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Hermione sat on a blanket, surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers. Her spot was up on a hill, providing her a nice view into the little magical village she was currently living in. It was surprisingly warm and breezy for Fall in Wales, and she could hear the sound of the ocean. The day was absolutely perfect.

When she’d received her Hogwarts letter the summer of her twelfth year, she’d been astonished and delighted. Not only had the letter—and coincident visit by Minerva McGonagall—explained why she was so different, but she’d been invited into a whole new and exciting world, a world of magic and endless possibility.

After the war, she’d returned to Hogwarts for an eighth year, along with a few dozen of her fellow classmates who either hadn’t been able to attend Hogwarts their seventh year or had, only to have their educations drastically fall short of what was needed for entry into the wizarding world. Near the end of that year, she’d been surprised to receive another letter, this one from a place called Leorninghús.

Leorninghús was an old magical village that housed a community of Magical Masters. Every year, they invited a select number of students to come and live in the village, learning a trade or a subject under a Master of great renown. Hermione hadn’t even been aware of its existence, yet she’d been invited. The morning when the owl dropped off her letter, she glanced around the Great Hall and spotted a few others among the seventh and eighth year students.

Her hands shook as she read and reread the letter, excitement bubbling inside her and threatening to burst out all over the room. As soon as she’d been able, she’d gone to speak to McGonagall, who had beamed and congratulated and encouraged. After a few letters back and forth to her parents, she’d accepted the invitation.

However, one stipulation of the opportunity was that the invitees weren’t to speak of it until after the school year ended. Thus, Hermione hadn’t known who would be joining her. She’d been almost as anxious the first day she’d arrived at Leorninghús as she’d been when she’d boarded the Hogwarts Express, but her nerves had settled quickly. She’d made friends and fit in easily with everyone in the special school.

Now, as she gazed down upon the village she currently called home, she sighed. She’d never imagined that she’d love anywhere as much as she loved Hogwarts, but Leorninghús was a very close second. She’d just completed her first day of work in her second year of training for a Mastery in Ancient Runes, and it couldn’t have gone better.

She and three other apprentices spent the day introducing the first-year apprentices around the village. Each Mastery Guild put on a short demonstration for the newcomers, and they walked from Guild to Guild, enjoying each one.

Now she had a few hours before dinner, and she’d taken a walk through the fields around the village. Some of her fellow apprentices were out as well, and a few had invited her to join them, but for this evening, she wanted to be alone, to take in the sights and sounds and smells without anyone intruding on her thoughts.

“Don’t move.”

Hermione froze, and without even thinking, gripped her wand, ready to turn and fight with everything she had. But first, she had a question. “And why shouldn’t I move?” She sensed someone come closer, slowly, and she prepared to act. It was deeply troubling that she hadn’t heard the man creep up behind her, but now that she’d recovered from her initial shock, she believed she could get the better of him.

“Because you’ve got a Nacreous Bee in your hair, and if it stings you, you’ll be spouting off more truth than anyone can handle for the next twenty-four hours.”

Relieved, she nearly let out a long breath and relaxed, but quickly caught herself. Magical bees, while not equivalent to strange men attacking her in broad daylight, were still nothing to be taken lightly. She relaxed her grip on her wand, though she still didn’t move. “What should I do?”

“Hold very still and let me catch it.” Her guest inched closer.

“All right.” She could only whisper, too alarmed at the whole situation to do anything else. Her voluminous hair was done up in a hasty, messy bun, with a fair number of tendrils flying in all directions. Hermione felt the newcomer touch her hair a few times, and the sensation sent a shiver down her spine.

“Got him.” A small glass jar with a cork stopper appeared over her shoulder, deftly held by long, slender fingers.

She noted a ring on one finger, but she didn’t have time to inspect it. She took the jar from him, their fingers brushing lightly, and a lovely jolt of energy swept through her. Merlin, she hadn’t even seen his face! Forcing herself to focus on the captured insect, she brought the jar up so that she could give it a proper look.

The Nacreous Bee was about the same size as a non-magical bee, but instead of the typical coloring for a bee of black with yellow stripes, the black bands alternated with iridescent--also known as nacreous, its namesake--ones, reflecting a rainbow of pale color as it moved in the sun.

“It’s beautiful!” She turned the jar to try and see more sides of the insect.

“The Master of my Guild is doing a beekeeping demonstration tonight. Would you like to join me?”

Hermione blushed. This young man was certainly bold! He hadn’t even seen her face, but if she wasn’t mistaken, he was hitting on her. His confidence was charming. “So you’re in the Potions Guild?” She finally turned to face her rescuer; he’d knelt beside and a little behind her, but when their eyes met, she gasped. “Malfoy?!”

He groaned and shut his eyes tight. “Granger.”

She burst out laughing, which only made him scowl. She patted the blanket beside her and he spun and sat down, making sure to keep his shoes in the grass. “I’m surprised to see you. What are you doing here?”

The last time she’d seen Draco was at King’s Cross station at the end of their eighth year. He’d been granted permission to spend a year of his sentence completing his education, but once that was done, he was headed for Azkaban. She’d read in the paper, however, that he’d only spent a few weeks in the wizarding prison before his mother’s solicitor reached a deal with the Ministry wherein he could be released to community service lasting three times his slated sentence: a total of nine years.

Hermione had been at Leorninghús all through that time and hadn’t paid too much attention to it. They’d been friendly at Hogwarts, though she wouldn’t have called him a friend, exactly. Their relationship there was hard to define; they’d worked together on a number of projects over the final year at school, at first by force and then by choice. After discovering that they worked very well together and, she’d been loath to admit, that they produced results better together, they’d started choosing to partner whenever possible. It had gotten to the point where they sat together in classes and just assumed they’d work together, both in class and out of it.

During their first paired assignment, once they were alone, he had apologized, profusely and unequivocally, for everything in their past. He’d confessed to trying to apologize a few times, but having lost his nerve. Things were awkward and stiff at first, but she credited him with being the one to push through that. He’d later claimed that he’d wanted—almost needed—her to see him for who he really was, and who he could be.

They’d parted amicably after having spent many hours a day together, but they hadn’t kept up the almost-friendship. If they had, she’d have considered him squarely in the friend department, but she’d been a little hurt when he hadn’t written or even replied to her letters. She’d stopped bothering after a few months, tucking him away as a bittersweet memory.

With a dramatic sigh, he lay down, resting his hands beneath his head. “The Ministry agreed to let me spend some of my community service here. I’d been invited during eighth but couldn’t accept. Mother used the same solicitor who got my prison sentence modified, and he was able to argue that me making something of myself was a huge service to the community.”

“I see. And so, here we find ourselves.” She examined the bee once more before setting the jar on Draco’s chest. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe you were just asking me out on a date.”

He groaned again. “I’d hoped you might forget about that.”

“Not a chance, Draco Malfoy. And now, as penance, you must escort me to the demonstration.” She’d said it teasingly but found her heart pounding at the thought of going out with him anyway. Only it wouldn’t be a date because obviously, he hadn’t meant to ask her out.

“Have you seen it already?” He squinted up at her. “You’ve been here a year, right?”

“I’ve been here a year, yes, but I’ve not learned about these beautiful bees. The Potions Master, so I’ve heard, does a more elaborate demonstration for the first evening. Last year, she did an entire production centered around the Draught of Living Death, where she actually brewed it in front of us with one of her older apprentices, all the while talking and putting in the wrong quantities of ingredients. Her apprentice kept trying to interrupt to correct her, but it just kept getting worse and worse.”

“So what happened?”

Hermione smiled at the memory. “She’d worked it all out. It was a performance. She ended up making a double recipe, but it was both hilarious and nerve-wracking to watch. Brilliant, too.”

“Wish I could have seen it.” His expression was wistful for a moment.

“That reminds me. Are you still seeing Astoria?” She pulled up a few long blades of grass and started absently weaving them together.

Draco snorted. “No. That didn’t last long after Hogwarts ended. I don’t think she quite believed me when I told her I’d be spending time in Azkaban. Seeing the Aurors come for me at the station was a rude awakening for her. She couldn’t be connected to someone in prison, so she quietly wrote to me to break up with me before she very publically started dating Theo.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Obviously, she wasn’t the right one, and I was glad to know it sooner than later.”

Hermione chuckled. “I should have known the answer already, as I doubt you’d have been hitting on me if you were still with her.”

“I take it you’re not seeing anyone, either?”

“No. I’m sure you read all about Ron and I.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Actually, I only know about it because Pansy told me. Not everyone is all that interested in your love life, Granger.”

She blushed again, this time from embarrassment. “I didn’t mean—I only meant that it was all over the papers when it happened. I don’t know why.” She huffed with renewed annoyance. Whenever she thought of that time in her life, she was always reminded exactly how small-minded and petty the wizarding world could be. “You’d have thought they had better things to do than follow the romance of two bloody teenagers.”

Draco tsked. “Such language, Granger. It certainly seems like a monumental waste of time.”

“I’ve dated a few blokes since Ron, but nothing serious. Not that you asked for all of that.” Merlin, she didn’t know what had gotten into her. If she didn’t know any better, she might have wondered if she actually had been stung by the bee. Although, a truth-compulsion sting would have nothing to do with the way her heart was racing or the way her stomach flopped pleasantly every time she looked at him. She wasn’t stupid; she knew she was attracted to him, but where it had come from was anybody’s guess.

It was true that they’d had many long and interesting conversations at Hogwarts, that often they’d talked late into the night after their assignments were completed. But never in all that time had she felt anything for him. Maybe it was the long interval since she’d seen him last that was allowing her mind and heart to react to him in a new way. He certainly looked better than she remembered.

Whatever the case, she needed to get a handle on it. It simply wouldn’t do to develop feelings for him.

“Oh no,” he replied with a smirk and sarcastic tone. “Please, do tell me more. Remember, I live for news of your love life.”

She swatted him playfully. “Don’t you have better things to do than lay about here? You could go pester someone else.”

He grinned. “But it’s ever so much more fun to pester you.”

Hermione tucked her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “I suppose I ought to thank you for rescuing me from the dreaded Nacreous bee. You said something about it making me speak the truth?”

Draco sat up, crossed his legs, and peered at the bee. “I don’t want to spoil the lesson for tonight, but the poison in their sting is used in Veritaserum.”

“Really?” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, bother the demonstration. Tell me more.”

He held the jar up to the light, letting the sun dance off the iridescent stripes. He peered at it closely, turning the bottle this way and that to see it from all angles. “Good things come to those who wait, Granger.” He smirked. “I’ll see you tonight.” In one fluid motion, he was up, whistling as he walked away with his hands in his pockets.

Hermione watched him go with a feeling of growing dread. She already knew she liked him as a person. But now, she suddenly found herself attracted to him, and in her mind, she could admit to having had similar fleeting thoughts during their eighth year. His mind was a deep, fascinating place, and his character after the war was one she admired.

And Merlin help her, his arse was fantastic in a pair of very tailored trousers.

Ten minutes before the Potions demonstration was set to begin, Hermione checked her reflection in the mirror one last time. Her hair was simply a lost cause. After laying on her blanket and reading for two hours that afternoon, her messy bun was only messier, and there was nothing she could do. Some days her hair seemed to have a life of its own.

She wore a pale yellow sundress and draped a thin red cardigan over one arm. There weren’t many days in Wales where such attire was appropriate, given that it seemed perpetually chilly and damp, but this was one of those days and she had no intention of wasting it.

Once the sun set, the cardigan likely wouldn’t keep her warm for long, but she was sure the demonstration would be finished well before then.

With a sigh and one last, desperate plea for her hair to behave, Hermione turned from the mirror. She slipped on a pair of red flats, grabbed a notebook and pen, and headed out of her room. Her living quarters consisted of a bedroom and bathroom all to herself. She shared a common room with three other witches, who each had their own en suite. The common room contained a kitchen and small eating area, plus a sitting room situated with a stone fireplace. Nobody was left in the flat; her roommates had already gone to the demonstration. It was not one to be missed.

She shut the door and locked it with a flick of her wand, and when she spun around, collided with something rather solid. Her face smashed into someone’s chest and she let out an awkward, muffled sound of surprise.

Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and steadied her, and she looked up into Draco’s smirking face. “Going somewhere?”

In a rush, she realized that she hadn’t taken him seriously about joining him for the demonstration. She’d assumed that he’d asked, not knowing it was her, and then when he discovered the truth, the invitation was withdrawn. She’d joked about him escorting her, but he hadn’t said anything or made any plans, so she’d let the matter go in her mind.

Now here he was, looking rather dashing—even more so than earlier. He’d changed into a pair of dark denims and a beat up Slytherin t-shirt. The material looked soft as butter and she wanted to run her hands over it. For, you know, science. Not because it was cut just so, accentuating some very hard lines in his arms and chest.

Hermione realized she’d been gawking somewhat, so she shook her head. “Just, um, outside.” A blush bloomed fresh on her cheeks and she wanted to crawl into a hole until her mortification ceased. Was this going to be the new normal when he was around? She didn’t think she could handle it; a crush on him would be awfully inconvenient.

“You didn’t think I was coming, did you?” He finally released her, and her skin felt hot where he’d been touching her.

“We never finalized anything.”

He nodded and looked at the door behind her. “I had to ask around to find where you lived. Otherwise I’d have been here sooner.”

“I’m only just now ready, so everything worked out. Shall we go?”

They began the short walk to the amphitheater. The village was laid out in a series of concentric circles, with each circle separated by a road. There were seven main roads that crossed through the circles, like the spokes of a wheel. At the center, or the Hub, as it was called, was a large square where all sorts of events took place: finishing ceremonies, demonstrations, and practical exams which had to be witnessed by a crowd. There was a small stage area with enough seating for everyone, plus an area for an outdoor market on weekends. Surrounding the Hub was a thin circle of buildings that housed a few shops and restaurants.

In the first ring of the village were the Guild buildings, one for each of the primary Masteries: Potions, Arithmancy, Runes, Charms, Transfiguration, Astronomy, Magical Creatures, Healing, Art, Literature, and Herbology. The second ring contained a dedicated field for each Guild to use for practical work. In the Herbology field, for example, was a large magical garden and greenhouse. The Astronomy field was clear and charmed to keep out light pollution, so the students could study the stars at night without interference.

The third and final ring was split into two parts. One half contained the living chambers for all of the Masters, as well as a general administration building, library, and infirmary. The other half was where the students lived, and it was populated with many small, four-bedroom lodgings like Hermione’s. They were all identical, with a shared common space. She had been thrilled to learn that her room was close to the library.

The path was paved with stones, bracketed on either side with strips of grass and flowers. It was a lovely walk, but they’d gone all the way to the first ring before either of them spoke.

Finally, Hermione couldn’t stand the silence anymore and worked up the courage to ask the question that had been burning in her mind since the last time she saw him. “Why did you never write?”

Draco looked down at her, an expression of surprise on his face. “Never write? What do you mean?”

“After Hogwarts. I wrote to you.”

He frowned. “When I was in Azkaban?” She nodded. “I don’t think they let any mail through except pieces from my mother. I’m not sure; though I do know I was given nothing else.”

“Oh.” She let out a long breath. “Even when you left, they didn’t give you any letters?”

“No. Keep in mind, nobody was concerned about seeing anything good happen to me.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they burned everything. The letters from my mother were from our solicitor, and the guards knew better than to burn those.”

She considered the timing a little more. “I still wrote to you at least once after you were released.”

“I swear, Hermione, I never got a letter from you. I’d have certainly responded if I had.”

They reached the amphitheater and started looking for two seats together. Since they were nearly the last ones to arrive, there were only a smattering of options, and Draco led her to the very front row. He’d taken her hand to pull her through the crowd, and she was surprised at how delightful it felt firmly clasped in his. Almost too good.

When they reached the two open chairs, they sat down and Draco casually rested his arm on the back of her seat. She sat up straight, careful not to lean on him, lest he get some idea of what was going on in her traitorous mind.

Since when had she been interested in Draco like this? It was very distressing.

She needed some space, some time to allow herself to process what it all meant. But she couldn’t very well do that right now, with him beside her, so close she could smell him, so close that if she moved even an inch, their thighs would touch. Instead, she focused on what was happening on the stage.

There were three stacks of white boxes, each with an opening for a handle. She knew the stacks were the bee hives, each one on a short, raised platform, and she could hear a constant sound of buzzing. Each hive had a lid on it, and each lid was weighed down by a large rock.

The Potions Master stood, still as a statue, while her apprentices bustled about the stage, moving things around, arranging supplies, preparing everything for the demonstration. Hermione thought they looked an awful lot like… well, bees.

As she was trying to see what was on the table in front of the Potions Master, Draco leaned over to say something. He had to come close to be heard over the crowd behind them, and his breath tickled her ear and blew her hair, reminiscent of his ministrations when he’d pulled the bee from her hair earlier. Again, the same shiver shot straight through her and she had to close her eyes and take a deep breath to calm her racing heart.

She didn’t even register what he said. “What?”

He gave her a strange look, then spoke again, louder this time. “I fancy a cuppa after this. What’s the best place to get a hot drink?”

“Gammond’s,” she replied, pointing to the café behind them. As she did so, however, she turned her body toward him without thinking, and with him leaning toward her, they were close enough that she could see flecks of dark silver in his eyes. Her eyes fluttered of their own accord and her breath caught.

Draco seemed unaffected, merely nodding and glancing around at the other cafés in turn. “Is there a candy shop?”

Hermione laughed, grateful the spell was broken. “Yes, Malfoy. It’s just there, beside Gammond’s. Apparently magical people can’t abide living somewhere with no access to sweets.”

He scoffed. “Too right. Takes a lot of work to perform magic. We deserve treats.”

She rolled her eyes, and movement on the stage drew her attention. It looked as though the demonstration was about to begin.

As the Potions Master stepped forward, finally breaking her impression of a slab of marble, Draco leaned over to whisper again. “So what do you say?”

“About what?” she replied, anxious lest she miss the beginning of what the Master had to say.

“That drink. After?”

Hermione turned and gaped at him, eyes disbelieving, but before she could speak, the Potions Master raised her hands for silence. She didn’t respond, instead looking up at the stage as a hush fell over the audience.

“Thank you all for coming. For those of you who are new, I am the Potions Master here at Leorninghús, Master Jerica Sharp. How many of you enjoy honey?”

Hermione raised her hand, as did most of the audience.

“Good, good. All of the honey we consume comes from traditional, non-magical bees. But tonight I want to let you taste the honey that comes from Nacreous bees, whose poison is one of the key components of Veritaserum. Now, it is no fun to be stung by a Nacreous bee because the poison in the sting is extremely powerful and will cause more than pain. The individual stung will, for about twenty-four hours, be incapable of speaking anything but the truth, but unlike the Potion made from the poison, this truth-telling is unmoderated and compulsory.”

She picked up a jar full of the bees and held it up so that the lowering sun could shine on them. The iridescent stripes reflected the light, sending cascades of rainbows dancing around the stage. It was beautiful, and Hermione gasped at the sight.

“Let me give you an example. If I were to be stung right now, I would begin spouting off every thought that came into my mind. I don’t like your shirt.” She pointed to someone in the audience; everyone laughed. “Your hair is too short.” She pointed to a witch with a very close-cut hair style. Then she spotted Hermione. “Your dress is probably making it difficult for the young man beside you to concentrate on what I’m saying.” The audience roared with laughter, even those who couldn’t see Hermione’s dress. Master Sharp turned away from her without another thought, but Hermione felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“I’ve had more experience with this sort of mishap than I’d care to admit. What I’ve just said to these fine members of our community was all true, in my opinion. None of it needed to be said; however, if you’re so unlucky as to be stung by one of these beautiful insects, those are the sorts of things you might say, without the ability to stop yourself. Imagine someone speaking the first thought that comes into his or her mind with every breath. It’s part of what makes Veritaserum so powerful. But, as you’ll know if you’re familiar with the potion, those to whom it is administered answer only the questions put before them. That approach is more useful when interrogating someone, as you can imagine.”

All through the speech, which Hermione found fascinating, she couldn’t help but be aware of Draco’s proximity. She wondered if he really was distracted by her dress. She hadn’t worn it for that purpose, but now she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She didn’t notice any strange behavior from him, other than the fact that the whole evening was strange.

Frustrated by her lack of focus and the direction of her thoughts, she sat up straighter, clasped her hands in her lap, and resolved to think of nothing but Nacreous bees for however long the older woman planned to talk about them.

“Now, we keep these bees here at Leorninghús because they are a protected species. We are the only entity in England—indeed, in all of Europe—charged with their care. It is our task to extract the poison for use in Veritaserum. We share this substance with other countries—” She held up a finger. “Before anyone asks, we do not sell it. A centuries-old treaty between the magical communities of England and the nearest countries ensures that we charge only for the cost of transportation. The reason for this is because the substance is so valuable for its use in the Truth Potion that the men and women who signed the treaty had the foresight to avoid any and all conflicts that might arise over the bees. They wanted to ensure that the bees would never be in danger, and as a result, they have a flourishing life here.”

Master Sharp paused and held up a large jar. “The honey is also quite interesting. Instead of being a lovely golden color, like the honey we’re more familiar with, it looks like bottled moonlight. We’ve prepared samples for everyone.” She pointed to one of her apprentices, who grabbed a basket and left the stage to start passing out little vials.

Hermione took one and stared in amazement at the shimmery, pearlescent liquid. It looked a lot like patches of oil on asphalt after a rain.

“The vials you’re holding are worth over fifty Galleons.”

Everyone gasped, including Hermione. Sharp grinned widely.

“These bees are extremely rare, and their honey is difficult to procure. Not only are these bees more dangerous than their non-magical counterparts, but the honey they produce is much more volatile and prone to spoiling. Each batch must be carefully crafted by hand, and it’s hard to keep the batches consistent. Finally, if the liquid is boiled away, the resulting sugar crystals are used to make Felix Felicis, which I’m sure you’re all familiar with. So guard that vial carefully.” She chuckled. “The honey, when used in tea, can convey some elements of luck, though not as concrete or strong as the potion.”

Master Sharp turned back to the hive and cast a spell around herself, then around the hive. “The first spell is to protect me from stings. The second one is to keep the bees contained so that they don’t fly off and get ideas when they see all of you sitting there in your brightly-colored clothing. These bees certainly require the pollen from flowers to make their honey, but they’re a bit reckless. If they aren’t pleased by something—say, for instance, that your bright yellow shirt, young lady, doesn’t actually provide any nectar, they might sting you as punishment. But I assure you, we’re all quite safe. I’m going to open up the hive now and show you what’s inside.”

Hermione was finally able to get over the distraction sitting beside her and fully focus on the presentation. It was fascinating, and she couldn’t wait to ask questions at the end. The hive design was identical to those she’d seen for non-magical bees. There was a short stack of boxes topped with a lid. Inside the lower boxes was a series of frames on which the bees built their honeycomb. They used this comb for laying eggs and feeding the larvae that hatched until they turned into bees, ready to leave the hive. The top box was shorter and stored the honey. A slot at the bottom of the hive was open to allow bees free access in and out of the hive. There were some other parts as well, but Hermione had already decided to find a few books on the subject, so she didn’t focus on trying to remember everything right now.

When she concluded her presentation, with all the bees tucked back into their home, Master Sharp ended the containment spells she’d cast. She sat down on a stool and asked if anyone had any questions, and Hermione’s hand shot into the air. At the exact same time, one of the apprentices on the stage tripped and fell forward, knocking into the beehive. The Potions Master stood with a sweeping motion, casting a spell to try to contain the bees, which had been physically knocked away. She wasn’t successful; at least a hundred bees shot out from the hive, liberated at last and ready to find some nectar.

Since there wasn’t an abundance of flowers nearby, they headed straight into the crowd of people. Master Sharp was trying to Summon the bees back, but she was having a rough go of it. Her apprentices joined in, and there was a flurry of activity. Some of the audience screamed and swatted the bees despite the Master’s request not to hurt the bees.

A handful headed straight for Hermione, and she realized her red cardigan, which she’d put on at some point due to the chilly air, was attracting them. As she hurried to pull it off, Draco tried to fend the bees off by waving her notebook at them. This only made them angry, and in less than a minute, he cried out in pain.

“Fuck!”

Hermione, distracted by the realization that Draco had been stung, felt a stab of pain almost immediately. She hissed and clapped a hand over her shoulder where the bee had landed. She didn’t get the bug, but the five bees that had come at her were congregated on her cardigan, which she’d hastily tossed to the ground as soon as it was off.

She glanced at Draco to see him watching her warily. They both knew the poison would take effect any second, and if the shouts from others in the audience were any indication, there’d been quite a few stings already. She heard one statement after another as those stung began speaking without restraint or filter. Horror struck her when she realized she’d likely confess every single wayward thought she’d had since meeting him that afternoon, and she was suddenly desperate to get away from him.

There had to be some way to avoid what was coming. She looked up at the stage to see Master Sharp still wrestling with gathering the bees. It looked as though she and her apprentices were nearly finished, but unfortunately, the damage was already done. Sharp wiped her forehead and tried to speak over the crowd of shouting people.

Hermione felt words bubble up as she waited. “Your robes are a shade of blue I can’t identify!”

Draco laughed beside her. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say!”

She refused to look at him. Somehow, that was key, though she had no idea why she felt this so strongly.

Sharp cast the Sonorus Charm. “Please don’t panic. All the bees have been captured. If you’ve been stung, kindly make your way to the infirmary. I have a small amount of antidote with me, but I didn’t anticipate needing to cure over a hundred stings, so you’ll have to go there to get what you need. I apologize for this inconvenience.”

Hermione desperately wanted to ask questions, and she shouted this at Master Sharp. “I want to ask at least a dozen questions!”

The Potions Master smiled. “You’re welcome to, of course. Why don’t you use some of the antidote I’ve got up here.” She disappeared behind the curtain.

As soon as Hermione’s mind shifted from watching the Potions Master retreat, she shouted, “That curtain looks heavy!”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

Hermione whipped her head around to find Draco’s eyes shut and beads of sweat on his forehead. “What?”

He shook his head, his face going red from what she determined was exertion.

But now that she was looking at him, it was her turn to speak. “Your hair is so shiny and it looks incredibly soft and I’ve wanted to run my hands through it more times than I can count.” She quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, thankful that her outburst had been relatively tame. She wondered if he had been the one to talk about someone being beautiful. She couldn’t be completely sure, as her back had been to him and everyone around her was talking, but she thought it had sounded like his voice. Unfortunately, there was very little room in her brain for forming and asking complex questions. Her ‘What?’ had been borne mainly of shock and instinct, and she wasn’t sure she could even get that out again if she tried.

His eyes popped open in surprise at her comment, and then he couldn’t hold back. “Master Sharp was right, that dress is driving me to distraction and I want to pull it off—” Draco jammed his fist into his mouth and backed away, shutting his eyes tight. His voice was muffled as he continued speaking, though his distance successfully prevented her from hearing whatever he’d been about to say.

Hermione’s eyes went wide as saucers, her mouth parted in astonishment. She swallowed hard and shook her head in a daze. “It’s getting chilly out!” Without waiting to see what he did next, she scooped up her cardigan and started putting it on, keeping her gaze very pointedly away from him. “This demonstration was excellent. I wish we’d had more time. The bees are so pretty.” This was good. All she needed to do was focus on something, and her truth statements would be about that.

But her traitorous eyes flicked over to see what Draco was doing, almost of their own accord and certainly without any well-reasoned decision. He was sitting on the ground with his head in his hands, rocking back and forth and speaking at the ground.

“He looks so good in that shirt. And those trousers fit his arse perfectly. I’m so glad that I’m not shouting these things. I’d die if he heard me. I hope he was the one who spoke earlier and I hope he was calling me beautiful. I think he was about to say he wanted to pull my dress off with his teeth, and the thought of his teeth lightly brushing over the skin of my shoulder makes me—”

“Here you are, Miss. I apologize for the delay.”

She opened her eyes and saw a small, suspiciously familiar vial being held out to her. She took it. “It looks like the honey.”

Sharp shrugged. “It is, mostly. Raw honey is the perfect antidote for the poison. The honey we gave you all, the honey that is used for healing purposes as well as sweetening, is refined and lacking in potency. We keep a ready supply of the raw stuff around because you’d be surprised how often we get stung.” She laughed heartily. “There are no secrets among those of us who tend to the bees. But, should we ever run out for some reason, we can use the version we gave out if we concentrate it somewhat.”

“That’s fascinating. I have so many questions. I can’t wait to learn more. I—”

Sharp took the vial back, opened it, and practically tipped it into Hermione’s mouth because she was clearly having trouble not talking. As time had gone on, she’d had increasing difficulty fighting the compulsion to speak, though, again, grateful that she hadn’t said anything outrageous.

The cool, sticky liquid slid down Hermione’s throat and she swallowed. “I hope this stuff works quickly.”

Sharp grinned sheepishly. “Ten to thirty minutes. The poison goes straight into your veins. This takes a different route. I suggest you find somewhere dark and quiet and close your eyes. Stimulation of the senses makes everything worse.”

“I’ve really enjoyed nearly everything about this.” Try as she might, there was no way for her to simply respond to the Master’s comments. “I don’t so much like this part, though.”

The Potions Master laughed. “I’ve got a few more vials of this to hand out. Best of luck to you.”

Hermione watched her move to Draco, who was still on the ground. He must have figured out that limiting the sensations he experienced helped because he now had his hands clamped over his ears with his head between his knees. She assumed his eyes were shut. She heard Sharp coax Draco into swallowing some of the antidote.

Her brief glance at Draco had her thoughts now focused on him. “He’s been muttering this whole time. I hadn’t noticed it, but the sound, which is like bees buzzing, stopped only when he drank the honey. When he spoke to me earlier, before I knew who he was, his voice was like velvet in my ears and gave me a thrill.” She shut her eyes but it didn’t help much. “I really like his hands. They look strong and I’d like to have my fingers slide between his. I would love to spend more time with him and get to know him even better than I did at Hogwarts. And I wouldn’t mind if one thing led to another and I got to find out what else he could do with his hands.” Hermione had to forcibly jerk her head away so that she’d stop making comments about Draco. Even then, her thoughts weren’t free, and she decided to adopt his strategy until the antidote took effect.

For the next fifteen or so minutes, she talked about what she could see—namely the dirt and grass and wood around her—and hear—mostly Draco muttering. Somewhat regularly, the sound of his voice would pierce the wall she tried to erect in her mind, and her subsequent statements would make her blush. If there was even the slightest chance that he could hear her, she’d never be able to look him in the eye again.

Finally, she felt something in her mind clear, and she risked looking up, though she didn’t dare turn toward Draco. Instead, she glanced in the opposite direction, where a couple was walking by in the distance, headed toward the river. Her first thought was that it looked like Tabitha from the Art Guild, and then she realized she’d had an actual thought! She was so excited she looked somewhere else, and again, she was able to keep her thoughts in the privacy of her own head.

It was glorious.

Then, and only then, she peeked in Draco’s direction. He was still in his curled position, still rocking, but her thoughts didn’t pour out of her mouth. She let out a huge sigh of relief, then unfolded herself and stood to stretch.

Her movements roused Draco, and he turned toward her. The antidote had not yet cleared the poison from his system, however, and as soon as their eyes met, he said, “Merlin, I hope you’ll say yes to getting a drink after this. I need something much stiffer than the hot chocolate I’d originally intended, however. More than anything, I really hope you didn’t hear anything I said over here because—” He covered his mouth with one hand and twisted his head around with the other so that he could continue trying to shut everything out.

Hermione blushed and gathered her things from where she’d dropped them, then sat on her chair to wait. It was another few minutes before Draco finally stopped rocking, and another minute before he tested to see if the poison was truly gone. Then she saw him visibly relax and finally look at her. He let out his breath and collapsed on the ground.

She was startled and concerned for a moment, but then he started laughing. It was somewhat hilarious to see him that way, his expensive clothes damp with the sweat of his exertion and now dirty from the bare ground under him. But he didn’t seem to care.

“I’m completely spent. Fuck, that was…” He shook his head.

Hermione lamented the dirt he was getting in his hair now.

“Intense?” she offered.

“That’s putting it mildly.”

He made no move to get up, and she wondered about his most recent admission of hoping she’d get a drink with him. Just because he’d said it didn’t mean he wanted it. Knowing the truth was only part of the equation; the next step is to claim it. If he asked, she would absolutely say yes, and not because of everything he’d said due to the poison. She’d been attracted to him before that. But maybe now, after going through the truth poison, he’d be too embarrassed to try.

A chilly breeze blew through and Hermione shivered. Her cardigan helped, but it wouldn’t suffice for long. Just as she was about to speak and tell him that she needed to get inside somewhere, Draco pushed himself onto his elbows.

He wouldn’t quite meet her eyes, choosing instead to focus on something over her shoulder. “That might have been the worst experience of my life. Which is saying quite a lot.”

“Why was it so awful? Don’t get me wrong, it was unpleasant, but I’d have to say that being tortured by Bellatrix on your drawing room floor still tops it as far as bad days go.” She shook her head, feeling a little dazed and wondering if there were remnants of the truth serum still active in her system. She was trying to lighten the mood, but he only grimaced.

Draco sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and gripping one wrist with the other hand. “It was awful because… well, I suppose if I tell you, it’s no different than being under the influence of that poison.”

“Of course it’s different. If you tell me, you’re choosing to tell me. That makes all the difference in the world. And the fact that you can choose your words carefully instead of blurting out the first thing that pops into your head.” She only debated joining him on the ground for a moment before deciding to do it. His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t move away. “Now. What did you want to tell me?”

He hesitated, then sighed. “Nothing about tonight has gone as I’d planned.”

“Oh? You’d made a plan about tonight?” She tried to sound teasing again, but instead she felt nervous. Very, very nervous.

“Yes. All right then, nothing for it.” Draco turned slightly toward her. “The truth is… Ah, bloody hell. The truth is, I saw you earlier today and I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how because it had been so long. I didn’t know if you’d even want to speak to me. When I saw you head for that hill earlier, I… I may have snuck into the Potions Guild and borrowed a Nacreous Bee, which I then pretended to carefully pull out of your hair, fully intending to invite you to this tonight and then, if things went well, we’d get a drink after and then…” He shrugged. “Maybe… I don’t know, maybe you’d let me kiss you. Maybe—”

“Maybe I’d let you peel my dress off with your teeth?”

Draco turned bright red and she laughed all the way from her heart. “I was so hoping you hadn’t thought about that anymore.”

She scooted a little closer and his body went rigid. “So you’re telling me that the whole rescuing-me-from-the-bee was a ploy to get me to talk to you?”

“Maybe. It worked, didn’t it?”

“It did.” She nodded thoughtfully. “And… can you tell me why you wanted to talk to me? To attend this function with me? Get a drink after? With me? I haven’t seen you in over a year, Draco.”

He sighed and pulled up a small patch of grass. “I know. There’s a little more truth to tell. I fancied you in eighth. But I was already dating Astoria when that happened, and I wasn’t going to let some pesky feelings for you ruin the future my parents had planned for me. After we parted at the station, it wasn’t long before I realized that the only thing that had made anything about eighth year more than merely tolerable was you. When you were no longer in my life on a daily basis, I quickly understood that it was you I wanted more than anything. Only, I had a stint in Azkaban ahead of me, and by the time I got out, you were gone. Here, as I eventually learned. I’d been invited, as I said earlier, so I did everything I could to get the terms of my sentence adjusted so that I could come here, too. I mean, I’d wanted to anyway, but rather than wait until my years of community service were over, I had a pretty strong incentive to get here as soon as possible. I had to see if what I’d felt before was still there, and I had to know if there was a possibility you might reciprocate. Or, at the very least, give me the chance to show you.”

Hermione shivered in another breeze and scooted closer still. “I had no idea you felt that way.”

Draco shook his head. “I wouldn’t have expected you to. Back then I didn’t know I felt that way. I wasn’t even sure I still would when I finally saw you, but when I did… There was no question. I was terrified that you were seeing someone, which is the only thing that kept me from rushing over and showing myself.”

Hermione chuckled. “Somehow I cannot picture you rushing anywhere.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” He grinned somewhat hesitantly. “I’m not quite as bold as that. But now you know the whole truth. I was a little worried you were seeing someone, and of course there’s always the chance you’re not interested in me. If not, then I hope I haven’t ruined what we had, and I really think I can be friends like we were. If that’s what you’d like.”

For some reason, despite spending the last half an hour or more speaking nothing but the truth, sometimes in more detail than she could have anticipated, words escaped her. Draco had come through the experience ready to confess something truly remarkable, but all she wanted to do was sit quietly with his confession. So she scooted as close to him as she possibly could and leaned her head on his shoulder. He didn’t move a muscle, and it seemed as though he was holding his breath. After a long moment, she made a decision. She lifted her head and looked at him, her heart pounding. Then slowly, agonizingly so, she moved forward. His eyes dropped to her lips but he still didn’t move, leaving her to do the work of making the first move.

Really, though, he’d said so much, confessed to having feelings for her, so it was her move to make. Considering how she’d been thinking of him, this part should be easy. When they were so close she could feel his breath dance lightly on her lips, feel the warmth of him, she shut her eyes and pressed her lips to his. It was perfection; it was everything she’d ever imagined in a first kiss yet like nothing she’d ever experienced before. He kissed her back just as lightly, just as delicately as she first kissed him, as though they were tiptoeing together into this unknown.

The lightness of the kiss did not reflect its intensity, however; she felt it jolt straight through her, right to her core, like lightning stretching the edges of her skin. Their lips parted briefly, his eyes meeting hers with a hesitant question before she leaned in once more. She nearly gasped at the redoubled sensation, which, if possible, was even stronger.

Draco brought his hand up to cup her cheek, the tips of the fingers she’d so admired earlier grazing the fine hair at the back of her neck. Gently, he brought her closer still, taking care to keep her comfortable while sliding his other hand around her back. Hermione wrapped an arm around his neck, ghosting the fringe at the nape, desperate to feel every inch of him. When he nipped at her bottom lip, she gladly responded, allowing him to deepen the kiss. The pace he set was slow and languid, a beautiful torture, and she found herself sighing against his mouth. Everything around her disappeared, and the world narrowed until it fit only the two of them.

Hermione could have kissed him like that forever, but they were interrupted, most awkwardly, by a piece of balled parchment hitting them in the face.

“Whoops, sorry.”

They broke apart, cheeks flushed, arms tangled, to find someone using his wand to collect rubbish that had been left in the mad dash for the infirmary. The young man, undoubtedly an apprentice in one of the Guilds, was smirking, quite amused either at them or at his effort to bother them.

With a deepening blush, Hermione realized she was on the ground with Draco’s hand on her thigh. The world could have caught fire and she wouldn’t haven’t noticed. At the same instant, Draco quickly retracted his hand, rubbing the back of his neck and he chuckled sheepishly.

Hermione stood and did her best to smooth her dress, which was now smudged with dirt. Draco brushed himself off, somewhat excessively, she thought, until she understood that he was a bit nervous to make eye contact. She stepped to him and slipped her hand into his, smiling up at him.

He relaxed considerably, gazing down at her with a lazy half-grin. Then he cleared his throat and glanced at the worker, who was now a few rows away from them. “So, um, what do you say to that drink?”

“I’d say I’d like that very much.” She felt like she was floating.

“Good. Gammond’s, you said?”

Hermione shook her head. “That was good for a warm drink. If you want something stronger, we should try O’Malley’s.”

Draco chuckled. “Ah, yes, that sounds like a proper place.”

She led him toward the pub, thrilling at the feel of her hand in his. Never in her wildest dreams would she have seen this coming, but she was certain that it was going to be a very good year.