Despite Healer Wilson's constant assurances that Narcissa was, in fact, in perfectly good physical health, her mental health continued to deteriorate. Draco visited her daily now, as well as receiving nightly updates from Healer Wilson. She was fine, he always said.
Draco was very much of the opinion that she was not fine. She desperately mumbled nonsense about peacocks and dragons and the forest—she was adamant that he stay away from the forest, as it was such a dangerous place. Draco could not make head nor tail of her ramblings, and mostly sat nearby, completely bewildered. Every time he made to leave, she would touch his cheek and tell him that she loved him.
It wore on him. With every visit, he felt what little hope he had left dwindle into nothingness. The first time she had mentioned the dragon, he had apparated directly into Hermione's shop, and she held him tightly as he wept freely against her shoulder.
He hadn't cried since that day—Draco had always prided himself on his self-control over his emotions, on his ability to repress the most extreme of his feelings and twist them into the cold, hard façade that he showed the rest of the world. Before that day, only his mother had ever seen him cry—once, when he was a boy and he broke his elbow after a fall from his broom, and then once more when Pansy Parkinson had abruptly broken up with him. It was only with his mother, and now, with Hermione, that he ever felt free to express himself. The difference he supposed, was love—loving and then being loved in return.
Hermione was relentless in her caring and understanding. And understand she did—of course she did. "I know it's not the same," she had said softly one night, their breathing just beginning to slow, "but I do understand, you know."
"I know you do," he had replied, stroking absently at a wild curl.
"If you ever need—" Hermione began.
Draco cut her off with a kiss. "I know, Hermione. I know."
She watched him when she didn't think he was looking, Draco knew. Her eyes constantly flickered to his Mark when they lay in bed, seemingly concerned that he would try to hurt himself again.
He caught her one night, staring intently at his left arm. "I'm okay, Hermione," he had whispered as her eyes flickered down to his Mark.
"You promise?" she had asked.
"I promise you. And if I'm not, I'll tell you," he had offered.
Seemingly satisfied with his assurance, Hermione had fallen into a deep sleep, her arm wrapped protectively around his abdomen—a habit she had adopted promptly upon his release from Azkaban.
Those were the bad days, the tense days—the days fraught with tension and tinged with sadness.
Today, however, was a good day.
His daily visit with his mother was going very well—she was in good spirits and seemed to be entirely lucid. She chatted happily about the weather and sniffed about the quality of the food she was being served. She made jokes with Draco and reminisced with him about memories from his childhood—the first time he had ridden a broom, the day he first left for Hogwarts, and when he had made the Slytherin Quidditch team.
Draco left St. Mungo's with a smile broad on his face. Feeling lighter than he had in months, he decided to share his good mood with Hermione, who had continued to be overworked at the shop. They had an upcoming interview with Rita Skeeter, whom Hermione had deemed "incorrigible." Draco was certain that his own legal issues weighed heavily on her mind, but she hid that from him.
Walking into the shop, Draco was met with several customers browsing the shelfs. One man stood at the forefront of the shop, tapping his foot impatiently, staring darkly at Hermione where she stood at the register, hurriedly ringing up another guest. Her gaze was intense and frantic, and she was so focused she didn't even realize Draco was there.
With a sigh, Draco made his way to the irritable man, who had just huffed out a loud breath. "Can I help you with something?" Draco asked politely.
The man looked Draco up and down, before nodding curtly, seeming not to recognize Draco. "I need a highly specialized potion for healing wounds. One that will heal deep layers of tissue and won't leave a scar," the man said quickly.
Draco bit his tongue and thought quickly, before heading over to the far corner of the shop and selecting a dark blue vial of potion. He rolled the vial around in his palm thoughtfully as he stared at the other potions on the shelf. No, the blue potion had a higher concentration of bubotuber pus; it was clearly the better choice. Having made his decision, Draco turned back to Hermione's customer and handed him the vial. "Potion no. 502," Draco explained to the customer. "Hermione herself invented it. High quantities of Murtlap essence and bubotuber pus."
The customer eyed the vial for a moment, before nodding curtly and heading towards the register, where Hermione was still working frantically. Her eyes shot up for a moment, scanning her busy shop. Finally, her eyes fell on him, and Draco offered a smile before heading towards the next customer.
With Draco assisting her customers and Hermione working the register, the little shop was cleared in the next half-hour. With a deep sigh, Hermione stepped away from the register and made her way to him. "Thank you," she murmured, wrapping her arms around him and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"You looked overwhelmed, and one of your customers was glaring daggers at you," Draco explained.
Hermione sighed. "People can be so impatient sometimes. You look happy," she said after a moment of studying him.
Draco shrugged. "It's a good day. I just had a visit with my mother. Best one I've had in a while."
Hermione beamed at him. "Oh, I am so glad," she replied, pulling him in close.
He nodded against her shoulder. "Maybe things are looking up," he said hopefully.
"They are," she said softly. "They have to."
He loved her optimism, shining so brightly in his ever-present darkness. Taking her face in his hands, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "I love you," he whispered.
"I'm glad you're in such a good mood. You've been so tense lately," Hermione replied, rubbing comforting little circles between his shoulder blades.
"So have you."
She sighed. "I'm sorry."
"Don't," Draco replied softly. "I know you have a lot on your plate."
"I've been absent," she admitted.
"So have I," Draco insisted.
Hermione sighed once more. "I'm hoping tomorrow's interview will change some of that."
"So determined, my witch," Draco mused.
Hermione flexed her jaw. "I am," she said fiercely.
They were interrupted by the tinkle of the bell, and Draco instantly pulled away from Hermione, releasing her. "I'll leave you be, I just wanted to see you."
Hermione grabbed onto his hand and pulled him back, frowning slightly. "Wait. Stay."
Draco raised his eyebrows in amusement but nodded to her.
Hermione helped her customer, and when she was done, she came to Draco, who had eased himself down on the purple couch. "I was thinking," she said, her brow slightly furrowed. "Perhaps you could help me out here?"
"What?" he asked, confused.
"Well," she began slowly, "you saw how busy it was in here just a bit ago. It gets like that a couple of times a day. You're good with potions—I was thinking maybe you could help out for a few hours? I can't pay you much, but we could spend more time together, and it would get you out of the flat, take your mind off things—" she began to ramble.
Draco grabbed her hand, stilling her. "I don't want your money, Hermione. You already know that."
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "I just meant—if you were working here, I'd—"
"Hermione—"
"I wouldn't feel right not paying you—"
Draco laughed, wrapping his arms around her hips. "Do you want me to help out or not?" he asked.
Hermione looked down at him uncertainly. "If you want to—it could be nice," she said softly.
He kissed her again. "I'd love to help you," he affirmed.
"Really?" she asked quickly.
Draco shrugged. "You're right—it would be nice to get out of the flat more, and it will help keep my mind off of things. Plus, I'd be here with you. I can't think of a downside."
She smiled down at him. "It would really help me out a lot, Draco," she admitted.
Draco rose to his feet and pulled at her fingertips. "All right, then. Put me to work."
He was already quite familiar with the shop, so he required very little explanation from Hermione. The register proved more difficult, however. "It's Muggle," she admitted. "But I've adjusted it for Wizarding money."
Draco stared down at the little numbered keys with a look of uncertainty.
Hermione laughed. "It's not hard at all, Draco," I assure you. "Here, watch." Hermione explained the register to him, and truthfully it wasn't all that difficult—just unfamiliar. "Here," she said, "I'll let you try."
Draco took his place behind the register while Hermione grabbed a handful of potions, setting them neatly on the counter. Draco did as Hermione taught him, keying in each potion's price before hitting the little key that read, "Enter" which brought up the final total. "10 Galleons, 15 Sickles and 73 Knuts," Draco said uncertainly.
Hermione smiled and nodded, before she pressed some money into his palm. Draco entered the amount and quickly made change, slamming the little drawer shut in pride. "See? Not so hard."
"No," he agreed.
"I have a meeting later," she continued. "Normally I close the shop when I have them, but if you're comfortable enough, I'd like to let you watch it."
The idea of being in an open space without Hermione made his anxiety roil, but she looked so hopeful and so proud that Draco found it impossible to say no to his witch. "Of course I'll watch your shop, Hermione."
She smiled up at him happily and pressed a kiss to the corner of him mouth. "Thank you," Hermione said softly.
The day passed slowly, but Draco didn't mind. Hermione helped customers and Draco took their money, noting the suspicion on several customer's faces. When there were no customers, Hermione sat with her legs crossed on the couch, a thick book in her lap as she scribbled notes on a piece of parchment. Draco was quiet, sitting in the chair opposite her, content to watch her work.
It was later in the day when a grey-haired man and a bespectacled witch Flooed into the shop. Hermione instantly set her book aside and stood to greet them. "Mr. Flaherty, Ms. Stoneman," she said easily. The other two politely exchanged greetings with Hermione, each shaking her hand firmly. "If you'll follow me to my office." She turned towards her office, but first she locked eyes with Draco. "If you need any help, come get me."
Draco nodded, offering her a small smile.
Hermione left the room, and as soon as he heard the soft click of her office door, the anxiety pooled up within him. Here he was—exposed, unprotected, out in the open. Taking a deep breath, Draco calmed himself and made his way back to the register, wanting to put something—anything—between his body and the door of the shop.
Draco hoped Hermione's meeting would pass quickly and there would be no customers walking through the door while she was gone. After a half-hour and no customers in sight, Draco was able to breathe a sigh of relief. Just as he started to relax, however, the little bell tinkled. Draco's eyes shot to the door in an instant, and he was relieved when he found only Potter. The irony, he thought to himself.
"'Mione?" Potter called, squinting into the dark light of the shop.
"She's in a meeting," Draco called back.
Potter's eyes flashed in surprise when he saw Draco. "What're you doing here, Malfoy?" he asked, striding towards the register.
Draco shrugged. "I came by to see her after I visited my mother. She was busy, so I helped her out. She has since hired me," he replied with a small smile.
Potter laughed at that. "Of course she has," he mused.
"Need something, Potter?" Draco asked.
"I just swung by to get a couple of vials of pain potion. I've started training some recruits this week, and I like to keep a stock on hand for when they inevitably hurt themselves," Potter replied with a roll of his eyes.
Draco nodded, and made his way to the front of the shop where Hermione stocked all of the pain potions. "Just the standard?" Draco asked.
"Yeah, that should do."
Draco grabbed several vials of the potion off the shelf and brought them to the counter of the register. "This enough?" he asked.
Potter nodded, watching as Draco slowly rang him up. "You know that's a Muggle device?" he asked.
"Hermione informed me," Draco replied, his focus on hitting the right keys.
"And you're fine with that?" Potter asked casually.
"Are you going to interrogate me every time we meet?" Draco asked sharply.
Potter sighed deeply. "Sorry, I just forget—I forget how different you are now."
"I'm not so different," Draco replied petulantly.
Potter laughed again. "No, I suppose not. You're still an arrogant prat."
"True, Potter. Very true," Draco agreed, taking the Galleons Potter offered him. "And yes, I'm fine with it. I'll have you know that I've grown rather fond of the telewhat."
Potter rolled his eyes. "Just call it a telly, Malfoy." Draco placed Potter's change on the counter with a pointed look. "Oh, shoot! I need to get something for Gin, too."
"What is it?" Draco asked in a bored tone.
Potter flushed a deep red before saying quietly, "A contraceptive potion."
"Ah," Draco replied in understanding before heading to the corner of the shop where Hermione storied fertility and contraceptive potions. Draco pulled several from the shelf before heading back to Potter.
Potter nodded. "You know this place pretty well, don't you?"
"I've spent a lot of time here," he explained with a small shrug. "I like it here. Without this place, I wouldn't have her."
"I'm glad she's happy, Malfoy. For what it's worth," Potter replied.
"As long as she's happy," Draco agreed.
The sounds of Hermione's laughter rang through the shop and she reappeared, chatting animatedly with her two guests. "I'll send you an owl in the morning," she said, shaking both of their hands before they disappeared into the Floo. Instantly, Hermione spun around, searching for Draco. She smiled when she caught sight of him and Potter. "Boys," she greeted, making her way over to them.
"Hey, 'Mione," Potter greeted affectionately.
Hermione dropped a hand to Draco's shoulder and kissed his cheek. "What are you doing here, Harry?" she asked.
"Pain potions," Potter explained, "for the new recruits."
"And to interrogate me, presumably," mused Draco.
Hermione laughed. "I'm sure you noticed, Harry, but I have a new employee," she said, looking down at Draco affectionately.
"Yes, and I'd like to speak to a manager, because the service here is appalling," Potter replied.
Draco merely rolled his eyes, handing Potter his remaining change. "I've been perfectly pleasant, Potter." Turning to Hermione, he asked, "How was your meeting?"
Hermione shrugged. "Pleasant enough. But they are charging an obscene amount for dried Mandrake. I'm not sure I can afford it," she said offhandedly.
Something niggled in the back of Draco's brain, and he pushed it away for later.
"Oh!" she said brightly. "Harry, I'm about to close up shop. Are you hungry? Want to go to dinner with Draco and I?"
Potter's eyes instantly shot Draco, who merely shrugged. "Sure," Potter said. "Gin is at The Burrow tonight anyways."
"Great!" she replied excitedly. She scurried around the shop, cleaning up quickly with magic. "Ready?" she asked, when she was finished.
"I've been wanting to try the place down the street. I've heard it's really good," Potter said offhandedly.
Hermione looked to Draco, questioning. He knew her plan had been to take him to a Muggle restaurant. Draco thought for a moment—everyone already knew, he reasoned. And he'd be with Hermione and Potter—would anyone dare hex him with these two? He doubted it. He was also certain Hermione would never let go of him. "All right," Draco replied weakly.
Hermione's smile was bright, and she immediately grabbed his hand, twining her fingers with his. "Really?" she asked.
Draco nodded. "Yes," he confirmed.
Potter was watching with an odd expression. "I really don't get you two," he said with a shake of his head.
"I imagine there's quite a bit you don't get, Potter," Draco quipped.
Hermione dutifully locked the shop, and they made their way down the street of Diagon Alley, Hermione tightly gripping his hand. There were no whispers or murmurs as they walked, but it was quiet—much too quiet, and Draco could feel every single set of eyes on him. His nerves bubbled, and he felt a bit of sweat bead at his forehead. Hermione didn't seem to notice the quiet—or didn't care, more like—and continued marching forward. Potter's mouth was set in a grim line as he settled himself beside Draco—very much reminiscent of their journey through the Ministry.
"Is it always like this?" Potter asked in disbelief.
"No," Draco replied. "It's usually much, much worse."
"Fuck," Potter swore.
They made it to the restaurant and Potter stepped forward, requesting a table for three, despite the frightened flickering of the hostess' eyes to Draco. She seemed to fight with herself for a moment before her eyes settled on Potter's scar, when she promptly led them to a booth tucked in the back.
There were very few patrons in this section of the restaurant and for that, Draco was thankful.
Draco slid gratefully into the booth, Hermione following behind him, and Potter slid in across from him. "I didn't realize," Potter began.
"You were at the Ministry, Harry," Hermione instantly chided, her hand still squeezing Draco.
Potter gaped. "I thought it was just because it was the Ministry," he defended.
Hermione stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Someone spit on him, once," she said coldly. "When he was with me."
Potter visibly blanched, and Draco looked away in shame.
"I didn't realize—" Potter began again.
"Can we not?" Draco asked quietly, looking directly at Hermione.
Instantly, she wrapped her hand around his forearm, comforting him. "I'm sorry," she whispered back.
"Firewhiskey?" Potter asked grimly.
"A bottle," Draco agreed.
Rita Skeeter was, in fact, incorrigible. How had he not noticed at Hogwarts, when it was he who was supplying her with information? She was nosy, and manipulative, and she asked a series of inappropriate questions that had Draco flushing. Hermione seemed nonplussed and controlled the interview flawlessly. Whenever she asked a question that Hermione deemed inappropriate, she only had to narrow her eyes at the blonde woman before she quickly moved on. Draco clung to Hermione's hand the entire time and only offered responses when Rita Skeeter asked him directly. His anxiety was high, and he desperately wished for a swig or two of firewhiskey to calm his nerves, but his voice was clear, calm, and confident—buoyed, he suspected, by Hermione at his side.
The interview lasted well over an hour, and by the time they were done, Draco was trembling with nerves. "I think it went well," Hermione offered him as soon as Rita had left Hermione's shop.
"Do you?" he asked absently.
Hermione's hand squeezed his tighter. "Come back to me," she murmured.
"Sorry," Draco said quietly, looking to her. "That was just—overwhelming."
Hermione nodded before climbing into his lap on the purple couch, throwing her arms around him and nuzzling his neck. "Thank you for doing that," she said quietly. "I know you didn't want to."
Draco sighed. "But it went well, yeah?" he asked uncertainly.
"I'm blackmailing her, remember?" Hermione chuckled against his neck.
"My girlfriend kept Rita Skeeter in a jar," he replied, amusedly.
"For a week," Hermione added.
"For a week." Draco laughed. "When do you think it will be out?" he asked softly, after a moment.
"Tomorrow, probably. If she knows what's good for her," Hermione replied darkly.
"Ruthless," he mused, stroking her spine gently.
"I take care of what's mine," she said fiercely.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Hermione didn't reply, but instead pressed a gentle kiss to the hollow of his throat. "Will you be staying?" Hermione asked. "Or will you be going to see your mother?"
"I think I'd like to go see my mother. Unless you need me," Draco replied.
Against his shoulder, Hermione shook her head. "No. Go see your mother. And take the day off, too. I'm afraid I've made you anxious enough today."
"Mmm, I love it when you're bossy," Draco replied, swatting her arse lightly.
Hermione giggled against his shoulder. "I should open up then," she said reluctantly.
"I'll see you at home, later?" he asked.
Home
Hermione smiled brightly at him. "Yes," she agreed.
Draco kissed her soundly. "Love you," he said.
She kissed him back, even as she began to rise from his lap. "I love you," Hermione replied earnestly. "Now go," she ordered with a soft laugh. "I've a business to run, Draco."
Another peck to her lips, and Draco was heading toward the Floo. "Later, Hermione," he said with a suggestive smirk. He caught her amused eyeroll just as he disappeared through the Floo.
In an instant, he had been transported to St. Mungo's and he headed briskly towards his mother's room. Healer Wilson was in the hallway and he tipped his head towards Draco in a friendly greeting. "She's having an off day," the man said quietly.
Draco felt his heart plummet. "How bad?" he asked.
Healer Wilson sighed. "The peacocks and the dragon. Again," he confided.
Always the peacocks. And now the dragon. Draco sighed heavily. "Thank you," he replied lowly, quickening his pace towards his mother's room.
For all her mental anguish, his mother was quick on her feet. As soon as he opened the door to her room, she had him in her arms. "Draco, darling," she cried.
"Mother, are you all right?" Draco asked.
"I was wrong, darling. I was wrong," she said into his shirt.
"Wrong about what, Mother?" Draco asked gently.
"The peacock and the dragon," she said morosely.
"Mother, the peacocks—" he began.
She pulled away from him, her brow furrowed in frustration. "No," she insisted. "The peacock."
"All right," Draco soothed. "What about the peacock?"
"It's not the peacock, darling. It's the dragon. The dragon will protect you!"
"Mother, I don't—"
"You must find the dragon, Draco," his mother said urgently.
"I will find the dragon, Mother. I'll find it," Draco replied.
"You have to," she said weakly. "The dragon and the peacock."
"The dragon and the peacock," Draco agreed, desperately.
"You must," she insisted. "You must!"
"I promise," Draco said sadly. "Mother, we should get you to bed."
"The dragon," she repeated, limp in his arms.
"The dragon," Draco promised.
Their article came out promptly the next day, just as Hermione predicted. After another distraught visit with his mother, Draco entered Elixir to find Hermione perched on the couch, an unopened paper in her hands. "Us?" Draco asked.
"I'm afraid to read it," she admitted.
"Why?" Draco asked. "You're blackmailing her."
"I know," she said with a mirthless chuckle. "But still."
"Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger Sit Down for the Real Scoop!" she began, "By Rita Skeeter. I do not like the pictures she chose."
Draco looked down and was met with a younger Hermione, her hair bushy and frizzy, smiling awkwardly. Skeeter had also chosen an older photo for him—a school portrait—in it he was sneering. "The pictures are horrible," he agreed.
The Daily Prophet
Friday, November 16, 2001
Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger Sit Down for the Real Scoop!
By Rita Skeeter
Hermione Granger was kind enough to sit down with me recently, promising to give me a glimpse into her relationship with known former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, in an attempt to clear his much-tarnished reputation. "The pictures of us seemed to incite some anger throughout the public," Ms. Granger said of the pictures. "Draco insisted that we do an interview—if for no other reason to prove that I'm not Imperiused."
"We became reacquainted through her shop, Elixir," Mr. Malfoy confided, with a wistful smile. "I was in need of a bit of help, so I swallowed my pride and went to Hermione." When I asked what kind of help Mr. Malfoy was in need of, he replied simply, "My mother has been ill for some time. That is all I will say on that. I thought Hermione could help."
When I asked about the beginnings of their relationship, Ms. Granger laughed. "It was volatile at first, I'll admit. We argued just like we had at Hogwarts. But I could tell, there was just something different about him."
Ms. Granger then looked instantly to Mr. Malfoy, and they seemed to communicate simply by glance. It was then that Mr. Malfoy spoke, "The aftermath of the War has been hard for everyone, I'm certain. It was difficult for me. There was one particularly bad night where I tried to cut off my Dark Mark—" here, Mr. Malfoy paused and visibly flinched, "—Hermione had sent me some passive-aggressive letter, and I confronted her about it. We were arguing when she noticed that I was bleeding. She didn't ask questions, she just fixed me."
I couldn't but help ask in surprise, "You tried to cut off your Mark?"
Mr. Malfoy shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes. I hate it. It's a symbol of evil and hatred, of Voldemort. I hate that it's still on my skin." It was here that I asked Mr. Malfoy his views on blood purity. "I've been questioning the idea of blood purity since I was 14 years old," he remarked. "It's ridiculous and untrue. Hermione is the brightest witch of our age; how can anyone possibly say she doesn't deserve her magic?"
Since pictures of Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger appeared in The Daily Prophet several days ago, it has been rumored that Ms. Granger is being controlled by the Imperius curse. "It's ridiculous," she said, rolling her eyes. "I ensure the public that I am with Draco totally of my own free will. In fact, he's spent a lot of time with my good friend Harry Potter and his wife, Ginny. They'd know if I was cursed."
"I'd love to see someone try to tell her what to do," Mr. Malfoy remarked casually, with a light smile at Ms. Granger.
I couldn't help but ask what Mr. and Mrs. Potter thought about Mr. Malfoy. Ms. Granger responded ruefully, "It was a bit rough at first. Harry is very protective of me—I'm his sister, essentially—and he and Draco never got along at school. But they're both slowly coming around. They have more in common than they think. Ginny approved the very first night she met him, even though I think she'll always call him 'Ferret."
Both Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger refused to respond on the nickname.
As for bullying, Mr. Malfoy readily admitted to the accusations. "It's true, I bullied her all throughout Hogwarts. At first, I think we tried to ignore it—pretend that it didn't happen. But I had a conversation with a friend of mine and I realized that we wouldn't last if we didn't talk about it. I couldn't bear the thought," Mr. Malfoy recalled. "Immediately, I wrote her a letter, telling her how sorry I was. I'm lucky that she forgave me." I pressed Mr. Malfoy, who simply shrugged. "I told her I was sorry and that I wished that I could take it back. That was the night I told her I wanted to be with her," he said fondly.
"And that I wanted to be with him," Ms. Granger responded, taking Mr. Malfoy's hand.
When I asked if Mr. Malfoy's Death Eater status bothered Ms. Granger, she vehemently replied, "I always knew he didn't take it voluntarily. And when I saw it all hacked up, blood dripping down his sleeve—it ceased to bother me. It was clear to me that he hated it so much. How can I fault him for it?"
Ms. Granger also stated that Mr. Malfoy did not take the Mark voluntarily, but refused to expand on it. Here, Mr. Malfoy began to expand, somewhat slowly, "My father was a loyal follower of Voldemort—" he began, visibly wincing as he said the name, "—and my father failed him. To repent, my father offered me to Voldemort, as a penance, as a punishment. I received the Dark Mark on my 16th birthday—a present, I was told. Shortly thereafter, I was given the task to kill Dumbledore. I was meant to fail—my death was meant to be my father's punishment," he said solemnly.
It is important to note that Mr. Malfoy was acquitted of all charges related the Second Wizarding War, but his involvement with the Death Eaters is largely unknown, as he disappeared after his failed assassination of the revered Albus Dumbledore. "I've never used an Unforgiveable on another human. I've never been able to. I was a Death Eater, but a useless one. I know what it takes to kill, but I also know that I don't possess it."
Here, Ms. Granger moved closer to Mr. Malfoy, resting her head atop his shoulder. Immediately he leaned into her. A couple so very clearly in love.
"I love him," she said softly. "I just want others to give him a chance. Just a chance."
"And let it be known that I, Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater and blood purist, adore Hermione Granger with my whole heart. Please, whatever you believe about me, just let her be."
"Well," Hermione said as she finished reading the article aloud. "That was actually quite lovely, I think. Ms. Skeeter does have such talent. It's a shame."
Draco pressed a kiss to the back of Hermione's hair as he stared at the article, a younger version of him sneering up at him from the pages. "Do you think it will be enough?" Draco asked after a moment. "For everyone to believe you're not cursed?"
"I'm hoping so," she replied.
Just then, there were two owls banging at the window. Hermione, with a frown, made her way to the window and took the letters from both owls, quickly feeding them both treats. "What is it?" Draco asked quietly.
Hermione opened one envelope—hers. "Our presence is requested before Kingsley and selected members of the Wizengamot—Monday."
Draco gulped. "So it's starting, then?" he asked weakly.
Hermione nodded grimly. "Yes.