Chapter Text
How Does One Jacob Black?
Matthew slides their wands into a metal lockbox without ceremony, as if he were tucking away umbrellas instead of extensions of their very souls.
Malfoy’s brows furrow at the lock’s click. His lips turn up slightly, not bothering to hide his distrust aimed pointedly at Matthew.
“Lovely,” Malfoy says dryly. “A simple lockbox. Excellent security.”
Hermione resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Our wands will be safe.” At Malfoy’s incredulous look, she tilts her head toward Matthew. “Do you really believe anyone would try anything against this gentleman?”
As if to punctuate her statement, Matthew deepens his intimidating scowl. The stool underneath him groans as he straightens his spine and crosses his treetrunk arms over his broad chest. His penetrating gaze remains unblinking.
The princely wizard rolls his shoulders back, maintaining a poised posture. “I suppose not.”
“Definitely not.” Hermione reaches into her bag, pulling out her purse and placing it on the Redwood desk. “I have some Galleons to exchange.”
“Put that away, Granger. Your Ministry money is no good here.” Malfoy nudges her purse away with the tips of his fingers, like it’s a used handkerchief, while pulling out his pouch from his pocket. “What’s the exchange rate?”
“One Galleon is twenty-five dollars,” Matthew answers.
Hermione adds, “American No-Maj currency. They use paper money and call it cash.”
After the exchange, Malfoy stares at the stack of dollar bills in his hand with repugnance as if the very idea of stuffing this crinkly, odd-scented currency into his dragonhide pouch would be a grave insult to his wallet.
“You will receive your gemstones through that door.” Matthew gestures to his right. “Lucky for you, the Gemkeeper is better with difficult personalities than I am.”
Malfoy lifts his chin. “Thanks, Matt.” Hermione jabs her elbow into his ribs. “I mean … mate. Thanks, mate.”
Hermione huffs out a sigh and loops her arm through Malfoy’s, steering him through the door before either man can speak another word.
He makes no effort to disentangle himself.
The floor slopes down, taking them underground. As they descend, the walls begin to smell strongly of earth. The air presses closer, heavy, warm, and slightly humid.
The dim hallway opens up into a chamber lit by floating gemstones, glowing like stars in the night sky. Sturdy Redwood shelves padded with dark leather line the back wall. Resting in the shelves are dozens of baskets woven from conifer roots, their bold geometric patterns as beautiful as they are practical.
An old man with deep wrinkles on his face sits in the center of the room with a large smile and radiant eyes. The Gemkeeper sits on a sea of pillows surrounded by a cluster of bright gemstones shining white with a tinge of pink.
“Hermione Granger!” the Gemkeeper bellows happily. The pillow underneath him slowly rises just high enough for him to stand, then floats down like an autumn leaf. He shuffles toward them with a toothy smile.
She offers a genuine smile in return as she inhales the warm air. “Hello, David.”
“Oh-ho-ho!” the Gemkeeper prolongs his exclamation with glee, leaning on his staff. “I see you brought a boy!”
“A boy?” Malfoy tugs lightly on her arm while arching a brow.
Hermione had completely forgotten that their arms were still linked. She attempts to pull free, but Malfoy holds tighter, trapping her hand against his forearm.
The Gemkeeper gives an exaggerated frown. “Does this mean I should cancel your dinner reservations with Matthew?”
“What?” Hermione and Malfoy both say—a squeak and a growl.
David howls with laughter, a joyful and melodic sound. “I’m kidding!” He chuckles some more. “Or am I? I do wish my grandson would settle down and give me some great-grandchildren. Perhaps if you two don’t work out…?”
“We’re not—”
“Not a chance.”
Hermione and Malfoy speak at the same time again, but this time saying very different things. She whips her head and stares up at him with reproach.
“What do you mean, ‘not a chance’?”
Malfoy meets her gaze, but something wavers across his self-assured features. For a moment, he isn’t composed—he’s hesitating.
“He’s not your type.”
This again? Hermione scoffs and rips her hand from his side, crossing her arms. “Well, then. Do enlighten me. What is my type?”
A flicker of annoyance crosses his face at losing his grip on her, but then it vanishes. In fact, her reaction seems to embolden him. His aristocratic composure returns, and his lips curl with a smirk.
“Your type,” he says, his voice like silk, “is someone who challenges you.” He closes the gap between them, close enough that the air feels energized.
Hermione inhales the scent of him—something musky yet sweet—and exhales a shuddering breath.
Malfoy leans down, his breath tickling her ear. “Someone ambitious.” He backs away only a fraction to stare into her eyes. “Is that enlightening enough for you?”
Her throat constricts as she tries to swallow. She should answer his question. She should deny that he has described her ideal man with infuriating accuracy. She should remind him that this should remain professional. She should tell him to stop flirting with her. But when Hermione opens her mouth, nothing comes out.
For a breathless second, neither of them moves.
Until David’s delighted chuckle breaks the moment. “Oh, I like this boy! Come closer, you two, come closer! I am eager to see how your gems harmonize with your hearts!”
Hermione crosses the chamber with haste, thankful for the interruption. Malfoy joins her at a leisurely pace, a satisfied grin on his face.
It is most unnerving.
Three pillows rise from the floor. David and Hermione ease onto them as they glide back down, sitting cross-legged in a meditative position. Malfoy’s pillow bumps into him impatiently.
“Just sit,” Hermione whispers, perhaps a little too harshly. She meets David’s curious gaze and blushes. “The pillow will catch you, Draco.”
His eyes snap to hers at the sound of his first name. “As you wish.” With a bit of caution, he sits, and the pillow lowers him to the floor next to Hermione. His eyes never leave hers.
Oh dear.
David tilts his head, studying Malfoy with curious eyes. “You know... you remind me of someone.” He taps his chin thoughtfully, then shakes his head with a small shrug. “Ah, well. It’ll come to me.”
Lost in those grey-blue eyes, she barely registers the Gemkeeper’s words.
“Hermione.”
Finally jostled out of her trance, her eyes leap to David’s. He sits close enough to where their knees almost touch, his hands held out, palms up. He wiggles his brows, waiting with a cheeky smile. She returns his look with a chiding expression, although it’s completely undermined by a smile that’s trying to break free from her tight lips.
Hermione places her hands in his. At once, she feels a tingly heat from David’s hands. The sensation flows up her arms and into her chest, weighty yet soothing—like a comforting hug.
The Gemkeeper hums thoughtfully, then cracks another wide smile. “Miss Hermione, you have outgrown your twenty-carat rough Clear Quartz!”
“Outgrown?” her voice pitches up with confusion. “But I am fond of my gemstone. It brought me great focus when I first arrived here. I should need it again on this visit.”
“Oh, no no no.” David shakes his head. “The Quartz brings inward focus, which you have already achieved. No, you need…” He pauses, his bright eyes grow unfocused. “Oh. How interesting.”
“What? What is it?”
The Gemkeeper releases her hands with a burst of giddy laughter. He stands slowly with the aid of his pillow and makes his way to the shelves. As if guided by an unseen beacon, David reaches into the last basket in the middle shelf. The sound of gemstones clattering together around his hand echoes loudly, despite his excited murmurings.
When he turns around, the Gemkeeper beams.
“You need a hybrid!” He hurries back to his floating pillow with a pep in his step and a stone clutched loosely in his bony hand. He settles on his cushion and holds out his hand toward Hermione. “Thirty-carat polished Jasper Agate.”
Hermione inhales sharply the moment she sees her new gemstone. The smooth, flat gem is a vivid red mottled with golden-brown veins. She can feel the magic inside her singing as she takes it from David’s warm hand.
“Yes, very interesting,” the Gemkeeper says reverently, while sneaking a peculiar glance at Malfoy. “Jasper is known for its nurturing properties, and Agate offers emotional stability. Medium weight—more balanced power.”
“Does its polish contribute anything?” Malfoy asks, leaning closer to inspect her gemstone.
“Oh, yes! All three gem categories are significant! The type of gemstone amplifies a particular magical power. The weight—light, medium, or heavy—affects the gem’s power capacity. The texture, or finish, regulates how the magic flows: rough for those still discovering themselves, and polished for those who’ve done the work of self-reflection.”
Hermione jerks her head up from her Jasper Agate. “So this signifies personal growth?”
“As I said, Miss Hermione, you have outgrown your previous gemstone.”
Her heart soars with pride—
“It had to be Gryffindor red,” Malfoy drawls. “Now she’ll be insufferable.”
—and crashes back down.
“Excuse me?”
He smirks, positively delighted by her reaction. “You’re holding it like you’ve just won the House Cup. Shall we brace ourselves for a speech?”
Hermione straightens her spine with indignation, but wavers. If she grows defensive, she proves his point. If she embraces it, she also proves his point.
Infernal man.
She settles on wrinkling her nose at him in a silent show of defiance.
David laughs cheerfully at their exchange, as though he sees far more than either of them intends. His laughter fades into a contemplative sigh, and his faraway eyes bore into Malfoy.
“Your turn, Draco Malfoy.” He holds out his weathered hands, palm up, but Malfoy falters. “Don’t be shy, my boy. You will find no judgment from me, only awareness. I only wish to reveal what your magic needs.”
A look passes between the men, something Hermione cannot identify; a private conversation with just their eyes.
Interesting.
Malfoy nods once and places his hands in the Gemkeeper’s.
David is quiet for an unusually long time. His brows furrow deeply, amplifying his many wrinkles. The chamber feels much smaller in the silence.
“You are bonded to someone very dark,” the Gemkeeper speaks hoarsely, as if it pained him.
“He’s dead,” Malfoy rasps. “I feel no remorse.”
The old man cants his head. “Yet you are still connected, even in death. This magic is … depraved.” His eyes narrow even more. “Forced.”
Malfoy says nothing.
“You need a powerful gemstone.”
The Gemkeeper’s pillow rises, and he wordlessly bends down to the bottom shelf, third basket. When he turns around, his features are solemn. For the first time, Hermione can see the family resemblance, Matthew’s serious expression manifesting on his face.
“Draco, my boy, this gemstone requires your utmost respect.” David sits down on his pillow, holding the gemstone with reverent hands as he extends them. “Fifty-carat polished Serpentine.”
The large cabochon gem is a deep green marbled with lighter streaks of green. Although it’s not her gemstone, Hermione feels a strange pull towards it. The Jasper Agate in her hand quivers.
“Serpentine is a sacred stone, deeply connected with the earth. It is also known for transformation.” David leans forward, staring deep into Malfoy’s eyes. “Keep your heart open, and your gem will flow with power.”
Hermione doesn’t breathe; the room is too heavy with the weight of the Gemkeeper’s somber demeanor. A bead of sweat slides down Malfoy’s temple, the rest of him absolutely still.
“Well then!” David claps his hands together, startling both witch and wizard. He smiles, wide and full of teeth, as if the last thirty seconds never happened. “You have your gemstones now, and I can hear them both singing! Wonderful! Wonderful!”
Reeling from emotional whiplash, Hermione forces a smile, despite her racing heart. She sneaks a glance at Malfoy, whose eyes have grown wide with bewilderment, looking as jarred as she feels.
“Now,” David stretches out his right arm, and a tackle box scrapes across the floor toward him. “To draw magic from your gemstone, they need to be in your possession. Some Mystics keep them in their pockets.” David sticks out his tongue and blows a raspberry. “But most Mystics display them proudly and wear them as necklaces or bracelets.” He reaches inside the tackle box and pulls out several leather cords of varying length.
Hermione studies her Jasper Agate, turning it over in her palm. It’s so much more striking than her previous gemstone. The red and golden-brown colors shine brightly underneath the glowing gemstones above her.
“Bracelet, please,” she answers confidently, handing back her gem. “I wore my Clear Quartz as a necklace last time, and it kept getting in the way when I leaned over my books. Besides,” Hermione winks at the Gemkeeper, “this stone is far too pretty to hide.”
David beams. “Excellent choice!”
He selects a delicate, braided cord and murmurs to it. At once, the leather lifts from his palm, hovering as if caught in an unseen current. It twists and threads itself around the Jasper Agate, weaving into a tight bezel that hugs the stone in a neat oval frame. David watches fondly, offering corrections as the cord tightens into a beautiful lattice.
In no time, the leather cord ties its final knot and falls limp in the Gemkeeper’s hands. He trims the excess leather and ties the bracelet around Hermione’s wrist.
The stone rests comfortably on her pulse point, warm and steady. She smiles brightly, unable to contain it. How lovely it is to have a visible reminder of her improvement.
“Admiring your progress?” Malfoy jeers with a lift of his brow.
Hermione gives him a look of disdain for ruining her moment.
Malfoy turns his own gemstone in his hands before leaning down and whispering, “Mine came polished, you see.”
Her brows slam down so hard, it’s a wonder they don’t create an audible sound. She opens her mouth to sort out his arrogance, but he cuts her off in the most surprising way.
“Although, to be honest, it hasn’t come easy for me,” he says quietly, his eyes softening as he examines the Serpentine in his sculpted hands. “I had a very long and trying road of self-reflection these past twelve years. It is … rewarding to see proof of it.”
Hermione’s chest constricts as she exhales weakly. In the soft glow of gemstones, he looks reflective and careful as he strokes his gemstone. Her own gemstone grows hot on her wrist, pulsing with life. Then, quite suddenly, words she never would’ve thought she’d ever say to her childhood bully pour out of her mouth.
“You’re right. And I am so very pleased to see that your gemstone has such a beautiful polish. You have earned it.”
His shoulders stiffen, and his hands cease stroking his gemstone. He grips it tightly in his fist and brings it to his chest. Without looking at her, Malfoy mutters a thank you, almost too gently to hear.
“So beautiful!” David croons, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. “Your gemstones are already singing with magic!”
Are they?
Hermione mulls that over. Her Jasper Agate is known for its nurturing properties and emotional stability, but did her gemstone compel her to say those words to Malfoy? Did it sense that he needed those supportive words from her?
Maybe.
Her words felt genuine, fizzing inside her until they bubbled over. She truly does want to see him grow.
The realization hits her like the countercurse to a Confundus Charm. The thoughts were always hers; the gemstone simply encouraged her to express them.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Malfoy huffs, passing the gemstone from one hand to the other, as though it is a mere trinket.
David’s cheeks lift into a meaningful smile. He titters before saying, “Very true, my boy. Let us see how the river flows.” He undulates his arthritic hands. “But first, how will you wear your Serpentine?”
Malfoy stills his hands, his gaze concentrating on nothing in particular, then holds out his gemstone. “Necklace.”
“Ah, close to the heart.” David nods in understanding.
Malfoy curls his lip—still not used to being seen so clearly—and gives an irritated snort.
The Gemkeeper flashes him a toothy grin and selects a long, dark cord from the tackle box. He whispers to it, and—like a serpent—the cord writhes and rises. It twists itself into a loose, crisscrossed pattern over the Serpentine's surface. As the intricate diamond lattice pattern forms, the gemstone is cradled rather than bound, suspended and untamed within the netting.
The leather cord finishes its final knot with a flourish and pools into a coiled pile in the Gemkeeper’s hands. After a few trims of excess leather, he proudly hands the necklace to Malfoy.
The moment it rests against his chest, he immediately tucks the Serpentine beneath his shirt, adjusting his collar to conceal the leather cord.
“Hmm,” David remarks, rubbing his chin. “I see you prefer to keep your transformation private.”
Malfoy’s jaw tightens. “Not everything means something.”
“And some things mean everything!” The Gemkeeper spreads his arms wide. “One only needs eyes to see it.”
Hermione says nothing at first, only watches the way Malfoy’s fingers linger at his collar. As if he’s reassuring himself the gemstone is still there, hidden and safe.
“Although,” she begins carefully, “some things take longer to reveal themselves.”
Both men whip their heads in her direction. She offers an innocent smile, softening when her eyes meet Malfoy’s.
“Hermione Granger!” the Gemkeeper chortles. “That Clear Quartz has certainly left its mark! Very intuitive of you.”
“Ten points to Gryffindor,” Malfoy mutters, just loud enough for Hermione to hear.
The moment lingers for a heartbeat.
“Come!” David declares joyously, and his pillow begins to rise from the ground. “I will show you where you can practice—” He stops mid-sentence, snapping his fingers. “Oh! I remember now!”
Hermione’s and Malfoy’s pillows stop halfway, floating at an awkward height, making it too difficult to stand.
David continues, ignoring their plight and pointing to Malfoy excitedly. “I know who you remind me of! He’s from that movie! The one all the young girls are crazy about. ‘Moonlight’!”
“I believe you mean, ‘Twilight,’” Hermione corrects gently, though she can’t stop her lips from twitching.
“Yes! That’s the one!” he beams. “ You remind me of the vampire boy!”
“Edward Cullen?” Hermione supplies, her lips trembling until a smirk finally breaks free.
“Yes! Edward!” David nods with great enthusiasm.
Her smirk grows as she turns to Malfoy. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Malfoy lifts his chin as regally as possible in his half-sitting, half-standing position. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Oh, you should,” Hermione says innocently. “He sparkles in the sunlight.”
His expression flattens. “I take it back. How does one Jacob Black?”
A laugh escapes her lips before she can stop it. “Sorry, I don’t think you have the temperament for it.”
Malfoy harrumphs. “Clearly, Team Draco is the best option then.”
“I agree with you there, my boy!” David pumps his fist into the air. “Team Draco!”
On cue, their pillows rise all the way up, inflating Malfoy’s ego even more as he elegantly rises to his feet and thanks his number one fan.
Oh, good Lord.
After giving Malfoy a (highly unnecessary) congratulatory back-slap, the Gemkeeper picks up right where he left off. “Come! I will show you where you can practice your gemstone magic.”
He meanders to the back of the chamber next to the shelves to a seemingly blank wall. With a press of his wrinkled hand, a doorknob materializes in his grip. A rectangular outline of light shines brightly from floor to ceiling, gradually fading as it begins to take shape into a rustic, Redwood-carved door.
Hermione and Malfoy approach—her with excitement, him with curiosity—and are met with a blast of chilly wind as David opens the door with a loud creak. The door’s rusty hinges are immediately drowned out by the roar of the ocean waves.
“Well, as you Brits say,” David waves his arm over the threshold, “off you pop!” he says with a thick (and charmingly terrible) Cockney accent.
Hermione steps through the portal and smiles as salt spray stings her lips, tasting like brine and kelp. She tilts her head into the glorious sunshine, delighting in its warmth. The sea fret of low clouds has finally rolled further inland, away from the coast, warming her face despite the chilly wind.
Malfoy stands next to her, his eyes darting around and taking in their new surroundings. His hair gets swept up in the breeze, exposing more of his eyes. They look more blue than grey in the sunlight. How lovely.
Wait, lovely? No, not lovely! They are just eyes. Perfectly ordinary eyes that happen to look more blue than grey in certain light. Nothing lovely about them. The sky is blue, the ocean is blue. Now, those are lovely.
“Ah, lovely!”
She stiffens at David’s declaration.
“The sun is out!”
Oh.
“Anyway, this is False Klamath,” the Gemkeeper explains to Malfoy, shaking Hermione from her thoughts. “It’s a small, rocky island off the coast. It’s warded, so you can practice your gemstone magic without being seen or heard by No-Majs.” David looks at his bare wrist as if checking the time. “Well, I’d better get going. Thanks for coming! Enjoy your gemstones!”
“Wait!” Hermione calls. “You’re not joining us?”
David had personally shown her how to channel magic through her Clear Quartz when she was here last. It was a rocky start (no pun intended), but he was patient and coached her through it all. But now? This Jasper Agate feels different. What if she needs his guidance? The Gemkeeper’s wide smile squashes her mild panic.
“You do not need my help, Hermione,” he says with a chuckle. His eyes flick to Malfoy, which linger on the wizard in a peculiar way. David’s smile tweaks into something … cheeky. “In fact, you are in very good hands!”
“David,” Hermione says warily. “What are you—”
“Remember,” he backs up slowly, grabbing the door, “press your hand on this rock here to call upon the door. It’ll lead you through the janitor’s closet attached to the bathrooms in the parking lot. Good luck!” He makes this final exclamation to Malfoy, deploys a suspicious wink, and slams the door closed. The portal gleams brightly before fading into nothingness.
Hermione’s hair whips in the wind as she turns to Malfoy. “What was that about?”
Malfoy has the nerve to look innocent. “How should I know?”
“Because David is apparently Team Draco.”
“And that’s a bad thing? I say it’s outstanding. He’s a decent chap.”
“Never mind.” Hermione exhales a long-suffering sigh and starts walking. “Come along. There’s a flat bit over here.”
Malfoy follows—minding the uneven, rocky ground—until they reach a part of the island facing the vast Pacific Ocean. Waves crash against False Klamath, leaving behind blankets of fizzy sea foam in their wake. All around them are stacks and stacks of cairns, rocks carefully piled high on top of each other. Some are in neat heaps, perfectly aligned. Others are a mass of chaos, waiting to fall with the right gust of wind.
“Gemstone magic,” Hermione begins the lesson as they walk, “is quite different from wand magic. There are no spells or incantations, no wrist movements or speech inflections. Gemstone magic comes from a wizard’s intentions and desires. You only need to open yourself to your gemstone, let its magic flow through you, and concentrate on what you want to achieve.”
She paces back and forth between the columns of cairns, then stills and settles her gaze on Malfoy. “Your Serpentine is categorized as heavy, which means it has a large power capacity, so I would caution you to start small.”
Hermione removes one of the top rocks from a cairn and places it on a nearby boulder. “Try levitation. Quiet your mind, and feel your gemstone’s magic. Then, ask it to help you lift the rock.”
Malfoy breathes out through his nose and mutters, “Yes, Professor Trelawney.”
Her lips form into a very displeased shape, but even so, he does appear to be following instructions.
Malfoy closes his eyes and presses a hand to his chest, presumably where his Serpentine lies under his shirt. When he opens his eyes, he focuses on the rock. It trembles slightly before steadily rising higher and higher. With barely a wobble, it floats to the cairn it was originally plucked from, and carefully eases down like a king, heavy with crown, on his throne.
Malfoy’s eyes widen. “It worked,” he says, his voice nearly too soft to hear over the waves.
Hermione snaps her mouth closed before he can notice. He did it on his first try when it took her over a quarter of an hour to accomplish the same feat. But Malfoy does not need to know that.
“Well done!” she says, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically.
He lets out an incredulous bark of a laugh and then strides to a different cairn with guarded determination. The top rock quakes as it rises into the air, slowly and carefully. He rotates his wrist, and the rock performs a somersault in midair. Malfoy’s mouth splits into a toothy smirk. The boring, ordinary rock is now alive with movement, twisting and flipping in the air like a Quidditch player showing off on his broomstick before a big game. Finally, Malfoy calms the rock, and it eases down, perfectly aligned, on top of a nearby cairn.
Hermione lets out her own incredulous laugh. He made it look effortless. Her palms begin to sweat despite the chilly breeze.
“You’re being odd.”
She tears her gaze from the perfect cairn and finds Malfoy studying her with narrowed eyes.
“I’m being supportive,” she counters quickly, wiping her hands on her jeans as subtly as possible.
He steps closer, his expression changing as he nears. His gaze is searching, probing.
And it’s working.
“Gemstone magic doesn’t come easily to me,” she sighs, closing her eyes. “It took me ages to manage even basic levitation last time.”
There. She did it. She admitted her faults to Malfoy. Her cheeks burn with mortification.
Hermione opens her eyes, expecting an arrogant smirk and a mocking quip. But there is neither of those.
He’s standing even closer, his eyes—more blue than grey in the sunlight—are still searching. After a brief hesitation, Malfoy reaches for her wrist and traces the braided leather cord.
Heat radiates from her gem as his finger brushes its polished surface. Her heartbeat quickens, and she has a burning desire to reach out and touch his chest where his Serpentine lies hidden beneath his shirt. It takes every ounce of restraint to fight the (insane) urge and keep her arms glued to her sides.
“It’s a new gemstone,” he says, his voice strained, “Give it a go, Hermione.”
Her breath catches at the sound of her first name on his lips, and her mind fractures into a million pieces. She takes a centering breath, gathering what coherence she has left.
All she can manage is a shaky nod.
Draco takes a step back, and the distance releases the strange hold he had on her. All her thoughts come rushing back like the sudden surge of the tide.
He called me ‘Hermione’. He touched my wrist. I let him. He knows I’m dreadful at gemstone magic, and didn’t mock me for it. I have a new gemstone, so maybe my Jasper Agate will be different. He wants me to see me try.
Hermione finds her intellectual footing, shaking off the haze, and closes her eyes, but her thoughts are still racing.
What if nothing happens, and I can’t move the rock at all?
She runs her thumb along her bracelet in an attempt to focus, and mentally draws upon the stone’s deep well of magic. Her gem warms against her wrist, and the hum of magic reverberates inside her. Hermione exhales a relieved sigh, thankful to feel its presence.
It feels quite different from her Clear Quartz. Though it was light and had a smaller power capacity, her Quartz gave her mental clarity. Once she connected to it, she felt its magic coat her mind like a balm, settling her thoughts and giving her a precise focus for her ley line research.
Her Jasper Agate, however, is the opposite. Its magic envelopes her mind and scatters her thoughts. No longer tethered by logic, her emotions burst forth like a broken dam. A swell of dizziness hits her as wave after wave of feelings crash into her: triumph at her polished gemstone, alienation from her rigid logic, anxiety about failing in front of Draco, empathy for his dark bond, curiosity about what he wants, attraction—
She does not acknowledge the last one.
“Hermione? Are you alright?”
She keeps her eyes sealed shut, not ready to see whatever look he’s giving her.
“Fine. I’m fine.”
The emotional tide pulls back, and she can finally think again.
Focus, she tells herself, shoving all the emotions back into a compartment in her mind. I want the rock to move.
Hermione asks her Jasper Agate to very carefully move the top stone of the cairn. She can feel the magic reacting to her request. Its power grows, but then hesitates as if unsure.
Which makes her unsure.
The Jasper Agate trembles against the braided leather cord until, unable to hold back the magic any longer, dispels its power like a tiny grenade. The ground beneath her quakes, and every cairn on the island crumbles into a heap of rocks.
Hermione stares at the destruction she caused, eyes wide and jaw slack.
“Interesting,” Draco says, suddenly next to her.
She snaps her attention to him. “Interesting? How is any of this,” she sweeps her hand at the rumble, “interesting?”
He shrugs. “Those cairns were too presumptuous. Now we have something better to work with.”
Unable to do much of anything without flair, Draco lifts his hand, curling each of his fingers until they form a fist, and brings it down. As his hand moves, the rumble shifts and straightens itself into neat rows of rocks.
“There. Now you’re not limited. Try again.”
Hermione gawks at the neat rows. He just reorganized an entire island’s worth of stone with a hand gesture. Meanwhile, she can’t move a single pebble without causing geological chaos.
Another flood of emotions hits her: shock, bewilderment, admiration—
She does not acknowledge the last one.
“How did you do that? I mean, intellectually, I know how you did that, but … you’ve taken to gemstone magic so quickly and so easily. How?”
It’s not fair.
Draco considers her. “You won’t like my answer.”
“I don’t like my question either, so that’s irrelevant.”
He rubs his hand through his wind-blown hair and offers an audacious smile. “I know what I want, I’m honest about what I want, and I’m not ashamed to ask for it.”
Hermione slowly blinks. “Are you telling me that years of growing up as a spoiled child have trained you for this type of magic?”
His smile turns wicked. “Oh, undoubtedly.”
She balls her fists and clenches her teeth, feeling her frustration building uncomfortably high. “That is not fair.”
“It’s not fair because you’re thinking logically,” he says, turning serious. “Gemstone magic doesn’t care about your logic or theories, even if they are brilliant.”
Hermione’s shoulders slump.
David had told her the same thing when she first learned about gemstone magic. The old Mystic was so patient and encouraging that eventually, she was able to tame her thoughts, open her heart, and let the magic in. From then on, the Clear Quartz’s magic thrived through her.
So why is this gemstone so different? She tamed her thoughts, opened her heart, but she was flooded with emotions instead of magic.
Her eyes find Draco’s. Unlike the Gemkeeper, he’s not being gentle or coddling her. Even the way he stares at her in this moment, he’s waiting for her to rise to the challenge and prove to him that she can do it.
As if reading her mind, he lifts his chin and says, “You may be the brightest witch of our age, but are you resolute?”
Hermione stands up straighter. “Of course I am.”
“Perhaps so,” he says carelessly and steps closer. Very close. Something electric crackles in the salty air. “But can you be honest with yourself?”
A gust of wind blows, flattening Draco’s shirt against his chest, allowing her to see a perfect outline of his hidden Serpentine.
She swallows and fights the urge to touch it.
Draco reaches for her bracelet again, but this time, his fingers encircle her wrist. Her breath hitches as warmth spreads up her arm from his touch. With his thumb, he traces her gemstone in slow, maddening circles. His gaze connects with hers as her Jasper Agate tingles and heats against her wrist.
The sharp column of his throat shifts, and when he speaks again, his voice is lower. “Can you be selfish?”
The intensity of his gaze strips away the last of her restraint. She lifts a tentative hand and presses a fingertip to the fabric covering his Serpentine.
Draco stills.
His gemstone warms under her touch. Hermione stretches her fingers over his muscled chest until her palm is flush against him.
The Serpentine grows hotter under her palm. Her own gem vibrates with excitement, her heart pounding in time with its rhythm.
“Perhaps I can learn to be a tad selfish,” Hermione whispers between the roar of the waves.
They hold each other’s gaze, breathing in the sea breeze together, lips parted. It isn’t until she detects the scent of him—something musky yet sweet—that she realizes how close they’re standing.
Close enough to—
Hermione takes several steps back, his hand slipping away from her wrist. Her Jasper Agate cools, and the loss of his touch is an immediate ache.
“We should—” Her voice comes out as a tremulous croak. She clears her throat. “It’s getting late. Well, late for us. It’s nearly midnight in England.”
Draco blinks, as if remembering where—and when—they are. “Right. The hotel.”
“Motel,” she corrects too softly.
“What?”
“Never mind.” She wraps her arms around herself against the suddenly noticeable chill. “We should go before we’re too exhausted to function.”
He nods slowly, his eyes still on her. “Right.”
Neither of them moves.
Finally, Hermione forces herself to turn toward the rock where they can summon the door. As she walks past the neat and orderly rows of rocks, she can’t stop the smile that splits her face, or the blush that colors her cheeks.
Presumptuous little things.