False rose of Jericho

Something had altered her brain chemistry, twisted it in ways that left her haunted. Nightmares plagued her sleep, and she took up smoking as a futile attempt to calm her nerves. A new habit emerged—an eating disorder, a desperate grasp for control in a life spiraling into chaos.

Her thoughts were a tangled mess as she tried to make sense of her new reality. She let her fingers pinch her skin, feeling the familiar sting. " I let my fingers pinch my skin. I'm so hungry, I can't sleep," she mused, the gnawing emptiness in her stomach a cruel reminder of the chaos inside her. She knew if she ate, she'd end up in the bathroom on her knees, a cycle of self-destruction she couldn't escape.

Staring at her reflection, she saw a body she couldn't quite come to terms with. "I don't really like my body, but knowing it's my only body, I should probably call somebody," she thought, the weight of isolation pressing down on her. The urge to reach out, to show someone how she was truly feeling inside, was overwhelming.

Ginny was not an option right now. Pansy struggled with bulimia her entire life. Luna was just... Luna. But maybe, just maybe, Luna could be the one.

Hermione stumbled through the fireplace, her mind clouded with a mixture of desperation and confusion, her thoughts a frantic blur. She barely registered the familiar surroundings before her gaze fell upon them on the sofa, locked in an intimate embrace.

Theos' hands were on Luna, his fingers teasingly grazing her breasts, and she was leaning back against him, her movements quickening as she rode him with abandon. The room, which had been filled only with the sounds of their passion, suddenly went silent as Hermione's horrified gasp pierced the air.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, frozen in shock.

His head snapped up, his expression shifting instantly from surprise to pure rage. "Get out, Granger!" he bellowed, his voice sharp, slicing through the tension.

She stammered, her face flushed. "I'm so, so sorry," she mumbled, stumbling backward, her eyes wide with embarrassment as she fumbled her way out, tripping over her own feet in her haste to escape.

"How can we help you, Mimi?" she asked, her voice gentle and unbothered as she remained naked on top of him, her tone as calm as ever.

She quickly looked away, swallowing hard. "I—I'm sorry… I didn't know where else to go," she admitted, her voice a shaky whisper, thick with vulnerability. "I just… needed someone to talk to."

He groaned, clearly more exasperated than sympathetic. "Granger, I'm starting to think you might have a thing for voyeurism. But if you insist on staying, at least turn around," he muttered, arching an eyebrow at her.

Mortified, she mumbled an apology, her cheeks blazing with embarrassment, and hurried into the kitchen, needing a moment to compose herself. She took a few steadying breaths, the lingering sounds of Theo and her laughter drifting in from the living room, leaving her feeling both awkward and oddly comforted by their presence.

Luna appeared moments later, now wrapped in a soft robe, her expression calm and understanding as she found Hermione sitting at the kitchen table, hands clenched and shoulders slumped. Gently, she took a seat beside her, resting a comforting hand over Hermione's.

"What's wrong, Mimi?" Her voice was a gentle invitation, her clear blue eyes filled with warmth and concern.

Her gaze fell to the table, her voice breaking as she whispered, "Luna, something is so wrong with me—something's… broken." She swallowed, forcing herself to continue. "I… I slept with Draco, right after he dropped a severed head in my fireplace. And the worst part?" She clenched her fists tighter, a dark flush creeping up her neck. "The worst part is that his… his violence, his intensity, it turns me on. I wanted him right there, in that moment, with all the horror and chaos around us. How could I be that… twisted?"

Her voice cracked, heavy with shame and confusion, as she finally dared to look at Luna, her eyes brimming with vulnerability. "Babe, I don't even know myself anymore."

Her gaze remained gentle and unwavering as she listened, allowing Hermione the space to release every tormented thought. Finally, she reached out, pulling Hermione into a soft, steady embrace, grounding her with warmth and quiet acceptance.

"Oh, Mimi," she murmured, stroking her friend's hair with delicate fingers. "You're not broken. You're human, and you're hurting. Trauma… it doesn't play by rules or fit into neat little boxes. Sometimes, it pushes us to strange, messy places we can't always understand. What you're feeling doesn't make you bad or wrong. It just makes you… here, struggling, like any of us would."

Hermione drew back slightly, searching her face as her words slowly sank in. "But it feels so… dark. Like I've crossed some line I can't come back from."

She shook her head, her eyes never leaving Hermione's. "You're allowed to feel what you feel, Mimi. It doesn't define you. Desire and trauma often get tangled together in ways that don't always make sense. That darkness? It doesn't own you, no matter how it feels right now."

Hermione let out a shaky breath, her shoulders relaxing as her words softened the edges of her guilt. "I just… I don't want him to see me as weak. I want to be strong. But then I find myself drawn to the side of him that's so… powerful, so raw. It's like he knows the parts of me I try to keep hidden."

She offered a small smile, her hand still resting on Hermione's. "Sometimes, the people we love the most see us more clearly than we see ourselves. Draco sees you—all of you—and maybe that's why it feels so intense. He loves your strength, and he understands your darkness. Let him in, but don't let it drown you. And know that I'm here, always, no matter where this journey takes you."

Hermione nodded, her throat tight, though her words began to settle the chaos inside her. A tentative calm replaced the storm of self-doubt as she breathed in her friend's quiet strength.

"But what if I can't fix it?" she whispered, her voice small, her tears soaking into her robe. "What if this darkness never goes away?"

She tightened her embrace, smoothing Hermione's hair in gentle strokes. "You don't have to fix it all at once, or even on your own," she murmured, her voice like a soothing balm. "You have people who love you and want to help you through this. That includes Draco. He's right there, Hermione—let him in. Let him understand what's going on inside you. He loves you, just as you are. He'll understand."

Hermione swallowed, absorbing her words as her hand held tightly to her friend's. She let out a deep breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, the shame and confusion loosening their grip. "I don't know what I'd do without you," she managed, her voice thick with gratitude.

She smiled, brushing a tear from Hermione's cheek. "We're all here for you, Mimi. You don't have to face this alone—not now, not ever."

They sat in silence for a moment, Hermione's breathing gradually steadying as she clung to her reassuring presence. Finally, she pulled back, wiping her eyes and offering her a small, grateful smile. "I'll talk to Draco… I'll try to let him in."

"Good," she replied, her expression soft but full of encouragement. "And remember, just take it one step at a time. Healing isn't a straight path. It winds and twists, but it doesn't mean you're lost. We're here to walk with you."

Hermione squeezed her hand. "Thank you, babe. I don't know how you do it—always knowing what to say."

Her gaze turned thoughtful, her eyes drifting momentarily as if recalling something profound yet unspoken. "It's easy to see beauty and strength in others," she said softly. "Sometimes, it just takes a friend to remind you of it within yourself."

For the first time in weeks, she felt a glimmer of peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The scent of roasted herbs and sizzling butter greeted Hermione as she walked into the kitchen. The warmth of the room wrapped around her like a soft embrace, easing away the weariness of her day. She found Draco standing by the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring a pot with an ease that suggested this had become second nature to him.

"Hello, dearest. Smells amazing," she said, stepping closer, her voice carrying a familiar fondness.

He turned, a boyish grin lighting up his sharp features. "Hello, my love," he replied, his voice smooth and welcoming. "I also have something special for you."

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the playful lilt in his tone. Before she could ask, he flicked his wand with a practiced ease, summoning a small, elegant gift box that floated gently into her hands.

"What's this for?" she asked, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity. "It's not my birthday, or our anniversary…"

He shrugged nonchalantly, though the twinkle in his eye betrayed his excitement. "It's nothing special. Just… because. Open it."

Dhe untied the ribbon carefully, her fingers brushing over the velvet surface. Inside, nestled in soft satin, lay a breathtaking pearl Valentino necklace, its intricate design enhanced by tiny Swarovski crystals that caught the kitchen light and shimmered like stars.

Her mouth fell open slightly in astonishment. "Draco, this is… it's stunning. Thank you so much, Mon cœur." She smiled, the term of endearment rolling off her tongue with practiced ease. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears of happiness.

"Turn around," he murmured, taking the necklace from the box. Gently, he clasped it around her neck, letting his fingers linger briefly against her skin before he kissed her softly on the side of her neck.

She turned back to face him, beaming. "It's beautiful," she whispered. But before she could say more, Draco's expression turned serious, his gaze steady as he searched hers.

"Yes, it's charmed," he admitted quietly. "I'm not going to lie to you anymore. It has runes—ones that monitor your heart rate and stress levels."

She blinked, taken aback by his unexpected honesty. "Why would you do that?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly, not out of fear but from the vulnerability in his words.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Because I worry about you," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I need to know you're safe, especially after everything we've been through—the attack, the threats. You don't always tell me when you're hurting, Hermione. This… this lets me know without you having to."

She stared at him for a moment, torn between gratitude and exasperation. "You can't just charm my jewelry without asking. That's… that's controlling."

His lips twitched into a faint smile, though his eyes remained serious. "I know. But it's also because I can't lose you. I won't."

She softened, understanding the fear beneath his actions. "Draco… you don't have to lose sleep over me. We're in this together. You don't have to carry it all alone."

His heart froze in his chest as Hermione's quiet confession hung in the air between them. His mind scrambled for words, for any way to lessen the weight of the pain she carried, but nothing felt adequate.

"I know," he said again, stepping closer, his voice barely above a whisper. His arms wrapped around her with a desperate kind of tenderness, as if holding her tightly enough could somehow shield her from the storm raging inside her. "But if worrying about you makes me sleep better at night, then let me have that. It's not just about keeping you safe—it's about keeping us safe."

She hesitated, taking a deep breath as though bracing herself for a plunge into icy waters. "If we're playing the honesty game, I need your help, love." Her voice trembled with vulnerability, the weight of unspoken fears pressing down on her chest. "Something is wrong with me."

He stiffened, his grip on her shoulders tightening just enough to let her know he was fully present, fully listening. "What happened, my love?" His voice was low but urgent, laced with a fear he couldn't quite hide. "Tell me. Please."

Her lips quivered as she struggled to form the words that had haunted her for weeks. "For the past few weeks, I've been... struggling. There's this... thing inside me. It's like I've lost control over my own mind, my own body." She paused, swallowing hard, trying to keep her voice steady. "I've been starving myself."

His eyes widened in alarm, his breath hitching audibly. He opened his mouth to say something, but she continued before he could.

"It started as a way to take control of something, anything, when life felt so overwhelming. But it got out of hand so quickly. Now, I'm trapped in this cycle. I can't sleep because I'm starving, but when I do eat, I feel... this crushing guilt. It's like I'm punishing myself for even needing food in the first place. And then... I end up in the bathroom, trying to undo it all."

His heart broke into pieces as he listened to her, every word cutting deeper than the last. His hands moved to cup her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled from her eyes.

"Hermione," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? You don't ever have to hide from me. I'm here. Always."

She shook her head, more tears falling freely now. "I was ashamed. I didn't want you to see me like this—so weak, so broken. I didn't even recognize myself anymore. I've been hiding, pretending everything is fine when it's not. And now… I'm scared. I don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to fix myself."

He pulled her into a fierce embrace, as if by holding her he could keep her from slipping away. His hands gently rubbed her back, offering what little comfort he could. "You're not broken, Hermione. You're hurting, and that's okay. We'll get through this—together."

She buried her face in his chest, her sobs muffled by the warmth of his jumper. "I didn't want to burden you."

"You could never be a burden," he said, his voice trembling slightly as he fought back his own tears. "Gods, Hermione, you're the strongest person I know. You've been through hell, and you're still standing. But you don't have to stand alone. Lean on me, love. Let me help you carry this."

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. Her hand reached up to rest on his cheek, her touch feather-light, as though she feared he might shatter beneath her fingers. "You're always here for me," she said softly, her voice steadier now, though her eyes still shimmered with tears.

He shook his head slowly, his expression tight with pain. "No, I'm not here enough," he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. His thumb absently traced the outline of her hand on his cheek. "I promised myself after your… after your attempt, that I'd watch over you better, that I wouldn't let anything like that happen again. And yet, I only ever focused on the obvious—the pills, the potions, making sure you weren't in danger that I could see. But you've been hurting yourself in ways I didn't notice. I failed you. And, Merlin, I don't ever want to feel what I felt that day… not again. It was the second time. The second time I thought I might lose you." His voice broke at the end, a crack in the carefully controlled exterior he always tried to maintain.

Her heart clenched painfully at the sight of him—her Draco, always strong, always composed, now standing before her utterly vulnerable. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face in his chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice muffled against the fabric of his jumper. "I didn't want to burden you with my struggles. I thought I could handle it on my own, but… I can't. I need you now, more than ever."

His arms circled her protectively, as though shielding her from the world. He held her close, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Thank you, my love, for asking for help," he said quietly, his voice filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. "That's incredibly brave of you. Come here." He moved toward the nearest chair and sat down, gently pulling her into his lap as if she were something delicate and precious.

She settled into him, her head resting against his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. There was something grounding about the rhythmic thud, something that made her feel safe in a way she hadn't felt in weeks.

"We're going to have dinner now," he said softly, his fingers combing gently through her hair. "And after that, I'm not letting you out of my sight. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not until I know you're okay."

She smiled faintly despite herself. "You can't exactly keep me glued to your side forever, you know."

"Watch me," he replied, a teasing edge to his voice, though the intensity in his eyes betrayed how serious he truly was.

Possessive little shit.

That evening, Draco did everything for her—he fed her small bites of dinner, coaxing her to eat even when her appetite wavered; he ran a warm bath and gently washed her hair, his touch tender and careful; he brushed out the tangles in her curls afterward, murmuring soft reassurances the entire time. Hermione let him fuss over her, feeling simultaneously overwhelmed by his care and comforted in a way she hadn't expected. She knew he was mollycoddling her, and yet… she loved it. For once, she didn't feel the need to fight against it. She didn't feel the urge to prove her independence. She let herself be cared for, cradled by his love.

But deep down, something in her felt broken. A part of her whispered that she shouldn't need this, that she shouldn't have let things get this far. Yet, every time that voice tried to rise, Draco's steady presence pushed it back down. He wouldn't let her spiral—not tonight, not while he was there.

Later, as they sat together in the quiet of their living room, the fire crackling softly in the background, Draco watched her closely. His gaze was sharp, unwavering, as though he was committing every detail of her to memory. Hermione noticed his intense stare and raised a brow.

"What?" she asked, her voice soft.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "My love, I know things have been hard for you, but there's something you need to understand. Unfortunately for everyone else, I'm going to keep doing whatever I want. Nobody smart plays by the rules. And if anyone thinks they can come for me, or for you, they'll have to reach my level first."

She blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. There was a fierce protectiveness in his eyes, a fire that burned just beneath the surface. She couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Why are you like this?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of amusement.

He smirked, his usual arrogance slipping back into place, though it was tempered by the tenderness in his expression. "Because you love me like this."

"I do," she admitted with a sigh, leaning against him once more. "But sometimes, you're a bit much."

"Only sometimes?" he teased, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. "I must be losing my edge."

She chuckled softly, the sound light and genuine. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe things wouldn't magically be perfect overnight. Maybe she'd still have hard days. But with Draco by her side—scared, stubborn, fiercely protective—she knew she wouldn't have to face those days alone.

And that, for now, was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The atmosphere in Draco's study was suffocating, the kind of tension that clings to the air and presses down on your chest like an invisible weight. The crackle of the fire did little to dispel the oppressive stillness, and the normally inviting warmth of the room felt stifling tonight. Blaise sat slumped in a leather armchair near the hearth, his head bowed, fingers clutching a tumbler of firewhiskey like it was the only anchor keeping him grounded. His usual easy charm was nowhere to be seen, replaced by something raw, almost broken.

Theo was sprawled in another chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his own drink untouched on the side table. His sharp eyes flicked between Blaise and Draco, watching, waiting. Unlike Blaise, Theo was the picture of composed cynicism, but even he couldn't mask the unease simmering beneath the surface.

Draco stood near the window, his silhouette sharp against the backdrop of the darkening sky. His posture was rigid, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared out into the night, lost in thought. His presence was commanding even in silence, but the weight of his unreadable expression only added to the oppressive mood in the room.

Finally, it was Theo who broke the silence, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. "You're not just brooding over her leaving," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "This is about the baby, isn't it?"

Blaise didn't look up. His voice, when it came, was hoarse and strained, like it had been dragged out of him against his will. "She's carrying my child, Theo. My child. And she ran. How the hell am I supposed to be alright with that?"

Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She didn't run from the baby, Blaise," he said evenly. "She ran from you. From us. From this life." His words weren't cruel, but they landed with the force of a hammer. "She couldn't handle it."

Blaise's head snapped up, his dark eyes blazing with anger and hurt. "And why the hell can your wife handle it?" he demanded, his voice rising. "How come Saint Luna is just fine with you being a fucking killer?" His words came out as half a shout, venomous and raw.

Theo's expression darkened instantly, his body tensing as he sat up straighter. "Don't mention my wife again in that tone," he said coldly, his voice low and dangerous. "Luna understands because she's lived it. She knows what it's like to take a life, Blaise. There's that. And besides…" He hesitated, his gaze hardening. "We love each other. Deeply. She chooses me despite everything, and I choose her."

Draco, who had remained silent until now, turned from the window, his sharp features betraying a flicker of surprise. "Luna… killed someone?" he asked, his voice carefully measured but tinged with disbelief.

Theo's gaze snapped to Draco, his expression hard. "She's not the whimsical little girl from Hogwarts anymore, Malfoy. Stop treating her like some saint sent to earth." His tone was biting but calm. "She's just as flawed as the rest of us. Maybe even more so. A demi-god, if you will. She killed her grandfather," he added bluntly, letting the weight of the revelation hang in the air. "Because he was abusive to her mum. That's all you need to know."

He blinked, processing the information, before nodding slowly. "I apologize," he said quietly. "That's… brave. I'm happy for her. For both of you."

Blaise, still simmering with anger, scoffed. "Besides the shock of Luna bloody Lovegood being a killer," he sneered, "what's Granger's reason for staying with you?" His tone was biting, almost mocking. "Why hasn't she run for the hills yet?"

His grey eyes flashed dangerously, and his voice dropped to an icy growl. "Watch your tone, Zabini," he warned, his calm exterior cracking. "You're skating on thin ice today, and you're disrespecting our wives."

He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto Blaise's with an intensity that made Theo sit up a little straighter, ready to intervene if necessary. "Hermione killed my father," Draco said, his voice steady and deliberate, each word like a stone dropping into a silent lake. "Let me remind you of that. She killed him because of me. Because she loves me. She wanted to set me free from my demons."

The room fell silent again, the weight of Draco's words settling heavily over the three men. Blaise looked away, his anger deflating as the truth hit him. He stared into his glass, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

Theo exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. "Love makes people do impossible things," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Things we never think we're capable of."

Draco returned to his place by the window, his profile sharp against the dim firelight. "Hermione's love is what keeps me standing," he said softly, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability. "It's why I fight. It's why I survive. And it's why I'll never let anything—or anyone—threaten what we've built."

Blaise sat in silence, the firewhiskey in his glass forgotten. For the first time that night, he seemed to truly listen, to absorb the words of his friends. The tension in the room didn't vanish, but it shifted, softened, as if the raw honesty they had laid bare had begun to mend something fractured between them.

Despite his relentless efforts, Blaise's attempts to bring Ginny back proved futile. She remained in Romania, steadfast in her refusal to return, no matter what he said or did. It was as though the miles between them had fortified her resolve, creating a barrier he couldn't break through. Each message he sent—pleading, apologizing, promising—was met with silence, the kind that echoed louder than words ever could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco stepped out of his study, his shoulders heavy with the weight of Blaise's confession. He found her curled up on the sofa, a book resting in her lap. She didn't look up, too engrossed in her reading, but he knew her well enough to sense she wasn't entirely lost in the words.

"Darling," he began, his voice soft yet cautious. "Red left Blaise. He just told me."

Her eyes flickered up to meet his briefly, her expression unreadable. "Well... it is what it is, isn't it?"

He hesitated, unsure how to proceed. Her tone was sharp, clipped, a sure sign she was guarding herself. "Don't look at me like that," she said, her voice tinged with irritation as she closed the book with a decisive snap. "I'm still mad at her."

He sighed, nodding slightly. "I know, darling. She was cruel. Her words were cutting, and she crossed a line. Besides," he added, his lips curving into a faint smirk, "she's not even my favourite Weasley."

Hermione tilted her head, a flicker of curiosity breaking through her frustration. "Do you have a favourite?"

"I think everyone's is Charlie," he replied easily, as though it were an indisputable fact.

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "Honestly… yes. You might be right."

He stepped closer, his hands resting in his pockets as he studied her carefully. "My love," he said gently, "would you like to talk to her?" 

Her smile vanished instantly, replaced by a hardened glare. "No."

"Hermione," he began, but she cut him off with a sharp shake of her head.

"I'm not going to apologize," she said, her voice rising slightly. She stood, setting the book aside as her frustration spilled over. "She hurt me, Draco. She didn't just hurt me—she broke something inside me. She said one thing—just one thing—that tore my soul apart. How could she?"

Her pacing quickened as she spoke, her anger bubbling to the surface. He remained quiet, letting her vent, knowing she needed to say this aloud.

"What if..." she paused, her voice faltering as a tremor of vulnerability crept in. "What if everyone thinks like she does? What if they all hold it over my head that all of you had to—had to change my diaper because I couldn't even stand? Because I was so broken that I couldn't care for myself?"

His eyes widened in disbelief, the rawness of her words hitting him like a punch to the gut. "Hermione—"

"What if I was just a burden?" she continued, her voice cracking. "What if I still am? What if—"

"You were never a burden to me," Draco interrupted, his tone fierce and resolute. He crossed the room in three quick strides, catching her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. "Never. Do you hear me? You were always my everything, even then. Especially then."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her lips parting as if to protest, but he didn't give her the chance.

"I would do it all again, Hermione," he said firmly, his voice thick with emotion. "Every moment of it. You have no idea how many tears I shed watching you suffer, knowing I couldn't take your pain away. You have no idea how furious I was—how helpless I felt—because all I wanted was to make you whole again, and I couldn't. But never, never did I see you as a burden."

"Draco…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He shook his head, his grip tightening just slightly. "It was my fault you almost died. That's the reality, isn't it? If I hadn't—"

"No," she interrupted this time, her hands flying up to cup his face. "I don't see it that way, Draco. I've never seen it that way."

"But I do," he said, his voice cracking. "Every single day, I carry that guilt. It doesn't matter how many times you tell me otherwise—it doesn't change the truth."

For a moment, they stood in silence, their breaths mingling in the charged space between them. She finally leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. Her tears slipped free, warm trails against her cheeks, and he closed his eyes, exhaling deeply.

"I love you," she murmured, her voice trembling. "And I'm here. I'm still here, Draco, because of you."

His arms came around her, pulling her close, as if by holding her tighter he could banish the memories that haunted them both. "And I'll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I deserve that love," he whispered, his voice filled with quiet determination. "Because you're my everything."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione returned to work, immersing herself in her tasks with a facade of normalcy that only those closest to her might have seen through. Her days were meticulously structured, filled with meetings, research, and the quiet rhythm of paperwork. To the untrained eye, she was the epitome of professionalism—focused, efficient, and unyieldingly composed.

Yet, her colleagues couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts. She arrived earlier than usual, staying later, as though her office were a sanctuary from something unspoken. Her smiles were polite but never quite reached her eyes, and her laughter—once a warm, familiar sound—had grown rare. She was always pleasant, but there was an unmissable edge of detachment, as if she were present in body but not entirely in spirit.

Out of respect, or perhaps a fear of breaching her carefully maintained walls, no one addressed the change. They carried on as though everything was as it had been, engaging her in work-related discussions but steering clear of personal matters. There were moments when someone might glance at her a second too long, as though they wanted to say something, but the words never came. She seemed to prefer it that way, keeping everyone at arm's length with an unspoken request for space.

Her desk became a fortress of books and parchment, a reflection of her attempts to distract herself. She tackled every task with a vigor that bordered on obsession, determined to stay busy, to keep her mind from wandering into dangerous territory.

In quieter moments, when the office was still and the world outside her window began to darken, Hermione allowed herself a fleeting pause. She would stare at the parchment in front of her, the words blurring together as memories threatened to creep in. But she would shake them off, forcing herself to refocus. This was her escape, her lifeline, and she clung to it fiercely.

Her colleagues noticed, of course. They exchanged knowing glances when they thought she wasn't looking, their concern evident in the way they left cups of tea on her desk without a word or offered to take on tasks she could have easily managed. But none dared to ask, none wanted to intrude on whatever storm she was weathering.

Hermione, for her part, appreciated their silence. She wasn't ready to explain, to unpack the emotions that churned beneath her calm exterior. Work was safe, predictable, and in a life that felt increasingly chaotic, it was the one thing she could control. So, she continued on, her facade intact, her colleagues' quiet support unacknowledged but deeply felt, as she fought to reclaim a sense of normalcy in a world that felt anything but.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They attended Sunday dinner with her parents, and for the first time in what felt like years, there was no undercurrent of tension, no silent scrutiny. Instead, there was warmth—a quiet but profound sense of connection that neither Draco nor Hermione had dared to expect. The evening marked a turning point, a gradual healing of old wounds, and Hermione felt a closeness that outshone even her most cherished childhood memories.

The familiar sight of her parents' cozy home brought a smile to her face as they approached. It wasn't extravagant, but it was inviting, with a soft glow spilling from the windows and the faint outline of her mother moving in the kitchen. Draco hesitated briefly on the doorstep, brushing his hand over Hermione's for reassurance, before she squeezed it in return and opened the door.

The aroma of roasted vegetables, herbs, and something distinctly sweet wrapped around them like a warm embrace. "Mummy, we're here!" She called out, her voice carrying through the house.

Her mother appeared almost instantly, wiping her hands on an apron that had clearly seen years of love and use. "There you are! Just in time—dinner's almost ready." She pulled Hermione into a hug, lingering for a moment before turning to Draco. "Draco, dear, it's lovely to see you again. Come in, come in."

David emerged from the living room, a glass of red wine in hand. "Ah, there's my girl!" he said, grinning broadly before pulling her into a warm hug. "And Draco, good to see you, son. Hope you're hungry—I think your mother's cooked enough for an army."

He managed a small, genuine smile. "Thank you for having me again. It all smells incredible."

Hermione caught his eye as they shrugged off their coats, noting the faint tension in his shoulders beginning to dissipate. For all his confidence and poise in other situations, family settings were still uncharted waters for him, and she admired how he navigated them with quiet grace.

They moved to the dining room, where the table was laid with mismatched but charming dishes, candlelight dancing across the surface. As everyone took their seats, her mother brought out the last of the dishes, a proud smile on her face. "There we go. A little bit of everything, just the way you like it."

Dinner was lively. Her parents shared stories from their younger days, tales of family holidays and misadventures that had Hermione laughing so hard she wiped tears from her eyes. Draco, who at first had been quietly polite, soon found himself swept up in the warmth of the conversation.

"Did Hermione ever tell you about the time she tried to make a potion with her school chemistry set?" her father asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Daddy!" she groaned, though she was laughing.

David grinned. "She turned the kitchen pink for two weeks. We thought it might be permanent."

He chuckled, his eyes sparkling as he looked at Hermione. "I can't say I'm surprised. That sounds very on-brand for you."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her amusement.

As dessert was served—a sticky toffee pudding that Hermione's mother had perfected over the years—the mood grew softer, more reflective. David raised his glass of wine. "To family," he said warmly, his gaze lingering on Hermione. "To new beginnings and second chances."

She felt her throat tighten, overwhelmed by the sincerity of his words. She raised her own glass, smiling through the emotion that threatened to spill over. He followed suit, his expression calm but touched, his glass raised slightly higher than the others.

Later, as the evening wore on, they lingered at the table, the conversation shifting to lighter topics. Hermione leaned back in her chair, watching as her mother and Draco discussed the finer points of herbology, something that had surprised her to no end.

When it was finally time to leave, her parents walked them to the door, her mother pressing a Tupperware container of leftovers into Hermione's hands. "Just in case you're hungry tomorrow," she said with a wink.

As they walked back to the car, the crisp night air nipping at their cheeks, she slipped her arm through his. "That went well," she said softly.

He nodded, a faint smile lingering on his lips. "It felt… normal. Good. Like family."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling a contentment she hadn't experienced in far too long. "It was perfect," she murmured. And for the first time in ages, it truly felt like everything was falling into place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione felt like a False Rose of Jericho in the midst of her changing life. Just as the delicate plant, long thought dead, springs back to life with a touch of water, she too had emerged from a period of emotional dormancy. The trials and tribulations she faced had once seemed insurmountable, but now, with every small act of kindness and support from those she loved, she was slowly rediscovering her vitality.

Her relationship with him, once fraught with tension, had begun to bloom anew, much like the rose's revival. The warmth of family dinners, the laughter shared over simple moments, and the comfort of familiar surroundings had revitalized her spirit. Each day brought new growth, as if her soul was being gently nurtured back to life, embracing the possibility of joy and peace once more.

As she looked around at the people who had stood by her side, she saw the beauty of her own resilience reflected in their support. Like the False Rose of Jericho, she had endured a period of barrenness, but now, she was blossoming again, ready to embrace the future with renewed hope and strength.