"The sea seems bound to the deep abyss, crucified,

staring at the high heavens, about to escape,

violent, bellowing, nailed to its black bed."

— Vicente Aleixandre

Hermione scribbled furiously on her notebook before pausing briefly to flick her wrist, the silent spell she cast flipping the pages of three books at the same time. She couldn't find any information on the squibs of the Gaunt line and what she had found regarding the use of blood magic and souls was sparse at best. She did discover however that despite how 'diluted' blood can be, even if a magical bloodline bore squibs, magic still lay dormant in their blood. This finding was considered false by many pureblood wizards but Hermione reckoned their arguments were not backed up by unbiased evidence.

On top of her frazzled state due to her research, she couldn't get the image of heavy lidded eyes, pale blue under the phantom glow of ghosts and the sensation of a warm hand on her lower back out of her mind. She cursed the bastard who didn't seem as put off by that night.

"This Shakespeare fellow, his writing is dense, doesn't make sense," he continued, "Who makes up their own words — and seriously, tragic love stories? I mean this Romeo fell in love after knowing Juliet for what? Thirty seconds? Right after he had just been pining over someone else?"

Hermione gritted her teeth. She had gone to the library first thing in the morning to indulge in some light reading as an escape from her research. When she arrived, however, Draco was already sitting there, glasses on as he skimmed a copy of Romeo and Juliet in that infuriating casual grace of his as he lounged on the armchair.

" — Shakespeare requires careful attention and close reading to deconstruct the meaning behind his prose. And Romeo and Juliet shouldn't be treated as a love story! It's more complex than that! You can't just — " she barreled on, unable to stop herself. The arrogant git.

"Please, Granger," he drawled, "this is just as bad as Gilderoy Lockhart's work. Now that was absolute rubbish, and to think so many fawned over him when he taught at Hogwarts."

At her silence, he looked up, wide eyed at the traitorous blush on her face.

"Granger, really? That — "

"Not a word," she gritted out as his lips twitched behind a slender finger. "Anyways, Shakespeare's influence — "

"Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged. Now my sin has been taken from my lips to yours." His eyes never left hers as the words left his lips, slow and deliberate. Intentional. They echoed through the morning air, beckoning to her like some forbidden wine.

"What – how — " Hermione sputtered and flushed when his brow arched when he caught her staring at his lips.

"This may surprise you but I've read Shakespeare before," he shrugged as if it were common knowledge. "Secretly kept in my personal library of course... "

"That doesn't make sense — "

"Surprised that the Death Eater can appreciate literature, even Muggle literature?" His eyes held a challenge in them. When she couldn't form a response he smirked and stood, tucking the book under his arm.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably as her period cramps started up again. She felt as if she would lash out any moment as another sharp pain in her lower abdomen hit her.

"Not now, Malfoy," she growled upon hearing the door open. "I've come close to trailing this potential lead —"

Draco looked at the cranky witch babbling before him, her hair in complete disarray from the haphazard bun she tried to subdue her curls in, her wand looking ridiculous pierced through it.

" — if it weren't for the shoddy citations I would have some measure of confidence in the findings — "

The witch reached over to grab a massive tome, laying it with a heavy thump in front of her, the sleeve of her oversized shirt slipping off her shoulder, rendering it bare. Involuntarily, his eyes flickered to it before snapping away. Honeyed light poured in from the window behind her as she sat there with a small frown on her face, her fingers stained with ink as well as some of it smeared on her nose and cheeks.

" — so if you're here for another verbal sparring, I must ask you to leave — " Hermione broke off, her eyes snapping up when a muted thud cut her off. She blinked rapidly at the wisp of smoke curling in the air from the cup of tea infront of her next to an evidently-handled-by-tiny-hands piece of chocolate.

"I'll have lunch within the hour," Draco stated nonchalantly from above her. By the time Hermione lifted her head to look at him, all she caught was a brief flash of white-blond hair as the door closed.

***

"No! I no like bwacli!" Scorpius howled as his father held a fork pierced with the vegetable to his mouth.

"Scorpius," Draco said in a stern voice, "veggies are good for you — I read all about it in a book," — he glared at Hermione who let out a snicker — "that it's good for growing boys!"

"Is yucky!" Scorpius continued to yell, sneering a very Malfoy sneer at the green vegetable. Beef and broccoli stew — it was one of the basic dishes Hermione had been able to teach Draco when one rainy day when she had been drained as she prepared their meal, he had asked her to teach him basic cooking spells. Just as he was in Potions class, Draco was precise and exacting with his measurements and calculations, constantly scowling when she would tell him he would have to adjust or taste to know when the food turned out right.

"How about this," Hermione said soothingly, eyes on Draco's plate that had barely any broccoli on it, "daddy will eat broccoli every time you do."

Draco bristled. Scorpius watched them curiously then turned to Draco expectantly.

Ignoring Hermione's smug look, Draco took a bite of the broccoli and tried to hide his disgusted face at the utterly bland vegetable that tasted of boiled socks. "See? Good."

Scorpius started giggling at him and Draco glared at Hermione who was biting her lip, trying to hold her laugh in. Her shoulders only started shaking however at his scathing look. He found he could not keep his glare when her face broke out into a grin.

***

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his muggle sweater and trousers as he and Hermione walked the muggle streets of Hangleton to find leads on the squib Gaunt. They had only been walking for a couple of minutes but his hands felt empty without the steadiness of his hawthorn wood wand. Moments earlier when Hermione presented him with the muggle clothes, he kept silent about the sparse quality of the navy sweater she had given him. But it wasn't really about the quality of the clothing that set him off, but more of the way muggles liked their clothes very fitted to accentuate the human form. Hermione had assured him with a playful eye roll that it was normal as she flaunted around in those ridiculously skin-tight trousers she called leggings. He had not commented on this of course, choosing to be the gentleman he was raised to be and avoid all eye contact from the Southern region of Hermione's person. To his disgust however, he found that the muggle men could not do the same as they meandered the cobblestone streets. Hermione was oblivious to the invasive leering and also too distracted to notice Draco looming behind her, muttering spells for temporary blindness at the men. He had considered hexing their bollocks off, but he reckoned the stubborn witch in front of him would hex his off for using magic on the muggles no matter how much they deserved it.

"There! An antique shop!" Hermione said ecstatically, her nose finally out of the map. "Maybe we can get some information from the shopkeeper."

The street split into two and Hermione marched towards the right path and into a tiny shop. A small bell chimed as they entered the rickety door, the smell of parchment and orange wax in the air.

"Hullo!" an auburn-haired girl behind the desk chirped. "How can I help you?"

"Oh, hi," Hermione said, pulling along a broody Draco who glared skeptically at the shelves and the old lady dozing off on a chair. "We're here on a little historical trip, you see, to look into some family history for a friend of my mum's! And we were wondering if you knew more about them."

"Of course! You can call me Millie!" The girl eyed Draco appreciatively, completely ignoring Hermione's outstretched hand. Draco looked down at Millie imperiously before opening his mouth.

"Dra — "

"Gilderoy!" Hermione blurted out. Draco choked.

"Oh, Gilderoy," Millie batted her eyelashes, "what a lovely name!"

Hermione snickered. They couldn't use their real names after all in case Voldemort had spies around.

"And this," Draco said in a clipped voice, stepping next to Hermione, "is Dolores."

Hermione muffled her sputtering at being named after the evil bitch with a cough.

"Dolores, nice to meet you," Millie murmured with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "So who's this family you're looking into?"

"We're looking for any information on the Gaunts," Draco replied.

"Or the Devonshires — anyone related to that branch of the family." Hermione said, now focused on the task. She had been able to trace a Gaunt descendant marrying into the Devonshire muggle line. She hoped it would lead them closer to whatever Voldemort was after.

"The Devonshires sound familiar!" Millie perked up. "Some family mementos are donated here and I believe there were some journals left with us. I think they should be on the shelves to the right or the ones to the back."

"Perfect. Gilderoy," Hermione emphasized, "you take the right and I'll take the back shelves."

Draco merely nodded before they separated to begin their search.

Hermione grinned when after a couple of minutes searching she found a journal with the name Ernest Devonshire on it. It was an old tattered thing with stained pages but the black cursive scrawl was legible. With the book in her hand, she went to find Draco but as she approached the right side of the shop, she paused upon seeing a head of blond hair and an auburn one.

Not knowing what possessed her, Hermione stayed still and silently watched from behind a shelf of knicknacks. Their heads were bent over a large book that looked like a directory of some sort, their backs turned to her.

" — quite lovely profiteroles. It's just down the alley — "

Hermione watched Draco pause mid-way through flipping the page with his long fingers. Her stomach twisted when the girl stepped closer to him, pushing her well endowed chest forward and batting her long-lashed eyes at him innocently. Hermione immediately looked away from the scene, missing the narrowing of Draco's eyes as he stepped back from the girl.

"Found it," Hermione said breathlessly a moment later upon composing herself, finally taking the opportunity to step out and make herself known. Draco turned towards her, an almost imperceptible relaxing of his shoulders. "It's Ernest Devonshire's diary and it might contain some clues about their family history."

Hermione flipped through one of the pages she had marked and Draco stepped closer to her to have a look, his chest ghosting her arm as she pointed out the location of Ernest Devonshire's home.

"Oh, how long have you two been dating?" Mille's voice interrupted. Hermione looked up and blinked rapidly at the girl, her cheeks heating at the curious gaze that flickered between her and Draco. Before she could form a coherent response, a large arm draped around her shoulders. Hermione looked up in horror at amused silver eyes.

"Almost a year," Draco drawled. "Isn't that right, darling?" A million spells went through Hermione's head that she knew could hex the infuriating smile off his pleased little face.

"How sweet," Millie replied softly, almost deflated.

"Indeed," Hermione murmured, wrapping one arm around his waist and pinching him. He flinched, but only pulled her closer.

"Well that wasn't so bad," Hermione commented as they walked out the shop and continued down the road. Draco hummed in response, evidently lost in thought.

They continued their walk with Hermione skimming the journal as they went on, occasionally a large hand pulling her by the elbow when a shrub or pole would invade her path. Just as she was getting to the description of the family house, she was jerked to an abrupt halt. Hermione looked up at Draco curiously as he perused a little stall with pastries on display.

"What can I get for you dearies?" The old plump woman behind the stand smiled warmly at them.

"Two profiteroles please," Draco said coolly, pulling an obscene wad of muggle bills from his pocket. Hermione hissed, pulling down his wrist, hoping it didn't attract attention.

"Oh, let him be a gentleman, dear, if he wants to treat his sweetheart," the woman said with amused eyes as she packed the two profiteroles into bags. Hermione smiled back awkwardly, pulling a bill from the stash and placing it on the counter as Draco stuffed the money back in his pocket nonchalantly.

"Here you go."

Draco thanked her, taking both the bags.

"Oh, did you want some?" Hermione's hand paused midway from reaching one of the bags. She scowled at Draco who lifted an eyebrow, amusement ghosting behind his eyes at her evident ire.

"Ah young love!" the woman gushed.

"You know I'm just teasing, darling," Draco snickered. "Here, have a bite." His words were laced with a challenge as he took a profiterole from the bag and lifted it to her lips.

Hermione smiled acidly at him, impulsively standing on her toes and placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. Draco blinked when she pulled back. With a self-satisfied grin, she snatched the pastry out of his hand and walked away, not before catching the high flush to his cheeks.

Draco caught up with her a little later, making sure enough time had passed for the roaring in his blood to settle and for the burning sensation of soft lips against his cheeks to numb.

Just as he had gotten his bearings, a soft moan sounded from the bushy-haired witch next to him as she took a bite into the cream filled center of the profiterole. Draco paused, a soft shiver going down his spine and resounding through his occlumency walls, awakening something in him that had been dormant for longer than he could remember. There is a meadow and a manor with many doors... He swallowed.

"D-a-co?" Hermione said with a stuffed mouth, powdered sugar dusting her lips.

"It's nothing," he grumbled, forging ahead of her determinedly, "just thought I saw something."

He ignored her questioning look and kept walking, finally taking a bite of the pastry.

"That shop was a good choice," Hermione chattered as she finished up her last bite.

"The girl at the shop recommended it," Draco replied, shrugging.

"Ah, I see." There was a pause, the kind of pause Draco knew signaled that there was information Hermione Granger wanted to know. He turned to her expectantly.

"She was nice and pretty, wasn't she?" the witch mumbled, oddly avoiding his gaze as she continued down the road. "Mille, the shopkeeper."

"I suppose," he said slowly, not knowing where this conversation was headed.

"Would you say she's... the datable type? She is quite bubbly and I know men like that sort of thing. I mean back in Hogwarts I remember Ron would comment on how witches with bubbly personalities really — " Draco sneered at the word bubbly. Annoying or lack of regard for personal space were better expressions to describe the girl in the shop.

"To some, maybe."

"... and you?" Draco was caught off guard by the question. He tried assessing Hermione's face, but it looked closed off and distracted as she dusted the powdered sugar off her fingertips.

"I'll admit that she is pretty, but only in the objective sense," he began. "I can see how she isn't horrible looking, just like I can look at a bloke and say he's objectively good looking. But that doesn't mean I personally find them attractive. She can be attractive to other people and I can recognize it. But she isn't attractive to me," he explained. He let her ponder for a minute upon seeing her thinking face.

What he said was true. Perhaps exposure to beautiful pureblood women who vied for his family's fortune and reputation had desensitized him to their attractiveness. To him, objectively good-looking women didn't get his attention, the same way he didn't get tempted by the most elegant and fine jewelry. None of them made him feel anything — the women were always hollow inside and they elicited the same emotion from him.

"Yes," Hermione murmured after a moment. "It's the same with me I suppose. I've never been moved by looks," she gave him a glare when she caught a snort and a muttered, you don't say, under his breath not needing to read his mind knowing he was thinking about a certain red-head. "For me, to become attracted to someone, it would have to be based on their mind, their heart. Their soul."

They walked in a contemplative silence as Draco finished off his profiterole. Draco paused after taking his last bite when Hermione giggled, covering her mouth.

"What?" he frowned, feeling self conscious as she continued to look at him with those large brown eyes of hers, her mouth forcing back a smile.

"I'm sorry, but you've got powdered sugar all over your face."

Draco scowled, taking the napkin from the bag and dabbing his face. He was sure he had gotten it all off but the witch continued laughing from behind her hand.

Draco caught her wrist, his fingers slightly tightening around it. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" she responded, eyes suddenly narrowing defensively.

"Cover your mouth when you laugh," he replied, irritated. He released her wrist.

"Oh, I — it's a habit I guess? I don't know if you remember," she began, "during fourth year you accidentally hit me with that hex that elongated my teeth?"

He nodded, feeling nauseous that this formed habit was likely a result of another one of his doings.

"Well, I've always been insecure about my large two front teeth and before I let Madam Pomfrey shrink them a little more than their original size, I had already developed a habit of covering my mouth when I laughed."

When he continued to look at her with confusion, she continued. "When I still had large teeth, people commented. Even Ron made his 'jokes,' no matter that he just wanted to be funny. I told myself I didn't care. But when I saw a moving photograph of myself that Colin Creevy took that year, I couldn't stand how I looked. I hated how vain I felt but it was difficult for me to act like I wasn't affected," she sighed, remembering with perfect clarity the photograph and every time she practiced smiling or laughing in the mirror. "Since then, I suppose the habit of covering my mouth has just been ingrained in me," she chuckled. "It's ridiculous I know."

"You're right," Draco said stoically, resuming their walk. "It's ridiculous. You should do away with the habit," he muttered, startling her as he glanced at her from the side of his eye.