Fucking fresh flowers and honey.
He swore it was growing stronger with every passing day he spent with her. Their time apart did nothing to diminish it, not that he would have wanted it to. Her signature scent still lingered around Draco as he stood motionless in his library, staring at the spot where she had just been and scolding himself for being such a monstrous fool.
He shifted The Winter's Tale in his hands, remembering the first time he had read it.
It was his second year at Cambridge. He had found this very copy on a bench while walking through campus. He picked it up, flipped through its pages and spotted her name.
He had always thought it was such an unusual name. He had never seen it before, it had only ever belonged to her. So naturally his interest peaked.
He left a pile of Muggle currency – which he later learned was an obscene amount of money, more than enough to pay back his stealing of some poor bloke's book – and changed course for the library.
The book sparked a love for Shakespeare that Draco still harbored to this day, if his extensive collection of his works were any indication.
Out of all the books he could have chosen to show her, of course – of course, he had to pick this one. No wonder she ran out of the place with the fear of Godric on her face. She probably thought him a right creep after flipping through and skimming his notes.
His skin still simmered from her gentle touch, his heart was only just then returned to its normal rhythm.
What the fuck was he doing? What was it about Granger that made him lose his sense of time, of reality? Why did looking at her make him feel anything but normal?
And for the love of everything good and holy, why did she have to be married?
***
Draco Apparated into the travel parlor of the Manor, meeting the cool blue eyes and warm smile of his mother, who had been waiting for him. Narcissa was always dressed in the newest wizarding fashion labels, all hand picked by her designer Pansy Parkinson and sent to her from Milan.
It seemed that meeting – what was her name again? – was certainly the occasion to go above and beyond.
She was in all black dress robes, eloquently draping into a long skirt, with her long blonde hair pinned out of her face.
"Mother," he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. "I see we are in the business of 'woo-ing' today."
"Whatever gave you that impression?" She smiled at him innocently.
"Please, do try to remember that I am not actively seeking a partner at this time in my life. I'm sure this girl is lovely–"
"She is," Narcissa interrupted. "Very lovely. So lovely, in fact, that I believe she could surprise you. Come now, Draco, you made a promise."
"I made a promise to attend dinner with these people, and this is me keeping that promise, Mother. Anything else is of no consequence."
"Just have an open mind. That is all I ask."
He huffed as she tugged him to the Floo. He couldn't possibly think of anything else he'd rather not be doing than attending this meal. How was he expected to have an 'open mind' when there seemed to be no space left that wasn't already occupied by her?
It was ridiculous. He shouldn't think that way – couldn't think that way. As they arrived in Diagon Alley, he straightened his shoulders, determined to fulfill his mother's wishes and give this woman a chance.
He escorted Narcissa on his arm to the restaurant they were scheduled to meet
– Merlin, what was her name? – and her family.
They arrived at Allora, an upscale Italian restaurant that Blaise had financially backed after the war. Standing by the door were two older witches smiling at one another dotingly, dressed in intricately designed Parisian dress robes. Draco began to wonder if he should have decided against his simple black suit, opting for something a bit more wizarding formal. Narcissa waved at the pair, letting go of Draco's arm to meet them.
"Blanche," she sang, kissing the taller witch on the cheek. Her hair was no longer than his own and jet black. She reminded him a lot of Pansy, the same contagious confidence exuding from her every move.
"And Renee," his mother continued to the other witch, who was much shorter with long brown curls cascading over her shoulders.
"Hello, Narcissa," Renee kissed his mother back with a stunning smile before offering her perfectly manicured hand to Draco. "And you must be Draco, your mother has told us so much about you."
She spoke with a light french accent, voice delicate and flowery. He took her hand gently, kissing her knuckles. "All good things, I hope?"
Blanche and Renee exchanged a soft laugh. "This is my wife, Blanche."
"Enchanté," she nodded.
"It's a pleasure to meet you both," he replied.
Narcissa looked around the couple. "Where is Yvette?"
Yvette! That was her name.
"She is coming," Blanche answered, her accent much more prominent than Renee's. "She spotted a broom shop on our way in. You know how she is about flying."
Narcissa giggled, looking over to him. "Draco has been flying since he could pick up a broom. I swear he spent every summer in the air since he was 13."
He smiled sheepishly, saved from having to discuss his childhood any further when a younger, dark haired witch came half jogging up behind the group, carrying what looked to be a broom maintenance kit.
"So sorry, I have been looking for this kit all over Paris and haven't been able to find it." She shrank the kit, placing it in her clutch purse and looking back up at Draco. "I'm Yvette. You must be Draco."
Much to his comfort, this witch was not sporting designer wizarding robes, instead she wore a short blue dress that hugged her curves and tied her straight, black hair into a tight ponytail at the nape of her neck.
She was a beautiful woman. He wasn't blind. To any other guy, she would check all the superficial boxes. But there was something off about her. He couldn't decide what it was.
Briefly taking her hand, he introduced himself before Narcissa ushered the party inside to be seated.
The older witches talked their way through the first course, while Yvette and Draco smiled and nodded, picking at their food.
Renee and Blache owned a thriving modern art museum in Paris. Blache was a professional dancer in the Wizarding Ballet, while Renee was a concert pianist. They were charming people, a breath of fresh air compared to the majority of pureblood company his mother kept.
Yvette had been quiet for most of the meal, sipping her wine gingerly and subtly sneaking looks at Draco. He had almost believed that he could get through the evening without being forced into uncomfortable niceties with a stranger. A stranger with whom his mother was undoubtedly already planning his nuptials.
Maybe she isn't interested, he thought.
That was, of course, until she lightly placed her hand of his under the table. He swallowed nervously.
"Would you like to take a walk in the garden with me, Draco?"
He steeled himself, trying very hard to stay 'open minded.' "Yes, that would be nice." He turned to the table, excusing the two of them.
He rose, sneaking a look at Narcissa, who was practically shaking with excitement. He stifled a scoff at her dramatics. It was a walk, not a marriage contract.
They walked through french doors into a lavish garden courtyard. The hedges were seven feet tall, splattered with vibrant flowers. Vines snaked up exposed brick, lining a cobblestone path.
He followed Yvette's lead through the maze, watching her take in the greenery. "I thought we could use some space from all the chatter," she admitted, turning to face him. "Tell me about yourself, Draco. My mothers tell me you're a solicitor?"
"I was. I work for the British Ministry now. In the Law Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
"Sounds interesting. What do you do there?"
"Well, uh. I'm a Magical Law Consultant. I help draft bills and laws designed to protect magical creatures from discrimination. The sorts."
"An advocate. Just when I thought you couldn't get any hotter," she smirked at him through long, dark lashes.
Draco hmphed, slightly uneasy. It felt wrong. Walking through this overly romantic garden with this pretty witch. It shouldn't feel wrong. But it did. He couldn't understand why.
He tried to change the subject. "So your mothers say you like to fly. Do you play Quidditch?"
"I do. I was a Chaser for the French National Quidditch team after school."
"Really? That's wonderful."
"Yes. I stepped down to help my mothers with the museum. I've always been a lover of the arts," she winked.
She took a step closer, looking into his eyes with hers, a deep shade of dark blue – almost purple in color. He cleared his throat, turning to face the dark sky and tugging at his cufflinks.
"That's a lovely watch," she pointed out, watching his hands. "Is it Muggle?"
Everything began to make sense when he looked down at the watch he had been wearing all night. The watch she gave to him. This simple silver face with black leather straps. He felt a knot form in his stomach.
It didn't feel right because she wasn't Granger.
He wanted her. Granger. Maybe that made him a horrible person. But just in that instant, he couldn't find it in himself to care. He wanted her.
He sucked in a quick breath, meeting Yvette's mystic eyes. "I'm – I'm so sorry. You are lovely, truly. I'm sure, in another life perhaps, I would have loved to get to know you. But I – I um, have to go. I'm sorry, I have to go. Please give my apologies to your mothers."
He didn't wait to hear her retort, turning on the heel of his dragonhide shoes and bolting for the side gate. He couldn't face Narcissa. It was shameful to walk out on dinner, but he needed to get out of there.
Loosening his tie from around his neck, he sprinted for the Apparation point and Disapparated with a crack.
***
He didn't know where else to go, who else to talk to. When he showed up to Nott Manor and found Theo and Blaise playing some Muggle card game, he was almost out of breath, full of panic from his sudden realization. He barged into the sitting room, gaining his friends' attention.
"I fucked up. I'm so fucked." He ran his hands through his hair before shedding his suit coat and throwing it on the ground.
"Oh Merlin, he never disrespects his suits," Blaise groaned. "What did you do?"
"What do you need? Burying a body? Faking a death?" Theo stood from his seat, walking to stand in front of Draco.
"No, no," he breathed. "None of that."
"Dammit. Was hoping it was something good," Theo whispered.
"I think I'm falling for Granger," Draco blurted.
"Oh shit. Nevermind, this is even better." Theo grabbed him by the shoulders and led him to the sofa.
"I'm sorry... Could you repeat that last bit?" Blaise asked, seemingly Confunded.
"I think – I think I'm falling for Granger."
"Granger?! As in Hermione Granger?"
"Granger-Weasley actually," Theo mumbled.
"Shut the fuck up, Theo," Draco bit.
"Wait, wait. She's married!"
"I am painfully aware, Blaise, thank you." Draco hung his head in his hands. He felt like he was going to be sick.
"I don't understand."
Theo rolled his eyes at the third Slytherin. "Blaise, you really are blind."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Draco questioned stubbornly.
"Well, you're not exactly subtle about it, mate," Theo muttered.
"You knew?!" Blaise shouted.
"Of course I knew! I eat lunch with the two of them almost everyday. Poor bloke just sits there and stares at her with these 'have my babies' eyes."
Draco blinked at Theo, mouth opening and closing like a fish plucked from the ocean or something of the sorts. "Okay, that's just not true," he gawked.
"Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but the sentiment is the same. You've been smitten for a while."
"Just, hold on," Blaise interrupted, finally putting his cards on the table. "How the hell did this happen?"
The two of them stared at Draco, eyebrows scaling their foreheads, waiting for his answer. He sunk back into the sofa.
How the fuck was he suppose to answer this? He didn't know. How did this happen?
"She came to my flat today–"
"Shut the fuck up, I didn't think she'd actually do it," Theo whispered to Blaise.
"What?" Draco grunted.
"Hm? Oh, nothing. Continue."
"She bought me a birthday present. This," he raised his wrist to show them the watch.
"How nice of her!" Theo beamed.
"Okay, so what? She gave you a gift and now you want to have her babies?" Blaise scoffed.
"It's sweet," Theo snapped at him.
"What? I never said anything about – You two are not helping."
"You're right," Theo agreed, turning to Blaise. "Shut up."
"Fine. Go on."
"She was in my flat. In my library and she just looked – she smells like – and I don't know, there was this moment – fuck." He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not normal.
"A moment in the library," Blaise repeated incredulously.
"Wait. Didn't you have that dinner with the French girl tonight?"
"Yvette. Yes. My mother is going to disown me."
"Guessing it didn't go well?" Blaise sneered, trying to hold back a fit of giggles.
"She was... pretty. But her hair was too straight. Her skin was too perfect. Her eyes were too blue. It just didn't feel right. I ran out during the second course. She wasn't Granger."
"Granger-Weasley," Theo whispered again.
"Theo, I swear I will hex your dick off if you don't stop saying that," he spat.
Blaise raised his hands to calm the two wizards. He looked at Draco with a serious expression painted on his face. "What are you going to do?"
That was the million gallon question, wasn't it? What could he do? It wasn't like he could waltz right up to her and confess his feelings. He didn't even fully understand his feelings.
And she was married. Ring on her finger, white veil, happily ever fucking after. Married.
He sighed, summoning a bottle of Theo's firewhiskey.
"Nothing."
He swallowed his unrequited admiration, trying to wash it down with the alcohol, feeling it form a lump in his throat that threatened to choke him.
He would do nothing.