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

Chapter Ten

The new normal was tense, days spent mostly apart while Hermione worked at the clinic with her parents and Malfoy subtly magicked through the daily to-do lists of minor renovations Wendell entrusted to him, delighted to find a competent handyman in his tenant after all. If it had occurred to Malfoy to think of himself as a "house-husband" he would have hated it, but he was raised by a father who had never had a proper job and the role of the vaguely scholarly gentleman of leisure was one he slid into easily, apologizing for nothing.

When she came home from work in the middle of the week fumbling with a large gift-wrapped box and a glossy bag decorated in pink and black, he was only too happy to leave off reading to help with her load. She let him take the box but pulled the bag out of his reach, setting it down behind the door, covering it with her jacket.

"What on earth is this?" he asked.

"It's crockery mixed with electricity. The Muggles use it to cook food while they're away at work. My mother has some lovely recipes."

He was unconvinced. "What are we going to do with it?"

"Nothing. Its main function is to serve as a wedding present. It's from the other girls at the clinic, their way of showing support for our - arrangement."

"Right. Everyone knows, I suppose. The Gralfoy Affair is not so much a scandal as a society page yawn by now."

"Well, it's not like I ran an announcement in the Daily Prophet," she snapped.

"Why not?"

"Because - Malfoy, don't!"

He had turned the box upside down to inspect it properly, sending the heavy electric slow cooker squealing out of its Styrofoam packing. She lunged forward to catch it before it fell completely out of the box. But it was a trap. When her arms were full, he let go of the box, lifted her jacket off the ground, and pulled the contents out of the black and pink bag. It was a small strappy handful of fabric. He held it between his fingers, filmy and shiny.

"Huh. Gryffindor colours."

"I didn't buy that myself," she said, hefting the pot onto the table, snatching at the tiny nightgown in Malfoy's hand. "It's another wedding present from the girls. They think they're funny."

She jumped at it but he held the nightgown over her head, squinting at it, not sure which end of it was up. "Also in support of our arrangement?"

"Just - let me have it. I'll get rid of it."

"Wait a moment. I'm still not -"

"Malfoy - "

"Get a proper look -"

"Draco, please."

There was something like panic in her voice. He left off teasing her, handing her both the nightgown and its bag. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't seem - so serious."

Her face was flushed red, her eyes near tears. It was clearly serious. She turned her back to him, throwing the nightgown into its bag and pitching it into the bin with enough force to tip the whole thing over, spilling rubbish onto the floor. She swore, but only mildly.

She was stooping to gather up the mess when he caught her by the waist, leaning back, his motion straightening her posture, pulling her spine against his chest. She was already flustered and now she almost completely lost her breath. They hadn't touched each other much since the night of the sandstorm supercollider on the beach. Since then, every bit of physical contact had become heavy, charged with questions, and also with answers. Touch between them was no longer an exchange to be taken lightly.