The Gralfoy Affair (or, The Oblivious Ones) - Dramione

Chapter Eleven

Hermione began to test her reverse memory charm in the dusty, open, abandoned garage below their flat. The spectral-meter sat on a workbench, under an overturned crate. "So you do know concealment charms," she said as Malfoy cast one over the device to be sure the Wilkins didn't stumble upon it.

Experimenting with coloured light, she would work to turn green, blue, and red beams to white while Malfoy recorded the data generated by the spectral-meter, crunching calculations, showing her what she needed to know to fine tune her execution. After a week of practice, she could restore any colour of light to full spectrum white in no more than five seconds from beginning to cast the spell. It was quick enough, precise enough to work on human subjects. On her very last try, the complete colour change was made with little more than a flourish of her wand.

As the light changed, Malfoy cheered, threw down his quill, lifted Hermione off the ground, kissed her hard on her cheek. "Yes, you've got it."

She kept her eyes fixed on the bright white light shining from the end of the spectral-meter illuminating a large spot on the wall, blazing as if to burn a hole in the wooden slats of the garage.

"Look at it. It couldn't be more perfect," Malfoy went on.

She turned away from the light, looking at his profile instead. "Perfect," she said, though he wasn't perfect at all. He was scarred and strange and she couldn't be without him anymore. From that moment, she knew it. Her need for him had little to do with panic or trauma and everything to do with just him. What did it mean to feel all those things for someone? She knew that too. The word for it was a small and skittish one, but she knew it.

And this was why it hurt to hear him say, "It's finally sorted. Now get your nerve up, fix your parents, and it will all be over."

He released her, moving toward the spectral-meter to power it down.

Her wand hand dropped to her side. "Over. Yes, I suppose it will have to be."

They walked up the stairs, Malfoy charging through scenarios of when and how to best use the spell now that it had proved sound. When she first cast it, before the war, both of her parents had been together, their backs to her, eating dinner in front of the television. But they couldn't sneak into the Wilkins's house, uninvited, and ambush them now. If it was Malfoy himself, he would have tried, but there was no way Hermione's nerve would bear that kind of strain.

"So we need to act the next time they come into the flat," Malfoy said. He scanned the room. "Curtains, they've been saying they'll hang curtains for us and they haven't yet. You can mention it on the drive to the clinic tomorrow. Then they'll have to come 'round."

"Me? Yes, well, I guess I can."

His posture slumped, crestfallen. "What's wrong now?"

"Nothing."

"Right, nothing. You're brilliant. So am I, for that matter. We did this together, made it perfect. It's ready. You just need to stay confident -- "

"Will you stop it, Malfoy?"

"What?"

"You're winding me up."

He sat down hard on the sofa, scrubbing his face with his hands. "I'm only cheering you on. Hurrah for Hermione. Hurrah for the Granger family. Hurrah for all of us getting back to our homes and our proper, magical lives."

She turned to the window as if to measure it with her wand when she was actually moving to hide her face from him, her chin quivering. He wanted to go. She loved him but he wanted to leave. Ever since the night in the woods, she had wondered if he might change his mind, stay at least a little longer, perhaps not as her Muggle-legal husband but at least as the Gralfoy Affair. Sometimes when he looked at her, when he touched her, she was almost sure he had warmed to the idea. But now here he was, talking gleefully about the end, the reversal coming not just for the Wilkins but for himself as well.