Chapter Text
Book II
Chapter 1
The puffs of steam from the scarlet engine surrounded the platform as Hermione Granger made her way back to Atalanta Portkey Services to leave King’s Cross Station. She gave her name to the woman and headed into the booth, relieved that this time she didn’t need to rely on Draco Malfoy to tell her how to operate the system.
‘When do you want to tell them?’ Malfoy’s voice came through the crowd, and intrinsically—through the tangled link between their souls—she knew he was referring to his parents; reminding her that while she could do it alone, that didn’t stop them from still being connected. Their souls had been tangled for nearly a year, ever since a mysterious explosion had occurred at the Ministry of Magic the previous summer. Now, wherever they were, they could hear each others’ thoughts; feel their emotions; and experience their pain. It was a constant source of annoyance—and one that required regular sessions with their Healer—Binns—to try and remove. Though he was yet to be successful in allowing them more to be more than a mile apart it was much better than the six feet they’d started with.
As for the secret Malfoy asked about… Last winter Hermione had found out she was a pureblood through a mixture of passing through the ancient blood wards surrounding the family wing Malfoy Manor and a blood magic test performed by Healer Binns under the guise of testing their connection. Even though it was confirmed, no one but Hermione, Malfoy, and her best friend, the famous Harry Potter, knew.
Hermione wasn’t eager to reveal the intimate secrets of her past, or contend with the fact that her parents may not be who they said they were… she had no idea how much the Grangers knew. But there was no denying it, she knew the longer she held off dealing with it, the harder it would be. Plus, the Malfoys had been nothing but helpful and kind, and not telling them felt like a lie. And yet she was still hesitating.
‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted.
‘It will be tough,’ Malfoy agreed. She could tell he didn’t want to hide anything from his parents, and appreciated him letting her pick the time.
She picked up the golden apple portkey, twisting it around the stem anxiously and trying to form what she was going to say.
‘Relax,’ Malfoy said, ‘Honestly, you’re making me all nervous for no reason. Let’s just have a good meal tonight without your panic dripping all over it.’
A cool voice began counting down from ten, echoing across the link to each of their small rooms. Hermione grabbed her apple, held her trunk and adjusted her cloak just before they were whooshed out of King’s Cross and to the gates of Malfoy Manor.
As Hermione took a moment to steady herself, wincing slightly as pain hit her through the link, she marvelled again on how gracefully Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy always managed to stay on their feet. Malfoy, however, hadn’t been as lucky. His trunk had banged the back of his shin as he landed, sending him tumbling backwards over it. He was scrambling to his feet, rubbing his shoulder; his leg and side stinging.
Through the link, Hermione felt the sting and rubbed her own shoulder. Malfoy saw small flash of worry crossed Mr. Malfoy’s eyes as he took in the mirrored movements, but he didn’t acknowledge it.
“Welcome back, Miss Granger,” Mr. Malfoy said with a deep nod, “It’s nice to see you again. Draco said both of you did very well in all your exams. Congratulations.” He flicked his wand, levitating both trunks.
“Thank you, sir,” Hermione said with a deep nod, she still wasn’t completely used to how formal Mr. Malfoy was all the time.
“I’m sure you two would like to freshen up,” Mrs. Malfoy said, as they made their way through the gates. “Lacey will have dinner on the table in twenty minutes, until then, Miss Granger, you are in your usual room. And Draco,” she turned to her son with a sparkle in her eye, “There’s a surprise waiting for you in your room.”
Excitement flipped in Malfoy’s stomach, “Really?” he asked, trying not to skip up the front steps, “What is it?”
“Now,” Mr. Malfoy said, trying to maintain a stiff demeanour as he passed the trunks to the waiting house-elves, “It wouldn’t be a surprise then would it?”
Malfoy beamed at them and started to run up the stairs, “Draco!” Mrs. Malfoy’s warning voice stopped him in his tracks, “I trust that in your term at school you haven’t forgotten the rules about running in the house.”
Hermione fought back a smile as she thanked them both and trooped up the stairs behind Malfoy as he struggled to maintain a steady pace. At the top of the stairs he turned towards the family wing and Hermione followed the familiar path towards her guest suite.
She had just entered her bathroom and was trying to tame her wild curls (with very little success) when a wave of confusion passed through the link.
‘Don’t like your present?’ She asked.
‘…That’s not it,’ Malfoy replied, ‘There’s nothing here?’
Hermione had never seen his room before and couldn’t offer suggestions on where to look, so she just said, ‘Really? Seems strange. Your mother wouldn’t mention a present then not give you one. Is it not in the bedroom?’
‘I think she would have said if it was hard to find, or if finding it was part of the game,’ Malfoy said.
‘Maybe it rolled off something?’ She guessed, trying to imagine what it could be.
‘Oh maybe… AH HAH!’ Hermione stumbled as Malfoy’s excitement exploded, ‘HERMIONE GET IN HERE! YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE IT!’ Malfoy’s thoughts were crashing together making it impossible for her to make sense of it.
‘WHAT? WHAT IS IT?’ Hermione called back, stumbling out of the bathroom and down the hall, following the link into the other wing and down the corridor, completely forgetting the no running rule.
‘I CAN’T BELIEVE—FINALLY!’ His excitement was winding them both up and she burst into his bedroom without a clear understanding of how she got there, the link having directed her feet.
Malfoy was kneeling on the ground, his head stuffed under his bed, excitement radiating through him though he appeared entirely unable to move. She started towards him—
‘Slowly! Shhh, slowly…’ He said, waving a pale hand in her general direction, straining his neck further under the bed.
‘What is it?’ Hermione said creeping forward across the old woven carpet and kneeling down.
‘It’s sleeping,’ Malfoy said.
She peered under the bed. There, curled up in a darling little round ball, was an all white cat. It’s tiny pink ears sticking out of a mound of flawless fluff.
“Ohhh,” she breathed, “Oh, look at it!”
“I know!” His voice was strained as he tried to keep it a whisper. “I know!”
‘What are you going to name it?’ she asked, scooting down the length of the bed towards the wall to get a new angle on the small cat.
‘I don’t know, it may have come with a name,’ Malfoy said, a hundred names running through his head. ‘Depends on if it’s a boy or a girl. But either way—it’s mine.’
Hermione let out a little laugh, ‘I almost feel as if we need to be introduced.’
‘When it wakes up, I’ll introduce you and you can introduce me,’ Malfoy said in a more serious tone than Hermione felt the situation required. But he was so excited she wasn’t about to burst his bubble.
‘Well we won’t wake it up,’ Hermione said, starting to stand up. “OUCH!” She’d stood up into the bedside table that she hadn’t realised was now right above her head; banging her head hard on the dark dense carved oak.
Malfoy jerked at the same time from the phantom pain across the link and ended up banging his own head on the bottom of the bed frame and crying out himself. The joint noises startled the cat, which darted out from under the bed.
‘So much for not waking it up,’ Malfoy said ruefully rubbing his head.
‘Ouch—sorry,’ she said sheepishly looking around for the cat. The room was large but dark. The curtains had been drawn for the evening but a grey dusk still shone through the crack. As a result, the candles and lamps in the room struggled to light the medieval oak panelled walls carved with long narrow arches dotted with heavy tapestries. All of the furniture was old, wide, and made of the same heavy dark wood; each exuding a distinct presence to the room.
Meanwhile, Malfoy had spotted the cat peeping out from behind one of the long curtains. He crouched back down, “Here, kitty, kitty—” he called softly, putting out one hand.
The cat looked at the hand with wide blue eyes, then glanced around and sniffed the air cautiously. Hermione froze, not wanting to scare the poor feline again. She had never had a cat, but with cats she knew being slow and making no sudden movements was the right way to go.
“Come here, come here,” Malfoy said soothingly, “Come on, I won’t hurt you.” After a few quiet moments, the cat took a few careful steps out from behind the curtain. He didn’t breath, he didn’t move, he tried to remain perfectly still and calm while inwardly ecstatic. “It’s okay,” he called reassuringly, “It’s okay, come here, kitty.”
With more confidence, the cat raised its tail and crossed the room to where Malfoy crouched. He started to reach out his hand to pet it—but he was doing it all wrong.
“Wait—” Hermione whispered, “Let it smell your hand first.”
Malfoy reached out, palm up, like he was asking for alms.
“No, like this,” she demonstrated, “So it doesn’t look like you’re going to hit it.”
Malfoy flipped his hand over and the cat closed the distance, sniffing carefully. He held his breath as the cat blinked slowly at him. Once. Twice. Then it nudged his hand.
“Now you can pet it,” Hermione said.
He let out a sigh of relief and pet the small white furball. Hermione ached to lean down and pet it too but this was his cat and his moment. So she just lowered herself down a few feet away and sat on the rug, watching Malfoy.
The cat circled him then returned for more pets; Malfoy turned to look at Hermione, a giant smile on his face.
‘I got a cat!’ he cried over the link, clearly afraid to speak loudly in it’s presence.
Hermione fought the urge to laugh, ‘I know.’
A few minutes later and the cat had come and gone, inspecting them, jumping onto the bed, smelling Hermione’s hand and cloak, winding around the legs of the desk by the window, and repeating.
Malfoy had been impatient and clearly wanted to chase the cat but Hermione had talked him out of it. ‘You have to let it get used to you,’ she reminded him, ‘It will warm up to you soon enough.’
Malfoy reluctantly agreed, so they both sat quietly, watching it until they heard the dinner bell sound.
“I’ll be right back,” Malfoy said to the cat as they got up and left the room. Then turned to Hermione, “I can’t believe they finally got me a cat!”
“I didn’t realise you wanted one so badly,” Hermione admitted as they walked down the hall.
“I was always told I had to wait until I’d been at Hogwarts a few years,” he admitted, “Proved that I could keep up my grades.”
“I wonder if—” Hermione said, turning off the narrow hall to the large corridor that led to the entrance to the wing. A bolt of panic shot through her and she stopped dead.
‘What is it?’ Malfoy asked turning around the corner and coming up behind her. He stopped with a jolt as he saw his parents standing in the doorway of a room directly across the corridor.
The adults stared at them; Mr. Malfoy’s eyes moved between Hermione’s ridged form and the entrance to the family wing far at the end of the corridor and back again. The family wing had protections on it—protections that allowed those with certain ancestors access while repelling those that didn’t. Hermione and Malfoy had already found out, and repeatedly tested, the fact she could pass the wards when her Muggle parentage should be preventing it. It was supposed to stay a secret. But that hadn’t even lasted a day.
Mrs. Malfoy was watching Malfoy, her pale brow lifted as she calculated the “hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar” expression on both of their faces.
They stood there for a long moment, no one saying anything.
Mrs. Malfoy brought her hand up to her mouth, in a dainty effort to hide her smile, “Well now, I think we will have a very interesting conversation topic to start off dinner tonight.”
With that she carefully, but clearly, steered her gaping husband towards the end of the corridor. Hermione turned, wide-eyed to Malfoy, ‘What now?’ she asked, her heart pounding in her ears.
He just shrugged and gestured for her to head down the corridor. The group made their way to the dining room in silence, Hermione aggressively trying to practice what she was going to say and how. Hundreds of conversation starters were practiced and thrown out in the five tense minutes where they all sat down, put napkins on their laps, Lacey supervised drinks, and then brought around two soup terrines.
“We have lobster bisque and vichyssoise to choose between tonight!” Lacey squeaked.
‘Why so many choices?’ Hermione asked.
‘Father always has a big celebration dinner at the end of the school year,’ Malfoy explained, then to Lacey, who had a large porcelain soup terrine floating on either side of her head, “The bisque, please.”
After the soup had been passed out, the house-elves left and a long silence stretched across the room. Hermione sat, staring at her soup as if it would suddenly turn into a portkey and she could go anywhere else. She was so focused on panicking that Malfoy had to nudge her with the bread basket to get her to take it from him.
She selected a warm seed roll and put it on her bread plate, her hand shaking slightly. The nerves bounced between the pair as Malfoy picked at the upholstery on his chair.
Another moment of silence passed then Mr. Malfoy cleared his throat. “I do believe there is something both of you need to tell us.”
Another beat of silence.
“Is this because your souls are still entangled?” Mrs. Malfoy asked.
“No,” Hermione and Malfoy said quietly together.
“Does Healer Binns know?” she tried.
“No,” they chorused.
“Is this a new development?” Mr. Malfoy asked.
Hermione hesitated.
“I think—” Malfoy said taking over, “It may be best if we start at the beginning.”
The adults nodded, and in silent consensus picked up their spoons to begin the first course.
“Over the winter holiday, we wanted to play Goblin Horde,” Hermione started, then paused, unsure if she should explain it.
Mr. Malfoy nodded, “I know the game well, continue.”
“Well, we argued about what the clue meant, so we split up looking for it. I went through the guest wing and Malfoy took the family wing.” Hermione explained. “I went around the back—”
“Through the family salon,” Malfoy supplemented.
“And into the corridor with the suits of armour… see I didn’t know where the family wing started around back so it didn’t surprise me, and that’s where Malfoy found me. We were both shocked at how I past the wards. So we checked them. And double checked them. And confirmed that I was passing them—”
“That stupid painting laughing through the whole thing—” Malfoy muttered darkly.
“Ahh, so that’s what Countess Malady was going on about,” said Mrs. Malfoy. “I thought she was confused, she told me three children were playing with the ward…” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.
“We had Harry come over to check it,” Malfoy said, taking up the story. “To see if the wards were working… They were. So then we asked Binns if our blood could be mixed—”
“You said Healer Binns didn’t know,” Mr. Malfoy countered.
“We didn’t tell him it was because of the wards,” Malfoy replied quickly. “We just asked if it could be a problem. He said he would check and ran a test from Ollivander’s—” He hesitated, unsure if he should talk about the blood magic artifact. They had been sworn to secrecy as such magical objects had been banned for over a century.
“We know what you mean,” Mrs. Malfoy surprised them both by saying, “Continue.”
“Well it doesn’t say we’re directly related, so that’s not it.” Hermione said. “So that means—”
Mrs. Malfoy’s hand had flown to her breast, “You’re pureblood…”
Hermione breathed out, “Yes—” Now that it was out in the air it seemed to loom over her less. In speaking it aloud, it became more real. But it also became easier to bear.
There was another silence, during which Hermione actually took her first sip of soup. Thanks to the enchanted porcelain, it was still warm.
“And you—” Mrs. Malfoy started, “You had no idea?”
Hermione hastily put down her spoon, eager to prove she hadn’t been attempting to deceive them and it wasn’t all a big trick. “No—no not at all. I had no idea, no memory (that is to say I have no memory of it).”
“Then a pensive won’t work,” Mr. Malfoy muttered, then louder, “And the Grangers?”
Hermione hesitated and Malfoy stepped in, much to her relief, “We don’t know—we only found this out recently. We haven’t mentioned it to them—”
“Excellent.” His father interrupted, “It may not be safe.”
Hermione nodded, “That’s what Harry said.”
The man raised an eyebrow appraisingly, “Really? Young Mr. Potter has good instincts.”
“So,” Mrs. Malfoy said, taking another small sip of soup which reminded Hermione that this was a dinner and she needed to eat, “Your parents never said you were adopted?”
“No,” Hermione said quietly. “There was never any hint of it, I don’t particularly look exactly like them, but it was possible I look like a distant relative.”
“You didn’t meet your extended family?” Mr. Malfoy inquired.
Hermione shook her head, “Not that I really remember. They said they must’ve had a fight or something.”
Mrs. Malfoy tutted.
‘You’re still not eating,’ Malfoy reminded her. She picked up her spoon again and took a few long sips, noted how hungry she actually was, and tore off some of her roll as well.
For a long moment they ate in silence. Then Mr. Malfoy spoke, “The Grangers will need to be interviewed to determine what they know.”
“That is,” Mrs. Malfoy cut in, watching Hermione, “If you are comfortable pursuing this.”
This was something she had been wrestling with for days. She wanted to know what happened to her but also feared it. She had been called crazy as a child—made-up people and places; she didn’t want to be accused of that again. She certainly hoped she hadn’t done anything crazy in years. There were so few blood wards now, she may have never known her whole life. But she did know now, and the idea of going back to the Grangers now with what she knew felt… dangerous. What did they know? What would they do if they found out she had learned they weren’t her real parents?
She sorted through her thoughts as she spoke, “The link also has given me an excuse to be away from the Grangers without raising suspicion—which could be used to allow us to take our time—be methodical. But it won’t work forever. Frankly it is strange they haven’t showed any interest in coming to visit me, and they haven’t really sent any letters in months. It all seems suspicious. If we don’t start looking into it soon I worry they will go to Dumbledore or something.” She took a deep breath, now the practical side was over, the feelings she had been trying to suppress all meal were flooding out. Her stomach churned as she said, “I—I don’t feel safe going back to them right now… Honestly, I don’t—I don’t know what to do about them—about the Grangers.”
Just to Malfoy she added, ‘Besides—if it should turn out—if it could possibly turn out—’ she stopped, afraid to finish the thought.
‘Whatever happens,’ Malfoy added, ‘we’ll figure it out together. I mean—’ he coughed, embarrassed, ‘That is to say—well my parents will figure it out. I mean—look at them.’ The two elder Malfoys had pulled their heads together and were whispering fervently. ‘I would bet anything that Father already has a ten-step plan forming.’
The two adults broke apart, “Well.” Mrs. Malfoy started, “It goes without saying that you are welcome here as long as you want to stay.” Hermione’s eyes swam and and she nodded, a lump in her throat. “And Lucius and I agree with you; you shouldn’t have to go back to the Grangers. There is something strange going on indeed, and you are right, we need to get ahead of it. Before they alert someone.”
Mr. Malfoy’s face was dark on the far end of the table, “It is safest for you to remain here, I agree. Purebloods are never left with Muggles on purpose, so we know something… unique happened to you. We will start to consider possibilities on how to approach the Grangers. Until then, I will impress upon both of you the importance of secrecy.”
The two of them nodded.
“Well, I think that is as sorted as it will be for tonight.” Mrs. Malfoy said with only a slightly forced smile, “It is your first day of the summer holidays. Let’s celebrate, shall we?”
It felt like a weight had lifted from the table, she hadn’t received any sudden answers about her past, but she had a place to stay that was safe, and people that knew her secret and were content to let her deal with it at her own speed. So, as Lacey cleared the soup and brought out salmon and sole meunière Hermione was able to eat more, swallowing the fears she had for now, just glad to have one thing less to hide from the people around her.
As they headed to bed, Mrs. Malfoy stopped Hermione at the top of the stairs. “Would you like a cup of tea before bed?”
Hermione hesitated, before nodding. She wasn’t ready to enter the cavernous dark bedroom on her own with the emotions swirling through her. Mrs. Malfoy nodded and put her hand out, leading into a sitting room. On the other end of the link, she could feel Malfoy hunting for the cat around his room and tried to ignore him as she sat in one of the arm chairs around the tea table.
Mrs. Malfoy sat on the other side, facing Hermione; who had failed to sit with the grace and poise of the woman across from her, instead sitting hunched, her hands under her legs as she chewed her lip. It was harder to pretend to be okay when the only other person in the room was making direct eye contact.
For a moment, Mrs. Malfoy didn’t say anything as Mixie brought in and poured the tea. It smelled light—like lavender and honey.
“Draco tells me Harry is your closest friend at school,” Mrs. Malfoy said.
Hermione nodded, taking the teacup Mixie offered in one sweaty hand, before putting it on the saucer that had levitated next to her.
“And what about girls in your dorm?”
Hermione shook her head, “We’ve never really gotten along.” She admitted. Then without knowing she was going to do so, added, “Lavender and Parvati are very cliquish and the other girls are around so rarely I’m not even sure they’re there.”
“Do you have anyone else you would like to share your current situation with?”
Hermione bit her lip, “No…well—Harry, I guess…”
“Well,” Mrs. Malfoy put a single spoonful of sugar into her tea and stirred it, “I think every girl needs someone they can cry with, and usually boys your age are not sure what to do in such circumstances, even if they mean well.”
The image of Malfoy trying desperately to calm her down by the lake, and the awkward pats from Harry entered her mind and Hermione smiled slightly, “That’s true.”
“So if you ever want someone to talk to, about this, about boys… or about anything at all, please know that I am here.” Mrs. Malfoy offered with a warm smile.
Hermione swore she wasn’t going to do it. She had promised herself, but the corners of her eyes were blurring and when she opened her mouth, her throat caught and nothing came out. She ran around the table to Mrs. Malfoy and threw her arms around her, barely having time to bury her face before the tears started. After a minute of quiet tears, she started sobbing.
“I’m so scared!” Hermione admitted into the prim woman’s shoulder, “What does it all mean? Who am I?”
“You are the same strong, smart, and independent young woman I met in St. Mungo’s,” Mrs. Malfoy said quietly, rubbing her back.
“But I’m lying to everyone!” Hermione sobbed, “They’re all going to h-hate me! They think—think I’m some major p-proof that purebloods are t-terrible and—and muggleborns are b-better than every—everyone! What will they say when they f-find—find out I’m—” she sobbed harder.
“You don’t have anything to prove to anyone,” Mrs. Malfoy replied. “You never did.”
“B—but what i-if they—”
“Listen to me, Hermione,” Mrs. Malfoy said soothingly, pulling her closer, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. You are the one that gives them the power to judge you—Do you want to give them that power?”
Hermione sniffed and shook her head. “N-no.”
Mrs. Malfoy gave her a squeeze, “Then you be who you have always been, and be proud of whatever new facets of yourself that you learn. Whether it is a secret talent, or the person you love, or even an aspect of your family history you didn’t know you had.”
“B-but, what if it—it’s bad? We… we don’t know what happened to me,” Hermione said, taking the handkerchief she was offered.
“I’m going to let you in on a secret,” Mrs. Malfoy said, her serious tone causing Hermione to pull away so she could look the pale woman in the eyes. “I still love my older sisters, even though it is hard to accept.”
Hermione was confused, what did that have to do with anything?
“My sisters,” Mrs. Malfoy continued, “Are Bellatrix, the oldest, and Andromeda, the middle child.”
Hermione nodded, “Malfoy said Andromeda married a muggleborn…”
“She did, right out of Hogwarts…” Mrs. Malfoy said quietly, “My parents hated the union; forbade it. So Andromeda ran away—she eloped. She cut us all out. It was years before we reconciled, after Nymphadora was born. She and Draco never got along, but we still write… and we talk about her—Our elder sister, Bella. Together we remember what Bella used to be like—before the war.”
Mrs. Malfoy’s voice became far away, “During the war, Hermione, Bella did terrible things. Unspeakable things. For a man she loved and trusted more than anyone else; even her sisters… But the worst part was… she started to enjoy the awful things she did. It seemed every week I would hear about some new horrific tragedy caused by one of my own sisters.” She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a breath, “It is hard to reconcile, impossible to understand; and it hurt.”
The woman sighed, “But her actions are just one part of me; and I could run, I could hide and be ashamed, or I could show that I am my own person, and protect the things I have chosen to protect without letting my family history stop me. And I am not the only example, Mr. Potter has had a lot of terrible things happen to him, some he remembers and some he doesn’t. But despite all the rumours that Draco tells me seem to follow that boy every year, he doesn’t sink into despair because he has friends like you…” she tucked her hand under Hermione’s chin, “Friends that like him for who he is; no matter what happened in his past.”
“I have my sister to lean on and my husband to share my burdens—they love me unconditionally; and Harry has his friends—friends that support him even when others called him the Heir of Slytherin.” Her eyes sparkled as she revealed how much Malfoy clearly shared in his letters, “You will find people that you trust, that love you for who you are, regardless of what others say. Just remember—loyalties are made in those important and difficult moments; not around the lunch table. You must surround yourself with those that support you when things are tough—when it seems everyone is against you. In moments of life and death… Those are the people to keep by you forever. No one else—and nothing else—matters.”
Hermione nodded, wiping her tears before giving Mrs. Malfoy another big hug. “You’re right…. Thank you.”
“Of course, my dear,” Mrs. Malfoy whispered into her hair.
After a moment, Hermione asked, “What—what are we going to do about the Grangers?” She hesitated, feeling very small, then said quietly, “I’m afraid of them.”
“And that does not make you weak,” Mrs. Malfoy replied, rubbing her back comfortingly. “It is perfectly reasonable to fear those that may have been lying to you for so long. The more you trust someone, the more their betrayal will hurt. But we will help you through it,” She took Hermione’s hand, “You will overcome this. You are stronger than those Muggles and anything they may have done to you. Please let us know if there is anything you need.”
They sat there for a long moment, then Hermione smiled weakly, “Is it bad that I’m proud I started doing heraldry lessons on time?” She twisted her sleeve, “Maybe in another life time I would have been at my family home doing the same lessons…”
Mrs. Malfoy pulled back, looking in Hermione’s eyes, “Never be ashamed of following the old wizarding traditions,” she said with a smile, but her smile saddened as she added, “But never dwell on what life would have been like if things had gone differently. We don’t know what happened; and it is likely the Grangers are not working alone, it may be a long and hard journey to find out. You could drive yourself mad trying to be someone from another life—you are whomever you chose to be. Whether you chose to embrace being a pureblood or not, it is up to you.”
“I never felt close to my p—the Grangers,” Hermione admitted, “The Muggle world never really felt like home. I like that my family is connected to this world where I feel so much more comfortable—that I’m not a guest in it,” The words came spilling out, and she realised how true they were only after she spoke them aloud. “Honestly, it makes me want to learn even more—about everything magical. Even if I can’t learn about my actual family, I really want to be a part of it.” And to belong, to finally belong.
“Well, as always you are free to join in with all that we do here,” Mrs. Malfoy offered.
Mrs. Malfoy smiled as Hermione leaned in for a final hug, before standing up and smoothing her robes. “Then can I ask one request?” Hermione said shyly.
“Of course, dear.”
Hermione looked down at her school robes, “I don’t want to wear the Muggle clothes my—the Grangers sent when I first came here. So I’ve been wearing my school robes all the time, could you… suggest some styles that a girl my age may be wearing over the summer?”
“Oh, Merlin’s beard!” A rare flush rose to Mrs. Malfoy’s pale face, “And here Lucius and I thought there was some other reason you were always wearing your school robes.”
Hermione flushed scarlet and shook her head. Had they thought she was just particular?
“Of course. Yes, we will owl in the morning for some new things,” Mrs. Malfoy said.
“Oh no!” Hermione waved her hands, “I didn’t mean for you to pay—”
“Nonsense, dear,” Mrs. Malfoy tutted, “A witch your age should feel confident in what she wears! And not stuck in the same Gryffindor robes all summer. Those cloaks are built for spring and autumn in Scotland, not summers in southern England.” Hermione didn’t press the subject of payment, she didn’t know who she would ask the gold from anyway.
A question from Mrs. Malfoy stirred her from her thoughts, “Are you are comfortable coming into the family wing?” the woman asked. Hermione nodded. “Then starting tomorrow we can move breakfast to the other room. It will make it a little less formal, which will be nice.”
They sat for a moment in silence, sipping their tea. After a few minutes Mrs. Malfoy asked, “How are you feeling?”
Hermione flashed her a grateful smile, “Much better, thank you ma‘am.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Mrs. Malfoy said, “And you don’t have to call me ma‘am, I think we can dispense with the formalities.”
“Then just call me Hermione,” she said, putting the used handkerchief on the table. “I think I’m going to head to bed now.”
“All right,” Mrs. Malfoy smile, “Have a good night, dear.”
Hermione was almost at the door when she turned around, sprinted back, and gave Mrs. Malfoy one last big hug. “Good night! And thank you again.”
For a moment Mrs. Malfoy was stiff with surprise, but then she laughed, “Sleep well.” And to Hermione’s surprise, despite all that had happened, she did.