Draco woke to find himself alone in his bed the next morning. Light poured in through the curtains, bathing the room in a bright and heavenly way that belied the frosty February weather outside. Though Hermione was absent, she had been replaced by a purring monster who was licking his orange fur at the foot of the bed. Draco rolled over, feeling strangely heavy and dizzy.
As memories of the previous night his nightmare, their fight, and what had followed flooded him, Draco sat up.
Where had she gone? Did she go back to her own bed?
Upon the rumpled sheets next to him, he spotted a small pile of silk, patterned in cream and gold. It was the scarf, the one she had been wearing last night to tie back her curls, still knotted in a bow.
He took it in his hands, letting the cool fabric slip softly through his fingers. It smelled like her, like that warm, floral scent that drove him mad. He fought the urge to tuck this scarf away as a keepsake of last night, but he knew that was too invasive. Maybe he'd buy her a new one first, then ask to keep this one if he could work up the nerve.
Another alluring scent hit him then, drawing him out of bed and into the kitchen.
Ingredients he hadn't known he owned were out and strewn across the worktop, and the curtains on all the windows in the flat had been drawn back to let a blinding amount of sunlight in. Draco squinted as he made out Hermione, who was in his kitchen, bustling around as if she owned the place and humming along to a song playing on a little wireless radio. She hadn't bothered to change out of her sleep clothes. His eyes caught on the sight of her bare legs as she reached into a high cupboard and the hem of her long shirt lifted up.
Draco cleared his throat to let her know he was there. She jumped and dropped the honey she had been taking down. He used his wand to whisk it back up to the kitchen worktop.
She blinked at him, looking uncertain as she held a spatula aloft. Suddenly, he wasn't sure how he should act.
Would she want to pretend like last night hadn't happened? He wasn't sure he could do that.
"Morning," he said, examining the mess in his kitchen.
Hermione bit her lip nervously.
"Er...I woke up hungry," she explained. "Sorry about the mess. I'll clear it up."
She was adorable in the mornings. Now unbound, her curls had a boisterous luster, looking almost golden in the bright morning light, and her eyes were alive with something he didn't recognize.
With dizzying relief, Draco saw no regret in her face as she gave him a shy smile, her cheeks a tad pink.
A pot of fresh coffee was brewing behind her. He slid past her to it, enjoying the electricity of the brief contact between them before reaching into a cabinet for a mug. Hermione, flushed and flustered, returned to the stove.
"What are you making?" Draco asked. It smelled delicious.
"Oh, I noticed you had a lot of green apples, so I made pancakes with cinnamon apples," she said.
Curious, he came up behind her to take a look, bracing his hand on her lower back. He ignored the small gasp she let out when he touched her, trying to focus on the food. A small pot of apple pieces in something sticky and sweet-smelling was simmering on a back burner, and a large frying pan was filled with pancakes. He thought he also smelled sausages, but he didn't see them anywhere.
They must be in the oven.
"This looks incredible. I didn't know you could cook," he said, genuinely impressed.
"I don't cook often," she said, shrugging one shoulder. "Usually just when I'm craving something in particular. I'm not very good at it, but I like to read recipe books, so-"
Draco cut off her nervous babbling with a slow kiss, unable to stop himself. He took her face between his hands, lingering and sucking at her lower lip. She let out a small whimper, melting closer to him.
The fact that he could do this, just take her and kiss her in his kitchen, felt like a dream. It made him want to lift her into his arms and haul her back to the bedroom. He could think of many, many ways to enjoy the morning with her. And every morning after today.
Hermione broke the kiss first, pushing away from him with a furious blush on her face. Panting, she turned back to the stove.
"They'lI burn," she said breathlessly, making to flip the pancakes.
He smirked as he served himself coffee. Every time Hermione blushed, wicked ideas about how to make her even redder flipped through his mind. He leaned against the worktop, wondering how she would react if he were to lift her onto the flour-dusted surface, spread her knees, and eat her for breakfast. Or perhaps he would steal her spatula and endeavor to find out exactly how red her other cheeks could become.
Draco sipped his coffee and made his way to a seat at the other end of the island, mulling over the possibilities. They had things to do today, of course. Leads to investigate, questions to research. But Draco no longer planned on keeping his hands off Hermione, and that was enough to make him feel as though he could fly without a broomstick
As soon as he got Ignoma home safe and sound, he was going to arrange for Hermione to go away with him somewhere. She needed a break, and he needed her.
Sobering, icy reality crashed over him.
Fuck. He needed her.
Last night, he had lost. He had been fighting to keep himself away from her, to give her the space and time and freedom she needed. Hermione had spent too long juggling the needs of others without taking care of her own, losing herself little by little in the process. And now here he was, another broken soul, throwing himself at her feet and begging for her help and love. Asking her to give away yet another piece of herself. A significant piece
Because after last night, Draco knew he would never be content with something temporary or shallow with Hermione. He was done trying to keep himself away.
Draco was staring into the black depths of his coffee, swimming in self-loathing when a plate appeared under his nose. It was piled high with pancakes and sausage, all topped with a gloriously
warm syrup of cinnamon apples.
He closed his eyes, willing his appetite to return.
Hermione perched on the stool next to him, digging right in. He fiddled with his first bite for a while, trying hard to will his mind back into his good mood of moments ago.
He couldn't take back what he'd done. Moreover, he didn't want to. Wishing he was a stronger person would fix nothing.
He took a bite.
"It's delicious," he said. And it was, even if he was trying hard to taste it under the bitterness of his own dismal mood.
Hermione smiled weakly, noticing his expression.
"You don't have to eat it if you don't like it," she said blithely.
"No, it really is good, Hermione. I'm just...in a mood. I'm worried about Ignoma." It wasn't technically a lie.
Hermione seemed to accept it.
"I had a thought," she said. "I was thinking about rounding up some of the most active members of
S.P.E.W. for a meeting, see if they have any ideas about our elf-nappers.
"Definitely," Draco agreed. "We can host them here tonight if they're available."
Hermione nodded, smiling a bit.
"I'll write to them all after breakfast."
Somehow, Draco finished his food, reminding himself with each bite that there was no point in regretting last night now. They both had to move forward, and no matter how selfish it was, he had no intention of doing that without her.
Then and there, with his mouth full of cinnamon apples, Draco resolved that if he was going to take a piece of Hermione, he would give one of himself back. It was obvious to him now that giving her space and time to be on her own would be impossible especially not if she continued to climb into his bed at night and demand his attentions-but he could give her all sorts of other things.
Protection, support, pleasure, financial freedom.. the list went on. If she would accept it, he would give her the world. That would have to be enough.
While Hermione tidied the kitchen with her wand, Draco went to his window to check his mail. In the small stack of envelopes, he noticed one bearing Hermione's name.
"Granger, you've got a letter," he announced, flicking it out for her to grasp.
She took it curiously, performing a quick spell to reveal any curses or secrets hidden inside before deeming it safe to open. She scanned it, her expression becoming concerned.
"Oh, dear," she said, looking up at him. "It's from Midgen. Someone tried to break into her shop last night."
Draco froze. Hermione read through the letter once more.
"She must be alright, since she sent this. But we should pay her a visit," she said.
Draco nodded.
Inviting S.P.E.W. over for a chat would have to wait. They needed to handle this now.
****
Diagon Alley was packed with midday shoppers when they arrived. Hermione had done the scarf charm on her head to conceal her hair again, and had even tweaked a few of her features in the mirror. Her new hooked nose and thin lips made her look middle-aged and largely unrecognizable.
As they walked through the bustling street, no one gave her a second look.
Draco kept his eyes sharp as they walked, one hand on his wand and the other ready to grab Hermione. He hated things like this. On a busy street, threats to her safety could lurk under every pointed hat and loose cobblestone. But Draco wasn't stupid enough to believe that he could have convinced Hermione to stay at home.
"Wait."
Draco had just spotted a few familiar faces gathered together in the lane ahead, outside Madam Malkin's. Marcus Flint had his arm draped around a simpering Pansy Parkinson. They were talking with Nigel Biggs and a man with dark hair and bushy eyebrows. It was Biggs that caught Draco's attention. He was on the list of people associated with Johanna Wolcroft he was her uncle, in fact. Draco knew him only in passing; Biggs worked for the Daily Prophet. Had probably gotten Johanna her job there.
In addition, Marcus Flint was associated indirectly with the list of Johanna's contacts, through his brother, William Flint. Johanna had dated William for a while, apparently.
Two people in that group were associated with Johanna, then. It could be a coincidence.
Then again, it might not be.
"Granger," Draco said quietly, placing a hand on Hermione's arm to stop her.
He took her to the side of the street so he could tell her what he was thinking, whispering the information in her ear to avoid any passersby hearing. Hermione peered at the group curiously as he spoke. She edged herself behind him slightly, hiding from them
As Draco shot another look at them, the group began to walk away from them, heading for Knockturn Alley. Nigel Biggs glanced behind his shoulder, checking that no one was following them.
They were up to something. He was almost certain of it.
"You should follow them," Hermione whispered. "I'll go check on Midgen."
Before Draco could protest that it wasn't safe for her to go off on her own, Hermione melted into the crowd.
He let out a low growl of frustration. Fucking Gryffindors. Next time they went out, he would insist on her wearing a leash. Based on how she'd behaved when he'd bound her hands in the library, she
might not even mind it.
Dismissing that intriguing thought for later, Draco slipped away to catch up with his quarries, keeping himself at a safe, inconspicuous distance. He paid particular attention to avoiding Pansy's gaze; if there was one thing he didn't want to do today, it was speak to his insipid ex-girlfriend.
Luckily, it seemed she was wrapped up in her newest conquest. Flint looked even more brutal than he had back in their Quidditch days, now smugly showing off the girl clinging to his arm adoringly.
Draco remembered when Pansy had been that way around him. He didn't miss it one bit.
The group stopped outside Borgin and Burke's. The one Draco didn't recognize went inside, while the rest of them stayed outside to smoke. Draco spotted two large barrels near them, stacked up high near the grimy side entrance of the shop. He ducked behind a passing wizard wearing a gigantic hat adorned with bat wings as he made his way closer, seamlessly slipping behind the barrels to hear them better.
*..so much better since I started using it. Haven't lost a single duel since then," Biggs was saying.
"Have you tried it with just your hands?" came Pansy's nasally voice. "He said it might work without a wand, but I haven't been able to do it yet."
"I tried it once. Didn't do much. Just felt sort of hot," Biggs responded.
"Warm hands around there is more than worth it," said Pansy. "I hate it there. It's freezing."
"It would be better if you could cast a decent Patronus." That had been Flint's rough voice.
"I've been trying! But I dunno, they suck the life out of you or whatever. It's hard," whined Pansy.
"Well you'd better keep practicing. She'll be out soon, and she won't tolerate anyone who can't handle themselves around the product." Biggs again.
Draco wondered who "she" was. Could it possibly be Johanna? It seemed unlikely that Johanna's uncle would refer to her with such deference.
"I can handle myself just fine!" Pansy retorted. "Besides, Marcus will cover for me, won't you, baby?"
"If I can," Flint said. "But you should practice. She won't want to keep anyone who can't pull their own weight around there."
"I pull my weight!" Pansy protested. "I keep them all in line, don't I?"
"Shut up, Parkinson," hissed another voice. Draco couldn't see well through the crack between the barrel and the stone wall of the shop, but he guessed the man with the bushy eyebrows had returned. "Merlin, I leave for one minute and you start prattling in the middle of the street! Flint, get control of your girl before she starts shouting all our secrets down the lane."
"I haven't said anything!" Pansy said.
The group began to walk away, still bickering a bit.
Draco waited for a moment before slipping out from behind the barrels, keeping his head down as he followed the group.
It was obvious that they had been hanging around Dementors, for some reason. Did they have a
meeting place somewhere in the Anobeith Woods? What reason could they have for going there?
He paused, unsure for a moment as the four of them walked toward an apothecary. Draco knew the place well; in certain circles, it was well-known as a place to buy illicit substances. He had done many under-the-table deals there.
Draco had taken his tonics earlier that week, but it still felt like a bad idea to go inside such a place.
He decided to wait outside instead. Surely they couldn't stay in the small shop for long.
Hermione would be waiting for him. Draco hadn't gotten a chance to talk with her about how long he would be. He wondered how long she would wait before she decided to march down Knockturn Alley to look for him herself.
Just as the group began to walk inside the apothecary, Pansy looked over her shoulder. Her eyes locked with Draco's, widening slightly.
Flint followed her gaze, and as Draco saw his face twist with vulgar interest, he knew he wouldn't be walking away without getting sucked into a very unpleasant conversation.
"Malfoy!" Flint called to him, waving him over.
Pansy looked put out at this, and clung to Flint harder as Draco strolled casually closer, a mask of impatient boredom on his face.
"Flint," Draco greeted them. Biggs and the other one had hung back as well, looking at Draco with curiosity. "Parkinson. How are you both?"
A smug, grimacing smile stretched Flint's face.
"We've been alright," he said, looking Draco up and down as if he wasn't impressed with what he saw. Draco found that laughable. Flint was a few inches shorter, many IQ points stupider, and several million Galleons poorer than he. Still, Draco knew what Flint was thinking as he sneered.
And it didn't take Flint long to say it.
"I heard you've been hanging round that mudblood," Flint said with a leer. "You been enjoying
Weasley's sloppy seconds then?"
"Have you been enjoying mine?" Draco asked coolly.
Pansy's jaw jutted out angrily as her cheeks heated. Flint's nostrils flared as he stared Draco down, cracking his knuckles.
"You'd better watch it, blood traitor," Flint said hoarsely. "No one cares who your father is anymore. So you and that muddy cunt you're fucking had better watch your backs."
Inside his pockets, Draco's fingers flexed. He badly wanted to draw his wand and teach Flint a lesson. But, at the moment, it was more important not to draw more suspicion onto himself.
Feigning bored indifference, Draco rolled his eyes.
"I suppose I should be insulted that you'd think I would ever shag Granger, but I'm mostly just glad you're keeping Pansy occupied. She can be a lot to deal with," he said.
Self-disgust bubbled in Draco's gut at the words, but they did their job. Flint's mouth twitched in an almost-smile. Pansy glared at her boyfriend.
"Are you just going to let him talk about me like that?" she asked, aghast.
Flint licked his lips, considering what to do. Draco went in for the kill.
Nodding at the door of the apothecary, he said, "If you're going in there for what I think you are, mention you know me. Igor will pull out the good stuff for you, much better than the usual swill."
And just like that, Draco had them all in the palm of his hand. Four sets of eyebrows raised at him.
Despite himself, Flint's smile broke through his ugly sneer, just a bit. Only Pansy still looked unhappy to see him.
Without waiting for them to respond, Draco dipped his chin in a polite goodbye, and walked straight past them all at an unhurried pace. He would have to make absolutely sure that no one was following him before heading back to Hermione.