Draco awoke, groggy and small-eyed, to the sound of a gasp.
Granger was on the stairs, her fingertips on the balustrade, a foot frozen in midair above a step.
She was looking him and his new accessory – the sleeping cat, curled about his neck like a hirsute scarf.
"Er – good morning," said Granger, when she saw that she was being observed.
The cat stirred at the sound of her voice. It leapt off of Draco, using his face as a launch point, and sauntered towards its mistress.
Granger asked Draco what he would like for breakfast. He requested a cup of coffee to wash away the piquant flavour of cat foot.
Granger made a very decent cup of coffee.
The morning passed in a flurry of meetings. The first was with Tonks, who they met at Auror Headquarters, to hear what she had discovered in the course of her interrogations.
"You will be delighted to learn that No-Hands' hands were successfully reattached," said Tonks as they arrived.
"Too bad," said Draco.
"That's what I said." Tonks closed the door to her office and sat at her desk. "Murderous little bastard. Right. Sit yourselves down. Robards cleared the use of Veritaserum on our friends last night, so we had a wee chat. Neither man knows the identity of the person who gave them their instructions. However – I did discover something rather interesting. Both men are werewolves, and both participated in the harvest moon attacks."
Tonks placed a slip of parchment on the table. "The mediwitch's post-mortem confirms that the other one was a werewolf, as well."
Tonks looked from Granger to Draco and back again. "Thoughts? Reactions from the two luminaries before me?"
The luminaries looked at one another.
Granger shifted. "I think it's time I told you what I'm working on. Malfoy, would you do the honours for the Vow of Secrecy?"
The Vow was cast. Granger summarised her work and findings for Tonks, and Draco added the equally interesting (and distressing) discovery that Fenrir Greyback had returned and appeared to have reassembled something of his old pack. They were probably the ones responsible for the full moon attacks, on top of targeting Granger.
"Bonkers," gasped Tonks. "The whole jolly lot of them."
Granger concluded with the same cautionary language that she had used with Draco the night before, about uncharted waters and the uncertain outcome of the clinical trials.
Tonks took the news of Granger's lycanthropy cure with laudable neutrality, given Lupin's condition. Only her mohawk betrayed her, turning a few shades paler than its blood red.
She gave Granger a long, adoration-filled look, whispered, "Incredible," and then she turned brisk. "Bring Potter and Weasley up to speed under the Vow. We'll also have to inform Robards and Shacklebolt. That would be the extent of it at the moment, I think. We'll involve others as needed. Take the conference room. I'll join you in a moment."
Tonks shooed them out of her office.
As they left, Draco stole a backward glance at her. Tonks was sitting at her desk, her hands clasped before her, her knuckles pressed to her mouth.
Her eyes were unusually bright.
In the conference room, Potter and Weasley were apprised of the situation under the Vow. Their reactions were predictable, but there was something comforting in their clasping of Granger, in their chest-puffing, gung-ho declarations to keep her safe, and in their table-pounding promises to find Greyback if it was the last thing they did. As the lead on the WTF, Potter looked to have found a fresh determination to catch the werewolves. There was a dangerous green light in his eye.
Weasley was quite as goggle-eyed as Draco had been the night before on the potential for a cure for lycanthropy. His reactions consisted chiefly of repetitions of "Blimey!" and "Bloody hell!" and "You're brilliant, Hermione!"
Granger gave him a quick smile. She and Draco were then quizzed on the break-in attempt.
"I've got a recording of it," said Granger, and she pulled out her mobile.
It seemed that she had been able to preserve the camera footage in a kind of mini film. Curious in spite of himself, Draco rose to join Potter and Weasley in crowding around Granger and watching the small screen.
He quelled a flicker of jealousy at the easy way that Potter propped an elbow on Granger's armrest and came in close to her, and how Weasley casually threw himself around the back of her chair – all while Draco stood a decorous and stiff arm's length away.
Granger played the film. Draco, having been Disillusioned for most of the skirmish, was largely invisible until the end, his whereabouts only indicated by bursts of spells and their effects on his opponents – the severed arms, the sentry consumed by the Bombarda. The fight had lasted an age in Draco's head, but it had taken less than a minute in real time.
Weasley clapped him on the shoulder. "You gave them hell. Well done, mate."
Potter shook his hand. "Remind me never to duel you."
"Play it again," said Weasley.
The replay was accompanied by much commentary by Potter and Weasley. "The killing curse right off the bat – that fucking wanker – can you imagine if they'd got in? Hermione wouldn't have stood a chance. Oh! Look at the blood! Ha! Majestic spurt, that! Disarming's meant to be Harry's thing, but you've put a new spin on it, Malfoy. Dis-arming. Ha ha! That bloke's face when he realises he's trapped! Nice Quidditch kit, they'll have a phobia of Seekers for life... is that the newest Étincelle?"
Draco left them to their several re-watches, resuming his seat on the other side of the table.
He glanced at Granger and found that she wasn't looking at her mobile, but rather at him. Her expression took him a moment to interpret – it was something serious, something studious, something pensive.
She was puzzle-solving.
Blast.
She turned away when he caught her eye. Draco determined to keep catching her when she observed him, to interrupt her thought process and keep himself safely Unsolved.
Tonks arrived, preceded by the sound of her combat boots stamping along the corridor. She looked as unruffled as ever and entered the room at full tilt. Her elbow collided vigorously with the back of Potter's head.
"Sorry," said Tonks. "It didn't ring hollow – that's a compliment, Potter. We've all been brought up to speed?"
Granger put away her mobile.
"Yes, boss," said the Aurors.
Tonks sat at the head of the table. "We've rather a lot to discuss, but let's begin with the most important bit: Hermione's safety."
Potter and Weasley both leaned forwards, as though ready to seize Granger and carry her off to a distant tower, never to be seen again.
"Right," said Weasley. "We've got to get her out of here. What d'you fancy, Hermione? Madagascar? Greenland? Tibet?"
Draco could not blame the man for the reaction – he had had precisely the same reflex.
Granger was tight about the jaw. "I am positively not going anywhere."
An explosive argument ensued, of course. Potter and Weasley pushed for Granger's immediate evacuation, the more remote the location, the better. They were motivated by genuine worry and the same anxieties that Draco suffered at the sound of Greyback's hated name. Draco, having already attempted that line of argument unsuccessfully, now sided with Granger. There was too much riding on her research – if Greyback continued to be as wily as they knew him to be, they were looking at potentially hundreds, if not thousands of new infections over untold full moons, while work on Granger's cure stalled.
Tonks, with a look of saintly forbearance upon her face, allowed the argument to roil for four minutes. Then she clapped her hands. "Thank you, boys, for sharing your thoughts. Fortunately, none of your opinions matter."
Draco, Potter, and Weasley experienced ego death.
Tonks continued as they clutched at the shredded remains of their psyches. "The Auror Office does not have the authority to tell the eminent Professor Granger what she can and cannot do. Our job is to keep her protected as she carries out her project, as requested by the Minister. So. First order of business: scheduling and housing."
Potter and Weasley's cadavers twitched out some arguments, but Tonks' lips were growing more pursed by the minute, and they wisely gave it up. Together, the five of them drew up a draft schedule to ensure that, wherever Granger went, there would be someone with her – either Draco or another Auror.
Granger agreed to cut down on her public appearances. She also agreed, glumly, to suspend her duties in the Muggle world – the shifts at the Muggle surgery and the teaching at Muggle Cambridge – until Greyback had been caught. Non-magical locations were too difficult to protect.
Magical locations were far safer by nature, but an Auror would heretofore accompany her at her lab and at St. Mungo's A&E.
The discussion turned to housing. Granger agreed to move to a safehouse, as long as it was within Flooing distance of her laboratory. The dozen safehouses managed by the DMLE were discussed, each of which offered pros and cons (location, ease of travel, defensibility). Tonks and Draco shared a certain anxiety about the fact that the safehouses were necessarily known to many Aurors and DMLE staff.
Other options were discussed. Creating a new safehouse? Complex and time-consuming, but an option.
Potter and Weasley each suggested that Granger stay in one of their homes. Draco pointed out that moving Granger to the residence of either of her best mates was a blatantly obvious next move. In any case, Granger rejected the option point-blank: she wouldn't put their families in danger. She levelled the same objection at Potter's suggestion of Hogwarts – children were not acceptable as potential collateral damage.
"Chuck her in Malfoy's bloody Manor," said Weasley, jerking a thumb towards Draco. "No one will look for her there."
Granger said, "Hah!"
Potter laughed and then grew thoughtful.
Tonks took the suggestion with a surprising degree of seriousness. She pressed a finger to her chin and said, "Weasley has made a point."
Granger blinked.
Draco felt a swell of confused anticipation.
"We could set up decoy Hermiones in the safehouses and her cottage," mused Tonks.
"Traps," said Draco.
"I like traps," nodded Potter. "And ambushes."
"I'm brilliant," said Weasley.
Tonks nodded. "Ingenious, really."
"No," said Granger, shaking her head. "I have the same objection as with Harry and Ron – I won't put Malfoy's household in danger. If the Manor were attacked, and something were to happen to his mother, or the house-elves–"
"The Manor is nigh impenetrable," said Tonks. "As are most of those old estates. It took twenty ward-breakers three days to get in, during that last push in the War. It's ten times safer than our safest safehouse"
"True," said Draco. He tried not to sound particularly eager. "Also – my mother is spending the season on the Continent. She isn't at the Manor."
Granger, wide-eyed, turned to him. "Are you agreeing with this idea?"
Draco produced the world's most careless shrug. "I think it's an option worth considering."
Which was an understatement. He bloody loved it. It was perfect. She'd be protected by centuries-old magicks, they'd have house-elves as secondary surveillance, and he'd be there every night. He was positively delighted by it.
Weasley, who was looking on smugly, rose an entire inch in Draco's esteem.
Meanwhile, Potter was eyeing Granger. "The Manor isn't exactly the site of happy memories, is it? You'd be all right with this, Hermione?"
Granger was still staring at Draco in confusion. "Hm? Oh – no, it'd be all right. I've been back since. One of Narcissa Malfoy's functions." (Draco noted that she did not mention the dinner.) "It was – fine. Objectively speaking, it's not an unreasonable suggestion, as a temporary measure. I only hesitate because it feels like a real imposition."
"An imposition? Pish tosh – there are about fifty rooms in the Manor," said Tonks, waving any real or imagined reservations away in her cousin's place. "Malfoy won't even know you're there."
Granger's glance passed over to Draco. Tonks, too, pinned him with an inquisitive eye.
"Let's do it," said Draco, endeavouring for neutrality in his expression. "It's an easy short term solution. We can always revisit – or we can be creating a proper safehouse in the meantime, off the books."
Tonks rubbed her hands together. "Brilliant. Weasley is absolutely correct – Malfoy Manor is the last place on earth anyone would expect to find Hermione Granger."
The remainder of the meeting passed in a tangle of debates on logistics, timetables, and ambushes.
Tonks took point on updating Robards and – with a sigh – Shacklebolt. "He won't be happy about us keeping the harvest moon attacks under wraps. He'll have to take that up with Robards. But at least we've a plan to keep Hermione safe and well."
Draco escorted Granger back to her cottage to pack up for what Granger called a "Hopefully extremely brief" stay at the Manor.
The excellent thing about moving Miss Dab Hand at Extension Charms was that it was an almost painless process. Draco hardly had time to send word to the elves to prepare one of the guest suites for Colleague Healer Granger when she announced that she was ready.
Whatever belongings she'd deemed indispensable (including both copies of Revelations) were in a Muggle rolly case thingy, magically Extended.
Her cat was wrestled, hissing and scratching, into a carrier.
"I'm instructing the elves to keep your stay utterly under wraps," said Draco as they made their way to the cottage's front door. "My mother won't even know about it until we decide that it's safe to say something."
Granger looked uneasy. "When will she be back?"
"March, I believe. She's decided to skip the English winter altogether."
Granger's unease persisted. "Right. Good. The elves themselves, though – if someone were to try to reach me in the Manor, and one of the elves got hurt? Or killed? The thought makes me sick."
"Didn't you hear Tonks? Stop worrying. No one in their right mind would look for you there. And if they did, they'd need two dozen ward breakers bashing away for days – which I can assure you I would notice. This was one of Weasley's brighter ideas."
Granger fell silent, but the frown that pulled her brows together told Draco that she had most certainly not stopped worrying.
At the Manor, Henriette greeted them at the great doors and whisked Granger off to a guest suite overlooking the gardens.
Granger's cat was released into the suite, where it indicated its disapproval of the situation by streaking under the bed and hissing at anyone who approached.
Draco followed at a distance as Henriette gave Granger a tour of the Manor. The old house-elf had understood the gravity of the situation. There were no coy looks in Draco's direction, nor any mucking about with roses. Henriette was all business. Colleague Healer Granger must be made comfortable and kept safe.
Draco watched the two of them walk ahead of him – Henriette's small form and Granger's slender figure, bent attentively towards the elf as she spoke. Henriette pointed to Monsieur's study on her left and indicated in a whisper that Monsieur should be left alone when he was in there, as he was often grumpy about pestilential levels of incompetence and other things of that nature. Granger nodded gravely, then shot an amused look back at Draco when Henriette proceeded again.
The doors to the library were gestured to, then Henriette moved on to the conservatory. Granger lingered at the closed library doors for a moment before hurrying to catch up, and it was Draco's turn to be amused.
The accompanying swell of fondness was quashed before it could make him smile.
By the time Granger had been settled and oriented, and Draco and the elves had revisited the Manor's extensive wards for his own peace of mind, it was early evening.
If Draco had hopes of a quiet dinner for two that night, they were obliterated by Granger. She had a shift at A&E that she positively refused to miss, as she was the only Healer on duty and her backup was suffering from Spattergroit.
Today had felt like a long day, but, as Draco waited for Granger at the foot of the grand staircase, it also felt like it was just beginning. He supposed that he ought to get used to long bloody days. This was, after all, Granger.
She trotted down the stairs, her freshly donned Healer robes fluttering behind her. "I'm ready. I suppose I needn't ask if you faint at the sight of blood. Are you all right with eviscerations?"
"Yes," said Draco.
"Good. One never knows what one is going to walk into at St. Mungo's."
Draco cast his most powerful Notice-Me-Not and Disillusion on himself to forestall questions about why an Auror was following Healer Granger about.
They Flooed to St. Mungo's for what was to be the first of many shifts at Granger's side at A&E.
Draco performed Legilimency on every mind in the waiting room to satisfy himself that no one had fiendish plans, other than bleeding to death.
When that was done, he settled into a corner outside the operating theatre, and proceeded to be moderately disturbed by the evening's entertainment, which included unpronounceable diseases, a wizard who presented with a Muggle traffic cone protruding straight through his chest, and a truly inspiring amount of patients who had 'fallen' onto vaguely phallic objects, which were now stuck in various orifices.
Draco cast silencing charms to muffle his alternating gasps of horror and laughter. Nothing rattled Granger, however. She dealt with his idiotic countrymen with a relentless professionalism that he couldn't help but admire.
-
If Draco had nursed any thoughts of a long and leisurely breakfast with Granger the next day, they, too, were doomed from the beginning. By the time he got downstairs at the (very respectable, he thought) hour of nine o'clock, Granger had done her yoga thing, showered, dressed, and eaten.
He arrived just in time to see her off in the Floo parlour. She was to spend the day at the lab, where Weasley was on Granger-duty. Draco was scheduled to wring out the minds of No-Hands (now simply Hands) and Friend.
Draco heard a muffled buzz emanate from Granger's vicinity. It was her Jotter.
She ignored it in favour of twisting her hands together in that anxious gesture of hers. "I doubt that Greyback will be stupid enough to send anyone to the lab again so soon," she said, sounding as though she was reassuring herself more than speaking to Draco. "The wards held beautifully last time. I needn't be worried."
There was another muffled buzz from her Jotter.
"It'll be perfectly fine," said Draco. "They'd never be stupid enough to attempt something in broad daylight. And Weasley will be with you. And you've got the ring. Don't even wait to be sure there's a threat to use it – just use it."
"Right."
"No hesitations. I'd rather pop in ready to fight the postie than be too late."
"Yes. Of course. Thank you."
Again, Granger's Jotter buzzed.
Irritated, Draco asked, "Who's bloody Jotting you at this hour?"
Granger hesitated before pulling out the Jotter to look at it. "Er – everyone."
"Why?"
"Nothing important," said Granger, who clearly never learned that the more she dismissed a thing, the more Draco wanted to know about the thing.
"Tell me."
Granger looked an interesting mixture of annoyed and sheepish. "It's my birthday."
"Ah," said Draco.
There was a longish silence.
"Er – happy birthday, I suppose," said Draco.
Really? That was the best he could manage? Why was it that his suaveness utterly vacated his body when it was most needed? What was it about Granger? She was a murderer of suave.
"Thank you," said Granger. "But we've got bigger things to worry about than birthdays, haven't we?"
"Quite."
Granger threw Floo powder into the fire. "I'll turn the ring at the slightest provocation, I promise. Cambridge."
And then she was gone, and Draco was left to mull over the timeless brilliance of Er – happy birthday, I suppose and suffer all by himself.
Before he Flooed into the office, Draco asked Henriette to help him stage a recovery effort that evening, if Granger was back on the premises at a decent hour.
She'd have a stupid bloody birthday cake, even if she was trapped in the Manor with a blundering fool.
Draco spent his day conducting Legilimency on the two apprehended wizards, having received special permission to do so from the powers that be. The only memory of any real worth was the one he had found the night of the break-in. He spent long hours in Friend's brain in particular, combing through weeks and months' worth of memories. Greyback had been careful. A few bits of information about potential meeting locations for Greyback's werewolves were all that Draco gleaned. He passed them to Potter.
That evening, his brain feeling more like a queasy, gurgling mix of porridge than actual brain, Draco left for home.
Draco and Granger seemed to be developing a speciality for collisions when using magical means of transport. Granger Flooed back to the Manor from Cambridge at almost the same time as he did from London. His only warning was a witch-shaped blur coming at him amongst the hearths he was hurtling past, and the blur was whipped into him (with a shriek that confirmed that it was Granger), and they were both spat out onto the ashy flagstones of the Manor's Floo parlour.
There was a tangle of green robes amongst black robes and much coughing up of soot.
A shrill giggle echoed through the Floo parlour. By the time Draco's head had escaped Granger's skirts, Tupey had disappeared and the little voyeur could not be immediately reprimanded.
Draco dropped back down with a groan. The beginnings of a colossal Legilimency headache tingled at the back of his skull.
Granger appeared to have accepted the recurring issue of their collisions philosophically and directed no venom towards Draco.
Instead, she said, "Right," and attempted to rise.
She trod on her robe and fell over again.
"You properly Tonksed that one," said Draco.
Granger made an exasperated sound and lay on the floor next to Draco, who had already given up.
They looked at each other. Granger sighed. Draco tasted smoke.
She looked exhausted. He hadn't even had a moment to ask her how she'd slept during her first night at the Manor – her fault for getting up so bloody early.
"Anything from the Legilimency?" asked Granger.
"Only minor findings. Potential meeting places. Gave them to Potter."
"Damn it."
"No trouble at the lab?"
"No. And only one quarrel with Ron."
"About what?"
"He wanted to wee in a bottle instead of leaving me by myself for five minutes while he went to the toilet."
Draco snorted. "Dedicated sort of bloke."
"He's always been a bit full-on."
"I can admire that."
"Should we get up?"
"No," said Draco, pressing the back of his head into the cool stone. "I quite fancy lying here until death takes me."
Granger reacted more casually than he would have liked in the face of this dramatic pronouncement. "Mm? What's the matter?"
"Headache."
"Went too hard on the Legilimency, did we?"
"I wanted answers."
"I can help you with the headache. Bath first – I've had a sweaty sort of day."
"Henriette can Apparate us to our chambers."
"Our chambers," repeated Granger in an exaggerated drawl. It seemed to give her the courage she needed to push herself up. "I shall make my way to mine under my own power."
"Go forth and conquer," said Draco.
And she did.
Dinner was a quiet affair. It began at the formal dining table, then Granger asked Henriette if she would mind terribly if they dined in one of the salons, which offered more scope for stretching out their tired carcasses on sofas.
Henriette was delighted to accommodate. She soon had them set up cosily in the smallest salon at the back of the house, around a low table piled with foodstuffs. (Draco did notice the addition of a single red rose in a small vase, but given that there was only one, he decided that it was purely decorative.)
Granger dragged a mixed pile of Muggle and wizarding books out of somewhere and took advantage of the moment to brief Draco on their autumnal equinox plans, given that Mabon was only two nights away. She had narrowed her search down to twelve potential sacred sites. Their objective was to identify the dolmen written about in Revelations.
"We are getting so close to completing this," said Granger, who seemed to take fresh vigour from the thought. "Quite exciting, really."
"We? Piffle. It's all you."
Granger looked up. "Yes, we. You've been with me on this since the beginning. Don't be modest – it doesn't suit you."
"All right. I'll take whatever reflected glory comes my way," said Draco with a languid wave of his hand.
He slid into his sofa until he was lying down and draped his arm over his eyes to block the light that made his head ache. He wanted to go to bed, but it was only eight o'clock. Granger's hours were rubbing off on him and she'd only been there a day.
Granger observed him. "Right. Your headache. Let's have a look. Why didn't you say something, instead of letting me cram more into your brain for half an hour?"
When Draco didn't answer (machismo seemed a weak response), Granger pulled out her wand and moved from her sofa to his. He budged up enough to give her room to perch herself beside him. She cast a diagnostic spell, studied the resulting pictorial, and tutted.
"That's going to develop into a great bloody migraine," she said. "I'll attempt Solamentum. It's delicate. Lie still."
Draco closed his eyes. He felt the tip of her wand against his temple. The sensation would normally initiate a stress response. He wasn't sure when he had begun to trust Granger this implicitly, but he didn't even crack open an eye.
She whispered an incantation and a gentle soothing began to pour into his overwrought brain.
"Glorious," muttered Draco.
"Shh. I've got to concentrate."
"Mm."
"Hush."
"Mmm."
"Can you stop moaning for a bloody minute?"
"Not when it feels this nice – mff."
The warmth of Granger's fingertip pressed against his lips.
His eyes flew open in surprise. Above him, Granger was frowning in concentration, and she flashed him a warning look. He closed his eyes again.
Now his other senses grew more sensitive. Against his side he could feel the push of Granger's thigh and the curve of her bum. Upon his temple, the coolness of the spell. She smelled of something antiseptic, which shouldn't have been as terribly enticing as it was, but he wanted to bury his face into her and inhale.
He wondered what would happen if he were to flick his tongue against the finger that was pressed upon his lips.
Perhaps something betrayed his thought. Granger removed her finger from his lips and pressed it under his chin instead, tilting his head towards her.
She moved her wand to his other temple and he heard the whisper of the incantation again, "Solamentum."
The healing spell irradiated the cramping heaviness away.
"How is that?" asked Granger.
Draco did that thing he'd grown to like doing, of giving her answers that actually referred to her.
"Gorgeous," said Draco.
"Isn't it?"
"Heavenly."
"Good."
"Sublime."
"Now you're just trying to provoke me."
"No. It's true."
Granger looked to the ceiling in a gesture of mild exasperation and rose. She resumed her seat on the sofa across from Draco, which left him with a distinct feeling of Lack at his side.
He would've been perfectly happy for her to continue next to him and whisper complex Healing spells, in lieu of sweet nothings, into his ear.
Right. The crush that he was meant to be quashing.
He bound and gagged his heart and shoved it into some profound psychic abyss.
Henriette materialised with the meal's pièce de résistance – a small chocolate mousse cake, topped with a single candle.
"Oh, merci! C'est trop gentil!" exclaimed Granger, a hand pressed to her collarbones.
Draco had had a feeling that Granger would've absolutely detested Happy Birthday being sung to her by himself and the elves (as riotous as it would've been), so he had instructed Henriette to leave off the singing.
Henriette merely said, "Joyeux anniversaire, Mademoiselle!" and curtseyed out with a crack.
"You really didn't need to do anything," said Granger to Draco, looking genuinely touched.
"Rather a rotten birthday otherwise, stuck in the Manor with me, with a horde of werewolves skulking about and trying to kill you."
Granger tugged the candle out of the cake and blew it out. ("It's more sanitary," she said in the face of Draco's raised eyebrow.)
"What did you wish for?"
"Can't say."
Draco passed his hand through his hair. "Nothing, I'd wager. You've already got me. What else could you possibly ask for?"
She laughed, as expected (miserable feeling), and pulled the cake towards herself. "Do you want some?"
At his nod, Granger cut them each a gooey slice of the mousse cake. "Ron said he'd check the cottage for parcels for me, on the way home. He's to drop them off tomorrow."
"Good of him."
"Mm."
There was silence as the cake was savoured.
"What happened between you and Weasley, anyway?" asked Draco.
As a general rule, he and Granger didn't do personal questions – a healthy habit to cultivate between Auror and Principal. She had let one slip in Provence, about his schooling – and now he permitted himself one, out of not-so-idle curiosity.
Perhaps it was a query that Granger fielded regularly. She merely shrugged. "We wanted different things. We were young when we got engaged – just out of the war. I had a great many plans that didn't involve building the Burrow II and popping out the next Weasley dynasty. But we split amicably, in the end. I'm lucky. Ron remains my dear friend. He and Luna have been together for a bit, now – they're a much happier match."
Draco muttered out a noncommittal response around a spoonful of cake.
"And you?" asked Granger. There was restrained curiosity in her glance. "I'd heard that you and the younger Greengrass sister were engaged."
It was Draco's turn to shrug. "Same as you, I suppose. Different plans. She wanted to be the next Mrs Malfoy and do the thing properly, you know – the society thing, the parties, the dinners, four children and two nannies by age 25. I wanted regular beatings by French professors–" (Granger nodded and said, "As one does") "–and mucky weekends in Barcelona."
"Your mother must've been upset."
"Devastated. We were perfect on paper."
"So many things are."
They were silent for a while. Neither looked at the other.
"Thank you again, for the cake," said Granger. "It was – an unexpected gesture."
"Thank Henriette," said Draco.
He took it that Granger had finished with the cake and snuck his fork towards it for another bite, without bothering to cut himself a piece.
"You'll ruin the structural integrity," gasped Granger. "Don't you dare!"
"Or what?" asked Draco, aiming for the soft mousse centre.
Granger knocked his fork away with hers. "I shall carry out a citizen's arrest."
"Ha. Do you know, I'd absolutely love to see you tr–"
A flick of Granger's wand Transfigured Draco's silver cufflinks into narrow handcuffs, neatly attached in the middle. The Transfiguration was impossibly quick – shockingly so.
Draco observed this new state of affairs. He pulled his hands apart. The cuffs chinked against each other and held firm.
He whistled.
"Transition metals near your hands can't be the wisest decision for an Auror," said Granger.
"Most baddies haven't a Master's in Transfiguration."
"And I suppose you aren't typically distracted by chocolate mousse, either."
"Correct."
"Still," said Granger. There was merriment in her eyes. "That wasn't so hard."
"I say again, you'd have made quite the Auror, sans the shrieking."
"My brains are better used elsewhere," said Granger.
Quite rightly, too.
"Are you going to let me go, or are we going to see how long it takes me to develop a new kink?" asked Draco.
"I suppose I'd better. We don't want you getting too excitable at work."
Granger waved her wand and the handcuffs became cufflinks once more.
But it was too late – the cuffs were now a Thing that was going to reside in Draco's head. There was an exhilaration that came with being so quickly overpowered. His wand had been well out of reach, too. She could've gone on to do all manner of interesting things – and found him to be a willing participant.
But no. There would be no shagging of her handcuffed Auror upon a sofa. She was Granger. She would never cross the line. She was controlled and professional. Ethical. Correct.
Damn her.
Draco poured himself a generous glass of wine and finished it.
He ought to follow suit and be equally Correct. But it was rather difficult when she was pressing her bum into him and putting fingers on his mouth and cuffing him. And that had only been one evening's worth of activities. And there would be many more together.
Deep down, in his bound-and-gagged heart, Draco felt stirrings of alarm.