Chapter Text
Who is Jacob Black?
Mid-May 2010
This is either the most brilliant or the most dreadful idea she’s ever had, and Hermione Granger can’t quite decide which.
After six months of intense and thrilling research, Hermione is almost certain she’s found a way to remove the impossible-to-remove Dark Mark—that’s the brilliant part.
The dreadful part is that she needs Draco Malfoy to make it work.
Maybe it’s not too late. She can leave right now and send Malfoy an owl later, excusing herself. She can return the rest of her funding to the Ministry, shelf the project, and pick it up next year. Or never.
What am I thinking?!
Hermione stops bouncing her leg under the small cafe table. She is many things, but a quitter is not one of them. She must see this through, even if it kills her. Well, maybe not that far. Anything short of death would be preferable. The Battle of Hogwarts was twelve years ago, and Hermione would rather not face that sort of harrowing danger again.
The cafe door opens with a soft chime, and the most impossible-to-miss wizard strolls in. In a black tailored suit, Draco Malfoy stops just inside the threshold to briefly inspect the small coffee shop before his grey-blue eyes find Hermione. He locks onto her like a homing beacon and makes a beeline for her small table tucked away in the corner. His face is unreadable, and his posture is tall and proud as he walks, his dragon-hide loafers lightly tapping against the polished floors.
The popular and crowded cafe no longer feels very crowded at all. The closer he gets, the more Hermione’s surroundings begin to fade away. Time slows down, and her mind drifts backward—past the fleeting glimpses at crowded Ministry events, past the handful of times they made unacknowledged eye contact in Diagon Alley—all the way back to a memory tucked away for twelve years: Draco Malfoy’s Wizengamot trial.
He was thin with dark circles under his eyes, waiting for the ax to fall as Harry Potter sat down in the center of the large circular room. But to the young Death Eater’s surprise, The Boy Who Lived testified in his favor, claiming Malfoy was forced into making impossible choices no child should ever have to make—just like Harry Potter himself. And so, thanks to Harry, he was declared innocent of his conspiracy to commit murder and put on a strict probationary period for two years as penance.
Hermione’s mind flashes forward to the present as Draco Malfoy smoothly weaves around the crowd of witches and wizards. All of his childish features have vanished, replaced by a muscled physique, a confident smirk, and a close-fitted suit that accentuates his body in all the right ways.
In short: Draco Malfoy is fit, annoyingly so, and he struts like he knows it.
She quickly gives a covert glance at her reflection in the window to her left, taking in her modestly simple outfit, her minimal makeup, and her untamed curls. Perhaps she should’ve put more thought into her appearance—
No.
Hermione Granger is many things, but vain is not one of them. She doesn’t seek out the finer things. Rather, she is perfectly content with what she’s earned for herself, thank you very much. There is no way she will ever dress up for Draco Malfoy.
Hermione sits up straighter and schools her features into a polite smile, albeit a very forced polite smile, as he finally stands before her.
“Thank you for meeting me, Malfoy.” She gestures to the seat across from her. “Please, have a seat.”
Malfoy ignores her greeting and looks down his nose at her. “I’d prefer yours.”
Caught off guard by his words, she forgets to school her features, and her confusion is made very plain. “What?”
“I’d prefer your seat. I always face the door.” Malfoy flicks his chin to the other chair, giving her a silent command to move.
“For goodness’ sake,” Hermione mutters under her breath, then louder, “Fine.” Though she would’ve also preferred to face the door (old habits from the war, and all), she consents to Malfoy’s request. After settling into the opposite chair (which is irritatingly cold), she reapplies her polite smile. “I took the liberty of ordering a drink for you.”
“Thank you,” he replies and takes a sip from the cup in front of him. His face immediately scrunches. “This is vile. What is this?”
“Oh! Sorry, that’s mine. Black coffee with a splash of milk.” Hermione switches their cups. “You did insist on taking my seat,” she adds quietly.
Malfoy narrows his eyes at her offensive cup as he takes a sip from his own. His eyes pop in surprise for a fleeting moment. “You ordered me hot chocolate?”
“I took a guess on what you would like.”
The platinum-blond wizard raises a brow.
Hermione pauses before answering his unspoken question. “I remember that your mother always sent you chocolates every week while at Hogwarts.” She shrugs. “Hot chocolate seemed like the logical choice given your sweet tooth.”
As Malfoy takes another long drink from his cup, Hermione’s eyes catch on the movement of his throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple every time he swallows. She quickly looks away, heat creeping up her neck, and admonishes herself.
This is Draco Malfoy!
“Interesting observation,” the wizard in question adds impassively, then takes another sip. And another. And … is he really going to drink it all in one go? He places the empty cup on the table and leans back in his chair. With a smirk, he says, “I must admit, Granger, the letter you sent me is quite curious. Particularly when you wrote, ‘I need you.’ Could’ve sworn you hated me.”
“I wrote that I need your help,” she corrects him after nearly choking on her coffee. “And I don’t hate you. I confess that I did at one time, but I don’t harbor those misguided emotions anymore. We were children then—brought up drastically different, and then forced to pick a side in a deadly war. You had your motivations, and I had mine. Now, we’re adults, and we can move on.”
Malfoy considers her for a long time. “Agreed. So, what Gryffindor schemes are you plotting then?”
“I’m not plotting anything, nor would I call it a ‘scheme’.” Hermione takes a long sip from her coffee, which she charmed to stay warm. “It’s more like a ‘potentially groundbreaking magical research project requiring a very specific and willing test subject’.”
Malfoy stares unblinking, raising an intentional brow. “Groundbreaking, you say?”
“Potentially.”
“And, I’m the very specific test subject?”
“If you’re willing.”
He scoffs, then deadpans, “I am honored. Tell me then, Granger. What is this ‘research project’?”
Hermione glances around the busy cafe, pulls out her wand, and whispers, “Muffliato,” to prevent anyone from listening in. Despite the charm, she speaks softly anyway, “I have a very promising lead on how to remove the Dark Mark.”
Malfoy’s arrogant smirk falls, and his eyes become rounder and softer. But then, just as quickly, his forehead creases as he leans in and hisses, “What are you playing at?”
Hermione stills, perplexity written on her face. “I’m not—”
“Is this all a prank? A sick joke for you and your other high and mighty friends to mock me?”
“What? No!”
“Then, why?” he snarls. “Why are you researching the Dark Mark? Which is impossible to remove, mind.”
Hermione lifts her chin high, matching his earlier peacock posture. “I no longer believe it’s impossible,” her shoulders fall slightly, “but I need you to help me test it.”
Malfoy scoffs and crosses his arms across his chest. It’s as though he’s subconsciously hiding his arm with the Dark Mark. “And why is a good little witch like you studying Dark Magic?”
“Well,” Hermione’s confidence deflates a bit more, “it wasn’t my initial intention. I sort of … stumbled upon it.”
“How does one ‘stumble upon’ the topic of Dark Magic?” he asks, his voice coated with skepticism.
Hermione’s cheeks pinken as she begrudgingly answers his valid question. “I was inspired by a Muggle film. Are you familiar with the concept?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Film is a moving picture, except it tells a story using actors.”
Malfoy’s face remains unimpressed. “Continue.”
“Several months ago, I was watching a new film called New Moon—it’s the second movie in a series called Twilight—which is about an ordinary girl caught in a rivalry between vampires and werewolves. Anyway, I felt inspired by it and began researching to see if there really is a link between Native American magic and werewolves. I was hoping to find new advancements for managing Lycanthropy, but instead I fell down a rabbit hole about a form of magic that’s imbued within the tribal land. It’s really fascinating!”
Malfoy toys with the signet ring on his finger, expertly playing the part of the bored prince. “Consider me fascinated,” he says flatly.
“You should be. And to think, it’s all thanks to Jacob Black.” Hermione’s cheeks heat as she remembers all of his shirtless scenes in the film. It’s a crime how utterly dishy that man is!
Caught up in her daydream, she doesn’t notice Malfoy’s eyes narrow with sudden interest.
“Why are you blushing?”
Hermione stiffens as if hit with a stunning spell. “I’m not blushing.”
“You absolutely are.” His smirk becomes calculating. “Who is Jacob Black?”
“He’s the Native American character who’s a werewolf.”
Malfoy stops playing with his ring and sits ramrod straight. “I don’t recall having an American relative. That’s bollocks.”
Hermione’s eyes widen. “Oh. No, he’s not actually—”
“Unless he was removed from the Black Family Tree. Still, I’ve never heard of a Jacob Black. Was he a Squib that my relatives shipped off to the States?”
“Malfoy, no. He’s—”
“Perhaps he is the secret love child of Phineas Negellus Black,” he says with a thoughtful inflection, rubbing his chin.
“The what?”
“Could be quite the scandal,” Malfoy muses, inclining his head regally. “His portrait is still in McGonagall’s office at Hogwarts, you know. Have you tried talking to him? Perhaps he can arrange an introduction with Jacob Black for you.”
“No, because he isn’t—”
“But the real question is, why are you discussing magical research with some distant Black I’ve never heard of? Especially if he dabbled in Dark Magic.” His grey-blue eyes glint with devilry. “More importantly, why do you blush when you talk about him?”
Hermione groans and buries her hands in her face. How has this conversation spiraled so completely out of control? “It’s nothing!”
“Nothing?” Malfoy challenges. “I have a right to know about your research methods, Granger, and who they come from, particularly if they’re a distant relative of mine.”
“Jacob Black is not related to you! He is a fictional character from a Muggle teen romance film!” Hermione nearly shouts, her voice rising higher and higher. “And yes, I’m basing potentially groundbreaking magical theory on it, and no, I don’t want to hear your opinions about my research methods, Malfoy!”
There is a long pause as Malfoy stares at the flustered Hermione Granger—the brightest witch of her age. His controlled expression shifts to dawning realization, and then to absolute delight.
“Granger. Do you fancy Jacob Black?”
“He’s not real!”
“Sounds like that doesn’t stop you.” His grin is positively wicked. “Nor do I hear a denial.”
Hermione dies on the inside. So much for “seeing this through, even if it kills her.”
“You are insufferable! And if you had one ounce of intelligence, you would … understand…” Hermione’s voice trails off the longer she stares at the smirking wizard in front of her, and then comprehension hits her like a bludger to the chest. “But you do understand. You’re winding me up.”
Malfoy’s grin stretches further. “Guilty. It was too easy.”
“So, you knew this whole time that Jacob Black is just a fictional character?”
“I may not be familiar with Muggle films, but I do understand the concept. However,” his voice drips with raillery, “I didn’t know that the brightest witch of our age was besotted with a fictional American werewolf. It’s rather entertaining.”
Hermione lets out a dismissive puff of air. “Yes, very funny.”
“You have my permission to laugh.”
“Ha, ha,” she says dryly.
Quite pleased with himself, Malfoy’s chin lifts as he reclines back in his seat. The arrogant prat.
“Can we please get back to the matter at hand? This is serious, Malfoy.”
“Is it?” He raises a brow. “You’re claiming that you’ve discovered how to remove the Dark Mark, all thanks to magic you learned from a pretend werewolf named Jacob Black—who, I might add, you’re besotted with. Yes, very serious, indeed.”
“I am not—” Hermione stops herself, refusing to further indulge his smug baiting, and takes a breath. “My theory is sound, despite its … unique cinematic inspiration."
Malfoy’s smirk lingers for a moment more before softening into something unreadable. “Very well, Granger. Tell me more.”
Hermione settles deeper into her seat and takes a deep breath. “You may recall that Professor Sinistra from our Astronomy class briefly covered ley lines in fifth year—just the basics of Earth energy pathways and magical convergence points. The more ley lines converge and overlap, the more powerful the magic.
“I remember.”
“Good. Well, in Ancient Runes, Professor Babbling taught us how ancient civilizations marked and harnessed their power.”
“Like St. Michael’s Line, Stonehenge, and the Pyramids of Giza.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Hermione tilts her head. “I thought you dropped Ancient Runes after Third Year.”
Malfoy’s smirk returns. “Kept close tabs on me, Granger?”
“Hardly,” she snorts. “I was just very observant.”
“Well, you’re right; I didn’t see the point in continuing. Malfoy Manor sits on a ley line, so I was already well acquainted with the subject.”
“Really?” Hermione’s eyes widen slightly, and something clicks in her mind. “Is that why Voldemort chose it as his headquarters?”
A shadow crosses his features, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by careful indifference. He makes a show of inspecting his nails. “Yes. The ley line was strategically valuable. It amplified certain … activities.”
Hermione winces. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. That was tactless.”
“It was a logical question given our topic.” Malfoy shrugs as if bored with the conversation. “You were saying?”
Hermione gives her head a tiny shake and gathers her thoughts together. “Right. Well, thanks to my academic interest in Jacob Black, I was focusing my studies on the west coast, where the film takes place, and … I found it.” She bites her lip to keep her excited smile from spreading.
Malfoy’s lips twitch. “Found what?”
“The largest convergence point in the world!” she whisper-shouts excitedly. “Hundreds of ley lines all intersect at this one, single point in the United States at Klamath, California!” Hermione cannot contain her excitement anymore and bounces in her seat.
Malfoy leans forward slightly, his bored prince act slipping. “Hundreds?”
“At least! Possibly more—the Unspeakables’ records in the Department of Mysteries aren’t entirely clear on—”
“Granger.” He holds up a hand. “You’re telling me there’s a convergence point of such incredible magnitude, and no one has ever tried to exploit it?”
“That’s the thing,” Hermione answers after taking a sip of coffee. “It’s located on a Native American reservation, which is sovereign land and extremely well-protected. In fact, witches and wizards are only permitted to enter their land if we surrender our wands for the duration of our stay. Only Muggles—or No-Majs, as Americans call them—are freely allowed to enter.”
Malfoy’s expression shifts. “Did you say, surrender our wands? For the entire stay?”
“It’s sovereign land. They are at liberty to make their own laws separate from MACUSA.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You’ll get your wand back.” Hermione lifts up her own wand. “See?”
His lips curl. “No. I don’t like the idea of being completely defenseless.”
“But you won’t be! You’ll still be able to perform magic—just with a gemstone instead of a wand.”
“A gemstone?” he scoffs, crossing his arms like an impudent child.
Now that is the Draco Malfoy I know.
“You do want to remove the Dark Mark, don’t you?” Hermione prods with a raised brow.
Malfoy’s jaw tightens.
“Shall I continue?”
He leans forward, feigning boredom once more, and rests his elbows on the table between them. “If you must. You still haven’t told me what any of this has to do with removing the Dark Mark.”
“Well, we know that the Dark Mark is more than a magical brand; it’s a bond. The Mark may have faded after Voldemort died, but it never fully disappeared, because you are still connected to him—even in death.”
Something flickers across Malfoy’s face, but he says nothing.
“Curse Breakers can’t break it, and traditional magic can’t remove it. But the Natives don’t use traditional wand magic. They use gemstone magic.”
“You mean, Lithomancy? Stone Divination?” Malfoy asks with restrained interest.
“It’s similar, but not quite.” Hermione chews her lip, “It’s difficult to explain.”
Malfoy snickers. “Hermione Granger can’t explain something? Sounds like you’ve lost your knack.”
Rolling her eyes, Hermione tries again. “The gemstones that are formed underneath the ley lines are imbued with magic, like the core inside a wand. And, just like how every wand is different, every gemstone is different. Different types of gemstones draw out certain magical abilities, depending on the witch or wizard.”
Malfoy makes an incredulous noise. “Sounds woolly.”
“It is,” Hermione grunts, turning her lips into a pout. “It reminds me of Divination. Gemstone magic is based on intentions and emotions rather than logic. I find it … difficult.”
“‘Difficult’. There’s that word again,” he singsongs with a smirk.
Hermione lifts her chin and gives him a haughty look. “Just wait until you try it, then you can tease me properly.”
Malfoy tilts his head. “Why would I try it?”
“Because you’re coming with me to Klamath, California. That is, if you’re willing.” At his blank look, she presses forward. “Listen, I’ve dedicated nearly half a year to this project. I went there in person last month, and honestly? The magic there is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I firmly believe that this convergence is powerful enough to break that bond on your arm. So, if you’re serious about getting rid of the Dark Mark, then come with me to Klamath.”
There is a long, pregnant pause as Malfoy’s brows furrow together. “Tell me something, Granger…”
“Yes?” Hermione sits up straighter, waiting with bated breath.
“Will you put me in touch with Jacob Black? I’m quite eager to meet my squib American cousin.”
Not at all what she was expecting him to say, Hermione lets out an undignified snort. “Come off it, Malfoy. Since when are you funny?”
He presses his hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’ve always been funny.”
“Right,” she says wryly, fighting back a smile.
Malfoy notices, of course. His lips curve into a debonair smirk.
Hermione stares at the wizard in front of her, like he's a jigsaw puzzle missing critical pieces. This is not the same Draco Malfoy she remembers from her youth. Back at Hogwarts, Malfoy’s idea of humor was cruelty disguised as wit—always mocking her intelligence, her blood status, and her appearance. But now? This Draco Malfoy is something else entirely. He’s different. Almost … playful. And Hermione isn’t quite sure what to do with that.
One thing is certain: perhaps this project won’t be as painful as she had anticipated.
“So?” Hermione prompts. “Are you willing to be my test subject?”
Malfoy’s arrogant smile fades. His eyes flick down to his left forearm and stare distastefully as if he can see the Mark clearly from under his sleeve. Something complicated shadows his face. Desperation? Hope? Hermione can’t decipher it, but it’s an important reminder of why she’s doing this. No matter how expensive the suit that covers his Dark Mark, it cannot truly be hidden.
“This research,” he says quietly. “You’re serious.” It’s not a question.
“Completely.”
Malfoy says nothing for a long time, his jaw clenching and unclenching like he’s wrestling with his thoughts. “If this works … If you can actually do this, Granger…”
His unfinished sentences seem to hang in the air, tethered by uncertainty.
“I know,” she says gently. Then, shocking herself, she reaches across the table where his arms are resting and places a hand on his left forearm.
He stiffens at her touch as a look of surprise flashes in his eyes. The tension lingers for a second or two until something else crosses his face, and he relaxes. A slow grin stretches across his lips, and his eyes glint. His arrogant princely confidence returns as he nods once, decisively.
“Sure, Granger. I’ll be your test subject.”
Hermione slowly removes her hand as she fights against a shiver threatening to overtake her. This is a research partnership, a professional arrangement—nothing more. And yet the space between them feels charged, humming with possibility. But even more unsettling is how those five innocent words, I’ll be your test subject, suddenly don’t feel innocent at all.