Draco could hardly dare believe it, but his efforts had not been for naught. He held in his hands the reward for many months' back and forth with McGonagall, the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and finally, the Ministry.
The finals steps left for the Hermione J. Granger Fund for Students of Non-Magical Parents to become a reality were two measly signatures and then the official Ministry sign-off. The first signature line released the apportioned funds from the designated vaults at Gringotts and would be signed by Draco. It would be the first ever use of his gold fountain pen. However, some nifty spell work on McGonagall's part would make the signature read as "anonymous benefactor" to anyone but Draco or any person he chose to tell. Draco admired the brilliant play on the Fidelius Charm applied solely to a signed document—an impressive bit of creativity from his former transfiguration professor.
The final signature line awaited the ink of the executor of the funds and Executive Director of the entire charity. This person held complete control over the use of every single Knut pertaining to the initiative, since all donations came from private accounts, not the Ministry. Hermione would sign here.
With July about to come to an end, once Hermione gave her blessing the program could go into effect for next year's incoming First Years. Given the timeline, McGonagall suggested holding the first fundraising gala in either September or October to kick things off properly, capitalizing on the beginning of the new school year.
Draco could finally tell her everything tonight. Except he had more on his mind than her fund. No, tonight Draco wanted to finally say out loud what he'd been feeling since April, or perhaps even before then. Hermione deserved to know before he blurted it out at an inelegant time. Again.
He felt nothing but a cringing mortification any time he thought back to that fateful night when he'd angrily shouted a rather important declaration into her face. The next time Draco put his voice behind those words it would be deliberate and sincere, not on the heels of the complete unraveling of his emotional stability.
While yes, he'd said "I'm in love with you," to Hermione, to Draco a clear separation divided "I'm in love with you" from "I love you." Perhaps his inexperienced treatise on love may seem peculiar to others, not that he'd ever deign to explain this to anyone else, but it helped him to categorize his feelings for her as fact, not belief.
To be in love meant to be a slave to an ideal, surrendering one's rational mind to an alluring concept that could potentially border on obsession. Draco had long given up sycophantic devotion to ideals of any kind.
To love meant a choice. One he'd not made before Hermione. She ought to know that for Draco, loving her was a conscious decision, deliberately made.
Not in love. He loved. He loved her.
And gods, he'd failed her in so many ways at the outset of their relationship, the least Draco could do was make this special for her. Three words. Just three words.
Those three little words threatened to attach themselves to every stupid sentence he uttered. They hung in the back of his throat and on the tip of his tongue, waiting to strike out the second he let his guard down. No matter how trite, how innocuous the statement, those stubborn words put up quite a fight to be heard.
"Pass the sugar." I love you.
"Good morning." I love you.
"No, I wasn't lying when I said there were no more blueberry scones. There were no more blueberry scones because I purchased the last one for myself." I love you.
"Granger you can't seriously be considering presenting this to the Wizengamot." I love you.
"Fine, I'm mature enough to concede that Potter was less of a twat the other night, happy?" I love you.
He was most vulnerable during sex. Every little breathless moan of "Draco" and he almost said it. Every time their eyes locked while she writhed beneath him he almost said it. Every time he came inside her he bit back the phrase he longed to throw out and instead gasped "Hermione." He spoke her name as a safeguard to prevent himself from saying the words that he'd never said to anyone.
Not tonight. No more running, no more hiding, no more pretending he didn't feel so much for her that not being in her presence resulted in a physical ache inside his chest.
Draco raked an anxious hand through his hair as his gray eyes swept along the dining room table. A niggling sense of doubt suddenly reared its head based on a conversation they'd had last week. Hermione seethed in frustration that some of the lands reserved for centaur herds and funded by private charities, instead of protected by Ministry law, were now being encroached upon by wizardkind. She'd ranted to Draco that government protection would have been more beneficial in the long run, since some of those charities' coffers had run dry.
"You can't simply throw money at a problem and expect it to be solved!"
Draco had shrugged and countered with, "Sounds like not enough money was thrown to solve the problem."
The glare she'd thrown him had been more than a little withering.
Oh fuck, is that what she would think about this fund for Muggleborn children?
I am okay with this.
No, he needed to have confidence in the judgment of Minerva McGonagall and the Board of Governors and his own ideas. If he could convince the likes of them as to the merit of this fund, then Hermione could be convinced too.
The dining room passed his inspection. He gave Crick and Watson the night off again, ordering food from the French restaurant he knew Hermione liked. He had just placed the bulk of parchment about the fund on Hermione's dinner plate when he heard the Floo roar to life.
Draco frowned and checked his watch. Damn, 15 minutes early. No matter, he would plunge full steam ahead and hopefully show her that he was more than a potions addict. More than an ex-Death Eater. More than his money, his name, his blood.
He loved her, and maybe he'd never ever be worthy of doing so, but she deserved to know how he felt.
He pulled nervously at the cuffs of his navy suit as he strode down the hall. Draco hadn't forgotten the time Hermione blurted that he looked good in the color blue. Tonight, he'd do anything in his power to tip the scales in his favor, including taking meticulous care to don a navy suit with a crisp, blue button-down.
"Hey, you're a bit early but we can—Mother!?"
"Hello darling!"
The woman striding out of the fireplace in his traveling parlor was not Hermione, but a thoroughly unanticipated Narcissa Malfoy.
Draco froze in the doorway and gaped openmouthed as his mother flicked her wand and several trunks appeared beside the door of the room.
"What are you doing here?" Not tonight, oh fuck, not tonight, I do not need any of this shit tonight.
Narcissa raised an eyebrow as if the answer were obvious and Draco's question impertinent. "You're being silly, dear, I know you received my letter." She crossed the room and pecked Draco delicately on the cheek in greeting.
"They must be keeping you busy at that office. Well, now that I'm here, have those elves of yours take my things to my chambers. I think I'll change my robes before dinner and have a bath drawn after."
Draco could only blink at her in disbelief. "But... but I thought... you weren't coming back until later this month?"
Narcissa let out a light, musical laugh. "It is the end of the month, darling."
She swept by him into the hall, Draco trailing helplessly behind her. "But what are you doing here? You're staying in your wing? Here?"
She shot him an irritated look over her shoulder. "Honestly, I was starting to suspect you weren't reading my letters carefully enough. As I wrote you several weeks ago, I'm having renovations done to the east wing and the work is going to be terribly disruptive, I'm sure. Don't you recall agreeing to me staying until the work is finished?"
Had he agreed to this visit? Draco's mind worked quickly, trying to recall what his mother had written. Then he remembered the pile of correspondence he'd recently lit on fire in a fit of petulant rage. Whoops. Fuck.
"Oh something does smell delicious!" Narcissa approached the dining room in all its splendor: covered dishes waiting to be feasted upon, candles lit, and two place settings laid out.
"Oh Draco, this looks wonderful! Let me just pop upstairs and change into something more appropriate. You might want to change too, dear, what on earth are you even wearing?" She roved a critical eye over his Muggle-looking suit sans tie and sniffed in disapproval.
Shaking her head, Narcissa glided out of the room and Draco stuffed his fist in his mouth to muffle a scream. As he heard the click of his mother's heels disappear upstairs, he sprinted to the traveling parlor. Fuck, fuck, fuck and fuck. I am okay with this.
Did he have time to get a message of warning off to Hermione? His two-way notebook sat on his desk in the library and she might not even have hers near. He'd never conjured a corporeal Patronus before, so that eliminated that method of communication. Just as he'd decided to Floo quickly to hers and explain the situation, his fire lit up green and Hermione stepped through with a smile.
I love you.
Draco moved across the room in a few long strides and pulled Hermione to him. Before she could say a word, he cupped her face and captured her lips in a fierce kiss. He kissed her desperately, clutching at her cheeks, her hair, her neck, her shoulders... any part of her he could grab. When they parted for air he rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, willing for time to stop, to freeze him right here with Hermione. This meeting between the two most important women in his life should never happen by accident. Draco would have picked out a neutral territory, preferably with a Calming Draught or five in his system. He would have prepped both of them adequately beforehand, would have warned his mother to be civil, and would have assured Hermione of the importance of their relationship and how much it meant to him no matter how Narcissa felt on the subject.
I don't want to lose this, I don't want to lose us. I love you.
"Well hello to you too," she teased. Draco opened his eyes and stared down at her, keeping a tight grip on her upper arms. A worried frown replaced her grin.
"Hey," Hermione said soothingly, looping her arms around his waist. "What's wrong?"
"My mother's here," Draco said quickly.
"Your mother?" she echoed, confused.
"Yes, she just showed up, I'd no idea she was coming. Listen Granger, this changes nothing, whatever happens I—"
"Draco where have those elves got to? My quarters aren't prepared and I—oh!"
At the sight of Draco and Hermione embracing, Narcissa froze in the doorway.
At the sight of Draco's mother, Hermione leapt out of his arms as if she'd been scalded.
Draco could see the wheels turning behind his mother's eyes as she finally pieced together the odd surprise of her arrival: why the table had been set, but Narcissa's chambers not readied; why Draco had asked so many questions about her visit but had clearly expected someone else in the fireplace.
Draco cleared his throat, shattering the awkward silence of the room. "Mother you remember Hermione Granger," he said with more confidence than he felt, falling back on his impeccable manners.
Narcissa, being of the same aristocratic mold, immediately recovered from her shock and replied crisply, "Of course, lovely to see you again Miss Granger."
Draco turned to see how Hermione would respond, but found the space next to him unoccupied. Feeling a body shift at his back, he turned fully and realized she'd moved to shield herself behind him. He raised a perplexed eyebrow that she failed to see, as she stared fixedly at the floor. What the devil was she doing? Her face looked almost white, hands clenched at her sides, and she seemed to be shaking a bit, trying to fold in on herself.
"Hello Mrs. Malfoy," she finally responded in a trembling voice most unlike her.
"Granger," he began in a low voice. "What—?"
"So sorry to intrude!" she suddenly chirped over him in a falsely bright voice. "I'll just be going now!" she added in that same tone, several pitches higher than her normal speaking voice. It bordered on hysterical.
Draco's heart plummeted at the sound. Her nervous voice. Her panic voice. Her "I'm on the verge of an imminent breakdown" voice.
As she took measured steps back toward the fireplace, Draco realized exactly what she was doing: she was running away. Hermione Granger, the witch so fearless she impersonated his insane aunt and broke out of Gringotts on the back of a blind dragon was running away. With each step he felt her slipping further from him.
"Granger wait! Where are you going?"
She wouldn't look at him and he felt his chest constrict. You're losing her.
Her hand reached for the Floo powder. "Enjoy your evening with your mother. I'll see you soon."
No, no, this would not stand. Hermione Granger did not run from anything, she held her head and her wand high and charged ahead. She did not cower, she did not break, she did not give up.
"Granger, don't—"
"It's fine Malfoy. I'll see you soon." She repeated flatly, still refusing to meet his eyes. She threw the powder into the fireplace.
"Hermione," he pleaded softly. His last ditch effort, a desperate entreaty for her to stay, to talk to him, to not leave him. Please don't leave me, everyone fucking leaves me.
Her eyes jerked to his at the sound of her given name, giving him a sliver of hope that was summarily snuffed out as he took in her expression. She almost looked through him, as if she didn't even recognize him, her haunted eyes devoid of any warmth or affection. Closed off, protecting herself.
"Hermione, please." He tried again, not caring how pathetic it sounded.
With a slight shake of her head she whispered again, "I'll see you soon," and called out her address as she disappeared in the flames. Draco stared into the empty grate, wondering if he stared hard enough that Hermione would suddenly decide to return. His world crumbled around him and Draco stood in the middle of falling rubble, frighteningly powerless to stop it.
"Fuck!" He yelled and slammed his palms against the mantle.
"Language," his mother admonished from the doorway and Draco whirled around at the sound of her voice. He'd forgotten she even still stood there.
Groaning in frustration, he ignored her and ran a hand over his face. He needed a plan, he needed to act fast, and he needed to—
"Am I to presume that lovely dinner spread was not for my benefit but for Miss Granger?" Narcissa interrupted his frantic train of thought.
"You presume correctly," Draco clipped impatiently.
"Am I to further presume that this... distraction is also the reason your letters have been rather sparse as of late? When you even bother to reply to me at all..."
"Don't," he growled in warning. "Don't refer to her as a distraction."
Narcissa narrowed her eyes at his tone. "Do you love her?"
"Yes."
His answer flew out of his mouth the exact second she'd finished the question. The very first time he's willingly admitted his love aloud and to his mother of all people. Fuck this.
"I see," came her icy reply.
Draco ignored her and summoned the thick fold of parchment he knew to be at Hermione's place at the dining room table. Providing she hadn't blocked the Floo already or reset some wards, he'd go over there right now to straighten this whole mess out. He didn't have time to deal with Narcissa's cold disapproval or inane questions. The proper time to deal with that was the Tuesday after never.
"And where are you running off to?" She had the nerve to call as he stalked toward the fireplace.
Draco looked back at her, dumbfounded that she even needed to ask. "I'm going after Granger."
Narcissa scoffed and waved an impatient hand. "Oh don't be ridiculous, Draco. That girl is hardly worth your time or effort."
Draco saw red but forced himself to stay calm. He tucked the parchment into his inner breast pocket and smoothed over it with a hand, securing it for Floo travel.
"Draco, come now, be reasonable," Narcissa huffed. "You cannot seriously expect something lasting with that girl. Honestly, anything beyond a rebellious dalliance would be absolutely insane for a promising young man such as yourself."
Merlin's sagging bollocks he really, truly did not have time for this but fine, if she wanted to harp on about it.
"Insane?" Draco queried in a low voice. "You think me insane?" He turned slowly on the spot to face his mother. "I'd be careful throwing that word around, because you may not like my definition. Insane is selling your soul, home, and your family to a raving, mad half-blood. Insane is thinking we could all just carry on with our lives after the war. No, I rather think you and Father cornered the market on insanity."
"Don't you dare!" hissed Narcissa. "Don't you dare speak ill of your father!"
"I'll speak of him how I like!" roared Draco. "Have you the faintest idea what my life has been like for the past several years?" Narcissa pressed her lips into a thin line and didn't answer Draco's rhetorical question. She looked rather like an exasperated parent dealing with a child's tantrum and it only enraged Draco further.
"Father is dead," he spat, his vitriol rewarded with a brief flicker of emotion in her eyes. "He's dead and all he's left his only son and heir is a shameful legacy and the burden of our surname. We're a joke Mother! And you would know that if you spent half as much time here as you do escaping to the Continent, safe in the loving embrace of other misguided relatives!"
He walked deliberately towards her. "Do you know what I've been doing? When I finished trying to kill myself slowly with potions, I tried to drink myself to death. Since I've pulled my sorry arse out of that hell, I've kept my head down and quietly rebuilt. Even with my hard work I still have to avoid plenty of businesses in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade because they won't accept 'Death Eater gold.'"
Chest heaving, he came to a stop in front of Narcissa. "And then finally, finally I found someone who would look past every shameful, regrettable thing I've ever done and you have the gall to say she's not worth my time or effort? That Mother, is insane."
If he'd taken Narcissa aback by his emotional outburst, she didn't give any sign. "This won't end well, dear."
Draco scoffed, irritated that his words had seemingly no effect, and turning on his heel, marched towards the fireplace.
"It'd be best for you to place your affections onto a more suitable candidate," she said primly.
His throat tightened, as he tried to quell the depressing thought that his affections might not be enough to salvage what he currently had with Granger. "Hermione is the best thing that's ever happened to me," he said hoarsely. This time, he didn't wait for his mother's response, but stepped into the flames.
Stepping out into Granger's home a moment later, he hurried through the living room, looking for any sign of her whereabouts. But the stillness in the air told Draco he'd missed her. Sighing, he walked into the kitchen and tossed the parchment onto the table. Alerted by the noise most likely, Crookshanks darted into the kitchen, stopping when he saw Draco.
"Oh, it's you. She's gone, you idiot."
Draco looked around, weighing his options. No way in hell would he return home to face his mother right now. The level of smugness would be uncharted. He had a feeling Hermione had most likely fled to Potter and She-Weasel. Though his relationship with the couple bordered on amicable these days, surely an upset Hermione bursting through their Floo would have soured whatever progress he'd made in the last few weeks. It would be in poor form to chase her to the Potters' residence and in all likelihood make things worse.
Maybe he could just apparate to a pub and get pissed. Right, he snorted to himself, because that's the sort of decision that's worked out well for you in the past.
Besides, he needed to see Hermione tonight and he needed to convince her that he was still worth all the trouble. Best not to be drunk off his arse when that happened. But fucking Salazar, did he want a drink right now. He didn't want to have to think about Hermione's panicked reaction to his mother, didn't want to hear his mother's harsh words chase themselves around his mind, didn't want to imagine what Hermione would say when she finally returned...
He wanted some Dreamless Sleep Potion.
No. I am okay with this.
Draco sat heavily in a chair and rested his chin in his hands. Crookshanks jumped up onto the opposite chair and regarded Draco across the table with an unblinking stare. "Sorry, old chap, I haven't the foggiest when she'll return. Best make yourself comfortable."
What in Merlin's name had her running away from his mother like that? What could have possibly spurred such an alarming reaction? Hermione didn't even know his mother, not personally anyway. Why, the two women had never even been in the same room together!
Except for... oh fuck.
Oh fucking fuck fuck.
What about the lovely encounter in Madam Malkin's shop before the start of his Sixth Year? The one where Draco had complimented Hermione's black eye and Narcissa had referred to her as scum? Yes, lovely.
But the last time his mother and Hermione had been in the same room, Hermione had been on the floor, writhing, bleeding, and screaming under the wand and knife of his aunt while Draco and his parents simply stood there and let it happen.
And just like that he felt as overwhelmingly helpless as he had that day. Maybe he should call up Healer Browning.
No, he wanted Hermione.
He wanted to scream and rage until his face turned blue that he'd never let anyone hurt her again, that he'd been a pathetic excuse of a boy but he'd grown up since then. He would never let any person or any potion make him feel weak again.
Draco swallowed the anxious lump in his throat. No, he'd have to give her space for now. Potter and co. would expect him to lose his cool and make threats and demands regarding Hermione's whereabouts. He must stay calm, stay rational, and not let himself be ruled by emotions. He had to prove to her that he wasn't his father, no matter the physical resemblance. He had to prove to her and the rest of the world that they were wrong about Draco Malfoy.
I am okay with this.
------------------------------------
The second Hermione Flooed away from Draco, she felt the panic rising in her chest. Stumbling blindly out of her fireplace, she gasped lungfuls of air and tried to calm her shaking body. She couldn't shut her mind off and couldn't stem the horrible memories from pouring forth.
"Wait," said Narcissa sharply. "Yes—yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"
"I... maybe... yeah."
The moment she'd lain eyes on Narcissa Malfoy, it instantly transported Hermione back to the drawing room floor of Malfoy Manor. The last time those cold blue eyes had swept over Hermione, they assessed her value as a bargaining tool for Harry's capture to win back Voldemort's favor.
She needed to breathe, she needed air, she needed...
"But surely," she said quietly, "this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"
"Yes, yes it's Granger!" cried Lucius.
She couldn't' shake their hold, she couldn't think straight. She needed to get somewhere safe and fast.
"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"
Harry and Ron are alive. Harry and Ron are safe. Ginny is alive and safe. She is alive and safe. We all live in a yellow submarine. Harry is alive, they're all alive. We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine. She's fine, Ron and Harry are fine.
Harry. Ginny.
She had to get to Harry and Ginny.
"And I think," said Bellatrix's voice, "we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."
Hermione's shaking hand managed to toss some Floo powder into her grate and she stuck her head in the flames. "H-Harry?" she choked out, her head now in the fireplace of the Potters' cottage.
Ginny swept into view wearing an apron. "Hermione! What's wrong?"
"Ginny, I'm so sorry... can I come through?"
"Course you can but... well never mind, just come through, it's fine."
Hermione darted out of the fire and straight into Ginny's arms, overcome with violent trembling. She didn't know whether she'd be sick or faint.
"Harry! Get in here quick!"
Hermione felt a strong pair of arms pull her gently from Ginny and Hermione buried her face in Harry's chest and shook.
"Are you hurt? What's happened?" Harry's low and calming voice held a touch of urgency all the same. Hermione could do nothing but gulp in air and shake her head back and forth.
"Bring her through here Harry, I'll fetch some tea."
Steering her gently, Harry walked her to the kitchen and pulled out a chair at the scrubbed wooden table next to the stove. "Here love," Ginny said and placed a steaming mug in front of her. Hermione stared at it numbly, watching the steam rise up in swirls. Collecting herself, she looked up into the concerned faces of Harry and Ginny. Where to even begin?
"Did something happen with Malfoy?" Harry asked delicately, ignoring the sharp look Ginny sent him.
Hermione inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly through her nose. We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine...
"Yes, I mean, no... I mean..." It wasn't working, her mantra wasn't working. "Oh my God, Harry, how could I have been so stupid!? How did I ever convince myself that this could work?"
Ginny's arms were around her again and Hermione finally succumbed to her tears. "I'm so stupid, so bloody stupid..." she cried into Ginny's shoulder.
"Stop that!" said Harry sternly. "You've never been stupid for a second of your life, Hermione. Can you please try and tell us what has you in such a state? We want to help."
Harry's bright green eyes were full of such sincerity it made Hermione want to cry harder.
"It wasn't... him... Malfoy didn't do anything really, he just... Oh Harry, it was his m-mother!" Hermione choked out. Those icy, unfeeling eyes had made Hermione feel about two feet tall.
"Narcissa?" Harry said blankly. "What's she done?"
Hermione tried to draw strength from Ginny's soothing hands rubbing her shoulders and stroking her hair, but it was a losing battle. She hadn't felt so weak, this low, in the longest time, as if every inferiority complex she'd ever had about being Muggleborn had rushed straight to the forefront of her mind and refused to relinquish the hold over her.
"She showed up tonight and looked at me... just looked at me like I was nothing. How dare someone like me... a filthy..." Hermione trailed off and Harry and Ginny exchanged raised eyebrows. "How dare someone like me have her arms around her precious son?"
"What did she say, exactly?" asked Ginny.
"Nothing, but gods Ginny, it was all there, all the judgment, all the contempt for people like me, right across her face."
"And Draco? Did he do anything?" prodded Ginny. Harry crossed his arms and frowned.
Hermione shook her head slowly, trying to remember. "No, he... he asked me to stay but I... I couldn't be there. Not in the room, with the two of them... the picture of pureblood poise and privilege and..." she turned her eyes to Harry. "It was like I was right back there on the floor of Malfoy Manor," she admitted. She left the rest unsaid and watched as Harry grimaced in pain and guilt. She knew memories of that night haunted him too.
"Hermione I'm so sorry and I'm so glad you came to us." He pushed off the counter and stood in front of her and Ginny. "Do you want me to go speak to Draco? I can tell him you're here or...?"
Harry trailed off awkwardly, clearly unsure of what Hermione wanted him to do. Hermione let out a shuddering sigh. "No that's all right, I don't even know what to say to him right now. I just—I just—" The panic mounted again and her breaths came in harsh gasps. "I don't know what I... was I crazy for thinking a relationship would work between us?"
Both Harry and Ginny opened their mouths to reply, but were interrupted by the Floo. "Oh bugger, that'll be Ron," muttered Ginny. "Sorry Hermione, we knew you had plans with Malfoy tonight so we invited them over for dinner."
"Oi Harry, Gin! Padma's coming through with the samosas, so turn the oven on and we can—!"
Ron walked into the kitchen, Padma a step behind him carrying a container and a bottle of champagne. The newly arrived couple stopped short at the scene in front of them.
"Blimey, Hermione, what the hell happened? What's going on?"
Silence greeted Ron's question as Harry and Ginny exchanged uneasy glances and Hermione struggled to form words.
Finally, she managed to squeak out, "It's nothing Ron, I simply—"
"No Hermione," Ron cut her off firmly. "It's very clearly not nothing. Why do you look so upset?"
When still no one answered, Ron grew frustrated. "Look, someone better tell me what's happened right now. I'm sick of all this secrecy! I'm not a complete idiot, you know!"
Hermione looked up at Ron in surprise. "What do you mean? Secrecy?"
"Well, yeah, about you," Ron said plainly. "You spend all your weekends with some bloke and no one even knows who he is and... hang on a minute," he stopped as if he'd pieced everything together. "Is that what this is all about? What did he do to you? Did he hurt you?"
"Stop Ron, it's nothing like that!" Hermione interjected quickly. "A silly misunderstanding is all. I overreacted and came here to vent a bit. I'll be fine."
Ron crossed his arms. "You don't seem fine." He said bluntly. Ginny scowled at her brother. "Seriously, Ron? Don't be a prat." Ron shrugged, his eyes only for Hermione.
"I'm your best friend too," he said stubbornly. "I deserve to know why you're hurting. Hermione, please." It marked the second time tonight that someone had begged her that way.
Hermione took a deep breath, knowing Ron had a point. "I had an unexpected run-in with Narcissa Malfoy tonight. It left me feeling somewhat... shaken."
"What? Where? What did she say to you?" His questions flew out thick and fast and Hermione knew she'd been a fool to think she could keep this quiet.
"She didn't say much of anything, not that she had to..." Hermione responded bitterly and wiped her eyes. "She was an unexpected guest at dinner and—"
"Dinner? She accosted you publicly?"
Sweet Merlin, this was going to be painful.
"No, she was visiting with her son. In his home."
Gods, she really was a coward several times over tonight.
Ron's brows furrowed and it seemed as if everyone in the room held their breath. "But then... how...? But that means... No!" Ron backed away from the kitchen table in horror. "Hermione tell me you don't mean what I think you mean!"
Hermione met his shocked gaze beseechingly, but that only seemed to wind Ron up more. "NO! You're dating Malfoy!? That slimy fucking ferret!? ARE YOU INSANE!?"
"Ron, shut up and—" Ginny tried to cut him off but he yelled over his sister.
"How long!?" He asked Hermione. "How long have you been keeping this from us?"
Hermione willed herself not to waver under his accusatory shouting. "We've been dating since April."
"APRIL!?" Ron exploded. "You've been keeping this from everyone for FOUR BLOODY MONTHS?!"
Hermione shook her head "It's not like that Ron, we were friends first... for quite a while..."
"Friends?! Are you barmy? Hermione do you remember what he used to call you!?"
"Vividly," she said coldly. "And as I'm the only person in this room who's ever been addressed by that term, I'll thank you to trust me when I say that Draco no longer uses that sort of language, nor does he harbor those beliefs anymore."
Ron scoffed and turned imploringly to Harry. "You tell her Harry, go on. Tell her what darling Draco said to us in the Slytherin common room in our Second Year. Remember, when he thought we were Crabbe and Goyle? Remember what he said about Hermione?"
Harry shook his head. "We were kids, Ron, all of us. He was a dumb, misguided kid."
"He wished for your death!" Ron whirled back to Hermione. "He said he hoped that Slytherin's monster killed you! You, Hermione, specifically!" Ron bellowed.
"Ron, that's enough. Who Hermione dates is her business," said Harry warningly.
"You can't seriously be okay with her dating Malfoy?" Ron asked incredulously.
Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed, casting an apologetic half glance at Hermione. "It's not up to me, Ron. He seems to be making an effort to be, umm... different. And anyway," Harry scratched the back of his neck as a blush crept up his face. "They seem umm... happy together, I reckon."
Ron screwed his face up in disgust but then came to a devastating conclusion.
"Hang on... you knew!? You knew she was dating that evil little git?" The hurt at the perceived betrayal in his voice stabbed at Hermione's conscience and she took pity on Harry.
"Don't be angry with Harry, Ron, I asked them not to tell," said Hermione softly.
"Them!?" He rounded on Ginny next, who glared back, daring him to challenge her. He sunk back against the counter, looking defeated.
"So," began Ron sulkily. "Am I the only one in this room you didn't trust enough to tell?"
Harry and Ginny averted their eyes at the misery in Ron's voice. When he turned to Padma, his eyes widened at her guilty expression. "You too?"
Padma gave a half shrug and looked apologetically at Hermione. "I heard a rumor from Susan Bones that Draco was serious about some witch, and then I remembered what you'd said at Christmas..." she trailed off and looked back at Ron. "I had a hunch, but I didn't want to pass on gossip about Hermione, I'm sorry."
Ron shook his head in disbelief. "So what, the three of you," he gestured to Harry, Ginny, and Hermione, "have been getting together for cozy little double dates behind my back?"
Hermione's eyes filled with tears again. "Ron, no, it wasn't like that, I swear! I just wanted to introduce everyone to the idea of... me with Draco slowly and on my own terms. This isn't how I wanted you to find out that... that..."
She stuttered to a halt and Ron jumped in before she could collect herself. "That you were what? Cozying up with a Death Eater?"
Padma gasped as Harry and Ginny made noises in protest while Hermione shot back, "Don't call him that!"
"Well why not? That's what he is, Hermione! He's the same as his father!"
"He's not!" Hermione shouted, more tears tracking their way down her cheeks. "He's not," she repeated in a quiet voice.
"I think a certain mark on his forearm might beg to differ," Ron responded coldly.
"He didn't have a choice Ron! Voldemort threatened to kill his parents!" Hermione replied desperately, trying to appeal to Ron's forgiving nature.
But Ron merely snorted derisively. "Don't try to convince me he didn't want that life, he only regrets ending up on the losing side. You honestly believe he feels bad about that decision?"
"I know he does," Hermione said firmly.
"You're blind, Hermione, absolutely blind," Ron said sadly. "If Harry and I hadn't broken out of their Manor cellar that night I bet you anything he would have traded off with his dear Auntie Bella when she got tired of torturing you herself."
Hermione inhaled sharply and felt as if she'd been slapped.
Distantly she heard Ginny snarl while Harry shouted, "Ron, that's enough! Don't speak to Hermione like that, what is wrong with you?"
Ron paid him no mind, and focused his gaze on Hermione.
"No, this is between me and her. She knows... she knows what that night... how that night affected me."
Seeing his haunted blue eyes, hearing his voice break, she felt it then, the burn of shame. Ron thought it his greatest failing, being unable to shield Hermione from Bellatrix. They'd suffered through many a night together where Ron woke up screaming Hermione's name in pure terror, dreaming of being dragged away from her into the cellar of Malfoy Manor on the worst night of his life and hers.
Hermione couldn't look away from Ron, even as she felt her heart shattering. Ron, who had held her during the night terrors, who stemmed her tears and fetched Calming Draughts, who cleaned her vomit and dabbed at her sweaty forehead when she succumbed to the worst of her memories... he now looked at her in true agony. How could you keep this from me, Hermione? After everything we were to each other? How could you? His family almost tore you apart, what are you thinking?
"He had a wand," Ron said shakily. "He had his wand Hermione, and he did nothing. You could have bled out right at his feet and he wouldn't have lifted a finger."
Hermione still refused to back down. "He would have been killed, Ron."
"SO WHAT?" Ron roared. "I would have gladly been killed for you! Remember that, Hermione. I would have died rather than see you tortured like that!"
A ringing silence punctuated his shouted words and Padma laid a placating hand on Ron's arm. He shook her off and ran a hand through his hair.
"Do you—" he swallowed thickly but plowed on. "Do you love him?"
"Yes."
Four pairs of eyes snapped to her face at the quickness of her answer.
Ron shook his head, disappointed and disgusted. "Never took you for a fool, Hermione."
Ginny began to loudly protest, but Ron ignored her again. With a deadened look in his eyes, he placed Padma's container and the bottle of champagne on the kitchen table.
"Here," he said flatly. "We were going to announce the good news tonight. Padma and I are moving in together... but I can't be here right now."
Ron turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen. Padma whispered an embarrassed apology and hurried after him.
Harry looked to Ginny for help. "Go," his wife urged him at once. "Go after him, make sure he's all right."
As Harry rushed to the Floo, Ginny directed Hermione's head onto her shoulder. The affectionate, sisterly gesture brought on a fresh wave of tears for Hermione, and the red head let her cry silently, making soothing noises.
Did Ron have a point?
Could she really have been so naïve? She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyelids, trying to calm her swirling mind and racing heart. She knew why Ron felt so hurt and betrayed by her and Harry right now. Ron only recalled Malfoy as the petulant bully who did everything in his power to make Ron feel worthless. He had no concept of the more mature man Malfoy had worked so hard to become, had no idea the demons he wrestled with, how horrified he would be now to be compared to Lucius.
And could she really blame Ron for his overreaction? Harry and Ginny had each had time and first-hand experiences to reconcile the two versions of Draco, but this had been sprung out of nowhere on an unsuspecting Ron. No, to Ron, Draco was the smirking prat who had no problem sneering at the less fortunate and firing off morally questionable hexes at schoolmates' backs.
Over a year and a half ago, would Hermione not have thought the same? Back then, the name "Draco Malfoy" would have conjured memories of a snarling pale face hurling the word "Mudblood" in her direction.
Now, however, the name "Draco Malfoy" conjured memories of his lips trailing soft kisses down her body, of his face between her thighs, of spirited debates over morning coffee, of good-natured teasing about Muggle music, of the way he passionately breathed her given name, of his gray eyes burning with need and unspoken declarations, of his fingers playing with hers, of him holding her when he let his guard down, of him admitting weaknesses and faults, of him asking her to forgive him...
Because she had forgiven him. All the way back in November he'd asked her forgiveness and she'd given it freely.
"Are you all right?" asked Ginny.
"No."
"Ron had no right to say those things to you."
Hermione sniffled and gave a half-shrug of her shoulders. "He's hurting, I understand why he's so upset. Ron was always sensitive about me and Harry keeping anything from him after... after..."
"After he left you both on the run?" Ginny finished for her.
Hermione nodded. "He's never really forgiven himself for that. Add in his complex about Malfoy... well this was the perfect storm, really, to set Ron off."
Harry reappeared suddenly in the kitchen. "Padma told me I'd just missed him. She's pretty sure he went round to George's. She reckons that might be the best place for him right now."
Hermione worried her bottom lip between her teeth, feeling guilty that she'd ruined a perfectly good dinner as well as Ron and Padma's excitement over the next step in their relationship. Harry noticed Hermione's anxious habit and frowned.
"Gin, can I speak to Hermione alone for a second?"
Ginny gave Hermione's shoulders a soft squeeze, pecked Harry on the cheek and disappeared into the living room, closing the kitchen door behind her. Harry sighed and took Ginny's vacated seat next to Hermione. He rubbed his temple then folded his hands on the table in front of him.
"I need you to know that I don't agree with Ron. Gin and I both support you completely, no matter who you choose to date, and even if... even if Malfoy and I don't exactly... like one another... I would never stand in the way of you being with someone you... love." Harry looked as if the last word pained him to say, but he got it out nonetheless.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione said weakly in gratitude, unable to say anything else. Harry shook his head, dismissing her unspoken apology and thanks.
"Enough about Ron's feelings. How can I help you with... whatever happened with Malfoy? You said he didn't say anything, but you seemed awfully upset."
"He didn't, he tried to convince me to stay but I was too shocked and upset and—" Hermione closed her eyes as the horrific realization dawned on her. "Oh God, Harry, I just turned tail and ran! I didn't even give him the benefit of the doubt, I assumed the worst of him when I saw his mother standing there."
The shock of Draco and his mother together in the room with her had plunged her backwards in time to the horrific memory of her torture at the Manor. She'd flown into a terrified panic before she could truly process that Draco didn't feel that way anymore.
She groaned and opened her eyes to meet Harry's patient stare. "I really buggered this up, didn't I?"
Harry adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "Well, I'm not sure about that, but I think you should at least explain to Malfoy why you left the way you did. I know he doesn't... I mean I don't think he has a lot of people he can depend on in his life, besides you. And with you being a fairly recent source of support... I'm sure he's probably feeling rather lonely right about now."
Hermione sighed and wiped her face dry. Timidly, she voiced the fear that had been plaguing her since the run-in with Narcissa.
"Do you think we have a chance? Draco and me?"
Harry shrugged, but then reached over and held one of Hermione's hands between his own. "That's not really up to me, is it? I'll support you no matter what you decide."
Hermione let out a watery chuckle. "Harry Potter you are getting sappy in your old age."
He responded with a boyish grin. "Well I am going to be a father, so I guess I need to practice this whole talking-about-feelings thing."
Feeling as if her legs would be able to support her weight again, Hermione stood and pulled her hand from Harry's.
"Look," Harry said, a bit awkward. "I cannot believe I'm about to say this but, you might want to hear Malfoy out. Despite everything that happened... I think he really is trying to change, or uhh, has changed."
Hermione regarded him in shock. What happened to the suspicious boy who was so convinced of Draco's wrongdoings he ordered two house elves to tail him during their Sixth Year?
As if Harry could hear her thoughts, he pressed on. "Hermione if I learned anything at all from the mess that was my youth, it was that people can surprise you. Even those you thought might not be capable of love or of change... it's best not to jump to conclusions, yeah?"
"I understand. I think I should be getting on now."
Harry walked her through to the living room. "See you at The Burrow tomorrow?"
"Of course. Tell Gin thanks and I'm sorry I ruined the evening."
"You didn't. You okay going home? You're welcome to stay here you know."
Hermione hugged him tightly. "I know, Harry. But I think it's Crookshanks' turn to deal with my emotions. I'll see you tomorrow."
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A/N: Thanks for reading! Find me on tumblr: @heyjude19-writing.