The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
The cool, crisp September wind had started to drift into the house, carrying with a whisper of an early autumn while summer clung to its final days.
Hermione sat in front of the computer and read the recent email she had received from Shacklebolt. Umbridge had taken over the Muggle-born Registration Department at the Ministry, it read. The Order had managed to secure multiple safe houses, using galleons from the Malfoy vaults. Several muggle born witches and wizards, on the run from the Ministry, had relocated into the safe houses. Hermione’s eyes filled with tears as she thought of her muggle-born schoolmates, forced into hiding, now essentially fugitives in the wizarding world.
Shacklebolt also informed her that the Ministry had officially declared Harry Potter as Undesirable No. 1, and her own name was listed as a known sympathiser. A bounty of ten thousand Galleons had been placed on her and Ron’s capture for aiding and abetting Harry. Just what I need, she thought bitterly, as if being hunted for my blood status wasn’t enough already.
Ron letter offered a brief distraction, he had described how they had all but demolished Umbridge’s office at the Ministry during a raid to retrieve a certain “ugly but important necklace”. Hermione went over the untidy scrawl of Ron’s handwriting to understand whether they had actually retrieved and destroyed a Horcrux. They had agreed to write in codes in case the diary was intercepted, but it was getting difficult to do so with particular details.
“It’s horrid out there,” he wrote, “We were at the Ministry, and Muggle-born wizards were being dragged into courtrooms like common criminals. We’re both glad you’re safe.”
Though his letters were always frustratingly vague, Hermione could sense the relief in his words. At least both he and Harry were back at Grimmauld Place, safe for now.
“And happy birthday to you!” Ron continued, “Hope you had some cake. We’ve been stuck relying on the old house-elf’s cooking. It’s much better now, but I still miss Mum’s Sunday roast.” Hermione couldn’t help but smile at Ron’s ramblings about food.
Her birthday had come and gone without fanfare. The Malfoys, unsurprisingly, didn’t notice or care. Eighteen was a milestone in the Muggle world—a passage into adulthood in the eyes of the law—but here, it had passed like any other day.
She thought back to her parents and the gift they had given her the year before, her true coming-of-age in the wizarding world. Carefully, she opened the small blue box tied with silver ribbons. Inside was a delicate silver chain with a heart-shaped sapphire pendant, paired with matching earrings.
“It belonged to your grandmother,” her mother had said, her voice soft with warmth. She fastened the necklace and clutched the pendant in her trembling hands as her eyes moistened thinking of her parents. She was glad that they were safe in Australia but she wished they were here with her now.
Last year, Hermione had approached Professor McGonagall with what she framed as an academic question about memory charms. Sitting behind her desk, sharp-eyed and imposing as always, McGonagall had listened intently before responding.
"Miss Granger," she said, "memory charms may seem like a convenient solution at times, but they are not to be taken lightly. Erasing or altering someone's memories—especially without their consent—can have profound, irreversible consequences."
Hermione nodded; her brow furrowed "But Professor, surely there must be cases where it's necessary?"
McGonagall's lips tightened into a thin line. "Yes, in certain circumstances, they may be. But the dangers are vast. A person can lose not just their memories, but their very sense of identity. Forgetting who you are, who you've loved, or what you've lived through... it's not just a matter of lost time. It's like losing part of your soul." She paused, her gaze softening. "We must always remember that memory is fragile, and the consequences of tampering with it can be far more dangerous than we ever anticipate."
This warning and knowing that Professor Lockhart who messed with memory charms was in the Janus Thickey ward at St.Mungo’s suffering from permanent memory was good enough for Hermione to consider other options to keep her parents safe. Her parents were in Muggle witness protection in Sydney thanks to the British Secret Service. She had felt conflicted when Shacklebolt had used Confundus charm on the Muggle MI6 liaisons and had used Imperius curse to do the supporting paperwork.
She was cat fishing as their MI6 liaison under a fake name of Celestina Warbeck, and was in touch with them through muggle email. There was no other way to protect them, she thought.
Hermione refreshed the email from her mother again, and re-read it yet another time to reassure herself that the choices she had made were correct indeed.
*****
The Malfoys had retreated to the small library, Narcissa sat quietly, engrossed in a book, while Lucius and Draco played a game of Muggle chess with spell modifications, the enchanted pieces moving like their wizarding counterparts. They missed the elegant ivory and crystal set from home, but for the moment, this makeshift version would have to do to keep their minds occupied.
It was nearly noon when Narcissa suddenly closed her book with a soft snap. “Has anyone seen Hermione since this morning?” she asked.
Lucius, not looking up from his game, casually remarked, “Perhaps she decided to sleep in—or worse, she’s dead, strangled in her sheets.” He absentmindedly prodded his bishop with his wand, making the piece move across the board.
Hermione had missed breakfast, so the Malfoys had settled for a platter of hard cheese and dried nuts instead. Draco had insisted on the sugary cereal, its loud crunching noise filling the otherwise quiet room, much to Lucius’s irritation. But Narcissa was now concerned that something was up with Hermione and insisted someone check on her.
“Suit yourself” said Draco and moved on to capture the opponents knight with a flourish. Lucius cursed softly but quickly recovered.
“You know if she abandoned us in this muggle house, we would starve to death within weeks. Draco, none of us have yet mastered using the stove in the kitchen and we don’t know how all this electreesity works.”
“Mother, we have magic. We can make food appear out of thin air,” said Draco as he prodded his knight to take on the pawn.
“Firstly, we can’t just produce food out of thin air. No one can, it is the first of the five principal exceptions to Gamp’s law of elemental transfiguration” droned Lucius while observing the chess board.
“Secondly, it is an utter travesty that you don’t know that. Salazar knows what they teach you in that school. Bishop to C4”, he exclaimed and the transfigured chess piece beat a pawn to pieces. Draco smirked and moved his queen forward.
Before Lucius could bore her ear with another tirade about the state of affairs at Hogwarts and Draco’s school marks, Narcissa apparated outside Hermione’s bedroom. The wards that the young witch meticulously put up every night, were not up today, which made Narcissa nervous. She knocked couple of time, having received no response, she drew her wand out and carefully unlocked the bedroom door.
She found Hermione curled up in the bed, clutching her stomach and wincing in pain. When Hermione saw Narcissa at the door, her eyes filled with tears.
“Are you alright, you seem to be in pain,” said Narcissa and rushed to her bedside, the young girl was shivering with fever.
“I didn’t pack enough medicine for the cramps” Hermione winced and massaged her lower abdomen.
“Is it your lady time, Miss Granger?” Narcissa enquired delicately. The young girl nodded and Narcissa summoned her potions bag, she rummaged through it and pulled out three small vials of green liquid.
“Will you allow me to examine you?” she asked, while uncorking a vial of calming draught. Hermione sniffed at the peppermint smell, and drank it with one swift gulp.
Narcissa carefully pulled up the hem of Hermione’s night dress to examine her stomach, she cast a basic diagnostic spell to check on her vitals. The results were immediate, the girl was in enormous pain.
Narcissa’s face softened with concern as she urged, “Drink this,” handing Hermione another green potion. “It will help with your discomfort.”
She arranged additional pillows around Hermione, ensuring she was comfortable, before giving her a rare reassuring smile. “Just rest now, Miss Granger.
While Hermione lay back, with her eyes closed and grimacing in pain, Narcissa spotted the purple scar that ran across her chest and ended write above the navel.
“What happened here?” Narcissa enquired albeit reluctantly. Hermione opened her eyes, her pain having considerably subsided.
“Dolohov,” Hermione murmured, her voice strained with pain. “When he attacked me last year, his non-verbal spell left a mark. It healed, but not completely. I don’t know the counter-curse. Nobody knows.”
If Narcissa was shocked, she didn’t show it. Instead, she quietly considered the revelation, her mind racing with morbid thoughts. How had this young girl—barely older than Draco—found herself in a position to duel with Dolohov, a seasoned Death Eater known for his cruelty? A nasty one even, with his known penchant for smuggling young muggle girls from Russia for rape and torture.
I was helping Harry,” Hermione continued, her voice gaining strength. “We were at the Ministry when we confronted the Death Eaters on a mission for You-know-who. I don’t regret it. I’d do it again for Harry.” Her tone was unwavering, full of defiance and courage.
Narcissa shifted uncomfortably having known that her husband was the one entrusted with that mission. He had failed to retrieve the prophecy for the Dark Lord, and his plans were foiled by the Order. What Narcissa was unaware of was that Hermione was part of the group that led to his capture and imprisonment.
Wanting to change the subject, she asked “Do you not take the monthly potions Miss Granger, did the Hogwarts matron not tell you about them?”
Hermione shook her head, and replied “We were taught the contraceptive charm in fourth year and I have always taken muggle pills for my pain. I didn’t have access to a magical apothecary during the school break and the muggle ones just seemed easier.”
“You are close to the Weasleys are you not, didn’t Molly mention it to you?” Narcissa asked.
Hermione hesitated, unwilling to admit that her relationship with Molly Weasley had been somewhat strained since the fourth year, when she received a much smaller Easter egg than the others from the Weasley matriarch. It had been a small thing, but it had hurt more than she was willing to admit. She never had many witch friends to confide in, and her best mates, Harry and Ron, hardly even noticed that she was a girl.
Narcissa sighed and decided that no matter which side of the war they found themselves on, a witch had to help another witch, especially when it came to matters like this. She carefully outlined the magical potions that young witches should consume during the month, especially during the lady time.
Hermione’s cheeks flushed deeply with embarrassment. She never imagined she’d be discussing her menstrual cycle with Narcissa Malfoy of all people! Hermione couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude, Narcissa treated her as a girl, despite the war and her blood status, which was a pleasant feeling.
Narcissa visited her room for the next couple of days, bringing her warmed canned soup and biscuits. Hermione’s health vastly improved under the supervision and care of Narcissa. She was able to have few meals in the dining room, along with others and indulged in light outdoor activities.
Narcissa found Hermione’s company more than bearable; in fact, she found her inquisitiveness quite admirable for someone so young. As she studied Hermione more closely, she noticed the little details: her soft, brown hair streaked with gold, her bright, clean teeth, and her olive skin, which was carefully cared for—though Narcissa couldn’t help but note that her nails could benefit from a bit of cuticle oil.
If Hermione had been a pureblood, Narcissa mused, she would have undoubtedly been considered stunningly pretty in their social circles—likely the belle of the Yule Ball.
Having cared for Hermione, something had stirred inside Narcissa. She looked at the young witch, who was now slightly snoring, and couldn’t help but feel kindness. She tucked a blanket around Hermione’s shoulders.
She couldn’t help but sooth her wild curls back and dared to softly touched her cheek, her pale fingers ghosting over Hermione’s warm skin. Did this little girl deserve to die just because she was different? she thought.
*****
Over the next few weeks, life gradually returned to a semblance of normalcy as Hermione made a full recovery. While Draco remained oblivious to the growing camaraderie between Hermione and his mother, Lucius’s sharp eyes quickly noticed the shift.
Narcissa was in the garden, dressed in simple loose trousers and a long-sleeved light sweater, her hair was tied back with an elegant scarf. She knelt gracefully in the flower bed; her gloved hands were turning the soil over with a trowel. She looked up to wipe sweat from her brow and spotted Hermione walking towards her from the patio.
“Hello dear, are you feeling well?” Narcissa asked.
“Yes, thank you Mrs. Malfoy for the potions, I am feeling so much better now.” Hermione replied, kneeling beside her in the garden.
Are you planting more flowers?" Hermione inquired, looking at the neat rows of plants around them.
"Oh, yes. I think we could have some lovely marigolds before winter sets in. There are already too many French roses in the house, I must say—I much prefer the British varieties," Narcissa replied, returning to her task of turning the soil with practiced hands.
"So do I," Hermione agreed, her fingers idly tugging at a loose thread on her jumper. "My mother, though, loves the French ones."
"Ah, that's a surprise. Most people tend to prefer the French roses for their fragrance," Narcissa said, pausing to glance at Hermione. "Does your mother enjoy gardening too?"
“Yes she does, our house back in England has lovely gardens. My mother loves hosting tea parties, and she loves her rose gardens. I often helped her on the weekend or after school. May I?, asked Hermione and pointed at the tools that lay beside her.
Narcissa smiled and handed over a trowel and gloves. “It is easier to do this without magic, and I am terrible at household charms mind you! My mother was not so much into gardening and the Malfoy estate has elves who take care of the gardens under my supervision, so I never learnt the charms. Although my tea parties in the rose garden are famous in the wizarding world!”
“We should have one here too when the weather permits, I miss English tea parties! My best mates in school are boys and all they care about is Quidditch, so does my only female friend… You might know of her- Ginny Weasley, she is also into Quidditch. Students at Hogwarts are way too obsessed about Quidditch, it is a rather dangerous sport if you ask me” ranted Hermione while ploughing the flower beds.
Narcissa chuckled, she had almost forgotten what it was like to talk to a young witch. She had always hoped to have a little girl of her own, someone who would love things she was interested in. She had even dressed Draco as a girl when he was a little boy and when Lucius was away for business!
There were other families who would bring their girls to play with Draco when he was younger, but it was never this candid. Pureblood witches were taught from a young age to be demure and shy, and Hermione was rather quite the opposite. She had fine high-born English manners, but she often spoke her mind without fault which reminded Narcissa of a young Bellatrix before she joined the Dark Lord.
“You are Sirius Black’s cousin are you not? That means you would be related to Nymphadora Tonks too” Hermione asked but didn’t dare to meet the older witches blue pale eyes.
Narcissa flinched, she had played a part in the demise of her cousin Sirius- the heir of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black- he was dead due to the information she provided to the Dark Lord from the house elf. She had also ratted out about Andromeda’s lover to their parents leading to her being disowned and blasted from the family tapestry.
“We weren’t close, the Blacks were notoriously territorial. I was often shunned as a teenager for having blond hair you know, I often avoided their cliche” she replied and motioned to pass the trowel. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.
Narcissa spotted her confusion and explained, “Wizarding families have characteristic traits, which are easily identifiable. Malfoys have grey eyes and blond hair, Greengrasses have blue eyes, Parkinsons have black straight hair and a small nose and so on. The Blacks have dark curly hair and grey eyes. As you can see, I am blond and I don’t have grey eyes, not even close. My siblings and cousins often made fun of me; you know how children can be cruel at that age. My contested parentage was a running joke at Grimmauld Place” said Narcissa and continued to work the flower beds.
“I am sorry I did not mean to pry. If it is any consolation, I was at Grimmauld when Sirius was alive and I did not like it much. It was morbid and dark, not to mention his mother’s portrait hurled abuses at me,” said Hermione.
“Walburga Black was not the aunt you hoped to like. She was cruel to everyone except her little Reggie. Our house was luckily nowhere similar to Grimmauld. Unlike the dark and gloomy townhouse, it was in Brighton near the beach. It had big windows for the light to pass through, and ample gardens as well,” said Narcissa.
She didn’t mind sharing this information because it was true and quite harmless. Her father’s home was desolate for years after she parents had passed away.
The Blacks were practically wizarding royalty and this information was public. Narcissa was the youngest of the three sisters, Bellatrix was loved for her magical prowess and Andromeda for her daring and feisty personality, in comparison Narcissa was a demure, slender blonde girl who no one cared about much.
What no one knew was that Narcissa was every bit the cunning witch even as a teenager. She knew Bellatrix was never keen on having children, and Andromeda was set for a betrothal with Sirius which would have elevated her position as the wife to the heir of the Black family, their children would have inherited the title after Sirius’s death. Now, the sole heir to the legacy of the Black family was her son- Draco- the only living male heir to the massive fortune and unprecedented Black family secrets.
Most wizards often underestimated her, but Narcissa knew which threads to pull even from the shadows.
Hermione sensed discomfort and refrained from asking any further questions about the Black family and veered the conversation to Hogwarts classes instead.
They worked in the flower bed for over and hour, chatting and sharing Hogwarts stories. Narcissa knew, thanks to Draco’s incessant whining, that Hermione was top of her class, but she wasn’t impressed with her academic aptitude nevertheless.
Narcissa leaned back to sip cold water and observed the young witch. She had navigated into an unknown world, so full of danger and deceit and stood by unflinchingly besides her best friend. Loyalty and ambition both admirable qualities for Slytherins, she thought. She looked at her with a hint of admiration perhaps even a quiet envy of the girl’s courage.
The witches continued to work in the gardens with a steady rhythm. Lucius who had spotted them from the window of his room, narrowed his eyes in concern.
*****
Lucius observed the interactions of his wife with Hermione, and often saw them sharing a private joke, or chatting during chores. Narcissa was a mother after all and felt protective of young ones, especially witches. But this was war, and they were all soldiers, this was not a time to be trusting a witch they hardly knew. Lucius had seen friends turn against each other during the dark times and he was wary around Hermione. His wife, however, did not share his concern.
“Cissa, you are not getting attached to Miss Granger, are you?” Lucius asked his wife cautiously.
“She is a child Lucius; she misses her family and friends terribly. Staying away from them has taken a toll on her health and wellbeing. We have been aloof and unkind to her at times. We have better manners than that, we must take care of a young witch entrusted in our care” she replied.
“She is Potter’s friend and not to mention a member of the Order, or have you forgotten?” said Lucius.
“I have not forgotten Lucius and would never put my family in any immediate danger. Our banter is mostly about Hogwarts and other inane topics. I have been observing her for weeks now, I found out today that she is a natural Leglimens.”
Lucius’s eyebrows knit together in surprise and worry. “What?! That is dangerous Cissa. How did you find out?”
“She often guessed what I was thinking about, and she joked that she is just observant. She can read minds Lucius and she doesn’t even know it! I think she does it without even trying. It is very instinctual” said Narcissa.
“Shacklebolt placed a Leglimens amongst us, that conniving bastard. She must have used it on us to spy for information. Draco informed me that her wand is vine and dragon heartstring. Dragon heartstring Cissa! She must be quite good at dark spells with that wand” yelled Lucius.
“There is no need to panic yet, she doesn’t know how to cast spells for mind magic, and I am quite sure that she is completely unaware of this talent. Mind Magic is not something you can just read from books; she hasn’t been trained on it” said Narcissa her tone not betraying her emotions.
Lucius leaned forward, his tone turning colder, “We cannot have her using this power, it could be a problem… a very significant one. We could ask Draco to find out about this.”
“No Lucius, they already spend a lot of time in each other’s company as is, I don’t want him to get more involved than required” the finality of the tone stopped Lucius from prodding any further.
Such a young witch, he thought, with an ability that most pureblood wizards would kill for.
*****
Draco spotted Hermione in the small office upstairs, curled up with a school book. “What a swot!”, he thought. He had tried over the last month to pry for more information but the Gryffindor witch had thwarted all his attempts. She had refrained from speaking to him about anything but chores hence he decided to change tactics and try something new today.
“Hello Granger, May I borrow one of your Hogwarts books? I thought I should read up on school work as well” said Draco, his tone nonchalant and bored.
Hermione sent a book flying in his direction but Draco deftly caught it with one hand. Draco settled in the far end of the room and started reading the book in silence.
Minutes ticked by, and no one said a word. Draco was relying on Granger’s curiosity to peak and for her to break the silence by asking a question about the book. He could hear her sigh audibly when he turned pages while ignoring her, he smirked slightly that perhaps his plan would actually work.
“Have you read the Wolfsbane potion recipe yet?” Hermione asked.
“ Of course I have, I don’t read as slow as Weasley. What of it?” Draco asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t you think it is quite advance for students to learn such a complicated potion, with ingredients so hard to procure. Occamy eggs are restricted items of trade” said Hermione.
“Honestly don’t know why students should be bothered to learn this potion, It is simply a waste of resources and time” said Draco.
“I beg your pardon. A waste of resources? Are you so conceited that you think of nothing other than your own interests? Wolfsbane allows werewolves to live to life of decency, their condition is not their fault”
“Apart from Lupin have you even met another werewolf in real life?” Draco asked, shutting the book with a loud thud. Hermione shifted nervously in her seat. “I have met one, in fact a few back at the Manor. You don’t know what it is like dealing with someone like Greyback. My aunt introduced me to him and trust me he is not some poor, misunderstood werewolf- he is a monster and he enjoys being one. And so do his furry friends, haven’t you ever wondered why so many of them support the Dark Lord?”
“That is precisely why we need Wolfsbane Potion, to prevent the others from becoming like him. Wizards shun werewolves from decent society and drive them to the fringes. This compels them to live a life as a wild creature, and this discrimination perpetuates the hatred. The Ministry should subsidise Wolfsbane and provide it free of cost at apothecaries.” replied Hermione. She had shut her book now and was facing Draco.
“You are missing the point! Firstly not everybody is worth saving, and werewolves don’t care about a potion. They thrive on murder and chaos, that is their true nature and people like you pretending to change them makes it worse.”
“You can’t know that. Professor Lupin…” before Hermione could finish, she was rudely interrupted.
“Are you so narrow minded to not acknowledge another point of view which is substantiated by proof? Your idea of werewolves is based on having met just one, while my opinion is based on several instances and centuries of research. I would have let you in the library at Manor just to show you the texts and prove you wrong.” Draco sneered, his eyes glittering with victory.
“You are the one who is wrong” she whined and went back to reading her book. The silence did not persist, and Hermione fought against her curiosity which eventually won.
“How big is the library at your house back in England?” Hermione asked.
Draco pretended to not be affected by this personal question. None of his friends had ever asked him this, since they had all visited the Manor. “It is larger than the school one of course, but Hogwarts has more books. The Malfoy library has collection of texts which are centuries old, some written in the old language. It is unique because it houses the almost illustrious collection of magical history books. The shelves move every now and then so we find new books sometimes.” Draco replied haughtily.
Hermione’s eyes lit up “Do you mean the library moves, like the stairs at Hogwarts?”
“Of course, every wizarding house has magical enhancements and the manor changes as per as the wish and command of the Lord of the house. Our library reveals knowledge based on the wizard accessing it so that family secrets and rare magic is concealed and not shared with outsiders.”
“That is quite clever. And are there creatures at the Manor such as gnomes and fairies?”
“Definitely not! Gnomes and fairies live in the wild forests by the lake not inside the Manor. Have you never been to a wizarding house before?” Draco asked.
“Just the Weasleys and Sirius Black’s” she replied and went back to her book. Draco caught the sadness in her tone.
“I can’t imagine what kind of a house the Weasleys have! And Grimmauld is a dilapidated townhouse, although I think I own it now as the heir to the House of Black. The Malfoy Manor is magnificent—Victorian Gothic, built in white stone, with sprawling gardens and halls lined with tapestries older than your family tree. It would have been a museum in another world. You probably believe the Malfoy Manor is a dark, foreboding castle don’t you, Granger. Typical!” said Draco.
“I would have to take your word for it” she replied and continued to stare at the back of her book cover.
“What is your house like? Is it… like the one we met at in London?” Draco asked warily.
Hermione was caught off guard by this question. Even her closest friends or the Weasleys had never asked about her Muggle home. Her muggle life was just never discussed or enquired about in the wizarding world.
Hermione continued to stare at Draco which annoyed him. “Don’t tell me if you don’t want to, not that I care about a muggle home anyway” he replied rudely and got up to leave the room.
“Wait, I just didn’t expect that question. The house we met in London belongs to my parents but we don’t stay there. We live in Surrey actually, closer to the countryside. The house is Georgian-style built from honey-coloured stone, and has large sash windows. We have gardens similar to the ones here,” said Hermione.
“So it is very much like this one then?” Draco asked, his grey eyes not leaving her face.
“Yes somewhat, not as old and ornate but slightly more modern and open.” Draco sat back in the chair and fiddled with the book in his hand.
“Do they not visit you over the holidays? The Weasel and Saint Potter?” Draco asked.
“Their names are Ron and Harry! And no they don’t, no one from the wizarding world has ever visited my home,” Hermione said. An acute sadness enveloped her when she realised that the only person she ever talked about her muggle home was with Draco Malfoy. What in the name of Godric!
“I miss the grounds, the Manor has sprawling grounds spanning several acres with a half Quidditch pitch. Flying at the manor beats the cold and windy weather of Hogwarts for sure” said Draco.
“The stables… we have private stables with horses, I used to miss them sometimes at Hogwarts. The horses are not Abraxan of course, but they are fine for riding. Muggles do horse riding for pleasure, you will have to see it to understand,” explained Hermione. How does one explain show riding to wizards, she thought.
Draco couldn’t help but show off, “If you would like to visit the library at the Manor, it is open for public visitors in the summer. For your academic learning of course” he replied and went back to the potions textbook.
Draco pretended to read and flipped few pages, he noticed that Hermione had gone back to her book but stole glances at him from time to time.
In pure blood culture, it is indecent for the heir to invite a young unmarried girl to his home, such invitations were given by the lady of the house or to the witch’s parents. Such directness from the heir is often construed as a romantic interest. But luckily Granger was unaware of such said customs and he was glad no one heard him when he extended the invite. War or not, there was no way Granger would ever visit the Manor, so his invitation was moot in a sense.
What would Pansy say if she would’ve heard the veiled invite, he mused. Draco spent the remainder of the evening being amused about the curses Pansy would throw at him, he missed the quiet exit of Hermione from the room.