Teehee, I'm supposed to be writing something else *cough*Boulanger*cough*

This is neither dark, nor angsty. Just fluffier than a Bishon Frise. Content warning for recreational drug/alcohol use, and Connie's foul mouth. Enjoy some Dramione fluff and I'll go work on either Boulanger, Mosaic, or Ardent.

I own a really cool stuffed version of a five lined skink, but I do not own this franchised property.

"Show us…" Draco paused for effect, sneaking glances at Theo and Blaise and smirking when both leaned forward over the scrying pool intently. "Hermione Granger."

I.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

She kept the mantra going in her head while she jogged around the block of her parents' neighbourhood. The summer breeze was refreshing where it licked the skin of her abdomen and legs beneath the cropped hooded sweatshirt, sports bra, and Lycra shorts she wore. Hermione slowed, coming to a stop in front of the gate to the Granger residence, taking care to stretch out her muscles so they didn't atrophy later. She eyed her wristwatch to clock her time, a mile in eight minutes bringing a grin of success to her face. She stretched once more, and pushed the gate open. Nothing sounded better than a hot, relaxing bath.

The three wizards pulled back simultaneously from the mirrored surface, the image of the wild-haired witch in her natural environment fading away, but their reactions couldn't have been more different.

"Best idea you've had today, mate," Zabini clapped his stunned blonde friend on the back heartily. "Watching a woman jog is what dreams are made of."

"I didn't know she jogged. I've been meaning to find a jogging partner when we go back to Hogwarts," Theo stated quietly, carefully watching Draco's face. If he was correct, the Malfoy scion should be running his mouth in three… two…

"She sweats like a pig! I shouldn't be surprised, really." As Draco's rant continued to become more involved, the young man pacing the length of his study, Blaise and Theo simply shook their heads.

II.

"So I says to 'im, 'Excuse the piss outta me, mate, but I'm not payin' more'n thirty quid for this. I c'n get better grass from me auntie's yard!'" Constance Llewelyn snickered out the last vestiges of smoke from her hit, passing the mostly burned spliff to her cousin, who rounded the paper where Connie's fingers had gripped it and inhaled deeply. The two young women were seated on Hermione's back patio overlooking the Granger's garden in the haze of a late June evening

"Those wankers always try that, Connie. I don't know why you get your shit from those tossers in South Croydon, but really." The witch poked the rolled paper at her friend matter of factly, blowing out her own smoke. "You'd have thought to have learned by now. I know a guy up in Enfield, and he won't fuck you. You remember Arden from school, yeah?" The two shared a grin

"Ooohhh, Kyle Arden? And if I wan' 'im to?" Connie hit and stubbed the joint out, coughing when she choked from suppressing a laugh. Hermione chuckled and pulled her own stash out to hand to her friend and now only remaining family member, levelling the boisterous blonde with a look.

"In the immortal words of Mrs. Pembroke, 'Ask and ye shall receive.'" Hermione sipped her lager with a smug look, her eyebrows wiggling.

"Pretty sure she mean' tha' about the crayons, 'Ermione," Connie rolled her eyes and flicked the lighter to ignite the dried plant, taking a deep drag off the glass pipe in which it laid. Not a moment later, she was hacking up a lung and laughing at Hermione's rejoinder.

"I don't know about that. Did you ever see her husband? There was a reason they had five children."

"What about th' lads at yer fancy magic school? Any o' them shaggable, or d'ye have 'em convinced yer a proper swot?" Hermione nodded with the bowl still at her lips, inhaling the reserve smoke.

"Proper swot," she replied croaking, her breath held before she exhaled again. "My skirts are even regulation length. And need I remind you, the only one worth sending post about was from a completely different country altogether?" The girls shared a heartfelt sigh at the memory of Viktor Krum whose engagement to a Slovenian heiress had taken the Wizarding World by storm. Connie, having looked through past editions of The Daily Prophet after she had moved in with her cousin, had taken a particular shine to the international Quidditch star and was nearly inconsolable for four whole hours.

"What 'bout yer snake slayin' friend, 'ere? Tha' tall one with th' name?" Connie packed away their smoking supplies and plopped her feet up onto the empty patio chair opposite her, watching her cousin carefully.

Hermione spluttered out the sip she had taken, amberbock spraying against the wooden deck creating darkened, shining splotches against the light stain. "Neville?! Neville Longbottom? Oh, God, no!" She wiped at her mouth, the bridge of her nose crinkled with confusion and the tiniest bit of abhorrence. "What- why would you even say that, Con? It's- he's Neville. You just- no. Just no."

When Hermione was done waving her hands about, occasionally sopping up more expelled beer during her rant, Connie allowed a sly grin to spread across her face. She leaned closer and poked Hermione's shoulder.

"Wi' 'ow much th' lad was starin' at yer tits a' Harrys th' other night, I'm willin' ta bet he'd like ta play Horsey wi' you, Cuz." Connie moved back to rest fully in her seat and sipped the last of her bottle before continuing. "Ye know, strap up yer legs, wear ye like a feedbag, 'n go ta town."

"Oh, God!"

"Hey, now, don't be like tha'. I'm sure he'd be grateful fer th' opportunity, if ye get me drift." Hermione continued to gag and mutter beside her, one part catching Connie's attention. "Oi, now, whazzat ye said?"

Hermione raised her head from where she was resting it between her knees, turning it slightly to the side to make eye contact. "I'd sooner shag Draco bloody Malfoy than Neville 'My Toad is Missing' Longbottom." Silence fell like a weight between them, Hermione watching her cousin and Constance fiddling with her empty bottom, lost in thought.

"Is he tha' poncey blond one? Nah, he reminds me of Francis Clement, remember him?" Both women grimaced thinking of the man in question.

Blaise and Draco stepped back from the scrying bowl, astounded. If the half-Italian wizard had been expecting his friend to do or say anything in response to what they had seen, it was certainly not Draco to simply turn and walk out of the room. He couldn't wait to tell Theo when they met for lunch the next day.

III.

"Why did she do it?!" Draco raged around the room, tearing items off of their displays and books from shelves in his anger and confusion. Not three hours before, he had been in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, awaiting his sentence. The month and a half of house arrest after the Battle had given the Ministry plenty of time to try the more active, dangerous Death Eaters it had in custody, and finally, it was Draco's turn.

With a closed courtroom and only the necessary parties to decide his fate, Draco had been certain he was going to Azkaban, at the very least, for a few years. That was, until a voice spoke out in his defense, one that he couldn't get out of his head.

"Draco and Narcissa Malfoy saved our lives."

"She was being interviewed by The Prophet when I left," Theo said quietly, walking into the destroyed room and righting it with a wave of his wand. "Your mother would keel over if she had seen this. Really." He rolled his blue eyes at Draco's glare before summoning a house elf to ask for tea.

Seating himself almost daintily in a comfortable burgundy armchair, he picked his fingernails and studied his friend under his lashes. During the last month, especially, Theo and Blaise had both noticed a significant change in their friend. Where, before the Dark Lord's return, Draco had been snarky and funny, genuinely caring about his friends, and open, he had become secretive and short with them all during the last few years, pushing them away and becoming a veritable island unto himself.

Here Draco was now, colour high in his cheeks, eyes lit up in ire and question. Theo's heart ached a bit and he sighed. "Skeeter asked her why. She said- She said it was 'the right thing' to have done and…" He pressed his lips together with uncertainty, feeling them tingle with the pressure.

"And what?" Draco asked in a croak where he still stood, leaned over now with his hands on his knees as though winded.

"She said she refused to leave another person behind." He barely heard Draco mutter Crabbe's name before his friend was tearing across the floor to reach the scrying bowl.

"Show me Hermione Granger." Theo wouldn't mention how Draco sobbed out the last syllables of his request when he recounted the scene to Blaise later.

Harry ducked the miniature bust of Pollux Black as it flew toward him courtesy of the whirlwind which had formed in the Black Library. Walburga was screaming off in the entryway about the filth tearing her home apart, he noted absently, hearing the occasional ring of a slur over the destruction before him. He ducked behind the wingback closest to the door, his hopeful exit blocked by a rather disconcertingly gleeful house elf.

Kreacher was grinning almost sadistically at the scene where he stood in the open doorway, wiping his hands on a tea towel lazily. He turned his bulbous eyes on Harry, seeing his master's exasperation, and shrugged.

"Kreacher can fix it."

"I thought you hated Hermione! Why aren't you, I don't know, reacting?!" Harry shouted at the elf, the maelstrom growing louder as Hermione screamed at Ron.

"Kreacher hates Miss Muddy, yes. Muddy is filthy. Is a dirty blight on the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Mmhmm. Is true." The crotchety creature was nodding to himself, speaking nearly serenely and matter-of-factly about his feelings. When Harry went to interrupt, however, the house elf held up a gnarled finger with a gleeful look. "But! Kreacher hates the Weasley-traitor more. Is wizard what is not Wizard. Miss Muddy was being born muddy but is strong Witch. Weasley-traitor chose it. Is weak and knows it."

Before Harry could argue, Kreacher had popped away and he was left once again in the direct vicinity of one very angry, powerful witch. He tuned back in just in time to hear Ron's words, and groaned internally.

"You should have asked me first, 'Mione!" Harry peeked over the back of the chair to spy Ron's red face and curled fists. He shot a glance to Hermione and was very thankful he had opted to wear comfortable clothing in case he needed to run. Her face was pinched, brows drawn, and a vein was throbbing in her neck. The bright chocolate eyes which were usually shining with excitement and knowledge were nearly black with anger glaring up at the tall ginger.

"Ask you?" Her quiet question was nearly a whisper. Harry felt his testicles shrink back into his body at the ice in her voice and wasn't that just an interesting sensation? He'd never actually been that terrified before, and that's pretty impressive considering the events of the past years. A distant thought that he needed to share that with Hermione and her cousin when the Gryffindor in question calmed down sort of meandered through his mind, and he wondered if that might be fear-based delirium.

"Well, yeah," his ginger friend replied stupidly, apparently not sensing the danger. Harry came back to himself when Hermione's hair began arcing electricity again and slowly began backing out of the room. The wind had died down momentarily, so he decided it was best to cut his losses and go before the chaos returned. Harry found he rather enjoyed living, considering he'd already died before, and would like to continue doing so.

"Get out," she hissed at the man before her, hair now moving as a phantom wind began picking up again. Ron didn't move, planting his feet a bit further apart and removing his hands from his pockets to clench at his sides. Hermione moved to step past him, intent on disapparating home, but Ron gripped her arm above her elbow.

In a swift move, he whipped her back to face him. "You're my bloody girlfriend, 'Mione, and you'll do as I say!" His spittle hit her face and she snarled back at him. The wind around them picked back up into a frenzy, Ron's eyes widening as he just realized what was happening around them. He looked down at his hand which was still wrapped tightly around Hermione's arm, her fist clenched as her muscles tightened below his loosening grip.

With a quick raise of her arm and a whirling movement, she had twisted the hold and grabbed his wrist instead. Not a handful of seconds later, Ron's arm was behind his back, his hand being pushed upward toward his shoulder blades, while his chest was flat against the library wall. He gasped as he met the musty wallpaper, coughing slightly, and winced, feeling like his shoulder was coming out of its socket. His mouth opened to speak, but a wand was shoved into his cheek effectively shutting him up. A knee was lifted and pressed to the wall just below his bollocks. Ron gulped.

"You. Do not talk." She hissed at him from behind. Though Hermione was nearly a head shorter, her voice carried and still sent chills down his spine. "I am not yours. You lost that right when you left us in that tent to come home and slag around. You do not get a say in what I do and don't do, or with whom I choose to associate. If you think-" the statement punctuated by a hard prod of her wand, the movement inadvertently putting pressure on the arm she had trapped. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, that I will deal with your shit," she growled, and he nearly wet himself. "You are dead. Wrong."

She shoved him once more against the wall when she let him go, but stepped back and moved to the other side of the demolished room to stand in front of the lit hearth. Ron took a minute to turn around and look at her, really look at her, the girl who had always been there. Hermione's shoulders were heaving, her silhouette visibly shaking with emotion. Ron's heart sunk down into his stomach. The Hermione he had known was gone, and he couldn't help but feel terribly for his part in the creation of the vibrating, justifiably angry woman across the room. Like one of the sappy muggle films his sister had made him watch, memories of every harsh word and poor action danced across his thoughts. Every time she had been right, and he had made her feel insecure or unsure. His abandonment. Even when she had mistreated or acted poorly toward him in the past, she had apologized, taking ownership of her wrongdoings and seeking to improve upon herself. His shoulders dropped and he nodded to himself, turning to go.

"You're right, Hermione. You've always been." The lack of annoying nickname from her ginger counterpart had her unclenching her eyes. Ron stood in the doorway now, his back to her. She watched his shoulders droop further, his head shake side to side dislodging tears from his cerulean eyes before he sighed and walked out.

Ron left the room, the sobs following behind him puncturing his heart with what felt like thousands of tiny pinholes, bleeding him dry. Harry understood when he left for the Burrow later that evening and didn't come back. Some wounds needed time and space.

Draco stumbled back and away from the scrying bowl in confusion. "According to the rumors, Weasley left Granger and Potter when they were hunting down horcruxes," Theo supplied. Draco turned disbelieving eyes on the man.

"He left? I mean, I shouldn't be surprised, but-" Draco sat heavily, dumbfounded, pouring tea for himself and Theo from the setting while his friend wandered back from the basin steps away.

Theo lowered himself next to his friend, lounging back comfortably and hummed into his cup as he sipped. "According to the Brown girl, they had seen each other a few times when he was back before he left again to rejoin Potter and Granger. That's why she's up the duff now." Draco's stare was somewhere between awestricken and thunderous.

"What's more," Theo continued, pointedly ignoring the look from the wizard adjacent. "Granger knows. She and Brown were seen having lunch and shopping for baby items in Diagon Alley a few weeks back, but Weasley has been nowhere in sight."

"Aren't you just up-to-date?" Malfoy remarked, sipping at his own cup while his mind worked to piece together information.

"Knowledge begets powers, mate," his wiry friend shrugged with an oddly lackadaisical grace. "Makes sense when you look at someone like Granger."

Draco grimaced. It really did.

IV.

"Miss Granger," Narcissa Malfoy greeted the witch as she stood from the lace-dressed table. Draco watched from the basin as his mother checked the glamours hiding her dark circles and fine lines surreptitiously in the reflection of a window. Twenty-odd years as a Death Eater's wife had taken a toll on the former Black.

"Lady Malfoy," Granger replied with a sweet smile as she stood and offered a deferent nod of her head. "Please." She gestured to a chair being pulled out by a member of staff, sitting back in her own with a murmured word of gratitude as another staff member pushed it back in. Within moments, the witches were alone and staring at one another.

"Thank you, Miss Granger, for agreeing to speak with me," Narcissa spoke suddenly. Hermione smiled again at the elder witch and giggled musically.

"Lady Malfoy, please, call me Hermione." The diminutive brunette leaned forward as if spilling a secret to an old friend, touching Narcissa's hand gently. "You saved my brother, after all." She began looking at her menu as a flash went off nearby.

"Then, Hermione, I insist you call me Narcissa. Saving my son has more than earned a bit of familiarity, no?" When Hermione beamed back happily, Narcissa looked as though she was sure the whole room felt the joy which radiated from the muggleborn witch.

"I couldn't agree more, Narcissa." For the next two hours, Draco watched as his mother and the Gryffindor Golden Girl discussed everything from politics to high fashion. For the rest of the evening after her return from tea with Granger, the Malfoy Matriarch had seemed lighter and happier than she had in years, speaking of renovations and charities.

Draco went to bed that evening feeling both relief and bitterness, that once again, Hermione Granger was a hero. This time, she had saved his mother.

V.

Granger -

Thank you.

Malfoy

He watched as she received his owl, the large charcoal bird enjoying the bits of meat she had placed before him. Draco wasn't surprised when she cast a number of charms and spells to ensure the safety of her mail. In the two months since the fall of Voldemort, she had received her share of dodgy post. Even in the time he had been scrying, Draco had seen more than a few pieces make their way to the fireplace unopened.

Finding nothing, she leaned closer to observe the wax seal. "So you're a Malfoy owl," her voice snaked through his ears thoughtfully and he watched her scritch and scratch the owl's breast and head. She found his nameplate on the band around his ankle. "Apollo, huh? Handsome fellow, you are." She cooed at the creature a bit more, who had puffed himself in agreement with a hoot, and turned her attention back to the parchment.

Carefully, she slid a letter opener - a silly thing Harry had commissioned to resemble the Sword of Gryffindor - beneath the wax, breaking the seal. Draco waited with weird anticipation for her reaction, but was disappointed with her stony expression. Not even her eyes were giving anything away.

He watched her a moment longer before dismissing the vision from the basin and storming out. Apollo returned twenty minutes later clutching a parchment.

Malfoy -

You're welcome. See you around?

Hermione J. Granger

PS - did you know there's a spell that enables a person to tell when they're being scryed upon as well as the caster? Maybe sometime I'll teach it to you. Until then, remember that turnabout is fair play.

Draco couldn't help but laugh. She really was a know-it-all. His quicksilver eyes trailed over the last sentence again, his stomach swooping with realization. She knew he was scrying on her and she was doing it back.

"Oh, fuck."

Kilometers away, two young witches giggled over the scrying mirror.

"I'd rather shag 'im, too, Cuz."

Hermione's face glowed red and she screeched. "I said I'd sooner shag him! Not rather! Oh my god, Con!" Her cousin just shrugged and picked her nails.

"Sooner's better 'n later, I say." Birds scattered from the trees outside as the pitch of Hermione's screeching rose as quickly as the blush on her cheeks.

VI.

What are you reading? Nice pajamas. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

-Hermione

The mid-August morning was rife with the promise of midday heat, but for now, the breeze was present though slight. Apollo had become accustomed to visiting the Granger residence in the past few weeks with more frequency, between invitations from his mother and notes sent between Draco and Hermione. Never anything untoward, and nothing mentioned the subject of her post scripted reply to his thank you. They had begun a game between them, after Hermione had written him with the incantation and wand movements for what he learned was a modified spell she had mentioned, in which one of them would chance a scry on the other to 'test their reflexes and mastery of the spell.'

A niggling thought sometimes whispered that maybe she was enjoying it as much as he was, though their attempts had been during the somewhat 'safe' daylight hours. Inevitably, his mind would work that thought over while he lay in bed, hard and aching. He wondered if she sometimes watched him spill into his hand to the thought of her cinnamon and nutmeg eyes silently observing, his focus slipping in the white burst of pleasure when he imagined her touching her - he was sure - perfect pussy as she did.

Instead, they simply exchanged the odd greeting, sometimes asking after the other's welfare, but more often simply consisting of a few teasing words regarding whatever one saw in an attempt. Narcissa had become better acquainted with the witch since their tea weeks back, often meeting for meals or shopping before returning home with stories of her day with Hermione. Lucius had been officially sentenced to twenty years, being spared the Kiss or a longer sentence on Hermione's own suggestion as a mercy for sharing his knowledge of Voldemort's inner dealings, along with a handful of their other peers' parents such as the Parkinsons and Carrows who also offered evidence and testimony. Even Primrose Parkinson, Pansy's mother, spoke highly of the muggleborn witch, for saving her own husband from his fate as a husk.

Draco huffed a quick chuckle and replied

Swiftly, the Wind by Charlton Carroll. I was distracted.

His thoughts were broken with Apollo's return, faster than usual.

I have that effect. Now, get dressed.

-Hermione

No opportunity was given to decipher the meaning of her last words when Twinkle popped into the dining room.

"Mistress Cissa says Master Draco is goings out and is needing to be dressed."

What the fuck?

VII.

"I've Union business to discuss with Irina Malkin, so you can have your measurements done and be on your way to collect your supplies while we're talking." Narcissa glanced at her wristwatch, seeing it was nearing her appointment with the seamstress at ten. "Would two hours give you ample time? We could go to lunch." Her ice blue eyes gazed concernedly up to her son whose countenance had gone from doting to solid stone. People passing by whispered and stared from the corners of their eyes at the sight of the Malfoys standing to the side of the entrance to the boutique. The burn of shame began to simmer in her gut, her eyes prickling and making her blink rapidly.

"Oh! Narcissa! Draco? Hello!" A familiar voice called from across the lane which had begun to fill as businesses opened. Both blondes turned their heads to the small figure waving at them and hurrying over, bushy hair bouncing with her confident strides.

Reaching the two, Hermione grasped Narcissa's hands, surreptitiously unclenching them to clutch them in their own. She slickly turned the Malfoy matriarch to kiss her cheeks in greeting, allowing Narcissa to sniff delicately and finish blinking away tears without the prying eyes of the nosy public. They murmured to each other a moment amicably before Hermione turned to Draco with a smile and a slight raise of her eyebrow.

"Draco." His breath caught when, rather than extending her hand for him to kiss, she lightly grasped his shoulders, pressing her lips to the laugh lines not far from his own, leaving him to freeze in shock. Someone gasped in the moving crowd, a camera flash in another area jolting him into movement as he returned her greeting. He hoped to whatever gods were listening that she didn't feel threatened when his hands twitched as they lightly grasped her hips with want. If she had known that he had been fighting not to pull her closer and crush her between his larger frame and the stone wall behind her, would she still be threatened, or would she allow him to dip his large palm down her abdomen to find her wet for him?

She stepped away with a blush, biting the inside of her lip a bit. With a discrete shake, Hermione turned to Narcissa to discuss the upcoming meeting of which she had given her input. From her beaded purse, the young woman pulled a muggle folio, handing it to the elder witch. "I took the opportunity to cross-reference a few things between the muggle and Wizarding worlds to add some extra oomph to Irina's proposal. I provided copies of documents and legislations which specifically reference laws which are already in effect in various areas of WIzarding Britain as well as the States which should help the Wizengamot see Irina's vision."

Narcissa smiled as Hermione's cheeks flushed, the result of realizing her excitement had once again culminated in a breathless ramble. "Hermione, if you assembled even half of what you've just stated, I'm sure Irina has no cause for concern. It will just be a welcomed change to see talented seamstresses and tailors enjoying the same workers' rights as, say, the Ministry workers themselves." She patted Hermione's cheek with such a familiar air, Draco couldn't keep his face from reflecting just the slightest bit of his surprise. With a fortifying breath, Narcissa smiled again at the pair, reminding Draco before he could speak about his robes, then turned into the shop herself.

"Where to first?" Hermione's question brought his attention back to the short witch beside him. She snapped a glare at a particularly nosy pair of teenage witches making their way toward Visu Alley and just as quickly smiled widely back up at him. "Since we're both going back, I figured we could do our shopping together."

Despite the palpable feelings of the crowd, Draco couldn't seem to feel anything other than giddy at the prospect of shopping with Hermione.

VIII.

Granger Residence

Main Floo

Those were the only words on the parchment Hermione's tawny barn owl Nolan had brought. Hogwarts was officially resuming the next day and Draco was wracked with nerves, but her timely owl had replaced them with confusion and curiosity. That Nolan hadn't waited for a reply told him everything.

"Granger Residence, Main Floo," he called out, the powder lighting up the floo with a burst of combustion. Moments later, he was exiting the fireplace in a room he had only seen through his scrying pool. Calming sky blue walls created a tranquil backdrop to the modern beige furniture. A curio cabinet stood against one wall, knick knacks interspersed with pictures.

"Hey," her voice greeted from a doorway across the room. When Draco looked up, his eyes widened with disbelief. There, dressed to the nines in a deep emerald bodycon dress and silver heels, stood the woman he had not been able to shake from his mind for - well, for nearly eight years, if he was being honest.

"What…" his deep voice cracked. Hermione just grinned and walked up to him, placing her arms around his neck.

"You were taking too long to ask me to dinner and this might be our last night with any anonymity for a while yet." She grinned cheekily, Draco's stunned smile gradually widening to match.

"You… are something else entirely."

"That she is, son." Narcissa's berry painted lips curled upwards in serene joy at the fading scene in the scrying pool. "That she is."