She should still have some strawberry ice cream in her freezer and more than a few bottles of wine to choose from at home. But when Hermione stepped out of her Floo, all thoughts of drowning her sorrows in dessert and alcohol were summarily dashed.
Had she not been experiencing a complete emotional breakdown the entire evening, the sight that greeted her in her kitchen would have made her laugh until her sides split. Draco and Crookshanks each occupied a chair at her kitchen table, a stack of parchment in between, looking to all the world like two men having a very serious and sophisticated discussion about the state of global economics.
"But what your argument fails to consider, my good man, is the impact this legislation would have on the export relationship with China."
"No, no, see, you must understand the boost this would give the home market. It's quite simple, really."
Both pairs of eyes flicked to Hermione as she appeared in the entryway, pulling her from her ludicrous reverie.
Draco got uncertainly to his feet. "Hello," he said softly.
"Hi," she replied weakly, immediately self-conscious of her bedraggled appearance. Her hair was likely a rat's nest, her clothes still rumpled from the Floo, and she didn't even want to know the state of her barely dry eyes. Yet there Draco stood, with his perfectly crisp navy suit and not a lock of his platinum hair out of place, frustrating Hermione on several levels. Not something she'd normally complain about, but the man's enduring attractiveness was a most unfair advantage when she looked like a half-drowned kneazle.
"How was dinner with your mother?" It came out more bitterly than she intended, but Draco merely shrugged at her question.
"I wouldn't know, I left shortly after you did."
Hermione's jaw dropped. "Have you been here all this time?"
Draco shrugged again. "I think I missed you by about two minutes."
"But then that means you've... you've been here for hours!" She exclaimed, catching a glimpse of the wall clock. Draco didn't respond, just fixed her with that penetrating gray stare. The naked emotion in his eyes overwhelmed her, and she turned away.
"Would you like tea? I could use some myself." She bustled by him to fiddle with the kettle on the stove, doing everything she could to distract herself and avoid looking at him.
"No, thank you. Perhaps we could sit and talk?"
His too polite, too calm demeanor disrupted both Hermione's preconceived behavioral expectations as well as her conviction to lose herself in the mundane social ritual of preparing a pot of tea. Why wasn't he upset with her? Why wasn't he shouting and demanding to know where she'd been? She looked a right mess and yet he had the audacity to appear perfectly put together?
Hermione flicked her wand to heat the kettle. "Fine," she said tersely, and walked by him to the couch and sat down primly. She knew it wasn't fair, but the lack of emotional response from Draco started to irritate her. He should be the one itching to fly off the handle, not her.
An annoyingly and unusually placid Draco settled into the armchair facing her. No escaping his heated looks now, to turn her head away would be admitting defeat.
"Did you really follow right after me?" she asked, disbelievingly.
"I did."
"And what did your mother have to say about my presence in your home?"
"Nothing of importance." Draco leant forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "My priority was you tonight."
Hermione felt tears prick at her eyes and redirected her fury inwards, finding herself so unprepared to deal with his quiet sincerity that she completely lost control of her tear ducts again. He'd put her first tonight and what did she do? She'd run away like a child, hiding from her problems. The first sign of trouble and she'd bolted, while Draco stayed behind, waiting for her to recover from her fit of immaturity. How had this happened? When did she let herself become so weak?
"I take it you went to the Potters?" he asked softly.
"Yes. I needed... I just needed to speak to Harry and Ginny but then... but then Ron showed up."
Draco's eyes immediately hardened. "I see," he clipped. "Did you have a lovely evening with all your old friends?" Finally, he'd allowed some semblance of emotion to seep through. She didn't miss the bitter resentment in his question at the thought of Hermione running to Ron with a problem. Especially a problem involving relationship matters.
"It was awful, actually," Hermione snapped. "And I'm sure you'll be thrilled to know that Ron completely lost it when I told him we were together!"
Why was she so hell bent on trying to rile him up? The comment about Ron hit its mark and she saw a muscle twitch in Draco's clenched jaw. "On the contrary," he hissed, "I find myself rather more concerned about the state you arrived in just now. Did he hurt you? What did he say to you?"
Part of Hermione warmed at the possessive nature of his questioning but she'd had about enough of the men in her life reigniting old feuds tonight. She stood suddenly and crossed her arms over her chest.
"He was upset that I kept our relationship from him, and yes, he lashed out with some unkind words, but he's only trying to protect me!"
Hermione hadn't meant to excuse Ron's cruel actions, surprising even herself at the way she quickly tried to justify his intentions. She had no idea why she defended Ron's poor behavior to Draco, but all her insidious doubts and fears about falling for the man in front of her couldn't seem to disappear. Was I wrong about you? Was I looking for someone who wasn't really there?
"Oh yes, I'm sure the Weasel delighted in reminding you about all my past transgressions. Let me guess, he's adamant that I'm incapable of change? Still believes I exist to prey on those that aren't pureblood?"
"Is that so wrong of him? Have you ever given him a reason not to think that?"
She immediately wished the callous retort never left her mouth. Draco looked stung for a moment but quickly tried to mask the hurt. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and running his hands through his hair. In the awful silence that followed her unkindness, Hermione debated closing the distance to comfort him, but couldn't get her limbs to move, paralyzed with shame and awaiting the inevitable fallout.
Draco moved first, slowly rising to his feet, looking down at her with a pained expression. After a few more beats of silence he drew his wand.
"Accio parchment," he said quietly and Hermione didn't miss the way his hands lightly shook. The neat stack of papers that had been curiously sitting on her kitchen table zoomed into his shaky grip.
Draco's pale face looked nervous but determined as he held it out for her to take.
"What's this?"
"A reason."
Hermione unfolded the bundle and read the top line with a furrowed brow. She read the words written in bold, black ink at the top of the first page once, twice, then a third time, her normally quick mind unable to comprehend what she'd read. Her eyes scanned the rest of the first page of what appeared to be a funding agreement for the genesis of something extraordinary titled The Hermione J. Granger Fund for Students of Non-Magical Parents.
Hermione looked back up at Draco, confused. "I don't understand... what is all this? Why does this fund have my name associated with it? I've never even heard of it!"
When he didn't answer, she flipped through more of the pages, stunned to discover it mirrored her greatest wishes for how a program like this could work for future students of Hogwarts. In fact, most of the language and ideas were ripped word for word from her private notebook. Beyond that, she noticed, reading further and further on, some additional tenets had been added (providing actual magical creatures to introduce to the children? Brilliant!) to expand the scope of her initial dream even further.
She held a contract, she finally realized, reaching the bottom of the last page with blank lines for two signatures.
"What does this all mean?" she breathed, not daring to voice her fantastical suspicion.
Draco reached inside his suit jacket and produced a letter. "This might clear up any confusion," he intoned, still anxious.
Hermione unfurled the letter and read:
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
It is with sincere pleasure that I enclose the Ministry-approved contract for The Hermione J. Granger Fund for Students of Non-Magical Parents. You may keep this copy for your records. Once you and Miss Granger have signed, the copy in my possession will reflect your signatures, and the funds released from your vaults.
On behalf of the professors, the Board of Governors, and the future pupils of Hogwarts, thank you for your generosity. On a personal note, I enjoyed collaborating with you on this new endeavor, and I do hope Miss Granger appreciates all of your hard work on her cause.
I shall be in touch about preparations for the inaugural gala.
Best,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
P.S. When you see Miss Granger, please give her my best and I do hope she'll forgive me for my part in keeping this temporarily confidential.
By the time she'd reached the end of the letter, Hermione had succumbed to crying again.
"Why... why have I got to sign?" she asked weakly.
Draco tapped one of the signature lines with a long, pale finger. "Because you're Executive Director and nothing happens without your approval."
"And," she swallowed the lump in her throat, "and the other line is for you?"
He delicately took the parchment from between her hands. "May I?"
She nodded mutely and watched in amazement as he brandished the gold fountain pen she'd gifted him at Christmas and smoothly signed his full name on the line. The black ink letters reading Draco Lucius Malfoy flashed a bright gold color the second he'd finished, then reappeared in black again, this time reading as Anonymous Benefactor.
"You don't have to sign tonight if you'd like to look it over more thoroughly," he told her quietly. "I made a deal with McGonagall to not show you until we knew the School Governors and the Ministry were on board. If you have questions, I'm sure McGonagall would be more than happy to—"
Hermione abruptly snatched the pen and the parchment out of his hand. Slamming the paper on the coffee table, she hastily scrawled her signature and then threw the pen down triumphantly.
Draco gaped at her, astonished. "But... don't you want to go over every line? Make sure you agree with every facet?"
"No need," she breathed. "I trust you."
She stepped up to him and kissed him fiercely. As her hands wound their way around his taut shoulders, she felt the tension dissipating as his body sagged with relief and he relaxed into her kiss. She pulled away reluctantly, but the lure of all her questions became too strong to ignore.
"That's what tonight was all about, wasn't it? You—you were planning to tell me at dinner."
"Yes," he confirmed. "But then Mother unfortunately showed up right before you were due to arrive and I didn't have time to explain everything to her before I could intercept you. Timing was really not on my side tonight."
Everything hit Hermione at once and she felt the despairing shame of her actions again. She'd ruined the beautiful evening he'd planned and at the first hint of conflict, she'd run. What's more, instead of throwing the blame at her feet, he'd chased her down and waited here all night for her to gather her senses. Harry's honest words echoed in her mind: I don't think he has a lot of people in his life that he can depend on.
While Hermione ran off questioning the validity of the last few months, Draco had remained steadfast in his faith in their relationship; willing to fight for her, for them. And how had she repaid him? Stomped all over his trust, knowing his vulnerabilities, knowing he didn't let his guard down to just anyone, and she'd gone and believed the worst about him when he'd given her no cause to do so.
Hermione felt her eyes water again and cursed her propensity for tears tonight. Merlin, hadn't all the moisture leaked out of her body by now?
"How... how long have you been working on this fund?"
A pink tinge appeared on Draco's pallid cheekbones. "Err... I first visited McGonagall to pitch the idea... your idea, I mean... back in October."
"October," she repeated faintly. October. Before they were dating, before they'd even defined themselves as friends, before he'd worked up the nerve to ask for her forgiveness, Draco had already begun quietly working to upend society's expectations of him.
He'd been changing right before her eyes and she'd barely given him credit. All those mornings in the café when she'd ranted about the appalling lack of education for Muggle families with magical children, he hadn't just been half-listening or paying her lip service with his comments. He'd been moved enough by her passion to engineer an entire charity with her vision in mind.
"Draco," she sniffled. "This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I—I'm so sorry I left, please, forgive me. Please, I'm so sorry."
Draco didn't answer, looking pained at the sight of more tears on her face. Taking a step back, Hermione wiped at her puffy, streaming eyes. "Why? Why did you do all of this?"
"Because I... I..." He seemed conflicted about how to answer, his eyes darting around the room. "Because I knew how much you wanted something like this to exist, but you hardly had the time or the resources to bring it to fruition."
A good response and very sweet, especially for Draco, but Hermione detected the slight detour from complete honesty. She knew what he'd refrained from saying, what he'd almost said. I love you, too.
Letting him off the hook for now, Hermione wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. "I'm so sorry for ruining tonight," she murmured.
Strong, nimble fingers ghosted down her jaw and tilted her face up. The relief that shone in his eyes only fed her guilt that she could be so cruel as to doubt him.
"You were having a panic attack, it's perfectly understandable."
Hermione shook her head firmly. "No, Draco, no. I owe you an apology—"
"You don't, please, don't apologize, you don't owe me—"
"I do!" Hermione cut him off sternly. "I apologize for leaving. It was unfair to you. Should I become upset or angry with you in the future, I promise not to leave. I'm sorry."
Discomfort ran rampant across his features, despite his best efforts to maintain an unaffected air.
"It's fine Granger, had I known my mother was a trigger for you, I would have—"
"No, Draco, if this relationship is going to work, you need to learn to accept apologies from me when I have wronged you. And to be clear," she pressed up on her toes and kissed him softly, "I want this to work."
His eyes roved over her face, drinking her in with almost an intent to memorize. Draco regarded her smiling face with a contradictory combination of both hunger and satiation; the look of a man who truly thought he might have lost her, and even now as she stood before him after declaring her commitment, he still could not fully come to terms with a deserved offering of stable, consistent happiness.
"I accept your apology," he gruffly replied.
He obviously required more reassurance, but Hermione sensed he would neither voice the insecurity, nor articulate his own needs at this time.
"I don't tell you enough, do I?" she asked, mirroring his question from the other night.
"Tell me what?"
"That you're a good man, Draco."
---------------------------------------------
A scream tore through the otherwise silent bedroom. Hermione bolted upright, her wand already in hand, ready to either defend or attack. Blinking away the last vestiges of sleep, she looked quickly around the room before glancing beside her to check on Draco. The terrifying shout had originated from him, and he let out another anguished yell, his long limbs jerking and twisting in the sheets. His face was paler than normal and contorted in pain, while his hands clenched into fists so tight Hermione worried he might bleed from digging his own nails into his palms.
"NO! NO! PLEASE!"
Hermione leapt into action, tossing her wand aside and placing her hands firmly on the sides of his sweat-soaked face. "Draco! Wake up! It's just a dream, wake up!"
His body trembled fitfully for a moment more before his eyes snapped open. His gaze fixed on her, but panicked and scared. "Gra-Granger?" He slurred, as if he couldn't understand that she really was in front of him and not a lasting image from his nightmare.
"I'm here, it's all right, you're safe, it was only a dream," she murmured soothingly and ran her fingers through his hair. But Draco's eyes still darted around the room, his chest heaving as he breathed in too hard and too fast. Body still shaking, he sat up so rapidly he almost collided with Hermione's head. She pulled away just in time as he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and promptly vomited on the floor.
Hermione immediately vanished the sick and conjured a bucket. She'd unfortunately logged so many nights of experience with this exact situation (both as victim and caretaker) during her relationship with Ron that these steps were second-nature.
Draco's shoulders shook as he retched into the bucket again and Hermione summoned a wash cloth and dampened it with water from her wand. The moonlight filtering in through the window reflected off the glistening skin of his back, and Hermione fought down her own heartache at the sight of Draco succumbing to his nightmares. She touched the cloth to the back of his neck, and though he tried to shrug her off at first, another bout of sickness required his attention and he surrendered to her gesture of comfort.
She rubbed his back soothingly and pushed his hair off his sweat-covered brow, while his body hunched and continued to empty his stomach's contents into the receptacle. His knuckles turned white against the rim, and Hermione wondered if it would crack under the pressure of his grip. She alternated between vanishing his sick and gently pressing the wash cloth to his neck and face.
Eventually, his body spent, Hermione tugged the bucket from his grip, vanishing it all together. She shoved a glass of water into his hands and continued to murmur words of comfort in his ear. Too tired to be embarrassed now, he abandoned his earlier feeble attempts to fend her off, and sank into her arms. Hermione scooted up to the edge of the bed beside him as Draco's weight sagged against her side. He only managed a few gulps of the water before he dropped the glass, his frame still suffering mild convulsions and aftershocks. Hermione held him all the tighter, repeating over and over, "I'm here Draco, you're safe."
When she felt something hot and wet drip onto her shoulder, she moved to grab the cloth to dab away more sweat, but a quick glimpse of his face revealed tears instead. From what she could see of Draco's face, his eyes were squeezed shut and his jaw clenched tight, but he could no longer hold the tears at bay.
"Tell me, please. Please Draco, what was it?"
He took a shuddering breath that threatened to turn hysterical. Hermione placed a hand on his chest and counted a few breaths for him.
"It was Bellatrix," he finally rasped. "She had you... she had you under her wand and you were... you were..." He broke off with a gasp and wrenched himself away from her to bury his head in his hands.
He rocked his body back and forth as he cried out, "I d-didn't s-save you... I didn't save you... I never save you!"
Draco broke down completely and Hermione gathered him against her before he could move away. She met no resistance from him now, as he clung to her instead, his trembling hands scrabbling for purchase, seeking to find a tether anywhere he could reach. She guided his head to her shoulder while his body wracked with sobs and Hermione tried not to come undone herself. All she could do for Draco now was allow him to draw comfort and safety from her touch. His arms gripped her tightly as he lost all control of his emotions, weeping as he choked out apologies against her skin. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so fucking sorry..."
Not for the first time, Hermione cursed their generation's lot in life. A sobering thought occurred to Hermione then: How many of her fellow witches and wizards suffered this way? How many of them had the help they needed?
Hermione could only help the wizard in her arms, and hope that she could be enough to combat the darkness that threatened to overwhelm them both. She didn't interrogate Draco any further about his nightmare, a familiar one to her after all, but let him cry until his eyes ran dry. She kept her fingers running delicately through his hair all the while, never ceasing the rhythm as he practically howled in misery.
Some time later, Draco relaxed under her ministrations and regulated his breathing. Sniffling a bit, he pulled away and dried his face with the heels of his hands.
"I can't do this Granger," he said hoarsely. Hermione felt a sudden icy sting of dread, fearing the worst. What did that mean? Was he talking about them? About their relationship?
Draco shook his head as he held it in his hands. "I can't do this... I can't be here. I need to—I need..."
He looked up at Hermione then, eyes blazing. "I need to get out of here for a little while. Can we do that?"
She met his intense gaze with a puzzled look. "What do you mean? Go where?"
He clasped both her hands in his suddenly. "Please, Granger," he begged. "Let's go away for a bit, a week tops. Just the two of us... out of England so I can fucking breathe again."
"You want to go on holiday together?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Right now."
Hermione pulled her hands from his. "What? We can't just leave! What about our jobs? Or—?"
"Fine, next weekend then!"
She sat back and regarded him for a beat. "You're serious? How do you expect to just pick up and go to Merlin-knows-where and—?"
"I'll take you to Paris. Fuck, Granger, I'll take you to the bloody moon, just... please. If I don't get off this tiny, damned island where everyone from my mother to fucking Weasley thinks they have the right to comment on my personal affairs then I am going to go fucking spare."
He looked at her so desperately then, his eyes still glassy and red-rimmed, that it left Hermione powerless to refuse him. She couldn't remember the last time she'd requested time off from work and truthfully, a holiday sounded rather lovely. No angry Ron to deal with, no judgmental pureblood mothers, just her and Draco.
"All right, we can take a trip," she acquiesced. "We'll talk more in the morning. Let's get you back to bed."
Draco's expression cleared at her agreement and he allowed her to maneuver him back down into bed. His whole body sagged with both relief and exhaustion as Hermione propped an extra pillow under his head.
"Do you want a Calming Draught?" He shook his head at her offer. "No, I don't think my stomach could handle any potions right now," he responded weakly and Hermione could see sleep was already succeeding in claiming him.
She gently dabbed at his forehead a few more times with the cool cloth as his eyes fluttered shut. She pushed away the dark thoughts about how Draco would have coped with these night terrors in the past, thankful that he could be vulnerable in front of her now.
She laid a hand on his scalp and indulged in combing through his hair with her fingers, surprised but gratified when he leaned into her touch.
"Mmm, thank you love," he murmured sleepily and Hermione stilled. Never, not once, had Draco ever addressed her by a term of endearment.
Smiling to herself, Hermione settled down beside him.
I love you, too.
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A/N: Thanks for reading! Find me on tumblr: @heyjude19-writing.