Cold Water

Hermione stirred, the hazy veil of sleep slowly lifting as her senses began to awaken. Her body felt drained, an ache settling deep in her bones that she hadn’t noticed until now. 

The room she was in was quiet and dimly lit, the only light emanating from an ornate glass globe resting on the bedside table. It cast a soft, warm glow that illuminated the small, simple room.

The walls were barren and painted in stark white, the only decoration was the small clock ticking softly in the corner. Hermione’s fingers brushed the sheets covering her, and she immediately noticed their softness—a clear contrast to the scratchy, standard linens she would have expected. 

Clearly, someone had gone through the effort of transfiguring them into something warm and comfortable, ensuring she had the best possible rest.

She then became aware of her attire as she shifted slightly under the blanket. 

Her crimson robes, modern and elegant, were gone, as were her shoes. 

Instead, she was clad in her formal black trousers and the warm red turtleneck sweater she’d worn beneath the robes. 

Her hair, which had been swept into an elegant bun for the trial, was now loose, falling in soft waves around her face. She ran a hand through it and noticed that it had been brushed, the tangles carefully removed. 

Her gaze swept the room, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. 

But before she could fully process her surroundings, a warm and familiar chuckle reached her ears. Her heart jumped, hope and relief spreading through her like a wave. 

That voice, rich and low, was one she had feared she might never hear again in such close proximity.

Turning her head, her eyes met a pair of familiar silver ones. 

Draco sat in a simple, somewhat uncomfortable-looking chair beside her bed, his posture relaxed but his gaze alert as it rested on her. A faint smile tugged at his lips, and the sight of it sent a warmth through her chest that she hadn’t felt in weeks.

Her eyes studied him carefully. 

The body he inhabited in this reality was familiar—but not entirely. 

The Draco she knew from her own world was more imposing in presence—taller, with a stronger, broader frame. His hair, always trimmed but long enough to brush past his shoulders, gave him an air of controlled elegance. 

But this Draco, the one from this reality, appeared thinner, with dark circles under his eyes that made him seem older than his years. His hair was cropped short, giving him a sharper, less refined appearance. And yet, when she met his gaze, there was no mistaking it.

It was her Draco.

Draco’s smile widened ever so slightly, the smirk she had come to love playing on his lips despite the unfamiliarity of the face he now wore. 

“Hello, Granger.” He said softly, the teasing lilt in his tone so achingly familiar that it brought tears to her eyes.

Hermione’s lips curved into a small smile, her heart swelling with a joy she hadn’t allowed herself to feel since arriving in this reality. 

“Hello, Malfoy.” She replied, her voice equally soft, tinged with the same warmth and affection that he held.

For a moment, the room and all its details faded away. The weight of the past weeks, the trial, and the uncertainty melted into the background. In this small, quiet moment, it was just the two of them, and nothing else mattered.

Draco leaned forward slightly, his fingers brushing a stray curl from Hermione's face.

He didn’t stop there, though. 

The soft room was filled with the quiet, rhythmic sound of Draco gently playing with her hair, each flick of his fingers making Hermione’s heart feel lighter. She lay there, the warmth of his touch grounding her, as she basked in the peace that surrounded them. 

His hand moved fluidly through her unraveled curls, each gentle caress pulled a reminder of their years together, of moments just like this when everything felt right.

Hermione sighed contentedly as he twirled another lock of her hair around his finger, the familiar gesture filling her with warmth. 

For a few moments, she simply let herself relax, closing her eyes to savor the feeling of being so near him again. Her fingers brushed lightly against the blankets that cocooned her, their softness a stark contrast to the harsh, scratchy sheets it surely had been once before. 

A small smile played on her lips, her thoughts drifting as Draco continued his ministrations.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and steady.

"How are you feeling?" His tone was soft, almost reverent, as though the act of speaking louder might break the delicate calm that surrounded them.

Hermione smiled, her eyes still closed. 

"I'm fine.” She murmured, a trace of contentment in her voice. "A little tired. Like I haven’t slept for nights—like I was running myself ragged with all my classes.”  

Draco chuckled softly, shaking his head. 

“You mean the time when you were sneaking around with that bloody Time-Turner? You were exhausted.” He told her. “And who had to cover for you every single time you disappeared so no one got suspicious? Me.”  

Hermione smiled, the corners of her lips twitching upward. 

“You volunteered, if I recall correctly.”  

“Only because I figured it out.” Draco replied, a playful gleam in his silver eyes. “And I couldn’t very well let you get caught. Someone had to save you from yourself, Love. You were going to burn out before Christmas.”  

“Well.” She said with a teasing tone. “Instead of disappearing into my next class or collapsing into a hard wooden chair in the library, I have this comfortable bed. So, I’m not complaining.”  

Draco huffed softly, his smirk softening into something more affectionate as he continued to gently twist her curls. 

"I’m glad you find it comfortable.” He replied, his voice dipping into a quieter tone. "The sheets were awful when I found them, so I knew you wouldn’t be able to rest properly so I transfigured them for you. Though, I’m not sure how well I did... I had to use your wand since I didn’t have mine.”

Hermione's smile widened as she opened her eyes for the briefest of moments. 

"You did a good job.” She said, her voice filled with a quiet warmth. She let her eyes close again, sinking back into the sensation of his touch. 

He leaned in closer, his fingers moving gently through her hair again, and she couldn’t help but melt into the bed, savoring every moment, every flick of his hand. 

It was moments like these, small and tender, that grounded her and reminded her of everything she had fought for just to get there—to him. The chaos in between realities, the tension of the trial—those felt far away now, replaced by this peaceful quiet.

Draco continued his gentle work, a soft smile lingering on his lips as he stayed by her side, lost in the quiet solace they had carved out for themselves. 

The warmth between them was palpable, a balm to the strain of the past days—or weeks, for Draco.  

Hermione shifted slightly, her gaze softening as she finally broke the silence. 

“How have you been, Draco? These past two weeks... how have you managed?”

Draco chuckled, though the sound lacked true mirth, tinged instead with a bitterness he couldn’t quite hide. 

“It’s been dreadful.” He admitted, his voice low, though his hand still toyed with her curls.  

Hermione studied him carefully before asking, “What happened when you got here?”  

Draco’s fingers paused for the briefest of moments before resuming their motion. 

“After I fainted—when we were discussing our potions project—I woke up in the Great Hall. Only, it didn’t look like the Great Hall at all.” His voice took on a distant quality, his silver eyes seeming to lose focus as he recounted the memory.  

Hermione stayed silent, allowing him to continue.  

“It was destroyed.” Draco said, his voice quieter now. “Rubble everywhere. And there were bodies, Hermione. Wizards and witches—dead—lined up in neat rows, as if a battle had just ended.” He paused, the weight of the memory evident in his tone.  

Hermione’s expression softened further, though she said nothing, waiting for him to go on.  

“My parents were there—mother  and Lucius.” He said, his brows furrowing. “And I remember thinking that they’re supposed to be in France, at the family chateau. What were they doing at Hogwarts? And more importantly, how did I get to the Great Hall when I was just with you? Talking about that awful project in one of the vacant classrooms?”  

Hermione’s lips twitched faintly, recognizing his tone—an attempt at lightening the mood, however brief. 

“And we both know.” She interjected with a small, shared smile. “That no one can apparate in and out of Hogwarts.”  

Draco chuckled weakly at the familiar line, a hint of warmth in his eyes as they exchanged a brief laugh.  

“Exactly.” He said, his smile fading as his expression grew somber once more. “Everyone was staring at me, and I didn’t understand why. Then there was mother, telling me I was safe, trying to calm me down. But the way they were acting—the Aurors, Kingsley—they weren’t treating us like people.” His voice hardened. “It was as though we were criminals, like we were filth, unworthy of even basic respect.”  

Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly, her eyes searching his face.  

“We even exchanged sharp words.” Draco added, chuckling weakly at the memory. “But I didn’t even know what they were talking about, Hermione. I had no idea what was happening.”  

The room fell silent again, his words heavy with confusion and the remnants of fear he had felt in those moments. 

Hermione reached out, her hand resting over his that is not playing with her hair on top of the soft sheets. 

“I’m sorry, Draco.” Hermione said softly, her voice steady yet filled with quiet strength. “It must have been terrifying.”

Draco met her gaze, his silver eyes clouded with weariness. 

“It wasn’t just terrifying, Hermione. It was maddening.” He admitted quietly, his fingers absentmindedly twirling a lock of her hair. “I woke up in a reality where nothing made sense, where everyone seemed to think I was someone I’m not.”  

He paused, his voice lowering. “And for a moment, I started to wonder if maybe I’d gone mad.”  

Draco looked at her, his silver eyes meeting hers. 

“I was really lost, Love.” He admitted, his voice just above a whisper. “Completely lost.”  

Hermione didn’t respond with words. 

Instead, she gently rubbed her thumb along the back of his hand, grounding him with her presence. She knew he wasn’t finished and gave him the silence he needed to continue.

Draco let out a short laugh, almost bitter but not entirely without amusement. 

“Then Potter was there.” He said, his tone a little lighter. “Talking to me like I was some sort of wounded animal he needed to be gentle with. Can you believe it? Potter , of all people.”

The faintest smile tugged at the corners of Hermione’s lips, and Draco noticed it, his own lips quirking in response. 

For a brief moment, the tension lifted, the memory of Harry Potter’s uncharacteristic behavior almost funny.

But then his smile faded, and his voice grew quieter, more somber.

“And then... I saw you.” He said softly. “Or at least, I thought it was you.”  

Hermione’s thumb stilled for a moment, her hold on his hand tightening slightly, but she remained silent, letting him speak.  

“At first, I felt relieved. I thought it was you. I thought... maybe you’d found me, that everything was going to make sense again.” He paused, swallowing hard. “But you... weren’t you. You looked different—hurt, traumatized—and when you saw me, you backed away as if you didn’t even know who I was.”  

Draco let out a humorless chuckle, though the sound held no warmth. 

“And then I saw Weasley . You were with him, standing together. He looked at me like I was some kind of threat. And before I could even process it, he and the Aurors were pushing me back, dragging me away. I kept screaming your name, begging you to tell them to stop, to let me go. But you...” His voice broke slightly, though he steadied himself. “You—you didn’t do anything. You just stood there, watching. I was screaming for you, Hermione. Begging you to tell them to let me go. But you did nothing. You're just... there.”

Hermione’s grip on his hand tightened further, her brows knitting together as if she could feel the weight of his pain. But she still didn’t interrupt.  

Draco took a deep, shaky breath. 

“They dragged me out of there and brought me here. I was still too confused to fight back, so I just... did what they told me. I complied, hoping it would help me figure out what was going on—because I didn’t know what else to do.”  

He let out a bitter laugh, his free hand dropping to his lap. “And then they gave us a change of clothes. That’s when I saw it.”  

Draco’s hand hovered over his left forearm, his voice lowering to barely a whisper. 

“The Dark Mark, Hermione.” He said, his silver eyes meeting hers, glinting with anguish. “It was there. The same mark my slave of a father wears. The one thing I swore I’d never take. The one thing I’d promised myself I’d never become.”

His voice cracked as he finished, his vulnerability raw and exposed. 

"And yet... here it is. On me . A mark I never wanted, on a body that isn’t even mine.” 

He looked at her, his silver eyes glassy but resolute. 

“It’s not me, Hermione. It’s not my body. But when I saw that mark, I—” He broke off, shaking his head as if the words wouldn’t come.

Hermione shifted slightly closer, her hand moving to clasp both of his. 

“I know.” She said softly, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. “I know, Draco.”

Draco let out a shaky breath, the silence between them stretching as he collected himself. 

His gaze dropped momentarily before he continued, his voice low and rough. 

“Then they separated me from my parents, put me in my own cell. It was because I almost...” He hesitated, his silver eyes flicking to hers, guilt flickering across his features. “I almost did something to Lucius.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed, but before she could say anything, Draco continued, almost shamefully. 

“I almost raised my hand at him. I don’t even know why. I almost hurt him, Hermione. I’ve never been violent like that before, not even when I was at my worst. But at that moment, I wanted to make him feel what I was feeling.” 

Hermione’s grip on his hand tightened, a small gesture of reassurance. 

“It’s alright, Draco.” She said softly, her tone steady. “Go on.”

He nodded faintly, letting out a weak laugh that sounded hollow. 

“On the first day, I kept telling them to let me go. Kept saying I’m Lord Malfoy—as if that meant anything to them. Of course, they thought I was insane.” He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “They kept saying I was just like my father—doing everything to escape consequence.”

Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she remained silent, letting him get it all out.

“They kept talking about this war.” Draco continued, his voice quieter now. “This war I didn’t even know about. They told me my family had a big role in it. That we were...” He paused, his jaw tightening. “That we were You-Know-Who’s loyal dogs. And that my family’s actions during the war were unforgivable”

Hermione’s grip on his hand tightened again, her chest aching at the vulnerability in his voice.

“So I asked them.” Draco said, his voice trembling slightly. “I asked them what they meant, what they were talking about. And they told me.”

He inhaled deeply, his gaze distant as he recounted what he’d learned. 

“They told me how my father served him willingly, how he groveled at his feet for power. How my mother allowed herself to be a pawn to protect me. How Bellatrix—” His voice faltered, and his grip on Hermione’s hand tightened. 

“How Bellatrix did unspeakable things in his name.” He finally continued, his voice shaking. “How she tortured and killed for him. How Lucius was at her side for so much of it, enabling her, serving the Dark Lord without hesitation. How my family’s name became synonymous with cruelty and terror.” 

He then stared off in a distance, his voice almost detached. 

“They told me everything. About the Carrows, about Hogwarts turning into a Death Eater training ground. About the murders, the torture, the cursed objects.”

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he tried to steady himself, his fingers twitching around hers, his grip tightening as he went on. 

“And then they told me about you.”

Hermione’s breath hitched, but she didn’t interrupt.

“They told me you, Potter, and Weasley were captured and brought to the manor. That Bellatrix tortured you.” Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper now. “That she... carved words into your arm while I stood by and did nothing.” His voice cracked at the last word, and he looked away, his silver eyes glinting with unshed tears. 

He fell silent, his shoulders trembling slightly. Hermione squeezed his hand, her voice soft but firm. 

“Draco, look at me.”

Hermione reached out, her other hand gently brushing against his cheek, turning his face back toward her. 

His gaze lifted reluctantly, meeting hers.

“Draco.” She said softly, her voice trembling but resolute. “That wasn’t you. Whatever this reality’s Draco Malfoy did, it wasn’t you. You would never—”

“I know.” He interrupted, his voice breaking. “I know it wasn’t me. But it doesn’t change the fact that it was this face, this body. It doesn’t change what they think when they look at me.” 

Tears slipped down his cheeks now, and Hermione cupped his face gently, brushing them away with her thumbs. 

“Look at me.” She said firmly, her voice steady. “You are not him. And no matter what they think, I know who you are. And you would never— never —stand by and let something like that happen. You’re not your father. You’re not your aunt. You’re you , Draco. And that’s enough for me.” 

Her words seemed to reach him, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly as her reassurance washed over him. But the weight of everything he’d learned still lingered in his silver eyes. 

“It’s hard.” He admitted quietly. “Hearing all of it... seeing how much damage this version of me caused. It’s hard not to feel like I’m somehow responsible.”

“You’re not.” Hermione said firmly, her grip on his hand unwavering. “You’re not responsible for what happened in this reality. You’re here to fix what went wrong, how you got here—why this happened, why we're here—not to carry the blame for someone else’s actions.”

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the unspoken understanding between them grounding Draco amidst the chaos of his thoughts. 

Slowly, he nodded, the tension in his posture easing just a little.

Draco hesitated, his gaze dropping to their joined hands as if drawing strength from her steady grip. 

“After a while, I started asking for you.” He began quietly. “I thought... maybe you could explain what happened. Maybe you’d know something, or you could help me figure it out. In what way, I didn’t know. I just knew I needed to talk to you.”

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. 

“But, of course, everyone ignored me. They dismissed me, mocked me. Called me mad. Day after day, the same thing. And one day, I’d had enough.” He paused, his silver eyes flickering with a faint glimmer of embarrassment. 

“I told them... I told them they must have gotten the wrong Draco Malfoy, just to shut them up.” He let out a dry laugh, though it lacked any real humor. “Of course, that only made things worse. But that night, those words... they kept echoing in my head. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The way people looked at me, the things they said about this war I’ve never fought in, the accusations—none of it fit.”

His voice softened, his silver eyes clouded with a mix of embarrassment and self-reflection. “I remembered that conversation we had back in fifth year, about the possibilities of other realities. How maybe, somewhere out there, things could be completely different. And that’s when it hit me. Maybe we were right—this wasn’t my world, and somehow, I ended up in it. How or why, I still don’t know. All I knew was that I needed to find a way to get back.”

Hermione’s thumb brushed gently against his knuckles, her quiet presence grounding him as he took a breath and continued. 

“That’s also when I realized why everyone thought I was mad. Merlin, Hermione, you have no idea how humiliating it was to look back on everything I’d done up to that point. How rash I’d been. I should have listened to you. You’ve told me enough times before to think before I act.”

Hermione’s lips curved into a knowing smile, and she raised an eyebrow. 

“Do you now, my lord ?’” 

Draco let out a genuine laugh at her teasing tone, shaking his head. 

“I do, my lady .” His smile softened, a hint of warmth breaking through the tension. 

Hermione gave him a gentle shove, and he chuckled again, the sound lightening the air between them.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Draco said, chuckling softly. “You were right, as usual.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips.

His expression turned more somber as he continued. 

“Along with asking for you, I started demanding to speak with the Department of Mysteries. I thought if anyone could make sense of what happened, it’d be them. But no one listened. Not the Aurors, not the Ministry. It all fell on deaf ears.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed, but she stayed silent, letting him speak. 

“I kept asking, kept pushing, but it didn’t matter. Then I found out about the trials—about how close I was to being sentenced for things I didn’t even do. And I became... desperate. Desperate to get to someone, anyone who would listen. But she didn’t come—the Hermione in this reality. She wasn't there. And every day that passed, I begged harder, louder, until they thought I’d gone mad.”

Draco’s voice cracked slightly, and he exhaled deeply. “They even dragged me to St. Mungo’s to the healers to get me checked. Thought maybe there was something wrong with me. But they found nothing, of course, and threw me back in my cell.”

Draco shook his head, the bitterness in his tone returning. 

“I kept begging. Right up until the day of the trial. And still... no one listened.” 

His voice faltered, and he looked back at Hermione, his silver eyes filled with an almost childlike vulnerability. 

“No one listened, Hermione. Not until you came.”

Draco’s lips curved into a faint smile as he met her gaze. 

“When I heard you at first, I thought I had finally gone mad.” He told her softly. “Because how could you be here? How could you have found me?” 

He paused, the small smile growing just a little. 

“But it was you. I can always tell.”

Hermione smiled back, squeezing his hand gently. 

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to get to you, Draco.” She said, her voice tinged with regret. “To find you.”

Draco shook his head, the faint smile still lingering. 

“It doesn’t matter.” He murmured. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.” 

He looked down at their joined hands, his expression growing more solemn. 

“And yet, even now, I still can’t fully believe it. That you found me.”

His fingers resumed their absent twirling of her hair as he continued. 

“I’ve been worried.” He admitted, his voice quieter now. “About what’s happening back in our reality. If I’m here, in this body, then it stands to reason...” He trailed off, glancing at her for confirmation.

Hermione nodded slightly, understanding where his thoughts had taken him. 

Draco exhaled slowly. 

“I keep thinking... if the Draco Malfoy from this reality is in my body, then what is he doing? What damage could he be causing? To everything I’ve built, everything I’ve worked so hard to fix. To the Malfoy name, to you...” His voice wavered slightly at the last word, and he hesitated before continuing. “What if he’s hurt you? Or ruined the respect I’ve earned in our world? What if he undid everything?”

Hermione’s expression softened, but she remained silent, her hand holding his steady as if to ground him.

Draco took a deep breath, forcing himself to steady his thoughts. After a moment, he looked at her again, his voice quieter, tinged with curiosity and apprehension. 

“How did you know it wasn’t me?” He asked. “What happened after I fainted?”

Hermione sighed softly and began to sit up. 

Draco was immediately at her side, steadying her with one hand while the other adjusted the pillows behind her back. She chuckled faintly, though she allowed him to fuss over her, her hand coming to rest on his arm.

“You’re hopeless.” She said, amusement flickering in her tired voice. 

Draco smirked, his lips quirking upwards. 

“Hopelessly devoted, Granger.” He teased, finally settling back, though instead of returning to the chair, he sat on the edge of the bed, his full attention fixed on her.

Hermione’s expression softened as she entwined her fingers with his, her thumb brushing against his knuckles. 

She drew in a breath and began, her voice quieter. 

“When you fainted, I... I was terrified. You looked so pale, like all the life had been drained from you. Your lips were blue, and—and your heart wasn’t beating, Draco.” Her voice hitched, but she forced herself to continue. “For the first time, I didn’t know what to do. I felt powerless. With all the knowledge, all the magic I’ve mastered... none of it mattered. It was useless because I couldn’t help you.”

Draco’s grip on her hand tightened slightly, his gaze unwavering as he listened intently.

“So I did the only thing I could think of.” Hermione went on, her tone tinged with a faint tremor. “I levitated you and ran as fast as I could to the hospital wing. The corridors were practically empty—most people were in class—I couldn’t call for help even if I wanted to. I thought...” Her voice trailed off briefly, a shadow passing over her expression. “I thought I was losing you.”

Draco’s throat bobbed, but he stayed quiet.

“Then, out of nowhere, you started coughing. It scared me so much I nearly lost control of my magic and dropped you.” She paused, a faint smile flickering on her lips.

Draco raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of amusement breaking through the heaviness in his eyes. 

“Maybe you should have dropped me.” He teased lightly, though his voice was tinged with affection.

Hermione rolled her eyes, her smile growing as she nudged his arm lightly. 

“Oh, please. You’re lucky I didn’t.”

They shared a brief chuckle.

“I managed to catch you before you hit the ground and lowered you to the floor instead.”

“Good to know I’ve still got some luck left.” He said lightly, chuckling softly though his amusement faded as her expression turned serious once more.

“I thought everything would be fine after that.” She admitted. “I was so relieved when you started breathing again that I just grabbed you and hugged you tightly as I could. But... you weren’t the same. The Draco who woke up...” Her voice faltered briefly. “He pushed me away. His eyes were wild, like he didn’t recognize me, and he started looking around like a man completely unhinged.”

Draco’s jaw tightened slightly, his expression growing darker, but he stayed silent, his focus entirely on her.

“He started saying all these things—rambling about a war, a battle, Hogwarts, the Dark Lord, Harry... none of it made any sense to me,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “I kept asking what he was talking about, but he just looked at me like I was the one who was mad. And then...” She paused, her gaze dropping briefly. “He started asking about his parents—where they were, if they were safe. He was frantic, almost desperate.”

Her eyes lifted to meet his eyes again, her voice soft but firm. 

“It scared me, Draco. I’ve never seen you like that before. Not like that.”

Hermione took a steadying breath, her voice quiet but firm as she continued. 

“With the way he was acting... I tried to get him to the hospital wing instead, but he wouldn’t stop. He kept talking, shouting even, and then he grabbed my wrist.” Her voice faltered slightly, her gaze dropping to her own hand as if recalling the moment. 

“That’s when I knew that something was wrong. You’ve never gripped me like that before—” Her face flushed red. “—sure there were times where we got carried away—but not like that. His grip was so tight that it hurt.” 

Draco, who had been listening intently, stiffened. 

His silver eyes darkened as they flicked from her face to her wrist, almost as though he expected to see patches of discolored skin still there. 

“He left bruises?” He asked sharply, his voice low, simmering with barely restrained anger.

Hermione nodded slowly, her voice soft. 

“They were deep purple. But nothing Madame Pomfrey can't fix in a heartbeat.” 

Draco’s jaw clenched, and his gaze lingered on her wrist.

“But.” She continued, her tone shifting slightly. “With the way he was getting louder and acting more violent, I had no choice but to subdue him. So...” She hesitated briefly, the corners of her lips twitching upward. “I hit him across the face.”

Draco flinched slightly at her words, the memory of her punch at the end of third year flashing unbidden in his mind. 

Back then, they weren’t together yet, though their feelings for each other had already started to bloom. 

He had been trying to figure out how best to admit his feelings for her, which had led him to the ill-advised decision of seeking advice from Pansy Parkinson. 

Hermione, however, had misunderstood entirely. 

Seeing him with Pansy had left her assuming the worst—that they were an item. It didn’t help that Lucius Malfoy had made no secret of his disapproval of Draco's friendship with Hermione, despite her being the Head Lady of the reestablished House of Peverell—and him losing lordship to his son. 

Refusing to cause drama or appear like she was interfering with what she thought was his relationship, Hermione had taken to avoiding Draco altogether. 

Draco, utterly confused by her sudden coldness, had doggedly followed her, trying to figure out what he had done wrong. Eventually, her patience snapped, and she had socked him across the face with a mean right hook that left him seeing little constellations of his namesake dancing around his eyes.

Even now, Draco has to instinctively stop his hand from brushing unconsciously over his jaw at the memory of the punch, though a wry smile soon spreads across his face. 

He had to admit, Hermione had always been able to land a solid hit. 

Of course, after that incident, they’d finally settled the misunderstanding, with him sheepishly admitting that he’d been asking Pansy for advice—albeit reluctantly—on how best to confess his feelings to a witch—to her which eventually led to them shyly confessing to each other.

It had been a very interesting summer that year.

“Good. That arsehole deserved it.” He muttered, his tone sharp but laced with a flicker of satisfaction. 

Hermione smiled faintly, shaking her head. 

“I didn’t have time to feel bad about it. I levitated him again and left him with Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing.” She sighed, her gaze distant. “I was so confused that night. I kept overthinking everything, wondering what was going on.”

She shrugged.

“I even considered the possibility of you having some mental condition—something you never told me about. Dual personality disorder, maybe?” She let out a small, humorless chuckle. “But even then, it didn’t make sense.”

Draco’s eyes softened slightly, though his expression remained tense. “And yet you didn’t say anything?” 

“I decided to wait until morning.” She admitted, her fingers brushing lightly over the back of his hand. “But the morning wasn’t any better. I expected to see you waiting for me on the stairs like you always do so we could walk to the Great Hall together, but... you weren’t there.”  

“You were already at the Slytherin table,” Hermione said, her voice quieter now. “You were sitting there, looking at everyone like you couldn’t believe your eyes.” She paused, her brow furrowing slightly. “Some of the students noticed I wasn’t with you and seemed confused, but I ignored them. I chose to keep my distance and watch you instead.”

Hermione shook her head, her gaze meeting his eyes again. 

“You looked... lost. Like you didn’t belong.”

Hermione took a steadying breath, continuing her story. 

"Then you went about your day attending classes, but it was clear something was off. As if you had no idea what your schedule was. The professors noticed. They didn’t say anything, but they knew something wasn’t right—especially when you took a seat on a different table that is far away from mine. Even Ronald couldn’t help himself and loudly quipped about us having ‘trouble in paradise.”  

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

“Weaselbee, ever the poet. He couldn’t pass up a moment to run his mouth, could he?”  

Hermione allowed herself a small smile but quickly grew serious again. 

“It wasn’t just that, Draco. As the day went on, I could tell something was truly wrong. You look haunted and detached, like reality was just out of reach for you. Then, during Potions, it became glaringly obvious.”  

She paused, her expression troubled as she recounted the memory. 

“You were staring at Professor Snape as though you couldn’t believe he was there teaching potions. You didn’t say a word, but it was in your eyes. Severus noticed too—he watched you closely for the entire lesson, though he didn’t address it in front of the class.”  

“He must’ve known something was wrong.” He murmured.  

“He did.” Hermione confirmed. “After class, I approached him. I told him everything I’d noticed—your confusion, your behavior. At first, even I thought I might be overreacting, but he agreed with me.”  

“Of course he did.” Draco muttered, his tone laced with faint admiration. “Severus could read people like an open book.”  

“He said your demeanor felt... off. Darker, somehow. Not you.” Hermione continued. “So I told him my theory—one that, frankly, sounded mad even to me.”  

Draco raised a brow, curiosity piqued. 

“And that was?”  

“That maybe you weren’t entirely yourself,” Hermione replied. “I told him you might be... possessed or something. It was a ridiculous notion, but it was all I had. And to my surprise, he didn’t dismiss it outright. Instead, he helped me come up with a plan to confront you—to figure out what was really going on.”  

Draco fell silent, absorbing her words. 

The weight of her concern, her fear, and her determination to uncover the truth tugged at something deep within him. 

Finally, he nodded, his voice quiet yet filled with gratitude. 

“Of course you figured it out, Love. You always do.”

"Of course," Hermione said gently. "I know you, Draco. Better than anyone.”

Draco just hummed as he listened, his hand still resting in Hermione’s. 

"So what did you and Severus do?" He asked quietly, though the tension in his tone betrayed his unease.

Hermione took a slow breath, her thumb absently tracing patterns over his knuckles as she answered. 

"Severus told me to find you and tell you he was calling for you in his office. Simple enough, I thought. But it wasn’t." Her gaze dropped briefly before meeting his again. "I eventually found you pacing on a deserted corridor on the seventh floor. You looked... agitated. Restless, like you were searching for something."

Draco tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "And?"

"When I called your name, you startled like a cornered animal." Her voice grew quieter. "And then you threw a spell at me."

Draco's jaw tightened, his silver eyes darkening. His grip on her hand became firmer, though still gentle.

" He did what?"

Hermione reached out with her free hand, brushing her fingers lightly against his.

"I deflected it.” She assured him, her voice steady, though a faint smile crossed. “It caught me off guard, yes, but I was quick enough. But it was clear that you—or rather, the Draco possessing your body—didn’t want to be found. That’s when he tried to escape, and I couldn’t let that happen. So..." She hesitated briefly, a flicker of guilt passing through her eyes. "We ended up dueling in the corridor."

Draco exhaled sharply, a mixture of anger and disbelief crossing his face. His fingers twitched, though he didn’t interrupt her.

Hermione continued, her tone softening. 

"He was... exceptional. I’ll give him that. His spells were deliberate, powerful, and precise—but not quite as good as you." She gave him a faint smile, her voice growing lighter in an attempt to ease the tension. 

Draco’s lips quirked into a faint smirk at her words, though his eyes still carried a flicker of unease. 

"Of course he wasn’t." He said lightly, his attempt to lighten the mood evident in his tone. "I’d hate to think anyone could outshine me in dueling—even myself.”

Hermione chuckled softly, shaking her head. 

"Of course. Still, his attacks felt... different. Quite formidable, yes, but it was more desperate. Like he was trying to drive me away, to make sure I couldn’t stop him from whatever he thought he needed to do. It wasn’t like dueling with you ." Her voice softened, and she glanced down briefly before continuing. "I managed to stun him though, before he could do any real damage."

Draco exhaled, his grip on her hand loosening slightly, though his jaw remained tense. 

"And then?"

"We were caught by Mrs. Norris." Her lips quirked slightly, a faint sense of humor breaking through. "She must have heard the commotion. I didn’t particularly feel like explaining things to Filch, so I levitated him and got us out of there before he showed up.”

Hermione gave him a small, proud smile. 

"I may have been a little panicked, but I wasn’t going to let him ruin everything.” 

She then exhaled softly.

“I made it to Severus’ office without any more interruptions,” Hermione continued, her voice steady but tinged with lingering frustration. “We tied him down before he could wake up. It felt extreme, but I couldn’t take any chances—not with how erratic he was acting. Then Severus tried to use Legilimency on him. Unfortunately, that Draco Malfoy appears to be as gifted with Occlumency as you. Even in an unconscious state, his mental shields were nearly impenetrable.”

“The moment he opened his eyes, he started shouting—screaming at us, really.” She said, her tone sharpening. “He demanded to know what we were doing, what I was doing with Snape . Then he started raving about why Snape wasn’t headmaster, why Dumbledore was still alive, and—” she paused briefly, her gaze dropping to their joined hands, “—why Snape was betraying the Dark Lord.”

Draco flinched visibly, his hand instinctively moving to rub at his left forearm, where the mark of this reality’s Draco had burned itself into his skin.

“It was so loud, so... disjointed,” Hermione continued, her voice growing tighter with the memory. “I had to cast a silencing charm around the office to keep anyone outside from hearing. But even then, he just kept going. He wouldn’t stop. And at that moment…”  

She trailed off, exhaling sharply before glancing up at him, her frustration from that day bleeding into her tone.

“I’d had enough. His constant shouting, the way he kept looking at me like I was some stranger—I was... so angry. I couldn’t handle it. So I drew my wand, pointed it at his throat, and pulled his hair back to make him look at me.”  

Draco raised a brow, his lips parting slightly in surprise, but he said nothing as she continued.

Now is not the time for such thoughts, big guy .

“I demanded to know where you were—where my Draco was . I was so furious, so terrified, and he just kept shouting at me, insisting that he was Draco Malfoy—but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to stop until I had answers, Draco. Not when it comes to you.”

Draco didn’t speak, but his thumb brushed against her knuckles in a grounding gesture.  

Hermione shook her head, though a faint smile flickered across her face before fading. 

“It wasn’t my finest moment, I’ll admit. But I couldn’t take the thought of not knowing what had happened to you.”

She sighed deeply. 

“Severus had to intervene.” She admitted, her voice softening slightly. “I think he was worried I’d actually lose control. He pulled me back, and together, we tried something... different.”  

Draco tilted his head slightly, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “What did you do?”

Hermione’s expression tightened, her gaze unwavering. “We needed to lower his mental shields—just enough for Severus to get a glimpse of what was really going on. It wasn’t easy, but... we made it work.”

“How?” Draco prompted, his tone both cautious and curious.

Hermione hesitated, a flicker of unease crossing her features before she answered. 

“I created a distraction—a deliberate emotional provocation. Severus used that momentary lapse to push through his shields.”

Draco’s brows furrowed deeply. 

“Provocation?”

“Severus had an idea. He said the shield might falter if we caught him off-guard emotionally. So, we... questioned him about things only you would know. Details about me, about us.” Her voice softened slightly as she added, “It was... difficult, hearing him get so much wrong.”

Draco’s expression darkened as she continued.

“At first, it didn’t seem to work. But then Severus pushed further—he asked something pointed, something tied to your childhood that no one else could know.” Hermione paused, her eyes meeting his. 

“That’s when his defenses faltered, just for a moment. Severus was able to see something, a fragment, and when he pulled back...” She hesitated, her grip tightening on Draco’s hand. “He looked pale. I’ve never seen him so shaken before.”

“And?” Draco asked, his voice tight with anticipation.

“He confirmed it,” Hermione said, her voice steady but tinged with bitterness. “He told me that wasn’t you.”

“And then.” She continued, her expression hardening. “That Draco— him —started screaming at us again. He was furious, swearing up and down that he was you. He called us liars, demanded we untie him, insisted we didn’t know what we were talking about. But by then, we knew better. Severus’ confirmation only solidified what I had already suspected."

Draco leaned back slightly, his gaze focused intently on her. 

"And that’s when you placed it all together.” He murmured, more a statement than a question.

Hermione nodded. 

"Yes. And that’s when I knew I had to get your parents involved." Hermione said firmly, her voice steady as she held Draco’s gaze.  

She hesitated briefly, her eyes softening as she continued, "I sent an owl to them that very night. I used your owl—Hades." 

Draco blinked at the mention of the name, the faintest trace of amusement breaking through his otherwise intense expression. 

"Hades? You mean the lazy spoiled bird who hates flying unless bribed with treats? The one who refuses to fly if he deems the weather doesn't suit him even if it's bloody sunny?"  

Hermione managed a small smile. "The very same. Though for something this important, even he couldn’t afford to choose."  

Draco huffed softly, the momentary levity easing the tension in the room.  

Hermione’s lips quirked briefly in response. 

"He proved to be quite reliable when it counted. I sent him to France, to your parents’ chateau, with a letter explaining everything that had happened and asking for their help. While I waited for their reply, I left... him in Severus' care. I trusted him to keep what happened between us quiet and, more importantly, to ensure that your body remained safe. I knew I couldn’t handle everything alone, I couldn’t stay there with him... not when there were too many unanswered questions. Too much that didn’t add up—especially if that Draco tried anything."  

Draco’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, letting her continue.  

"I spent the entire night in the library," Hermione said softly, a faint weariness creeping into her tone. "I used my Head Girl privileges to stay there after hours, despite Madame Pince’s very vocal displeasure, I might add.”

They both chuckled quietly at the old librarian whose strict facade has never once stopped Hermione from doing her research—may it be for pure academic purposes or out of pure genuine curiosity.

“I went through every resource I could think of—researching soul displacement, magical anomalies, anything that might explain what was happening. But..." She trailed off briefly, her brow furrowing. "I realized I’d have better luck at the library back in Berkshire. Its collection predates the Ministry itself, untouched by the filters of modern magical censorship."  

Draco tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Why didn’t you go there, then?"  

Hermione sighed. "I wanted to, but I felt it was more prudent to wait for your parents’ reply before making any further decisions. The situation was too delicate to act rashly."  

Draco’s gaze softened slightly as he studied her. "So... what happened next?"  

"The reply came quickly—well, in a way," Hermione said, her tone shifting. "Lucius arrived at Hogwarts the very next day. He didn’t just send a letter; he came in person to speak with me."  

Draco raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. 

He heard of this back at the trial of course, but not in detail.

"Lucius?"  

Hermione nodded, her expression thoughtful. 

"It was a first, really. It's no secret that your father and I don’t exactly share the warmest rapport. But the moment he walked into the castle, I could tell he was taking this seriously."  

A faint, wry smile tugged at Draco’s lips. "Well, if there’s one thing my father excels at, it’s making an entrance."  

Hermione chuckled softly, her hand brushing lightly against his. 

"That, and ensuring his family’s reputation. But that day, he wasn’t focused on appearances. He was focused on you."  

Draco’s smirk faded into something softer, almost vulnerable, as he nodded slightly. 

"What did he say?"  

Hermione met his gaze, her voice steady. 

"He listened, Draco. For once, he actually listened.”

Hermione exhaled softly, her voice calm as she continued. “Your father demanded to see you. Or rather, him .”  

Draco’s brow furrowed slightly, his posture stiffening. “And you let him?”  

“At first, I didn't want to allow it.” She admitted. “With how... that Draco behaved, I had this sinking feeling that he might be the complete opposite of you—someone who actually followed your father’s ideals, and took the Mark.”

She shook her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. 

“And, well... with Lucius’s history and his beliefs, it felt risky. Dangerous, even. But he insisted, and I relented—with conditions, of course. Constant vigilance, and all that.” She said with a faint roll of her eyes, the memory of their eccentric fourth-year Defense professor bringing a fleeting moment of levity.

Draco raised an eyebrow, recognizing the phrase. “Mad-Eye would’ve been proud.”  

Hermione chuckled lightly. “I thought the same thing. I had his wand, made sure he was unarmed, Severus and I were both there to supervise when I brought Lucius in to see him. And the way he reacted…”  

Draco’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, listening intently.  

“It was... immediate. He practically threw himself at Lucius’s side, bombarding him with questions—about your mother, the war, Harry, and you-know-who. He sounded desperate, like he thought Lucius could somehow get him out of there. But...” She paused, her gaze softening. “Your father only needed one look to know it wasn’t you. He didn’t elaborate—just stated it as fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.”  

Draco blinked, his surprise evident.

Hermione’s lips tilted slightly at the corners. “Then he pulled me aside to speak privately. But before that, the other Draco—him—lost it. He started yelling, demanding to know why his father was ‘consorting with a Mudblood .’”  

Draco’s jaw clenched tightly at the word, his silver eyes flashing with quiet anger. But Hermione, ever intuitive, reached out and brushed her thumb gently across the back of his hand, grounding him.  

“What happened next?” He asked, his voice low.  

“Your father slapped him.”  

Draco’s eyes widened, his jaw hanging as he gaped. 

“Lucius slapped him?”  

“Yes.” Hermione said, unable to hide the faint note of amusement in her tone. “Right across the face. Severus and I were stunned—not that I approve of it, it's still your face and you know how much I don't condone physical violence—unless absolutely necessary, of course.” She added as an afterthought at the dry look he gave her. “And then he said—” She paused for effect, a teasing smirk on her lips. “—‘You don’t call the woman you’ve spent half your life defying me for, just to call her something as revolting as that.’”  

Draco stared at her, eyes blinking in disbelief. 

“He actually said that?”  

“He did.” Hermione nodded, biting back a laugh. "I couldn’t believe it either. Severus looked like he was trying not to faint."

Draco sat back, shaking his head. 

“I can’t believe it. The same Lucius Malfoy who nearly disowned me for rejecting his ideals if I hadn’t immediately taken over—said that ?”  

Hermione laughed softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. 

“Maybe old Lucy has finally gotten soft. Or maybe he’s just resigned himself to the inevitable—probably decided he has no choice but to accept me at this point. You know, given that you’re stubbornly in love with me and all.”  

Draco snorted, shaking his head again. 

“Lucy, really?”  

Her smile widened, and she gave a small shrug. 

“Well, if the name fits.”  

Despite himself, Draco chuckled, the sound light and genuine. 

“Merlin, Hermione. You’re impossible.”  

The laughter between them faded into a comfortable silence, Draco’s soft chuckle lingering in the air as he leaned back slightly. 

After a moment, he turned to her, his silver eyes curious.  

"So, what happened next?"  

Hermione straightened slightly, a faint smile on her lips. 

"Well, after that lovely display by your father." She began, her tone dry. "Both he and Severus had me excused from classes—not that I couldn’t manage it myself, mind you.” She added with a teasing glance.  

Draco huffed a quiet laugh. 

"Of course you could, Lady Granger."  

"Naturally.” She quipped before continuing. "The next morning, Lucius and I set off for the Ministry of Magic to meet with the Department of Mysteries. That’s where we were introduced to Unspeakable Liora Caelum. Let’s just say... the department was baffled. There had been no alarms raised—no signs or warnings—about the anomaly. It was as if it had slipped through the cracks entirely."  

Draco frowned, his brows furrowing. 

“No alarms? Nothing at all?”

Hermione shook her head. 

“None. It was completely undetected until we brought it to their attention. The next day, we returned with... him.” Her voice tightened briefly, but she continued, her expression firm. “They interrogated him and they concluded that he may have been a Draco Malfoy from another reality. He told them about the war—about the rise of you-know-who in his timeline. He said the last thing he remembered was after the Battle of Hogwarts.”

Draco’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, letting her continue.

“He said he fainted in the Great Hall and woke up being levitated—by me, of all people.” She added dryly, her lips curling into a wry smile. "He claimed he didn’t understand this world at all. Also that he was horrified to learn that he was apparently—according to everyone he asked in our reality—was in a relationship with me."  

Draco scoffed, his silver eyes flashing with annoyance. “And?”

Hermione’s smile widened slightly, but it faded as she recounted his next words. 

“He’s completely appalled. Kept talking about how inappropriate it was for someone like him—a pureblood—to have any association with me—and asked how his father could possibly allow it.”  

Draco’s jaw clenched, his expression darkening. 

"Of course he did. The arse.”

His grip on her hand tightened slightly, but she gave him a reassuring squeeze. 

“Lucius, to his credit, scoffed right back and told him, ‘If only you knew how much I fought against it when you first started Hogwarts.’”

That pulled a weak chuckle from Draco, though his eyes were still clouded with unease. “I can only imagine.”

Hermione nodded, continuing, “After that, we decided it would be best to keep him at Berkshire, under my custody. Lucius pointed out that he’d likely find loopholes in the wards at Malfoy Manor, given that he knows them intimately. My estate’s wards, on the other hand, are far older, stronger, and—most importantly—foreign to him.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly not fond of the idea. “So he’s at Berkshire now?”

“Yes.” Hermione confirmed. “He’s being monitored by trusted Unspeakables and Aurors assigned by Unspeakable Caelum. The estate’s wards remain intact, ensuring he can’t access restricted areas or leave without permission—even while I’m here. I made sure the protections are strong enough to hold even someone as resourceful as him.”

Draco exhaled, his tension easing slightly at her words. “Good. That’s one less thing to worry about.”

Hermione hesitated for a moment before continuing, her tone more serious. 

“It took days to trace your magic and soul signature, Draco. There were so many—”

But before she could finish, Draco’s hand shot up, his expression suddenly panicked. 

“No, Hermione. Stop.”

She blinked, confused by his abrupt shift. 

“What—”

“We can’t discuss that.” Draco said firmly, his voice laced with urgency. “The Secrecy Vow. Remember? Talking about... certain details outside protected locations could get us in trouble.”

Hermione’s eyes softened with understanding, and she smiled at him, her hand brushing lightly over his. 

“It’s all right, Draco. The Vow does apply, but we have certain exceptions. The Department of Mysteries granted us some leeway because we’re actively working with them to solve this anomaly.”

Draco looked at her skeptically, his lips parting to protest, but she interrupted gently. 

“It’s part of the agreement, Draco. It was one of the conditions they set before allowing me to cross into this reality.”

He frowned, his unease lingering, but he eventually nodded, trusting her words. 

“If you’re sure...”

“I am.” Hermione said softly, her gaze steady. "It took a really long time for them to find you. Days, Draco. Days of searching, waiting, and trying to hold things together." 

She exhaled softly, her voice steady as she continued 

"I stayed with him at the Peverell—well, Granger—Manor. I couldn’t return to Hogwarts without knowing where you were or what was happening—or how to bring you back. It would have felt wrong to carry on as if everything were normal when it wasn’t."  

She paused, her gaze flickering as if recalling every moment.

"Narcissa returned from France and stayed with us. She was worried about you. She took care of him—even though she knew he wasn’t you. She said that no matter what, it was still you, just from a broken, different reality.”

Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes darting away as he tried to process her words.

“Meanwhile.” Hermione continued. "Lucius stayed behind at Wiltshire, handling everything else. He was ensuring everything remained intact while everyone worked on tracing your magic and soul signature—while also doing minor research at your library. We kept in touch and we exchanged everything we could find. Unspeakable Caelum eventually made contact with Unspeakable Vane, who then brought in her partner, Unspeakable Draven. They informed us about what was happening with the Malfoys in this reality—how they were currently on trial."  

“That discovery led to... a very quick discussion between me, your parents, and the Department of Mysteries. Narcissa and Lucius both thought it would be best if I came in their stead. The charges against the Malfoys in this reality meant it would be... difficult for them to advocate for you effectively. They thought I would have a better chance of reaching you and clearing your name.”

“But honestly..." She trailed off, her eyes softening. "They didn’t really need to convince me. You know I would follow you anywhere."  

Draco blinked, his gaze softening. 

"Hermione..."  

She smiled faintly, squeezing his hand. 

"It wasn’t just me rushing to get here, though. I was prepared, Draco.” She told him. “I’d already started gathering the things we might need, just in case. I also sent a letter to my parents in Australia—though I believe they would prefer if I just phoned them instead but I fear they might stop me if I do—” Draco frowned but she dismissed him and continued. “But even then, we still have a lot of things to handle—the Department had to act fast. There were so many formalities—documents to ensure the integrity of the Secrecy Vow, and going through the legal proceedings necessary to travel between realities—it was all a blur.”

She paused, her gaze steady. 

"It was actually a lot." Hermione admitted, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. "But we didn’t have a choice. We had to hurry before the trial in this reality reached a conclusion. If it had, it would have been nearly impossible to get you released from Azkaban."  

Her gaze softened as she continued, her hand tightening slightly over his. 

"And I couldn’t even bear to think about the toll that place would have taken on you—not just physically, but mentally."  

She paused, her eyes holding his, a flicker of emotion passing through her expression. 

"But even so, when I arrived... all I could think about was getting to you in those dungeons. Nothing else mattered.”

Draco exhaled deeply, shaking his head slightly. 

"You really managed to do all that just to get to me."  

Hermione smiled gently, her hand brushing over his. 

"I wasn’t going to let them take you from me, Draco. Not without a fight."  

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable before his lips curved into a faint, grateful smile. 

"You really are impossible, Granger."  

Her smile widened slightly, warmth radiating from her gaze. 

"And yet, here we are."  

Draco just nodded, a fond look on his silver eyes as he locked eyes with her, squeezing her hand gently.

“Here we are.”

After a warm moment of silence between them, Hermione gently withdrew her hand to adjust the blanket over her legs, her expression thoughtful. 

"Unfortunately, I didn’t have the chance to read much about soul displacement before I had to leave.” She began, her tone shifting slightly. “Most of the books in the library I inherited from the Peverells have some invaluable volumes, but they’re not easily accessible. Most are written in ancient runes or coded spells, and deciphering them takes time. You know how frustratingly slow it can be, especially when dealing with something so old and complex."  

Draco nodded knowingly, a small, understanding smile tugging at his lips as she continued.

"I’ve packed what I could bring here just in case it might contain something we might need and figure it out along the way. I even grabbed a few from the Malfoy library while I was at it."  

Draco arched an eyebrow, an amused smirk spreading across his face. 

"Of course you did. My authorization was practically an open invitation for you to raid my family’s estate."  

Hermione’s eyes sparkled mischievously. 

"Well, it’s not as if your father could stop me, not with your permission already in place." She giggled softly, clearly amused at the thought.  

Draco chuckled, shaking his head in both exasperation and fondness. 

"I remember authorizing that.” He said, remembering the first time she visited the manor in summer after their third year. “Letting you bypass the wards was supposed to make things easier for you—not give you free reign to antagonize my father."  

"Oh, he was remarkably civil about it," Hermione said with a grin. "But I could tell he was quietly fuming. Still, he didn’t stop me. Besides, I wasn’t about to let anything slow me down while I was waiting for news from the Department of Mysteries."  

Draco sighed, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. 

"I can only imagine the chaos you caused while I was gone.” He laughed, shaking his head at her once more. “Poor Lucius, he never quite recovered from the day I granted you free reign—though the look on his face every time you swept into the manor like you owned the place was totally worth it."  

Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately and huffed lightly as his laughter deepened, the sound warm and genuine.  

"As if you weren’t granted the same authorization at my estate."  

Draco smirked, leaning back slightly. 

"Oh, absolutely. Granting me access made sneaking in far easier." He chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. "Do you know how many summers I spent dodging your dad’s suspicious glares every time I stepped through the door in Heathgate? It was exhausting."  

Hermione let out an incredulous laugh and pushed him lightly. "You’re impossible!"  

They both laughed, their voices filling the quiet room as memories of those summers came flooding back. 

The thought of her dad, Richard Granger, brought a flicker of fondness and humor to them both. 

A stern and protective man, Richard had always been wary of Draco during the summers when he visited their home in a muggle neighborhood. He was never fully at ease around the young wizard dating his daughter. 

Though his demeanor had softened over time, his protective streak never quite faded.

When Hermione moved to her inherited estate in Berkshire after its long and jarring renovation, things had shifted. 

While her parents rarely stayed there during the school year when she was at Hogwarts, they were there full-time during the summers when she returned home. 

However, despite the change in location, Richard’s watchful eye remained constant—something that made the vast grounds and sprawling manor a welcome change from the confines of Hampstead Garden Suburb. 

The estate provided a level of privacy that the Suburb never could, making it far easier for Draco to sneak in at night whenever he wanted to see her. Whether it was a quick visit or one that conveniently extended until morning, the estate’s secluded layout offered the perfect cover for moments they both cherished away from prying eyes—making Richard’s vigilance far less of a concern.

It also helped that Hermione had ensured Draco had his own room there for the occasions when his official visits—in Richard’s eyes—extended late into the evening. 

One which—much to her father’s irritation, happened more often than not. 

Richard would give Draco pointed looks, sometimes accompanied by dry quips like, “ It’s not like you can’t Floo back or something to your own estate, is it? ” 

Draco, of course, would respond with his usual charm and a polite smile, which only seemed to fuel Richard’s exasperation.

Draco’s smirk widened as he added, 

"Honestly, though, moving to Berkshire was a blessing. I swear, the only reason I survived those earlier summers was because I’m a Malfoy, and we’re experts at keeping our composure under pressure—even when being watched like a hawk by a very protective father."  

Hermione rolled her eyes fondly, though she couldn’t help but laugh. Their shared amusement gradually gave way to a comfortable silence, both of them basking in the warmth of their connection.  

As their laughter settled, Hermione's expression softened. "Before I left to come here, Lucius gave me something."  

Draco tilted his head curiously, a brow arched. "Oh? What was it?"  

"A collection of old Malfoy family journals." She replied, her tone tinged with amusement. "Apparently, there's a small part in the library that I don't have access to."  

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. 

"Of course he’d hold onto those.” He muttered. “Remind me, Love, once we’ve resolved all of this and returned home—to give you access to those too. Can't have Father holding that over you, can we?”

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "No need. Let him have this one thing—it’s probably the only shred of control he feels like he has left where I’m concerned. It's his small victory, I think he deserves that much."  

Draco chuckled, his silver eyes gleaming with amusement. "You might be right. Merlin knows he’s been through enough with us already since I took over.”

They both laughed again, their shared warmth and lighthearted banter a brief reprieve from the weight of their situation.

“Do you think there’s anything worthwhile in those journals?” Draco asks later after they're settled.

Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully, her fingers lightly brushing over his hand. 

“I’m not entirely sure. I’m honestly not looking forward to reading most of them—those kinds of journals tend to get very personal.” She told him with a knowing look. “But if there’s one thing we can count on with old wizarding families like yours, it’s that they often hold knowledge about untapped magic or enchantments that predate the Ministry itself.”  

Draco smirked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. 

“Well, I, for one, can’t wait to read about my great-great-whatever’s torrid love affairs or some scandal involving an enchanted wig—or the dark secret about how the Malfoys perfected their hair potions.” He told her with a cheshire grin, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled at his teasing. 

“If that’s what it takes to uncover something useful, so be it.” She replied with a matching grin of her own before she shook her head and continued, her voice a little softer. 

“But unfortunately.“ She sighed deeply. “Before we can dive into your family’s dark secrets—and have your ancestors rolling in their graves because a Muggle-born is reading them—” Draco snorted. “—everything I bought is still back at the Ministry in the Department of Mysteries. They’re being inspected to ensure nothing dangerous slipped through.”  

He smirked. 

“If they weren’t already turning over me defying their pureblood ideals, that certainly would do it.” He chuckled as a thought crossed his mind. 

He could still vividly recall the day he ordered the removal of some of the enchanted portraits that once proudly adorned the halls of Malfoy Manor, relegating them to the attic to gather dust. 

It had been after Hermione’s first visit, when some of his less-than-cordial ancestors had hurled vile slurs her way.  

He’d never forget the look on Lucius’s face—redder than a Howler—when Draco, out of sheer spite and a desire to further antagonize his father, personally plucked the portrait of his grandfather, Abraxas, off the wall and locked it in an enchanted chest for good measure, ensuring only the master of the manor—himself—could open it. 

The house-elves had complied with the removal—though Draco suspected that some of them shared the sentiments of the portraits but couldn’t do anything about it, because they—like Lucius since he had lost control—couldn’t oppose him once he had ordered it.

And now the journals, written by some of those very ancestors, were securely in her hands—or would be, once they left the Department’s custody. 

The thought of their outrage was almost satisfying.  

“Merlin.” He drawled with mock gravity, shaking his head. “If their portraits were livid about you walking through the manor, they’d combust on the spot if they knew you were reading their innermost thoughts—their deepest, darkest secrets in your hands? That might actually make Abraxas break through the chest and out of his portrait just to hex me.”  

Hermione laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Draco. I’ll be very respectful of their secrets.”  

“Respectful,” Draco repeated, his smirk widening. “Hermione, love, you’re the very definition of thorough. I doubt even the most well-hidden skeleton in the Malfoy closet will escape your notice.”  

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She replied, her tone light and teasing.

The journals, like many ancient magical artifacts, were undoubtedly enchanted with powerful family magic to ensure only authorized individuals could access them. It was a common precaution among pureblood families, though one that often left outsiders baffled or frustrated.  

So to have Lucius himself authorize her with such privilege is so ironic.

“How did you even manage to bring them all?” Draco asked afterwards.  

Hermione’s grin turned mischievous. 

“My little beaded bag.” She said lightly, her hand gesturing as if to show the size of it. “The one that mum got for me. I enchanted it with the Undetectable Extension Charm.”  

Draco arched a brow, his smirk returning. 

"An illegal charm? If I didn't know you well enough, I would say I’m shocked, Lady Granger.”

She huffed playfully, nudging his shoulder. 

"Oh, hush. I had Ministry authorization to use it— this time." She emphasized, her eyes narrowing as he laughed again. “It was the most practical solution. I wasn’t about to lug an entire library across realities by hand.”

Draco’s laughter deepened, the sound warm and genuine. 

“Of course, they couldn’t say no to Lady Granger , could they?”  

Hermione’s lips quirked in a smirk of her own. 

“Well, I can be very persuasive.”  

Draco shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling fondly as he squeezed her hand. 

“I’ll bet you are.”  

They shared another laugh, light and warm, the kind that felt genuine and unburdened—like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, a brief reprieve from everything weighing down on them. 

The sound lingered in the room, wrapping them in its comfort before it slowly faded, leaving a quiet, peaceful stillness in its wake.

Hermione smiled, a warm, tender expression that softened her features as stared at him for a moment before she raised a hand to cup his cheek.

Draco closed his eyes, leaning into her palm with a quiet sigh, savoring the moment as though it was something fragile and fleeting.

When he opened them again, the playful warmth from earlier had shifted, replaced by something deeper. 

His silver eyes smoldered with intensity, a quiet fire that made Hermione’s breath catch. 

Slowly, Draco leaned in, the space between them dwindling until she could feel the faint brush of his breath against her skin. 

Time seemed to slow as the atmosphere between them shifted, the air growing warmer, heavier and charged with an energy that neither dared to name.

“I wish I could kiss you right now.” Draco said quietly, his voice low and raspy, breaking the stillness and sending a shiver down Hermione’s spine.

Hermione hummed softly in response, holding his gaze as her thumb brushed over his cheek. 

“What would you do if you could?” She asked, her voice just above a whisper.

His silver eyes darkened, his intensity palpable as he slowly brought a hand to her face. His fingers traced the curve of her jawline, the touch reverent, almost as if he feared she might vanish.

Draco’s hand then cupped her cheek with deliberate care, his thumb lightly brushing over her cheekbone in a movement so tender it sent her heart racing. 

Hermione’s breath hitched, her fingers curling slightly as she leaned into his touch. 

The warmth of his palm against her skin was grounding, yet the intensity in his eyes sent her heart racing.

"I’d hold you.” He began, his tone velvet-soft but edged with something deeper, something raw. “I’d hold you like this—close enough that this world wouldn’t dare take you from me. Then I’d kiss you, slow and deep, until there wasn’t a single corner in your mind left untouched by the fact that I’m yours—always yours. I’d be so good to you. I’d make sure you felt it in every breath and every moment.”  

Hermione inhaled quietly, her pulse quickening as his words settled over her, each one dripping with promise and devotion.

His eyes darkened further, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he continued, his words deliberate and laced with longing and need . 

“I’d start slow.” He continued, his voice dropping even lower, a thread of heat weaving through it. “Just a taste at first. I’d savor it—savor every second, savor you —every sigh, every sound , every tremble you make… until you’re completely undone. I’d make sure you know you’re mine, the way you know I’m yours. I’d make you say my name the way only you can—the way you say it like it's the only thing that matters.”

His voice turned more possessive as he kept his gaze locked with hers—silver against brown. And as he gazed into those deep, golden pools, he knew he would gladly drown in them if she allowed him to.

“I’d make sure you felt every ounce of what you do to me.” 

Hermione hummed quietly, her heart racing as she listened, her cheeks flushing with warmth. Her hand gently brushed over the edge of his jaw, feeling the subtle tension in his words and the weight of his emotion that wrapped around her like a slow-burning fire. 

The tense, charged silence lingered between them, their breaths mingling in the small space they shared.

Finally, Draco exhaled, his gaze softening but the fire in his eyes refused to dim.

“But not like this.” He added, his voice tinged with both desire and restraint. “Not in this body. Not when it’s his .”

The bitterness in his tone made Hermione’s heart ache, but he continued before she could interrupt.

“ He doesn’t deserve to share a single moment with you, let alone something so sacred. But this— ” he added softly, his thumb brushing her cheek again. “This moment, right here... we deserve it.”

Before she could respond, he tilted her head gently and pressed a warm, lingering kiss to her forehead. 

The touch wasn’t rushed or fueled by passion but filled with deep, unyielding—unwavering love, and Hermione exhaled quietly, her eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of the gesture spread through her like a steady flame.

When he finally pulled back, their eyes met again, and neither spoke. The tender smiles they shared held all the words that didn’t need to be said. 

They simply remained there, basking in the warmth of each other’s presence that spoke of shared understanding and a love that transcended circumstances.

Hermione breathed softly, the warmth of Draco’s kiss lingering on her skin as she met his gaze. 

A small, teasing smile curved on her lips.

“You better make up for it once this is all over, Malfoy.” 

Draco chuckled, a familiar teasing glint in his silver eyes. 

“Don’t worry, Love. I’ve got plans already.”

“Oh, you do?” Hermione quipped, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. “Well, it better be good.”

Draco huffed dramatically, though his smirk remained intact. 

“Since when have I ever disappointed you, Granger?”

She laughed quietly at that, the sound breaking through the intensity of the previous moment and shifting the atmosphere back to something warm and playful—just the way it always felt when they were together.

Their laughter slowly faded, replaced once again by comfortable silence as Hermione shifted slightly against her pillows, her expression thoughtful. 

“How long have I been asleep?” She asked, her voice soft.

Draco leaned back slightly, still holding her hand in his. 

“Almost eight hours.” He replied, glancing briefly at the glowing glass globe that cast a faint warmth across the room. “It’s well past midnight now.”

Hermione’s brows rose slightly. 

“And what have you been doing all this time?”

Draco gave her a lopsided grin, clearly unrepentant. 

“Watching you.”

She blinked, giving him an incredulous look. 

He chuckled softly, squeezing her hand gently.

“You can’t blame me.” He said with a soft chuckle, shrugging one shoulder. “I still can’t believe you’re really here, Hermione. Missing you these past two weeks, wondering if I’d ever get back—to mother, to Lucius, to you —then suddenly you're here with me—” He paused, his voice lowering slightly as his gaze softened. “It’s going to take some time to let it all sink in.”

Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately, but her lips twitched into a small, fond smile. “You’re impossible.”

Draco grinned, his features relaxing in a way they hadn’t in weeks. 

“I think I’ve had my fill, though.” He added teasingly, earning another soft eye roll from her.

Still, her expression grew tender as she whispered, “I missed you too, you know. It’s been so hard, being in Berkshire with him .”

Draco’s smirk faltered slightly, replaced by something gentler. 

He knew exactly what she meant.

“It’s your face. It’s you. But it’s just... not.” She admitted softly, her thumb absentmindedly brushing over the back of his hand. “It’s not the same when it’s someone else inside. A different soul. The one who doesn't know me at all.”

Draco nodded, his silver eyes filled with quiet understanding.

He had suffered the same agony when he first saw the version of her in this reality—the sight of her in someone else’s arms, the familiar warmth missing and replaced with an emptiness that had nearly driven him mad. 

That memory still lingered at the edge of his thoughts, the pang of it sharper than he cared to admit. He understood now—how the heart could feel both relief and devastation all at once.

After a few moments of silence, Draco gave her hand a gentle squeeze and offered her a small, understanding smile. 

“Well, that’s over now.”

Hermione returned the smile, the corners of her lips lifting faintly.

After a moment, Draco’s voice broke the silence, soft yet filled with care.

“Are you hungry?”

Hermione blinked as if suddenly aware of herself and let out a small sigh. 

“Actually... yes. I’m starving.”

Draco smirked, his tone teasing again as he stood. 

“Of course you are. Saving my arse and jumping between realities is hungry work, I imagine.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but the light laugh that escaped her lips was unmistakably content.

She then glanced around the small room, her brow furrowing slightly as she took in her surroundings for the second time since waking up. 

It wasn’t what she was used to.

It was a far cry from her bedroom at Heathgate at her parent’s house—her master's chamber at the luxurious Granger estate or even the Gryffindor dorms. 

Her gaze flickered toward Draco, curiosity evident in her expression.  

“Where are we?” She asked softly, her gaze sweeping over the bare walls and the faint glow from the ornate glass globe. 

Draco hummed thoughtfully, leaning back slightly against the edge of the bed.

“We’re back in the Ministry building where they were keeping me... or, well, close enough.” He replied. “With everything that happened, apparently, Unspeakables Vane and Draven were in such a rush after the trial and haven’t exactly had time to arrange proper accommodations for us yet. So they’ve placed us here under the care of the Aurors who were present in the chamber earlier.”

Hermione frowned slightly, her brows knitting together. 

“Back? You mean in the same area as the detention cells?”

Draco nodded, a faint edge creeping into his tone as he continued. 

“Technically, yes. But it’s a different room and section of the Auror headquarters—far from the others.”

“Others?” Hermione prompted softly, her tone inviting but careful.

Draco exhaled, a bitter note slipping into his voice. 

“The other prisoners. Most of them were caught during the war—supporters and followers of you-know-who. They’re waiting for their trials.” He replied with a faint sneer before sighing, his gaze flickering briefly around the room. “I’m just glad they managed to give you a better room on such short notice. It’s infinitely better than the one they shoved me in after they separated me from this reality's Lucius.”

His tone darkened slightly at the memory, and Hermione watched as his eyes turned distant.  

He appears to hesitate for a moment, as though debating whether to say more, before continuing. 

“The first room was barely fit for a rat. Small, cold, a steel door with nothing but a latch. No windows. Just a cot shoved into a corner—not that he deserves something better than that.” He scoffed, his eyes holding up a storm to what he had endured in place of him in this reality. “That arse probably deserved it—but not me. I didn’t belong there.” 

Hermione noticed the bitterness lacing his words, her hand gently brushing against his in silent reassurance. 

He exhaled, his eyes softening as he ran his thumb gently across her knuckles.

“But as far as accommodations go, this is a massive improvement.”  

She said nothing of it, choosing instead to shift the focus as her sharp gaze flickered toward the wooden door on the left side of the room. 

“That door.” She said lightly, arching a brow. “It’s not locked, is it?”

Draco blinked, her question pulling him out of his dark thoughts. 

A soft chuckle escaped him, a bit of the tension easing from his shoulders. “No, it’s not locked. The Aurors told me we can roam freely within this section of the building.”

“Really?” Hermione said with faint surprise, casting a glance back at him.

He nodded, though his tone grew wry as he added. “Though ‘free’ might be generous. They’ve warded off this entire wing—no one can come in who isn’t authorized or bound by the Department of Mysteries’ secrecy vow.”   

Hermione nodded knowingly, her expression turning thoughtful as she let her gaze settle back on him. 

It made sense, of course. 

Their situation was precarious at best. The last thing they needed was someone who wasn’t bound to secrecy to stumble across them that may place them both and the Department of Mysteries in a dangerous situation. 

Given everything she’d gathered about this reality so far, it wasn’t every day one could see Draco Malfoy walking alongside Hermione Granger , let alone in such unusual circumstances.  

“Well, it’s a good thing they’ve warded it off.” She said softly, though her mind lingered briefly on the dangers they still faced outside the walls of the room they're in. “Merlin knows we don’t need anyone else complicating this mess.”

Draco just smiled faintly, his silver eyes softening as if to show his agreement. 

The events of the past few hours had left him drained, and for now, he was content just to share this quiet moment with her.

After a brief pause, he shifted slightly, casting a glance toward the door and then back at Hermione. 

“You know, I saw a kitchen or something on our way here.” He said casually. “Maybe I could fix up something for us to eat.”

Hermione tilted her head slightly, curiosity sparking in her expression. “Do you think the Aurors would mind?”

Draco scoffed lightly, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. 

“They can barely look me in the eye since we left the Ministry.” He quipped, his tone carrying an arrogant edge that was clearly meant to tease her. “They’ve left me completely alone since they brought us here. I doubt they’d dare interrupt.”

But instead of the amused smile or playful eye roll he expected, Hermione’s expression didn’t soften.

Instead, her face became serious, her amusement faded, replaced by something much sharper.

Draco raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading slightly as he noticed the shift in her demeanor. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice softening.

Hermione’s gaze was steady as she asked, her tone quieter but laced with worry. 

“Draco, have you eaten anything?” 

He hesitated for a moment, his smirk faltering before he finally replied. 

“I... may have missed lunch.” He admitted sheepishly. “I wasn’t exactly paying attention when the Auror came knocking on my cell. Or maybe.” He added with a bitter edge. “They decided not to waste their time feeding me, since they figured I’d be headed to Azkaban anyway. Death Eater scum and all that.”

He chuckled humorlessly, but the look on Hermione’s face—fury and concern etched into every line—stopped him.

But before she could unleash her frustration, he gave her a soft, reassuring smile. 

“I’m fine, Hermione.” He said gently. “Besides, I don’t think I could’ve eaten anything even if they had offered. The trial wasn’t exactly... conducive to an appetite.” He joked, though there was a faint bitterness in his voice as he let out a dry laugh. “And let’s be honest, the Ministry doesn’t exactly specialize in cuisine that’s fit for a Malfoy palate.”

Hermione didn’t laugh, her brows still furrowed, but her grip on his hand tightened slightly. Her gaze lingered on Draco for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line as a flicker of frustration crossed her features. 

Finally, she sighed, her resolve evident as she shifted upright, removing the blanket and swinging her legs off the bed.  

“Let’s go.” She said, her tone brisk as if to leave no room for argument. 

She stood, brushing her hands against her sweater as she glanced at him. “Maybe I can find something to work with.”  

Draco’s eyes widened slightly, his expression shifting to something between amusement and one of soft disapproval. 

“Hermione.” He began lightly, leaning forward and gently catching her wrist. “As much as I adore you for wanting to take charge—again—I think you’ve done enough.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, but before she could argue, Draco pressed on, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. 

“I may not hold a candle to the dishes the house-elves prepare back at the manor, but I can still cook.”  

Hermione blinked at him, startled for a moment, before her brow furrowed in skepticism.  

“Draco—”  

“Hermione.” His voice held a note of quiet insistence, though his tone was still warm. “You’ve done so much for me already. Let me take care of you this time.”  

Her protest wavered as his words sank in, but Draco wasn’t finished.  

“You know I can cook.” He continued, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “If you don’t remember, I’ve done it countless times—for you. When we were at the manor. Or that time in the Hogwarts kitchens when I insisted on making something myself despite the house-elves protesting that it wasn’t proper.”  

Hermione’s lips twitched into a faint smile at the memory.  

“And let’s not forget your mum.” Draco added, his smirk widening slightly. “Helen was very insistent that a ‘ perfectly acceptable gentleman ’ knows how to cook.”  

Hermione let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you still remember that.”  

“Oh, I do,” Draco replied with fake solemnity. “She mentioned it every summer at Heathgate when we first got together. I figured there was no easier way to earn your mum's favor than to learn how to cook. And since I’m not one to leave things half done...”  

He let the words trail off, watching as Hermione’s smile softened.  

“Draco—” She began again, her tone gentler this time.  

“Hermione.” He said, standing and taking her hands in his, his silver eyes locking onto hers. “Let me take care of you.”  

For a moment, she held his gaze, her resolve faltering under the tenderness in his expression. Finally, she sighed and gave him a small nod, a faint smile curving her lips.  

“All right.” She relented, her voice quiet but warm. “But it better be good.”  

Draco’s smirk returned, his tone laced with playful confidence. 

“Since when have I ever served you something that wasn’t up to your standards?”  

Hermione rolled her eyes but didn’t let go of his hands. 

“Let’s not test that theory tonight, Malfoy.”  

He chuckled, giving her hand a gentle tug as they walked together to the door. 

Draco pulled it open, and the brightness of the white-walled corridor made them squint slightly, the stark light a sharp contrast to the cozy warmth of the room they had just left.  

The hallway was eerily quiet, devoid of any guards or Aurors, but neither commented on it. Instead, they shared an unspoken gratitude for the solitude as they continued down the barren passage. 

Hermione’s heels clicked softly against the tiled floor, the sound echoing faintly as Draco led her.  

Turning a corner, Draco broke the silence with a quiet question.  

“Do you have anything else more comfortable to wear than that?”  He gestured faintly toward her formal outfit.

Hermione hummed thoughtfully before replying.  

“I do, but everything’s in the beaded bag—including clothes for both of us. The Department might return it sometime today.”  

Draco simply hummed in acknowledgment as they approached a small kitchenette tucked away at the end of the corridor. 

It was a modest space, functional rather than inviting, with minimal furnishings and a faintly sterile feel.  

Draco pulled out a chair from the small table that barely seated two and gently gestured for her to sit. 

Hermione obliged with a soft smile as he turned toward the overhead cupboards, inspecting their meager options.  

He didn’t say a word, his focus entirely on finding something suitable.

The quiet between them was comfortable, punctuated only by the faint sound of doors opening and closing as Draco examined what the Aurors had left behind.

As she watched him work, Hermione’s lips curved into a small, fond smile, warmth blooming in her chest at the sight of Draco Malfoy—lord to one of the most esteemed pureblood families—searching a humble kitchenette for something to cook.

After a few minutes of searching through the sparse cupboards, Draco finally turned to Hermione, a faintly amused smirk tugging at his lips.  

“How do you feel about...” He trailed off, holding up a few ingredients. “An omelette?”  

Hermione’s smile widened, warmth flickering in her gaze as she nodded. 

“Sounds divine.”  

Draco raised an eyebrow at her, his amusement deepening. 

“Divine? Granger, it’s an omelette, not haute cuisine.”  

She chuckled softly, her tone light. 

“With you cooking it, I’m sure it’ll feel like it is.”  

Draco shot her a playful, amused look before turning back to the cupboards, his hands moving with purpose as he continued searching for ingredients. 

Moving with practiced ease, Draco found a pan and placed it on the small stove. He cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them together with an efficiency that betrayed years of experience, then tossed in a handful of chopped vegetables and cheese he had scavenged somewhere in one of the drawers under stasis charm.  

The room filled with the sound of the omelette sizzling in the pan, the savory aroma quickly spreading through the air. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, letting the comforting smell wash over her.  

Draco worked in focused silence, his movements precise as he flipped the omelette with practice. After a few minutes, he found a set of plates in the cupboard and began arranging the food with utmost care.

When he finally turned and placed the plate in front of her, the simplicity of the meal didn’t detract from its presentation.  

It was presented with an elegance that could only come from Draco.

The omelette was arranged with an almost artistic flourish, garnished with a sprig of parsley he must have found somewhere in the kitchen. But that’s not all. It was also accompanied by a classic fry-up, typical of an English breakfast. The beans were neatly spooned beside it, and the toast was golden and crisp.

“How you managed to make this look elaborate in a kitchen like this, I’ll never know.” Hermione said with a soft laugh, shaking her head.  

Draco straightened slightly, looking far too pleased with himself as he placed his own plate on the table and sat across from her.  

“Presentation is everything, Granger,” he quipped, his silver eyes gleaming with pride. “Even the simplest meal deserves to look its best.”  

Hermione let out a delighted laugh, her warm tone filling the small room. 

Draco grinned in response, a rare, genuine expression that softened his typically sharp features—as it always does whenever he's in her presence. 

Exchanging smiles—Hermione’s carrying a hint of gratitude—they picked up their forks and moved to dig in.  

But before the food could reach their mouths, the sharp echo of hurried footsteps rang out from the hallway.  

“Who’s cooking with my eggs?!” A loud, disgruntled male voice demanded, irritated and growing louder as its owner approached. 

A moment later, an Auror burst into the room, his expression set in irritation. “I swear, Johnson , if you’ve touched my—”  

The man froze mid-sentence, his words dying in his throat as his gaze landed on the room’s occupants. 

His irritated scowl gave way to wide-eyed surprise as he took in Draco and Hermione seated at the small table.  

Draco’s silver eyes immediately turned cold, the warmth he’d shown moments earlier vanishing as he slowly set down his fork and straightened in his chair. 

His gaze locked onto the Auror, icy and unamused, while Hermione mirrored his shift in demeanor. 

Her expression was blank, her earlier playfulness replaced by an air of quiet authority that could rival a seasoned diplomat.  

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

“Mr. Malfo—Lord Malfoy!” The Auror stammered, his confident bluster evaporating. 

His eyes darted nervously between the two as if unsure of how to proceed.  

It was Hermione who broke the tense silence, her tone sharp and formal, yet laced with the faintest edge of passive aggression. 

“I hope you don’t mind us borrowing your food without permission.” She said, her voice clipped with a tight smile. “After all, we weren’t exactly offered anything to eat, and as you can imagine, we’re quite famished.”  

The man’s face flushed as he stuttered, his demeanor reminding both Draco and Hermione of a certain bumbling professor from their first year at Hogwarts.  

Draco’s lips twitched faintly in a smirk, though his eyes remained cold. Hermione, however, merely arched a brow.

“Completely fine! I—uh—I mean, of course, it’s no problem, Lady Granger! Lord Malfoy!” He blurted, his words tumbling over themselves as he tried to salvage his composure. “Help yourselves—by all means!”  

Draco raised an unimpressed brow, leaning back slightly in his chair. 

“How gracious of you.” He said coolly, his tone as icy as his gaze.  

The Auror’s nervous laugh did little to ease the tension in the room.

Hermione just gave him a polite nod. 

“Thank you. Your understanding is appreciated.” She said smoothly, though her tone suggested anything but gratitude.

“I’ll, uh, just leave you to it then.” He mumbled, nearly tripping over himself as he nodded quickly, muttered something incoherent under his breath and all but fled the room, the door closing with a hurried thud behind him.

Once he was gone, Hermione exhaled quietly, her shoulders relaxing as she turned her gaze back to Draco.

“Well.” She said lightly, her lips quirking faintly. “That was... awkward.”

Draco let out a small huff of amusement, his frosty demeanor easing as he turned back to Hermione.  

“I can’t decide if he was more terrified of me or you.”  

Hermione chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I’d say it was about even.”  

A brief silence fell between them, the tension from the Auror’s interruption dissipating. 

After a moment, Hermione let out a soft laugh, the sound tinged with faint guilt. 

“I feel bad, though.”  

Draco turned back to her, a small smile of his own forming as he shook his head. 

“You shouldn’t.” He said firmly, his tone warm but laced with quiet satisfaction. “Think of it as some sort of payback on my behalf.”

Hermione arched a brow at him but remained silent as he continued, his smirk sharpening slightly. 

“That Auror? He was one of the loudest instigators—the ones who mocked me relentlessly while I was pleading my case, begging for someone to grant me an audience with the Department of Mysteries. Every time I said I wasn’t their Draco Malfoy, he’d laugh like I’d told the best joke he’d ever heard.”  

Draco huffed, the sound low and faintly bitter, before adding with a hint of smugness, “Now he can’t even look me in the eye.”  

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, though the corners of her mouth quirked in faint amusement. 

“You can’t exactly blame them, Draco.” She reminded him, her tone light but firm. “They didn’t know any better—just like you didn’t when you first found yourself in this reality.”  

Draco’s smirk faltered slightly at her words, his expression turning pensive as he leaned back in his chair, considering her point.  

Hermione’s gaze softened, but her tone held a hint of hesitation as she added, “I’ll admit... I find it hard to forgive them too, hearing everything from you—what you’ve been through, what they did to you.” Her fingers brushed over the edge of the table as if grounding herself. “And not just them—the Aurors, the Wizengamot, all of it. It makes my blood boil, Draco.”  

Draco’s silver eyes flickered toward her, the faintest trace of vulnerability crossing his face at her admission.  

“But.” She continued, her voice quieter now. “We also have to consider their perspective. It’s not every day they’re faced with something like this—something so completely out of the realm of normalcy—realities crossing, souls displaced... it’s uncharted territory for all of us. They were scared, unprepared, and I suppose fear makes people do foolish, cruel things.” She mused before looking back to his silver ones. 

“They were trying to do their jobs, and from their point of view, you were the Draco Malfoy they knew.”  

Draco exhaled softly, his gaze lowering for a moment before giving her a small, conceding nod.

“Fair enough.” He admitted, his voice quieter but still tinged with defiance. “Doesn’t mean I’ll immediately forgive them, though.

A faint smile curved Hermione’s lips, and her eyes softened as she reached across the table, brushing her fingers over his hand.

“Of course not. But that’s why I’m here—to be your voice of reason when you don’t want to see it.”

Draco let out a low huff, though the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

“My ever-reasonable Granger.” He murmured, his tone laced with a fondness that made Hermione’s heart flutter.

Draco’s smirk returned, some of the earlier warmth returning to his expression. 

“But at least we got to keep the food.”

Hermione laughed, and together they finally turned their attention back to their plates.

The clink of forks against plates filled the quiet air between them as they finally turned their attention to their meal.  

Draco ate in his usual composed manner, though there was a faint urgency to his movements that suggested he hadn’t had a proper meal in days, while Hermione took her time, savoring the food despite its simplicity. The omelette was fluffy, the beans perfectly seasoned, and the toast crisp to perfection. Each bite felt comforting, grounding her in the moment. 

Every so often, she would glance at him, catching the way his shoulders relaxed slightly with each bite, the tension he carried easing bit by bit.  

Though she could see the faint traces of satisfaction on his face, the small quirks of his lips as he glanced at her from time to time. Hermione caught his eye once and raised a brow, her lips curving into a teasing smile.

“What?” She asked lightly.

“Nothing.” He replied, his tone smooth but his silver eyes gleaming with a quiet fondness. “Just glad to see you eating well after everything.”

Hermione shook her head, her smile widening as she turned her attention back to her plate.

“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much.” She teased, gesturing at his smug expression with her fork.  

“I’m enjoying seeing you eat.” Draco retorted lightly. “It’s been far too long since I’ve had a meal with you.”  

Hermione smiled at that, her chest warming at the sentiment.  

After a few more bites, she placed her fork down, her expression shifting to something more curious. 

“Draco?”  

He looked up, his silver eyes meeting hers. 

“Hmm?”  

“Can you tell me more about this reality?” She asked, her voice quieter now. “I’ve only been told bits and pieces—enough to get me here in time for the trial—but not much else.”  

Draco paused, his fork hovering over his plate as he considered her question. Finally, he placed it down and leaned back slightly. 

“Honestly? I actually don’t have that much information either.” He admitted. “Most of what I know came from the Aurors when I kept asking them what war they were talking about—and from the accusations and testimonies presented during the trial. There was a war—obviously. You-know-who is back and my family in this reality are his loyal lap dogs. This version of me became a Death Eater who followed my father’s orders without question and never took over... you know the rest.”  

She hummed quietly, acknowledging his words without interrupting, her fingers brushing absently against the rim of her plate.  

“There’s another thing,” Draco added after a pause, his smirk returning, though it lacked its usual edge. “In this reality, you’re friends with Potter and Weasley.”  

Hermione raised a brow, a small smile tugging at her lips.  

“And apparently.” Draco continued with a touch of dry humor. “I bullied you a lot since first year. Sounds like I was quite the git.”  

Hermione chuckled softly, her gaze softening as she studied him. 

“It’s so different.” She murmured, her voice thoughtful. “So different from the reality we come from.”  

Draco exhaled quietly, his expression turning pensive as he nodded, agreeing with her. 

For a moment, the weight of everything—two realities, two lives, two versions of themselves—hung heavily in the space between them.

Draco, as if remembering something, leaned forward slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he looked back at her.  

“It is really different.” He said, his tone warm but tinged with humor. “And I can’t say I’m particularly fond of it—not just because of what my version here has become.” His smirk deepened, and a glimmer of mischief lit his silver eyes. “No, love. It’s also because I have a strong suspicion that the you in this reality is in love with Weaselbee.”  

Hermione coughed abruptly, nearly choking on a bite of her eggs as her eyes widened in disbelief.  

“ Excuse me? ” She said, her tone incredulous as she gaped at him.  

Draco chuckled softly, clearly pleased with her reaction.  

“Relax, Granger.” He drawled with a teasing edge. “I can’t say for sure, of course. But from what I’ve seen, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”  

Hermione’s expression shifted from shock to exasperation, though her cheeks held the faintest tinge of pink as she muttered, “That’s ridiculous.”  

Draco’s laughter softened as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze turning slightly wistful.  

“Suppose it is better.” He said quietly, his voice carrying a note of melancholy. “That you ended up with that red headed weasel rather than this... scum of a version of me.”

Draco paused, his silver eyes softening as they locked with hers, his next words coming slower, heavier.

“You know I’d love more than anything to believe that we’re together here too—that we’re destined to find each other in every reality. But even though I’m always selfish when it comes to you, Hermione... I’m not that selfish.” His voice dropped, a quiet sincerity lacing each word. “I’d never wish for any version of you to end up with any version of me who doesn’t deserve you in the slightest.”  

His admission was raw, unguarded, like a confession he hadn’t intended to voice aloud.

Hermione frowned slightly, but before she could speak, he chuckled again, this time with a touch of self-deprecation.  

“Though to think—we used to joke that we were destined to be together in every universe, if such things existed.” His eyes flickered back to hers, his smirk returning but tinged with bittersweet humor. “And now that we know they do... it’s pretty clear we’re not.”  

The words hung in the air for a moment, his tone light yet layered with an emotion that Hermione couldn’t quite place. She held his gaze, her heart aching slightly at the vulnerability he was trying to mask. Hermione broke the silence, her voice soft but thoughtful.  

“Maybe.” She began, her tone tinged with warmth as she met his gaze. “In some other realities out there—ones similar to this one—there’s a version of me who still chose you, despite who you were. Maybe there’s a me who looked at you and thought, ‘ I could fix him .’”  

Draco’s laugh came unexpectedly, rich and genuine, as he shook his head, a faint gleam of amusement brightening his silver eyes.  

“Merlin, let’s hope not.” He said, his smirk returning as he looked at her with fond exasperation. “Those variants of you must not be nearly as smart as the one sitting here with me.”  

Hermione raised a brow, her lips curving into a playful smile.  

“Or maybe.” She countered lightly, her eyes sparkling with mirth but with seriousness behind them. “It’s stupidity born out of love.”  

Draco blinked, surprised for a beat, before laughing again, the sound filling the small kitchenette with warmth.  

“Stupidity out of love.” He repeated, his tone laced with affection and humor. “Leave it to you to find the most ridiculous yet endearing way to describe it.”  

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head fondly. 

“Don’t get used to it, Malfoy. I’m still the clever one here.”

They laughed together, the lighthearted moment easing the weight of their earlier conversation.They continued eating in companionable silence, the earlier lightheartedness lingering in the air. When their plates were finally empty, Draco pushed back his chair and began gathering the dishes, but Hermione reached out, stopping him with a fond shake of her head.  

“Honestly, Draco.” She said softly, pulling her wand from her pocket.  

With a flick, the dishes floated over to the sink, where they began scrubbing themselves with enchanted efficiency. 

Another wave sent the remaining ingredients drifting back into their respective drawers and cupboards, each settling into its place as though it had never been disturbed.  

Draco leaned against the table, watching her work with an amused tilt to his lips. 

“You know your mum wouldn’t approve.” Draco said with a smirk, leaning back against the table. “She’d probably say it’s better to wash dishes by hand rather than using a spell—or whatever clever appliance Muggles have come up with.”  

Hermione chuckled, her gaze lingering briefly on the magically cleaning dishes before turning to him. Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression.  

“I don’t know where to begin.” She admitted, her voice quieter. “This investigation... figuring out why this soul displacement occurred—it’s all so overwhelming.”  

Draco reached across the table, taking her hand in his. The warmth in his touch and the quiet assurance in his silver eyes anchored her.  

“We’ll figure it out.” He said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Like we always do. But for now, you need to rest. The Unspeakables told me they’d reach out once you’re fully recovered. No need to rush.”  

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line, clearly unconvinced. 

“I don’t want to wait, Draco. I want to get this over with. The sooner we do, the sooner we can go home.”  

Draco chuckled softly, the sound tinged with exasperation and affection. 

“I know that look. It’s the same one you get when you’re preparing to run yourself into the ground for a cause. I know trying to stop you is like trying to catch a Nundu—”  

Her brow arched, a spark of indignation lighting her features. 

“I do not have bad breath, Malfoy!”  

Draco smirked but continued undeterred. 

“—but even if I share your sentiment, I can’t have you collapsing again just because you’re too stubborn to take care of yourself.” His voice softened, his thumb brushing over her hand. “You’re impossible when you’re exhausted. Cranky, untouchable, and prone to making questionable decisions—and you know I’ve been there for more than a few of those.”  

Hermione’s expression wavered, and finally, with a small sigh, she relented. 

“Fine. But just for now.”  

Draco’s smirk widened, his satisfaction evident at the rare, easy victory. 

As the last cupboard closed and the final dish settled on the rack, he stood and extended his hand to her.  

“Come on, then.” He said lightly.  

Hermione slipped her hand into his, allowing him to pull her gently to her feet. 

Together, they stepped out of the small kitchenette, leaving behind the faint aroma of their meal and a sense of shared warmth.  

As they walked down the barren halls, their footsteps echoing in the silence, Hermione broke the comfortable quiet once more.

"So." She began, her tone curious. "What happened to your wand in this reality?"

Draco's expression shifted, his brow furrowing slightly. 

"Honestly, I don't know where it is. When I woke up, I was already wandless. Haven't had much luck knowing where it is since—and even if I still have it, it will most likely be confiscated by the aurors once they detained me." He replied, then added, his voice tinged with bitterness, "But from what I gathered, during the trial... Well, Potter tried to do something—if you can even call it that, to help him ."

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in confusion. 

"Help? How?"

Draco scoffed, his mouth curling into a half-smirk. 

"Help is a stretch. Apparently, during the duel they had when he, Weasley and you— Granger— ” He quickly corrected, looking a bit perturb but otherwise continued on. “–-got captured and brought into the manor, Potter managed to disarm him. The wand’s loyalty shifted—now it’s with Potter. It's the same wand he used to defeat You-Know-Who." He shook his head, his tone dripping with frustration. "Not sure if that makes it any better, but that’s the reality I’m stuck with."

Hermione’s steps slowed as she processed this information. 

"So the wand that once belonged to him , the same one that you also had... is now bonded to Harry?"

Draco’s gaze was distant as he nodded. 

"Exactly. Feels... wrong, doesn’t it?" He glanced at Hermione, his silver eyes softening with the weight of it all. "Why do you ask?”

As they continued walking, Hermione’s expression shifted, a moment of hesitation passing over her before she spoke again.

"I asked because I have your wand.” She told him simply as they continued to walk. “The one you really own. It’s back in the beaded bag. I didn’t want to leave it behind with the Draco Malfoy from this reality, especially not with him possessing your body." She glanced at him, her gaze soft but firm. "I couldn’t risk it being in his hands."

Draco’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"When we had that sudden duel in the hallway." Hermione continued, her tone thoughtful. "He used your wand. It worked... somewhat for him, but there was a noticeable difference. And from what you told me about his wand changing loyalties to Harry, I think I’ve figured out why." 

She paused, gathering her thoughts. 

"I believe it’s because the wand—yours or his—is no longer fully attuned to him. Maybe it worked because it’s your body, or the wand somewhat recognizes him as the former master of its counterpart—I don’t know. Wand lore is far too complicated, even for me to fully understand."

Draco let out a short laugh, the sound light but laced with something almost affectionate. 

"Good thing you don't have any ambitions toward wand-making, then." 

Hermione shot him a smile, her lips curving slightly despite herself. 

"I’ll leave that to the experts." She said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. 

Draco's smirk softened into a more genuine smile. 

"Smart choice.”

She chuckled but her brow furrowed with unresolved conflict. 

"I just hope it doesn’t affect you the way it affected him.” She told him. “Even with you in his body. After all, you have different soul and magic signatures. But what if your wand also felt the same and you would not be able to use it—" 

Draco squeezed her hand, sensing the worry in her voice. 

"You’re overthinking it, Love. We’re not the same, and this won’t change what’s ours. It’s just a wand."

She gave him a small, uncertain smile. 

"I hope you’re right. I just don’t want another thing to go wrong." 

Draco’s lips quirked in a half-smile.

"You’ve got that look on your face again." He told her, his voice soft but more serious now. "Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. One step at a time.”

Hermione hummed softly, nodding. "One step at a time." 

They continued walking in silence, the soft echo of their footsteps filling the air. 

As they neared the hall that led to the room currently accommodating them, an Auror stood by the door, his expression stern and unyielding. 

The moment he saw them, he gave a formal nod of greeting.

"Lady Granger, Lord Malfoy." the Auror said, his voice steady and professional.

The two stopped, their expressions shifting into masks of indifference, and they returned the nod, equally formal.

The Auror’s gaze remained impassive as he continued. "I’ve been looking for you.”

Draco’s lips twitched into a brief, polite smile before he replied, his tone smooth and excessively formal. 

"Forgive us for not informing any of you, but the Lady was hungry, and we had nothing to eat, so we had to prepare something for ourselves."

The Auror merely nodded, unfazed by the excuse. He then turned to Hermione and said in the same impersonal manner. 

"I trust your meager meal was satisfying enough for the lady, or at least appeasing?”

Hermione's response was equally formal. 

"It was adequate. Not something I haven’t had before." She gave a slight smile, though it didn't reach her eyes.

The Auror nodded once again, his face revealing no emotion, before he spoke again. "The Minister is here and would like to speak with you both."

Draco raised a brow, his curiosity piqued despite the formality. 

"What for?" He inquired, his tone laced with mild intrigue.

The Auror replied, unwavering. "I was simply sent to inform you. Minister Shacklebolt is now waiting at the Minister’s parlor." 

Draco blinked slightly, glancing at Hermione before turning back to the Auror. 

"The Minister’s parlor?" He paused, his tone now tinged with skepticism. "And what exactly does he want to discuss?"

The Auror didn't give much away, his expression impassive. 

"I am only here to relay the message, Lord Malfoy.” The man replied. “The Minister is waiting. Please, if you would follow me.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression now laced with an unmistakable edge. 

"And if we don’t?" He asked, his posture straightening, an air of defiance emanating from him. It was clear he wasn’t fond of being ordered around, especially when it concerned Hermione. "I wasn’t aware the Aurors had the authority to dictate our every move."  

The Auror’s face hardened, his jaw tightening. 

"Whether you follow me or not is entirely your choice, Lord Malfoy." He replied coolly, though his tone hinted at impatience. "I am only here to do my job, and that is to deliver the Minister’s request. The decision is yours."  

Draco’s expression darkened, his sharp retort already forming, but before he could speak, Hermione stepped in, her voice soft but firm.  

"It's fine, Draco." She said, glancing up at him with a quiet determination and assurance in her eyes. 

She then turned to the Auror, her tone polite and composed. 

"Lead the way."  

The Auror gave her a curt nod and swiftly turned on his heel, not bothering to see if they were following.  

Hermione clutched Draco’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as she began to follow after the Auror. Draco sighed heavily, his jaw tightening as he muttered under his breath.  

"One step at a time." He said, echoing their earlier words, though his frustration was evident.  

Reluctantly, he followed after her, his protective instincts still bristling but tempered by her resolve.

They followed the Auror through a maze of long hallways, their path punctuated by sharp turns and multiple flights of stairs. The building felt like it had been designed specifically to disorient visitors, with every corner looking unnervingly identical. 

Draco kept his expression neutral but couldn’t help the faint curl of disdain on his lips as they approached a beautifully ornate wooden door. The door gleamed under the soft light, its surface decorated with intricate carvings of celestial bodies—stars, moons, and swirling planets. At its center was an obnoxiously large golden knob that practically begged for derision.

Draco nearly scoffed, his lips parting to comment, but Hermione's fingers pinched his arm, her silent warning clear: Behave.

The Auror knocked firmly on the door, waited for a moment, and then pushed it open just enough to stick his head inside. 

"Lord Malfoy and Lady Granger have arrived." He announced crisply. 

A muffled voice replied from within, and the Auror nodded before pulling back.

He turned to the pair, his face impassive. 

"The Minister is waiting for you." With that, he opened the door fully and stepped aside.

"Thank you," Hermione said softly, offering him a polite smile—a genuine one this time.  

She stepped inside, her movements calm and graceful. Draco instinctively offered his arm to her, a gesture that she mirrored without hesitation. Their hands brushed as she took it, and together they stepped into the room, their shared presence steady and synchronized.  

Draco's expression was carefully composed, though his eyes still roamed over the extravagant room, taking in every detail with an air of quiet scrutiny. Despite the opulence, his focus remained on the task ahead, with Hermione's calm touch anchoring him beside her.

The space was sleek and stately, perfectly befitting a Minister of Magic, yet every detail seemed meticulously excessive. The high, vaulted ceiling bore intricate engravings of celestial maps, and a massive crystal chandelier hung in the center, its many arms glittering with enchanted light. Along the walls, enchanted instruments ticked and spun: an astrolabe with a swirling orb at its core, a clock with mismatched hands that moved in peculiar rhythms, and a silver contraption that emitted a faint hum as it traced invisible constellations into the air.

An ornate mahogany desk sat at one end of the room, its surface gleaming and nearly spotless save for a few meticulously arranged papers and a polished golden inkstand. The chairs and sofas in the center of the room were the most garish part of the décor—to both Hermione and Draco’s silent dismay. Extravagantly upholstered in deep burgundy velvet, trimmed with elaborate gold embroidery. The armrests were carved with swirling patterns that seemed to writhe like vines under close scrutiny. Despite their grandeur, there was something distinctly old-fashioned about them, as though they belonged in the parlor of a long-forgotten dowager—or someone’s very old grandmother’s rather than in the office of the Minister in the Auror headquarters.

Hermione and Draco exchanged a subtle glance, their thoughts in quiet alignment but neither voiced their opinions.

In the center of the room, seated on one of the elaborate sofas, was Kingsley Shacklebolt, his broad shoulders clad in deep purple robes that shimmered faintly under the light. He appeared calm and composed, his rich baritone voice rumbling softly as he addressed the man seated on a separate chair beside him.

The other man— Arthur Weasley sat relaxed but attentive, his red hair now streaked liberally with gray. His hand resting lightly on the armrest as he listened to whatever Kingsley had been saying. On a small table between them sat a ceramic tea set, complete with a delicate kettle and cups that looked like they belonged in the British Museum rather than a wizarding office.

Kingsley looked up as they entered, his piercing gaze assessing them for a brief moment before he gave a nod of acknowledgment.

"Lady Granger, Lord Malfoy." He greeted cordially, gesturing toward the seating area. "Thank you for coming."

Draco gave a slight bow of his head, his manners impeccable. 

"Minister." He replied smoothly, his tone as polished as the room itself. Draco’s gaze flicked briefly to the seating arrangements. The excessive decor grated at his sensibilities, but Hermione’s steadying hand on his arm reminded him to hold his tongue. With a slight incline of his head, he followed her lead, moving toward the seats and preparing for whatever was about to come.

Hermione nodded politely, her voice steady.

"Minister Shacklebolt."

They moved toward the seating area, each suppressing the urge to comment on the absurd opulence of the furniture as they prepared for whatever conversation lay ahead.

Draco let Hermione settle into the sofa first, his hand briefly brushing hers to ensure she was comfortable. 

The cushions gave way immediately under her weight, almost too soft, and the fabric felt oddly scratchy against her skin. 

She adjusted herself with practiced grace, her posture impeccably straight despite the furniture’s attempt to swallow her whole, her face betraying nothing.  

Only after she was seated did Draco lower himself beside her. He shifted slightly, trying to find a balance against the uncomfortable texture of the upholstery. His sharp gaze moved to Kingsley, who was casually lifting his teacup to his lips.  

"Minister." Draco began, his voice calm but edged with subtle steel. "I trust there’s an urgent matter to discuss. Lady Granger —" He emphasized the title deliberately. "—is supposed to be resting."  

Beside him, Hermione murmured a quiet, "Draco.” Her tone a subtle admonishment, though her expression remained neutral and composed.  

Kingsley said nothing, calmly finishing his sip of tea. 

He lowered the delicate cup back to its saucer with a soft clink, his piercing gaze finally meeting Draco’s.  

Meanwhile, Arthur Weasley sat back in his chair, observing the pair with quiet curiosity. His expression was not one of hostility but of a man carefully studying a dynamic that intrigued him.  

After a moment, Kingsley leaned forward slightly, his broad shoulders shifting as he folded his hands in his lap.  

"Indeed, Lord Malfoy.” Kingsley began, his tone steady and commanding. "There is an urgent matter—one that concerns you both. However, I assure you, I would not have summoned Lady Granger if it wasn’t necessary."  

Draco held his gaze, his jaw tightening slightly, but he said nothing. Hermione remained composed, her hands resting neatly on her lap, waiting for the Minister to continue.

Kingsley shifted his attention to Hermione, his tone softening slightly. 

"Lady Granger, how are you feeling? You gave everyone quite a scare when you collapsed as soon as the trial was partially concluded." 

Hermione’s expression remained composed, her voice curt but polite. 

"I am still tired, Minister, but as you can see, Lord Malfoy has been taking great care of me." She kept her answer brief, offering no additional details.  

Kingsley studied her for a moment before nodding, seemingly unbothered by her detached response. 

"I’m glad to hear that you’ve been able to rest. I regret having to disturb you during your recovery, but there is a matter that must be discussed with both of you."  

He paused, then added, "Before we proceed, Lady Granger, I believe the Department of Mysteries has some of your possessions—items you brought with you to this reality." Kingsley then turned to Arthur, who immediately leaned down to pick up a worn and well-used leather briefcase from the floor.  

He placed it on his lap, unbuckled the clasp, and carefully pulled out a small, nondescript box— no bigger than a toothpaste cap. He placed it gently on the table in front of Hermione before pulling back and setting the briefcase down again. Taking out his wand, he gave a precise swish. 

The box expanded with a smooth, magical transformation, growing to the size of a small jewelry box.  

Kingsley gestured to it as Arthur tucked his wand away. 

"Unspeakables Vane and Draven have ensured the safe return of your belongings. They’ve placed an enchantment on them to ensure no one could access or tamper with them, particularly if they fell into the wrong hands. This is why it arrived in such compacted form.”

Hermione nodded once, her expression unchanging as she reached for the box. 

Carefully, she opened it, revealing her beaded bag nestled within. She hummed softly, the faintest glimmer of relief crossing her features before she straightened, her tone still formal as she spoke.

"Thank you. I was expecting this."

Kingsley inclined his head in acknowledgment. 

"Of course. It was our duty to ensure their protection.”

Hermione nodded her head once again in acknowledgment, her expression impassive, before carefully setting the box back onto the table. 

Gently, she reached inside and plucked out the small bag, revealing it fully.  

The bag was a delicate drawstring handbag made of rich, deep plum velvet. Tiny beads in shades of silver and gold formed intricate floral patterns across its surface, shimmering faintly under the light. Tassels hung from the drawstrings, adding an elegant yet whimsical touch. The bag appeared unassuming to an untrained eye, but its enchantments and the careful craftsmanship hinted at the extraordinary magic it held.  

Without a word, Hermione opened the bag and gave it a gentle shake. A soft thud followed, accompanied by the sound of multiple items lightly colliding within.  

“Ah, that would be the books,” Hermione murmured softly, more to herself than anyone else.  

She then fell silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on the bag’s opening. Her grip on the velvet fabric tightened, her knuckles turning white as her expression sharpened. The room seemed to grow colder, the weight of her sudden stillness pressing down on everyone present.  

Draco tilted his head slightly, his sharp gray eyes narrowing as he observed her, curiosity flickering across his features. He didn’t speak, but his posture shifted, subtly leaning toward her as if trying to assess what had caused her change in demeanor.  

It was Kingsley who broke the silence, his deep baritone steady but cautious. 

"Is there a problem, Lady Granger?"  

Hermione’s eyes rose slowly, locking onto the Minister’s with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. Her expression remained unreadable, but the cold detachment in her tone was palpable as she leaned back in her seat, lowering the bag to her lap with measured precision. 

Crossing one leg over the other, she spoke with unnerving calm.  

"Isn’t there?" Her voice was icy, yet it lacked any outward hostility—a quiet, cutting sharpness that demanded attention. "You would know, wouldn’t you, Minister?"  

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room felt unnaturally still. Kingsley met her gaze evenly, his expression unreadable, though his shoulders stiffened slightly. Arthur shifted in his seat, his curiosity now tinged with faint unease as he glanced between the two.  

Draco’s lips curved into the barest hint of a smirk, though his amusement didn’t reach his eyes. Instead, he studied Hermione closely, waiting to see how the Minister would respond.

After a moment, the Minister sighed, his shoulders easing slightly as he leaned back in his seat, mirroring Hermione’s composed posture. His expression remained steady, neither warm nor hostile, as he addressed her in an even tone.  

"Lady Granger.” Kingsley began, his voice calm but with a weight of responsibility. "I understand your frustration. For what it’s worth, I offer my apologies for any sense of intrusion into your belongings. But I assure you, the examination was conducted with the utmost care and respect. Only trusted Unspeakables were involved, and I personally insisted on overseeing the process as Minister for Magic."  

His dark eyes locked onto hers, unflinching. "It is my duty to ensure that nothing you brought from your reality poses a threat to ours, intentionally or otherwise. The tomes the Department of Mysteries discovered in your possession, for instance, were... perplexing. The texts are undecipherable, but after extensive testing and various enchantments, they were deemed permissible. While not entirely without risk, they passed the necessary standards for safety."  

Draco’s brow twitched at that, but he said nothing, choosing instead to observe the exchange.  

Kingsley continued, his tone unwavering. 

"Ultimately, none of the items were found to be dangerous enough to withhold—"  

"Except his wand."  

Hermione’s voice cut through his words like a blade, cold and sharp. Her gaze burned with an intensity that seemed to lower the temperature in the room even further.  

Kingsley paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. Arthur, seated beside him, shifted slightly.

Draco’s eyes narrowed at her words, his curiosity now tinged with a flicker of something darker. He sat back in his seat, one arm draped casually over the back of the sofa behind Hermione. His other hand rested against his knee, his fingers tapping an almost lazy rhythm. His expression was unreadable, though his narrowed eyes betrayed a sharp focus on the exchange.

The silence that followed Hermione’s statement was heavy, the weight of her accusation hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge.

Hermione’s grip on her bag tightened, her knuckles stark white against the rich plum fabric. Her voice was low but forceful as she spoke.  

"Where is it?"  

Kingsley straightened slightly, his expression remaining composed as he met her gaze. 

"Lady Granger, you must understand the precautions we have to take. A wand is not merely an object; it is a conduit of magic, potentially holding the intent and power of its wielder—"  

"Where is the wand of Lord Draco Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione interrupted sharply, her tone cutting through his explanation like ice.  

The Minister fell silent for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line as if weighing his words. Finally, with a measured sigh, he relented.  

"It is in my possession." Kingsley admitted. "I confiscated it as a necessary measure. The wand is an extension of its owner, and in the hands of someone displaced from another reality, it represents an unknown risk. While the Unspeakables confirmed that the wand itself posed no immediate threat, I felt it prudent to keep it secured until..."  

His voice trailed off as Hermione’s gaze remained unwavering, her expression a portrait of cold determination. She said nothing, but her silence spoke volumes, demanding further explanation.  

Kingsley shifted slightly, as though the weight of her stare was something tangible. 

"I made this decision to protect both you and this reality. The wand could carry unforeseen consequences, ones we could not afford to take a risk."  

Hermione didn’t blink, her composure unshaken. Her grip on her bag remained firm, her gaze piercing through him like a predator cornering its prey. 

"You confiscated it without consultation. Without cause, beyond your own uncertainty."  

Kingsley opened his mouth to respond once again, his frustration evident in his eyes while Arthur glanced between them, the tension in the room palpable.  

Hermione’s voice sharpened, her tone laced with icy precision before a sound could even come out from the mouth of the minister.  

"Wasn’t the Oath of Veritas enough? Or the Aletheian Bind that I performed on him? In front of all of you?” Her eyes never left Kingsley’s as she spoke, each word calculated. “I risked everything—his magic with the Oath, his life with the Bind—and still, Minister , you decided it necessary to meddle with something I've already previously proven that could be trusted with him.”

Kingsley’s expression tightened.

He inhaled slowly, steadying himself before responding. 

"Lady Granger.” He began, his tone measured. "It is of utmost importance that we exercise caution. You must understand the position I am in—"  

But before he could finish, Hermione’s hand moved with deliberate precision. She reached into her pocket and withdrew her own wand. The slight hiss of the movement, though soft, was startling in the tense silence of the room. 

Without breaking her unwavering eye contact with Kingsley, she extended the wand to Draco.

The atmosphere shifted immediately. Arthur sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes flickering warily to the wand. Kingsley’s shoulders tensed, his usually impassive expression betraying a flicker of unease.

Draco, however, remained unperturbed. 

He accepted it without hesitation, his fingers curling around it as if the motion were second nature.  

The room fell into a charged silence, the weight of Hermione’s actions pressing down on everyone present. Her gaze remained fixed on Kingsley, unyielding and unapologetic.

Arthur’s brows furrowed, his unease evident, while Kingsley’s lips pressed into a firm line, his hands tightening on the armrests of his chair. 

Draco, meanwhile, twirled the wand in his hand lazily, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of intrigue danced in his eyes as he observed the tension unraveling around him.  

Still, Hermione said nothing, her silent defiance resonating louder than words. 

The silence grew heavier with every passing moment until Kingsley finally broke it, his voice firmer now.  

"Lady Granger." He warned, his expression hardening. The faint trace of cordiality vanished from his features, replaced by a firm, unyielding edge. His jaw tightened, and his piercing gaze locked onto hers, carrying the weight of authority and a silent insistence that left no room for dissent.  

But Hermione wasn’t one to yield easily. Her sharp voice cut through his warning before he could continue.  

"Are you going to return it willingly, Minister, or must we retrieve it ourselves?"  

The room's tension escalated. Kingsley’s expression hardened, the faintest glint of caution in his eyes.  

"I would strongly advise against any rash actions." He said, his voice measured but laced with warning. "This is the Aurors' Headquarters, after all. A sudden duel in my office would not only be unwise but would have every Auror rushing to this room at the first sign of—"  

Before he could finish, Draco acted.  

With a lazy flick of Hermione's wand in his hand, a quiet, resonant hum filled the air, as if magic itself had been summoned from the very walls of the room. A faint vibration rippled through the furniture, rattling the teacups on the table.  

Suddenly, from across the room, a soft clink echoed as a concealed compartment at the base of Kingsley’s ornate desk creaked open. From within, a sleek wand shot forward, cutting through the air with a sharp whoosh . 

It zipped directly to Draco, landing with precision in his open hand. 

He caught it effortlessly, his grip firm and sure, his movements smooth as though he had rehearsed this moment countless times. The wand emitted a faint, golden glow upon contact, a visible sign of recognition as it returned to its rightful owner.  

The hum ceased instantly, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.  

Draco smirked faintly, his expression a mixture of triumph and amusement, as he lightly twirled both wands between his fingers. His demeanor was calm—almost too calm—but his smirk carried a distinct edge of challenge.

“Looks like we won’t need to trouble ourselves retrieving it after all.” He drawled smoothly, his silver gaze sliding over to Kingsley.  

Kingsley’s jaw tightened, his calm exterior cracking ever so slightly. Arthur, meanwhile, appeared utterly stunned, his eyes darting between the desk and Draco with something between alarm and fascination.  

Hermione, unshaken, leaned back against the sofa, her eyes sharp and calculating as they bore into Kingsley. 

"I trust that answers your concerns about our capabilities, Minister.” Hermione said, her voice cool and unbothered. “Shall we move on to more productive matters?”

Arthur broke the silence first, his voice filled with awe. 

"How—how did you—?" His words trailed off, his eyes wide in disbelief, as if he couldn't properly form the question. The astonishment was evident in his gaze as he looked at Draco, then at the desk, and back at the wand in Draco's hand. 

Everyone knew that one couldn’t simply summon an object unless they knew its exact location, let alone something as securely protected as a wand—especially one sealed with multiple enchantments, including an anti-summoning charm.

Hermione’s gaze remained steady, her tone unruffled as she responded simply, "Peverell specialty."

Arthur blinked, processing the reference. 

"Family magic." He murmured in understanding—a pureblood from the Sacred Twenty-Eight himself. "The Peverell line specialized in exceptionally advanced and rare magical arts, including protective charms. You’ve made a spell to summon wands that can break through even the most formidable enchantments?"

Hermione nodded once, her expression impassive, though there was a glimmer of quiet pride in her eyes as she responded, her voice measured and precise. 

"The spell is still in the developmental stages. While it functions to some degree, it is not yet performing as intended. There are numerous refinements to be made before it can consistently bypass advanced enchantments with the reliability I require.”

Arthur’s eyes then drifted back to the wand in Draco’s hand. 

“Fascinating.” He murmured under his breath, his curiosity was unmistakable, but it was tempered by the growing realization of just how dangerous and skilled Hermione’s magic truly was.

Draco smirked, clearly enjoying the effect his actions had caused. There was a glint of pride in his eyes as he observed Arthur’s astonishment and Kingsley’s barely-contained unease. The spell, one of Hermione’s own inventions, had been taught to him not long ago, and it was satisfying to see it work so flawlessly in this moment.

He twirled the wand between his fingers one last time before resting it casually in his lap, all while keeping a careful watch on Kingsley’s reaction.

But Kingsley remained silent, his expression unreadable—but more guarded than before. 

The tension in the room was palpable, but it was Arthur who once again stepped in, his tone carrying an almost forced lightness as he attempted to ease the atmosphere.  

“You know, Hermione—our Hermione.” He began, chuckling awkwardly, as though he was fumbling for the right words. “She’s very clever too.”  

He gave a nervous smile, rubbing the back of his neck as if unsure whether to continue. 

“She’s good friends with my son—Ron, Ronald Weasley.”  

Hermione’s steely demeanor softened ever so slightly. A small, warm smile tugged at the corners of her lips, her expression briefly touched with a trace of kindness.  

“I’ve heard.” She said simply, her voice carrying an undertone of genuine interest.  

Arthur seemed encouraged by her response, nodding eagerly. 

“Yes, yes! They’ve been thick as thieves since their first year at Hogwarts. Always getting into one adventure or another—along with Harry.”  

At the mention of Harry Potter’s name, Hermione’s smile faltered, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her eyes before she quickly masked it with her composed exterior.  

“Sounds like quite the trio.” She said politely, her tone neutral but not dismissive.  

Arthur, still caught in his attempt to lighten the mood, chuckled. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe some of the things they’ve managed to get themselves into. But Hermione—well, your counterpart—she’s the brightest witch of her age. Professor McGonagall says so herself.”  

Hermione inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, her warm smile returning, though more reserved. 

“She sounds remarkable.” 

Arthur’s eyes lit up at her response, his unease melting into genuine warmth, unaware of the subtle tension that still lingered between Hermione and Kingsley.

He then appeared to hesitate for a moment before his curiosity got the better of him. 

"And—were you friends with him too, back in your reality?" He asked cautiously, his tone gentle but uncertain.  

Hermione’s expression shifted subtly. A tight, uncomfortable smile graced her lips, her demeanor slightly stiff. 

"No." She replied evenly, her words clipped but polite. "We’re not... friends. We don’t exactly have the best relationship."  

Arthur blinked, momentarily taken aback by her response. His eyebrows rose, and a flicker of surprise danced across his face, but he was quick to catch himself.  

"Oh." He said softly, a hint of awkwardness creeping into his voice. He paused, then ventured further, as if seeking to find common ground. "And—Harry? Were you friends with Harry, at least?"  

Hermione’s expression didn’t waver, but her smile tightened further. She shook her head, the movement small but deliberate.  

"No." She said quietly, her tone even but carrying a weight that suggested the topic wasn’t one she wanted to elaborate on.  

Arthur’s lips parted in surprise, but he quickly laughed—an awkward, stilted sound as he rubbed the back of his neck again, the tip of his ears red. 

"Oh." He said, chuckling nervously. "That’s... unexpected. The three of them have always been friends since the beginning. It’s odd to think that they wouldn’t be friends at all in another reality. I suppose I just assumed..."  

His words trailed off, his gaze flickering toward Kingsley as if looking for support, but Kingsley remained silent, his guarded expression giving away nothing.  

Hermione didn’t respond immediately, her gaze calm but unwavering. 

After a moment, she inclined her head slightly. 

"I suppose not everything aligns perfectly across realities." She said, her voice carefully measured.

Arthur offered her a small, weak but genuine smile, his tone warm and thoughtful. 

"I suppose... I’ve always known the Hermione from this reality, but it seems I shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking you’re the same." He chuckled softly, a touch of self-awareness in his voice. "I suppose this is the first time we’ve properly met, isn’t it?"  

Hermione’s expression softened, and she returned his smile with a faint but warm one of her own. 

"Not quite." She replied, her tone gentle. At his curious, almost imploring gaze, she added with a touch of humor. "I’ve been acquainted with you through your other children."  

Arthur blinked in surprise, then laughed lightly. 

"Ah, the kids." He shook his head fondly, though his curiosity remained evident. "I imagine they must have left quite the impression."  

Her smile widened slightly, her eyes glinting with subtle amusement. "You could say that."  

The tension in the room seemed to ease slightly once again as Hermione and Arthur exchanged soft chuckles. The atmosphere, though still carrying an underlying heaviness, brightened just a fraction, as though a sliver of warmth had crept in through the cracks.

"If it wasn’t Ron who introduced us, may I ask..." He paused, his gaze cautious but curious. "Which of my children it was?”

Hermione’s smile softened, her expression briefly distant, as if recalling a memory she held dear.

"Fred and George Weasley." She replied, her voice tinged with quiet fondness.

The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. Arthur’s smile faltered, his eyes clouding with a mix of emotions—grief, surprise, and something else harder to name. Kingsley’s gaze flickered briefly to Arthur, his guarded expression betraying a trace of concern.

But Hermione didn’t falter. Her tone grew lighter, her posture relaxing ever so slightly that seemed to invite Arthur into her recollections as she continued, suddenly more talkative than she’d been all morning.

“I first met them during my first year at Hogwarts.” She began, her voice carrying a nostalgic lilt. “They were... Well, they were taking the school by storm. I couldn’t keep track of how many detentions they’d managed to rack up, but I knew it was more than anyone else in Gryffindor House.”  

Arthur chuckled softly at that, his expression tinged with bittersweet pride.  

“They weren’t my friends back then, not exactly.” Hermione admitted. “But they stood by me as loyal fellow Gryffindors.” She paused, her eyes flicking to Draco for the briefest moment, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “Even when my connection to a certain Slytherin raised a few eyebrows.”  

Draco arched a brow, smirking faintly as Hermione rolled her eyes with exaggerated exasperation.  

“We grew closer in fifth year. There was a professor…” Hermione trailed off, her tone laced with both bitterness and amusement. “A certain googly-eyed old hag who was sent to infiltrate Hogwarts. Not very gracefully, I might add. She was spying on the school, trying to keep tabs on the sudden resurgence of what some might call ‘ old bloods .’”

Kingsley and Arthur exchanged confused glances at the term, prompting Hermione to elaborate. 

“Old bloods.” She explained. “Are individuals like me—a Muggle-born, but with very distant pureblood ancestry. It was an unintended consequence of the family magic ritual Draco and I performed during our second year. It was only meant to be an exploration of my heritage, but it unintentionally shed light on how Muggle-borns, like me, might actually carry ancient bloodlines long thought extinct—or connections with other still existing wizarding families. The resurgence of the line—and my inheritance of it—caused quite a stir in certain circles, particularly those loyal to outdated ideals of blood purity.”

Kingsley’s brows rose, his expression thoughtful as he absorbed her words.

“So, this professor…”  

“Believed we were a threat.” Hermione finished, her tone quiet but firm. “Not just because of our Muggle-born status, but because we were proving that pureblood supremacy was a myth. Our existence undermined everything they stood for.”  

Draco smirked faintly, his voice cutting through the tension. 

“She wasn’t subtle about it either. Her methods were about as graceful as a Hippogriff in a china shop.”  

Hermione huffed softly, her lips curving into a small smile. 

“That’s putting it mildly.” She said before continuing. “Fred and George led the charge against her in their usual theatrical way. And, surprisingly, some of us—regardless of blood status—followed suit. She made life miserable for everyone, and all four houses, united by our mutual disdain, all joined hands to make her job as difficult as possible.”

Arthur let out a hearty laugh, the tension in his face easing further.  

“And Draco and I joined forces with them.” Hermione added, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “We worked from the shadows, of course, using our influence within the higher ups. It was... surprisingly effective.”  

“Surprisingly.” Draco echoed dryly, though there was a faint note of pride in his voice.  

Hermione’s expression softened again as she continued. 

“We grew closer after that. By the time they left Hogwarts, Fred and George were well on their way to building Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. I ended up sponsoring their business not long after. Their talents were unmatched, and they deserved the chance to show the world what they could do, but they needed someone to help them structure and expand.”  

Arthur blinked, clearly surprised. “You sponsored them?”  

Hermione nodded, her tone matter-of-fact. 

“I did. And it wasn’t just as their sponsor. They became my partners in another venture—something a little more fitting for the House of Granger.” She hesitated, as though gauging Arthur’s reaction, before continuing. “We collaborated on a project advocating for magical creatures’ rights—a cause that has always been dear to me. I hosted a gala to launch the initiative while Fred and George acted as my advisors and co-organizers. It was through their insistence that I finally met you, and I was glad for it. Your insight on wizarding customs and traditions proved invaluable.”  

Arthur’s eyes widened, his astonishment giving way to a warm, almost fatherly pride.  

“The twins were part of my inner circle,” Hermione added. “They weren’t just business partners or advisors—they were friends. They helped me navigate so much during those early years.” She smiled softly. “And now they’re off on a Europe trip to expand their business. Knowing them, they’ll have taken half the continent by storm already, causing ruckus wherever they are.”  

Arthur chuckled again, though there was a hint of emotion in his eyes. 

“That sounds just like them.”  

“It does.” Hermione agreed, her voice quiet but fond. For a brief moment, the room seemed lighter, as though the memory of Fred and George had brought with it a small but genuine spark of joy.

Arthur’s laugh began to waver, his eyes misting over as tears suddenly welled up and spilled down his cheeks. He let out a shaky chuckle, his hands fumbling to wipe them away, though they continued to flow.

“At least.” He began, his voice thick with emotion. “At least in some other reality, they’re alive and well. Living their dream.” His laughter carried a bittersweet edge, as though it were the only way he could keep from breaking entirely. 

Hermione’s smile faded, a faint furrow appearing between her brows. Despite her composed demeanor, a glimmer of concern broke through. 

"Is something wrong?" She asked softly, her gaze flickering between Arthur and Kingsley.

Arthur shook his head, still laughing quietly, though it was clear he couldn’t bring himself to answer. He continued to dab at his eyes, his shoulders trembling slightly with suppressed emotion.

It was Kingsley who finally broke the silence. His voice was calm but weighted, each word carrying the gravity of the truth he was about to share.

“During the last day of the war.” He began, his gaze steady but his tone solemn. “At the Battle of Hogwarts, Fred Weasley was one of the casualties.”

The words hit like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of silence through the room. Hermione froze, her composed exterior faltering for a fraction of a second as her eyes widened slightly in shock.

Her gaze locked onto Kingsley, and for a moment, she didn’t seem to react at all. It was as though his words were taking an agonizingly long time to sink in.

Draco’s silver gaze shifted to her, his sharp features tightening with concern as he watched her unravel in slow motion.

When she finally moved, it was subtle—a slight shift of her head, her eyes blinking as though clearing a haze. Her lips parted, but the words seemed to catch in her throat.

“I...” Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard, recovering quickly, though the tightness in her throat was unmistakable. “I didn’t know. I'm so sorry. I didn’t know.”

Arthur’s laughter had softened into quiet tears, his face lined with grief as he nodded. 

“It was... sudden.” He said haltingly. “One moment he was there, fighting alongside all of us. The next...” He trailed off, his voice breaking, unable to continue.

Hermione’s grip on her bag grew tight, her knuckles white as she fought to hold herself together. Her face, usually so calm and collected, betrayed her inner turmoil. Her breath quickened, her shoulders trembling slightly.

“I didn’t know.” She repeated, almost desperately, her voice cracking. Her expression was on the verge of panic, her carefully constructed composure crumbling as she looked between Arthur and Kingsley.

Draco reacted instantly. Without hesitation, he leaned forward, his movements swift but steady. The wands that had been balanced on his lap clattered loudly to the floor, drawing Kingsley’s attention for a brief moment, but Draco paid them no mind.

He wrapped his left arm around Hermione’s back, his touch firm but reassuring, while his other hand covered hers, now icy cold as she clutched her bag.

“Hermione.” He murmured, his voice steady and grounding, his tone cutting through the chaos of her thoughts.

She turned her head slightly toward him, her wide eyes meeting his. The raw emotion in her gaze—shock, guilt, and grief—made Draco tighten his hold on her ever so slightly.

“I’m here.” He said quietly but firmly, his hand giving hers a gentle squeeze.

Hermione took a shaky breath, her focus gradually shifting to the anchor Draco provided. Arthur, still wiping his tears, glanced at them with an expression that was equal parts sorrowful and grateful. 

Kingsley, meanwhile, watched the scene unfold, his gaze lingering momentarily on the fallen wands before returning to Hermione, his expression unreadable.

Hermione’s breathing steadied, though faint traces of vulnerability still lingered in her voice as she looked back at the two men. Her composure returned slowly, but her hands remained clasped tightly in her lap, Draco’s steadying presence keeping her grounded.  

“Is it possible...” She began hesitantly, her voice quieter than before. “To know who else? I mean... the other casualties?”  

Kingsley studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he nodded slightly.  

“The Order lost many during the war.” He began solemnly.  

Draco’s brow furrowed, and he cut in with a sharp question. 

“Order?”  

Kingsley shifted his gaze to him. 

“The Order of the Phoenix. A group formed by Albus Dumbledore during the First War to oppose Voldemort and his forces. It was reestablished during the Second War.”  

Draco’s expression hardened at the mention of Voldemort, but he said nothing. Hermione, too, remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line.  

“The Weasleys were part of it.” Kingsley continued, glancing briefly at Arthur, who nodded solemnly. “As was I.”  

Kingsley paused, as if choosing his next words carefully. 

“We lost Remus Lupin.”  

Hermione’s complexion turned pale, and her breath hitched audibly. 

“No...” She whispered, the word barely audible.  

Kingsley’s sharp gaze flicked to her, curiosity mingling with something more. 

“I take it you were acquainted with him in your reality?”  

Before Hermione could respond, Draco spoke, his tone clipped but steady. 

“He was our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in third year.”  

Kingsley hummed thoughtfully. 

“Then you’re aware of his... situation.”  

Hermione nodded slowly, her voice trembling but resolute. 

“Yes. He was a werewolf. But he was also one of the kindest, most brilliant people I’ve ever met.” She swallowed hard, her throat tightening. “He’s the reason—one of the reasons—I’ve been so committed to advocating for magical creatures’ rights. He taught me that people are more than their circumstances. More than their labels.”  

Draco’s hand gave hers another reassuring squeeze, his gaze fixed on her, though his expression remained unreadable. Arthur’s tear-streaked face softened further, his grief momentarily tempered by quiet admiration, even in the face of such heartbreaking revelations.  

Kingsley nodded slowly, his voice low and reverent. 

“Remus would’ve appreciated that.”

Hermione hesitated, her hands still clutching her bag tightly as she steadied herself for the answer. 

“Who else?” She asked softly, her voice tinged with dread.  

Kingsley’s gaze turned somber. 

“Remus’s wife, Nymphadora Tonks.”  

This time, it was Draco who stiffened, his pale complexion losing even more color. 

“My cousin?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Kingsley nodded solemnly. 

“Yes. Thinking of the differences between your reality and ours, I’d guess you’ve been reacquainted with the Tonks family?”  

Draco exhaled slowly, his expression distant as he replied, “I sought them out after hearing from my mother about Andromeda—my other aunt—the one who was removed from the Black family tree for marrying a Muggle-born.” His voice held a mix of guilt and pride as he continued. “It was around the summer after my second year. I decided it was my responsibility to reunite them.”  

“Dora.” He added softly, using Tonks’s nickname. “Would sometimes visit and teach us a few of her skills. She was brilliant—always full of energy. She’d even bring along Mad-Eye Moody, who for some reason took an interest in Hermione.”  

Kingsley’s brow rose slightly. 

“Alastor?”  

Draco nodded, a faint, wry smile tugging at his lips. 

“Yes. He said she reminded him of the old bloodlines—specifically the Peverells. Something about her magic... It was unlike anything he’d seen since the House of Peverell faded in the late 13th century.”  

Hermione flushed faintly but said nothing, her gaze dropping to her lap.  

Kingsley sighed, his voice heavy. 

“Alastor has passed as well.”  

Both Hermione and Draco looked up sharply, the weight of the revelation sinking in.  

“He died during our mission to move Mr. Potter from Privet Drive to the Weasley home.” Kingsley explained. “The Death Eaters attacked in force. Alastor fought bravely, but he didn’t survive.”  

The room fell into a heavy silence, the magnitude of the losses pressing down on all of them. Hermione bit her lip, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, while Draco’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he processed the fate of his cousin and the grizzled Auror who had once mentored them.  

Draco shifted slightly closer to Hermione, his hand still resting protectively over hers. 

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, his voice directed at Kingsley and Arthur, though the sentiment seemed to extend to the ghosts of those they’d lost.

Draco sat back slightly, his expression tightening as he composed himself enough to speak. 

“And my aunt and uncle? How are they... how are they faring after all of this?”  

Kingsley studied Draco for a moment, as though reassessing the man before him. 

The guarded edge in his demeanor softened just slightly. 

“Andromeda is the only surviving member of the Tonks family.” He began carefully. “She’s raising her grandson, Edward Remus Lupin, on her own.”  

Draco’s brows furrowed, his lips parting slightly in surprise. 

“Grandson?”  

Hermione’s breath hitched as she turned her gaze to Kingsley, whose expression remained somber.  

Kingsley nodded. 

“Remus and Nymphadora had a son, Teddy. He was born just a month before the final battle.”  

The faintest flicker of relief passed across Draco’s face, though it didn’t last long. 

“And Ted—my uncle?”  

Kingsley’s gaze darkened. 

“Ted Tonks didn’t make it, I’m afraid. He was captured by Snatchers.”  

“Snatchers?” Hermione echoed, the term unfamiliar.  

Kingsley’s tone hardened, his voice laced with disdain. 

“Snatchers were bounty hunters employed by the Death Eaters during the war. They were tasked with capturing Muggle-borns, blood traitors, and anyone who opposed Voldemort’s regime. It was a brutal, barbaric practice.”  

Draco’s grip on Hermione’s hand tightened, his jaw clenching as the implications settled in. 

“Ted Tonks was caught in March,” Kingsley continued. “He was murdered not long after.”  

Draco closed his eyes briefly, his breathing uneven as he processed the information. Hermione’s free hand moved to cover his, offering a silent reassurance even as her own composure threatened to crack again.  

“Anyone else that we might know?” He asked, his voice low but steady.  

Kingsley’s gaze shifted, this time lingering on both of them. He hesitated briefly before speaking. 

“There is another member of the Order.” He said carefully. “Based on what Lady Granger has mentioned during the trial, it seems the two of you might have been somewhat close to him.”  

Hermione leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowing. 

“Who?”  

Kingsley’s tone grew grave. “Severus Snape.”  

Both Draco and Hermione tensed, their surprise evident. Kingsley continued, watching their reactions carefully. 

“At first, everyone believed he was a traitor. He murdered Dumbledore with the Killing Curse, after all.”  

Hermione interrupted, her voice rising slightly. 

“Dumbledore?”  

Kingsley nodded grimly. 

“Yes. As you may already know, here in our reality, Draco Malfoy was tasked by Voldemort in his sixth year to kill Dumbledore. But Mr. Malfoy failed in the task.” Kingsley’s eyes shifted toward Draco, whose face had grown pale. “In his place, Severus Snape stepped forward and killed Dumbledore instead.”  

Draco’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. Hermione’s grip on his hand tightened as she tried to process the information.  

“Dumbledore… dead?” Hermione murmured, her voice tinged with disbelief.  

“It was shocking to all of us,” Kingsley said solemnly. “But that wasn’t the end of it. After Dumbledore’s death, Snape took up the position of headmaster at Hogwarts.”  

Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly. 

“Headmaster? And he allowed—?”  

“The Carrows,” Kingsley interrupted. “Yes. They were appointed by Voldemort to oversee the school. It became a place of fear and torment under their rule. Snape allowed it—or so it seemed.”  

Hermione glanced at Draco, her brows knitting together. Neither of them spoke, though the weight of the revelation hung heavily between them.  

Kingsley’s tone shifted, becoming softer but no less serious. 

“It was only after the war, thanks to Mr. Potter, that Snape’s true loyalty was revealed. Despite appearances, he had been working for the Order from the start. He was loyal to Dumbledore and carried out his orders, even at great personal cost.”  

Hermione’s breath hitched. 

“So… he wasn’t a traitor?”  

“No.” Kingsley confirmed. “Snape’s allegiance had always been with the Order. Everything he did—every action he took—was part of a plan he had agreed to with Dumbledore himself. But he paid the ultimate price for his role.”  

“What happened to him?” Draco asked, his voice tight.  

“He was killed during the Battle of Hogwarts.” Kingsley answered. “Voldemort’s snake, Nagini, attacked him. He died shortly after.”  

Draco’s jaw tightened, his grip on Hermione’s hand unwavering. Hermione’s other hand moved to cover his, her face pale as she absorbed the news.  

“Severus,” Hermione whispered, almost to herself. “I didn’t think…” She trailed off, her words lost in the heavy silence that followed.  

Suddenly, Hermione clutched Draco’s hand tightly, her eyes sharp and serious.  

“We can’t let the same thing happen back in our reality, Draco. The war, the deaths... we can’t let it come to that.”  

Draco exhaled, his silver eyes searching hers. 

“Hermione.” He began, his voice soft but cautious. “It’s a different reality. It might not happen—maybe you-know-who really is gone for good in ours. Maybe he’s been vanquished, and there’s no war waiting to happen.”  

“No, Draco. Listen to me.” Hermione’s voice turned urgent, her gaze unwavering as she gripped his hand tighter. “The existence of other realities isn’t just about ‘what-ifs.’ It’s not as simple as imagining a world where I’m a pureblood and you’re a Muggle-born, or a reality where we’re neither witches nor wizards at all. Realities diverge because of pivotal changes—moments that cause a domino effect. Those changes split one version of a reality into variations, like what we’re dealing with now.”  

Draco’s brow furrowed, but he remained silent, letting her continue.  

“Our reality and this one are fundamentally the same at their core.” She explained. “But somewhere along the line, something changed—something that created two separate paths. And that divergence shaped what we’re seeing now.”  

She drew in a breath, steadying herself before continuing.  

“That’s why we can’t be so sure that you-know-who is truly gone in our reality. Think about it, Draco. In this world, your family remained strong supporters of him. You didn’t take over lordship. You followed your father’s orders without question.”  

Her voice softened, though her intensity didn’t waver.  

“But in our reality, things are different. You took over after our first year. You severed Lucius’s control over your life. You rejected the old beliefs about blood purity. You chose me.”  

Draco’s breath hitched, and his grip on her hand tightened as her words sank in.  

“In our reality, we have something they don’t.” Hermione continued. “A bond. A connection that changed the course your family took—changed everything. Here, we were on opposite sides, and look at what happened: your family’s allegiance to Voldemort remained intact.”  

She leaned closer, her tone quieter but no less intense.  

“What if that bond, that choice, is what split our reality from this one? What if the reason Voldemort hasn’t risen yet in our world is because of the path your family took there? Because of you?”  

Draco stared at her, his expression conflicted, the weight of her words heavy in the air between them.  

“What if.” Hermione pressed, her voice soft but firm. “He’s still alive? Waiting for the right moment to rise again?”  

Draco’s jaw tightened, his expression growing grim as he absorbed her argument. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. 

“Then you’re in danger.”  

Hermione’s gaze didn’t falter, her expression steady and resolute as her fingers tightened around his.

“If you-know-who does come back in our reality.” Draco continued, his tone hardening with each word. “You’d be one of his first targets along with Potter, Hermione. Not just because of who you are, but because of what you and the other old bloods represent. You challenge everything he and his followers stand for. Your very existence proves that magic doesn’t rely on blood purity, but on the magic itself—something that shatters their beliefs.”  

His silver eyes darkened, his voice growing more intense.  

“He’d see you as a threat. He’d see us as a threat.”

Draco’s words lingered in the air, heavy with the gravity of their shared predicament. His grip on Hermione’s hand tightened slightly, as if grounding them both in the moment.

But before the weight of his words could fully settle, Kingsley broke the silence, his deep voice cutting through the tension.

“Which brings us to why you’re here.”

Hermione turned to face him, her expression sharpening as she straightened in her seat. Draco leaned back slightly, his posture more relaxed, though his silver eyes remained fixed and unreadable.

“You’re aware, of course.” Kingsley began, his voice measured. “That your situation demands a level of discretion beyond anything most could comprehend.”  

Hermione inclined her head. 

“We understand.”  

Kingsley continued, his expression serious.

“The existence of other realities is not something the public—or anyone outside the Department of Mysteries’ Secrecy Vow—can afford to know. It’s essential we keep this contained, for the safety of everyone involved.”  

Hermione nodded again, her tone firm. 

“We’re fully aware.”  

Draco, however, held back a scoff, his jaw tightening briefly.

The bitterness stirred within him—this insistence on secrecy, this withholding of critical information, had nearly cost him everything. It was why he had stayed silent about his true origins, why he had risked everything for an audience with the Department of Mysteries. It was also why he had almost been sent to Azkaban for the crimes of his counterpart.

Still, he swallowed his resentment, keeping his face impassive as he listened.

Kingsley paused briefly, glancing between the two of them.  

“The Ministry can’t keep you in custody indefinitely.” He told them. “It isn’t sustainable in the long term and poses significant risks, both to you and to us.”  

Hermione’s brows furrowed slightly, but she said nothing, waiting for Kingsley to elaborate.  

“That’s why.” Kingsley went on, his tone carefully neutral. “Someone has stepped forward to act as your benefactor.”  

Hermione blinked in surprise, her lips parting.  

“A benefactor?” She echoed cautiously.  

“Yes.” Kingsley confirmed. “They’ve offered to house you, to ensure your safety while keeping your presence discreet. The Department of Mysteries has been informed, and they’ve agreed in principle. However, the final decision rests with you.”  

Draco arched a brow, his voice cutting through the air with cool skepticism.  

“And how, precisely, does this benefactor’s offer of accommodation address the larger issue we face? If You-Know-Who were to rise again in our reality, how would this arrangement help us resolve that threat?”

Kingsley’s lips thinned slightly, though he maintained his calm demeanor.  

“Because, Lord Malfoy, it was Mr. Potter who offered.”  

Hermione’s eyes widened in disbelief.  

“Harry?” Hermione asked, her voice tinged with surprise as her brows furrowed, clearly taken aback by the revelation.  

Kingsley nodded, his expression serious but composed.

Draco, meanwhile, furrowed his brows and tilted his head slightly, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.  

“Why?” He asked simply, his silver eyes locking with Kingsley’s as he awaited an explanation.

Kingsley took a deep breath, his gaze shifting briefly between Draco and Hermione before answering.  

“No one, including myself, knows the full extent as to why Voldemort was ultimately defeated—save for a few individuals.” Kingsley told them, his tone steady and measured. “However, Mr. Potter has come to a realization—one that aligns with the very conclusion you’ve both reached—that the reason why there could have been no war in your reality is because Voldemort has yet to return. This, in turn, has led Mr. Potter to feel a profound sense of responsibility—an unshakable weight on his conscience.” 

Hermione’s brow furrowed while Draco’s jaw tightened, his silver eyes narrowing, but neither spoke.

“He believes that he must act and is adamant that he cannot remain silent.” Kingsley’s voice softened slightly as he let the importance of his next words linger in the air. “He feels compelled to share with you all that he knows—everything that might aid you in preparing for the future. He could not, in good conscience, allow you to return to your reality without the knowledge that could potentially help you combat Voldemort, should he rise again.” 

Hermione glanced at Draco, her expression a mix of disbelief and confusion. 

Draco, too, looked slightly taken aback.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, processing the weight of what Kingsley had just said. 

After a beat, Hermione broke the silence, her voice hesitant.

“Harry Potter? The Harry Potter from this reality—he’s the one who wants to help us?” She asked.

Draco shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he studied Kingsley. 

“Why would Potter take such an interest in us, let alone offer his help? Especially after everything…” He trailed off, the unsaid words hanging in the air between them

Kingsley allowed them a moment to absorb the information before responding. 

“Yes, Mr. Potter. There are many differences between your reality and this one, but Mr. Potter is deeply aware of the contrast. In a way, he’s somewhat grateful that there is a reality where he was able to live a normal school life, free from the constant threat of Voldemort.” Kingsley paused briefly, his expression softening as he glanced towards the floor, a touch of sympathy in his eyes for the boy who lived a life without the weight of that looming darkness. 

“But at the same time, he knows the danger that could come if Voldemort rises again. He doesn’t want your reality to suffer in the same way that this one did. He’s driven by a sense of responsibility to ensure you’re equipped with the knowledge you need, so that when you return to your world, you’re not left vulnerable, unable to defend yourselves.”

There was a brief, heavy silence. Hermione shifted in her seat, her gaze thoughtful as she processed Kingsley’s words. She glanced at Draco, her brow furrowed in quiet consideration. 

“That’s… that’s a lot for him to carry, isn't it?” She murmured, her voice tinged with empathy as she considered the boy she had known back home—a boy who had a clearly good heart but had always seemed to have a penchant for seeking trouble. 

Yet, seeing the weight of what he had endured in this world, she couldn't help but feel bad for those moments of irritation.

“I think I can understand why Harry would feel that way. But... what exactly is the place he’s offering?” She asked.

Kingsley paused for a moment before continuing, his tone softer.

“After the trial, Mr. Potter, along with his friends—Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger—approached me and the Unspeakables regarding your situation. Mr. Potter not only offered his help but also a place to stay and protection at Grimmauld Place, believing it to be a secure solution.”

Hermione glanced at Draco, her brow furrowing.  

“Grimmauld Place?” She repeated, unsure of what to make of it.  

Draco, however, seemed to react instantly, a touch of disbelief creeping into his expression.  

“I don’t see how that’s possible. Grimmauld Place is tied to the Black family, and the wards are—”  

Kingsley held up a hand, cutting him off.  

“I’m aware of the complications.” He said. “But Mr. Potter insisted he could control the wards, given that he inherited Grimmauld Place. The house was left to him by his godfather, Sirius Black.”  

Draco’s expression turned even more skeptical.  

“But Black was in Azkaban for his crimes—killing Muggles and betraying the Potters to You-Know-Who. How could he leave anything to Potter?”  

Kingsley’s face remained steady as he addressed Draco’s question.  

“That’s a common misconception, Lord Malfoy. Sirius Black was innocent of those charges. It was Peter Pettigrew who betrayed the Potters. Black was wrongfully imprisoned for years, the truth came out during the war. He died during a confrontation in the Ministry of Magic, during a trap set by Voldemort to lure Harry Potter.”

Draco leaned back slightly, disbelief etched into his features. 

“Sirius Black was innocent?” He asked, his voice almost incredulous.

Kingsley inclined his head. 

“It’s true.”

“But how?” Draco pressed, his silver eyes narrowing.

Kingsley exhaled lightly. 

“It would be better if you heard the story directly from Mr. Potter. He’s better equipped to explain the details.”

Hermione shifted, her expression a mixture of surprise and sympathy. 

“I can’t believe he was innocent...” She murmured, more to herself. “He escaped Azkaban back in our third year, but he was immediately captured. I thought... I thought it was because he was guilty.”

Kingsley glanced between them but said nothing, allowing Hermione a moment to process.

Draco broke the silence, his voice sharp. 

“So, are we relocating to Grimmauld Place?”

Kingsley shook his head.

“No. The Unspeakables share the same concerns you do about the wards. While Mr. Potter was insistent, another option was proposed—this time by Mr. Ronald Weasley.”

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly as she and Draco turned their attention to Arthur Weasley, who had remained quiet until now. His expression kind but serious as he nodded. 

“My son felt the same as Harry—that you’d be better off somewhere safe and away from the Ministry’s custody. The Burrow is protected by strong wards, and our family is prepared to welcome you if you would agree to stay with us.”

Hermione blinked, her confusion evident. 

“But... they don’t even know me.” She said hesitantly. “I’m not the Hermione they grew up with. And from what I’ve gathered, they don’t have the best history with Draco in this reality.” 

Her voice then softened, laced with doubt. 

“And if the Hermione in this reality is... in a relationship with Ron, wouldn’t that cause problems?”

Draco grimaced, his arms crossing defensively. 

“I agree.” He said with a curt nod, his tone clipped. “Even if this isn’t my body, it is the body of my counterpart in this reality.” 

He hesitated, his expression hardening as he glanced at Arthur. 

“Given everything your family endured in the war, would it even sit well with them to house the body of a Death Eater?”

Arthur met Draco’s gaze steadily. 

“You’re not that man, Draco. And Hermione may not be our Hermione, that much I can tell. But in the short time I’ve known you, it’s clear that you carry similar kindness and loyalty, traits that define her or you no matter the reality. My son and I agree on this—you’ll be safe with us. And that’s what matters.”

Hermione looked down, her lips pressing into a thin line as she absorbed his words. A flicker of warmth and guilt crossed her face as she thought about the offer. 

Draco, however, remained guarded, his silver eyes searching Arthur’s face for any sign of hesitation.

“Perhaps.” Kingsley interjected. “It’s not just about the practicality of the arrangement, but the trust and goodwill being extended. That, too, is worth considering.”

Hermione stayed silent for a moment longer, her gaze still fixed on Arthur, though her expression had softened. She seemed to be weighing everything carefully, her brows knitting together in thought. 

Draco, too, decided to hold back, as though waiting for her decision to guide his own.  

Finally, she sighed, turning back to Kingsley. 

Straightening her posture, she addressed him formally, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface.  

“Will you be confiscating our wands?” She asked quietly. “I understand why you might feel it’s necessary.”  

Kingsley regarded her and Draco for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he exhaled deeply, shaking his head.  

“There will be no need for that.” He said firmly. “I’ve come to see that I may have misjudged your character. You’ve both given me enough reason to trust you. But—” He paused, his gaze sharpening. “That trust is not to be broken. If you misuse it, there will be no second chances.”  

Hermione nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of his words.  

Kingsley continued. 

“You must also understand that your movements will be closely monitored.” Kingsley continued, his tone firm but not unkind. “You are not to go anywhere without aurors or guards accompanying you. With other Death Eaters still at large, the risks are far too great. Moreover.” His voice lowered slightly, as though the weight of the next words required more gravity. “There’s no telling what Voldemort’s remaining followers and supporters would do with that knowledge.”  

Hermione’s lips pressed into thin line while Draco’s expression hardened, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.  

“You’re worried they might try to exploit it.” Hermione said softly, stating the obvious.

Kingsley nodded gravely. 

“The potential for chaos is immeasurable. Whether to use such knowledge to gain power, destabilize our world, or attempt to bring Voldemort back… the possibilities are too dangerous to risk. That’s why we must ensure that you and Lord Malfoy remain hidden and protected at all costs.”  

Draco’s voice was quiet but sharp, cutting through the heavy silence. 

“And if someone finds out anyway? Those outside the Secrecy vow, what then?”  

Kingsley’s gaze shifted to him, steady and unyielding. 

“Then we’ll do everything in our power to ensure it doesn’t go any further.” Kingsley said, his tone measured. “But the responsibility lies with both of you. Keeping this secret is not only about your safety but also about preventing wider devastation. To that end, if anyone outside our trusted circle becomes aware of your presence or the existence of other realities, with your wands back in your possessions, you will be given the liberty to act accordingly—whether that means using Obliviation, capturing them, or taking other necessary measures to protect the secret.”

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly at the implication, but she nodded, understanding the gravity of what was being entrusted to them.

“And what if it’s beyond our ability to contain?” Draco asked sharply, his expression unreadable but his tone laced with pragmatism.

Kingsley’s gaze remained steady as he answered. 

“If that happens, your first priority is to contact the aurors immediately. The Ministry will take over from there. But understand this—you must act swiftly and decisively in the moment to prevent any irreversible damage.”

Hermione exchanged a glance with Draco, her unease mirrored in his silver eyes. She nodded, her voice soft but resolute. 

“We understand. We’ll do our part to keep it safe.”  

Draco gave a slight nod, though his jaw remained set. 

“As long as your part of the deal holds up.”  

Kingsley inclined his head. 

“It will. But remember, this trust goes both ways.”   

Draco's silver eyes hardened.

“Understood.”  

Hermione glanced at him briefly before looking back at Kingsley. 

“We’ll respect your conditions.” She said, her voice quieter now but resolute. “Thank you for trusting us.”  

Hermione shifted her weight, her and Draco's fingers squeezed briefly. 

“Are we set to leave now?” She asked, her tone steady despite the lingering unease in her expression.  

Kingsley shook his head. 

“Not yet. First, I need to inform the Unspeakables, Vane and Draven, of your decision to stay with the Weasleys. They’ll need to take the necessary precautions—informing the occupants of the Burrow and casting additional enchantments. These measures will ensure that no unauthorized person can enter, Apparate, or use the Floo network to access the property. This will also allow you to discuss matters openly with others, including Mr. Potter, who will also be staying there.”  

Hermione nodded slowly, her mind clearly turning over the details. 

“And the Weasleys… Do they know who they’re housing? The risks involved?”  

Kingsley’s lips thinned slightly, but he answered with conviction. 

“Arthur and Mr. Ron Weasley are fully aware of the risks. They’ve endured much during the war and have made their choice. They believe, as I do, that offering you protection is the right thing to do.”  

Draco crossed his arms, his expression unreadable.  

“Let’s hope that courage doesn’t falter when reality sets in.”  

It was Arthur Weasley who answered this time, his voice warm but resolute.  

“We have faced reality more times than I’d care to count, Draco.” The elder Weasley said gently. “We’ve endured war, loss, and everything in between. Our courage doesn’t falter—it strengthens. You’ll find no shortage of resolve in our home.”  

His gaze was steady, carrying a quiet strength that was impossible to ignore.

Hermione glanced at Draco, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them, before turning back to Arthur and Kingsley. 

“Thank you for arranging this.”  

Kingsley inclined his head. 

“Rest for now. We’ll return once the arrangements are complete.”