"Are you really tired?" Draco asked as they stepped through the Floo and into her flat.
Hermione shook her head, winding her arms around his waist. "No, not really. But I thought you might be getting tired," she replied, pressing her head to his chest.
Gods, how well she knew him. Draco dropped a kiss into her curls. "Thank you," he said into her hair. "I am a little tired," he admitted. "Social interactions are—strange without alcohol."
Against him, Hermione nodded. "I thought as much."
"It will just take a bit of getting used to," Draco said, wanting to reassure her.
She nodded again. "I know." Draco could feel her smile through the fabric of his shirt. "I believe in you."
Draco kissed her curls again, pulling her close. "So now what?"
Hermione looked up at him, a soft smile on her face. "I'd like to spend some time with you."
"Sounds lovely," he said, returning her smile.
They curled up on the couch, Hermione practically in his lap as she flipped through channels on the telly until apparently settling on one, tossing the remote away, and pulling a blanket up over herself. Beneath the blanket, Draco wrapped his arms around her waist, squeezing gently. Hermione turned her head to look at him, small smile still on her face. She pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth before returning her gaze to the telly. "This is nice," she said after a moment. Draco hummed in agreement. "I'm thinking that maybe we shouldn't resume Friday night dinners with Harry and Ginny just yet."
Draco dropped his head down on to her shoulder, waiting for her continue.
Gently, Hermione bit her lip, clearly thinking. "Every Friday seems a bit excessive, doesn't it?" she asked, a rhetorical question. "I mean," she continued, "we've just gotten back together, so perhaps, we could cut it down for the time being? Maybe every other week—or perhaps once a month?"
"Hermione," he began, "while I have absolutely zero objections to you being greedy with my time, I am not going to resort to drinking simply because I have to look at Potter's face once a week." Draco grimaced. "Not including all the times he drops in unannounced."
"I have had a conversation with him about that," Hermione insisted.
"Well he clearly didn't listen—"
"Draco," she interrupted. "I'm being serious." She twisted on his lap until she was straddling him and took his face in her hands. "I just want you to be okay."
"Hey," he said, wrapping his hands around her wrists. "I am okay. I am a little emotionally exhausted, and yes, alcohol would take that away, but that's not enough for me to actually act on it, Hermione. If you want to spend Friday nights with your friends, then we will."
Hermione stared at him for a long moment, studying him, before finally nodding and flushing lightly. "Then, can I just be greedy with your time?" she asked quietly.
Draco laughed, replacing his hands at her waist. "Yes," he replied against her lips. "You can always be greedy with my time. Speaking of missing me," he smirked, "what was it that you wanted to talk about earlier?"
Hermione chewed at her lip for a moment before she spoke: "I know you've been busy fixing up Black Manor—" a pause, another bite to her bottom lip, "—but I was wondering if you were thinking about returning to work?
"With you?" Draco asked.
She nodded. "Yes. With me. I still need help most days, and well—I miss you during the day."
"I always knew you employed me for selfish reasons, Ms. Granger," he teased, lightly squeezing her waist.
"Only partially," Hermione said defensively. Then, muttered under her breath: "You just happen to be the best assistant."
Draco grinned at her. "I was, wasn't I? But actually," he continued seriously, "I've—I've actually been thinking about something."
"What?" Hermione said softly, her eyes focused on him.
"Do you think I'd be able to get a Mastery in Potions?" Draco asked, his voice feeling impossibly small.
Hermione's eyes visibly lit up. "Of course you could!" she replied fiercely. "Draco, you're so smart, and you are so good at Potions!"
"Really?"
"Yes, really!" Hermione tossed the blanket aside and hurried towards her bedroom. Several minutes later, she returned, her eyes shining brightly as she presented him with a thick folder. "This is all the information from my program. I could get you in touch with one of my old professors, and of course I'll put in a good word for you—" she rambled.
Draco gently squeezed her palm, instantly quieting her. "Will a program accept me, is more of what I meant," he said quietly.
She fixed him with a heated stare. "Well, you won't know unless you try."
There it was again: Try.
He nodded slowly. "You're right."
"How long have you been thinking about this?" Hermione asked.
He shrugged. "Before my mother got sick, I'd always had the vague thought that a Potions Mastery would be something I'd like to pursue. But when you mentioned wanting to do research on Soul Bonds." Draco looked up at her, meeting her eyes once more. "I want—I want to help you. I need to help you."
Hermione took his face in her hands, pressing a harsh kiss to his lips. "I am so proud of you," she said fiercely, gently stroking his cheeks with her fingers, a stark contrast to her kiss. "I'll owl Professor Lakatos first thing tomorrow morning!"
"Thank you," he replied, kissing her.
Hermione smiled against his lips. "When you get accepted, you won't have time to be my assistant," she said, in falsely dejected voice. "But, when the time comes for your internship, I may know someone who would be interested."
"Oh?" Draco asked, playing with the hem of her blouse.
"Mhmm," she hummed, smirking lasciviously.
"And would this be a completely professional relationship?"
Hermione removed her blouse, tossing it over the couch. "Oh, no. This position comes with benefits," she said, kissing him deeply.
Benefits, indeed.
After several rounds of lazy, emotionally fulfilling sex on the couch, Draco and Hermione fell into bed and into a deep sleep, wrapped in each other's arms.
As the first lights of day began to flood through the large window of Hermione's bedroom, Draco groaned and shifted, burying his face in Hermione's wild, sex mussed hair and shielding his eyes from the light. He breathed in the familiar scent of her hair and was very nearly asleep again when he heard the knock at the door. Draco's eyes instantly flew open, met with the mass of Hermione's chestnut curls. There came another knock at the door, and Draco's hand skimmed down her body, landing on her hip. He squeezed gently in an attempt to wake her. "Hermione," he breathed into her ear.
"No," she muttered, very clearly not awake, and shifted against him.
"Someone's at the door, Hermione," Draco said, squeezing her hip again.
Hermione groaned and rolled over onto her back. "What?" she asked.
"Someone's knocking at your door," he repeated.
"Gods dammit," she cursed, rising from the bed and searching for a pair of a pajamas and conjuring a robe. "I swear, Harry Potter—" Draco rose with her, pulling on his own pair of pajamas and following his grumbling witch to the living room. Without preamble, Hermione unlocked the door and yanked it open. "Harry James—" The words died on her tongue as the door revealed not Harry Potter, but Ron Weasley.
Without even thinking, Draco pushed Hermione behind him, taking her place in front of Weasley. "What are you doing here?" Draco asked gruffly. Vaguely, he could feel Hermione's fingers wrapping around his forearm, attempting to pull him back.
Weasley held up his hands, in a gesture that Draco recognized as deference. "I didn't even bring my wand," he said quickly. "I just wanted to talk to Hermione." His eyes drifted over Draco's shoulder, searching for Hermione. Draco took a step back, blocking Hermione from Weasley's view. "And you, I guess," Weasley continued, his eyes drifting back to Draco. Weasley winced.
"No," Draco said coldly—definitively.
Fingers tightened around forearm. "Draco," Hermione said quietly, urging him to look at her. He turned his head, meeting her eyes. "Let him in. He says he just wants to talk."
"No," Draco repeated.
A flash of irritation shot across her features. "Draco, he doesn't even have a wand."
Draco turned back to Weasley, who was looking extremely uncomfortable in the hallway. "You touch her, and I'll have you thrown in Azkaban," he said coldly, opening the door further to allow Weasley inside. "You'd know something about that—wouldn't you?"
Weasley visibly paled.
"Come in, Ronald," Hermione said coolly, gently pushing Draco out of her way. She stood before Weasley, her arms crossed and her hip cocked in a stance that Draco read as "What the fuck do you want?" The corner of Draco's mouth twitched, unable to fully hold back his smile.
Weasley rubbed nervously at the back of his neck, flushing a bright red as he realized Hermione had no intention of speaking first. "Can we sit?" he asked.
Hermione sighed. "Fine," she replied, gesturing toward the living room. Weasley took a seat in an armchair, while Draco pulled Hermione down onto his lap on the couch, unwilling to let Hermione go, but also wanting Weasley to know unequivocally that Hermione was his. From across the room, Draco glared at Weasley.
"I just—" Weasley began, his eyes locked on Hermione. "I wanted to apologize to you, Hermione. I've owed you one for a really long time." Weasley sighed, looking briefly down at his shoes before continuing. "I wasn't a good boyfriend to you—probably ever. I didn't realize it at the time—but I realize it now."
"That was never up for debate, Weasel," Draco said coldly, tightening his hold on Hermione.
She smacked his hand. "Draco," she murmured. "Stop."
"I was pushy, and I didn't listen to you. I didn't respect you, and I certainly didn't appreciate you." He rubbed at the back of his neck again. "I was jealous of him—" Weasley vaguely motioned to Draco. "I treated you like you belonged to me, even when I had been the one to break up with you. I didn't—I didn't know it was serious."
"That's your apology?" Hermione scoffed.
Weasley shook his head. "Part of it," he replied. "I went to Romania to clear my head, and it was really good for me—and I know that bit doesn't matter to you—but it was. Charlie—well, Charlie talked some sense into me." Weasley winced. "I was awful to you, Hermione, and I'm really sorry about that." A deep breath, Weasley's eyes landing on Draco. "And I'm really sorry I tried to break you two up. And I'm really sorry the way I went about it."
"You had me thrown in Azkaban, Weasley," Draco replied in a flat voice.
Weasley nodded. "I know. And I don't even know how to begin to apologize for that, Malfoy. It was—it was wrong. I took advantage of my position as an Auror and used information that I learned on the job to ruin you personally. And that was—well, I've quit my job."
"This is seeming less and less like an apology by the second, Weasley."
"Just know that I really am sorry, and I truly regret my actions," Weasley said quietly.
"I appreciate your apology, Ronald," came Hermione's voice. "And I do forgive you for your actions in our relationship, but I do not, under any circumstances, forgive you for having Draco arrested.
Weasley nodded again. "Harry told me to expect that. I didn't—I didn't realize what this was," he said, gesturing to Draco and Hermione. "I'm glad you're happy, Hermione."
"I am," Hermione replied icily.
"Good, good," Weasley mumbled, rising awkwardly from the chair. "Well," he said awkwardly, "I'll get out of your hair, then. Thank you—thank you for listening to me."
Draco finally released Hermione, placing her gently next to him on the couch and rising to make sure Weasley left. He followed Weasley to the door, pointedly opening it for the other man. As Weasley stepped through the door, Draco spoke: "I don't ever want to see you back here, Weasel," he warned.
Weasley looked as if he were to about to protest before promptly shutting his mouth and nodding.
Draco slammed the door, audibly locking it, and hurriedly returned to Hermione, who was still sitting on the couch, looking a bit bewildered. "Are you all right?" he asked, sitting down next to her and gently taking one of her hands in his.
Her eyes met his, a little furrow settled between her brows. "That—well, I didn't quite expect that." Hermione smiled at him and squeezed his hand. "And yes, of course I'm okay." Her voice took on a teasing quality as she climbed into his lap, straddling him. "You were here to protect me," she continued, giggling.
Draco watched her seriously, wrapping his arms around her protectively. "I don't trust the Weasel," he replied gruffly.
Hermione kissed the corner of his mouth in an attempt to sooth him. "Oh, relax, Draco. He didn't even have his wand. And he seemed sincere."
"I don't care," Draco said, kissing her possessively. "If it were up to me, I'd never let him be around you ever again."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I hardly think that's something you'll have to worry about, Draco," she replied. "I actually think he's rather terrified of you."
"Good," he said, kissing her again. Hermione pulled away from him and climbed off his lap. Draco frowned, already missing the contact.
"Don't pout, Draco," Hermione admonished, reaching for a parchment and quill that had been discarded across the coffee table. "I need to owl Professor Lakatos, remember?"
Draco stilled. No, he hadn't remembered. He'd been rather preoccupied with the sudden reappearance of a certain Weasel. Hermione, however, appeared to have completely moved on from their unexpected guest, and her thoughts had instantly returned to him. He grinned at her, unable to help himself. Weasley, who had once been such an important part of her life seemed to be wholly inconsequential to her now. Perhaps for the first time, Draco realized how far Hermione had moved away from that part of her life. Weasley had once been important, but now he was not. It was Draco that was important. It was this realization that absolved him of any remaining jealousy he had felt for Weasley. Hermione was his.
Forever.
"What are you smiling about?" Hermione asked, glancing at him as she continued to write on the parchment.
"Just thinking about how much I love you," he replied, kissing her cheek.
Hermione returned her attention to the parchment with a giggle. "You are so foolish," she said, signing her name to the bottom of the parchment and carefully rolling it up. Hermione walked towards the kitchen window and swung it open, calling for her owl. Juniper appeared within moments, and Hermione patted the owl on the head and tied it to her leg, muttering the destination.
The owl returned mere hours later, weighed down by a huge stack of papers. Hermione grimaced. "I'd forgotten how long the application was," she said, untying the stack from Juniper's leg. "Shit," she cursed. "Draco, the deadline for applications is in two days."
Draco sighed. "That's all right, Hermione," he said quietly. "Maybe next year."
Hermione glared at him. "No," she replied harshly, flipping through the application. "Three essays, a sample brew, and a practical analysis of a potion," she mused, then bit her lip. "It'll be a stretch, but we can get it done. I'll fill out the paperwork, and you get started on the sample. As for the practical analysis, that should be easy. I mean, you created potions for your mother all by yourself, Draco—you can do this. I know you can."
Draco looked to Hermione, who stared at him with such a fierce look that he could very nearly feel the determination radiating from her, small crackles of magic that made Draco steel himself.
He could do this. He could.
"Well, I suppose we better get started, then," he replied.
Draco and Hermione spent that day in the back room of Elixir, with Hermione scribbling furiously at his application while Draco brewed every potion in his repertoire—including several he had developed experimentally. While only one sample was required, Draco was determined to give them no reason to reject his application. Hermione, with a small smile on her face, had agreed with him.
By 8 p.m., Hermione had finished all of the paperwork, and Draco was surrounded by more than twenty potions. Hermione conjured a chair for him, and Draco allowed himself to collapse into it. "It's been a long time since I've brewed like this," he admitted, rubbing at a bit bead of sweat at his brow.
Hermione nodded. "You look tired, we can work on the essays tomorrow."
"We?" he asked, smirking at her.
"Yes, we," she said, lightly smacking his shoulder. "Of course I'm going to help you."
"Wouldn't that be considered cheating, Hermione?" Draco replied, teasing her.
Hermione smirked. "I won't tell if you won't."
They apparated to Black Manor, hand in hand, determined to spend a relaxing evening on the couch with Hermione's laptop. Their relaxing evening was interrupted, however, when Draco felt the niggle. He sighed, then swore. Hermione gave him a questioning look. "Someone's here," he replied. "Fucking Potter." Hermione laughed, then rolled her eyes, shifting so that Draco could stand. As he walked towards the door, he continued to curse Potter. "I swear to Merlin, Potter—" he began as he swung the door open. "Oh."
It was not Potter, but Astoria and Pansy. Astoria was smiling brightly, and Pansy looked like she'd rather be anywhere else. "Hi," greeted Astoria. "We have news. Can we come in?"
Draco rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck. Astoria's smile faltered. "Well, Hermione's here," he said vaguely.
"Hermione?" Astoria asked, her voice rising an octave.
"So you finally paid Granger a visit?" Pansy asked at the same time, smirking.
Draco nodded. "Yes, I paid her a visit, Pans. We're—uh. We're back together."
"You are?" Astoria asked, looking genuinely happy.
"Yeah."
"Well, that's perfect!" she exclaimed. "I need to apologize to her anyways."
Another apology. What is going on this weekend? Draco wondered briefly, before shrugging. "All right," he agreed, opening the door wider, allowing Astoria and Pansy to slip inside.
"I already feel nauseous," Pansy said sardonically as Draco hurriedly led them down the hall.
"They are quite gross," Astoria replied, sounding happier than Draco had probably ever heard.
"If I ever get that pathetic lovesick look on my face, please Avada me," Pansy continued.
Draco ignored both of them as they got closer to the living room. "Hermione, we have company!" he called.
Hermione, her curiosity predictably overwhelming her, peered down the hallway, her eyes landing first on Draco, then on Pansy, then on Astoria. Her face instantly hardened, her gaze returning to Draco, who merely offered her a shrug.
"Hi, Granger," Astoria greeted, her cheeks darkening with what Draco could only describe as embarrassment. "I didn't realize—well, never mind. Do you think we could talk?"
Hermione exhaled heavily. "Sure, Astoria," she replied, her voice suddenly sounding exhausted. "Let's go to the kitchen."
Astoria nodded eagerly, following Hermione down the hall, leaving Draco and Pansy alone in the living room. "She looks good," Draco commented.
Pansy did not meet his eyes, her gaze following Astoria down the hallway. "She's doing well. Gets better every day." Finally, Pansy looked at him. "I could say the same for you," she said. "Granger looks good on you."
Draco allowed himself a smile. "Yes," he agreed.
"You're still taking your potion?" Pansy asked. "Still sober?"
"Yes and yes."
Pansy nodded. "Good. It's good to know I'm leaving you in good hands."
Draco's smile faded as he looked seriously at Pansy. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Pansy sighed. "That's actually why we came over. We're going back to France."
"We? As in you and Astoria?" Draco asked, smirking.
"She and I are having a go at it," Pansy said quietly. "For real this time."
"You've convinced her to give monogamy a try, then?"
"She's a bit more amenable to it now that she's not resigned herself to death," Pansy replied seriously.
"So, France?" he asked.
"I'll feel better knowing Astoria is near her Healer—just in case. And anyway, I was never intending to stay in England permanently. All of my property is in France now," Pansy replied.
"You love her?" Draco asked.
Pansy glared at him. "Yes," she said shortly. "And if you tell that to anyone but Granger, I will personally see to your death."
Draco laughed wholeheartedly. "I'd expect nothing less from you, Pans." He didn't even think as he pulled Pansy into a tight hug, realizing that he was possibly risking his life in the process. "Thanks for kicking my arse, Pansy. I needed it," he said softly.
"Yes, you did," Pansy replied harshly.
Over Pansy's shoulder, Hermione and Astoria reappeared, both looking visibly relaxed. Astoria's apology had gone well then, he assumed. "Dammit!" Astoria cursed. "You told him about France, didn't you?"
Draco laughed again, releasing Pansy and returning to Hermione's side. He entwined their fingers together and squeezed, a small gesture to ask if she was okay. Hermione squeezed back.
Yes, everything was okay.
Perhaps even better than okay.
In the end, Draco sent his application in with ten samples of potions, four essays, and five practical analyses of potions, two of which were based on potions Hermione had personally created. He had always been an academic overachiever, and this, spurred on by Hermione's own perseverance, resulted in an application that Hermione had deemed exemplary. A personalized recommendation from Hermione herself certainly did not hurt things.
"How long will I have to wait?" Draco asked as they watched Noctua fly away with his application tied securely to his leg.
Hermione shrugged. "Not long—a couple of weeks. I heard back within a week." She blushed furiously at this admission.
Draco laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Of course you did, my beautiful swot."
"You're going to get in," Hermione said fiercely, and when she spoke like that, he believed her.
They waited the better part of a month before an unfamiliar owl knocked on the window of his bedroom, disrupting their haze of post-coital bliss. Hermione, rolling off of him, furrowed her brow. "Whose owl is that?" she asked.
"I don't know," he replied, already standing and pulling on his discarded boxers.
He offered the owl a treat, then untied the parchment from the owl's leg. Instantly, he recognized the seal of the Mastery program. Draco sucked in a deep breath. "Draco?" Hermione asked, worry tinging her voice. "What is it?" Draco motioned vaguely to the seal on the parchment. Hermione's eyes instantly brightened, and she crawled over to where he sat on the bed. "Well, go on! Open it!" she urged.
"I'm afraid to," Draco admitted.
Hermione's eyes softened, and reached out, gently taking the parchment from his fingers. "Would you like me to open it?"
Draco nodded. "Yes," he said quietly.
She pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek—comfort, certainly, but perhaps a bit of reassurance as well. Pulling away, Hermione broke the seal of the parchment and carefully unrolled the parchment. Draco looked away. "Draco," Hermione finally said excitedly. Instantly, his eyes snapped to hers. "You got in," she confirmed, her eyes wide and bright and so fucking beautiful.
"I got in?" he asked dumbly.
"Yes!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him.
"I love you," Draco murmured against her lips. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without you."
"Well, that's not true," Hermione argued.
"No," he said simply. "I wouldn't have been able to do any of this without you."
"Draco—"
"Let me say this," Draco interrupted. "I love you, Hermione. You've made me a better person—a happier person. You made someone who actually wants to do something with my life. You made me not want to give up on myself." He paused, attempting to gather the right words for what he wanted to say next. "In the interest of being fully honest with each other, I want you to know that I fully intend to marry you, Hermione."
"Draco," Hermione began, suddenly looking nervous.
Draco pressed a finger to her lips to quiet her, shaking his head gently. "Not today or tomorrow. Not even next year necessarily. I am content to wait for as long as I have to. I'm willing to wait until you're ready."
Hermione flushed. "When I'm ready?" she asked girlishly.
"As long as that takes," Draco replied, nodding against her.
Hermione beamed at him. "Okay," she said.
"Draco?" Hermione asked from the kitchen table of Black Manor, where she was reading one his mother's journals while Draco was practicing brewing potions one of the long island tables.
"Hmm?" Draco hummed, stirring two rotations clockwise, then four rotations counterclockwise.
"Who do you think the peacock is?" Hermione repeated.
"What?" he asked as he added six moth wings to the light pink potion.
"Well," Hermione mused, looking up from the journal. "It's pretty apparent who the dragon is, and I can make educated guesses about her other flashes, but one I can't figure out is who the peacock is."
"I always assumed it was me," Draco replied. Three more rotations clockwise.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione shake her head. "I know that seems to be the obvious option, because of your Patronus. But that doesn't entirely make sense to me. Do you remember that one entry: a peacock and a snake. There is always pride before the fall. That can't be about you, Draco." She paused, gnawing at her lip. "And there's this entry here: A peacock in a cage. A lock without a key. A bird without flight."
Draco paused in his brewing, looking up at Hermione. "Have you been studying my mother's journals?"
Hermione blushed. "You've been busy with brewing—I thought I could start my research on Soul-Bonding, well—here," she said, motioning down at the journal.
Draco raised a brow. "I can already tell by the look on your face that you have idea as to who the peacock really is his.
Hermione bit her lip again, all but confirming his suspicions. After a moment, she nodded shortly. "I need to go to the library," she said, sounding faraway.
He grinned at her, knowing his witch was on to something. Draco laughed. "Go," he urged, nodding towards the hall.
Hermione didn't have to be told twice, slipping from the stool and gripping the journal tightly to her chest as she scurried towards the library.
Draco brewed without interruption for nearly an hour before Hermione reappeared, slamming a heavy and ancient-looking tome down on the island where he was working, startling Draco so badly that he nearly knocked over his cauldron. He swore and pushed Hermione away from the island, not wanting the uncompleted potion to burn her. "I think I figured it out," she announced, ignoring Draco's arm and returning to the counter.
"Hermione—" Draco began.
She continued to ignore him. "It's your father."
"What?"
"I found this in the library," Hermione replied, motioning towards to book. "So far, it's the only Muggle book I've managed to find in the Black collection, which I found quite odd. I read it a few weeks ago and didn't think much of it." She bit her lip again. "But then I started wondering about the peacock, and then remembered this book—"
Draco looked down at the book. Aesop's Fables. He had never heard of it. He looked back to Hermione.
Hermione opened the book about midway, revealing an immaculate painting of a peacock on one page, and a short story on the other page. "Read it," she urged.
The Peacock, they say, did not at first have the beautiful feathers in which he now takes so much pride. These, Juno, whose favorite he was, granted to him one day when he begged her for a train of feathers to distinguish him from the other birds. Then, decked in his finery, gleaming with emerald, gold, purple, and azure, he strutted proudly among the birds. All regarded him with envy. Even the most beautiful pheasant could see that his beauty was surpassed.
Presently the Peacock saw an Eagle soaring high up in the blue sky and felt a desire to fly, as he had been accustomed to do. Lifting his wings he tried to rise from the ground. But the weight of his magnificent train held him down. Instead of flying up to greet the first rays of the morning sun or to bathe in the rosy light among the floating clouds at sunset, he would have to walk the ground more encumbered and oppressed than any common barnyard fowl.
"I don't really understand, Hermione," Draco admitted. "And who is Aesop?"
"Aesop was in slave in ancient Greece, supposedly he told these stories—they're called fables, which are short stories that are meant to convey important lessons," Hermione replied.
Draco stared at her blankly still not quite understanding.
Hermione took his silence as confusion, and continued: "Do not sacrifice your freedom for the sake of pomp and show. The peacock is your father."
Draco read the story twice more, before finally understanding what Hermione was saying. That had been precisely what his father had done—he had given up his freedom for perceived pomp, and had ended up even more trapped.
"She didn't want you to end up like him—or her, for that matter." Hermione smiled at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "That's how I'd know your mother would be proud of you," she said quietly.
"How?" Draco asked in a small voice, desperately wanting to know Hermione's reasoning.
"Because you chose freedom."