Lover of the Light

Chapter Fourteen: Of Open Doors

She was staring at him again. She tried not to, she really did, but without permission her eyes just moved from the page of her book to the person sitting across from her. It was completely unacceptable. She was not okay with losing concentration like that, with her eyes daring to shift away from the incredible writing of the book she was reading; and let her not get into the fact that her brain had the audacity not to process word for word what was going on in the story. For goodness sakes, she was stuck on the same page for twenty-seven minutes now. She was tempted to hit her head repeatedly on the surface of the table just to get everything in order again. She really was close to doing so, but she was certain that if she gave in to that he'd see what he causing.

What on Merlin's earth was he causing, anyway? She hadn't the foggiest.

Whatever it was, it was not okay. Her mind and body were going rogue. It was not simply that she kept staring at him, eyes zooming to his persona like he was some sort of magnetic field, nor that her brain couldn't concentrate on the simple task of reading a book; it was that her mind was coming up with absurd thoughts. It started processing the idea that it was perfectly fine to be around him, to enjoy their conversations, the silence, the banter, the witty insults. Her mind was starting to formulate the concept of letting him in.

She'd been completely honest with him when she said she forgave him for the terrible things he said and did to her since they were children, but she never really considered friendship sprouting from that. She figured her forgiveness was what he needed to breathe a little better, to relieve some weight of his past on his shoulders, to ease his nightmares, and that was it. The long shot was becoming respectful familiars. Fate, however, was drawing up another conclusion.

Draco Malfoy was becoming a decent human being in her eyes.

Stripping away all of his defensive mechanisms, the way he nastily tended to stay on top of the food chain, and adding all the changes he'd gone through since the war, all the lessons he'd learned and the effort he was putting in living in present times—well, that was some sort of intriguing.

She always believed the best in people, and there'd been a time when she believed that Malfoy was one of the exceptions of that belief, but now she was being proved wrong. If there was something Hermione thrived on, it was a challenge and seeing it to the end to receive the correct answer. Except, in this case, she wasn't sure if she liked it.

He was becoming easier to be around with after he apologized: he talked a little more freely, sometimes revealing things she'd never figured she'd know about him, like his favorite book, random events in his childhood, or his fascination for Potions and Alchemy. He still liked to have a blank mask on most of the time, a coldness about him that seemed like walls to hide behind, but there were few occasions when he smiled, when he smirked teasingly, when he said something pleasant, or when he laughed. (Merlin, she never thought she'd hear him laugh without malice.)

He asked questions about her, too. He asked what her favorite book was; who her favorite author was, magical and not; what her favorite memory was as a child; what she wanted to do after Hogwarts; why she found Ancient Runes so fascinating, why she was so stubborn—he particularly asked that question a lot—and if she thought people were split in either black or white.

He was surprising her with his neutral side. And though she could never forget what he did, what he said, who he used to be, she was beginning to see him as something new. Her mind was starting to swamp the image she had of him as ignorant pureblood to a boy who didn't have a choice. She was starting to see him not as a previous supporter of blood supremacy, but as someone caught in the complicated scheme of war and power. She was starting to see him as the boy who was willing to commit murder to ensure his parents' well-being—something she could not judge at all because she'd do it in a heartbeat if that was the only choice; even now.

No matter the fight with her brain, the proof of truth was irrevocable. Malfoy was changing; adapting himself into her life without even giving her a chance to deny access.

'Sweetheart, you look gorgeous!'

Clearing her throat, removing her bewildered and fascinated eyes from Malfoy's grey ones, Hermione smiled largely at Jennifer and Richard Granger; her muggle-parents. 'Mum,' despite her previous loss of words, her voice came out high and squeaky, 'Dad, I'm so glad you're here!'

Blaise grumbled something in the background, but Hermione chose not to reprimand him when she stretched her arms as wide as she could and put them around both Grangers. Her father pressed a kiss to the top of her head, her mother squeezed her lovingly, and Hermione felt a completeness at having them so near. It had been four months since she last saw them, the tears in her eyes were excusable.

'I'm sorry I didn't greet you earlier,' she said to them as they pulled away from her, Mrs. Granger wiping underneath her eyes to make sure her makeup had not smeared and she still looked presentable for the hundreds of eyes attentive of her every move. 'Deon and Allegra wanted me to meet some people."

Mrs. Granger narrowed her eyes slightly at the brunette in a scolding manner. 'It's quite understandable, Hermione. Your mother and father have been waiting years for this.'

Hermione wanted to frown at her muggle-mother. She wanted to tell the woman that despite the weeks that'd past, despite the fact that she truly was working on letting the Zabini couple in, they were still her parents.

Knowing both well enough, Mister Granger decided to ease the tension. He hadn't wanted to step foot into the magical world to see the girl he raised be claimed by others, but this was a happy moment. This was a moment of a Granger reunion, no matter the people around.

'Don't worry, sweetheart; Draco here kept us company.' Placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, Mister Granger smiled kindly when the blonde looked up. He seemed a little more reserved, tensed, compared to the past few minutes, but he didn't pay any mind to it because he didn't understand it. 'He was explaining to Jenny and I the history behind the moving, ancestral portraits. Quite fascinating, really.'

Malfoy glanced over to Hermione, a flicker of inspection danced over all of her for a millisecond, but then he was back to that expressionless mask.

'And we met his parents,' Mister Granger continued, making not just Hermione puzzled, but all the other young witches and wizards behind her, too. 'Both very pleasant and accommodating like their son. They took turns to explain to us the purpose of a few things that caught our attention.'

'Mrs. Granger cut in, 'Draco let on that he's known you since you were young, Hermione. Why'd you never mention that?'

Though they were in a crowded ballroom with over four-hundred guests, including a small orchestra playing live music, Hermione felt like the silence that fell over the group was deafening. Her eyes scanned one parent to another and then quickly landed on the blonde boy beside them. His jaw was squared off, the hands at his sides balled into fists, and if the glint in his eyes was anything to go by, Hermione could see that he was having a war with himself.

There went his guilt again. Not just his, but the one he also carried for his father's sins when it came to her.

She locked eyes with the Slytherin for a brief moment that he missed the determination in her gaze. 'Malfoy and I weren't friends then, Mum,' she sounded so sure and nonchalant. 'But we are now. I'm glad you met him...'

We are now, she mused as she drifted off from the memory of three nights ago. Had she just said that to ease, not just Malfoy's guilt, but the curiosity her mother had? Or had she, even then, mindlessly already let him in?

Mumbling to herself, crossing her arms over her chest and obscuring her view of the open book, Hermione became frustrated.

He had specifically said that he never asked for her friendship, just for her forgiveness, yet he practically waltz his way into her life. That tosser. He might be changing and all that rubbish, but Hermione was positive he was still that slick, lying, manipulative—

"Something on your mind?"

A fraction of her brain was about to correct the one silently insulting the Slytherin, using a bit of conscience and reasoning to make her see that she was just upset at him because she was upset with herself for trusting Malfoy out of all people. Her brain, that traitor, was about to school her, but instead her eardrums picked up the voice from the person across from her.

Malfoy had a blonde brow raised, his stormy-colored eyes not showing particularly anything as she met his gaze.

"Just thinking about my parents," she grumbled at him. He kept that brow up and she sat taller in her chair, clearing her throat and attempting to lose the foul attitude she was suddenly having. 'This is not exactly what they thought would be happening to me once I embraced by Zabini title."

"The betrothal?"

She nodded. "Mum doesn't really blame Allegra or Deon for doing what they needed at the time, but Dad seemed pretty determined to find his own group of lawyers to handle this situation."

Automatically, he hated the feeling in the atmosphere. He wasn't one for the apathetic emotions and the hopelessness of others, but that never seemed to stop the Gryffindor Princess from speaking. He knew she could see his hesitation and instant shut-down, the ill-eased body language when she rambled, but for some reason he always let her continue talking. It was almost as if she had this ridiculous notion that he was a good listener—a mistake he constantly made for assuming that he could listen at all.

"If he does, let's hope he can break through the binding in those magical contracts. I assure you, there will be plenty of our classmates thrilled not to have to kill their betrothed."

"Wait—there's several marriage contracts within the walls of Hogwarts?"

"Don't feel so special now, do you, Granger?" He leered teasingly, but she didn't look fazed by it. He should've known. She was now fully curious to know who else was damned like she was. "You know why purebloods draw up these betrothals, Granger. Don't look so outraged that there's others."

She frowned at him. "I've never heard any of this sort happen among our classmates before."

"Not everyone finds out about these contracts in their school years," he explained flatly. "And if they do, not everyone feels quite taken with their betrothed. There's quite a lot of embarrassing matches."

"Such as?"

"Parkinson, for instance." For fuck sakes, was he gossiping with the Gryffindor now? Why'd he keep letting her just switch him up, pulling him away from his uncaring, indifferent, comfort zone? "Her parents practically sold her to Crabbe."

Hermione made a face at the new piece of information. "That's disturbing."

"Goyle is betrothed to Millicent Bulstrode," he continued on. "Though, he never was quite upset with that. He fancies her."

"Why? She's a horrid cow."

Malfoy laughed. He never thought he'd hear Granger speak ill about someone. She was the voice of tolerance and of acceptance, after all. But then again, all girls could spot out the bitches among their gender. "There's no dispute of that, but she's always been less of a cow to Goyle. Who knows, maybe their parents tapped into something good for them."

The brunette snorted. How could that possibly happen? Their parents took away their right to find someone that fits them, that molds them into someone better. The marriage contracts, in her opinion, were a toss up between catastrophic and fortunate.

"Marcus Flint was betrothed to Tracey Davis. That just shows the flaws in these contracts, does it not? Davis was a First Year when she found out about the betrothal to Flint. It caused a commotion amongst Slytherin for weeks. He was seventeen and she eleven then."

That was definitely repulsive, Hermione agreed, but that hadn't been what caught her attention in Malfoy's comment. "What do you mean Flint was betrothed to Davis?"

"The Flints bought out Mister Davis to mutually destroy the contract sometime in her Fifth Year. It was rumoured that the Flints were going into hiding before the war took its toll, and the Davis' didn't want to be associated to Blood Traitors."

"Lucky them," she sighed. He rose an eyebrow at her again. "I meant because they got rid of the contract so easily. Mrs. Nott doesn't want to be bought, she wants this marriage to go through."

Malfoy nodded passively, seeming like he barely heard her.

"Blaise is blessed not to be wrapped in a situation like this," she mumbled tiredly, pressing herself against the back of the chair and slouching down slightly. "His mother wanted to find him an Italian pureblood witch for him to marry. Deon managed to convince Blaise's mother to hold the search until he was seventeen, but seeing as the woman died..."

"He mentioned that once," replied the blonde. "He didn't think he'd get out of it then, no matter how much Deon tried to appeal against it, but he loved to brag that he was at least getting someone we didn't go to school with like the rest of us were."

She had uncrossed her arms, looked back down at the book in front of her, but it was forgotten again when her ears heard his sentence and her brilliant mind processed it. "You...You're betrothed to someone?"

The brunette was looking at him, eyes narrowed in skepticism, in bewilderment, and he didn't know why he also thought they gleamed with panic.

He gave her a solemn nod as an answer.

Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, a humorless puff passing her lips, and then she snapped her book closed. "You never mentioned that you were." Her tone was accusing. She'd been talking about her betrothal to Nott for weeks now—Merlin, he was there when she found out about it—and all this time he couldn't tell her about his? "Who is she?"

He wanted to tell her to mind her own business, but she looked offended for some reason. Not that he should care or that he owed her any explanations of his private life, but did he really want the Bookworm upset with him? For being considered a pacifist throughout their world, she did know how to hold a grudge.

"Astoria Greengrass," his voice was low and blank. She looked confused for a moment, a little sidetracked, but he chose to take the opportunity to quickly explain the situation before her senses came back and she continued talking about things he rather not. "She died in the battle of Hogwarts. It canceled the contract and released me of the obligation."

Hermione swallowed. She had never spoken a word to Astoria Greengrass during their time in school, but she felt great sadness when she saw her crumbled and cold when she assisted the Aurors in collecting the bodies throughout the castle and its grounds.

Hogwarts was a large place with a multitude of students, but everyone knew everyone. Maybe not all by name, but every face was memorized. And the look Astoria Greengrass wore as she laid dead was that of fear and loneliness. It haunted Hermione and it became a flash of a nightmare on bad nights, alike all the faces of the other dead bodies she helped retrieve.

"I, erm...I didn't think the Greengrasses were the type to do that to their daughters," responded the brunette after a long minute. "They seemed like the type that would let their children relish in their dreams."

Draco hid his curiosity when he saw the girl gain a rain cloud over her head. "The Greengrasses sold both their daughters for a pureblood descendant. They tied Astoria to me before she was even out the womb, despite me being older than her. Not to mention Daphne had been betrothed to Cedric Diggory before she could walk. They didn't care, they wanted their legacy to keep running."

"Cedric Dig—What?" Hermione was appalled. "Greengrass was not betrothed to Cedric!"

"The Diggorys needed the galleons then. Don't think too highly of purebloods outside of Slytherin House, Granger. You'll just disappoint yourself with how much hypocrisy there really is in people you think noble."

She scowled at him. "Don't go there," she warned him. "I'm just simply stating my surprise."

He snorted and left it alone. "If it makes you feel better, Granger, the Greengrasses have changed. War did that. After losing their youngest daughter, they're now the cuddling kind with Daphne. Her happiness and well-being became priority."

Hermione groaned loudly as she got up from her chair. She gave Malfoy her back for a moment as she paced one of the many sitting rooms inside Zabini mansion; pacing heavily on the wooden panels. She just couldn't understand how some people could not change after the war. Something that grotesque, that dangerous, that altering had to give people new perspectives about their lives, didn't it? War united people; it made them see the beauty and the absolute about life. Family, love and friendship shone during dark times and it gave hope for a better tomorrow.

How can people not see that? How was peace and equality not a priority?

The reality was that it wasn't just about the fact that marriage contracts existed, that not everyone got spared from one. It simply had to do with the fact that she was done trying to fight for her future.

"Everything will be all right, Granger—" Startling her completely, making a cold shiver run up her spine, Hermione felt a pair of hands settle on her shoulders from behind her. Her skin was suddenly tingly, numb, and rigid. Her chest started heaving slightly, her heart picking up pace than what was normal, and her throat went dry.

She wanted to push him off of her but she was frozen. She didn't know what to do in that second; nor in the one following after when he started turning her so she could face him.

And face him she did.

Their eyes met and she swore the silver in his orbs were that of an undiscovered metal. It was like something she'd never seen—on him or in the world. His pale complexion was still expressionless, fighting to stay aloof, but his eyes were trying to speak to her. They wanted to tell her something right there and then, something that would not be told freely and easily by his lips, and she found she wanted to listen to it with some sort of desperation.

"They're going to find a way out of the betrothal."

That's not what he wanted to say, she knew that. His eyes were still fighting to release the emotion they were being forced and battled with to hide.

"Thank you," she whispered to him. She blinked away from his face for a moment, her eyes discreetly looking at his hands on her shoulders still when she realized that he was incredibly close. He never was, he always kept quite a distance from her if he wasn't saving her life. She hadn't given that much thought before, but she found that she cared now; that she didn't like his proximity.

He smelled of ice and mint, cool like all his being. The problem was that it was an aroma her body was becoming accustomed to and that her silly mind put it in the pile of comfort where she kept Harry's, Ron's, the Grangers, and even Blaise's.

"Thank you for being around, Malfoy. I've...I've enjoyed your company." God, what was she saying? "You've been a good friend to me."

Merlin, she had let him in.

The hands on her shoulders slackened. His stormy-colored gaze went from struggling to completely dead. He narrowed his eyes and simply stared at her for what felt like an eternity. She felt embarrassed, ashamed, and like a fool for what she'd said. She knew he didn't want friendship from her; just forgiveness and a truce of civility. Maybe that's why she was fighting the sudden spark—because she knew he'd never want it.

"Forget—"

"I enjoy your company, too." After his interruption, his hands dropped from her shoulders and he proceeded to cross his arms over his chest. His eyes were still blank, hiding again, but there was a smile on his face. It wasn't grand like the few she'd seen on him before, but it was genuine.

Her panic left instantly. "You're surprisingly decent," she confessed, "and much better company than I expected."

"Cheers, Granger. You're not as insufferable as you make it seem."

She laughed lightly, swatting him once on the chest. "You find me charming, Malfoy, and you know it. You would be with Blaise all the time you're here if you didn't think so."

He took a step back from her, adding distance between them, but he got a much better look at her. He was about to reply, content for the easy air around them, but the doors of the sitting room opened and forbade him from retaliating.

The first person he saw was his mother, a smile on her face as she too spotted him, and then Mrs. Zabini. Both came in holding a stack of folders, more floating behind them. He assumed in that moment that it was all work related—his mother assisted Allegra with her fashion investments as leisure on occasions—but then another person walked in after them.

Marching in in all black, pale eyes glowing with judgement, with authority, with arrogance, Hermione felt dread when Regina Nott sneered at her. She stood in the middle of the sitting room, looking tall and proud, like she was the owner of the mansion and ready to take over.

"Come sit with us, Hermione," the woman's cold voice rung throughout the suddenly silent room; sounding ordering. "We've got a wedding to plan."

                                                                       XXXXXXXXXXXX

Between war, deaths, and changing lives, Hermione found that an entire year had passed in a blur. She couldn't really say it was a great and thriving year, obviously; but one thing she was sure of was that it was an exhausting one. Her body and mind had been stretched to the limit like they were elastic bands with all the catastrophic occurrences that'd happened in that year. She had a moment, just a brief one, where the bands were released and they fell loose of any strain. Of course, that was during the times that she restored the Grangers' memory and flew them back to Britain from Australia.

It was the start of a new year, but Hermione found that someone had picked up the metaphorical bands of her life and began stretching again. Fate was pulling to see how much further she could go from her previous limit, challenging her strength and control. Especially in that precise moment.

"...naturally, respectable press has to be invited."

Sitting tall, narrowed honey-colored eyes attempting to be somewhat polite, Allegra Zabini casually stirred a teaspoon inside her cup after adding a bit of sugar. "I see your concerns, Regina, but I don't think the press needs to be involved at all."

In a creme colored armchair across from the heads of the Zabini family, Mrs. Nott refrained herself from showing any kind of dislike for them that'd been created for their treacherous lies. At one point in life, just a year ago even, she had sat in that same polished, clean, classic beige sitting room of the Zabini mansion and chatted with them like pleasant familiars.

The friendship between the Notts and the Zabinis wasn't one as strongly tied as the one they shared with the Malfoys, but it was good and respected. The Notts could always count on the Zabinis to invest in Nott Exchange, the top trading company that existed within the pureblood circles for over eight centuries. Not only had they been top investors, but they were one of their major clients. Mister Zabini was dedicated to many things since his arrival to Britain years ago, and one of those was the export of jewels to his motherland and other countries; and he counted on Nott Exchange to deliver economically and efficiently.

It was from there that their friendship with Regina and Theodore Nott Sr. had sprouted from. The two married couples talked a lot of business, had the occasional amicable dinner, the women went shopping together, and the men partook in the same secret meetings in charged by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Through that, nothing personal was ever shared and none minded. Purebloods were all paranoid and they all kept to themselves; everything was business or discreet friendship. So it'd been a surprise that seven months into Allegra's pregnancy the Zabinis had a prospective betrothal between their unborn daughter and the Nott's unborn son in mind.

Mister and Mrs. Nott had pretended to think over their offer, but of course they would've been fools to not accept. The Zabinis, though not English by roots, were still a powerful and pure legacy that would be the top gem in the Nott family-tree and their Gringotts vault. After a few tweaks and discussions, the betrothal had been created and sealed to tie both Zabini and Nott heirs when they reached the legal age in the Wizardying World.

Of course, the Notts had believed the tragic passing of Aria Zabini and sympathized with the Zabinis for their loss—and the tie they'd lost as well. Nonetheless, they remained on friendly terms and the Zabinis investments to Nott Exchange had proceeded as usual, even doubled in passing years. Then, of course, rumour of the Dark Lord returning in solid form started spreading like wildfire and those who had claimed to be Imperiused while doing his bidding during the first war were growing fearful and apprehensive. Theodore Sr. included in the shameful throng of followers.

Mrs. Nott's husband started laundering money from the investments and off their clients to provide for their family if they needed to escape from the Dark Lord's wrath. Unfortunately, the imbecile had been caught by Thorfinn Rowle and the fellow Death Eater had reported Theodore Sr.'s betrayal to all the old pureblood families that associated with them. The Zabinis, along with many, had withdrawn all their funds and left the Notts to collect every single sickle and knut they had in order to survive in the ruin they were left in.

"How long do you think your daughter's identity is going to stay among the guests of your Christmas ball?" Mrs. Nott crossed her arms over her chest, disregarding the tea the main house-elf had served her. "It's going to be publicized—her engagement to my son as well. If handled correctly, the media will be as respectful as possible and the wedding can be covered tastefully."

Allegra took a sip from her teacup before answering, needing the leaves of her chamomile to do their calming purpose before she snapped. "Deon and I have discussed the matter of exposure to society with Hermione, and we all know it's unavoidable. As such, we are not fazed by what the media might say. We are now focusing on our daughter's needs, and we do not want her more uncomfortable with this situation if we can help it."

"You can just end this now, Regina." Loyally beside his wife, Deon's emerald gaze was firm and unmoved as they focused on the woman before him. "We're willing to pay any amount you wish as long as you mutually agree to destroy the contract. We just want peace for our family."

Mrs. Nott snapped her fingers at one of the house-elves inside the refined sitting room; silently ordering for it to add two sugarcubes into her tea. "Your construction of a resort in the Isle of Hydra is almost complete, is it not?" She ignored all that Mister Zabini said. "The wedding is not scheduled until they complete their final year at Hogwarts, and, if the resort is finish by then, I'm thinking a wedding in Greece would be delightful."

Deon's visible palm resting on the circular table clutched together into a fist. Anger burned and etched on his face, and it took his wife's settling hand on his shoulder to not pull his wand out and curse Regina Nott to an unrecognizable state.

"The resort is out of the question." For the quiet celebration of the new year, the Malfoys were among the diminutive number of guests in Zabini Estate. "We own half of the construction and I'm afraid I don't want to inconvenience our guests by having a wedding there. For economical purposes, of course."

Mrs. Nott forced a smile at Lucius Malfoy. "The location is not really a matter in the end, is it? As long as your goddaughter and my son get married, Lucius, we can have it in the drawing room of your manor where you watched her get tortured."

Tension and animosity spread throughout the atmosphere in the sitting room that even the two house-elves were itching to get away by the thickness of it. It took a hard squeeze to the shoulder for Allegra to keep Deon on his seat and all of her self control to keep a neutral look on her face. Not to mention that Lucius Malfoy was ready to become a killer once more—hadn't it not been for the fact that his wand had been confiscated by the Ministry and that Narcissa was pinching his leg underneath the table to contain him.

"Let's discuss the matter of the guest-list, shall we?"

As Mrs. Zabini managed to get into a new topic, to try and avoid destruction and Ministry Officials bombarding her home because of the possible uses of the Unforgivables that would be cast on Regina, Hermione cleared her throat from the seat on a long, beige couch she was on with two others.

Benjamin Nott was caught in the middle of her and his brother Theo.

To say that she'd been thoroughly surprised when the Notts Flooed in was not a lie. She hadn't known that Theo had a sibling; he had never been mentioned and never brought up by him or revealed by the Zabinis. But, of course, the Zabinis had known of him and he was the only one in his family Allegra had greeted with a kiss to both cheeks. At first glance the little boy looked frightened, nervous, and quite unhappy. Hermione didn't know how that could not be, especially if Mrs. Nott's cold treatment towards him was anything to go by.

Hermione wagered that Benjamin resembled Theo at the same age of eight. The little boy had the signature dark hair of the Notts, Theo's handsome features, but his mother's staggering pale blue eyes. He shook her hand timidly when they were introduced, and never met her in the eye. When they ate dinner, he kept his gaze focused on his plate, sat tall and proper when Mrs. Nott pulled him by the collar to make him do so, and silently refused a second helping of dessert. And when Allegra had redirected everyone to one of the sitting rooms for tea, the boy has instantly sat in the couch, crossed his arms, and avoided any interaction with anyone. She felt saddened for him, and she could fleetingly see in Theo's eyes that it bothered him too.

"I'm curious to know, what does a wizard child do before going to Hogwarts?" The boy didn't move. "Benjamin?"

Startled, the little boy looked up quickly at the girl calling for him. He looked bewildered and astound that she was speaking to him, that she had a smile on her face for him. "I..." He zipped his lips, turning to his older brother on his other side with wide eyes.

A dim smile stretched a corner of Theo's mouth. He gave him a simple nod and that seemed like all the permission the boy needed before turning back to the girl.

"I go to tutoring," said the boy in the smallest voice imaginable that Hermione had to really concentrate to hear it all. "They teach us basic elements of a few subjects taught in Hogwarts."

Hermione's smiled stretched more at that. "That's great," she replied an excited tone, keeping it modest so the adults could not hear. Especially since she guessed little Benjamin was terrified of his mother and her every rule. "What's your favorite subject?"

The boy looked confused again.

"It's all right, Ben," Theo muttered to his brother. "You can tell her."

Benjamin nodded again, seeming satisfied that he got a reassured permission. It made Hermione feel sad for him all over again. "I like Ancient Runes. The tutor says I show real potential, and if I get better he will talk to the Headmistress to give me advanced classes once I get there."

The brunette refrained from clapping with thrill. The boy was still murmuring like everything that left his lips was a secret and she didn't want to scare him. "I love Ancient Runes," she told him modestly. "My favorite to decipher and study are ancient Celtic runes. They're fascinating."

"Our tutor translated the tale of 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' into Celtic runes for us to memorize," Benjamin quietly informed Hermione. "I'm already done with it, and now I'm trying to translate another story for the tutor for practice."

"Amazing!" She reached over and placed a gentle hand on his tiny shoulder. "I once translated all of Beedle the Bard's stories into English from their original runes form. It took me awhile, I must confess, so I compliment you greatly for your feat, Benjamin."

A glittering smile appeared on the boy's face and Hermione could see that was something he'd also gotten from his brother. It was quite charming. "Thank you, Miss Hermione."

"Call me Hermione," she corrected him. "Or 'Mione, if you want. My friends call me that. I don't particularly like it, but you're a special boy, Benjamin. And we're friends now, aren't we?"

His smile deflated and he turned back to his brother. "...Can I, Theo?"

The Slytherin glanced away from his little brother to look at Hermione. There was no charming grin of his own on his face, no lines of the friendly person he was to her all the time, but his dark eyes were gleaming with an emotion Hermione knew was gratitude. It didn't take more than that to know that Benjamin meant the world to Theo and that he worried for the boy's happiness as much as he wanted the boy to have it.

"Of course you can, Ben," the Slytherin answered his brother's plea, looking back down at him, black and blue eyes meeting. "You'd be a fool not to be Hermione's friend."

Benjamin grinned happily at his brother then turned back to the girl on his left. "I'd like that, 'Mione."

She returned his whispered enthusiasm. "You know, Benjamin, I always give my friends gifts. So, in order to make this friendship official, I will bring you this story called 'Aladdin' that I translated into Arabic runes. How would you like that? It's unlike any story you've ever come across, I'm sure you'll love it."

It took another permission from Theo for the boy to agree to take it, but Hermione got a nod from him and she stood from the couch. She was about to head to the doors after handing her teacup back to Button the house-elf when she was stopped by the terrifying witch in the room.

"Heading somewhere, sweetheart?"

Hermione wanted to respond with a colorful 'stuff it' that she always heard Ron grunt about, but she remembered that she had to be polite to Mrs. Nott because above all, for some damn reason, the Zabinis expected it. "Just going to the loo, Mrs. Nott. May I do so?"

Deon and the Malfoys smirked at her haughty and sarcastic tone, but Mrs. Nott pretended not to have noticed it. "Well, do so quickly. We're going to need your input on the invitation list."

She bowed at the woman, thought several strings of curse words in her head, and then headed out of the sitting room with loud, aggravated footsteps.

Hermione was quite upset at not being able to attend the Weasleys New Year's celebration at the Burrow to instead have to sit through Mrs. Nott's disgusting personality, all because Allegra thought that a dinner between them, the Notts and the Malfoys was a good way to spend the holiday. She would've complained and demanded to be let out, but she couldn't help but still be very grateful that Mrs. Zabini had invited her muggle-parents to the Christmas Ball they held.

There was just something about Mrs. Nott that she didn't like. Obviously part of her dislike for the woman was because she refused to let the betrothal dissolve, but it was also this sense about her that was just totally rotten. It was like that coldness she radiated out was the same on the inside; like she held no warmth on her skin or inside her blood vessels. And she figured that the best thing about her was what she had produced: Theo and Benjamin.

A smile appeared on her face as she thought about Theo. Even though she didn't want to marry him, she couldn't help but to see the nice person he was. He was friendly from the moment he uninvitedly took a seat in her library table months ago, requesting for a chance of new beginnings, and even to the moment the truth of their marriage contract came to light...

Her thoughts would've progressed to how supportive he'd been since all this mess, never pushing and never talking about the impending wedding between them, when she was about to head up a flight of stairs when she found that the last door of the empty hall was open and the light was on.

Curiosity being a paradox flaw of hers, Hermione sighed as she turned from the first step of the staircase and headed down to the last room in the hall. She'd never been in there before, simply because she stuck to her or Blaise's headquarters, but as soon as she passed through the door she added the room to one of the many offices in the mansion.

She looked absentmindedly around the room and found it empty. She had taken out her wand to extinguish the light being expelled from the crystallized lamp on the office's desk, but she then found that two doors inside the office were opened and the outside was exposed.

It didn't take a single second of thought to convince her to head over there. And once she stepped through the doors that led to a patio facing a part of the gardens of the Zabini mansion, she found a blonde boy looking up at the glittering moon.

"Malfoy," she said the blonde's name as she approached the garden table he was seated in. She pulled out the chair next to him, raising a brow as he looked up as she did so. "Why are you out here? I reckoned you and Blaise were starting on that festive, heavy drinking."

He didn't reply in the next passing second. Malfoy's eyes just looked at her face, dancing around her features, from her eyes to her nose to her chin. And as he did so, she could see the haze fogging his vision.

"Oh," she huffed. "I see you already dabbled."

He cleared his throat, looking back towards the expanding garden from his chair. "I had a few drinks, Granger, but not enough to have me passed out on the floor like your brother currently is." She huffed again, and just by the tone of the air leaving her mouth he knew she was about to start a lecture. He wasn't in the mood to hear it so he interjected before the first nagging word came out. "Not that I didn't want to, but I figured...I figured you might need at least one coherent person to talk to after the Notts leave."

Questioning took over her features, she knew, but he wasn't focused on her to notice it. "Really?"

He shrugged.

"Dealing with Theo and Benjamin is just fine," informed the brunette to the blonde boy like it was imperative that she did so. "Mrs. Nott is the one that's impossible. She continuously orders everyone and acts like her word is law. It's awful, Malfoy. If I can't get out of this..."

"That's your future." After completing her thought, he turned back around and focused on her. "Zabini told me she propositioned that you live at the Notts after the wedding."

Hermione nodded sadly. She crossed her arms and pressed her back against the chair, slouching as she caught one of Blaise's dogs drinking out of a rippling pond a little ahead from where they sat. "Allegra laughed in Mrs. Nott's face, but something tells me pureblood laws don't tend to favor the women, right? In the end, I'll go wherever Theo goes."

This time, she wasn't looking at him. And because she wasn't, she missed the flicker of displeasure in his gaze. That thought, the thought of Hermione Granger following after someone by force was a disturbing one. When had it ever been heard that the Brightest Witch of the Age was easily contained and influenced? She was the force, for Salazar's sake; she was free as the wind and that's just the way life worked.

"'I am no bird; and no net ensnares me'," whispered Malfoy into the silent night, half driven into doing so by the liquor in his blood. "'I am a free human being with an independent will.'"

As the dog wandered off from the pond, Hermione's attention caught the soft words being spoken by the boy next to her. She turned, a knot in her throat, a sentiment in her chest, and, for some unexplainable and uncontrolled reason, her eyes watered.

"That's what you are, isn't it?" He let the quote of Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre echo around them until it died before speaking once more. "You don't get caught, Granger. You don't go down without a fight. You don't fight without winning."

Her front teeth sunk into her bottom lip to keep her from crying. She didn't say anything immediately, but rolled and dissected his words in her mind. He was waiting for her to win this battle, expecting her to fight and kick and scream until she came out the victor.

"...You think that I can?"

"I know so," he responded soon after her muttered question. "These things don't happen to you, Granger. And...And if anyone gets to have the perfect ending, it's you. Love and happiness, or whatever rubbish you dream about."

She swallowed the sob that begged to be let out, that sob that agreed with him. "Don't you deserve that too, Malfoy?" She was whispering, letting the night's wind be the loudest thing between them. "Don't you deserve what you dream about, too?"

The hands on his lap tightened to fists. "I don't dream."

It sounded like it was the truth, like he believed that irrevocably, but she knew it was a lie. She'd once invaded his mind when he slept. He did dream—and he dreamt of her.

Impulses were not her forte; in fact, she lacked them. People like Hermione didn't do things by impulse. Research and careful reasoning first took place before she decided to go left or right; all variables accounted for. So when she locked eyes with Malfoy, his gaze silver and illuminating like the moon above them, captivating her completely, she was surprised that impulse made her lean forward.

He wasn't understanding the thoughts, the emotions, his body and mind were creating; all he knew was that her brown eyes were especially bright and so damn enthralling, inviting and warm that he lost himself for the tiniest moment. Everything about her screamed new beginnings and absolution, and he wanted it. He needed it. So when she leaned in the first millimeter to him, he immediately copied the action and met her in the middle.

Their lips met and it wasn't the cliche of first kisses. There was no shyness, no hesitance, no moment of waiting to test the waters. Their lips met and it was simplified into rawness. It wasn't a rawness of adulterated passion, but a rawness of bared emotions that was underlined by vulnerability and a desperation for freedom and life.

As their mouths moved like they were familiars, like they shared thousands of kisses under the moonlight for centuries, his right hand gripped the back of her neck while his other reached for the armrest of her chair; pulling her closer to him. His heart was thumping wildly inside his chest, all the blood vessels and all the cells in his body fluttering into motion. Kissing her—kissing Granger—felt like he was shedding his old self from the inside out.

Her hands were shaking with the explosion that somehow had taken over the night sky. They were trembling and she couldn't think of anything to do with them than to place them on both sides of his face, holding him with eagerness. Her lips kept moving with his, tasting mint on his tongue, and she kept expecting for the reasonable side of her mind to start shouting that what she was doing was wrong, sinful, unlike her, but it never came. And if the sensation of pleasant electrical currents kick-starting her heart into overdrive was anything to go by, she'd tell that reasonable side to stuff it.

Slytherin and Gryffindor kissed like they were each others' lifelines. They clung to each other desperately, like they hadn't realized that what the other had, what the other's lips tasted like was something they'd been missing all their lives.

They were six seconds away from separating their mouths to catch some needed air, but those six seconds of snogging like they had just found each other was interrupted by their chairs sliding away from each other in rough jerks.

Startled, in unison, Draco and Hermione turned to where the magic came from. And there, by the doors of the office, was Regina Nott with the foulest look on her face to consider her the wicked witch of all those fairytales Hermione had read as a child.

"Well," the woman raised a palm, keeping the two teenagers stuck to their seats by a nonverbal she was casting, "it seems like we have a problem."