Pansy and Daphne’s arrival at the manor made Hermione never want to leave.

While Theo and Draco played quidditch, the girls would spread out a large blanket to relax on. Hermione reading the day’s find from the library, Pansy reading a fashion magazine, and Daphne with her sketchbook and quills.

Hermione had no idea Daphne enjoyed drawing and was excited to see that she was rather good. Daphne had a knack for capturing plant life – drawing from her aptitude for herbology. For the first few days she was working on a drawing of one of the trellises – heavy with roses – from Narcissa’s garden.

“Wow Daph, that’s beautiful,” Hermione complimented.

Daphne’s pale cheeks blushed under her praise.

“I know it’s silly,” she replied, toying with the corner of the parchment.

Hermione’s brows pulled together.

“Silly? Why do you say that?”

Pansy scoffed, flopping down on her side and throwing her magazine away.

“It’s not her that says it,” Pansy said, clicking her tongue.

Daphne’s face darkened.

“My mother feels my interests would be better suited… elsewhere,” Daphne mumbled, looking away from the two girls and back to the drawing. “She says it’s silly to enjoy something so mundane.”

“What does she think you should do instead?” Hermione asked, watching a hopeless expression cross her friend’s face.

Daphne’s lip curled. “The usual – interior decorating, party planning, hosting .”

“No offense to your mum,” Hermione said slowly. “But what do all those things provide?”

Daphne didn’t respond, but blinked up at Hermione confused.

“Interior design creates beauty within a home, yes? Party planning and hosting, they bring people together under a common goal or idea, right?” Hermione tapped the parchment with her finger. “Does art not do the same thing?”

Daphne and Pansy’s mouths popped open and a soft smile tugged the corner of the former’s mouth up.

“Do you really think so, Hermione?” Daphne asked cautiously, hope skittering in the corners of her eyes.

Hermione nodded seriously.

“I truly do. Art has the power to bring us together, to create compassion or understanding in another. It’s powerful. Your talent is a gift, Daph.”

Daphne took Hermione’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Thank you,” she said softly, eyes sparkling in the summer sun.

A shadow fell over them as Theo flopped down on their blanket.

“Enough roses, Daphne. It’s time you focus on drawing real beauty.” He swept a dramatic hand through his hair. “ Me .”

All three girls groaned simultaneously, working together to try to push Theo off their blanket.

With the girls’ arrival, they swam in the lake, stayed up late playing games, and ate way too many sweets. Hermione’s favorite quickly became the small honey cakes served occasionally at dinner. Once Narcissa realized her love of them, however, they started showing up at every dinner to Hermione’s great delight.

They fell into an easy rhythm: meditation (which Hermione was surprised to learn Daphne and Pansy always participated in when at the manor), breakfast, adventure, lunch, library and whatever other trouble they could find themselves in before dinner.

She never knew she could feel this happy.

…

“There you are,” Draco huffed, winding his way around the small table laden with books.

It had been steadily raining all afternoon and Hermione couldn’t resist gravitating towards the library or the small nook she’d found her first week there that gave her a perfect place to read and look out at the grounds.

Draco plucked the book Hermione had been reading from her hands – Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy – slid a scrap of parchment into it to keep her place, then set it on the table beside her. Then he picked up her socked feet, slid onto the bench beside her, and placed them in his lap.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked, her hands still up as if she was holding the book he’d just taken. After a moment, she let them fall.

“I missed you,” he said with an embarrassed grin.

She bit the inside of her cheek, looking him over. Absent-mindedly, it seemed, he began to rub small circles on the inside of her calf.

“Did you miss me or did you get bored because it’s raining and you and Theo can’t play quidditch?”

Draco gasped in mock horror, pressing a hand over his heart.

“How dare you. Can’t a bloke miss his witch?”

Her stomach did some somersaults at the term his witch but she tried to school her expression. Instead of throwing herself into his arms and melting into a puddle of goo, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Really? Because I could have sworn I heard Theo an hour ago refuse to get his hair wet after ‘ Circe blessed him with perfect curls today ’.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “That insufferable git and his hair.”

She leant forward to shove his shoulder.

“Admit it, you’re bored .”

Draco caught her wrist before she could pull away.

“Fine,” he said, drawing her closer to him.

Hermione shifted, pulling her feet back until she could tuck them underneath her and lean forward. With his other hand, Draco’s fingertips brushed her cheek before tucking a curl behind her ear.

“I was bored, but I also missed you,” Draco whispered, his grey eyes turning dark.

It felt like a hoard of faeries had just taken up residence inside Hermione’s stomach as Draco’s fingertips trailed the length of her jaw, then down her neck before sliding up the back of her head to knot themselves in her hair.

He leant forward, pressing his lips to the curve of her cheekbone.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, his lips shaping the words against her skin.

She bit her lip as he pressed his lips lower on her cheek, then lower still, until he reached the corner of her mouth. The hand on her wrist loosened, sliding up her arm and over her shoulder. He pulled her closer to him until her knees touched his thigh. She shivered as his hand found its way to her low back, drawing her forward until their chests touched.

But he skipped her lips, instead pressing a kiss to the other corner of her mouth before trailing again up her other cheek. She couldn’t bite back a small groan of frustration, especially as the hand in her hair kept her anchored there.

“Patience, love,” Draco purred in a way that made her insides melt.

My witch… Love… Gods, Hermione couldn’t help the way her head swam with warmth. After so many years of pining after this boy, it felt like a dream to be in his arms.

Finally his lips found hers and she sighed in relief. Draco took the opportunity to let his tongue part her lips further, exploring her mouth.

Hermione felt a zing move through her core and her fingers threaded through his silken hair. She kissed him greedily, hungrily, as if the world would stop when his kisses did.

Their kisses slowed, became sweeter, until finally they broke apart and Draco rested his forehead against hers.

“Are you happy here? At the manor?” he asked, his voice filled with hope.

She smiled.

“Indescribably, Draco…” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “It feels like home .”

Draco repeated the word silently, lips moving through the letters, and the smile that split his face in two was so radiant she couldn’t help but grin back just as wide.

“How do you classify a home?” Draco asked tentatively.

Hermione thought about it. Tried to quantify the feeling she had at the manor.

“It’s a place where I feel safe… accepted.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “ Loved . Somewhere I don’t have to hide the parts of me I would rather not show and I know no matter what I’ll be protected.”

Draco hummed his understanding, fingers pulling absently through her curls. They sat there in silence for a long moment, just breathing each other’s air, and Hermione couldn’t ever remember feeling more at peace. Then, Draco pulled away, his grey eyes piercing hers.

“I think…” Draco started; his voice thick with emotion. “You could be my home, Hermione.”

…

As her time at the manor started drawing to a close, anxiety began to take root in Hermione’s stomach. She knew that she would be happy once she got to the Burrow, but she hated the idea of being away from her friends.

The day before she was set to leave to head to Ron’s, Narcissa swept into the dining room as they were finishing lunch.

“Girls, I have it on good authority you may be in need of some dress robes this year,” Narcissa announced with a twinkle in her eye. “How about a shopping trip?”

Daphne and Pansy immediately squealed in delight.

“I’ve made the four of us an appointment at Madam Toussaint’s.” Her eyes flicked to Hermione. “She is the best of the best, located right on the outskirts of Diagon Alley. We will floo directly into the shop and they deal with the utmost discretion.”

Hermione’s cheeks blushed and a flash of chagrin slithered through her chest. Was Narcissa ashamed to be seen with a muggleborn? Is that why she was making sure they wouldn’t be seen together?

Narcissa dismissed the girls to get changed and ready to leave and without knowing how she got there, Hermione realized she was sitting at the vanity in her lilac and cream bedroom staring at a golden hairbrush in front of her with Narcissa saying her name.

“Hermione, dear? Are you all right?”

She started, rattling the hairbrush as she jumped. With shaking fingers she touched the bristles, stilling it.

“Oh, yes, of course. Thank you,” Hermione said so quickly it sounded like it was one long word.

Narcissa came slowly into the room, robes swirling around her feet.

“May I sit?”

Hermione nodded.

With a wave of her wand, Narcissa conjured an identical stool to Hermione’s and sat beside her.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Narcissa asked softly, pushing her curls away from her face to see her better.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, her tears pricking at the maternal gesture.

“I’m just… sorry that you have to go through all that trouble to go dress shopping. I can stay here to make it easier if you’d prefer not to be seen with me.”

Narcissa gasped and then Hermione suddenly found herself in a fierce hug.

“Oh Hermione , I’m so sorry I gave you that impression. It is quite the opposite . What do you think would happen if you were to be seen with me ? How do you think Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley would react? Or the rest of the Weasley clan?”

Hermione grimaced, pressing her face into the soft silk of Narcissa’s robes.

“It’s not fair,” she grumbled.

Narcissa gently stroked Hermione’s hair, nodding.

“I know it’s not, but it is the reality we are in.”

Quickly, Hermione pulled back her eyes bright with emotion.

“I’m not ashamed to be seen with you – with any of you.”

A sad smile pulled the corner of Narcissa’s mouth up and her eyes crinkled with affection.

“Thank you, darling.” She ran her thumb across Hermione’s cheeks. “I feel quite the same about you.”

The older woman sighed, pushing more frizzy curls back from the younger’s forehead.

“For now, this is the way it must be… but I’m looking forward to the day when it does not have to be.”

With another soft smile, Narcissa offered to teach Hermione the curl smoothing charm she’d used on her sister’s curly hair as well throughout school and help her pick out a nice set of robes. When Hermione shared that she, in fact, did not have any nice set of robes given that she spent the majority of her time outside of school either at the Burrow, in the muggle world, or at Hogwarts, Narcissa said brightly:

“Well, we will have to remedy that today my dear.”

Narcissa was standing behind her, twirling her wand in a complicated pattern to encourage the curls on Hermione’s head to follow a smoother pattern.

“But… Mrs. Malfoy…” Hermione started, embarrassment causing a flush to burn in her cheeks.

“Call me Narcissa, dear,” she said kindly.

“Narcissa… I don’t think I have enough gold for that. Perhaps I shouldn’t…” The remainder of the words died on Hermione’s tongue at the sad look on Narcissa’s face in the reflection of the vanity mirror.

Two delicate hands laid on her shoulders.

“This is my treat, dear. I love Draco dearly but I have always wanted a daughter. With you, Pansy, and Daphne here it is as though I’ve gotten my wish three-fold. Allow me to spoil you as if you were my own…” A look of uncertainty crossed her features. “That is, if that is all right with you.”

As if you were my own. The words bounced through Hermione’s head then seemed to snake down her throat causing it to feel thick, before settling in her chest. She merely nodded and the dazzling smile Narcissa gave in response made all the anxiety melt away.

…

That’s how Hermione found herself standing in front of a tri-fold full length mirror, her hands sliding over fabric so soft and delicate it could have been made of water.

“Oh, Hermione, dear, that's the one.” Narcissa stepped to the side of the platform, peering at her in the reflection. “That color is perfect – what is it called Madam Toussaint?”

“It is periwinkle,” the old Madam responded with a heavy French accent. “Parfait for her complexion, non?”

Daphne stepped out in a flowing green dress, gold leaf accents circling her waist and following the line of the long bell sleeves.

“Hermione! It’s perfect!” Her friend beamed. “Do you love it?”

To be honest, she felt a little overwhelmed. She’d never been one for clothes or hair or makeup but… with the curling charm Narcissa had used and the beautiful blue dress on she felt something flutter inside of her. She felt… beautiful.

A loud gasp drew her attention from her reflection in the mirror to where Pansy had just stepped out in a light pink dress, much frillier than Hermione would have assumed for how severe Pansy usually was. But it still suited her.

“Oh yes , Granger this is it. Even if I have to force you –”

Narcissa raised a hand silencing her.

“Now, now, Pansy I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” She turned her attention back to the girl in the periwinkle dress. “How do you feel in it, dear?”

Hermione took a deep breath, then blew it out in a gust.

“I feel…” she paused searching for the right word. “ Incredible. ”

Pansy clapped her hands together as Daphne twired in a circle in her excitement.

“I cannot wait to see Draco’s reaction to you in this dress!” Daphne squealed.

Hermione’s eyes quickly found Narcissa’s, worried that perhaps even though the woman had been so open to having a muggle born in her home that her son being interested in one might be crossing the line. She was surprised, however, to see not only a sparkle of affection in her eyes, but wistfulness.

“It’s perfect, Hermione. He’ll love you in it.”