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The Essence of Life	By : ckllsdam Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 17115 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Harry Potter universe and I make no money from this work of fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
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Chapter 2

Draco sat in that chair for nearly an hour after his friends departed. Pansy’s list of Granger’s “qualifications” had been a surprising catalogue of factors that were nearly identical to the attributes he’d listed when describing the woman who would be his next wife, and if the Fates were kind, the mother of his children. With all the animosity and bad blood (no pun intended) between them, he couldn’t see how they could make it work, regardless of her near-perfect personal resume. Finally determining that there was nothing to do about it at three o’clock in the morning, he decided to drag his tired body to bed; morning – or early afternoon – would be time enough to have the two conversations that he thought might help him make a decision about whether to consider Ms. Hermione Granger as a viable option.

He used the loo and brushed his teeth, remembering that there were few things as unpleasant as the taste in one’s mouth after a night of drinking, then stripped off his clothes, crawling into bed naked, as was his usual habit. Draco was sure he’d quickly succumb to his mental and physical exhaustion. While he did fall asleep quickly, his slumber was fitful and restless, filled with dreams. First, and most vividly, he dreamed of dancing the might away with a dark-haired beauty, then a hazy, ill-defined conversation that escalated into an argument which ended in a passionate claiming of lips and tongues. There seemed to be a passage of time in his dream world, and he saw himself holding a tiny, dark haired baby, its pink lips puckering against the bottle he offered. Another passage of time drew him to a scene where a small tot ran through a garden, giggling while chasing butterflies, as he stood with his arms wrapped around a woman, her belly swollen and round. She leaned back against his chest and they both watched the toddler, laughter bubbling when the butterfly chase was suddenly abandoned in favor of the pursuit of a frog. He couldn’t see her face; that made him sad. Draco tossed and turned, sheets becoming tangled in his legs. He awoke abruptly and knew there would be no further rest. When he peered at the cuckoo clock on the wall, he calculated that he’d only slept – if his restlessness could qualify – barely five hours.

Kicking his legs free of the tangles, he pushed himself out of bed and into the bathroom. The heaviness between his legs reminded him that he had a medical directive to deal with; it had been four days since he’d ejaculated last. He sighed. At least that was an acceptable way to begin a day. He set the taps in the shower to the appropriate temperature and stepped in under the spray, creating lather with the soap bar in his hands. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to think of the dark-haired beauty who had invaded his dreams and failing miserably. A few seconds and a few strokes had his penis fully erect and his imagination conjuring the witch he pinned against the shower’s walls, thrusting into her warmth and wetness, rolling his hips in exactly the same way he’d done the night before, on the dance floor. The image paired with his firm, insistent stroking was more than enough; his orgasm was powerful and long, causing his knees to buckle and ripping a deep groan from his chest. “Shit,” he said to the empty room. “Pansy, I’m going to have to kill you for planting that idea in my head,” he muttered. He finished his shower in short order, drying off, shaving, and brushing his teeth in record time.

There was no way that Pansy would be awake yet; she regularly slept till ten no matter what the evening’s activities and schedule. He would meet with his other confidant first. Draco selected a pair of black trousers and a white oxford shirt and dressed quickly. If he hurried, he’d be able to have breakfast at his destination rather than alone.

When Draco arrived five minutes later at Malfoy Manor, his mother was descending the sweeping staircase, looking every bit the wealthy aristocrat she had been raised to be. Her only concession to surprise at seeing her son so early in the morning was a barely-perceptible blink. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this morning, my sweet?”

“I’ve been thinking, Mother, and I need some advice. I hoped you could spare some time for me this morning.”

“Of course, dear. I was just going to have a little breakfast. Won’t you join me?” she invited.

“That would be nice,” he replied. “Uh, is Father home?”

“No, he left about thirty minutes ago. He had some business to tend to at Gringotts. I don’t expect him home for at least an hour.”

“Good,” he answered, and then tried to backtrack as soon as he realized how bad that had sounded. “I mean, uh, it’s good that business is good, uh…”

Narcissa laughed. “It’s fine, Draco. You’re allowed to want to have some private time with your mother. Silly thing,” she added, tapping her finger on the tip of his nose, as she’d done so often when he was a child. “So, what’s on your mind?” she asked, getting right to the heart of the matter. The breakfast she’d requested, poached eggs on rye toast with a rasher of bacon, appeared at her plate.

Draco reached for an almond scone while a house-elf poured tea for both of them. “I went out last evening with Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Daphne, and we encountered some old schoolmates at the pub. One of them was someone that Pansy keeps prodding me to consider as a solution to our little… situation.”

“Who is that, dear?”

“Before I tell you that, I want to share with you what Pansy said about her ‘qualifications’ for the role.”

“Certainly, if you feel that’s helpful.” She waved a hand, encouraging him to speak.

“We were year-mates at Hogwarts, so obviously you know that means she’s a Muggle-born. She, like me, is recently divorced, and though there was some scandal involved, the fault was not hers. She is… attractive and well-liked, and very well-respected. She has two children by her ex-husband, who was also a pureblood, so I know she’s capable of conceiving. She is extraordinarily powerful, and she was the only person who beat me in O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s.” Draco stopped speaking when he saw his mother’s eyes go wide and her hand lift to stall his monologue.

“Has this young woman ever… visited this house?” she asked, a slight tremor to her voice.

“Yes.”

“It’s Miss Granger, isn’t it?”

“On the nose, Mother.”

She sat back in her chair, a rare occurrence which displayed her unease. “She sounds perfect in nearly every way but one.”

“Yeah. She hates me.”

“Draco, I’m sure it would be more accurate to say ‘hated.’ Your school days were a very long time ago. Maybe she’ll have revised her opinion of you,” she offered with a hint of optimism.

“For what reason, Mother? Until last night, I hadn’t seen her in at least four years. She’d have no reason to temper her poor opinion of me.”

“What happened when you saw her last night?”

“I bumped into her, literally, on the way back from the loo. We greeted each other politely, and we had one dance. I thanked her, then rejoined my friends.”

“Was she… amenable?”

“She was very nice. She was also a bit tipsy, and the floor was so packed with people that she really had no choice but to dance with me.”

“How did you depart?”

“The way a gentleman always does. I told her I enjoyed the dance, I complimented her ability, I kissed her knuckles, and I said goodbye.”

“Was the dance a waltz, a foxtrot, maybe a tango?” Narcissa asked, seeking to understand the young lady’s training. She was flabbergasted at Draco’s reaction.

He roared with laughter. “Oh, Mother, not even close! We were at the Swish & Flick, not at a dance hall or ball. It was closer to a… rumba.”

“Even better! A Latin dance of love and seduction. You say she responded well?”

“Again, Mother, as well as could be expected under the circumstances.”

“Hmmm. And Pansy has been encouraging you to pursue Miss Granger? She feels that the two of you would be compatible?”

“So she says.”

“Fine. I will send her an owl later today. She and I will have a little chat and we will craft a strategy to approach the lady. Now, what else can you tell me about her?”

Forty minutes later, Narcissa had a better understanding both of who Hermione Granger was as a person, and why Draco might be interested in her. She could see why Pansy had been so vehement about the suitability of their former classmate. She postulated that, if the young woman had been a pureblood instead of a Muggle-born, Draco probably would have been quite taken with her years earlier, though she kept that thought to herself.

Ninety minutes after Draco left, she received a reply from Pansy and was now awaiting her arrival, scheduled for one o’clock. They’d have a light lunch in the garden while figuring out Draco’s future.

At five minutes ‘til one, Pansy arrived in the main Floo off the grand foyer. She was greeted by Narcissa Malfoy with all the affection of a long-lost relative. The two walked arm-in-arm through the halls and out a set of French doors, where a white-painted wrought iron table was draped with a floral linen tablecloth and set with fine white china edged in platinum. Baccarat crystal goblets were filled with freshly made lemonade. A cold chicken salad was held in stasis on a sterling silver platter, covered by a domed sterling silver lid. A basket of freshly-baked breads and rolls sat to the right of the platter.

The two witches nibbled on their lunch and focused the bulk of their attention and energy on the topic at hand: how to best ensure that Draco could successfully woo Hermione Granger.

“As I see it, Pansy, there really are two options,” Narcissa concluded, “and they both have inherent risks.”

“Option One would be the lesser, I think. With both of them being newly single, there’s something relatively normal about Draco seeking companionship with her. If they can find their way to being friends, then he could start to woo her more seriously,” Pansy opined.

“I agree there’s less immediate concern with that approach, but my concern is the time factor. It’s been a little over four months since Draco and Astoria divorced. He has two years and eight months to get married and have his new bride conceive. There’s no guarantee that they’d have an easy time getting pregnant, regardless of the Healer’s opinion. I’m concerned that he’ll run out of time.”

“I agree that’s a concern, and although I really don’t know Granger beyond reputation, I’m nearly certain that Option Two would be shot down like a Hippogriff gone wild,” Pansy stated. “Of course, the other risk with Option One is that, if she found out he had a hidden agenda, it would end things rather quickly.”

“I’ve always heard that she’s such a ‘bleeding heart.’ You don’t think she could be persuaded to ‘help’ Draco with his problem?”

“Oh please, Narcissa. What would be her motivation? They barely know each other, and her opinion of Draco is based on the utter prat he was to her for so long. Can’t say I blame her, to be fair. Draco’s thinking may have shifted since the war, but he’s never been especially close to any Muggle-borns. She certainly hasn’t had any opportunity to see that he can be civil and have good working relationships with them. And if we’re being honest here, just a few weeks ago, he was fairly horrified by the idea of having to mate with one.”

“Well, she wouldn’t ever have to know that part, would she?” Narcissa noted.

“True, as long as Draco doesn’t flinch whenever he has to touch her.” Pansy took a sip of her lemonade, trying to hide her slightly evil grin. “Although, he didn’t seem to have any difficulty with some very close-quarters dancing last night.”

“Right, so he admitted to me as well. And that’s why I think there’s more hope for Option One; he has at least some degree of physical attraction to her, and she to him, if he’s been honest in his description of their encounter.”

The younger witch was silent for a long moment, her brow furrowed in deep thought. As a new possibility took hold, her eyes lit up along with her broad grin. “Narcissa, I think I’ve got an idea,” Pansy beamed. “We have a place to start!”

“And you think it’s something Draco will accept?” his mother wondered.

“Well, I’m quite hopeful he will, but I’m not going to leave that up to him. I have a couple of Floo calls to make to put this in motion, but Draco and Granger aren’t going to know what hit them.” The two witches laughed heartily, spending another half-hour together before the younger left to begin her behind-the-scenes manipulation. They had agreed that the plan was ambitious, and had several possible pitfalls, (particularly as it required cooperation from someone with whom Pansy had had a difficult prior acquaintance) but it seemed the most likely path to success, unlikely alliances aside.

Two hours, three Floo calls, and one headache later, the basic plan was in place. Now, Pansy had only to wait for everyone to keep their promises and do their parts.

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Draco had been just a little surprised when his mother had sent an owl message to him after they’d spent a good part of the morning together, until he read its contents. While it was clear that the two witches to whom he was closest were now in cahoots, the last thing he’d expected was an etiquette lesson.

He read her note with interest and amusement:

Dearest Draco,

Since it seems that you’ve determined that Miss Granger may be a potential candidate for your affections, it would be appropriate for you to follow some of the old traditions in your interactions. I recognize that your meeting last evening was not planned, but you should treat it as though it were. Send her a Thank You note for the time you spent together, and possibly a token of a floral bouquet.

It seems that dear Pansy does support your pursuit of Miss Granger and is willing to assist us in this endeavor. I’m certain that she will contact you very soon with further details. I suggest that you take advantage of her aid.

Please do drop by for brunch on Sunday. We’ll serve at 11:00am.

With love,

Mother

Then again, Mother, he thought, what makes you think that Granger will respond to the old ways? His upbringing was rather ingrained, though, and the suggestion his mother had made was something he certainly would have done with any witch he was dating; he’d without doubt done the same for Astoria. Realizing that the gesture was unlikely to do any damage, Draco penned a note and ordered an arrangement of campanula, dark pink roses, and olive greens to be sent to the lady’s home. If for nothing more than pure entertainment value, he was deadly curious about her response. For all his amusement, Draco had been thinking about his earlier conversation with his mother for a solid two hours. It had prompted some… radical thinking. He resolved to allow it to just percolate for a bit.

Shortly after his “thank you” tokens were sent, Draco’s Floo chimed. He was unsurprised to see the face of Pansy Zabini in the flames.

“Move out of the way, love, I’m coming through,” she commanded.

He arched an eyebrow at the woman’s temerity, but stepped aside to allow her entry nonetheless. “Won’t you come in for a visit, Pans?” he drawled sarcastically.

“Hush up, you. We have work to do,” she told him with two sharp pokes to his chest.

“Ow! Trim your claws, woman.” Draco rubbed at the spot just below his clavicle that she’d attacked.

She glared at him, an expression that never failed to instill at least a little dread in any wizard to whom it was targeted. “If you want my help, Draco Malfoy, you’ll hold your tongue and do as I say.”

Feeling extraordinarily juvenile at that moment, the blond actually stuck out his tongue and grasped it between his thumb and forefinger, earning him another poke.

“Prat.”

“Bitch.”

“Since we both clearly know who and what we’re dealing with, shall we dispense with the introductions and do something productive?” Pansy imperiously offered, though the smirk she’d been desperately trying to hide chose just that moment to break through.

The two shared a laugh and a hug, and Draco ushered her to a seat in the kitchen, where he prepared tea.

“I heard from Mother. She tells me that you’ve concocted some grand scheme to get me into Granger’s good graces.”

“Well, sort of. We’ve formulated a plan that will allow you the opportunity to earn her interest. As you well know, there are no guarantees. I have, however, been able to secure an… ally of sorts in the opposite’s camp. Your job will be to show up where and when I tell you and to be your not-so-usual charming self.”

“And who is this ally?” Draco queried.

“For now, that’s none of your beeswax. I simply ensured that an appropriate person understood that you have developed an interest in mending fences and, specifically, apologizing to some people you may have… wronged in the past. Just be at the Swish & Flick again tonight at quarter after nine, and be prepared to grovel and/or dance, whichever the situation seems to warrant,” she instructed.

“Am I to assume that a certain brunette witch will also be there?”

“That’s the thinking and intention.”

Draco sighed. “I really hate manipulation, just so you know.”

“This is not manipulation; it’s orchestration. There’s a big difference,” she reasoned. “And you’re the king of manipulation, so you have no room to talk, Mister Slytherin.”

“To be more precise, then, I hate to be the target of manipulation,” he clarified.

“I know; I know: what’s good for the goose, blah, blah, blah…” she teased. “That’s rich.”

“Fine. So I need to be there tonight bearing a posy of viscaria, ferns and blue periwinkle?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“I already sent flowers today.”

“Really? What did you send?” Pansy asked eagerly.

“A bouquet of campanula, dark pink roses, and olive greens.”

“Hmm. Gratitude and peace. Not a bad start,” she complimented. “Do you think she’ll have a clue?”

“Are you kidding? This is Granger we’re talking about. She’ll have every last blossom tested, analyzed and thoroughly vetted. Besides, I sent a note with them. Her homework has been done for her this time, but she’ll get the message.”

“Draco, I didn’t give you enough credit. There may be a romantic bone in your body after all.”

“Well, that, and a mother who drilled it into me for more years than I care to remember, thank you very much,” he admitted.

“Well, whoever had the idea, it can’t hurt to pave the way.”

“I’m happy to pave the way, but the question is, to where?”

“That really depends on you. How committed are you to the idea?”

“That’s the real question, isn’t it? Since last night, and after talking with Mother this morning, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” she muttered under her breath.

“Hey! I’m being serious here. What if we admitted to ourselves that they really were right all along? That we were the ones who were completely twisted in our thinking? I’ve been adding up every piece of evidence I can think of since we got back last night, and as much as the expediency of the situation pushes me toward Granger, or someone like her…”

“Even I can admit there’s really no one like Granger…”

“Fine, but theoretically… we purebloods have literally screwed ourselves into a corner. There’s nowhere for us to go. We have failed ourselves and our society miserably with our short-sighted behavior. I’ll freely admit that I played my own part in that, but why should we perpetuate our failures just for the sake of tradition that has ultimately contributed to the veritable collapse of life as we lived it for more than a millennium?”

“Are you feeling all right, Draco? Where’s my self-centered snob of a best friend?”

“He’s spent the last twelve hours examining his conscience and his future, and found the former lacking and the latter ready for a substantial re-write.”

“So, what do we do? Throw ourselves on their mercy, beg forgiveness, and hope for a share of the crumbs? Or do we go the route of that orchestration that allows us to achieve our aims while keeping our own counsel?”

“That’s the point, Pans. I think if we want to achieve our aims, not just as individuals but as a culture, we don’t have much choice but to honestly re-think our preconceived ideas and how badly they’ve served us. We can still be true to our inherent ambitious nature; in fact, if we approach this right, we could be leaders at the forefront of a new resurgence of the wizarding world. But the path we take must now be walked with people who are not exactly like us. We may have to both find and create common ground that we’ve always thought couldn’t exist.”

“When did you become so philosophical and idealistic, Draco?”

“Since I started considering the very real consequences of my own mortality and legacy. I’ve gone along with practices that weren’t entirely square with my observations to keep peace in my family for far too long. I need to make my own mark and be my own man. This,” he bared his left forearm, “is not what I want to be remembered for,” he added solemnly.

Pansy stared at him for a long moment, apparently weighing what he’d said against what she saw in his eyes. “Sometimes, even after all the years I’ve known you, you surprise the hell out of me, Draco Malfoy. I’ll think about what you said and… ensure that whatever I do will be in keeping with both the spirit and the goals you’ve talked about. I have to go, though, so you’re on your own for now. We’ll see you at the Swish & Flick just after nine.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, poked him once more, just because she could, and activated the Floo to take her home.

Draco was left shaking his head and absently rubbing the sore spot on his chest. This, he thought, was going to be an interesting evening.

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The delivery of a note and flowers at Hermione’s house was unexpected. She was puttering around, doing chores in advance of her children returning in the next hour with their grandmother, when an enormous eagle owl carrying the substantial burden had appeared at her kitchen window.

The blossoms were magnificent, and she inhaled the fragrant aroma deeply before placing the arrangement into a large but simple crystal vase. The card had been what had really floored her. It read:

Dear Hermione,

Please accept my gift of flowers as thanks for the dance we shared last night. It was a lovely surprise to see you again after so many years. I hope that we may have the opportunity to meet again soon, on peaceful and happy terms.

My best regards,

Draco A. Malfoy

Knock me down with a feather, she thought. She concluded that he was at least attempting to be courteous and civil. That he’d even remembered their dance was a surprise; the acknowledgement was positively stunning. She resolved to chalk this up to an old rivalry being laid to rest and thought nothing more of it until her erstwhile sister-in-law appeared via Apparition in her foyer.

“Hermione! Where are you?” Ginny called out as she made her way into the kitchen.

“Hey Ginny. What brings you here? Did Molly send the kids back with you?” she wondered, looking around the woman to see where her children were hiding.

“No, and Mum’s going to keep them again tonight,” she announced.

“Oh, really? And why is that?” Hermione asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Because we’re going out again. We had such fun last night that Harry wants to get everyone together again this evening. He says it was good for you, and I can’t disagree. So, your darling children will spend one more night being spoiled by their grandparents.”

Hermione eyed the younger witch suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

“Me? Nothing!” she swore with her hand raised in promise. “Hey, who sent the flowers? Very nice!”

“I’ll give you two guesses, and if the first one isn’t ‘Draco Malfoy,’ you can try again.”

“No, he didn’t,” she breathed.

“Yes, he did. And he wrote a very sweet note. Seems like the pureblood scion is trying to make peace.”

“So, did he ask you out?”

“No, and I sincerely doubt he will. I think he’s just trying to apologize for being an arse to us, in his own way.”

“Well, there may be some truth to that, but the flowers and note weren’t sent to all of us, now, were they?”

“And I would argue that he was probably nastier to me than nearly anyone. Maybe he just going to work his way down the list, from worst to least,” Hermione offered by way of explanation.

“Hmm. Maybe. But he’s also single now, and you must admit that, regardless of how much of an arse he is, that arse is mighty fine-looking. Couldn’t hurt to have a little fun.” Ginny laughed and wiggled her eyebrows.

“Yes, he is a reasonably attractive man, but I’m not interested in playing ‘hide the salami’ with Draco Malfoy. You know that’s all he’s probably after.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Scuttlebutt has it that the reason he left Astoria was that he was looking for ‘more’ in a marriage. What that is, I couldn’t tell you. But it seems that the ferret is getting deeper in his old age.”

“They were an arranged match, weren’t they?”

“Yes, as were several others as we were coming out of the war. There are a fair handful of them that have divorced in the last year or two, so I wonder if they’re thinking about the wisdom of not marrying for love. I’m sure you’ve also heard about the problems many of them have had in delivering healthy children.”

“That’s been an on-going discussion for more than a decade. The high incidence of squibs, birth defects, and still-births in purebloods was one of the arguments the Ministry made for mixing with Half-bloods and Muggle-borns before the war. It seemed that the warnings were mostly ignored.”

“Yes, to their detriment.”

“Did Malfoy and his wife have any children?” Hermione wondered.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Ginny confirmed.

“Hmm. I wonder if that’s what caused their break-up. I’d bet that if he doesn’t have kids, his parents would disown him,” Hermione postulated.

“Knowing them, it would need to be pureblooded children, though. Where is Draco going to find another unmarried pureblood witch? There aren’t any that I know of within a hundred kilometers.”

Hermione was suddenly feeling very uneasy. “You don’t think… Nah. Never mind. That’s just way beyond crazy.”

“What?”

“Is Malfoy on the prowl for wife-cum-baby-maker number two?”

Ginny laughed aloud. “I’m sure that’s possible, but seriously, Hermione, you’d be the very last one on his list.”

“Exactly. So why is he sending me notes and flowers?”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t say. Maybe you’ll just have to ask him the next time you see him.”

“With any luck, it’ll be another four years before that happens.”

“Why? I thought you had a nice time with him last night.”

“Where did you get that idea? We had one dance.” Hermione looked at her as though she’d grown another nose.

“Just noticed that you two danced rather well together, and you were both laughing and smiling.”

“So? What was I supposed to do, hex him on the dance floor? Besides, we had both been drinking, thus our mutual state of relaxation and acceptance.”

Ginny guffawed. “Do you listen to yourself sometimes, Hermione? Really? So if we were to keep both of you tipsy and doing the vertical mamba, you might have a cordial relationship. Is that your conclusion?” She shook her head in disbelief.

“Well, I’m sure there are other circumstances under which we could be civil to each other. I just can’t think of what they might be, at the moment.”

“You, my dear sister, are priceless.” She finished the tea that Hermione had poured for her twenty minutes earlier. “So, come to our house through the Floo around eight, and we’ll all go over together.” She looked at the cuckoo clock over the sink. “I’ve got errands to run, so I’m going to scoot out of here. I’ll see you in a few hours. Dress like you mean it,” she warned as she stepped into the Floo.

“Mean what?” Hermione called to the already-departed witch.

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As crowded as the Swish & Flick had been on Friday night, it was significantly more packed on any given Saturday. This was both the reason and the methodology for phase one of Pansy and Narcissa’s plan to aid Draco in getting access to the witch they thought might be “the one” for his next steps in life. If nothing else, they’d agreed, developing cordial relationships with the former Gryffindor group would allow Draco better chances of meeting other witches, should his pursuit of Hermione Granger crash and burn like a broom afire. The war heroes were notoriously well-connected in progressive circles, which included Half-bloods, those who had once been known as Blood Traitors, and most importantly, Muggle-borns.

As agreed, the Potters, Longbottoms, Finnigans, and Ms. Granger arrived first and secured a slightly larger than strictly necessary table on the promise that the Thomas-Finch-Fletchleys and “a few other friends” might be joining them throughout the evening.

The first group settled in, had a drink, and chatted a bit before the really loud music was likely to begin in an hour or so. If Hermione noticed that both Harry and Ginny seemed to be watching the entrance intently, she didn’t comment. Their reasons for the close scrutiny, however, couldn’t have been more different. One was anticipating the arrival of someone in particular; the other was dreading the possibility that a certain person might stride through the door.

“Did I tell you that you made a perfect choice of dress tonight, Hermione?” Ginny asked for the third time.

“Yes, Ginny, you might have mentioned it. I’m very glad you like the black chiffon dress that I’ve worn at least a half dozen times before in your presence,” Hermione reminded her.

“I know, it’s just that it looks really good on you. Really emphasizes all your best attributes,” Mrs. Potter complimented.

“Must be the halter style. It shows off my shoulders. I have to say, I kind of like my shoulders.”

“As well you should. They’re very nice shoulders,” she agreed. Turning to her husband, Ginny prodded, “Harry, doesn’t Hermione have nice shoulders?”

“Uh, what?”

“Hermione’s shoulders – aren’t they nice?”

“Oh, yes. Very nice shoulders. They’re very… square, not at all droopy,” Harry noted, not really grasping what they hell his wife was getting at.

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes and taking a long drink of her red wine. She mumbled into the glass, “At least they aren’t talking about my breasts.”

As luck would have it, that was the exact moment that a second group of Hogwarts alumni approached their table.

“What was that about your breasts, Granger?” a voice whispered into her ear.

That drawl could only belong to one person. Fuck, Hermione thought. “Mister Malfoy, what a surprise to see you again, so soon,” she offered, now thinking that she was totally clear on what the group was doing out for a second night in a row. The only question was who had set her up. She had her suspicions. “And I said ‘vests,’” she lied. “We were talking about clothing.”

“Of course, my mistake and my apologies,” he allowed, not believing her for even a heartbeat. He had, after all, been bending to offer a greeting when she’d spoken.

Pansy took the opportunity of the momentary lull afforded her and greeted the group. “It’s nice to see old classmates enjoying themselves. So many of us have scattered throughout the UK that we don’t get together often.”

She made a show of looking around the terribly crowded club. “It appears that we’ve all had the same idea tonight. Well, we should be off to find a table. It was nice to see all of you.” She smiled and nodded pleasantly.

“We’ve got room here, if you’d like to join us,” a male voice was heard over the din.

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise at Harry’s invitation, but she held her tongue.

“Oh, really? Well, if you’re sure…” Pansy hedged, failing completely in sounding like there was any hesitation on her part. The first group squeezed in to make sufficient room for the three new arrivals, Draco sitting beside Ginny, who had been on one end of the U-shaped bench, and Pansy beside Hermione. Blaise dragged a chair over from another table, settling in beside his wife.

After the new arrivals ordered drinks from the passing wait-witch, Pansy cleared her throat and made eye contact with Harry. “Let’s be up-front here. We all know we weren’t friends in school, and Merlin knows there were more than a few hexes and bad feelings amongst us. The thing is, we’re all grown up now, and the world has changed. Regardless of the way we,” she nodded at her husband and her best friend, “were raised, the realities today are different. We’ve decided it’s in our best interests to recognize the fallacies of our previous thinking and embrace new things and new people. That’s why I placed that Floo call to you this morning, Harry. We want, at the very least, a détente. We are all hoping for something a bit better than that. We come in peace, and offer to bury the proverbial wand. No strings, no conditions, at least from our end. So, what do you say? Can we let bygones be bygones?”

Of all the stunned people around the table, the most shocked was easily Draco Malfoy. Whatever he’d expected Pansy to do, this was not it. She’d laid out the fundamental details of the most heart-wrenchingly personal conversation the two of them had ever had, for all their former adversaries to hear. He thanked Merlin – and his mother – for having been schooled in keeping his thoughts and emotions from being displayed all over his face. The barest blink and slightest smile were his only outward reaction. As the group, one by one, began to emerge from their stupor to offer responses to Pansy’s proposed treaty, he simply nodded in agreement and assent.

Neville, predictably, was first to reply. Though great damage had been done to his family and his time as a soldier had toughened him, his was a most gentle soul and forgiveness was something that came naturally to him. “If you’re willing to try, then so am I.” His wife’s long blonde curls swayed as she nodded her approval. “The Snorkacks have all left the building. It’s a good time for new friendships,” Luna announced.

Seamus was a little more reluctant and suspicious; he forgave less easily and forgot absolutely never. “Should you prove yourselves genuine by your actions, I’ll give ye a chance,” he stated in his clipped brogue. Hannah then spoke her mind. “I despise conflict, so if you’re willing to be cordial, I am too.”

Ginny was busy staring at her husband. She was flabbergasted that he hadn’t told her about Pansy’s call this morning. Her typically hot temper was on simmer, but it was more directed at Harry for his subterfuge than at Pansy or the other two former Slytherins. She crossed her arms and peered directly at Mrs. Zabini. “That’s a lovely speech, Pansy, and I would certainly like to believe you’re sincere. I guess I’m wondering two things: first, why the sudden change of heart, and second, what’s in it for you, and for us?”

Draco spoke up then. “If I may?” He smiled when Pansy tipped her head in deference. “Our approach to you is sudden, but the thinking behind it is not. We’ve all worked and done business with Muggle-borns and Half-bloods for years. The social and political realities have been clear for a long time. I’m certain that you recognize the influences and teachings we Slytherins were exposed to. A lifetime of taught prejudice is not overcome overnight, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t seen and suffered from the errors we made. Hermione alone is pretty solid proof that what we believed about pureblood supremacy just didn’t hold water. We also know that the number of purebloods has been dwindling rapidly, and we’re learning the hard way that just about everything you warned us about years ago was correct. We were wrong. We want to make amends.”

“So if we accept that as your motivation, what about the second part of my question? What’s in it for you, and for us?” Ginny pressed.

“It allows all of us to survive, and maybe even to thrive beyond where we are now. If we don’t start figuring out ways to integrate into the broader wizarding society, the purebloods will be completely gone in just a generation, two at the very most. We know that many of the old ways are… unpalatable. We also know that some of our historical traditions and knowledge are what makes our world worth living in.

“You may have heard that my wife and I recently divorced, and that’s true. I’m fond of Astoria, but we were never in love. Arranged marriages are one of the old traditions that need to be abandoned. We want our own choices. We want to be able to build our own families with whom we choose, not because of a political alliance desired by our parents’, or worse, our great-grandparents’ decrees. Many of us will live with the consequences of their thinking for years, but we don’t want those same shackles on our children, if we’re lucky enough to have them. It has to stop, and we need to take back control of our own lives.” When Draco stopped speaking, he noticed that he’d leaned in to the table and that his breath was coming more quickly with the passion of his declaration. Damn, he thought,there’s more truth than I’ve spoken in years, truth I didn’t know until it spilled from my own lips.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I’ve let my passions run away.”

“Don’t apologize for that, Draco. It feels like the first really honest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

All eyes turned to Hermione. “What? I appreciate his candor.”

Harry, who had been silent after Pansy’s initial declaration, spoke next. “When Pansy called me this morning, asking me to gather our group, I was initially reluctant. Then on second thought, I had no choice but to agree. All of us, the Slytherins included, have seen the ill-effects of small-minded bigotry and ingrained prejudice. We’re such a small community, when you think about it. The Muggles out-number us by easily a million to one. If the wizarding world is to survive to the next century, we need to do everything we can to build ourselves from within. The more in-fighting and squabbles we have between us, the less likely that we’d be able to survive any external threat, and the less likely that we’ll preserve what’s worth keeping, at our own expense. I agree with Pansy. We’ve done enough to tear ourselves apart over the years. For once, even if it’s only within this small group, let’s do something that joins us together.”

He turned to Draco. “I know that many of the things you did when we were in school were not of your choosing. You and I both know exactly what happened on the Astronomy Tower. And we both know what happened during the final battle. You knew then, Malfoy. And I appreciate how difficult it is to tear yourself away from what your family has done for, in your case literally, a thousand years. The courage you’ve all shown today in reaching out, if you are as sincere as I think you are, easily meets Godric’s own.” Harry extended his hand across the table. “My name is Harry Potter, and we should be allies.”

Draco had to struggle not to allow his jaw to drop. He reached across, meeting the dark-haired wizard half-way. “And I’m Draco Malfoy, at your service.” One firm grasp sealed a new pact.

Blaise Zabini had watched the whole interaction, taking in everything. He wondered just how much of what his wife and best mate had said was genuine, and how much was to meet Draco’s unspoken agenda. He had been astonished at Draco’s vehemence and at his wife’s seemingly straight-forward approach. If they were both as serious as they sounded, this was a watershed moment. Too heavy for my tastes on a Saturday night, he thought. “Now that we’ve all declared our mutual love and respect, I propose a toast.” He lifted his Firewhisky toward the center of the table. “To a new era of success, fruitful prosperity, and cooperation in wizarding relations.” As they all tapped glasses and drank, he smirked at Draco, who undoubtedly caught his double entendre, and was impressed by the blond’s ability to keep a straight face. Maybe the wanker did mean it, Merlin help us.

While Hermione had made a brief comment directly in response to Draco’s embarrassed apology, she had not made a broader statement. She watched and listened as the couples to her right and left conversed about relatively safe topics such as Quidditch (though any discussion between a Harpies fan and a Cannons fan was likely to erupt into fisticuffs) and career choices. As libations continued to flow, the topics became lighter and laughter more free. Soon, couples decided to take a turn or two on the dance floor, which left two single people alone at the table.

She broke the silence between them. “Thank you for the note and flowers. They were unnecessary, but appreciated.”

“My mother raised me to be a gentleman, Hermione.” He paused for a moment. “I know it probably sounds a little odd for me call you by your given name, but I hope you’re not offended. Somehow, it doesn’t feel right to call you ‘Granger’ any longer.”

“Well, technically, I am ‘Granger’ again, so if you feel more comfortable with that, I won’t hex you.” She softened the comment with a twist of her lips.

“I’d heard. Sounds like you and I are sort of in the same boat.”

“How so?”

“Just that we’re both single again. Regardless of how badly I may have treated you, I always thought that you deserved better than Weasley. You were so out of his league,” he commented, undoubtedly trying to make it a compliment.

“Thanks, I think.”

“No, I just meant that people who are trying to be friends generally don’t call each other by their surnames. It’s not terribly… uh, friendly.” Draco flushed with mortification at his awkward and fumbling choice of words. “Sorry, I guess my chatting-up skills are a bit rusty. I feel like a fifth year on his first date. Oh, not that I think this is a date; I mean, just comparatively, skill-wise, I apparently, um, suck.”

Hermione laughed out loud. “Draco, will you relax? By Merlin and Morgana, there’s no need to try to impress me.”

“Well, there may be no need, but I certainly don’t want you to think of me as a bumbling fool. I generally have more than two functioning brain cells to rub together.”

“I seem to recall that you were always neck-and-neck with me in class ranking.”

“Academics skill doesn’t necessarily equate to social facility. While my goal is not specifically to charm the knickers off you, I’d prefer you don’t think me a complete social moron.”

“And you’re back in stride,” she chuckled as she sipped her glass of merlot.

He smirked cheekily and then sat quietly for a moment, the debate going on in his head evident on his furrowed brow. Because the noise of the music and conversation was nearly deafening, Draco slid over a couple of seats so that what he had to say remained private between him and the woman who was twirling the stem of her glass between two slim fingers.

“Hermione, until I spoke a few minutes ago, I hadn’t ever really articulated those thoughts and feelings in such a stark way. I understood them, and felt them in varying degrees over the years, but never had I been able to express them. They came to me slowly and gradually, and only very recently have they jelled so clearly, partly because of recent events in my own life. I sent you that note and the flowers because I wanted you to know that you are in every way an equal to everyone else in our world, and you deserve every courtesy that I would extend, no matter what the occasion. I was so thoroughly wrong about you when we were kids, and even if it’s taken me better than ten years to truly absorb what that means to me, I want you to know how genuinely sorry I am for the hurt I caused.”

“How honest do you intend to be with me, Mal… uh, Draco? Because as much as I’d love to believe that your change of heart is altruistic and lasting, I can’t help but feel that there’s a subtext,” she challenged, but not unkindly.

This was a moment of truth. Just how far would he go in either baring his soul or in obfuscating? If he were true to the comments both he and Pansy had made, he go all in and tell her everything, or nearly everything. Or he could offer a reasonable pretense based on the selfless premise they’d shared.

He breathed deeply and looked her in the eye. “If you had asked me that question a couple of months, or even weeks ago, I’d have answered differently. The last few years have been challenging for me in ways I never expected. My wife and I… our marriage was not successful on several fronts, and that has forced me to reflect on what I really want in my life, and why. I know that I want to marry again someday, but my next wife will be a very different person, and she’ll be getting a very different Draco.”

“If it’s not too personal, may I ask why you and Astoria divorced? It’s very unusual in pureblood marriages, I understand.” Neither seemed to notice or care that the extreme noise levels were forcing them to speak directly into the other’s ears.

“We divorced because our marriage contract required it,” he said with a bark of a laugh. He saw the confusion and surprise in Hermione’s eyes. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. “We were unable to conceive a child in our seven years of marriage. Our agreement was iron-clad. We had to divorce. No need to cry a tear for us, though. I was… am fond of her, but we never loved each other. As I mentioned earlier, our marriage was arranged.” He stopped for a minute, debating just how far he was willing to go.

“My family’s inheritance rules and political power have always been based on our total blood purity. That very essence of life is our eventual un-doing. You and your friends were right years ago when you said that our in-breeding would be the death of us. Astoria will almost certainly never have children. My own chances are… less bad. But the one thing I’ve learned in all of this misery is that, maybe partly because it’s been so difficult to achieve, I want, more than anything, to be a father. A good one, who allows his children to form their own opinions and make their own decisions. Who guides and counsels rather than coercing and forcing. And I want a wife who’s a fully equal partner in building our family, should we be lucky enough to have one. Astoria was sweet, in her own way, but she wasn’t the stimulating challenge that I think I prefer.” He saw Hermione’s eyebrow arch at his choice of words.

“Not in the bedroom, Granger, I mean mentally stimulating,” he clarified with a wolfish grin. “Astoria was… kind of… thick.” He covered his face with both hands and laughed heartily for a moment. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve always thought that about her, but never had the guts to say it aloud. Must be all the Firewhisky,” he attempted to excuse his indecorous remark.

“You’ve only had two, Draco,” Hermione observed.

“Hunh. So I have. I wonder why I’m spilling my guts to you. Any insight to offer on that?”

“Haven’t a clue, although I have been known to let people cry on my shoulder from time to time.”

“That must be it: your plainly sympathetic soul reaching out for poor sods like me.”

“So what’s next for you?”

“Pardon?”

“What is your plan? How do you intend to move forward?”

“Oh, well, I can’t say that I really have a plan, unless you consider broadening my social circle and being truer to my own heart.”

“Is that what this is about? Broadening your social circle?” she asked, suspiciously.

“In small part, yes, but it’s actually a pretty powerful political stand. The impact of a Malfoy acknowledging the folly of old pureblood marriage practices is incalculable. Not to be self-centered, Hermione, but people will pay attention when I marry someone other than another pureblood. It will signal a sea change.”

“Do you really believe what you’re telling me, Draco, or is this some line you’re cooking up to suit your own ends?”

“Hermione, if I were playing a game here, I’d never have mentioned a single word about my own problems. I’ve done a lot of thinking and soul-searching (since midnight last night, he silently added) and I swear on Merlin’s wand, I’ve had an earth-shaking change of mind and heart.”

“I hope that’s the case. It will make your life richer and fuller in ways you can’t even imagine.”

“I’m sort of counting on that,” he replied, keeping eye contact with the dark-haired witch beside him.

They sat companionably, sipping at their drinks and listening to the music. Finally, Draco mustered enough courage to speak again.

“Would you like to dance?”

She shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

He took her hand and escorted her to the dance floor, where they tucked in among the crowd. The song was similar to the one they’d danced to the previous evening, and they quickly fell into an easy rhythm, allowing the music to take them where it would.

“You’re a good dancer,” he told her as he leaned into her body. “Lots of natural rhythm.”

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Years of dance lessons when I was a kid.” They were stunned when exactly the same phrase left both of their mouths in unison. Laughter quickly followed, somewhat lost in the noise of the loud music.

“See? We have something in common besides Hogwarts,” he observed, leaning in even closer and speaking into her ear.

“Is that important?” she wondered, following suit.

“It’s generally preferable for friendly-type people to have more than one interest in common. Cuts down on the long lulls in conversation,” he replied.

“Somehow, I don’t think boredom would be an issue in spending time with you. That rapier wit, even when it was directed at me, was something to behold, Draco.”

“I recall getting as much as I gave with you, Hermione. And I think you’re still one-up on me in the ‘besting’ department, and likely to remain so,” he noted.

“How so?” she asked, a bit confused.

“Fourth year. One broken nose,” he reminded her with a bit of a shudder. “Regardless of how much of a cad I am with my words, I do not, have not, and will not ever strike a woman. Thus, you have bested me in the physical assault department and so it will be.” He smirked and winked, trying to convey the message that he was simply teasing.

“I’ll try to keep violence to a minimum, should we have occasion to spend any time together,” she promised.

“And I’ll be sure to temper my tendencies to provoke. Old habits, so they say.”

“I suppose it depends on what the provocation is and what reaction you’re trying to elicit.”

“Touché, Miss Granger. I’ll amend my pledge to provoke only positive interaction.”

“By whose definition?”

“Hmmm. Fair point. We may need to collaborate on a list.”

“And at the top of that list?” she prompted.

“Dancing, without a question.”

“I will stipulate to that request.”

“How about… fine drink and dining?” he proposed.

“There could be occasions where such interaction would be acceptable. For instance, we are sharing fine – okay, adequate – drink at this establishment this evening,” she noted.

“Ah, another shared interest?”

“Possibly. Should I take it to mean that you prefer a high-quality libation over a quick buzz?”

He pulled back slightly to look at her, as if to say… Are you kidding?

“Of course, utterly foolish question. And yes, I prefer smaller quantities of higher quality.”

“You may have noticed, the list of shared interests has tripled.”

“I had. Should we explore what else might make the list?”

“What could it hur…” Draco’s question was abruptly interrupted and his eyes went first wide, then narrow at the approaching figure. Before he had the time to formulate another word, his dance partner had been suddenly wrenched away by a clearly intoxicated and utterly furious Ron Weasley.

Hermione squealed in surprise, followed by pain where the red-head had tightly gripped her arm, and finally anger when she saw who the interloper was. “Let go of me, Ron,” she ordered from between clenched teeth.

“No, ‘Mione. You’re mine and I’m taking you home with me now. Besides that, what are you doing with this fucker?” His words were slurred and his eyes unfocused. It was surprising that he’d even noticed the other wizard.

“Let me go. Now.”

He tried to use his substantial height and weight advantage to pull her off the dance floor.

Draco stepped closer. “I believe the lady asked you to release her. I suggest you comply with her request.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?” Ron sneered.

“You really don’t want to find out. Let her go and leave,” he ordered, his voice low and deadly.

By now, the little drama playing out on the dance floor began to attract a little attention. Ginny approached, speaking to Ron from behind. “I told you not to come here tonight. Haven’t you done enough damage already? Leave her alone. You had your chance and threw it away,” she angrily scolded her brother.

“But I love her. I miss her,” he whinged.

“No, Ron. You don’t love me and I’m not sure you ever did. You relied on me. You used me. You depended on me. And I don’t deny that you may miss me. But love? I don’t think so. It’s long over, and I want you to let me go,” she told him, sadly and solemnly.

“No! You’re mine!” he insisted.

Draco had had enough. “I’m giving you one last warning, Weasley. Release her immediately or suffer the consequences.”

“What the fuck do you have to say about it?” Ron snarled.

“This.” He pulled his wand from its pocket in a flash, casting a lightning-fast Stupefy which ensured that his grip on Hermione would fail. Draco reached out for her and tucked her body behind his protectively. He pointed the wand at Ron again and uttered a quiet, focused Incarcerous which bound only his wrists.

Harry stepped up now and grasped Ron’s arm. “I’ll take him out of here,” he said, Apparating the two of them away.

Hermione moved from behind Draco and faced him squarely, with her hands on her hips. “I’m not sure whether to thank you or throttle you.”

“Uh…”

“I can handle Ron, you know.”

“I have no doubt of that. My concern was that your wand was most likely in your purse at the table and without it at hand to defend yourself, and there was every possibility that he would Apparate away with you. I didn’t want to see you in jeopardy. I’m sorry if I stepped over the bounds.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well, that’s true. I didn’t think of that,” she admitted. Hermione flushed as she realized that the wine had probably clouded her judgment, and dulled her reflexes, more than she’d thought. “Then I guess I’ll have to go with the thank you option.”

He bowed slightly. “At your service, madam.” He thought for a second. “I do, however, require recompense for my chivalrous act.”

“Oh?” she asked, arching an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Yes, it’s in the damsel-rescuing manual. ‘The rescuer may request a small token of appreciation from the rescue-ee,’ it says. I think it’s on page twelve.”

“Oh, well, if it’s in the manual, how can I refuse? What is this payment you require, Sir Draco?” she asked with great amusement.

“I require the pleasure of your company. For fine dinner and drink. Oh, and dancing, too. But not this kind of dancing. The real kind, where I actually hold you in proper frame and we glide across the floor to Mozart or Strauss. It would be such a shame to let all those dancing lessons go to waste, don’t you think?” He looked at her, his expression more hopeful than she’d expected it to be.

“Since there’s no question that the manual states this request is your prerogative, I suppose I have no choice but to accept. In fact, there’s probably even a requirement in the damsel’s manual, probably on page thirty, that I do. The dancing part has merit too. My parents would be so grateful that all that tuition expense had not been for nothing,” she agreed. “When do you propose to collect your payment?”

“Oh, these things must be settled as soon as possible, or interest accrues on your debt, thus requiring additional payment. Then again, that may not be such a bad idea,” he mused, ostensibly to himself. He smiled at her and was glad to see that she was smiling – or maybe it was a smirk – right back.

“Seriously, Hermione. I think I’d like to get to know the fascinating woman I failed to recognize when we were kids. I think we may be more alike than we are different. Are you willing to find out?”

“I think I am. How about next Saturday?” she proposed.

“It’s only half nine. How about now?” he countered, offering his hand. Intrigued and curious, she accepted it with a nod and a grin.

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The Essence of Life