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700 pages, Hardcover
First published October 14, 2021

I need you to understand that if anything happens to you, Shacklebolt will have my head, then Tonks will have my balls, then Potter and Weasley will scavenge the rest. My mother would bury me in a Marmite jar. Do you understand?”
Was this woman a genius at Herbology, on top of everything else? Draco wondered how much of Potter and Weasley’s limited scholarly success was due to absorbing her knowledge by intellectual osmosis.
Draco had been strategic in his choice of career, of course: being an Auror offered just enough heroics for positive coverage in the news and just enough Ministry-sanctioned murders to keep him interested in the job.
Draco detested feelings. They were an irritation and a distraction at the best of times and a hideous vulnerability at the worst.
His idiot brain took this image and immediately created several new neural pathways that had never existed previously, connecting the idea of Granger with the concept of sexy.
It was an extremely unwelcome development and Draco wondered whether he should lobotomise himself on the spot.
“You want to eat dinner with me? Tonight? On purpose?”
“No,” said Draco with a thick layer of sarcasm slathered across the top. “By accident. We’ll trip up to the table with our mouths open and mash in some hors d’oeuvres.”
Hi,” said Potter’s voice, making both Draco and Granger jump. A moment later, Potter’s dishevelled head was between the two of them. “Excuse me, but what the hell is going on here?”
Draco did not permit Granger time to answer. “Fuck off and let me do my job, Potter.”
Never one to fuck off on demand, Potter persisted. “Why are you keeping her so close? Did you see something?”
“It’s not–” began Granger.
“Exactly – it’s Nott,” said Draco, jutting his chin towards Theo. “Acting suspicious. Sniffing around.”
Potter turned to observe the wizard in question, whose face was somewhere in the red-haired witch’s neck. He frowned. “I’ll take care of him.”
“Harry, it’s not–” said Granger with fresh frustration.
“It’s Nott, yes,” interrupted Draco with benevolence.
“I’m on it, Hermione,” said Potter, retreating to take up what he no doubt considered an inconspicuous position near Theo.
Granger’s grasp on Draco’s shoulders now shifted towards his neck and suggested thoughts of strangulation. “You are the worst,” she said in an exasperated whisper.
“Be quiet – I want to watch this,” said Draco, angling them so that they could both see Potter.
“Why Nott?” asked Granger.
“Why not, indeed."
Granger sighed. “All right. Goodbye, then.”
“Granger.”
“What?”
“Tell your cat I said pspsps.”
Her smile was brightness. She turned and disappeared into the fire.
When asked when he’d arrived in Oxford, Draco said, “This morning.” When asked what he was doing in Oxford, he said “Doctor Granger.”
Granger choked on her drink. More laughter. When Draco next stole a glance at her, Granger looked like she was going to lure him into a lonely alley and, there in the darkness, strangle him.
Who knew that teasing the swot of the century could be such a glee-filled activity.
“...Likes me?”
“Genuinely,” said Weasley. “Thinks you’re enormously competent – eminently respectable – generally marvellous–” he took on a high, Grangery voice “–Rather brilliant, you know, Ron, you mustn’t tease him. Can’t even refer to you as ‘the Ferret’ without being corrected.”
This had an immense cheering effect on Draco, but he kept his face neutral. “She does like to take up unfortunate causes.”
“Yeah. She’ll bung together a Society for the Protection of Eminently Respectable Malfoy soon, I reckon. SPERM. Suits you.”
"Granger’s eye roll was magnificent. “Poor darling. It isn't that awful.”
“Vile, is what it is.” Draco sighed a dramatic sigh and sat limply in his chair. “I should’ve taken the troll porn.”
“The what?” asked Granger.
“Nothing. Never mind. Eat your tart.”
“Eat your tart.”
“I’d like nothing more.”
“Good.”
Draco ate the tart in front of him but he’d rather have been eating the one beside him. Yet another wearisome irony in the difficult life of Draco Malfoy.
“Do not fight me,” said Larsen, raising his hands. “I will let you go. I only need her. She is not worth what I am going to do to you.”
“She is definitely worth what I’m going to do to you.”
“There will be no fucking poems,” said Draco. “I may have to brute force my way through this. When thoughts arise, simply quash them.”
“Quash them.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t strike me as healthy, old boy,” said Theo, peeling a grape. “But what do I know.”
“Nothing, as this conversation has made amply clear. I’m going. I needn’t ask you to keep this to yourself.”
“Obviously.”
“I should Obliviate you, just in case.”
“But I won’t remember how to defend you against Luella’s aspersions.”
“Bah,” said Draco, stalking out of the salon.
“Give my regards to Hermione,” called Theo.
“Fuck you.”


