Even though it was now Monday morning, Hermione was still a little miffed that Ginny had found the audacity to cackle—cackle!—at the sight of her rushing into the café 15 minutes late Saturday mid-morning.
Ginny had taken great delight at the state of Hermione's hair, the pink welts adorning her neck and collarbone, and the shrewd observation that Hermione still wore the marigold dress she'd told Ginny she'd planned to wear to dinner with Draco. Hermione needed new, less astute, friends.
Even so, Hermione mused as she bustled about her home gathering her work necessities, it was with a certain sort of giddiness that she confided about the romantic development between herself and Draco. And perhaps sensing how happy her friend felt, Ginny hadn't referred to Malfoy as a ferret even once, and agreed to Hermione's proposition of a double date if things were still going well in the next few weeks.
Hermione put that bold suggestion at the back of her mind for now, lest she break out in stress hives. Harry may be one of the kindest people she knew, but her dating Malfoy would be a bitter pill to swallow.
She had quite the day ahead of her at the office, and she began mentally running through her arguments for re-drafting the adoption laws for domestic nifflers as she locked the front door of her townhome behind her. If she could strengthen the household inspection language without making it look like government overreach, then the Wizengamot might eventually—Oh.
She froze in her tracks, halfway down her front steps.
Leaning against her front gate, casual as you please, all long limbs and effortless grace, was Draco. It was a Monday morning, which meant his suit schedule dictated he be wearing one of his custom black ensembles, with his crisp white shirt and black tie. Hermione wondered absently if he would share the name of his tailor, so she could send them a personal "thank you" note.
"Good morning," she said, slightly breathless with surprise as she approached him.
"Granger," he drawled, straightening up to his full, considerable height. "Ready for coffee?"
I'm ready for you to take me back inside and not leave the bed for the foreseeable future.
"Absolutely."
They chatted amicably as they strolled the few blocks to the café together. When they reached the establishment, he held the door for her. Hermione caught the eye of the elderly owner behind the counter, who most certainly noticed Draco and Hermione arriving together, and the woman threw her a sly smile and a wink.
When she placed her bag at their—their!—table and moved to go order her tea, Draco stopped her. "Masala chai? What size do you want today?"
She's so taken aback that she can't even find the words to protest about him buying her tea. Settling in and accepting the fact that she is not still asleep and dreaming, Hermione watched Draco return with two steaming cups in his hands. As he approached the table, Hermione's mind flashed back to that moment a year and some months ago, when he'd stalked angrily up to her table, demanding to know what her game was.
"Seriously Granger? Do you think this is funny?"
Those had been the first words he'd spat at her. She recalled experiencing the shock of a lifetime when she'd looked up from her reading to find an impeccably dressed Draco Malfoy, tense and seething with barely suppressed rage at her in a Muggle café.
Draco's current demeanor could not have been more different. He moved with a relaxed elegance, his posture perfect yet devoid of tension, sitting down across from her and looking content.
"I'm in love with you."
They hadn't discussed that particular declaration from Draco, and Hermione didn't see the need to bring it up just yet, but she would be lying if she said those words hadn't reverberated around her mind all weekend. Had he truly meant them? Or was it just emotions spilling over in the heat of an argument? If he said them again under calmer circumstances, could she honestly say she returned those feelings? Hermione pushed these heavy thoughts away for the moment and chose instead to focus on the new and pleasant reality of exclusively dating Draco.
When they parted ways for work a little later, he added another new facet to their morning routine. Just as she'd opened her mouth to say farewell for the day, Draco stepped closer and leaned his face next to her ear.
"Have a good day at work," he murmured and pressed his lips to her cheek. The kiss lasted only a few seconds longer than a standard peck, but something about the way his lips lingered on her skin felt positively indecent and caused Hermione's eyelids to flutter shut.
"Y-you too," she managed, and opened her eyes to see a self-satisfied smirk gracing his features. As he turned and left her practically panting with desire in the middle of the sidewalk, Hermione wondered how he possibly could have thought he'd be bad at a relationship.
-------------------------------------------
Friday, May 2, 2008
Ten years. How?
How had an entire decade gone by since that awful, horrible, frightening, but ultimately victorious day? Each year, on the anniversary of the final battle of Hogwarts, Hermione felt that internal conflict as her feelings warred. She was happy. Happy so many of them made it out alive, happy their world was mostly at peace, happy she still had her parents. But the cost?
Some years, the cost seemed almost too high. They'd lost Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Lavender, Colin, Moody, Dobby, Snape, Sirius, and many, many more. She still suffered from nightmares. Her parents sometimes regarded her as a stranger. She even still felt like an outsider as a Muggleborn even though she'd sacrificed more than most to keep the wizarding world intact. She was happy but she was still... bereft.
Nine years ago, on the first anniversary, Hermione had worn black. It had felt proper at the time, to still be in mourning. Molly had spent most of the day in fits of tears, the others holding on to each other, trying to find comfort or solace in tight hugs or hand-holds.
With each passing year, the pain began to morph and eventually, lessen. Now, people wore bright colors. They spoke fondly of the fallen, and shared stories, memories, and jokes.
She'd told Draco in advance that she wouldn't be at the coffee shop today, and he'd given her a stoic nod before kissing her cheek yesterday. Last year, Hermione had barely spared a thought as to how Draco spent this day, but today he hardly left her mind.
She bounced the giggling little Roxanne Weasley a few more times on her knees before relinquishing the nearly 1-year-old back into the arms of her mother, Angelina.
"Cheers, Hermione, you're a natural," Angelina stated and shifted the baby to her hip. Hermione gave her a tight smile as she accepted the compliment. No less than five people had shared similar remarks and she was in no mood to hear any more comments on her future ability as a fiancé/wife/mother/insert traditional feminine role here.
Helping herself to the champagne brought by Bill and Fleur (Merlin bless their tendency to share the imported goods brought over from France by the Delacour family), she settled in to the long wooden table between Ginny and Ron as Arthur began his yearly speech. Ron linked an arm through hers and Ginny found her hand.
While Arthur thanked everyone for coming and spoke about what this day meant for him and his family, Hermione let her gaze drift over the coterie of people gathered. Bill stroking Fleur's arm and his daughter's hair. George holding baby Roxanne close to his chest, Angelina holding him around the waist. Molly looking up at Arthur, eyes shining with love and pride. Percy accepting the gentle touch of Audrey's hand on his forearm, solemnly listening to his father. Charlie had his arms secure around George and Angelina's other toddler, little Freddie. On Ginny's other side, Harry's hand was clasped tightly in hers, while Harry fondly rested his other hand on Teddy's back. Glancing behind Ron, she could see the top of Padma's head where it laid on Ron's other shoulder.
Order of the Phoenix members and Dumbledore's Army recruits were scattered about the rest of the yard behind the Burrow. All together to celebrate and mourn. Another year alive. Another year without some of our best.
And while the beautiful sight of so many beloved family and friends around her usually made Hermione's heart swell with emotion, a hollow sort of pain also arose.
How was Draco feeling about today? He would be all alone after work, holed up in his dark mansion, left to his own thoughts. Suddenly Hermione felt sick with shame. She hadn't even thought to offer to spend today with him, hadn't even considered his complicated feelings about the end of the second wizarding war. Yes, Draco had made some pretty terrible life choices, but he'd still lost people that day too. He'd lost Vincent Crabbe, one of his oldest friends, who he'd witnessed perish in fiendfyre. He'd lost Goyle, who'd chosen to try to duel Aurors instead of come quietly and had paid with this life. He'd lost Snape, someone he'd once regarded as a mentor. He'd lost his parents that day too, in a way.
Arthur finished his toast and Hermione drained her champagne glass. Here she sat, amongst a literal crowd of people who loved her, but suddenly, it all felt wrong.
"Ginny," she suddenly whispered, throat tight.
Ginny jerked her head towards Hermione, looking concerned.
"I know it might sound strange to you, but I think there's somewhere I need to be right now. He doesn't deserve to be alone today."
Ginny's eyes softened and she gave Hermione an encouraging nod.
"Go on," Ginny nudged her. "I'll make your excuses." Hermione squeezed her friend's hand in gratitude, before disentangling herself from Ron. She waved off people's questions and hugged as many as she could before apparating straight home. Once there, and before she lost her nerve, Hermione threw Floo powder in her fireplace and called out Draco's address.
Whirling out of the fireplace and into the traveling parlor, Hermione dusted off her clothes and stepped uncertainly into the room. Before she could call out his name a distinct popping sound signaled the arrival of a house-elf in front of her.
"Oh!" Hermione cried and jumped in surprise.
The tiny elf in front of her stood stiffly, clad in a pristine navy pillowcase cinched with a roped belt.
"How may I help you Miss Granger?"
"Oh umm, you know who I am?"
"Of course Miss, I was responsible for establishing the Floo connection between Franklin House and your home last week."
Hermione felt at a loss in front of the stiffly formal little thing addressing her. "Right well, umm thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you—?"
"Crick, Miss."
"Crick, lovely to meet you," Hermione held out her hand on instinct and to her slight shock he shook it firmly. He kept staring at her with wary eyes and Hermione realized she had yet to give a reason for her impromptu visit.
"Apologies for dropping by unannounced, but is Malfoy, I mean Draco, I mean—" She paused her stammering to collect herself, unsure of how to proceed. "Is Mr. Malfoy home?"
Crick didn't immediately respond and Hermione worried she may have somehow offended the creature. "Mr. Malfoy is in the library, if you'll follow me, Miss, I can—"
But Crick couldn't finish his sentence before several loud, belligerent voices exploded from the upper level.
"—DESERVE TO ROT IN AZKABAN LIKE YOUR FATHER—"
"—DIRTY DEATH EATER SCUM WITH NO RIGHT TO—"
"—ENJOY YOUR FREEDOM YOU DISGUSTING PIECE OF—"
Hermione forgot all sense of propriety as she dashed past Crick and ran up the grand staircase, her veins thrumming with adrenaline.
"—HOW DARE YOU SHOW YOUR FACE IN PUBLIC—"
"—DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR KIND DID TO MY WIFE—"
"—HELL ISN'T EVEN A PROPER PLACE FOR THE EVIL LIKES OF YOUR FATHER—"
She came to a skidding stop at the doors of the library, her heart thumping madly as she gripped her wand and burst across the threshold, but halted abruptly at the sight before her.
Draco sat behind his desk, his hand whizzing back and forth along a piece of parchment as he furiously scribbled with a pen. Flying all about the room and forming a menacing ring above his head were a dozen or so Howlers, all screaming obscenities and threats down upon him. The moment one finished, Draco lazily cast his wand in its direction to banish it, but its place is quickly taken by another red envelope, eager to spill forth the vitriol within.
"Malfoy!" Hermione cried, but her shout is lost amongst the torrent of ill-will being shouted overhead.
"—DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DO TO PRETTY BOYS LIKE YOU IN AZKABAN—"
"—AREN'T FIT TO WIPE THE DIRT OFF HARRY POTTER'S SHOE—"
"—YOU AND YOUR MOTHER DESERVE TO HANG—"
"Malfoy!" she tried again but he was completely focused on the parchment in front of him and only moved to banish the finished Howlers. When she was right in front of him, Draco finally looked up as he noticed the movement. Hermione clocked the dullness to his gray eyes, but he blinked once and appeared confused by her presence.
"Granger?"
He had his Occlumency shields up, Hermione realized, which explained the blank expression on his face.
"What are you doing here?"
He looked up at her nervously, then cast a panicked look at the parchment below him before hastily rolling it up.
"I came to see if—"
"—SHOULD SNAP YOUR WAND IN HALF AND—"
"Oh for heaven's sake!" Hermione whipped out her wand and sent the strongest Incendio she could muster at the remaining Howlers, feeling a grim satisfaction when they burst into flames and scattered ash everywhere, leaving behind a ringing silence.
Draco's eyes were back to their normal silver hue, and Hermione detected a mixture of shame and sadness in their depths.
"What are you doing here?" He repeated softly. "I thought you were meant to be... elsewhere."
Hermione reached out a tentative hand and ran her fingers lightly through his hair. He closed his eyes at her touch and she felt her heart break for him.
"I think I'm exactly where I'm meant to be," she murmured and his eyes snapped open. He seemed to remember the scene Hermione had walked in on and he shrank from her touch, eyes becoming cold and distant again.
"I'm fine. You can go back to whatever party you came from. I don't need—"
"No!"
She cut him off with a yell. Hermione was absolutely not going to stand for him wallowing in misery. Not today.
"No?" He asked warily.
"No!" She threw back at him. "This is absolutely ridiculous! Get up, right now!"
Startled into submission, Draco stood and waved his wand once over his desk, his parchments rolling into neat scrolls and sealing themselves. Hermione lunged forward and grabbed his hand, yanking him into step behind her.
"Granger, where are you—?"
"Have you eaten dinner?" She interrupted brusquely, and kept tugging him along behind her.
"Uh, no, I'm not really hungry, but where are we—?"
He stumbled slightly as she pulled him down the stairs and back through the traveling parlor. She threw in some powder and shoved Draco forward towards the green flames as she called out her home address.
"Get in, I'll follow right after."
"But why—"
Hermione let out a snarl of frustration that succeeded in shutting Draco up. "Just do as I bloody say Malfoy! I'm in no mood to listen to your self-loathing excuses today so get in the Floo so I can take you home and make sure you eat a sodding meal!"
She swore she saw the corner of his mouth lift in a half-smirk before he finally obeyed her. "Stubborn idiot," Hermione muttered under her breath before following him through.
---------------------------
Well, now he knew what it felt like to be kidnapped by Granger.
Draco remained silent when they'd entered her home, letting Hermione stomp around before locating her pile of menus and snappily ordering delivery with her weird Muggle device and barking at him to sit in the kitchen.
Hermione's sour mood didn't abate until the two of them were sat at her kitchen table with plates of Chinese takeaway in front of them. She'd been quite cross with Draco up until she saw the way he comported himself to eat. He'd made sure to delicately drape a paper napkin across his lap before eating, and Hermione almost made it another few minutes without giggling, but she lost the battle after he lightly dabbed at his lips with said napkin after taking a bite of food.
"It's all right to loosen up a little, you know. I don't think we're expecting the Minister for Magic this evening," she teased.
"Are you mocking me for having excellent table manners?" he drawled with an arched brow. The tension finally broke and she let out a stream of giggles and earned a reluctant grin from Draco.
"Never in my life have I seen a man sit so stiff and proper while using a plastic fork to eat fried rice off a paper plate," she said with a chortle.
After dinner they settled on the couch together, Hermione tucking her knees underneath her and leaving a little bit of space between her and Draco. He knew it would only be a matter of time before she would want to discuss the disturbing scene from the library, and he was a little surprised they even made it through dinner before she asked questions.
"Does that happen every year? The Howlers?" she asked tentatively. Draco didn't respond for a beat, and kept his eyes straight ahead as he sunk against the couch and slung one arm across the back.
"Yes, but this year was more than most. I expect with it being the ten-year anniversary and all, people were feeling more nostalgic than usual," he answered bitterly.
"I'm sorry."
He shrugged, eyes still staring at the wall in front. "People are looking to place their blame somewhere and I'm sure in their minds, the Malfoy family deserves to hear exactly how far we've fallen in the public esteem."
"That's not why I'm sorry."
He turned to face her now, to face those too-large brown eyes that made him want to cut himself open and divulge all his deepest, darkest fears.
"It's not right, what those people say to you, especially when they don't know you, or how you suffered—"
"I don't want your pity Granger—"
"Shut up Draco!"
His eyes hardened but she at least had temporarily shocked him into cutting off his icy tirade of self-hatred. Hermione took a steadying breath and placed a gentle hand on his arm resting across the couch; her touch soothed and warmed his skin even through the fabric of his shirt.
I am okay with this.
"I'm sorry that I didn't come sooner. I should never have left you alone today of all days. I'm here if you want to talk, or not talk, it's up to you."
It's up to you.
Gods, how glorious to hear a phrase like that one. But as he looked across the couch, across the mere few feet of space that separated him from Hermione, Draco was unsure of how to properly articulate what he wanted in that moment.
"I—" he began, but faltered, looking to her helplessly. Words failing him, he rotated the arm resting behind them to capture her forearm and gently tugged her toward him. She understood immediately, and closed the space between them, settling herself against him. Hermione's palm rested against his chest and he gingerly placed his arm around her, tucking her further against his side.
They remained this way for several quiet minutes, Draco breathing in her familiar scent as he gathered his scattered thoughts. Did he want to unpack all his complicated emotions and risk a breakdown in front of Hermione? These were confessions he'd only ever shared with his healer over the years, never a significant other nor his own mother. This would be a different type of sharing, less clinical and far more vulnerable.
He dropped his head atop hers, then pressed his lips to her hair. I am okay with this.
"Some days I feel that no matter what I do, no matter how hard I work to turn my life around, I'll never escape him."
"Who?"
"My father."
Hermione nodded against his chest, signaling him to continue.
"You only caught the tail end of the public's tirade against me and my surname tonight, but I'm sure that was enough for you to get the gist. Every single one of those Howlers mentioned my father. They always do, year after year after year."
Hermione's fingers traced a feather-light pattern along his chest and he found himself drawing strength from her touch.
"I'll never outrun his shadow. Never. And days like today make me so... furious that he's dead. He's dead and he doesn't have to witness the aftermath of his actions on his wife and son."
Draco closed his eyes briefly and squeezed her tighter. "And on some level, I understand why he gave up. I'd say it would be the one time my father ever exhibited some form of bravery."
Hermione's hand stilled on his chest, and she looked up at him with saddened eyes. "What do you mean 'gave up'?"
"You never heard how my father died in Azkaban?"
"I only read that he'd passed a few years ago."
"Yes well, despite the removal of Dementors, that place isn't any less of a hell hole," Draco replied grimly, and she laid her head back on his chest. Draco suppressed a shiver as he recalled visiting the isolated, freezing rock of a prison with his mother. Even without the soul-sucking creatures to guard the prisoners, there was the type of chill in the air that seeped into the bones and never left.
"It was pneumonia, in the end. Not vengeance at the end of a wand, not the Dark Lord's wrath, not the Dementor's kiss, not any other of the dozens of ways I'm sure people thought he deserved to go. He caught pneumonia, it festered in his lungs, and he refused treatment."
He felt Hermione let out a soft gasp against his shirt. "He refused treatment? Why?"
Draco considered the theory he'd settled on long ago, but had never shared with anyone. "I think he knew he was dying and in his mind, thought this might be best for our family's image, or at least for my mother. She never let on, but I think... I think it broke her a little more each time to see him in that position."
Draco left unsaid that it broke him too, to see his mother that way. The unwaveringly stoic and proud Narcissa Malfoy reduced to quiet tears every time they left that ill-forsaken prison. To her credit, Draco never saw her break down in front of his father, but the effort to suppress her feelings of despair would prove too much almost the moment they ended each visit.
The last few visits had been particularly dreadful, witnessing Lucius wither away as his body would more often than not become overwrought with a wracking cough. Though it may have hurt his mother, Draco was now immune to seeing his father in a weakened state. Groveling on his knees in front of a deranged half-blood, begging for mercy for screwing up a mission, being stripped of his family home and even his own wand, this was the version of Lucius Malfoy that remained etched in Draco's recent memory, totally at odds with his childhood perspective.
Draco had so obviously idolized his father growing up. He relished in any praise given, strove only to please the stern and proud man. Lucius was everything Draco wanted to become: a powerful, pureblood patriarch who commanded respect and even fear from the rest of wizarding society. And oh how his father had built up the glorious vision of Draco's future. Draco could picture the Lucius from his youth so clearly: a glass of his favorite brandy in a crystal glass, seated in his designated armchair of the drawing room, swirling the amber liquid around as he waxed lyrical about the "good old days" of Voldemort's initial rise to power. The Malfoys had retained their impeccable standing in pureblood society after the first triumph of Harry Potter, and as Lucius assured Draco countless times over the years, Draco would have his pick of any pureblood witch in the world when he came of marrying age. His life path laid out before him; a path of unending wealth and power with a doting witch by his side to produce his heirs.
Younger Draco drank it down greedily. But then the other bludger dropped. The Dark Lord rose again, and Draco witnessed first-hand that being the right-hand man to the most evil wizard ever to exist was not all it was cracked up to be. He watched his father emasculated, time and again at the hands of either his "master" or his sister-in-law, Bellatrix. Where was the imposing Lucius from his boyhood days? His father would never suffer such indignities at the hands of others, but here he was, sniveling to a mad, inhuman megalomaniac who couldn't even best Harry Potter in a duel.
You're just like your father. Oh how that phrase warped from a compliment to an outright insult over the course of Draco's life. A statement that had once inspired pride only conjured shame now.
"I want to say he felt remorse in the end, but I honestly don't know. I think he may have been trying to finally put an end to my mother's suffering by removing himself from her life, permanently. When he died, I felt... I felt free," Draco admitted in a whisper against Hermione's hair. "That's awful of me, I know, it's twisted to think in such a way. But even though he did some truly awful things I still... I can't help but..." He trailed off uncertainly but Hermione correctly deduced what had gone unsaid.
"It's all right to miss him."
Draco nodded, jaw clenched, not confident enough in his voice to respond.
"Thank you for trusting me enough to share," she whispered and pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his chin. No, thank you. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you...
"I'm not used to needing people," he stated gruffly. Everybody lets him down: his parents, his former friends, Snape, Dumbledore... but not her, never her.
Hermione shifted her position and met his haunted gaze.
"What do you need right now?"
"You. I don't want to feel anything but you. I just... need you." His voice wavered but didn't break as he tilted her chin up to capture her lips. Hermione responded instantly to the gentle push and pull rhythm of their mouths. Their kisses were slow and deep, different from the lust-filled urgency of their previous encounters. Draco felt as if she healed a broken part of him with her caresses, as opposed to simply scratching an itch for desire.
Hermione angled her body further towards him before throwing a leg over his lap to straddle him.
"In case there was ever any doubt... I need you too," she breathed and planted sensual kisses and nips to the exposed skin of his neck. Draco's head fell back, letting her heartfelt words wash over him and thoroughly enjoying her tongue's attention to his throat. He lost track of time as they snogged in this languid manner, but eventually both gave in to the grinding rhythm that naturally developed between their bodies. Clothes were divested in a slow unwrapping, and no other words uttered between them until Hermione was poised over his hardened cock.
"Are you sure you want to continue?" he asked. She nodded and smiled beatifically.
She murmured his name over and over, chanting it like an incantation as he thrust slowly in and out of her. They took their time with one another, savoring the sensation of being joined in the most intimate of ways. Each touch from her erased another doubt, each kiss soothed a pain, each whispered exultation of his name dulled an ache.
She came on top of him with a tight squeeze of his shoulders and a final whimper of "Draco..." and he followed several deep strokes after.
"Stay with me tonight, I don't want to be alone," Hermione whispered and he could only nod. He clutched her tightly to his taller frame and carried her to the bed with her legs still around his waist.
Settled comfortably in her bed, Hermione curled into his side, it didn't take long before Draco felt the pull to succumb to sleep.
"Good night Malfoy."
"'Night Granger."
I am okay with this. I fucking love you and I am okay with this. I am okay with this.
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A/N: Thanks for reading! Find me on tumblr: @heyjude19-writing.