"Jingle bells—"

"God, please no."

"Jingle bells—"

"Stop it."

"Jingle all the way! Oh, what fun it is to ride on a one-horse open sleigh!"

"Ginny," hissed Hermione as she pulled herself up from the soft, warm mattress. "Will you please shut up?"

Grinning wide despite the furious, sleepy expression on Hermione's face, Ginny waltz into the room, spinning every two steps until she jumped up on her bed. She had on a knitted pink scarf that was doing absolutely nothing to compliment the shiny red of her hair, but matched with her pajama set. 

"Bet you regret teaching me that song now," she said, squeezing Hermione's ankle. When the latter rolled her eyes, Ginny earnestly added, "Happy Christmas, 'Mione."

"Oh, Happy Christmas," Hermione said instantly, her arms quickly coming around Ginny for a proper hug. "Did Mrs. Weasley make that?"

Ginny looked down at her scarf and sleepwear, letting out an indignant huff. "Don't think you haven't got your own set," she was quick to say. "If I recall, actually, Mum did ask me what you'd like best, a purple set or a green set. Of course, I told her as the future wife of a Slytherin, maybe the green would be better."

Hermione clunked Ginny on the head with one of her pillows. "Why are you awake so early?"

"I've been up," Ginny told her, the mirth she had been displaying was now fading away. She grabbed the pillow from Hermione's hands, tucking it under her chin. For a moment, she remembered on old, patchy stuffed rabbit of her youth, one that braved every nightmare, every storm, and every mishap with her. 

When the old stuffed animal had been lost in a trip to Diagon Alley, Ginny would climb into Fred's bed and he'd tuck her under his chin like she was the little brave rabbit. 

"Mum and Dad were arguing all night," she murmured, lost in the memory. "Well, Mum was arguing and Dad was listening. She's not happy about Angelina Johnson."

"I thought Mrs. Weasley liked Angelina? She met her when the Triwizard Tournament was happening at Hogwarts and only had lovely things to say about her."

"Yes, but she met her as Fred's girlfriend, didn't she?"

"But they weren't together when he...you know."

Ginny took in a deep breath to try and keep the grief at bay. The mention of Fred's name burned deeper than on the surface of her skin; it reached her bones, turned them to ash, then went for her blood. It was still unlike any other pain she had ever felt—it was even worse than Voldemort draining her of her soul.

And, somehow, Ginny was the only one doing better at dealing with that pain: her mother cried every single night, the walls rattling, threatening to fall apart into dust by the sound. And when she was not crying, she was clinging on to her children, pushing them against her chest like she hoped they would disappear into her bones and always be protected by the love, desperation, and heartache she carried. Her father, ever the calm one, ever the reasonable one, burned his garage down; if his son could not get to live to enjoy life's little things, then why should he, a man ripe with age, a man who had outlived his son, get to find comfort in the odd trinkets Fred used to laugh at? Bill, who had his wife, who was always living for adventure, hardly left his house most days; he looked outside his window constantly, searching for enemies despite the thick layer of protective charms he cast around Shell Cottage. Fleur had to rid their house of all the books riddled with dark, dangerous curses that promised safety before Bill tore into them again, searching for all the ways he should have been able to save Fred. Charlie, who Ginny believed all of her life was only capable of being happy, carried a remorse so heavy his dragons could hardly sustain him on their backs. He spent a month in Fred and George's old room; curled into a ball, buried under Fred's old bedsheets, crying into his pillows, screaming, screaming, screaming at anyone who dared to pull him out of Fred's bed. Percy, who knew how to keep his head up through anything, could hardly peel himself off Fred's tomb. With his own hands, he dug into the soil, desperate to get beneath it, desperate to hold on to what was left of Fred, like in a childhood memory from a different life, back before he developed a thirst for power and the twins thought him a prat. Percy, who prided himself in his wit, drank his brain, liver, heart, guilt away for weeks until their mother cried, cried, cried that she could not lose another son. Ron, whose greatest quality was his loyalty, set every relationship he had on fire. The rage inside of him demanded blood, no matter who it came from. He tore his own heart out, Hermione's name written along the ridges, and scratched it away; too angry to care about love, too angry to care about life when Fred did not get any of it. 

Then there was—

"George seemed happy, though, didn't he?" murmured Hermione, her hand now on Ginny's shoulder. "I haven't seen him smile that much since Fred. Every time he looked at Angelina, there were shadows of his old self. Mrs. Weasley can't deny that; not when she said so herself that he was getting better and it was all because of Angelina."

"He did look better, didn't he?" Ginny almost smiled, recalling the jokes George was sharing all throughout dinner, for a moment making all of them forget about the grief that resurfaced every time they looked at him. "Seeing him that happy—even Percy didn't touch the firewhiskey, did you see? He was too busy laughing."

Hermione squeezed Ginny's shoulder. "The sorting hat said we are with whom we are meant to be with. There's comfort in that, isn't there? For George and Angelina. They might have found themselves together no matter how the cards had been dealt."

"Right," said Ginny, letting out a shaky exhale to release all of the sadness. "Mum's shouting isn't the only reason why I couldn't sleep. An owl kept pecking at my window at an ungodly hour."

"McGonagall or Kingsley?"

"Neither. It was a far more refined owl. " Ginny grinned, reaching into her shirt to pull out a small piece of parchment from where it was tucked underneath one of her bra-straps.

A pink blush appeared on Hermione's cheeks as she snatched the letter from Ginny. "It's from Malfoy."

"They don't call you the Brightest Witch of the Age for nothing," said Ginny, wiggling her brows despite Hermione's annoyed expression. "Come on now, read it out loud. I restrained myself from tearing it open and taking a peek. Surely that counts for something."

"It's good manners not to read other people's mail," Hermione reminded her firmly. "And it's illegal to actually do so."

Despite glaring at Ginny, Hermione did feel herself smile as she looked at the neat, thin cursive on the folded piece of parchment. She and Draco had enough study sessions now to be able to recognize his handwriting anywhere. Calmly, she unfolded it and read: 

Granger,

I know you are enjoying your time at the Weasleys, but I was hoping you could join me at Malfoy Manor later this afternoon. Of course, if you do decide to come, I will not keep you from your friends for too long. 

I should mention I want to take the opportunity to properly introduce you to my parents. I know it is the last thing you wish to be doing these holidays, and I do not blame you. I hardly want to be stuck with them either, but this marriage law has not been all that fair, has it? 

Should you show up and have no intention of meeting my parents, we can always skive off, too. I am not opposed to that option either.

Happy Christmas,

D.M.

"Is he insane?" Hermione exclaimed, letting Ginny snatch the letter away. "I can't—I won't meet his parents!"

"Malfoy's serious, isn't he?" said Ginny with a small, incredulous laugh as she examined the writing on the parchment, like she might find evidence of a joke between the lines. "I don't blame you if you don't want to meet Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, but—"

"But?" demanded Hermione. "There is no but, Ginny. Can you imagine me sitting down to have tea with Lucius Malfoy? What would we even talk about? My inferior blood? His lack of gratitude for Harry and me keeping him out of Azkaban? Parenting tips for when Malfoy and I are expected to have children—because he did so well with his own son. No, Ginny. I'm not going."

Ginny handed Hermione back her letter. "All reasonable excuses, of course. Even though you have been waiting for Malfoy's owl since we got home. Don't try to deny it," she said immediately as Hermione opened her mouth to contradict her, "I'm not daft. Every time there's been any sign of an owl, you run to the noise."

"I'm expecting mail from Mum and Dad," she mumbled.

"All right, sure. You stick to that story," scoffed Ginny. "All I'm saying is, you're marrying Draco Malfoy. At one point you're going to have to...reacquaint yourself with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Mind as well do it now."

Hermione crushed the letter with her palm. "I can't—"

"Are you or are you not a war hero?" Ginny's voice was sharper now, even a little louder. "Have you or have you not faced worse than Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy?"

Forcing a loud, defeated groan from not leaving her mouth, Hermione nodded. Of course she knew Ginny was right; she had, in fact, come face to face with bigger monsters than the Malfoys and she was still standing. 

"Good. I'll tell Mum you'll be going to the Malfoys' later today," said Ginny as she stood. With another mischievous grin that would make Fred and George proud, she yanked her bedsheets from around Hermione. Before the latter could protest, Ginny sang in her loudest voice, "Dashing through the snow! In a one-horse open sleigh! Over the fields we go—"

"Ginny!"

"Laughing all the way! Ha!Ha!Ha!Ha!"

XX

He would have to burn Malfoy Manor down. 

The moment Draco stepped inside the drawing room, he knew perfectly well that was the only plausible thing he could do now. The room still smelled like blood. It still smelled like defeat, horror, and death. He could even see it; he could still see the Dark Lord standing over those who disappointed him, those he valued but had served their purpose, those who were purebloods, and those who were Muggle-Borns. Draco could see the other Death Eaters, too; they were dragging prisoners in, some too young to be living through war, people like Luna Lovegood, small, weak, but stupidly courageous. 

All of it ended in blood. 

Draco could also see his Auntie Bella pinning down Hermione Granger, carving a foul word into her skin until her blood seeped into the floorboards beneath her. 

"What are we looking at?"

In one quick movement, Draco had drawn out his wand from the pocket of his trousers; he had crouched low, ready to fight, ready to die, but only came eye to eye with Blaise Zabini. 

"Well, I don't expect less coming to the Malfoy home," said Blaise with a scoff, pushing Draco's wand away from his face as he shoved a box wrapped in silver into his arms. "Next time, a simple Merry Christmas does the trick."

"Beta let you in?" Draco asked, turning the box in his hands. 

Blaise nodded, turning from where Draco had been staring at the expensive, Persian rug under their feet. He marched further into the room, picking up a chocolate frog from the massive pile of Honeydukes sweets on the center table. "Pansy sent you these, didn't she? The unoriginal witch," he huffed as he settled an armchair, his feet kicking up as he tore the chocolate from its box. "She sent me the same package despite having sent her my Christmas list."

"Your Christmas list was shit," Draco told him as he sat in the armchair opposite him. "You asked for an island."

"Not a big island," Blaise said immediately. "Something quaint. You lot are just stingy."

Draco glared at him just as he was tearing the silver wrapping paper from the gift box Blaise had given him. Just when he thought he'd be able to look at his friend with something other than ire, more of it shot up his spine when he saw what was inside. Blaise decided to give Draco a book titled The Evolution of Muggles. 

"Had a real laugh when you nicked it from the Muggle Studies professor, Zabini?"

"I'm hurt you think so little of me, mate," said Blaise, a smirk growing across his mouth. "I had a real laugh when I specifically bought it for you. No need to thank me, I'll just help myself to some of the sweets."

He threw the book at Blaise as he was loading up on Pansy's Christmas gift to Draco. "This isn't as funny as you thought it'd be."

"I wasn't intending for it to be funny, actually. No, Draco; I was intending for it to be educational. After all, you are marrying a Muggle-Born. Shouldn't you start showing interest in her background? I mean, Hermione is uncommonly close to her parents. Do you think she will just pack up her life in the Muggle world after she married you?"

Draco wished he had the book back so he could throw it again. The best he could do was send a nonverbal at Blaise, forcing all the packaged sweets on his lap to disappear. "What Granger does after marrying me is none of your concern. In fact, how about you start being more preoccupied with your own upcoming nuptials to Chang?"

"Given that I'm not actively trying to ruin Cho's life, I think I'll stick to helping Hermione out."

"I'm not going to kill her, Zabini—"

"As if you'd even be able to touch a curly hair from that big-brained head of hers," Blaise hissed, standing from the armchair. The green in his eyes was darkening into the color of the forbidden forest at night, the same forest that crawled with monsters like Draco Malfoy. "This marriage law is bullshit, I get that; we are stuck with each other no matter what because the alternative is something none of us are brave enough to give up. But we have a choice: we make it work or we live the same bitter, lonely lives our parents did. I'm trying to spare you from making the wrong choice here, Draco. Can't you see that?"

He met Blaise's glare, his hands shaking, wanting to reach for his wand. Draco wanted to curse Blaise, have him on the floor like all the others shadows that crossed the drawing room, but he knew he wouldn't. If he reached for his wand, Draco knew he would be burning the place down until there were only ashes of all the things that kept him up at night. 

"Can't you see," Draco started, the words coming out slow and out gritted teeth, "there isn't any other way? Do you really think there is anything good I can offer Granger? Look at me, Blaise. Look at this place. She was tortured here. That's who she will always see—that's who the rest of the world will see if I don't pretend to be someone that deserves her."

"You don't have to pretend, mate," Blaise said, the anger in his eyes looked a lot like pity now. "You could try to be someone better—for you and her."

Draco took a step back, his lips pressing into a line as his friend marched off. He barely had time to turn, to see Blaise enter emerald flames when a pop echoed around the room. Beta, his personal house-elf was not standing at the doors. "Master," she squeaked, bowing her head so deeply it touched the floor. "There is a girl here, Master. She says she is here to see the young sir."

"Tell Pansy to bugger off, Beta. I already had one idiot visit me today."

"No, Master, it is not Miss Parkinson. This is a much prettier girl."

He started grinning at the house-elf; Draco always appreciated the hilarity of Beta disliking Pansy, but it quickly dawned on him why he was in the drawing room in the first place. He often stayed only in his own quarters, never venturing too far out of fear he would run into his nightmares. 

"Will Master have her?"

"Yeah. Of course," mumbled Draco, clearing his throat as he tried to shake off his argument with Blaise. He scanned the room before turning to the doors; despite the expensive, embroidered furniture, the prized, renowned paintings, and the ancient artifacts, none of it could hide what had really happened here.

Still—someway, somehow—a blinding light of salvation graced the room in the shape of Hermione Granger. 

She was stunning; a golden beacon as she slowly, carefully made her way in. Her wild curls were tamed, pinned to the sides as waves cascading down her shoulders. Something smelled like summer sun and jasmine flowers to Draco, the same scent he recalled lived in their Hogwarts chambers. Her mouth was shiny, just like the reflexes of glitter brushes across her eyelids, and for a moment, Draco considered crossing the room and putting his mouth against hers. 

"I look stupid, don't I?" said Hermione as she caught Draco's eyes. She blinked down to the long, silk, emerald dress she was wearing. "Ginny's idea. I hate her sometimes."

"Beta," muttered Draco, "send a bag of gold and a bottle of firewhiskey to Ginny Weasley at the Burrow, please."

The house-elf bowed and disappeared before Hermione looked aghast at his request. Of course, her cheeks were now rosy pink at what lay beneath Draco's command. 

"Here," he then said, clearing his throat as he retrieved a small box wrapped in gold foil. 

Hermione frowned at it. "Oh, I...I didn't know we were exchanging gifts. If I did, I would've gotten you something, too, Malfoy."

"You came," Draco said as he put the box in her hands. His fingers traced a short path around her wrists before his hands came back down to his sides. "That's all I could've asked for. Besides, I think it's kind of ironic your dress matches it."

Brown eyes glanced around the drawing room; for a second, Hermione was, indeed, searching for a version of herself she left littered across the floor, bleeding and tortured. To see it, however, was to see Draco crouching in a corner crying, terrified and defeated at the echoes her screams created. 

The silver in Draco's eyes started darkening as she hesitated. 

"Thanks for this. You really shouldn't have bothered," she mumbled, tearing at the wrappings before shadows took over Draco's face. When she removed the lid from the box, she found a silver hairpin set upon a velvet cushion. Two snakes tangled around each other, forming the shape of a heart. Each had emerald eyes, big and glittering bright. 

"Do you like it?"

Hermione closed her mouth after her jaw had dropped. She liked it; of course she did, it was a stunning piece, but it looked like something no one would be able to browse any boutique for and find. 

"It was my mother's," Draco explained, catching the curiosity in her gaze. "A Black Family heirloom passed to one female of every generation." 

"Malfoy," Hermione started, voice a whisper, "I can't have this. It belonged to generations of pureblood women that will roll in their graves for my having it."

Draco let out a laugh. "Doesn't that make it better? Wasn't that what you said once, in our first Marriage and Family Life lesson? That I'd be breaking a long tradition by making you the first Muggle-Born Malfoy?"

"No. What I said was you'd be the first to ruin—"

"I'm not ruining it, Granger."

Hermione bit into her bottom lip, looking at Draco with uncertainty. It was (uncharacteristically) sweet of him to even consider getting her a gift, and she knew there was an important meaning behind him giving her something that had circled in his mother's maiden family for centuries. It was a sign that he was letting her in. Yes, they were going to be married under the law the Ministry passed, but that did not mean he had to invite her in to be his family.

He still chose to. 

Before Hermione could decide what to do with the Black heirloom, the doors of the drawing room opened for Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. She almost dropped the box as they walked closer, an air about them that somehow still made Hermione feel like she would always be less in the eyes of people like them. 

As she was trying to summon her courage to look at them with her chin raised high, Mrs. Malfoy smiled at her. "Thank you for agreeing to come, Miss Granger. Merry Christmas."

"I promised we wouldn't keep her for long," Draco said to his parents, coming to stand alongside Hermione, his arm touching hers. 

"Of course not. We do not wish to keep you from your family long," Narcissa added, still holding onto her smile. Hermione could not detect any malice behind the expression, but she still felt her magic simmering just beneath her skin, signaling to her that it was ready in case she needed it. 

Hermione tried to open her mouth to provide Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy with any pleasantries about their home, about the holiday, about the day, but nothing seemed to be coming out. All she could do was stare into the eyes of the people who once wanted her dead. 

"I hope you liked the hairpin," Narcissa spoke again, pulling her arm from where it was wrapped around her husband's. She took a step closer to Hermione and the latter felt a curse forming at the tip of her tongue at the unexpected movement. "Draco said you might be unwilling to take my family heirloom, but I wished you to have it. I do not have a daughter, so it is only fitting for my daughter-in-law to have it."

"Cissy," said Lucius, causing Hermione to bite down on her tongue before the curse did leave her mouth at just the sound of his voice. "Why don't you and Miss Granger get started with tea out in the garden? I wish to discuss a quick matter with Draco."

As Narcissa turned to look at her husband, Hermione reached for Draco's hand, squeezing it tightly. 

"You'll be fine, Warrior Princess," he whispered in her ear, taking the box from her hands before his parents had their attention back on them. 

"Care to join me, Miss Granger?"

At Narcissa's permanent, welcoming smile, Hermione nodded, blinking once more at Draco before she followed his mother. 

Draco and Lucius watched both go, hearing the beginning of a conversation Narcissa was starting involving how Hermione was finding the academic year at Hogwarts. 

"I think your mother almost hugged her," Lucius said, turning to his son with dark, narrowed silver eyes. 

Draco shrugged at his father, sitting himself back on his armchair as they were now alone. "Mother likes Granger, it seems."

XX

Narcissa Malfoy knew well enough the mistakes she had made in her lifetime. Most occurred because of the belief she had been instilled with as a young girl: Toujours Pur. 

Always pure.

Like every little girl who had been told she was better than everyone else because of the status of her blood, Narcissa Black grew up with a tiara on her head. She knew, of course, what came with the title and prestige. She knew the effort she would have to put in to be deserving of it, to preserve it. So Narcissa Black allowed her mother to prep her, to polish her with manners, beliefs, and expectations of what a pureblood woman should be. When the offer of an arranged marriage with Lucius Malfoy was presented to her father, Narcissa Black was ready to uphold her duties as all the other generations of respectable, pureblood women had done before her. 

Toujours Pur then raised her son. 

Once Narcissa Malfoy had given birth to a Malfoy heir, she knew what the rest of his life would look like. Her young, precious Draco would lead the same life Narcissa and Lucius had: he would get a proper education, he would uphold their history, he would preserve his bloodlines just as Narcissa and Lucius had done, he would hold court with the Dark Lord, he would marry a respectable, pureblood girl, and he would have children of his own who would continue this tradition. 

Fate, of course, had other plans for Narcissa Malfoy's family. 

When the Dark Lord first fell, witches and wizards across their country claimed to have acted under the Imperius Curse. Lucius himself had vowed to the Ministry, shame and hatred burning deep in his blood, that his actions had never been his own. Quick to bury that dark era with the dead, the Ministry granted pardons to all those who claimed to repent. When Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord once and for all, no one who had been a Death Eater or had been involved with them would see the light of day until the Wizengamot proved their innocence. 

When Narcissa Malfoy stood before the council, she did not claim innocence. 

She knew what she had done: she knew where her pureblood mania had got her and what it had cost her family—what it had cost her son. Narcissa was guilty of keeping her head held high, of letting Lucius proceed with his love and devotion to the Dark Arts and his master, of raising her son to know no compassion, of not trying hard enough to protect Draco from Lucius' fate, of not dying before the Dark Lord took Draco, too. 

 Saving Harry Potter's life would let her fight for her son.

Narcissa Malfoy testified that to the council. Her intention had not been wholly based on wishing for the Dark Lord's defeat, rather the opportunity to pull her son out of a war she and Lucius had a hand in creating. She was not seeking a pardon; no, Narcissa would take Azkaban, live the rest of her life in that cage, if the Wizengamot cleared Draco of his charges. He was only guilty of having parents who gave him no choice. 

Then Harry Potter and Hermione Granger demanded freedom for both.

When she first saw them enter the council room, Narcissa panicked for a moment that petty, school rivalry would send her son to Azkaban for being branded a Death Eater, but Mr. Potter and Miss Granger had shown up with other intentions. They provided the Wizengamot with evidence for Narcissa and Draco's defense, illuminating the council on how Narcissa and Draco had helped turn the tide against the Dark Lord. 

Narcissa Malfoy was indebted to Harry Potter and Hermione Granger for the rest of her life.

When the Ministry of Magic's letter came informing parents of their newly passed Restoration and Magical Retention Act, Narcissa thought any chance she had at regifting Draco his freedom was gone. Her actions once again had taken from him the ability to choose. After all, if she nor Lucius had aided the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, their community would not have seen a decline of the magical bloodline, forcing the Ministry to demand from young adults to fix the problem they did not cause.

Fate, of course, had other plans for Draco that Narcissa could not have foreseen.

Draco's letter informing Narcissa and Lucius of who he had been betrothed to could hardly be called a letter; it was a small scrap of parchment he must have torn off from an old essay. In a rushed scribble it simply read Hermione Granger. Lucius had taken the piece of parchment from Narcissa's fingers, his silver eyes storming at the news, but she contemplated the real meaning behind this unexpected union.

Her son was getting the chance for a better, happier life.

Narcissa Malfoy could not stomp and shatter a lifetime of Black lessons and beliefs, but Narcissa Black had not witnessed and endured all that her older self had. It would take another lifetime to unlearn all that she had, but every step in the direction of light was worth it if it meant giving Draco back everything Narcissa had stolen from him. She would learn to be better, to think better now that Hermione Granger was meant to be a Malfoy.

Still, Narcissa could not erase years of bad blood between her family and Miss Granger.

As such, she could not blame the silence Hermione often drifted into after murmuring out a quick, impassive response to every question Narcissa asked her. She understood, of course; Hermione would need more time, more effort to forgive (to be able to put behind) all of the horrors she had faced because of people like Narcissa Malfoy. 

"Thank you for agreeing to take this walk with me," Narcissa said, looking at the young girl as they came to a stop at a particularly handsome, well-manicured hedge at the center of her garden. "I know sitting to have tea with Lucius and myself is the last thing you wanted to do this evening."

Hermione tried to offer Narcissa a smile that pretended to suggest otherwise. She reached a fingertip out to the hedge, stroking a leaf that made the whole plant turn to gold. She did not marvel at it, rather looked behind her shoulder, searching for Draco beneath the stretch of moonlight. 

"You and Draco seem to be getting on well," Narcissa then said, gesturing for them to continue their walk. "It is all I could have asked for after the Ministry passed this law. Every mother wishes for their child to get on with their partner, of course."

Hermione looked up from the rose bushes they were now standing in front of. She wanted to bite her tongue to keep the next words from coming out, but she had not been fast enough. "I would have assumed every mother like yourself, Mrs. Malfoy, would have wanted better for her child."

Narcissa let out what sounded like a laugh, her blue eyes getting lost in the flowers for a moment before turning to look at Hermione. "Yes, I can see why you think so, but as it turns out, mothers like myself did not really know what was best for their child, did they? All I can hope for now, Miss Granger, is that Draco finds happiness."

"And you think that will be with me?"

"As I said, it is all I can hope for." Narcissa turned her body away from her roses completely, her blue eyes looking straight into Hermione's anxious brown gaze. "May I speak frankly to you, Miss Granger?"

Again, Hermione looked behind her shoulder, searching for any sign of Draco. He had promised to join the walk with his mother, but she had already been alone with Narcissa for over an hour. When she did not see him, she turned to his mother and nodded. 

"I believe you to be my son's chance at a new life. I know that is a heavy claim to make, but you are everything I never taught my son to be. Through my own faults, Draco grew up to be the worst kind of boy. And it is also through my own faults that Draco carries demons he cannot forgive himself for. Being with you, Miss Granger, can show him a different way to live. To love."

Despite the cold wind weaving through the garden, Hermione found it difficult to find air for a moment. Narcissa Malfoy's wish for her son felt too strange, too heavy to contain. After the sorting, after spending time with Draco, Hermione could see all of his damaged parts, but she had also known she did not want to be the one who offered him forgiveness. She did not want to be the one to lead him to the light because she was afraid of the shadows he carried. 

She was angry then. Resentful. She hated Draco for the sorting hat calling out his name. Yet, that was then, before he had allowed her glimpses of his vulnerability, before he had welcomed her into his life, before she knew how his lips tasted. 

Now she wanted to forgive Draco Malfoy. She wanted to bury their past along with their childhoods and build a future with who they had become. 

"Draco and I," Hermione murmured, "have developed an understanding through this, Mrs. Malfoy. A comradeship of sorts. To claim love at this moment would make me a liar. It would make both of us liars, actually."

"At this moment," Narcissa said, her smile still in its place. Under the moonlight, her blue eyes glittered with something Hermione never thought she would see directed at her. Fondness. Admiration. "Who can expect love after a few weeks, you are right, Miss Granger. But who can say it will never happen with time? Love, patience, and understanding are all I can want for Draco now. For both of you, Miss Granger, and the life you are to have together."

Hermione did not know how to process Narcissa's words. She had been apprehensive since she arrived at Malfoy Manor; with complete focus, Hermione had watched every movement Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy made, her magic still simmering just below her skin, waiting in case it was needed. She was hardly paying attention to the small talk Narcissa was trying to engage her with, not with Lucius Malfoy sitting silently, austere across from her; when she did hear Mrs. Malfoy, however, she found the same effort Draco had been making with Hermione since the sorting. A part of her, the same part that had been hesitant and cold with Draco, did not want to believe Mrs. Malfoy had any good intentions, but she never faltered when Hermione met her with poorly hidden disdain. 

"Mother—" 

Before Hermione could decide if she believed Narcissa Malfoy, Draco finally appeared behind her. The moonlight cascading down on him made his hair paler, like a wash of light breaking through the darkness. He came to stand beside Hermione, his hand on the small of her back that said something like you're okay, I'm sorry I took long, I'm here now. 

"We've kept Granger longer than intended. If we don't send her back, the Weasleys and Potter will be sending a squad of Aurors to take her back."

Hermione rolled her eyes, nudging him with her elbow. "Don't be dramatic."

As Draco let out a chuckle, Narcissa observed them carefully. Hermione might have doubted the ability for love to grow between them, but Narcissa was seeing the first signs of it. 

"Why don't you spend the night, Miss Granger?" Hermione and Draco both paled at Narcissa's words. Before either could sputter confusion or outrage, she added, "I think I have taken too much of Miss Granger's time since she arrived. I am sure you wanted some time alone with her, Draco. You could continue to show her the garden and the pond. Of course, I will have Beta prepare the guest bedroom in your quarters."

"Oh, no, Mrs. Weasley is sure to be waiting—"

"Mother, I hardly think Granger wants to—"

"I'll send one of the house-elves with a bottle of Veritaserum," said Narcissa, smirking slightly at their reaction. "In case Mrs. Weasley thinks we are holding Miss Granger hostage. Run along now. There might be unicorns by the pond."

Draco glared at his mother, but Hermione slipped her hand into his. Bewilderment took over the silver in his eyes; she could not possibly want to stay in Malfoy Manor? Not with the nightmares it held inside the walls. Not with the things she had endured inside of it. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione said.

"No, thank you, Miss Granger," Narcissa called after her and Draco, both walking further down the plush green garden illuminated by the moonlight. 

She knew by agreeing to stay Hermione was granting Draco forgiveness for the mistakes he thought his. Truly, it was all Narcissa could ask for. 

As she turned back in the direction of Malfoy Manor, Narcissa caught Lucius out in the balcony of his study. The night did not obscure the frown settled on the tired lines of his face as he, too, watched Draco and Hermione walk hand in hand. When he did blink down, his eyes met Narcissa.

The night did not obscure the threat in her own eyes directed at him. Nor did it hide the hope that Narcissa's letter had convinced Draco to heed her advice that could grant him something Lucius nor her could ever give him. 

My dearest Draco,

This law the Ministry of Magic has passed serves as a reminder of how I have failed you as a mother. If I had chosen differently, you would not yet again find yourself having to fix the mistakes we made serving the wrong side. 

I know your history with Hermione Granger is founded on hatred, but I hope you two can one day move past that and find forgiveness and hope. What comes next might not be what either of you wants, but it does not have to be built on defeat. You can have and want a better life, Draco. You can want to know the girl who fought to give you your freedom.

You can want to finally be happy. It is all I want for you.

With love,

your mother.