship with her?”

Draco squinted his eyes, eyeing his father suspiciously. “What do you mean? And how would you even know?”

“Someone saw you show up at that Muggle hospital. A MUGGLE HOSPITAL, DRACO! Are you out of your mind?”

“I was there for her support, father, as friends do when one of their parents had an accident–”

“Her support,” Lucius sneered.

“Yes, her support,” Draco retorted through gritted teeth; he dug his fingernails into his palms to focus his mind on something else than throttling his father. “You know what? She is better than everyone else... She showed up at my hearing–”

“So did that Potter boy at your mother's–”

“Oh, Potter. He couldn't care less. He just showed up because he was supposed to as a key witness,” Draco retorted, snorting dismissively. As in every other fight they'd had before, he felt his body tensing up, and he started flexing his fingers, as if he was unconsciously preparing himself to draw his wand at his father. “But she... she has the strength to forgive me my sins of that damn war. She didn't have to, after everything she had been put through in this place, after everything we put her through—yet she did. So fuck yes, I show up when she needs support, even if that means I have to put up with her friends, and even if that means that I have to put up with you–”

“Are you sleeping with her?” Lucius cut off his son, pursing his lips as if the insinuation left a bad taste in his mouth.

“No!” Draco growled. "We talk. That is all. I can discuss things with her that you don't even want to understand, father.”

“She's just meddling with your mind, that girl–”

“Oh no, father. She makes me see more clearly, for exam–”

“She is meddling with your mind, my son. And I tell you to find someone else to give you your forgiveness,” Lucius insisted, his voice a cool hiss that demanded authority. “There are enough pure-blood witches of your age that would still take you; there's no need to go back to that Muggle-born–”

“No.” Draco clenched his jaws, close to snapping. “There is no one left. No one. So stop telling me what I'm supposed to think or do. I won't lis–”

“You're a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!”

“I BLOODY KNOW THAT!” Draco finally exploded, closing in on his father once more; his ears were pounding, and he was fingering his wand in his sleeve, close to drawing it. “You have no fucking idea how much I hate being a Malfoy right now! I'm stuck in hell because of you. You.”

“Keep your voice down. You know your mother hates it when you shou–”

“It's all your fault! You used me like a puppet you could just sacrifice to save your own fucking life. Yours.” Draco didn't care how loud he was; this just had to get out now. “You knew that I would do anything to save our family, but it was always about you! You're a selfish old man, and you fucking sacrificed me.” He took a deep breath to keep himself from just pulling his wand out and hex his father to show him the extent of his resentment. “Yes, I thought a lot about forgiveness, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you what you've done.”

“Draco–”

“NO!” Draco interrupted his father, he didn't want to hear what he had to say; nothing his father could say had any meaning any more. “I don't think I'll ever have the strength to forgive that you considered your life more worthy than mine,” he went on, dangerously quiet. “And I will not give up the person who is willing to give me a second chance, who can give me something you both cannot any longer—a sense of self-worth." With that, Draco started turning around, as there was nothing left to say.

“You stay here.”

Draco stopped one last time, and looked back, shooting his father a cold, lethal glare. “Make me,” was all he said before he turned around again to leave the Manor. He just had to get away from this place, and his father. No, Lucius would never understand the things he had been discussing with Granger. Never.

***

Hours later, Hermione found him in a bar not too far from the small Italian restaurant they had visited before—it had actually been Mrs Thompson, her elderly neighbour, who had pointed her in the right direction. “Finally!” she let out in relief when she saw him sit at the bar, a half full bottle of beer in front of him—at least she thought it was beer. “What happened?” she asked, placing herself next to him. He looked a right mess, drinking himself senseless, a murderous hangover waiting to happen.

He slowly turned his head towards her, supported on his arm, his eyes glazed over, while he held on to the bottle with his other hand, as if it was the only thing that offered a hold. “Hey,” he drawled, and tried to smile.

“You're his friend?” the barkeeper asked, sounding concerned, but relieved that someone had shown up to take care of him.

“Yes. How much did he have?” Hermione asked, not lifting her eyes off Draco, who now tried to straighten up.

“More than enough. And his tab is still open.”

She nodded, and tried to keep him from falling off his stool. “I'll take care of it. Did he say something?”

“Just something about a fight.”

Great. A fight. Most probably with his father. Hermione sighed, and started fumbling for her wallet; she would ask him tomorrow for a payback.

“You need a taxi back?” the barkeeper asked when she handed him the money for Draco's tab.

“No, thank you. I'll get him back home on my own, it's just around the corner.” With another sigh, she finally pulled the almost incapacitated Draco off the stool, and was surprised that he could actually stand in his inebriated state, and even more so that he could walk in a rather straight line, though still swaying quite a bit. At least he wasn't about to throw up on her, and the cool air outside might help clear his head a tad. “Why didn't you come straight to me?” she said when they were out.

“Y-You weren't home...”

“I was in the hospital after work, visiting Mum, you know?” Gods, he was surprisingly heavy, leaning on her like he was, but—thank Merlin!—there seemed to be an empty side street only a few metres away that she could use for Apparating to her place. “Hold on to me, as tight as you can...” At least he was still able to follow orders. “Malfoy!” she let out in surprise when she felt his hands on her bottom, even squeezing it gently until she finally managed to pull his hands up to her waist; concentrating on her living room, she Apparated home.

“Urgh. I hate Apparating,” he complained when they arrived, fighting to keep his balance.

“You hate it because you're drunk. And you had a shitload to drink, according to what I had to pay. Just please don't throw up on my furniture...” She guided him to the sofa, and helped him sit down. “I'll be right back, stay here.” And with that, she went straight to her kitchen—she didn't have a stock of Sobering Potion ready at hand, but being a witch had its advantages when it came to knowing what she had to throw together for an impromptu replacement potion that would at least lower the amount of alcohol in his system. He wasn't going to like the taste, but it would sober him up enough to avoid a severe hangover the next day. “Drink this,” she demanded minutes later, holding the glass up in front of his face. “And then I want to know what happened that you drank yourself halfway into oblivion.”

“I-I didn't–”

“You did. Now drink the potion.”

Reluctantly, he took the potion and sniffed. “Urgh.”

“Drink it. It'll help.” She saw him make a face at the smell and then take a deep breath before gulping the potion down.

“That tastes like shit.”

“How's the head?” She took the empty glass and put it on the sofa table; she noticed that his eyes became more focused and clearer again, though they remained a bit distant.

“Better,” he grumbled, rubbing his face. “Thanks.”

She sat down on the sofa table opposite him, pushing the glass a bit further away. “So, what happened?” she asked calmly, taking in his slumped posture as well as his absent-minded playing with his ring finger.

He groaned, and leaned forward, with less grace than usual, but that was probably due to the rest of alcohol in his system despite her impromptu Sobering Potion. Instead of holding her gaze, he stared down at his palms. “Someone told my father that I showed up at the hospital. I guess it was Potter to get back at me–”

“I don't think Harry would do that–”

“I know,” he replied with a sigh. “It's just that I don't see any other possibility...”

“So you had a fight with your father? What did he say?”

He shook his head defiantly, still staring at his hands. “No.”

She sighed, and then gently took one of his hands in hers. “Please.”

He finally looked up, straight in her eyes. “Please... He didn't use the word, but I know he still thinks you're... that you're...”

“A Mudblood?” she suggested and saw him wince at the word.

“Yes. He'd be in St. Mungo's now if he had gone any further.”

She tried to smile at the fact that he would have defended her honour and could feel how he held her hand tightly. “Don't risk it–”

“I would have. I'm not going to let my father insult the one important person in my life, okay? Plus he thinks we have a relationship, you know, like...”

“Let him think what he wants, you and I both know the truth, okay?”

He nodded, and breathed in. “Do we?”

Hermione saw his eyes darken again in a moment of confusion. Yes, what was the truth, really?

“It's just right now, everything is rather confusing. Before we started talking, I didn't know what to believe any longer, living in some personal hell, thanks to my father...” He let out a low growl. “I was barely coping with everything because the whole aftermath is so overwhelming–”

“It is,” she replied quietly, pressing his hand gently.

“And now it's you.”

“Me?”

He nodded again. “Why...” He stopped, as if he was trying to find the right words. “It's just that when my father said that this is wrong, I knew it was right. Why are you the only good thing in my life right now? Why did I feel like I didn't want to lose you when I saw your note? How can this be wrong?”

“It's not,” she whispered, herself overwhelmed with what he was telling her.

“You know what I told him?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly from the resurging anger—the same he had tried to drown earlier. “That it's all his fault. That he just used me to save his own bloody skin. Family comes first, my arse! He made my mother believe it, and he made me believe it—and it had always been about him first. I don't think I could ever... No.” He shook his head angrily, his jaws taut, his gaze fixed on her hand still holding his.

“Was that what it felt like, fighting with him?” She noticed how he held on to her hand, how he let his thumb gently run over its back in the attempt of distracting himself. It was somewhat like the simple contact kept him from losing it completely.

“Used like a pawn,” he answered quietly. “I mean h-how would you feel if someone just offers you on a plate to save his own skin?”

“I wouldn't know,” she whispered softly. She raised her free hand to his face that was so close to hers, as he had leaned even closer. She smiled gently when he closed his eyes at the touch of her fingers on his cheek; she could feel him take a deep breath, his mind focusing on the touch. That he allowed her to see him so vulnerable and upset touched her—she knew that he was raised to consider it a weakness; and even she had problems with opening up like that most of the times. She let her fingers follow the outlines of his face, gently brushing over his eyebrows, his nose, his cheeks, until she reached his lips, brushing them ever so softly. She remembered how wonderful they had felt during their first kiss, and how tenderly, yet passionate he had kissed her. Her eyes now fixed on his mouth, she leaned closer until she was only an inch or two away from him; he still had his eyes closed, but she noticed that he held his breath, waiting for what she would do now. And then... Just as softly as she had been stroking his face, she now placed her lips on his, the touch sending a shiver down her spine, giving her goose bumps.

Draco finally opened his eyes again, which were slowly changing to a darker shade. “I didn't quite know how to react after the first one,” he said, his voice just a whisper.

“Hence the dinner?” Hermione was blown away by the way he looked at her now, with those darkened grey eyes, showing everything—his confusion, his hurt, but also his care for her. Her heart made a jump when she felt his hands frame her face, getting buried in her hair.

“To some part, yes. You just feel right.” With that, he pressed his lips on hers again, putting everything—the whole range of emotions going through him right now—into the kiss.

Swept off her feet by his way of kissing, Hermione responded in kind, slowly getting lost in the fire of it. And she had to agree with him because right in this moment, this felt absolutely right. Sod tomorrow!

Continue to Part 4

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Interhouse Fest 2016: Where Home Is (2 of 5)

2016-11-04T13:18:38Z

Chapter 2

This time, Hermione was already waiting for the sound of someone Apparating into her vicinity. It was faint enough for Muggles to overhear it, but now that she knew Malfoy was visiting her, she was attuned to his arrival.

"One could think you were waiting for me," he commented dryly when he saw her stand on the steps.

"I heard you arrive," she countered, "but one could think that you want me to wait for you."

"Maybe." He chuckled, and beckoned her to sit down.

"Did you read a bit in the books I lent you?" she asked, and cast a Cushion Charm on her spot before sitting down.

"Yes. Not an easy read though, especially the one written by that woman–"

“You mean Arendt?” She handed him the now usual bottle of beer. “Yes, she is tough to read. But I do hope you understood some things while reading.”

He nodded, and rolled his bottle between his hands. “Oh, I definitely did,” he replied, and let his bottle open with a plop. “Just funny that I get another lesson in Muggle Studies from you...”

“Maybe you should have cared more in class, you know?” she retorted with the same teasing tone in her voice.

“It's not as if you wouldn't jump at any chance to teach someone a lesson in morality, especially if it's me.” He took his first sip of beer.

“Well, you definitely are an interesting challenge,” she replied, and opened her bottle with the same plop. It sounded just like an echo.

He nodded. “So, you read them all?”

“Yes. As a recluse, I have a lot of time to read when not at work.”

“So, you're not going out with some Muggle boy?” he implied jokingly. “Just for a bit of fun, I mean. I don't think any Muggle man would ever be a good match for you, you'd hex him into oblivion eventually.”

“You think?” she countered. “And why the sudden interest in my love life? I remember the last time you were interested—you taunted me.”

“Well, the arse I was back then did.”

“Just remember the rule, okay?” she said, and noticed a spark in his eyes. Was he...? He couldn't be, could he? What if he was? She started fumbling with the label on her bottle; for a moment, she found it rather eerie that he was still interested in her love life, for whatever reason.

He nodded, smirking at her obvious embarrassment. ”I won't forget your rule, Granger, and it's a challenge. I always liked teasing–”

“You mean bullying me,” she interjected.

“Fuck yes, I bullied you. I get it,” he huffed at her. “Now let me finish my point, will you?”

She stared right back at him, content that she finally got a rise out of him. “Okay, go on then.”

“No,” he retorted, and instead let his bottle swirl around, spraying the ground with some of his beer.

“Malfoy...” She froze the bottle in mid-movement to get his attention back, but he only shook his head. “What's going on? You go from basically flirting with me to fully irritated in seconds.”

“I wasn't flirting with you,” he finally muttered in defiance. “I just wanted to say that you're easy to tease—and I mean that in a good way—because you're not afraid to give back as good as you get. There aren't that many people that are as interesting to talk to as you are, you know? I know you remember me as a snarky bully–”

“Snarky is okay, Malfoy. Well, maybe not snarky, but sarcastic. Yes, sarcasm is okay,” she replied with a nod to emphasise her words. “It's just a bit strange reconciling my memories with how you're behaving now, you know? You're so not you. Don't get me wrong—it's interesting to talk to you, just a bit... yeah, strange.”

Nibbling on the label of his beer bottle, he looked at her, his slightly furrowed brows showing how hard he tried finding an answer. “It's your rule, Granger. You said I should rather behave or you'll reconsider your hospitality,” he finally said, shrugging. “And I've had nine months to reconsider my behaviour; it's a lot of time to figure out that I need to change something, so...” He looked at her shortly, flashing a grin. “So, here I am, behaving all nice and friendly because the great Granger said so,” he added and then raised his bottle to a mock toast.

“Another first then—you doing what I told you to.” Hermione could help but chuckle at that thought. Whenever they had been involuntarily teamed up in classes, he usually tried to do exactly the opposite of what she had told him. And now he sat here, following her one rule of no insults.

“Well, I guess there are going to be a load of firsts between us if we keep this up,” he replied with another teasing smile, letting the bottle float between his hands. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Certainly.”

“Did you move here to avoid your parents?” he asked with an earnest tone. “I mean you told me yesterday that you struggle with you having had to Obliviate them..."

“Yes. ” She gulped some of her beer. “I just had to. I know they still love me, but I feel like there's some sort of wall between us... I wish I could talk to my parents about what I've done, and what I had to go through in the War. Right now, I rather feel like a constant disappointment because of this.”

“Believe me, I know about that–”

She nodded, smiling faintly. “It's a bit like feeling disconnected to everyone I love, even more so since I broke up with Ron–”

“You broke up with that lazy redhead? ” he interrupted her in surprise, even stopped floating the bottle between his hands.

“Malfoy, please!”

“Come on, you have to admit he was lazy. You did almost all his homework–”

“Not the point here,” she retorted irritated. “But yes, he was lazy.”

“As I said.” He took a sip from his beer, smirking. “So, you avoid the Weasels, too, then, I take it?”

“I see you still notice everything...”

Now Draco chuckled. “Concerning you? Yes. Everything about you is noticeable—in a good way, before you get yourself riled up again...”

She found his playful, almost flirty tone rather unnerving whenever he tried to give her a compliment—at least that was what she thought he was doing; she simply wasn't used to hear sincere compliments from him, but she couldn't explain those moments otherwise. “But yes, I avoid them a bit. Haven't been to a Sunday lunch in a while. They still consider me family and everything, but...” She shrugged.

“You just don't feel home there,” he finished her sentence, and smiled faintly when he saw her shake her head. “After all, where is home anyway?” he then let out, sounding more melancholic than he probably intended while letting his bottle raise up until it was at the same level as his head.

“I think the saying is 'home is where the heart is'–”
“Bullshit.”
“Yeah,” Hermione concurred with his sentiment, watching him play with his bottle; she understood that he did that to keep himself from plunging even deeper into those upsetting thoughts that plagued them both. “Same for you then?”

“How do you figure?” he muttered, and let his bottle float back into his hands. “The Manor is just the place my family lived in for generations. I told you before that I don't really speak with my parents anymore...”

Hermione noticed the low growl in his voice and the force with which he held his bottle; his situation really had to frustrate him—no wonder he was up in arms every time they touched that subject. “Yeah, you did,” she said, mostly to encourage him to continue.

“There's not much else to it,” he replied with another shrug. “I would really love to move out, to have my own place somewhere, you know? But no one wants to sell or rent me anything just because I'm a Malfoy! So yes, if you want to talk about home, don't include me.”

Yes, Hermione understood this more than she cared to admit, though she was still astonished about his openness with her; he probably just didn't care any longer about a few things that previously ruled his life, such as their respective blood status—maybe he even somewhat liked her? “What about here? I mean you apparently like coming here...”

He looked at her, his fingers nibbling with the label, as he tended to do when trying to cover his confusion; after a few moments, he flashed another of his teasing smiles, and leaned in a bit. “I do, Granger. Or I wouldn't bother putting up with your strict rule...”

She returned his smile.

“You never thought you'd ever say that about me, have you?” she finally remarked, teasing him, and lifted her bottle in a toast; her smile grew wider when she saw him copy the gesture.

“Oh, I might have hexed any one back in Hogwarts if they even hinted at us having a proper conversation like this...” He took a sip from his bottle, and put the bottle on the ground between his legs.

“Severely hexed, sending them straight to Madam Pomfrey.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed with a chuckle.

“Yet, here we are. You, me, talking. Still strange, isn't it?”

“Oh yes.” He let his bottle wander over the ground in circles. “Still, despite your rule, it's a nice change to the constant fights with my father. And...” He leaned in once more, looking straight at her. “And you're definitely worth it, following your rule, you know? I'd even stick up with more than just that rule to keep talking to you.”

“Gods, Malfoy,” she let out in embarrassment, trying to hide her blushing cheeks behind her coat collar. This felt mighty strange to hear such a thing from Malfoy, but she had to admit that the liking was starting to be mutual—having left his cockiness and sneer behind, he was actually quite entertaining to talk to, and she did like his refreshing perspective on things.

“You don't believe me, do you?” he said, still leaning in, sounding amused about her embarrassment.

“It is a bit hard to believe, yes,” she admitted, nodding, and took a sip from her bottle. Yes, his remark had made her feel a tad embarrassed about realising that she started to like the new him, but it was nice to hear that he considered her worth following her rule of no insults.

“It's the truth, Granger. I'm sure you'll make me admit a few more times that I was an arse back then–”

“You were the king of arses,” she interrupted him mockingly.

“Come on, I wasn't that bad, I never hit you back when you almost broke my nose in third grade.”

Hermione let out a short laugh. Oh yes, she remembered that moment, and especially his shocked face that she had dared to smack him in the face for his snottiness. “You deserved that for having the Hippogriff persecuted because you were too stupid to follow a few simple rules in Hagrid's class...”

“Looking back, you're probably right, though it still hurts sometimes.” He mocked some pain while rubbing his nose.

“I certainly hope so!” she replied with a broad grin which then turned into a yawn; it was getting late, and she had to get up early tomorrow—at least earlier than Malfoy, she guessed. “Sorry, it's just getting late.”

“Continue reminiscing of our past tomorrow?” he said, still smiling, in response to her yawning.

She shook her head, and finished her bottle. “Sorry. Harry said he wanted to visit me for dinner. He's just checking on me, you know?”

“I understand. Better not come here, then.”

“Yes. Or you will have your guts ripped out, I guess...”

***

“You look good!”

“Thanks, Ginny, I know I look exhausted,” Hermione replied, hugging her friend briefly but cordially, when she and Harry arrived for dinner the next evening. Hermione wasn't exactly in the mood to receive her friends, but they insisted on checking on her every now and then to make sure she was okay. “But you look good!”

“Thanks.” Ginny let go of her with a broad smile and went inside.

“You look good, too, Harry. Anything I need to know about you two?” She hugged him as well and just as cordially; even if she felt somewhat disconnected to her friends and families, it didn't mean that she loved them any less.

“No, no... Just had a good day at work.” He let go. “But Ginny's right, you look better than last time.” He followed her inside.

“I always forget how small your place is,” Ginny remarked when they came in.

“I can't just magically enhance it, this is a Muggle neighbourhood,” Hermione replied, barely containing the sarcasm in her voice. “Beer, anyone? Dinner is almost ready...”

Ginny smiled and followed her into the kitchen. “Mum asked after you. She misses you, you know?”

“Yes, I know. Everybody seems to miss me these days–”

“You're still family, even if it didn't work out with Ron.”

Hermione opened the fridge to hand Ginny the bottles. If only they knew that the break-up with Ron wasn't the reason for her to move here but simply another consequence of her mixed, diffuse feelings. “I know.”

“It smells delicious in here,” Harry commented when he joined them, leaning against the door frame.

“Just some braised meat and vegetables. My mum gave me her recipe.” She handed him the last bottle in her hand. “So, how's everyone?”

“Slowly doing better. George still has days when he buries himself in work at the joke shop, but Ron decided to help him out for a while,” Harry mentioned, and plopped his bottle open.

Ginny wanted to do open her bottle the Muggle way as well, but she struggled a bit until the lid of her bottle finally came off as well. “Mum still cries from time to time, especially when she sees one of Fred's old jumpers, or something else that belonged to him, but otherwise, she's almost like before.”

“I remember how she and George couldn't stop crying at the funeral,” Hermione said. Yes, the day they had buried Fred had been a very bad day for all of them, but it had hit Molly and George the hardest—Molly had lost one of her children, something that no mother should have to go through; George had lost his twin, his other inseparable half.

“Yes. It was a tough day." Harry took a gulp of his beer. “But it looks like George and Angelina are dating now; at least, I've seen them a few times out together.”

“That's nice to hear...” Hermione smiled, and checked the meat in the oven.

“What about you? Found someone?” Ginny asked, albeit in a more joking manner.

“I'm not even looking for someone right now, Ginny.”

“No cute boy coming to that doctor place of your parents? You still work there, right?”

“Yes, I still work there. And no, nothing of interest, it's mostly elderly people anyway.” No, Hermione wasn't even thinking about starting to date again. She had to come to terms with other things first, yet Ginny asked her every time.

“Pity. But maybe one day--”

“Yeah, maybe one day,” Hermione repeated with a friendly smile. She was happy for them to have found each other, and she smiled a bit broader when she noticed Ginny taking Harry's hand in an unceremonious, tender way. Yes, she was happy for them. “So, you're still practising for the try-outs this summer?” she asked, then checked the clock, only to realise that the meat was finished cooking.

“She's covered with bruises,” Harry replied, and let out a small, despaired sounding groan.

“You have even more bruises,” Ginny countered.

“But only because you have me practise with you all the time...”

Hermione smiled at the banter, and finally pulled the meat out of the oven. “You two can already sit down. Dinner will be ready in a few moments.”

“So, he tried to fool me with a feigned attack, and then he suddenly started to slip off his broom. You should have seen him hang on to his broom,” Ginny recounted a practice accident over dessert, barely able to finish the story because she started to laugh over it; even Harry giggled.

“Molly wanted to bring me to St. Mungo's when she heard me crash down, my dear Ginny only told me to stop whimpering and get up again.”

Now Hermione laughed, too. Yes, Ginny had a very high threshold for pain and sometimes forgot that others weren't so tough. Molly, on the other hand, tended to be overly careful with her children.

“In the end, I still had me checked out, and they said I had sprained several joints... So, now Ron has to play with her–”

“And you know how he plays.”

“Gods, yes. He was bad.” Hermione chuckled. “But he hasn't yet ended up in hospital, has he?”

“Not yet. Mum said I should be careful with him.”

Then, suddenly, Harry turned his attention to the door, looking alarmed. “Did you hear that?”

Hermione turned her head towards the door. “What?” she asked apprehensively.

“There was a faint crack as if someone was Apparating...” He got up to check at the window.

“Harry, please sit down again, it was probably just some door or something like that,” Hermione replied. She had heard the sound, too, and had actually hoped that they hadn't noticed it. But Harry still had his reflexes from the war, his ears were still sensitive to the faintest sound, and he still checked the surroundings for shadows. She followed him to the door, still wanting to persuade him to come back, though she knew full well that it was pointless. So much for a nice evening with her friends...

“It wasn't a door, Hermione.” He took one look outside, and immediately stiffened. “What's he doing here?!”

“Who?” Ginny asked, joining them, and wanting to have a look too.

“Hermione, what's Malfoy doing on your doorsteps?” Harry asked in a deep growl. “What, on earth, is he doing here?”

Hermione sighed, but crossed her arms in defiance. “He sits there. Is that good enough for an answer?”

“Why? Why are you allowing Malfoy to sit on your doorstep?”

“Because this is my bloody house and I decide who can sit on my doorstep...”

“Hermione, you can't possibly trust him,” Ginny added, joining Harry in taking his hand again.

“Gods, I was at his bloody hearing, remember? You didn't bother to show up at his hearing, you even only attended his mother's hearing because you had to as a witness after she saved your life. For the last nine months, you didn't care about their fate–”

“And you did?” Harry retorted, flexing his hands in irritation.

“I cared enough to keep Malfoy from being sentenced to house arrest like his parents. Harry, I know what he's done, what he had to go through–”

“It seems he's succeeded in blinding you. He's still a liar, Hermione–”

“He is not, Harry! All we do is talk, he hasn't been inside my house, and we usually sit on the steps and talk over a beer.” She glared at him, annoyed that he just had to play the big brother on her again. “I know you don't like to hear that, but we both feel lonely and somewhat cast out—Ginny, don't!” She raised her finger to warn her friend not to say a word right now. “You both have no bloody idea what it is like to feel this lonely and in severe need of a re-adjustment to the post-War society. You know, he asked me about forgiveness, and I gave him Arendt to read amongst–”

“Muggle authors?” Harry asked surprised.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, letting her head fall back in frustration. “We connected over our loneliness, because he gets it.”

“We don't?”

“No, Harry.” Hermione shook her head. “You just want me to come back, get a job at the Ministry and be content that the War is over. And you, Ginny, you ask me every time if I found someone. It's annoying!”

“Hermione, we just care about you, okay?” Ginny replied, trying to keep a friendly tone. “I mean you withdrew to this place, you don't want to come to the lunches any more, and you broke up with my brother–”

“And now Malfoy sits on your doorsteps,” Harry added, sounding something between worried and irritated. “This isn't good.”

“Says who?” Hermione sneered. “Don't even try telling me what I can do and what I can't. Don't tell me that I can't talk to Malfoy about feeling lonely and uprooted, because he gets it. You can't forbid me to connect with him over that fact that we don't feel at home anywhere. Just don't.”

“Hermione, you know you're always welcome at the Burrow, –” Ginny started, but got interrupted by Harry.

“But having him on your doorsteps now feels like home?” Harry asked with a raised voice, pointing at the door.

“I never said that. You just don't want to listen, do you?” Hermione retorted, raising her voice as well. She had never been intimidated by his angry outbursts. “I love you all, but right now, the Burrow is not the place I want to be.”

“It's Malfoy, for God's sake!”

“I KNOW!”

“Then you will tell him that he can't come here–”

“HELL KNOWS I WON'T!” Hermione saw him flinch at her outburst, which gave her a short moment of satisfaction. “You're not my brother, Harry...” Taking a deep breath, she went for the door. Holding it open, she harshly demanded, “Now, please leave.”

“Hermione–” Ginny started, but stopped when she saw Hermione's determined expression that didn't allow for any further discussion.

Draco turned around as soon as he heard the door being opened, and immediately got up when he saw Potter in the frame, about to be thrown out. He knew that his old rival was here when he had fled the Manor earlier after another row with his father—it was somewhat satisfying to watch Potter being dismissed by Granger.

“Just get out. This is my house. I decide who gets to stay and who should better leave right now, no one else.” She shortly looked at Draco, and nodded once in his direction.

“Hermione, you can't be serious about this–”

“Stop it, Harry. You're my friend, but right now, you have no right to question my life or my decisions.” She Summoned their coats and bags to throw them at her friends. “This is my place, and Malfoy can stay if he wants to. You, on the other hand, should better leave.”

“HERMIONE!”

“Let her be,” Ginny tried to assuage Harry who was seething, “you won't be able to change her mind. Not like that. She just needs time to see her mistake.” She took his hand, and started to pull him towards the road. “Let's leave.”

“We will talk about this,” Harry warned Hermione. “And you, Malfoy, I don't know what your motivation is to come here at all, but it better be bloody good...”

Draco simply smirked, he was used to Potter treating him like this, it was nothing new. “I see, you haven't changed a bit,” he said, shrugging. “Still hanging on to the same old things...”

“Says the Death Eater,” Harry retorted.

“I couldn't care less about what you think. But I'd better leave if I were you, Granger looks like she's about to hex you...”

“He's right, Harry. You better leave. And yes, we will talk about this, when you've come to your senses."

With one last growl, Harry left for the hidden spot they had used for Apparating here, Ginny easily following his fast stride.

“Sorry about that.” Hermione sighed deeply when she finally saw them turn around the corner.

“Quite a show you put up there.” Draco came up the steps, a small smile on his lips. He noticed how she tried to hide her upset state behind her usual smile; it was her eyes—they were still burning with an intensity that surprised him. But it only added to his impression that she seemed to feel similarly as he did—lonely with a side of furious. That fire in her eyes resonated with his own still simmering anger from the argument with his father.

“At least you've kept your snark, I noticed.”

“Oh, with Potter? I'd never not be snarky around him, he just asks for it.”

“Idiot,” she countered, chuckling. “He heard you Apparate, and he just had to check through the window. Old habits die hard.” She rubbed her arms. “Want to come in? I still have a couple of beers left, plus some dinner if you're hungry.”

“I'm not sure I should come in...”

“Don't worry about Harry,” she replied with a warm smile, and beckoned him inside. “As I said, this is my place, and he knows better than to piss me off any further.”

“Ironic though that the biggest hero of our time is afraid of your wrath,” he remarked, and followed her inside. In the first moment, he was surprised how small it was. Magical Enhancement Charms being used so rigorously in the wizarding world to extend any living space, few places lacked space. —She hadn't applied any Charms, so this was a proper Muggle place.

“He should be.” She went for the kitchen to get the beers.

Draco used the few seconds until she came back to have a short look around, not surprised to find two walls plastered with book shelves, though she also had those Muggle devices that he never quite understood. Yes, this place really screamed Granger. He liked it; it had a comfortable feel to it, a complete contrast to the Manor.

“So, why did you show up tonight?” she asked curiously when she came back, a bottle in each hand. “I mean I warned you that Harry wouldn't like seeing you here, so you probably have a very good reason...”

“You mentioned something about having my guts ripped out,” he replied, raising his eyebrow mockingly. “Since I still have my guts, I think that went better than expected...”

“Yeah, I guess so.” She pointed at the sofa, then handed him one the bottles. “So, did anything happen?” she then repeated her initial question.

Draco nodded, and let himself fall on the sofa; he had almost forgotten the reason why he had come here, but Granger started to have this effect on him. “My father found your books, and we had a fight about it. I never thought I'd ever hear him shout at me that loud. I think my ears rang for a couple of minutes after I left the Manor.” He opened his bottle with a plop. “He thinks I've gone mad for reading those books. I'm afraid he's incinerated them.”

“I can buy them again,” she replied, playing with the lid of her bottle. “What did you tell him?”

He shrugged. “That I was trying to find answers to some questions. I didn't mention you, though, or I'd be in St. Mungo's right now.” He swirled the bottle in his hands, studying her; she looked at him with those earnestly curious eyes, interested in what he was telling her. Just as she found his change in attitude—at least towards her—rather weird, he wasn't used to be looked at the way she was looking at him. It made him open up to her, as if he was in some safe, comfortable bubble next to her. And it made him want more—more of that comfortable safety, more of her.

“Seriously? That bad?”

“I told you that he still tries to tell me what to think or do. But he can't impress me anymore.” He looked down on his hands for a moment, mentioning his father still managed to rile him up again. He took a sip in the hope it would diffuse his resurging anger. “So, Potter found out about us talking?” he then asked, changing the subject because he knew she wanted to steam off. She had never been one to hold it in for long, not even at Hogwarts—that had made riling her up in those days so easy, but now he preferred seeing her smile again.

“Yes. They sometimes think they know better,” she replied cynically, and finally opened her bottle, letting the lid jump to the floor in a high arch.

“The lazy redhead didn't bother coming along?”

“Don't call him that, even though you might be right,” she replied, raising her eyebrow at him.

“Come on, that wasn't even an insult, Granger, I was merely stating a fact.”

“I know. I just don't like you calling him that, that's all. And no, he didn't come tonight. Harry said he couldn't come because of work...”

“Work, yeah. He's probably dating someone else and just didn't want to brag about it in front of you...”

“Ginny would have told me!”

“Sure?” he replied, and then cracked a teasing smile. He liked how she managed to defend her ex, and in the same time still agreed with him. Yes, that was Granger.

Hermione chuckled and after another sip from her beer, she continued, “Harry wasn't even at your hearing, and he still dares to call you a liar, you know?”

He turned his head to look at her. “He did?” he asked, though he wasn't exactly surprised that Potter would continue to distrust him.

She nodded. “Yes. Like he wanted to say, 'Malfoys are liars, don't trust them', or 'they just play the victim to avoid sentencing'. Idiot,” she grunted, and took a sip to flush her irritation down.

“My family has been rather flexible with the truth in the past,” he admitted. “But I wouldn't risk lying to you now.”

“I know.”

“So, one evening—I think it was a late summer evening at the Burrow—Ron sits next to me at the table after we finished dinner in the garden, and he bloody tries to be intimate, kiss me and stuff. And I was sitting there thinking, 'nope, not going to happen'. I was so not turned on by what he was doing, and even less so by his kisses,” Hermione recounted hours later, and took a gulp from her now third bottle of beer. “I think I broke up with him shortly afterwards...”

Draco studied her for a moment—alcohol definitely loosened her up quite a bit, her cheeks flushed from the mix of alcohol and anger, and her eyes burning in dark amber. Potter must have severely pissed her off; he had only witnessed the last part of their argument, despite having been the cause of it. And she was mighty frustrated. Oh yes, she was most definitely intense in everything. Was she liked that in bed too? He immediately shook his head to lose that thought again. “I remember a similar moment with Pansy–”

“You and Pansy... I still can't believe it. I mean she wasn't the brightest witch–”

“She was no you, but she wasn't stupid either,” he replied a bit more defensive than he intended. After all, Pansy had been the closest thing he ever had to a girlfriend, and he had liked her at least somewhat. “She was okay, and she would do whatever I asked her. Most of the times, she was good enough for relief. That was nice to have, but gods, her groping sometimes wasn't a big turn-on either. ”

“You're such a romantic type, Malfoy.”

“What can I say? It's not like I had many opportunities to be, right?” he retorted cynically. "And how many times do I have to admit that I was a selfish arse back then, Granger?”

“A few more times, I think,” she replied, a devious smirk on her lips.

“Really?” he groaned. He was never going to live that up, was he? “So, you were turned off by his kisses?” he then asked, flushing down his irritation with a gulp from his bottle.

“God, yes! It was like being kissed by a dog sometimes, you know? All sloppy and wet. I mean he was sweet and loving as boyfriend, but I was missing something... I wanted something more passionate, more exciting, you know? Something that would sweep me off my feet.” She huffed and rubbed her face. “He just didn't do it for me...”

“Ever tried it with someone else? Potter maybe?” Draco doubted that Potter would be any good for her, too bloody good for his own sake; it made him chuckle at his own words.

“Harry? Gods, no! He's like my brother, I could never kiss him like that!” she retorted and laughed out loud, her cheeks blushing from her embarrassment about that idea. “Gods, no!”

“What about now? I mean with me?” He tried to keep a playful tone in his voice, mostly to hide the fact that this was something he had started to think about recently. He had always been drawn to her fire, her challenging nature—though it had mostly annoyed him back in Hogwarts—but now he was drawn to her because of her willingness to give him a chance, and being close to her almost every evening during their talks over the last couple of weeks only added to it all. He didn't really expect an answer to his question anyway, and he could always play it down as a joke. But to his surprise, he noticed that Hermione was looking at him in some bewilderment, her brows furrowed—she must have like a million questions race through her mind.

After a seemingly endless moment, a devious smirk grew on her lips. “You think you're such a good kisser?” she replied, playing the innocent girl—the teasing smile on her lips, however, betrayed her game. “You think you'd be able to sweep me off my feet?”

Oh gods, she was really considering it! Draco almost choked on his beer, hearing her answer. “Oh, why not find out then?” he replied, still coughing, but keeping his teasing tone. “It's not like as if anyone will ever believe me anyway that I kissed you...”

She giggled in response to his choking coughs. “I hardly believe that you even proposed it,” she said, giggling once more.

Draco took her giggling as a sign that she had now completely forgotten about her previous anger; he actually liked the sound of her giggle. “What? Can't a Slytherin be straight-forward for once?” He sat up to put his bottle on the sofa table; he started to feel rather excited about the fact that she hadn't yet stopped him—it encouraged him to dare the next step, leaning closer.

“Slytherin and straight-forward?” she snorted. “You're joking, right?” She sat up as well, putting her bottle on the table next to his.

“Oh, there are a few things I don't joke about...”

His remark made her laugh again, with what Draco thought a slight nervous undertone. “You seriously have some nerves,” she said, shaking her head in amused disbelief, but still coming closer. “Harry will kill you for this.”

Now Draco couldn't keep a straight face any longer, with her leaning towards him. “Sod him,” he countered, placing his hand gently on hers, just to test her a bit. She didn't pull back, and the touch even had an electrifying effect on him. They hadn't really touched before, as he preferred to respect her boundaries—and touching, even just a simple pad on the shoulder, had previously felt like a violation of those unspoken boundaries. So yes, he figured that it was up to her to make any first move; he had already been happy enough to just talk to her. But this now? This was utterly exciting, with her only inches away, looking at him with those expectant, dark amber eyes. “Granger?”

“Shh...”

“I was only joking,” he husked, able to take in her scent now—it was a subtle hint of jasmine and books.

“You weren't.” She tilted her head slightly, licking her lips. And then, after another heartbeat, she completely surprised him with pressing her lips on his.

“No, I wasn't,” he breathed seconds later, blown away by her audacity. And her hair was really as soft as he had thought ever since he could see it from up close, raking his fingers through it. Oh, she was definitely worth following that stupid rule, if it meant she would do something like that! Encouraged by her hands running through his hair—surely messing it up completely in the process—he then claimed her lips in a second kiss, daring to deepen it because he definitely wanted to roam her mouth now, and suck on those lips until they were all red and puffed. .

****

The next day, all Hermione could think of in her hung-over state was what had driven her to actually dare to kiss Malfoy of all people the evening before. If only she could completely blame the alcohol she had had in her system at that point, but she wasn't so sure about that now. At least it was Saturday, and she didn't have to face anyone else today, which gave her time to sort her thoughts out. God, they had only kissed for a few minutes at tops, yet he had managed to sweep her off her feet with it.

She could still feel his fingers rake through her hair, and it sent shivers down her spine. She hadn't previously really thought about him that way—she even wondered what had driven her to respond to his proposition like she had; and then the kiss just had to resonate in her, utterly excite her. His lips had been so soft, yet eager to meet hers. It was just that now, she didn't quite know at all how to handle this situation—as fantastic as their kiss had been, it also felt like some sort of breach of boundaries between them; so far, they had only talked, only just started to like each other, and were slowly building what could be considered a friendship. A kiss shouldn't be part of that.

Contemplating the consequences of her drunken move all afternoon, Hermione managed to at least do her laundry to feel somewhat productive that day. She was putting the folded laundry away in the evening when she heard a knock on her front door, which surprised her because no one really visited her on a Saturday without notice. They all knew that she wanted to be prepared for her visitors. Somewhat irritated, she finally opened the door, and was rather baffled to see Malfoy stand there, smiling and clad in a nicely fitting casual coat. “I kind of didn't expect you today,” she said after a few seconds of staring at him in disbelief, the memory of their kiss flashing through her mind again, making her blush lightly.

“I can see that,” he replied teasingly. “Did you even change today?”

“Saturday is pyjama day.” She stepped aside and let him in. “But what are you doing here? I mean it's too early for your usual appearance–”

“Oh, I know, Granger. But I thought I could invite you to dinner tonight for once.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes, but I won't take you out looking like this,” he replied, nodding, and pointed at her pyjama.

“Why?” She was still baffled at his proposal. “I mean, we were drunk and everything, but–”

“No, no, don't get me wrong, Granger!” he stopped her with a chuckle. “This is for standing up to your friends for me, nothing else.”

“Right.” She smiled, and started to like the idea of being taken out by Malfoy. She probably wouldn't have agreed to go out if her friends had asked her, but it was Malfoy, not her friends. She just didn't quite believe him that it was just for standing up to her friends for him. “Okay, I'll get ready then. Do I need to wear anything fancy?”

He shook his head. “No, whatever you feel comfortable in. Though I wouldn't mind something nice to look at–”

“Whatever,” she countered. “Make yourself comfortable, I'll hurry. In the meanwhile, feel free to check out the rest of my books...” She pointed at the other side of the living room area, and then, with a smile, started climbing the stairs.

About an hour later, they settled at the table of a nice little Italian restaurant not too far off from her place that had looked cosy from the outside. “You ever had Italian food?” Hermione asked rather naively when they sat down at the table at the window.

“You'd be surprised, but yes, I have had Italian food before,” Draco replied, sounding as if he was amused that she even thought about asking that. “My family has a summer house in Northern Italy, at the Adriatic coast.”

“You probably have a house everywhere in Europe,” she mocked, and pulled the small menu card from the holder.

“No, just that one plus one in Southern France, I think.” He grabbed the other menu card to have a look at it. “Oh nice, they have my favourite!”

She smiled broadly. “So, you really just take me out as a thank you for fighting my friends?” Thank God for the menu card, she wouldn't have been able to look at him right now.

“Good evening,” the waiter greeted them politely—he was an elderly, likeable man with a well-polished smile, and thick Italian accent. “Do you know what you want to order? Or do you need more time?”

“What do you say, Granger, two glasses of red wine?”

She nodded in agreement. “I take the Peperonata, and a small salad,” she said, smiling at the waiter, who noted her order on his little pad.

“I never took you to be a pizza lover,” Draco commented, and looked up as well. “I'll take the Arrabiata, but with spaghetti, not penne, no salad. And two glasses of your best red wine.”

“And I never took you to be the spicy type,” she remarked dryly, and put the card back in the holder.

“Thank you.” With a smile and a bow, the waiter left them again to give the orders through to the kitchen.

“You'd be surprised how spicy I actually like it,” Draco said teasingly.

“Oh, I can imagine,” Hermione replied, smirking. His constant teasing remarks gave her the impression that this invitation wasn't about her standing up for him, but rather a consequence of their kiss. She still wasn't quite sure how to take it, but she decided that she wouldn't bring it up if he didn't bring it up either, and rather enjoy the evening.

Draco looked outside for a moment, as if he was looking for something. “You know, the Muggle world is rather weird sometimes. I mean how they do things without magic,” he finally continued, turning his attention back to her. “But from what I was able to read before my father discovered your books, it is also surprisingly similar to our world.”

“What do you find weird?”

“Muggle technology mostly. I mean... How does a—what's it called?—carts work?”

“You mean cars? That people use to drive in?”

He nodded, grinning sheepishly/embarrassed. “Yes, cars.”

She smiled warmly, his open embarrassment for not remembering the expression was almost endearing. “They have what I think is called a combustion motor where a fuel is burned which produces the energy that in turn moves the wheels, and voilà, the car moves. That's as simple as I can put it...”

“But it still takes ages to get somewhere that way, does it?”

“Compared to what wizards can use, yes, it takes ages. Though I remember that I liked the trips I used to take with my parents before I got into Hogwarts. Driving there had always been fun, and my father always tried to make it worth remembering, like make a visit to some place, a museum for example, before we got to our destination. Or I remember getting excited about flying to Italy for our vacation at the beach as a little girl. Sometimes it's just as much about the experience of travelling as the destination itself...”

The waiter brought their wine. “Your dinner will be served shortly. Signorina, would you like your salad as an entrée or as a side to your pizza?”

“As a side, thank you.”

Draco watched the waiter leave again, and then raised his glass for toasting. “To whatever this has become.”

“Yes, to whatever this has become,” she repeated and raised her glass as well. It had definitely become confusing, this much was clear, but she also figured that his inviting her to dinner—even if it was only to this small Italian place—was a surprisingly nice gesture, a step into the right direction. So, yes, she was enjoying the evening very much, even though she hadn't initially planned to go out at all; she took a first sip from her wine. “Hmm, nice.”

“Yes.” Nodding, he put his glass back down. “There's something else you told me about the Muggle world that made me think. Those two wars...”

“What about them?”

“You were rambling about them a couple of days ago–”

“I wasn't rambling!”

“You were. And you love doing it...” He chuckled when she shot him an annoyed glare. “But seriously, you said they reminded you of the way the Ministry is handling the situation right now–”

“They do, yes. You want to know more?”

Draco nodded. “Muggle history wasn't really covered in Muggle Studies if I remember correctly?”

“No, it definitely wasn't. But it should be included in my opinion.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “You said that the events after the first war triggered the second, right?”

“Yes. Germany as the losing party—they hadn't even started it all—had to pay an unbelievable amount of reparations, they still pay for it if I remember correctly. Then there was a recession, which gave a racist movement the opportunity to take over. Thinking about it now, that movement wasn't so different to the Death Eaters.” Hermione watched him closely as she made that comparison, but he seemed to listen intently, without even thinking of objecting. “They were elitist, agitating against those they thought second-class or even unworthy of life – back then it was mostly Jews, but they didn't refrain from interning or executing mentally ill people, political dissidents, basically anyone who didn't adhere to their ideal of the perfect human. Just like Voldemort and his followers were agitating and persecuting those they thought didn't adhere to their ideal of the perfect wizard or witch.”

“A salad and Pizza Peperonata for the signorina, and the Spaghetti Arrabbiata for the signore.” The waiter placed the plates in front of them, pulling them from their moment.

“Thanks.” Hermione started with her salad, though her pizza looked gorgeous, just the way it should be. She put the first fork of salad in her mouth when the waiter left them again.

“This is just scary what you told me,” he finally commented while forking his first load of his spaghetti. “So, you say that the Death Eaters—me included—were like those... those people? You're serious about that?”

“To be honest, yes, I am.” Hermione had finished her small salad, and started cutting up her pizza. “Though reality is probably not as simple, your case for example–”

“My case?”

“You were raised in that environment, just like the children back then in that dictatorship—no chance to escape the indoctrination, so you had to believe it. And in the end, those children were used in the war.”

He nodded. “...like I was used you mean to say,” he commented laconically, and filled his mouth with another fork load of pasta.

“I guess you were. We all were. Like pawns.” She put her first cut piece of pizza in her mouth, and immediately let out a small moan of delight. “Delicious.”

“Gods, one could think that pizza is giving you an orgasm,” he snickered, highly amused about the sounds she was making from just eating a piece of pizza. “Is that what you sound like–?”

“Malfoy!” she choked, not hiding her own amusement about his remark. “You'd like to know, don't you?”

“Oh, do I?” Raising his eyebrow in a teasing manner, and started rolling up another fork load of spaghetti, while watching her cut up another piece of her pizza; he was definitely eager to hear her make those sounds again while chewing.

However, they spent the rest of their dinner mostly in silence, and Hermione had a good chance to study him in the meantime—he rolled up each fork load rather slowly, as if he was in deep thoughts; his openly pensive face did surprise her, it was clear that her words had struck a chord with him.—

The waiter came back to their table when they were finished with their dinner. “Would you like a dessert? Tonight's special is my wife's tiramisú, molto bene!”

“That's sounds like a wonderful finish, don't you think, Malfoy?”

“If it makes you moan again like before,” he replied, and dabbed his mouth clean with his napkin to hide his grin when she let out another mocked groan at his remark.

“Yes, please, one for each,” she then answered the waiter's proposition.

“Of course, Signorina.” And with their plates in his hands, the waiter left them again, shouting something in Italian into the kitchen, from which a female voice responded; it sounded as if his wife was indeed standing in the kitchen.

“You know, pawns might be fitting for what happened to us,” he then continued in a more serious tone, returning to their previous subject before their respective dinners had arrived. “But is your knowledge about those Muggle wars really the reason why you think that forgiveness is so important for our society to move forward?” Draco asked when the waiter was out of earshot once more, studying her intently.

“Yes, I guess it is.” She shrugged, and looked straight back at him—she thought she could see a notion of pensive doubt flash up in his eyes. However, she still took his questions and his willingness to listen as signs that he was going through a change in thought, and a probably rather humbling one at that. “We can't persecute every single wizard or witch for what they've done in the War. Depending on the involvement, we need to be able to forgive...”

He nodded, and looked out of the window, biting his lower lip. “I know we've talked about this before, but this is really something I want to know,” he started a few seconds later.

Hermione watched him staring outside, his gaze fixed on one of the cars parking just in front of the small restaurant; she noticed that his previous playfulness was gone. “What do you want to know?” she beckoned, knowing now that if he started like this, he was about to ask something.

“Do you think you could forgive me?” he finally asked quietly, still looking outside. “I mean what I've done in the War?”

Even though they had in fact already talked about whether she could forgive things done in that War, Hermione was still blown away by his question and didn't know what to respond in the first moment. Malfoy was asking her to forgive him—that was definitely something. She remembered her impression of him at his hearing, that she thought that he was hiding a feeling of guilt beneath his cocky defiance. Was that why he was asking? Because he actually felt guilty about it? In order to stop her own mind from going in circles—and to gain a few more seconds before responding—she finished her wine.

“I... That is still an immensely difficult question to answer, Malfoy,” she finally broke the silence between them, and saw him nod slowly in agreement, his eyes still fixed on that car outside, holding his breath. Was he waiting for her judgement? Was her opinion so important to him? “Look... I thought about that question, too, ever since we first talked about it and you showed me your Mark, you know? What I mean is, if you had asked me that same question right after the War, maybe even right after your hearing, I don't know whether I would have been able to answer it. Probably not. I think I might have even hexed you for daring to ask me that with everything your family has put me through...” She smiled faintly when she saw him nod again, without the slightest objection to her words. Breathing in, she leaned forward. “But you've changed since those days... You sound like you're willing to take the chance and do better.”

At that, Draco turned his head back, now looking straight at her—his eyes were a stormy grey now, reflecting his own inner turmoil in that moment.

Again, Hermione was surprised by him, even taken aback by his expression, that he let her see what was going on inside him. Her, of all people. This was definitely something she would never have guessed might happen, and yet he was sitting here, with her, brave and humble enough to genuinely ask her for her forgiveness. She tried to smile, hoping it would come across as warm and encouraging. “Yes, I think I am able to forgive you for what you had to do in the War,” she said, whispering now to her own surprise. “You did what you had to do to keep your family safe...” As soon as she had said those words, she could see a weight lifting from his chest; he finally let out that breath he had been holding while she had tried to formulate her answer. “However, you were still an elitist arse at Hogwarts–”

“Really, Granger? You had to add that?” he countered, flashing a hugely relieved smile, and raked his hands through his hair. “Sounds like you'll hold that against me for the rest of my life...”

“Just for a little while longer. I wasn't exactly innocent either.”

“Finally! You admit it!” he let out in mock exasperation, grinning broadly.

She chuckled. “Just remember, I do forgive, but I do not forget, Malfoy, okay?” she then added in more earnest tone. “Your Mark should always serve you as a reminder not to repeat those things...”

“It's the first thing in the morning I'm reminded of, and the last thing in the evening. Believe me, I won't ever forget those days.”

“Good. Besides, that I forgive you doesn't mean I free you from making amends, from trying to redeem yourself. I just no longer hold it against you.” His curt nod showed her that he understood and accepted it, that he better heeded her words if he didn't want to lose her again—as a friend, or whatever this was turning into.

The waiter came back with their dessert, two delicious looking portions of tiramisú. “Enjoy, my wife's tiramisú is loved by a lot of customers.”

“Thank you, it looks gorgeous!” Hermione immediately dug her dessert spoon into her portion. “Come, let's talk about something else. I think we dwelt long enough on that matter... Is there anything else about the Muggle world you want to know?” she asked when the waiter had left their table again. “Anything that you find weird?”

“Yes, how do those—what was it called in Muggle Studies?—those telephones work? I think I saw one at your place,” Draco asked, digging into his dessert in front of him.

“You should have paid better attention in Muggle Studies, you know?” she retorted teasingly, glad that the more playful tone between them had returned to some extent.

Continue to Part 3

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Interhouse Fest 2016: Where Home Is

2016-11-04T13:12:21Z

Title: Where Home Is
Author/Artist:
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley Molly Weasley
Prompt number: #52
Word Count: approx. 33,000 words
Rating: at least PG
Warnings: Swearing, alcohol abuse
Summary: A few months after the War has ended, Hermione discovers Draco sitting on her doorsteps one evening, and instead of chasing him away, starts talking to him. It soon turns into a regular event, with them talking about things like forgiveness and home—until Harry discovers them.
Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
Author’s Notes: Lots of thanks to M., who was kind enough to help me out with more than just the SPaG, and who insisted on making Draco snarkier than I initially wrote him. ;-)

Chapter 1

“Ms Granger?”

Hermione just returned from a long day at work when her elderly neighbour approached her in front of the steps that led to her small house. “Good evening, Mrs Thompson...” She turned around, feeling tired and not entirely in the mood to deal with the curious neighbour.

“I see you had a long day,” the elderly woman continued, “I just wanted to let you know that there was a young man sitting on the steps to your door over the last few nights.”

“A young man?” Hermione stopped fumbling for her keys and looked at the other woman.

“I found it rather strange that he would do such a thing. He never knocks or anything, just sits there until very late. And he always looks miserable.” Mrs Thompson made a step towards her. “He isn't some jilted lover or anything, is he? I mean I would understand, you being such a pretty young lady–”

“Mrs Thompson!” Hermione cried out rather exasperated. She had moved here to be left in peace for a while, and had to deal repeatedly with an elderly, overly curious neighbour instead. If anyone ever thought that Molly was curious, then they had never met Mrs Thompson! She took a deep breath, and put on a polite smile. “I haven't jilted anyone, Mrs Thompson. But thanks for letting me know,” she replied, “but I'd rather get inside now, it's been a long day at work, you know?”

Mrs Thompson tutted. “I'm surprised that your parents let you move out–”

“Mrs Thompson, please.” Hermione sighed desperately, and started fumbling for her keys again, wanting to get away from her nosy neighbour as fast as possible. If only the elder woman knew what she had survived already at her age. “Thanks for your concern, really. But there's no need to worry about me—I'm fine on my own, and my parents probably don't mind having their house to themselves again. So, I wish you a good night, Mrs Thompson.” And with that, she pushed the key into the keyhole and turned it around.

“Ms Granger–”

“Good night, Mrs Thompson.” Hermione pushed her door open, and stepped inside. Finally. She breathed in as she closed the door behind her, enjoying the silence of her small house for a moment before taking her coat off. Yes, that was more like it. No more parents dancing around her, no more obnoxious patients at her parents' dental practice, no nosy Mrs Thompson—just her all alone in her own place. Her own place, but not her home. With another sigh, Hermione finally hung her coat on the wardrobe, and walked over to her kitchen to check the fridge for some leftovers from last night's take-away. No, this wasn't home to her, but then she hadn't felt home anywhere ever since that damn war had ended nine months ago. Yes, she had felt glad that she had been able to reverse the Memory Spell she had used on her parents, and that they had returned to England, taking over another dental practice from a fellow dentist who was about to retire anyway. Yet, ever since she had brought her parents back, she felt as if there was a distance between them without being really able to point out why. Her being a witch had never disturbed their relationship before, they loved her nonetheless. It was something else. Maybe the things she had to do to survive in that War played a part?

To her dismay, the fridge looked rather empty, except for two bottles of beer she couldn't remember buying, some milk, and something that suspiciously looked like some salad she had intended to eat earlier this week.

Yes, she had done things she still couldn't talk about with anyone except her closest friends who had been there as well. Then there was still the fact that she had Obliviated her parents, that she had taken the decision from them—just because she had been selfish enough to want to keep them safe. She was sure that her parents still loved her, as they let her work in the dental practice, but that diffuse feeling of distance still hung over her head, separating her from her parents. That was why she had moved to her own place about half a year ago.

After taking one last look at the empty fridge, Hermione closed it again—it was going to be another night of ordering some take away, and tonight called for something Asian.

Later that evening, after having finished her take-away Hermione was reading through the next few chapters of her newest Muggle whodunnit. As always, reading helped her to relax, but this story also let her delve into a completely different world, providing an escape from her confusion at least for a while—and she had always loved a good mystery, and especially those written by Agatha Christie. They were rather short, but she loved trying to solve the mystery from the clues already presented in the story, and she always loved the moment when she finally came to the revelation and realised that she had guessed right. However, her reading still greatly depended on her mood, and her shelves mirrored that, as they were filled with philosophical works that treated subjects like war, peace, and even forgiveness next to fictional classics like Dickens or the Brontë sisters,—even a Russian author could be found in those rows of books—and the crime stories.

She was slowly starting to doze off, reading the same page at least twice now, when she heard the faint sound of someone Apparating nearby.

If Mrs Thompson hadn't alerted her earlier to the visitor, she might not have heard it. She had absolutely no clue who was visiting her repeatedly at night, as she had forgotten to ask Mrs Thompson for details on his looks. Curious, she went to the door, and spied outside. It couldn't be Ron; he wasn't so stupid to run after her now that they had officially broken up—or if he did run after her, he wouldn't just sit on her doorstep without letting her know; no, he would always make himself known to get some attention. Ron was still her friend, but after the War, she had realised that he wasn't what she really wanted, or needed, in a man. She didn't even know what she wanted at all right now, that was why she was living here in this Muggle neighbourhood.

Peering outside, she was baffled when she recognised the hair. No, that couldn't be... Him of all people? She watched him sit down on what she supposed was now his usual spot. He really didn't do anything else than just sit there, staring out into the night. Breathing in, she very carefully opened the door, not wanting to scare him away before she could at least talk to him. “Malfoy?”

He turned around in response, giving the impression of someone who was too weary to even care any longer. “Took you long enough to notice,” he replied laconically, and turned back.

“You’ve been spotted. My neighbour told me. What are you doing here?” She came outside and walked down the few steps past him to have a better look, rather surprised to see him again after all those months since the hearing straight after the war—all the Malfoys had to answer to the Wizengamot about their actions during the War, and were especially scrutinized for their switching only hours before Voldemort's ultimate defeat. She had taken part in Draco's hearing, even testified in his favour, as she understood the situation he had found himself in while others were blinded by the after-war prejudices. She had been the only one of her friends to do so, even though she still very much disliked him for other things he had done. It was her testimony that actually spared him from the house arrest his parents were sentenced to, but she guessed that he was still nonetheless stuck to the Manor because no one in wizarding society wanted anything to do with the Malfoys anymore.

“Sitting.”

“Why?”

“Because I can? I checked how far your wards extend, you know?”

Beneath his usual cocky tone, Hermione thought she could hear the same weariness she felt a lot these days. He looked worn out, even lonely; there was nothing left of the cockiness he had shown at the hearing—which probably had been a defensive behaviour anyway—nor the sneer and the contempt he had shown off so much back at Hogwarts. “Just tell me why it has to be my place you chose for sulking around?” She rubbed her arms, and wished she had taken a coat with her; it was a chilly night after all.

“Come on, Granger, I didn't think you'd be so out of the loop not to know that no one would want me sulk anywhere in their vicinity.”

She let out a sigh. “Manor not big enough to find a spot for sulking, then?”

He shot her an icy glare, indicating that he wasn't up for their usual game of insulting each other tonight, that he was rather tired of it all.

“I see.” She rubbed her arms once more; the day had been exhausting enough, and now she had to deal with Malfoy on top of that. She wasn't exactly in the mood for that right now, but she still wanted to know why he had shown up here. That was why she climbed the stairs back inside. “I'll be right back.”

“No need to,” he grumbled dejectedly behind her back.

Hermione ignored his comment, and went back inside, internally debating whether it really was a good idea what she was about to do. Didn't Harry say at one point—though jokingly—that she had a heart for lost causes? That she wanted to save everyone? She sighed as she opened the fridge to grab the two bottles of beer she had seen earlier. Moments later, she returned with the beer bottles in one hand, and her coat in the other.

“So, I have two rules if you want to keep coming here to sit on my doorstep,” she started, handing him one of the bottles. “Number one: No insults—neither against me, nor against my friends.” She raised her eyebrow and shot him a warning glare when she noticed that he wanted to say something. Putting on her coat, she continued, “Number two: You tell me what's the matter with you. Because I noticed you changed since the last time I saw you at the hearing.”

“Oh, you did notice that? Your testimony was basically worthless, because I'm still stuck at the Manor for all it's worth...”

“Malfoy, don't test me,” she responded to his cynical outburst. “I tried to help, despite hating your guts back then–”

“Back then? You still don't like me. You just don't want me on your conscience.”

“Malfoy, stop it, you're really testing my limit right now. I said no insults, and you're getting close,” Hermione snapped at him. “I'm most definitely not in the mood to deal with you right now, so be careful with your words, or I'll reconsider my hospitality.” She watched him trying to find a retort to her words, and then finally slowly nod as if agreeing to a deal. “Good,” she said, now with a much softer voice. “So, why are you here?”

Draco played with the still closed bottle in his hands for a moment, while being almost defiantly silent. “You were the only person I could think of that wouldn't chase me straight off,” he finally admitted, “I just want to get out of the Manor, but no one wants to deal with us, and as you can imagine, I don't want to deal with them.” With a small plop, he opened his bottle, then looked at her, his eyes studying her closely. “You look like you don't want to deal with a whole lot of people either, since you choose to live here.”

“Not your business.” Irritated that he hit the nail on the head with his last remark, she opened her own bottle.

Yes, she wasn't in the mood to deal with a whole lot of people at the moment—the Ministry most prominently that would love to have her on board for their misguided after-war attempt at reconciling the wizarding community; she just couldn't identify with them wanting to prosecute every single witch or wizard who had done something in the name of Voldemort, regardless how small the deed. Her warning hadn't been heeded, so nothing was going to change any time soon. She had fought for a better world, to give everyone the same change regardless of their blood or their heritage, but it had all been for nothing. That damn war had demanded so much from her and her friends, even from Malfoy, and now they all suffered the consequences to varying degrees—everyone was mourning lost family members; her friends were in the constant spotlight as war heroes, while others were shunned, turned into pariahs. It was definitely a huge reason why she chose to leave the wizarding world for the time being.

“I see,” he commented dryly, even flashing a short smirk. “You don't like the world very much either.”

“No.” She eyed him, and then took her first gulp of beer. Her first impression was right, he did indeed look lonely—and exhausted, though he tried to hide that. Just his eyes betrayed him; their usual shade of pale grey looked jaded, as if they had lost their fire. He had most definitely changed, and not for the better as he seemed to suffer from his loneliness that his status as a pariah in wizarding society brought. Bitter might be a good word right now to describe him. “I'm still wondering why you came to me of all people. I mean we never were best of friends, you know?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. Your place seemed as good as any. And no one suspects me here...” He swayed the bottle in his hand, followed the opening with his finger. “Maybe it’s because you were one of the few people who actually cared. At the hearing, I mean. You told them that I should get another chance.”

After his outburst at the beginning, Hermione found Malfoy now almost eerily earnest. “Yes, I did,” she replied, and then added with a more sarcastic tone, “that I care is going to be my downfall one day.”

A short smirk flashed up on his face. “Probably. And then the Prophet will be all over it—Golden Trio member Granger: did she care too much?,” he said, his hand following an invisible headline in the air.

“Please not,” she groaned mockingly, then stood up to cast a combination of a Cushioning and a Heating Charm on her spot after checking the vicinity for Muggles; she was starting to freeze her bottom off. “Just how did you find my place?” she asked when she sat down again.

He shrugged again. “Not important.”

“Oh, this bodes well for my future hospitality,” she commented dryly, stowing her wand back into her coat sleeve.

“You don't need to know everything, Granger,” he replied with a taunt in his voice.

“It's not important anyway, I'm not in hiding.” She shrugged.

“You're just playing a recluse, then.”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe, Granger, you are a recluse,” he insisted, mocking her further with raising his eyebrow.

“All right, I am,” she groaned, and sipped from her bottle.

“You're not going to tell Potter, are you?” he asked after a few long moments of rather awkward silence between them, fumbling with the label of his bottle.

Hermione shook her head. “No. He would have a go at me for even just letting you sit here,” she replied earnestly, ending with a sigh.

“I probably get why he wouldn't want to see me sitting here, with everything that happened at Hogwarts and during the War, so... Thanks for being civil enough.”

“Okay, now you're creeping me out. You thanking me... This has to be a first.”

“Don't tell me you want to take a picture of that moment,” he replied, and raised his bottle for a gulp. “But yes, it's a first, savour it.”

She noticed the small grin on his face before he put the bottle to his lips. “Oh, I will. And then I will tell everyone that you actually thanked me for something.”

He let out a groan. “Please don't.”

With a teasing smile, she shook her head. “I won't, because that would mean that I have to tell everyone as well that you're coming here.”

“Why not?”

“They don't need to know everything,” she replied, rolling her bottle between her hands, mostly to keep them occupied. “But you really mean it when you say that I'm the first person to be actually civil enough with you?”

“You have no idea,” he grumbled, bitterness cracking his voice. “This really is the most civil conversation outside my family I've had in months. As far as we can still do a civil conversation amongst ourselves...”

“Seriously?”

He nodded, while facing her “We're pariahs, Granger, no one wants to have anything to do with us.”

She searched his face, and thought she saw hurt flicker over his face for a fleeting second before he was able to hide it again. It only added to his weary look—he definitely suffered from his loneliness, and even more so from being ostracised for something he had no real choice in. “So, you come here for company?”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe. I know you're lonely, and you're desperate for some decent human contact. That's why you come here.” His clenched jaws and his fixed staring on his bottle were a sign that she in turn had hit the nail on the head—he had to be boiling over with frustration under that mask. “Look, you can sit here as much as you want if it is so important to you,” she then offered. “I mean we're both cast-outs in a way–”

“You a cast-out? Society bloody adores you, even though you disappeared,” he rebuffed her.

“I couldn't care less right now.” She took another sip of her beer. “You know why I decided to move here, basically leaving our society? I can't bear it right now, that bloody black-and-white view in the aftermath of the War, with a Ministry that has apparently learned nothing from the War. I've read enough about Muggle history to know that this isn't the way to handle this situation, or it might lead straight to another conflict in the near future.”

“You compare it to Muggle history?” he objected, staring right at her in surprise, letting his bottle float between his hands.

“Well, yes, I do,” she retorted, and then smiled shortly when she remembered that his knowledge about Muggle history was limited, or rather non-existent. “The Muggles had two World Wars. The Allied Forces in the First World War, especially France, wanted to load the complete blame on Germany as the losing party, and demanded vigorous reparations, basically dismantling and ruining the country in the process. That led straight to a recession, giving a right-wing party the opportunity to seize power. They started a second war, conquering half of Europe and then pushing their ideology through everywhere. Now, wizarding society—and the Ministry especially—goes through a similar blame game. You wouldn't believe how much that creeps me out.”

“Yeah, blame game is a good name for it,” he concurred sarcastically, and let his bottle rise up before taking it in his hand for another gulp.

“I mean how can we build a peaceful society after the War when we're not able to recognise the mistakes that have been made on both sides? The Ministry is pursuing everyone with the slightest connection to Voldemort, but the Ministry deliberately ignores its wrongdoings. If they keep doing that, then they are no better than those we blame for everything...” Hermione stopped her rant when she noticed that Draco was staring at her, his eyes growing bigger and bigger with almost every word. “What?”

“You had a lot of time to think about that, haven't you?” he commented, a sarcastic tone mixed into his bewilderment. “Because you sound just as bitter as I about the whole thing...”

“Bitter is the right word,” she replied dryly. “So, I'm here because I don't want to play that game.”

“That must be another first—you feeling bitter,” he said, smirking, and let his fingers follow the outline of the bottle. “But you know I wish I could disappear so easily...”

“I can understand that.” She finished her beer. “It might surprise you, and I don't even really know why I tell you that, but I feel like I lost that place I could call home. I feel like I don't belong anywhere any more–”

“What about this place here?” he asked, sounding earnest.

“I live here, but I wouldn't call it home.”

He nodded and finished his bottle. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Sounds like you feel similarly.” She tried to stifle a yawn, and lost.

“You'd be surprised.” His short laugh sounded surprisingly bitter. “But I might tell you about that another time. You look like you should be in bed,” he then commented on her yawn, and smirked when she couldn't stop herself from yawning once more.

“If it hadn't been for you, I'd be now nicely tucked in under a warm cover, finishing my crime story.”

“Yet you figured I'd be more interesting,” he teased her, and then started to get up.

“What gave you that impression?” she replied, cocking her eyebrow, and then got up as well, taking his empty bottle he handed her.

“Granger, you were always one for a good mystery, you always want to know. I just gave you one.”

“As if.”

He chuckled at her slight mocked protest. “But thanks for letting me sit here,” he said before getting up as well to leave.

***

“You look like you've been thinking,” Hermione remarked the next evening when she sat down next to Draco, handing him a fresh bottle of beer from the pack she brought home earlier that evening.

“Yes, I've been thinking for the last few months actually,” he replied, taking the bottle she was offering. “Thanks.”

“You have a lot of time for it, I guess...”

“More than enough, stuck in the Manor all day long.” He sipped some beer. “Maybe that's another reason why I come here...”

She nodded; she wouldn't want to be stuck with her parents in the same place either, even if it was as big as Malfoy Manor. “So...”

He looked at her, his eyes apparently searching her for some answer she probably couldn't provide. “Can I ask you something?”

“Just remember my rules...” She took a sip from her bottle, wary of what might come.

“No need to worry, Granger, I'm not going to suddenly attack you... This is just something that's bothering me for a while now, and you seem like someone I could discuss it with–”

“You can't talk with your parents?” she asked, interrupting him because this rather surprised her. Then she noticed how he was fumbling with the label again, realising that this was a sign that he needed to distract himself from his insecurity.

He groaned, and took a gulp of his beer. “I barely exchange two words with my father. And I most certainly can't speak with him about a lot of things—at least not without it ending in another fight because I just can't agree with him any longer. As for my mother... I do still speak with her, but she is lonely, missing her friends while under house arrest, and discussing things with her is just as difficult.” He took a deep breath, and swayed the bottle in his hands. “I just want to know what you think about forgiveness, you know? Do you think you're able to forgive things that happened during the War?”

“That is no easy question,” she replied thoughtfully, surprised at the honesty in his voice. “And it is no easy, but certainly an interesting concept... Why do you ask?”

“My family has never been good with forgiveness, I figured. But with everything that has happened lately, it got stuck in my head, you know?” He pointed at his temple.

She nodded. “I hope you don't mind me being rather blunt, but your family—even you as far as I remember—never seemed to know the words kindness and forgiveness with regards to others–”

“Yes,” he admitted, taking a gulp from his bottle. “That's true. My family always considered those things to be weaknesses—my father still does.”

“And you don't?”

He shrugged, tearing further at the halfway nibbled-off label. “At the moment, I don't really know anymore what I'm supposed to believe.”

“That's why you ask about forgiveness? You want to know what I think about it?”

“Yes.” He sighed, his eyes fixed on his fingers that were still tearing at the label.

“You know how to ask the difficult questions for sure,” she replied, and rolled her bottle between her hands to gain a few seconds before answering."You like difficult questions, Granger, but I'd really like to know," he replied with a wink, curling his lips into a smirk.

She nodded. “Look, some say that forgiveness is necessary for a society to mend, that you can't harbour resentments forever, because we need to be able to work together in some way. Personally, I think it is sometimes just as necessary, so that you can let go of your anger towards the person who wronged you and be able to move on with your life. Understanding the situation or position of the person that wronged me—you with your persistent bullying at Hogwarts for example—then I might be able to forgive, and maybe even think you deserve another chance. Being able to forgive is hard, but I think it is a central part of living together–”

“Hogwarts is one thing,” he replied with a shrug. “But would you consider stuff that happened during the War to be forgivable?”

She looked at him, noticing the earnest expression. To cover for her moment of confusion, she sipped her bottle; his interest in this topic was definitely perplexing,. “I don't think it is this easy. Why do you ask?”

“I've just been thinking a lot about what I've done during the War, you know?”

“You mean that you tried to kill Dumbledore, for example?”

“Yes, amongst other things,” he replied quietly, crumbling the already torn-off label in his hand, just to avoid looking at her.

“Are you trying to ask me whether I specifically could forgive you for what you had to do in those days?” She saw him nod after several long seconds of faking interest in the information on the back of the bottle; the whole situation was starting to feel unnerving to Hermione—here was Malfoy sitting next to her, asking her to forgive him, looking rather confused, and even a bit lost. “Look—and I don't mean to offend you right now—you really were an arrogant elitist arse back at Hogwarts, priding yourself on your blood status, and letting me know mine at every opportunity–”

“Yes, I was an arse then,” he admitted exasperatedly, and sipped from his bottle.

“–but the War wasn't your fault. Our generation had no choice other than to finish what our parents had started. We all did what we had to do in order to survive and keep our loved ones safe—your family, my family—just on different sides. I see no fault in that.”

“How can you see no fault in that?” he snorted, and rolled his right sleeve up, revealing the fading Dark Mark on his lower arm.

Hermione flinched when she saw the remnant of his past as a Death Eater; seeing it brought so many memories back, memories she thought she had buried deep enough in the depth of her mind.

“How?” he repeated, glaring at her. “This reminds me every day of the mistakes I made–”

“What would have been the alternative? What would have happened if you hadn't taken it?” she replied, holding his gaze, surprised to see his eyes darken.

“He would have killed my parents,” he growled in response, and finally rolled the sleeve back down.

“That's what I mean. You did it to keep your family as safe as you could...” She breathed in, and rolled her sleeve up to show him her scars. “This is my daily reminder of the cruelty of war.” She watched Draco follow the scars with his finger, almost touching her skin. “War turns us all into animals that fight for survival, you know?”

He shook his head. “That's the one thing I'm really sorry about... I should have stopped my aunt–”

“She would have killed you for trying.” She rolled her sleeve down again, and then looked at him for a moment, noticing his clenched jaws. “You sound as if you struggle to come to terms with your part.”

“How can you ever come to terms with something like that?” he retorted cynically. “I was ordered to kill someone–”

“But you haven't, Malfoy, that's the point.”

He looked at her, his darkened, stormy eyes studying her sceptically. “Is it?”

Hermione nodded. “It is. But if it is forgiveness you seek from others, then you should start with yourself.”

“With myself?”

“Yes. Based on what we discussed so far, I get the impression that you feel guilty.”

“Granger, I am guilty! I did those things–”

“Malfoy, please. You had no choice.” She saw that he wanted to say something in response, but then instead swallowed his words with another gulp of beer. “Look, you can't change what happened, but you can give yourself another chance to do better...” She swirled her bottle in her hands, contemplating their discussion for a moment. Malfoy asking her all these questions in earnest was definitely weird, but on the other hand, it was also interesting to hear that he was thinking about those things, that the hearing wasn't completely in vain—at least in regards to Draco.

“Have you forgiven yourself for everything you did during the War?” he then asked; letting his finger absent-mindedly trace the curves of the bottle.

She sighed, and rubbed her neck. “To be honest, I still struggle with the fact that I Obliviated my own parents. I let them forget me in order to protect them, you know?”

He stared at her in disbelief, his hands playing with the now empty beer bottle. “Wow.”

“I can't even fully explain why it bugs me, it just does. Maybe because I was selfish in that moment to not want to lose them, while other parents fought alongside their children.” She rubbed her legs to warm them up a bit in the cold evening air—the combined Heating and Cushioning Charm only worked where she was sitting on it. “And again, I don't know why I tell you that...”

“You don't speak with your friends about those things?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. I don't see them that often at the moment.”

“And here I thought you had been absorbed by the Weasels by now... Instead it sounds like you're just as desperate for some decent human contact...”

“You have no idea.” She swayed her bottle in her hand. “You know, if you want to know more about the concept of forgiveness, I have a few books I could lend you. Muggle authors, but their ideas apply to the wizarding world just the same.”

“You're sure you want to lend me Muggle authors, Granger?” he replied, finishing his bottle.

“Oh, they will do you good, Malfoy! And they might give you some answers I can't.”

“Okay, as long as you don't have me write an essay about them.” He handed her his empty bottle and got up.

With a smile, Hermione got up as well; she knew exactly what books might be of interest for him—and she was now curious what he was going to say about it. “Okay, wait here. Won't take long.” And with that, she went inside.

Continue to Chapter 2

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interhouse_mod @ 2011-07-18T22:08:00

2011-07-19T02:08:19Z

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2011-07-19T00:33:17Z

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House Canon list

2011-07-19T00:32:03Z

You may belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart
Their daring nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart

Abercrombie, Euan
Bell, Katie
Black, Sirius
Brown, Lavender
Coote, Ritchie
Creevey, Colin
Creevey, Dennis
Dumbledore, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian
Evans, Lily
Finnigan, Seamus
Frobisher, Victoria
Granger, Hermione
Gryffindor, Godric
Hagrid, Rubeus
Hooper, Geoffrey
Johnson, Angelina
Jordan, Lee
Kirke, Andrew
Longbottom, Neville
Lupin, Remus
MacDonald, Natalie
McGonagall, Minerva
McLaggen, Cormac
Patil, Parvati
Peakes, Jimmy
Pettigrew, Peter
Potter, Harry
Potter, James
Robins, Demelza
Sloper, Jack
Spinnet, Alicia
Stimpson, Patricia
Thomas, Dean
Towler, Kenneth
Vane, Romilda
Weasley, Arthur
Weasley, Bill
Weasley, Charlie
Weasley, Fred
Weasley, George
Weasley, Ginny
Weasley, Molly (née Prewett)
Weasley, Percy Ignatius
Weasley, Ron
Wood, Oliver

You might belong in Hufflepuff, where they are just and loyal
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil

Abbott, Hannah
Bones, Susan
Branstone, Eleanor
Cadwallader
Cauldwell, Owen
Diggory, Cedric
Fat Friar
Finch-Fletchley, Justin
Hopkins, Wayne
Hufflepuff, Helga
Jones, Megan
Macmillan, Ernie
Madley, Laura
Smith, Zacharias
Stebbins
Summerby
Summers
Tonks, Nymphadora
Whitby, Kevin
Zeller, Rose

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind
Where those of wit and learning will always find their kind

Ackerley, Stewart
Boot, Terry
Bradley
Brocklehurst, Mandy
Carmichael, Eddie
Chambers
Chang, Cho
Clearwater, Penelope
Corner, Michael
Cornfoot, Stephen
Davies, Roger
Edgecombe, Marietta
Entwhistle, Kevin
Fawcett, S.
Flitwick, Filius
Goldstein, Anthony
Li, Su
Lovegood, Luna
McDougal, Morag
Moaning Myrtle
Patil, Padma
Quirke, Orla
Ravenclaw, Helena (The Grey Lady)
Ravenclaw, Rowena
Turpin, Lisa

Or perhaps in Slytherin, you'll make your real friends there
Those cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends

Avery
Baddock, Malcolm
Black, Bellatrix
Black, Phineas Nigellus
Black, Regulus
Bletchley, Miles
Bole
Bulstrode, Millicent
Crabbe, Vincent
Davis, Tracey
Derrick
Flint, Marcus
Goyle, Gregory
Greengrass, Daphne
Harper
Higgs, Terence
Lestrange, Rabastan
Lestrange, Rodolphus
Malfoy, Draco
Malfoy, Lucius
Malfoy, Narcissa (née Black)
Montague
Nott, Theodore
Parkinson, Pansy
Pritchard, Graham
Pucey, Adrian
Riddle, Tom Marvolo (Lord Voldemort)
Rosier, Evan
Slughorn, Horace
Slytherin, Salazar
Snape, Severus
The Bloody Baron
Tonks, Andromeda (née Black)
Urquhart
Vaisey
Warrington, C.
Wilkes
Zabini, Blaise

We've addressed a few questions about name-only characters in our FAQ. If you have a specific question, though, feel free to leave it in the comments!

FAQ

2011-07-19T00:28:51Z

FAQ

★ Who can prompt or claim prompts?

Anyone! We do not discriminate. You don't have to plan on writing in order to leave a prompt; likewise, you don't have to leave a prompt in order to claim one. Each prompt can only be claimed [once/twice?].

★ What kinds of submissions are allowed?

Anything (art, fic, drabble series, fanmix, manip, animation, comic, etc) is allowed, so long as they don't violate the prompt or break any of our rules. The only restriction we place is on text-only entries (i.e. fics, drabble series without accompanying art). There is a word count minimum of 1000 words.

★ Which pairings are allowed?

Whatever blows your skirt up! Het, slash, femmeslash, next-gen, Founders, Marauders, threesomes, moresomes, cross-gen, whatever you want! The only two scenarios we do not allow are: 1) explicit sex (NC-17) between an adult and a minor, and 2) sexual content between minors (age of consent in Britain is 16; therefore, characters must be that age or older).

★ Can we combine art and fic (or a fanmix and drabble series), or something else?

YES. Any combination is fine. The word count requirement only applies to text-only entries. If you want to include a drabble or drabble series with your fanmix, for instance, feel free to do so!

★ Why can't I make Harry a Slytherin?

Because he isn't?

In all seriousness, we welcome AU fics. However, we want to keep House designations in line with those given by JKR. Please keep sortings canonic.

★ What about tertiary characters we know nothing about?

According to the HP Lexicon, JKR listed Houses for many characters we've never met (i.e. Su Li is a Ravenclaw). For them, we request that you follow JKR. But for characters who are unknowns (i.e. Rose Weasley), feel free to assign whichever House you want!

★ Can I claim more than one prompt?

Yes. But ONLY after you've turned in your first one. Let's say you dash off a 1000-word drabble series quickly and want to try at another prompt. Submit your drabble series to us, we'll look it over and if there aren't any coding/SPaG issues, we'll give you the okay to claim another one. :)

★ My prompt requests fanart, but I've really got a good idea for a story. Can I write instead of draw?

Yes! This rule has changed from last year. Suggested mediums are just that... suggestions. If you see a prompt that just sucker punches the muse, take it!

★ Are betas required?

YES. In addition, we reserve the right to return stories for additional editing if they do not meet validation requirements.

★ What about characters who didn't attend Hogwarts? Where do they fit in?

★ Does "inter-house" mean the stories have to end happily?

Noooooo. Your mods revel in the angst! Kidding aside, the only thing "inter-house" means is that the two main characters come from separate houses. What happens to them in the story is up to you!

Important

2010-07-31T02:31:14Z

This journal was created for and affiliated with the Harry Potter community interhouse_fest.

The mods of interhouse_fest use this journal for moderation purposes only. This journal has not created any fic/art and should not be credited.

Please DO NOT friend this journal.

To contact the mods of interhouse_fest please email interhousemods@gmail.com