Chapter Text
September, 2006
“Start from the beginning,” Ginny sat cross-legged on Hermione’s living room sofa, sipping a glass of red wine. “I think I deserve to know after all this time.”
Hermione pressed back against the armchair. “Must you?”
“I must,” Ginny nodded.
“Can’t I just admit that I was being willingly oblivious?”
“Hmm,” the redhead pretended to ponder for a moment. “No. I want details. I’ve been deprived for far too long.”
Hermione groaned, tipping her head back against the couch cushion.
“I don’t see what it matters, we’re officially together now.”
Ginny shook her head. “Don’t care, Hermione, though I’m obviously happy for you. I want to know everything that happened at Hogwarts.” She hummed, frowning a little. “I’m sad that I started with the Harpies early instead of going back for my final year.”
“Don’t be dramatic, you love Quidditch.”
“Yes,” she conceded, “But I also would’ve loved seeing you and Malfoy dance around each other all term. Second-hand accounts can only satisfy me for so long, you know.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do, Gin?” Hermione asked in a futile attempt to get her friend off of her back.
“No.”
“Ugh.”
“Come on! You’ve been so secretive about it for all these years. You’re seriously expecting me to forget about it now that you’re finally dating the bloke? Absolutely not.” Ginny took another sip of her wine, Hermione doing the same to delay the inevitable.
Sighing and rolling her eyes, Hermione launched into a detailed story about her final year at Hogwarts– from Malfoy teaching her Occlumency and duelling, to their late night conversations, to Malfoy’s gift toward the end of term, to their conversation in the bathroom at Theo’s, to Hermione’s gift to him for his birthday, and finally to their argument on the Quidditch Pitch.
Ginny sat still for a full minute, blinking at Hermione.
“Merlin, Hermione,” she finally said in awe, “You’re dumber than I thought!” She sounded genuinely surprised.
“Thanks, Ginny,” Hermione replied drily, finishing off her glass.
Ginny just waved her off. “You never mentioned any of that before!” Her eyes were wide. “I can’t believe he’s the reason you got your parents back.”
“Me either,” she admitted.
“And you gifted him a Potions Mastery?”
She shook her head. “Just the offer. He didn’t take it though, in the end.” She fought back a wince at the memory.
Ginny hummed. “I suppose that after your fight, he didn’t want anything that would remind him of you.”
“Fair,” Hermione admitted.
“So how did you two become friends again? Recently.”
Hermione cleared her throat. “It was a coincidence, really.”
The redhead just stared expectantly at her. “Right, just like it was a coincidence that you ran into each other in town before you came to dinner at our place?”
Hermione laughed weakly. “Yes?”
“Right,” she said flatly. “That dinner was so much fun for me, by the way.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was,” Hermione regarded her friend with a dark look.
“What did he say to you before he took off?”
She sighed. “I’m surprised you managed to wait this long before asking me.”
“Does that mean you’ll tell me? Since I’ve been so patient?” She fluttered her lashes.
“I was frustrated with him for following me to dinner. He had been showing up uninvited to bother me a few times before that. I think I asked him why he kept inserting himself into my life.”
“And? What was his reasoning?”
Hermione swallowed thickly at the words that seemed cryptic at the time, but now seemed glaringly obvious. She drummed her fingers against her thigh as she said, “Something along the lines of ‘You’re the Brightest Witch of Your Age, you do the math’?”
Ginny let out a loud peal of laughter, folding over on the couch as she did so. “Oh, that’s good.” She wiped a tear from her eye.
Hermione rolled her eyes at her, huffing. “I’m glad you find this entertaining.”
Her friend shoved playfully at her shoulder. “I do, thank you. That dinner was a fucking year ago, Hermione.”
“Yes, so?”
“So he’s been practically begging for your attention for at least that long. It’s frankly a miracle you noticed.”
Hermione bristled. “I’m busy, Gin! I can’t be a mind reader on top of all of my other responsibilities,” the excuse sounded weak to her own ears, Ginny’s flat look corroborating this.
“Fine, he was obvious to everybody but you, but fine. So how did you finally catch on?”
This was where things got difficult; she couldn’t just tell Ginny how she had almost died going after Amycus Carrow or how Malfoy had found her and nursed her back to health. She trusted her friend wholeheartedly, but the less people that knew, the better.
“We argued,” Hermione replied honestly, “You know that I provoke people when I get especially defensive,” she winced as Ginny nodded solemnly. “I was being unfair toward him– asking him why he cared about me so much, and he just shouted it at me.”
“Shouted what out, exactly?” Ginny was practically vibrating with excitement on the couch.
“You know,” Hermione gave her friend a significant look.
Ginny slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her high-pitched squeal. “No,” she said, scandalized.
“Yes,” Hermione pressed her head back against the cushions. “It was hard to ignore after that.”
“And that’s when he invited you to Spain?”
“Er– sort of. He told me that he wanted to take me on a date, do things properly, you know?” She smiled a little at the memory. “I thought it was ridiculous, I mean, we had spent so much time dancing around each other, and now that we were finally on the same page, he wanted to slow down?”
Ginny barked a laugh. “Typical Ferret with his Pureblood manners and everything. Couldn’t he have at least shagged you first?”
“Ginny!” Hermione’s voice was strangled as she blushed furiously.
“What?” She asked coolly. “We’re all adults here.”
“Yes but–”
“But what? Are you telling me you didn’t just want to shag him immediately after his confession?”
She had a point. “That’s neither here nor there,” Hermione hedged. “Anyways, he waited until New Years to officially ask me on a date. That’s when we went to Málaga.”
Ginny let out a low whistle. “Not that I expect anything less than over the top from Malfoy, but he really outdid himself with that.”
Hermione nodded. “I didn’t know what to expect, honestly. He owns a villa in the Andalusian hills.”
“I’m going to nod and pretend that I know what those are,” Ginny said. “He must’ve been trying really hard to win you over, then. Not that I blame him.”
“I suppose,” Hermione said diplomatically. “His home was lovely– tastefully decorated, a huge library. I’d never seen anything like it,” her voice was slightly wistful.
Ginny waved her off. “So what’d you do?”
“We had lunch on a private terrace overlooking the Mediterranean Sea,” Hermione recalled. “It was beautiful.”
“And then?” Ginny sat forward with rapt attention, her elbows resting on her thighs.
“We went shopping. I found this lovely little bookshop; he insisted he buy me all of the books I wanted.”
“Of course.”
“Then we went to this boutique. Again, he insisted on buying me everything that the shop witch had pulled for me to try on,” she rolled her eyes fondly.
“Merlin,” Ginny muttered, shaking her head. “And then?” Her tone was expectant.
“We walked around for hours, visiting a mirador and the old Roman Theater. Did you know that–?”
“Christ, you’re impossible,” Ginny cut her off, glaring. “I’m sure that was all fine and good and totally right up your alley. I want to know about what happened after all of the exploring of the town.” She gave Hermione a meaningful look.
“Oh,” Hermione said softly, blushing again.
“Yes, oh,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “You can be right dense sometimes.”
“You asked me what we did!” Hermione shouted defensively. “I was telling you.”
“Please just tell me if it was good.” Her eyes were large and pleading.
Hermione, exasperated, replied, “Of course it was. Annoyingly so, really.”
Ginny guffawed, smacking her knee. “God, it really is just so unfair.”
“What’s unfair?”
“He has everything: the looks, the money, the brains,” she sighed, “Is there anything that he isn’t good at?”
Hermione laughed. “I won’t tell him you said that. Merlin knows his ego doesn’t need to be any bigger than it already is.”
“Smart,” Ginny nodded. “Switching gears, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”
“Is everything alright?” She asked, suddenly concerned.
“Yes, yes,” Ginny waved a hand. “Pansy and I are thinking of moving back to London, that's all.”
Hermione blinked in surprise. “Really? What about the Harpies?”
“I’m kind of over it, to be honest,” she shrugged. “It’s been a great seven years, but I think I’d maybe like to try having a day job. I was offered a Quidditch reporting position, actually.”
“That’s great, Gin!” Hermione beamed. “I’m happy for you either way. I’d of course love to have you close, but I understand that it’s a difficult decision.”
Ginny gave Hermione’s arm a warm squeeze. “Thanks. I know that Pansy misses being here, though she does truly enjoy the cottage. She isn’t trying to sway me in any one direction, but I think she’d be happier here.”
Hermione nodded. “Would you be happier here, do you think?”
Her friend smiled softly. “I think so. I never thought that playing professional Quidditch would be my entire life, you know? Plus, I’m happy if Pansy’s happy,” she said genuinely.
Hermione smiled warmly at her friend. “Well, that’s settled then, yeah?”
“I guess so,” Ginny grinned. “It’ll be a few more months, I think. But honestly I felt like I was missing out on so much by not being close by. I mean, look at you! Dating Malfoy and having unfairly good sex!”
“Ginny,” Hermione groaned.
“Only teasing,” Ginny laughed again. “But seriously, I miss my friends and my family. I think it’s time. Plus the bogs in Wales are disgusting.”
Hermione laughed along with her friend, warmth spreading through her chest at the prospect of having her back.
— — —
June, 2006
Hermione had always prided herself on having a solid sense of self; she had always known who she was and what she wanted from life. She always considered all possible outcomes, accounted for any and all external factors that could affect her life. When Hermione had first started her side project over three years ago, she had never imagined what her last kill would be like; she hadn’t thought she would ever be satisfied enough to stop. In a way, she still wasn’t satisfied, but her life had changed so drastically over the last few years that she figured she should quit while she was ahead.
What had changed so drastically, exactly? A factor she hadn’t accounted for, a significant oversight on her part: Draco Malfoy.
“Not that I don’t love how passionate you are,” Draco drawled from where he lounged on his bed. “But do you really have to keep doing this?”
This being her string of murders.
“Don’t be an idiot, Malfoy,” she mumbled as she pulled on her shirt.
He sighed, a long-suffering sound, as he watched her. “There will always be another one, you know,” his voice was uncharacteristically somber.
“I know,” she replied earnestly. “I can’t get to them all, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.”
“Need I remind you that you almost died last time?” He pointed out bitterly, his expression pinched.
She huffed. “How could I forget?”
“I understand your need to see justice, Hermione. Really, I do,” he said at her skeptical look. “I’d never outright ask you to stop.”
“But?”
“But,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “You know there will always be another bad person out there who deserves more punishment than what they received,” his eyelids fluttered closed as he rested against the headboard. “At what point do you move on?”
His question destabilized her; she blinked at him, not knowing the answer.
“At what point do you accept that you can’t kill them all? That the world will keep spinning even without them in it? Even without you in it?” He pressed, his voice gentle.
Hermione sat at the side of bed, relaxing slightly as Malfoy’s hand began tracing patterns along her spine.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly.
“You’ve been doing this on your own for years,” he told her, “You’re not alone anymore.”
“I know that,” she said quietly. “I don’t want you to get involved. It’s too risky.”
He laughed. “Do you hear yourself?”
“What?” She asked defensively.
“It’s too risky for me to get involved, but you doing it alone is completely fine?” He scoffed. “It’s risky with or without me, Hermione, you just don’t value yourself enough to care.”
The weight of his words hit her hard, burrowing deep into her chest. “But I–”
He cut her off. “You’ve done enough,” he said calmly, matter-of-factly, his hand reaching up to tangle in her hair. “There will always be more to do. Let somebody else handle it.”
“I can’t just sit back and watch, Malfoy,” she argued.
“No, but you’ve done a lot more than that up until now. It isn’t sustainable.”
She thought back to the last few years as she sat on the bed: the long nights and early mornings spent planning on top of her daily responsibilities at the Ministry, sacrificing her free time for an invisible cause, drifting from her personal relationships, ignoring the ever-present hole in her chest where her parents should be.
“Think about it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders before pulling her by the arm, positioning her to lean back against his bare chest..
Hermione had thought about it, perhaps more than was strictly necessary given the logic of Malfoy’s reasoning. She couldn’t keep living this double life of sorts, couldn’t keep lying to her friends and to herself that she wasn’t tired, wasn’t running off of anger and fumes. The charade could only be kept up for so long; the secret would eventually be let out if she wasn’t careful. She knew she had to stop at some point before too much of her was ripped away.
— — —
So, naturally, she found herself in northern Bulgaria, in a town called Ruse, carrying out what would be her thirteenth and final kill. This time, however, she didn’t start off alone.
“Is there some kind of catch?” Malfoy asked from beside her as they walked arm and arm down the street, the midday sun beating down on them.
“What do you mean?” She asked somewhat distractedly.
“I don’t know,” he side-eyed her, “It’s just that usually you put up more of a fight when I ask to come with you.”
She waved him off, stopping in front of a cafe. “Don’t make me say it.”
Malfoy’s grin grew wider as he appraised her. “Please do. It’s almost my birthday, you know.”
She rolled her eyes. “How could I possibly forget? You remind me approximately six times an hour.” She laughed as he bent to press a kiss against her mouth.
“Please, Hermione?” His tone was pleading, his eyes round as saucers, his brows furrowed, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout.
She huffed a sigh. “You’re incorrigible,” she said fondly. “You were right. Is that what you want to hear?”
He kissed her again, longer this time. “About?” He pushed.
She rolled her eyes again. “Everything,” she sighed. “This will be my last.” She gave him a pointed look.
His face brightened at the news. “Truly?” His brows were raised.
She nodded. “You’re right,” she said again, though a little begrudgingly. “It was time.”
Malfoy was clearly trying not to react too enthusiastically, lest she decide that continuing to spite him was a more enticing idea. His lips twitched up into the barest sense of a smile, but his eyes were sparkling, delighted as he looked at her face.
“Did I ever tell you how brilliant you were?” He asked, tracing patterns on the back of her hand.
“Yes, you great prat,” she huffed a laugh. “Now hurry up. I have things to do.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he mock-saluted, following after her as she tugged him by the arm down the street.
The man she was after was residing in one of the city’s most famous hotels, situated right on the Danube River that separated the country from Romania. Once again, Malfoy’s provided intelligence had been useful in tracking him down, a man by the name of Pyotr Aleksiev who had participated in the Battle of Hogwarts but had evaded capture ever since.
“Wait outside,” she commanded Malfoy outside the grand entrance to the hotel. “This is non-negotiable.”
He put his hands up in a placating manner. “I’ll be here. If you aren’t back in one hour, I’m coming in.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Fine,” she hmphed.
“Fine,” he rolled his eyes.
She took a step toward the doors, but Malfoy drew her back with a tug on her arm.
“What? We’re wasting ti–”
He bent to kiss her, his hand tilting her head back and tangling in her curls. Her hand reflexively came up to clutch at his shirt collar, her body humming at the contact as he kissed her fervently, like he’d never get another chance to do so.
She pulled back after a minute, her chest heaving a little as she caught her breath.
“What was that?” She asked, slightly stunned.
“For luck,” he grinned cheekily, but his eyes were dark, full of concern. “Off you go,” he made a shooing motion, swallowing thickly as he did so. “I’ll be outside.”
She nodded dumbly, mechanically pivoting on a heel to enter the hotel.
Once inside, she flashed a room key at the concierge before making her way into the gold elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. She took measured breaths as the elevator shot skyward, rocking back on her heels.
The elevator dinged, the doors opening into a deserted hallway done in rich green walls and dark, plush carpet. Two doors stood at opposite ends of the hallway, one leading into a staff supply closet, the other leading to the executive suite. She quickly unlocked the door to the closet, removing her outer coat to reveal a hotel staff uniform, starched and pressed. She fastened a metal name tag to her shirt, Transfiguring her hair into a chin-length black bob.
She knocked on the door, exhaling through her nose. Movement from inside indicated Aleksiev wasn’t alone, a factor that Hermione had anticipated and thus planned for. The man opened the door, appearing shorter than Hermione had expected him to, giving her a curious look.
“Sir,” she nodded her head at him. “A man is on the phone with the front desk, he insists that his wife is here.” She cleared her throat meaningfully.
Aleksiev gave her another look. She stared at the wall behind his head, trying her best to look meek and regretful.
“What’s this?” A blonde woman appeared from somewhere in the front room, wrapped in a black silk robe. She draped an arm around Aleksiev’s bare chest, tilting her head at Hermione’s intrusion.
“Does Andrei know?” Aleksiev asked, his dark brown eyes intense on his partner.
She blanched white at the sound of her husband’s name, shaking her head vehemently.
“No, of course not,” she said nervously.
“This worker says that he’s on the phone downstairs, demanding to talk to his wife.”
The woman stammered, goggling at Hermione. “Truly?”
“Er–” Hermione sounded hesitant, “I’m afraid so. He said that you left a travel receipt on your bedside table.” She winced at Aleksiev’s increasingly sour expression.
He growled, shoving the woman’s arm off of him.
“Pyotr,” she pleaded. “Let me talk to him. I can convince him to forget about all of this.”
He sneered down at her. “Get out of my sight.”
She moved to say more, but thought better of it, scurrying back into the suite to gather her things. Hermione stood awkwardly outside, telling Aleksiev that she had orders to guide the woman down to the lobby. He shrugged, his shoulders tense as he padded back into the room, sitting heavily on the black sofa.
The woman re-emerged after a few minutes, sporting fresh tears and a tan suitcase. Hermione gestured silently for the woman to enter the hall, listening to the door shut behind them. She guided her into the elevator, hitting the woman with an Obliviate.
“You won’t remember this. You will forget about Pyotr Aleksiev and any of his associates. You will go to the concierge and check out of the executive suite. You will then forget about staying in this hotel. You will go home to your husband where your life will be normal.”
The blonde woman nodded her head automatically, her pupils unfocused as she stared at the elevator doors. Hermione released the spell just as the elevators opened into the opulent lobby. The woman bid Hermione a good day before stepping out.
She pressed the button for the top floor again, repeating the steps until she appeared in front of Aleksiev’s door once more. She knocked.
“Fuck off, Ana,” his voice called from inside.
She knocked again, more insistently this time.
“What the fuck do you–?” He wrenched the door open.
Hermione slammed into him, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble back into the room. She whirled, shutting the door behind her and locking it quickly.
“What the fuck?” He asked, staring at her warily.
Before he could speak again, Hermione pointed her wand between his eyes, staring down at him.
“Pyotr Aleksiev?”
“Who are you?” His eyes were now darting around the room, looking for a way out.
She kept her wand trained on him, taking a few steps toward him. He shrunk back, away from her, placing the couch between her and himself. She shot a limb-locking curse at him, causing him to fall back stiffly against the carpeted floor.
“I didn’t think it was possible,” he murmured, sounding vaguely mystified.
Hermione stood over him, watching his reaction; he seemed resigned to his fate, his breathing was slow, his eyes heavy, a thin sheen of sweat across his brow.
She needed to be quick; Malfoy was waiting for her and he’d tear the building apart if she wasn’t back in time. Secretly, she was a bit relieved at this, she was tired of dragging things out longer than necessary, just so she’d feel like she truly made an effort.
She tilted her head from one side to the other, watching as he watched her from the floor, before hitting him square in the chest with a curse that stopped his heart in his chest. She heard him gasp out a final puff of air, before his body grew limp, even under the limb-lock. She made haste in getting rid of his body, in tidying up the room.
On her way out, she darted back into the supply closet to put on her coat, cancelling the disguise on her hair before stepping back into the elevator.
Once outside, she began walking down the way she had come, Malfoy practically jumping out of an alley.
“Jesus,” she muttered under her breath, giving him an unimpressed glare.
“Are you alright?” He asked, his eyes skimming over her for any sign of injury, ignoring her fear.
“Yes, you busybody,” she grabbed onto his arm, towing him down the road.
“Are you sure?” He pressed insistently.
“Yes,” she rolled her eyes at him. “We’re going to be late to lunch with Charlie if you don’t hurry up.
Malfoy’s grip tightened on her elbow as they ducked into another alleyway, Apparating away with a pop.
The Romanian Dragon Sanctuary was a formidable expanse of rolling green hills, massive craggy rocks jutting out at odd angles, low stone buildings and huts for the workers, and of course, dragons.
Hermione stood gaping as they arrived atop the tallest hill, the valley below them a flurry of activity as tamers ran around shouting at each other, hauling ropes and other equipment between the manmade structures.
“Hermione!” Charlie’s voice sounded from further down the hill as he waved both arms at her.
She turned, peering down at him, his ginger hair just a speck against a sea of green.
“Charlie!” She began picking her way down the slope, Malfoy just a step behind her. “It’s so good to see you,” she said into his chest as they embraced. “It’s been so long!”
His chuckle was a warm and familiar sound. “I know, I know. Mum’s gone spare about me not visiting enough.”
She pulled away from him, smiling sheepishly. “I won’t add to your guilt, then. But it is truly good to see you,” she gave him a pat on the shoulder.
“And who’s this?” Charlie asked, his blue eyes amused as he looked at where Malfoy stood behind her, slightly off to the side. “It’s nice to see you again, Malfoy,” he dipped his chin.
“You as well. Thank you for having me,” Malfoy replied cordially, his back stiff.
Hermione twitched at the awkward atmosphere. “Charlie, Malfoy and I are…”
“Dating?” The redhead supplied, giving her a wink. “I know. Ron visited last month.”
She blinked. “Really? What did he say?”
Malfoy huffed.
“We didn’t talk in depth,” Charlie said, “He said that he thought you were really happy though. And that the Ferret,” his eyes flitted to Malfoy, “Had grown into a decent man.” He shrugged.
Hermione laughed, her head tipping back to the cloudless sky. “A shining endorsement.”
“Quite,” Charlie said, grinning. “Are you two hungry?”
“Starving, actually,” Hermione nodded.
Charlie led the way to the dining hall, a large, long structure made out of grey-washed stones. The building was full of noise, a few dozen of Charlie’s coworkers milling about– standing in line for food, sitting at the long benches while having lively conversations. It was boisterously loud, the low wooden ceilings and warm overhead lights giving the room a homey feel. Charlie led the pair of them to grab trays and get in line before they found an unoccupied table in the corner.
The meal was surprisingly good– hearty chuck roast in a red wine sauce, creamy mashed potatoes, a mixed greens salad. Hermione sat next to Malfoy on the wooden bench, Charlie sitting across from her as he regaled her with what life was like at the sanctuary.
“We recently got an Antipodean Opaleye,” Charlie said excitedly. “She’s surprisingly gentle. We can go visit her after we’re done.”
“Those are extremely rare, no?” Hermione asked, intrigued.
Charlie nodded, swallowing a bite of food. “Very. This is the first time I’ve seen one in person.”
Hermione nodded excitedly, savoring the food.
“I have to ask,” Charlie said after a minute of silence. “How did you two…come about?” He looked sheepish. “Not that I’m not happy for you,” he added quickly, pushing back his long hair.
Hermione laughed at Malfoy’s pinched expression. His glance conveyed that he wanted her to answer.
“Well, er–” she began, stumbling a little bit. “We knew each other during school, of course,” she fidgeted with her fork. “We became…close during our final year. There were so few eighth years, you know, right after the war.” She blushed, hoping that neither of them would take notice. Based on Malfoy’s smug expression and Charlie’s raised brows, her hope was dashed.
Charlie nodded, staring between them curiously.
“We lost contact for a while,” Hermione continued. “We started talking again early last year,” she furtively glanced at Malfoy, who sat rigid and silent by her side.
“Interesting,” Charlie mused, frowning slightly. “I suppose it’s not such an outlandish thing, not with Ginny and Harry dating Slytherins now and all,” he waved a hand. “What is it that you do now, Malfoy?” He asked politely.
Malfoy inhaled slightly. “I handle my estate’s investments, mostly,” he said. “I won’t bore you with the details,” he smiled slightly at the redhead. “I also help Hermione with a sort of…side project that she’s been working on for a few years now.” His grin grew wider, more sly.
Hermione stomped on his foot under the table, smiling as she watched him wince. “Er– yes,” she cut in, “I’ve been working on a particularly tricky bit of legislation for the creatures,” she said easily. “Very comprehensive,” she added nervously, shooting a glare at Malfoy who dutifully ignored her.
“That’s great, Hermione. I’m glad you have someone to help you with your workload,” Charlie said genuinely, shooting her a smile. “Merlin knows how busy you get with your work when you’re on a mission to do something. It’s good that you have someone competent working with you.”
Hermione fought from rolling her eyes. Competent is not how she’d describe Malfoy’s forced presence in her life the last few years.
“Quite right,” Malfoy sniffed, nodding as he patted her on the leg, finishing his food.
“Ready to see the Opaleye?” Charlie asked, standing from the table and clapping once.
Hermione nodded, sending one last glare at Malfoy for his cheek, before following Charlie out of the loud dining hall and across the valley. Her body relaxed as they hiked across the field, the grass calf-high and swaying in the summer breeze, the sounds of birds chirping in the distance. Malfoy reached for her hand, twining their fingers together as they walked behind Charlie.
“Has mum begun hinting at wanting more grandkids?” Charlie asked over his shoulder.
Hermione laughed, nodding her assent. “Whenever I visit the Burrow,” she confirmed. “Now that Percy is with Alicia Spinnet, Molly’s hellbent on it.”
Charlie sighed, a long-suffering sound. “I’m sorry you have to listen to her whinge about it,” he said lightly. “At least she’s given up on trying to persuade you, too.”
Malfoy tensed at her side, his eyes going wide for a moment before shuttering.
“She meant well, but Ron and I weren’t ever going to last,” Hermione said easily, giving Malfoy’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “We weren’t even really dating to begin with, everyone just thought that we would get there eventually, once things had settled.”
Charlie nodded, turning to help Hermione over a particularly steep ridge. “She’s idealistic, I’ll give her that. But I agree, you two weren’t right for each other,” he smiled at Malfoy as he climbed up behind them.
She heard Malfoy scoff, but otherwise say nothing, as they continued down into another, smaller valley.
“She’s just around here,” Charlie informed them, gesturing below. “Say Hermione, when’s the last time you saw a dragon?”
“At Gringotts during the war,” Hermione replied automatically, thinking of when she broke into Bellatrix’s vault.
Malfoy’s brows raised. “Why were you down there?”
“Er–” she hesitated, blushing.
“Hermione broke into your mad aunt’s vault,” Charlie supplied, grinning. “Broke out on the back of a dragon.”
“Charlie!” She squeaked.
“What? It’s true,” he said.
She cleared her throat, glancing surreptitiously at Malfoy.
“You’re insane,” he finally said, eyeing her with an awestruck look. “Dragons are fine, but brooms aren’t?”
She blushed.
“She is insane,” Charlie agreed.
“It’s not as crazy as it sounds,” she attempted to smooth over the situation. “The dragon also wanted to escape, so really, we were just taking advantage of that.” She shot him a look. “Also, it was a matter of life and death, I didn’t have time to think about how high up we’d be.”
Malfoy shook his head in disbelief, a small smile on his face. “Singular.”
She fought a smile, swallowing thickly.
“She’s here,” Charlie said suddenly, staring down the slope.
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as she stood slightly behind him, following his gaze. She had never seen a dragon so beautiful; its massive scales glowed moon-white, iridescent in the summer sun, its multicolored eyes trained on the three of them as they approached slowly, its wings folded inward, so pale that they were nearly translucent in the light. It cocked its head as it watched them descend the hill, a guttural noise coming from its throat.
“Does she have a name?” Hermione asked quietly, unblinking as she stared at the magnificent creature.
“No,” Charlie shook his head. “We’ve just been calling her Opal.”
The dragon-tamer approached with a calm sort of confidence, holding out a hand toward the dragon. She bent her large head, her sinuous neck rippling with the movement as her snout nosed at Charlie’s outstretched hand. Hermione couldn’t help but feel small, insignificant, as she watched them interact.
“Beautiful,” Hermione said on a gentle exhale, squinting against the brightness of the dragon’s scales.
“Yes,” Malfoy agreed, but his eyes were trained on her.
“You can come closer,” Charlie called from a few meters away, beckoning them with his free hand as the other patted the dragon’s snout. “Opaleyes aren’t known to be aggressive like most other breeds are.” At their approach, Hermione tentatively reached a hand out toward the dragon, watching as it eyed her curiously. Her scales were surprisingly soft and smooth, cold to the touch as Hermione ran her hand down the length of her massive head.
Malfoy stood about a meter behind her, not reaching a hand out.
“Come on, Malfoy,” she teased good-naturedly, “Are you scared?”
He scoffed, sounding posh as ever. “No,” he told her, “I’d just prefer to observe from a nice distance.”
Charlie barked a laugh. “It’s not so bad, Malfoy,” he said. “I was definitely hesitant when I started here.”
“Really?” Hermione asked, surprised. “Why would you want to work here if you were already scared?”
He shrugged. “I needed to be somewhere peaceful after the war. The Burrow is anything but.”
She nodded. “True.”
“Have you been?” Charlie directed at Malfoy, still petting the dragon’s nose.
Malfoy shook his head, taking another step in their direction.
“I’m not sure he’s ready for that many Weasleys in one place,” Charlie teased.
“I wholeheartedly agree with you,” Malfoy said.
Hermione pivoted away from the dragon, holding out her hand. “Please?” She asked.
Malfoy rolled his eyes but gave in to her easily, letting her position his arm so that the Opaleye could sniff him.
The dragon moved suddenly, causing everyone to take a quick step backwards. Her mouth opened slightly, emitting a sound that could only be described as a purr as she pushed her snout into Malfoy’s awaiting hand with enthusiasm. Malfoy, to his credit, looked slightly stupefied, dazedly watching as she pushed against his hand.
“What the fuck?” He asked incredulously, though he made no move to back away.
Charlie laughed, a full-bodied sound, as he watched the two of them. “She likes you.”
A faint blush painted Malfoy’s pale cheeks as he blinked up at the creature. “Oh.”
Charlie nodded. “They say that dragons are a good judge of character.”
Hermione hummed, trying and failing to hide her amusement. “She looks kind of like you, Malfoy.”
Malfoy scoffed. “Come off it, Granger,” he side-eyed her.
“I’m serious!” She giggled. “You’re both pale; you appear a bit standoffish at first glance but in reality, you’re soft.”
“I resent that statement deeply,” Malfoy muttered, his blush deepening as Charlie guffawed by his side.
She patted Malfoy on the shoulder, leaning her head against him. “It’s a good thing.”
“I agree, mate,” Charlie added. “I doubt either of you would be here if it wasn’t.”
Malfoy’s tense muscles relaxed slightly as he exhaled, the Opaleye still nuzzling his hand. “Fucking Gryffindors.”
The two Gryffindors laughed deeply, Charlie giving the dragon one last firm pat on the nose before he guided them back toward the main area of the sanctuary.
“That was splendid,” Hermione told Charlie, effusive in her praise. “Thank you for allowing us to come see the sanctuary. I think it’s just what I needed.”
Charlie hugged her, patting her hair. “You’re both welcome anytime,” he said as they pulled away. “If you see Mum before I do, tell her I miss her, yeah? And that I’ll visit soon?”
“I’m not sure I want to be the messenger,” Hermione joked, but nodded.
“Malfoy, it was nice seeing you,” Charlie turned toward him, his hand outstretched.
Malfoy took it, the two of them shaking firmly. “Thank you for having us,” he said, a little more warmly than when they had first arrived. “I had a nice time.”
“Not that Hermione needs minding, but take care of her, yeah?” Charlie waggled his brows, ignoring the way Hermione glared at him.
“Of course,” Malfoy said seriously.
Hermione gave Charlie one last smile before pulling Malfoy up the hill to the Apparition point.
“Did you have a good time?” She asked casually, huffing a little with exertion.
“Of course,” Malfoy said smoothly. “Any time spent with you is a good time,” he grasped her hand, pausing her trek up the hill to plant a kiss against her mouth.
She laughed lightly, the wind blowing her hair in all directions. “Even if you had to spend time with a Weasley?”
He rolled his eyes. “Charlie and that cursebreaker, Bill, are the most tolerable Weasleys in my opinion. If it weren’t for the red hair, I wouldn’t think they were a part of that family.” He sniffed.
She laughed, pushing at his chest. “You’re a prat,” she said.
He hummed. “Ready to go?”
She nodded, allowing his Apparition to whisk her away, back to London.