Draco was not at all surprised to discover that Hermione's favourite room at the Manor was the expansive library. Part of him wished that she would instead develop a fondness for the grounds, but then again, she never had the chance. He was able to lead her around the garden the day after they got off the train, but only briefly, as he had shown her around the house first. The day after that, they woke to a layer of snow across everything, making any trips outside nothing more than a trip that was practically asking to get sick. Hermione Granger retreated to the Malfoy library and lost herself in the books, and he took her distraction as his invitation to spend time with his mother.

Narcissa Malfoy slept in late, and Draco found her in her room- the suite as far as possible from Lucius' own bedroom as could be, while still being on the same hall. He passed through the sitting room, ignoring her personal elf and her feeble attempt to stop him half way, the extravagance of the lush velvet chaise lounges and carved wooden sofa washing over him. This luxury was what he had grown up in, and as such the light pastels of Narcissa's suite were nothing new, not to her son.

He crept up quietly before finally diving onto the bed, the soft mattress absorbing most of his impact as he rolled close to her. "Morning, mum," he grinned.

"Draco?" Her tone thick with sleep, her eyelids flickered open slowly to reveal blue eyes that could be as easily frostbitten as they were loving. Draco had never seen anything other than love in her gaze, but he had never managed to disappoint her, at least to his knowledge. He hadn't seen her dismay when he had chosen Hermione, having been staring at the girl with the book in her hands instead. "What are you doing in here?"

"Hermione's reading. I wanted to spend some time with you."

"Is it safe to leave her alone?"

He misinterpreted the slight frown as worry for the girl, and not for the books. But of course the lady Malfoy was more concerned for the books, some of which dated back to the time before Abraxas had begun construction of the Manor. "I'll find her at lunch. Dobby already made us breakfast. She's reading a more detailed history of the Malfoys- apparently, we only sent her three of the books, but she did some asking at the library and Madam Pince gave her a list of titles that might have more information. She didn't get time to check them out, though, so she's trying our library."

"Did you call me 'mum' when you came in here?"

Draco smiled sheepishly. "Hermione calls her parents 'mum' and 'dad'. So does Blaise, and Neville calls his grandmother 'nan'. It sounds better than 'mother' and 'father' and 'grandmother'. Maybe I should start calling grandmother Lalana's portrait 'nan'?"

"No. Absolutely not, Draco, the woman would have a heart attack if she were still alive to be addressed improperly!" Too late, she noticed Draco's impish grin, realising quickly that the boy had been teasing her. Narcissa took a deep, steadying breath, astounded by this development. His curiosity was supposed to wan as he attended school, not grow to his adopting muggle habits!

Then again, the Malfoy creed had always been to survive, despite the family motto. Sanctimonia vincet semper. Lucius had always claimed that it meant 'purity always overcomes', but of course Latin was a dead and difficult language. The word for purity was the same as the word for 'honour' and 'virtue'- words used to describe those who possessed good character. Ironic, really, how the two translations differed so hugely from each other, yet both could be applied. The Malfoy's were nothing if not adaptable.

"Mum..."

"Yes, Draco. Is there a reason you woke me at this ridiculous hour?"

"It's past ten. Dad went to work. Father." He grimaced. "So it's safe to ask now, isn't it?"

"Ask what, my little dragon?" She brushed his hair back from his forehead, fighting the urge to click her tongue in disapproval: he desperately needed a haircut. The boy pressed his skin against her hand, having missed the contact during his absence.

"Will you take Hermione to see her parents?"

Narcissa's hand froze mid-stroke. Part of her couldn't believe he'd ask her to interact with muggles. Another part, a larger part, believed it wholeheartedly. After all, she'd spent the better part of two years convincing him that muggles weren't actually inferior, were as good as they were, were their equals in every way except knowledge. Narcissa knew perfectly well that in another life, back when she was Narcissa Black and yet to earn the hand of Lucius Malfoy, she had wanted to be a teacher. She had been about to start studying methods of teaching at Salem University in southwest Scotland, the best magical university in the world, when Lucius had asked her father for permission to propose to her. She hadn't gone through with the course after that, but the interest still existed.

She was very good at brainwashing children with beliefs they never bothered to double check. Of course she had succeeded with Draco. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes. It's what she wants, and she hasn't seen them for months. I missed you, mum, but that's nothing like what she must have felt. At least I knew this was coming."

"So did she, Draco," Narcissa spoke slowly, carefully. She had never felt the need to select and use words that she was sure the child would understand. "She knew all about Hogwarts. If she read any of the books we had delivered to her, at least."

"You know she did. You still get the lists, don't you?"

"Yes," she sighed, sitting up at last. "Do you wish to meet Mister and Mrs Granger?"

"Doctors. Yes. I do want to meet them. Hermione talks about them like they're the best people in the world."

She pulled him close to her, hugging him to her chest as she stroked his hair tenderly, her long fingers running smoothly through his pristine platinum hair. Her little boy looked so much like Lucius had when she had first met him, eleven years old and sure he was some kind of perfect prince. She'd never heard her husband speak about her the same way Draco referred to the muggle-born witch in the library, but nothing could convince her that he didn't love her, not in the way she wanted. Narcissa had wanted forever and a heart, but all she'd gotten was a name and a list of sins.

"I'll send them an owl to find out when they're free."

"Thanks, mum!"

Draco practically skipped out of the room, while Narcissa looked on from the bed. She didn't know how her son had come to befriend the only son of Isadora Zabini, who had always loathed her, or how he'd gotten close to the Longbottom boy, who lived with his grandmother Augusta because Narcissa's oldest sister was a sociopath. Grimacing to herself, she reached for the writing set she kept beside her bed at all times. "Mitzy!"

The house-elf appeared beside the bed with a crack, blinking her wide blue eyes. "What can Mitzy do for Mistress?"

"I need a tray. And fetch an owl."

"Would Mistress like Erinye or Jelani or Medea?"

"Medea will manage, I think. It's only a letter."

✦

Four days later, Draco found himself in a position he remembered not liking at all. The difference was less people, certainly, and two people to turn to instead of just the one.

In a way, it was better like this- but in another way, it was worse. Less people meant less distraction. Less people meant they could focus on him. Maybe he loved attention, but that was when he was around people he knew. Purebloods and wealthy people he could deal with. Bratty children who thought the world was owed to them. That was familiar. That was something he could deal with.

If he told Hermione that, she'd use some big, complicated word to tell him how sad it was. As it was, he opted to stick close to her anyway, as if the only one of them familiar with this world would be a shield for him. And looking up at the house, he wasn't sure she'd be big enough to fulfil that role.

It wasn't huge; it would fit inside the Manor at least three times, and that was just across the front. He didn't know how far back it went, but the Manor was bigger. And yet this building intimidated him, with its' tall chimney and brown brick exterior studded with windows lined with whitewashed frames. The hedges and ivy out front were vibrant green beneath the snow, maybe only a little duller than those that studded the grounds of his home. Hermione grinned when the pine green door came into view. "Home," she breathed.

Draco hadn't ever heard her sound so relieved, not even when it became apparent that her blackmail scheme had successfully deterred Weasley and Potter. The door opened then, and a woman with hair as wild as Hermione's appeared, wearing jeans and a soft blue sweater. Hermione ran right for her, diving into her arms and hugging her tight. "Mum!"

"Hermione," the woman said, breaking out into a relieved smile. She clutched her daughter in a manner that said rather clearly how much she cared for the girl. After a minute of chatter between the two, she looked up, her smile never once faltering. "Excuse me, Mrs Malfoy, for my manners. Do come in for some tea."

Draco followed Hermione into the house, Narcissa behind him. She had stiffened already, tense due to the circumstances more than anything else. She had never been in a muggle house and had never associated with a muggleborn or, indeed, a muggle, at all. This showed noticeably in how she held herself in that house, with its' pastel walls and whitewashed wood framing everything, from windows to doors. The interior Malfoy Manor was light, it was true, but that was due to a combination of magic and electricity and flame. The Granger's home was lit differently: natural light, bleached white by snowfall, drifted into the rooms. The living room was flooded with this crisp, white light, and Hermione hadn't looked happier in a long time.

Monica Granger, as she introduced herself, was a dentist. She brought them to her husband, who she introduced as Wendell, sprawled across the couch and watching the pictures fly across the screen just like a magical photograph. Draco stared for a moment before realising that it must be a television, one of those boxes Hermione had mentioned before, comparing them to the pictures as he explained how they worked. On top of the picture box sat a little owl. Draco stared at it, recognising it: yellow eyes and cream and brown speckled feathers. He wasn't sure why Narcissa's personal owl was sitting on the Granger's picture box, but she looked like she was comfortable there.

"Are you a football fan, then?" Wendell Granger had a gruff, confident voice. Draco, not expecting to be addressed directly, jumped.

"Is football anything like Quidditch?" he managed. The man laughed, his large ears quivering as he did so.

"Ah, yes, you're that magical kid, aren't you? The one my 'Mione's supposed to stick around forever." The laughter died as quickly as it had started, and the muggle man was suddenly dead serious. "Did she tell you what Monica and I do for a living, boy?"

Unsure what to make of this change, Draco his a frown. "She said you fix teeth."

"Yes, that's part of it. We also remove them. We take these things, kind of like pliers, and we use them to rip them out of your mouth. We take needles - you know what those are, yes? - well, we take them and we jab them right into your gums. That's the squishy bit that holds your teeth in your skull. We know how to destroy teeth, just as easy as fixing them. You ever had a toothache, boy, from eating all your candy or rocks or whatever you magical people eat? Imagine one of those in your teeth. Every. Single. One. I will do all of that and more if you ever hurt my little girl."

Stunned by the threat, Draco gaped openly at the man. He didn't look like he was capable of all this and more, not like the people he was used to being around. And yet he was more prepared to believe that this odd muggle would cause him all of this pain if anything happened to Hermione. So don't let anything happen, he reasoned to himself. Hermione, reappearing at his side like a spirit, whacked her fathers' arm before hugging him tight. It was in that moment that he saw the resemblance, as both their eyes danced as though they had shared a joke of some kind.

Draco wasn't laughing.

"Dad, be nice. Draco's my friend." She looked up. "And so are Neville and Blaise and Theo, when he's in a good mood, but I think they'll survive not meeting you. I need to grab some things from my room, but then I promise I'll listen to you talk about the Manchester losing. Again."

"They're not losing," the man protested, but Hermione had laced her arm through Draco's and was dragging him away, towards the staircase and walls of photographs. Narcissa threw one pleading look after her son, but recognised her predicament in an instant. Monica Granger and tea would have to soothe her for the moment.

Draco, on the other hand, was getting a brief tour of Hermione's family home, the place where she had grown up. He was starting to see why she'd been so taken aback by the size of the cream suite at Malfoy Manor: the entire first floor of the house was only slightly larger than the entire suite, which was designed to cater to a couple - and that was only for sleep, study and hygiene. Apparently, living in suburbia meant small rooms.

All the same, he had a great deal of fun looking around the house as they walked through. There were photographs absolutely everywhere, covering shelves and any walls that weren't lined with more shelves. Hermione's parents, both dentists, seem to need as much space for books as the Malfoy's did, judging by the chaotic stacking, designed to fit as many books as were possible. And yet everything still seemed neat, deliberate.

He was distracted with peering at a photo of something he found familiar, of eight-year-old Hermione in her dark sweater and yellow-collared uniform, the same clothes he'd first seen her in. She was looking up this time, though, and he was happy to note that her eyes were the same in this photo. It didn't move, though, no matter how long he stared. He still hadn't blinked when Hermione returned. "What are you doing?"

"You aren't moving."

"Yes, I am, to my room... oh, you meant in the photo? It's a muggle picture, Draco. They don't move."

"Your eyes don't look right." He squinted. "They look kind of dead."

"Rude," she pointed out, but smiled. "That's not the point of these photographs. They're school photos - they show how I change as I grow up. That's all."

"Hogwarts doesn't do these, though. What'll they hang next?"

"I imagine we'll fake a photo from the boarding school my grandma Jean believes I'm going to. Or you could, you know, manage to take a photo of me before the year ends, when we get back to school. I want photos of all of us together, Neville and Blaise and Theo and you, too. Maybe I can get Professor McGonagall to take the picture. That would work, wouldn't it?"

"Or you could just use magic. Like a witch."

"Oh, be quiet. Do you want to see my room or not?"

He did want to see her room, as it turned out. He was incredibly curious as to how she fit everything in one room.

With great difficulty, it turned out. Like the rest of the house, it was neat, not even a speck of dust on the shelves that lined the walls: it was cramped, though, almost to the point of inducing claustrophobia. A desk was pressed up against the window, the only light spot in the room that wasn't over the bed. He could picture her sitting up late at night, at the desk or cross-legged on the bed, hunched over Hogwarts: A History or any other book she happened to pick up off the shelves. Hermione leant over the desk to pop the window open, despite the light snow that was still falling outside.

"Mum must've come in here to clean while I was at school. That's the best explanation for us not gagging on dust right now." He could hear the smile in her voice as she moved to the only other door in the room, sliding it open to get at the wardrobe. She went through the clothes quickly while Draco looked around.

What little of the walls were visible were pale blue, and that was only behind the bed. Books were everywhere, shelves built into them and packed as full as they could possibly be, with a few exceptions where she'd removed them to take to school. Even her bedside table was stacked high, a dozen books. "I thought you said they built another room for these books."

"What? No, not these ones. If you look out the window, there's a building out back, a sort of little wooden cabin. That's the other room."

It wasn't a small room, as it turned out. "Why don't you have a library?"

She laughed. "Draco, our house is a library. Welcome to the Granger home."

Half an hour later, the two of them moved downstairs to find Narcissa covering her mouth. Draco's first reaction was concern- until he looked closer, and saw the sparkle in her eyes. The woman was laughing, laughing at some story Wendell or Monica had told. Draco and Hermione peered at each other curiously. Then they both smiled.

"My mum likes her," Hermione whispered to him, "and I thought she was the Ice Queen."

"Ice Queen? What does that mean?"

"Remind me to tell you some muggle stories," she instructed, bounding over to hug her dad again, starting to tell him all about Hogwarts. Watching this, Draco was tempted to smile. Father wouldn't be pleased if I tried that with him, would he?

There was almost no rhyme or reason to it then, but he finally smiled, then. At least mum likes Mrs Granger. Doctor. Doctor Granger.

Now all they had left was the annual Malfoy family Christmas party. And Hermione Granger did not have a lot of experience with parties, least of all the formal kind. Either they were all doomed, or this was going to be the best Christmas party he had ever witnessed.

He could hope, couldn't he?