When Draco received his nightly owl from Hermione, he couldn't help but smile.
A week ago, they had kissed.
Now, they owled nightly.
Hello, you're cute –H
He had melted at the first response to his own message, sent promptly after he arrived home at Malfoy Manor, as promised: Hello, you're beautiful –D
Tonight's message: When can I see you again? –D
Her prompt response came as he sat perched at the edge of the owlery: Whenever you'd like –H
Draco smirked before penning a longer missive for the waiting Noctua, who had become accustomed to this new ritual of his master.
Tomorrow, then? If you can drag yourself away from work for an hour or so we can have lunch? –D
I'll find a way. –H
He could practically hear her cheeky little response, and he tipped his head back against the wall, grinning, his troubles with his mother forgotten for just a moment.
But just for a moment.
They had dined together this morning: over-easy eggs and toast with tea. It had been pleasant, until she actually spoke to him: "Lucius, are these eggs quite cooked enough for you?"
The pleasantness disappeared in an instant, the toast that was soaked through with egg yolk was now nauseating. Lucius. Lucius.
Once more, Draco had corrected her, and he saw the instant the light left her eyes when she was forced back into a reality that she did not want.
Upon Hermione's suggestion, he was seriously considering having her placed in St. Mungo's. She was right—of course she was—that Draco couldn't provide his mother the full-time care she obviously needed. Every time he left the house, as infrequent as that may have been, there was a pit in the bottom of his stomach, gnawing at him, constantly reminding him that his mother was home, alone, and not in the right frame of mind.
Draco supposed he'd discuss it with Hermione once more at lunch tomorrow.
Hermione.
Walking back to the Manor, he was in relatively good spirit. As he made his way, predictably, into the kitchen, Draco poured himself a measured glass of firewhiskey before he headed towards his bedroom. He decided to pass on the drunkenness tonight—just a bit to help him sleep.
Padding into his bedroom, Draco placed his glass of firewhiskey on the nightstand next to his bed before changing into a set of pajamas—green plaid pants and a worn quidditch t-shirt—before going to quickly check on his mother.
It was late, so he walked down the hallway barefoot, as quietly as he could, so he didn't wake her if she was, indeed, asleep. Soundlessly, he opened the door and slipped inside. There was no light in the room, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust before he found his mother's form huddled beneath the comforter of the four-poster bed. Draco stilled momentarily, waiting to see the steady rise and fall of her chest, indicating her breathing.
Up. Then down.
Draco let out his own breath, relieved.
He worried too much about her. Far too much.
Maybe he'd worry less if she was in St. Mungo's?
Yes, he would certainly discuss it with Hermione tomorrow.
He smiled to himself. Tomorrow.
When tomorrow came, Draco was pleasantly surprised when he opened his eyes, where he found himself nestled comfortably beneath his silk green duvet, his head clear and unencumbered by its normal thundering ache.
Skipping the alcohol had been a good decision, then.
Testing himself, Draco rose from the bed steadily, with no hint of the vertigo that often accompanied the first dramatic movement after a night of drinking.
This was good, then, too.
Draco smirked to himself and quickly got ready for the day. He had a lunch to plan for Hermione.
After their last humiliating outing, Draco had no desire to go out in public with her. No, he wanted something far less public and far more intimate.
Making his way down to the kitchens, Draco called for his faithful house elf: "Jinxy!"
Jinxy was beside him in a pop, and Draco jumped slightly back from the elf, startled. "Sirs is calling Jinxy, sirs?"
"Yes, Jinxy, I need you to do something for me today. Something a little different."
Jinxy smiled up at him with her large, watery eyes. "Yes, sirs!"
At quarter to 1, Draco apparated in front of the shop that he had become so familiar with. With a deep exhale to steady his flaring nerves, Draco entered the shop with a tinkling of the bell.
Hermione sat once more on the purple couch in the middle of the shop. But she wasn't reading and taking notes as she had been last time. Instead, she sat in the middle of the couch, staring at her hands as she fidgeted.
She was nervous, then, too.
Draco smirked, momentarily forgetting his own nerves. "Granger, really. Why do you even have an office?" he called.
Her eyes shot up to him and she smiled shyly. "I was waiting for you," she said as she stood.
"I hope you weren't waiting long—I wasn't sure what time you took a lunch," he said, chastising himself mentally. What if she had been waiting hours, convinced he wasn't going to come? He should have confirmed a time—
"No, I usually take it around now. If I do at all," Hermione replied with a small smile. "So, where to?"
Draco grinned, pulling the small basket from his box, resizing it with a quick wordless spell. "Thought we could just stay here?" he asked, his nerves back in full.
This was such a dumb idea.
Hermione was staring at him, her eyes wide.
Such a dumb idea.
"I mean, or—"
"You made that look so easy," she interrupted him.
"What?"
"Nonverbal magic."
Draco was feeling very uncomfortable now. "I—"
As if she suddenly remembered why he was here, her eyes flicked down to the basket. "You brought lunch?"
Draco shrugged, still feeling embarrassed. "I thought it could be fun."
Hermione beamed at him, moving towards the door. "Sounds perfect, let me just lock the door."
With a quickly muttered spell, Hermione walked back towards the couch and began to push the chairs away. She plopped down in front of the coffee table, patting the spot next to her. "Come sit, I'm hungry."
Draco obliged, sitting down next to her with a bit more grace and placing the basket on the coffee table. With a grin, he turned to her and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. "Hi, by the way."
Hermione blushed furiously. "Hi," she murmured back, her eyes avoiding him.
His smile widened even further. Turning back to the basket, Draco began to unpack the morsels that Jinxy had so thoughtfully prepared for them: a variety of finger sandwiches, soups, fruits, cheeses, and a loaf of French bread. "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I had Jinxy prepare a little bit of everything.
She had just begun to reach for a cucumber sandwich, when she froze, withdrawing her hand. "Jinxy?" she asked quietly.
Right, she had a thing about house elves. Fuck.
"She's free," he began. "I pay her."
Hermione turned to face him, her eyes narrow. "How much?"
"3 Galleons an hour," Draco answered easily.
She snorted. "Please. You don't have to lie to me—"
Of course she thought he was lying, of course. The implications hurt, but he certainly deserved her distrust. "I'm not lying to you, Granger," he said softly. "She does a lot for me and I think I pay her a fair wage."
Hermione was still looking at him, watching him. "You're telling me the truth?"
Draco nodded. "I don't want to lie you, Granger."
Instantly she softened. He could feel it in her demeanor, in her posture. "Draco, I'm sorry—I just—"
"I know," he said quietly, taking a chicken salad sandwich from the spread and took a small bite. "It's okay."
"No. It's not okay," she said fiercely. "I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted, Granger," he said, his smirk returned.
Hermione grinned at him and finally took a cucumber sandwich, relaxing beside him. "This is very nice, Draco. Thank you."
Draco gently knocked her shoulder with his own. "Not a problem, Granger. I wanted to see you and I'd very much not like you to starve yourself."
She beamed at him again, and fuck, he really was able to make this witch smile. Something surged within him—affection, pride, happiness—and he smiled back.
"How's your mother?" she asked as she pulled the lid off of a container of soup, sniffing. "French onion?"
"It's my favorite. Jinxy's is superb."
"It's my favorite, too," she replied, bringing a spoonful to her lips. "Oh gods, this is amazing."
Draco grabbed a spoon and took his own spoonful. "Don't hog it now, Granger."
Hermione giggled—she actually fucking giggled at him—
"Your mother?" she repeated, looking at him fully as she licked her spoon.
Merlin, isn't that a sight to behold?
Draco sighed, pushing his lustful thoughts away. "She's all right, I suppose. Very much the same. She called me Lucius again yesterday morning," he admitted. "I actually wanted to talk about it with you."
Hermione daintily pulled a slice of bread from the loaf, soaking it in the soup. "About what?"
"St. Mungo's, actually."
She paused, her bread still dunked in the soup. "Have you been thinking about it?"
"Yes. I think it's the right thing to do." Draco sighed, rubbing at his brow. "Doesn't mean I like it, though."
Her hand was atop his in an instant, a clear offering of comfort. "I'm sorry—I know it's hard," she murmured.
Draco looked down at her hand on his, her fingertips swirling gentle patterns on his skin. "I just want to do the best thing, Granger. And I'm not really sure what that is," he admitted.
Bread now totally forgotten, Hermione moved imperceptibly closer to him. A small hand wrapped around his forearm, calling him to attention. "I know you do. I think St. Mungo's would be better. For her, and for you," she said softly.
Draco chuckled lowly. "I could care less about me—I just care about my mother."
"Well, I care about you," Hermione said fiercely.
He looked at her—the ferocity glinting in her warm eyes, the way she watched him with an affection he had never seen from anyone ever before. He didn't even think about his actions before he ducked his head, pressing his lips against hers. "Thank you, Granger," he murmured as he pulled away.
It was Hermione who reached for him again, pressing herself against him, her tongue darting out to taste his lips, asking for permission. Draco granted it to her, parting his lips to allow her access, in awe as he sat here on the floor of this little shop as Hermione Granger, brightest witch of their age, kissed him.
Their tongues flicked together—experimenting, testing—and they found their rhythm. It was short. But it was sweet, and it was perfect. They pulled away, their breathing heavy. Gently, he kissed the side of her mouth in thanks.
"Never thought I'd ever be kissing Draco Malfoy," she said quietly.
"Well, now you've gone and ruined it, Granger," he replied with a small chuckle.
Hermione rested her head on his shoulder. "I really do think it's the right choice, Draco."
"I do, too. I just wanted to hear you say it."
They finished their lunch quietly, Hermione's hand still wrapped around his forearm.
"Thank you," she said again after they had finished and Draco had packed the basket up, wordlessly shrinking it to its smaller size. Once again, her eyes blew wide in awe. "This was lovely."
"It was my pleasure, Granger," he said coolly, knowing it was time for him to leave but not wanting to. He desperately wanted to stay with this witch, with her head on his shoulder and her palm wrapped around his arm.
As she stood in front of him, she seemed to think for a moment before she took a few steps forward and looped her arms around his neck. "You're lovely," she said, seemingly a correction.
Draco felt himself smirk. "Never I thought I'd hear you say those words," he replied, stroking down the length of her proffered arms with the pads of his fingertips.
"Now who's ruining it?" Hermione said with a scoff.
"Like I said: I can't always be charming."
"I relent—you can sometimes be charming."
At her words, he leaned in and kissed her again. Gods, how he loved kissing her. He felt her smile against his lips, and he allowed the tip of his tongue to trace her pretty pink lips, wanting to taste her once more before he had to say goodbye. Her lips opened for him, and he slipped inside for just a few moments before pulling away and kissing her forehead.
"I had a nice time," Hermione said softly.
"We'll do it again soon," Draco promised.
At this, she brightened as she walked him to the door, their hands twined together.
"Good. Owl me tonight?" she asked shyly once they had reached the door.
"I will," he confirmed before pressing another kiss to her cheek. "I'll see you, Granger."
"Bye, Draco," Hermione replied softly.
He smiled at her once more before slipping out the door and apparating back to Malfoy Manor.
Draco could hardly contain himself as he trudged up the steps of the Manor. Merlin, was he happy right now. A lovely hour over soup and finger sandwiches with Hermione Granger and he couldn't help his smile—Gods, he was happy. She had kissed him—really kissed him—and he knew with absolute certainty that he was a goner. He wanted more of her—anything and everything she would give him, he would take but always he would want more.
Why had he ever wanted to feel numb when he could feel this? He had no idea. He didn't want numbness—need it—nor did he need the distance from reality that his firewhiskey provided.
No, he needed none of it. All he wanted no—needed—was Hermione Granger.
Draco's elation soured slightly once he was inside of the Manor, unfortunately.
Jinxy greeted him at the door, clearly waiting, as she anxiously wrung a letter in her gnarled hands. "Sirs!" she shouted as soon as Draco walked through the door.
"Jinxy?" he asked, quickly shrugging off his heavy cloak.
"Sirs has a letter!" Jinxy offered the letter to him, taking his cloak in exchange.
Draco looked hard at the letter for a moment before his stomach dropped; he'd recognize that handwriting anywhere. Lucius Malfoy. Why, the old man had done it. It had certainly taken him long enough.
Fingers trembling, Draco opened the letter.
What he found was long, flowery prose—unexpected from his father—full of promises, declarations of love, statements of how much he missed her. It was beautiful, moving really, how much Lucius truly loved his wife.
Draco was not mentioned in the note once.
Anger flared up inside of him. He was his son. Despite the hatred he held for his own father, Draco was convinced that it was an imperative that parents love their children implicitly and unconditionally.
He'd seen it in the parents of his friends—the way they adored their children. Pansy's father was absolutely devoted to his daughter. He'd seen it in his mother, too—the way she loved him effortlessly and without question. He'd even believed that Lucius had loved him, once.
The he had been offered up to Voldemort as payment, as a sacrifice—Hermione had been wholly right about that as well, Draco could claim he had made the choice to become a Death Eater, but at the end of the day, he was a child who was offered as slave as a repayment of his father's own debts.
That wasn't a choice at all.
Draco fought the urge to crush the missive—ball it up in his hands and toss it out with the rubbish—but he couldn't; his mother needed this. This would brighten her day for sure.
Jinxy was still standing there, staring up at him. "Where's my mother, Jinxy?" he asked, attempting to keep his anger in check.
"In the solarium, sirs!" Jinxy squeaked.
"Thank you, Jinxy," Draco replied, hastily making his way in the direction of the solarium.
He found her at the table, her legs crossed neatly as she read, her reading glasses perched on her nose as she looked down, a frown on her face.
"Mother," he called.
She turned her furrowed expression on him, where it immediately relaxed into a light smile. "Draco, darling," she replied in greeting.
At least she knew who he was. Thank Gods for small miracles.
"Father has written you," Draco said, holding out the letter in front of him, offering it to her.
Narcissa quickly dropped what she had been reading, and Draco could now see that it was The Prophet, and it was open to a page with a picture of Hermione Granger. His mother grabbed the missive from him greedily, and Draco quickly snatched up the paper. As his mother read her own letter, Draco scanned the page, realizing this was the same paper from all those months ago, announcing Hermione's new shop. "Mother, what were you reading about?" he asked casually.
"Why, that filthy little Mudblood has opened up a potions shop. Can you quite believe that?" She replied, her eyes still flitting over her letter.
Draco sighed. That certainly wasn't a good sign. Carefully, so as to not mess the picture of Hermione up, Draco rolled the paper up and tucked it beneath his arm. "What does Father say, Mother?" he asked, even though he had already read it himself.
Narcissa wiped at her eyes neatly. "Oh, just that he misses me, and he'll be home soon. Priscilla sends her love."
Those damnable peacocks again.
Draco offered her weak smile. "Yes, Mother. He will be home soon."
"Where have you been, darling? I was looking for you earlier but Jinxy said you were out," she asked, a strained expression on her face.
"Oh, I just had some business to attend to in Diagon Alley," he offered, even though he desperately wanted to tell his mother: "I just had a lunch date with the most amazing witch."
Oh, what he wouldn't give to be able to confide in his mother, ask for her advice. But even in her right mind, Draco would not be able to do that, given said witch's blood status.
"Business," she tutted. "You are so very like your father."
Draco held back his shudder, gripping the bottom of chair tightly. Growing up, all Draco had wanted was to be exactly like his father, and for many years had attempted to emulate the man he revered so much. He had been a snobby, rude little boy who offended many and endeared very few because that was how to be a Malfoy man.
After his branding, his task, and the subsequent war, Draco found he no longer wanted to be like his father. He wanted to be nothing like him.
Instead of proud, he was ashamed. Instead of strong, he was weak. Instead of powerful, he was nothing—simply someone who deserved to be spit upon while he walked down the street.
I care about you
Her eyes flashed through his head and the swell in his heart was enough to bring himself out of his self-hatred.
Don't do that, don't disappear
He smiled a little, unable to help himself with her words in his head.
"You certainly look happier than you have in a while, my darling," Narcissa said, a little smile tugging at her delicate features.
Draco grinned. "Things seem to be looking up for me, Mother. That's all."
She waggled her eyebrows at him saucily. "Have you been spending time with Astoria?"
"I have," he said simply. It wasn't a lie.
Speaking of Astoria—maybe he'd owl her later. She would be delighted at the developments he and Hermione were making.
"You two are such a lovely match," Narcissa considered, still smiling.
"Indeed, Mother."
The worst match. Just the worst.
She stared at him with abject fondness for a long moment before taking another sip of her tea before standing, smoothing her skirts behind her. "If you'll excuse me, darling. I fancy a bit of a nap before dinner." Narcissa moved to him, bending down and kissing his forehead in a rare display of affection.
"Have a good nap, Mother."
Narcissa walked away gracefully, and once she had disappeared from the solarium, Draco unfurled the newspaper he had stolen. Smoothing it, he promptly opened it to the page announcing the grand opening of Hermione's shop. In it, Hermione stood smiling in front of the door of her shop, her curls tamed and voluminous as they wafted across her shoulders and her eyes shining with excitement. While the Hermione he knew typically dressed casually in jumpers and denims or leggings, this Hermione was wearing a form-fitting cable-knit dress and a pair of heels. Her eyelashes fluttered across her face as she turned to point at the door of her shop with a cheeky grin.
Draco smiled. He was going to keep this.
Smile back in-full, Draco made his way to the owlery in order to send a quick letter to Astoria: There have been developments. Your place, 9? –D
Her response was not nearly as prompt as Hermione's were, but within a few hours, Noctua was patiently tapping at the window of the parlor where Draco sat reading a novel. It said: Tell. Me. Everything. You know the room. –A
Hours later, Draco stood in front of room 309 of the Leaky Cauldron, his fist rapping lightly against the door.
It was thrown open in an instant. "Draco Malfoy, you trollop!" Astoria grinned, her blue eyes bright with mirth, her hair thrown up in a messy bun.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Trollop, I am not."
She ushered him inside to the kitchen, where a bottle of firewhiskey and two tumblers were waiting for them. Astoria forced him into a seat at the island by a push of his shoulders and immediately began to pour them both large glasses of the liquid. "So—?" she began, leading.
"We kissed," he admitted instantly, grateful that he could finally tell someone.
Astoria shrieked. "When?"
"Last week. And today." Draco furrowed his brows, taking a sip. "I think we might've gone on a date today, actually."
Astoria leaned across the counter of the island, elbows wide and resting as she held her face in her hands, enticed. "Where'd you take her?"
Draco shook his head. "Nowhere, I just brought her lunch at work. We sat on the floor and ate and talked. And kissed."
"Tongue?"
"Yes."
"Draco, you absolute rascal."
"She initiated it."
"She kissed you?"
"I mean, no. I kissed her. She's the one who started with the tongue."
"She's a saucy little witch, isn't she?"
Draco sighed. "I'm so out of my element here, Astoria."
"And you came to me for advice?" Astoria laughed. "I go to bars to pick up witches for one night. I know nothing about real relationships."
"And I'm the trollop here?"
"This is a slut-shame free zone, Draco Malfoy."
"Teasing, Astoria. Only teasing."
Draco paused, taking a thoughtful sip of his drink.
Astoria sighed and swirled her tumbler with her fingers nimbly. "For what it's worth, I thought she was going to hex me that night I touched your cheek. She likes you, too. And I liked her," she admitted with a little shrug of her shoulders.
"I'm going to mess it up."
"With that attitude? Absolutely."
"Gods, why do I keep owling you?"
Astoria smirked. "Because you know I won't lie to you simply to sooth your delicate sensibilities."
"You absolutely wound me, Astoria."
Astoria chuckled before catching his eye and fixing her gaze on his. "Look, if you want my advice, the only thing I can tell you is to just keep doing what you're doing. And stay out of your own head, it's a mess up there."
Draco nodded in agreement. After a long pause, he spoke softly, avoiding her gaze: "I'm thinking about St. Mungo's."
Astoria perked up at that. "Granger?" she asked curiously.
He sighed. "Yes and no," he replied, taking a sip.
Astoria stared at him expectantly, eyebrow raised.
"She's been trying to find something—create something. So far, she's had no luck. And if she can't, who can? St. Mungo's can care for her full-time, something she rightly pointed out that I can't do."
"You nearly hexed me when I suggested it."
"Well, I didn't want to snog you, now, did I?"
"You didn't want to snog her either, did you?" Astoria taunted.
Draco tilted his head, eyebrow raised. "I think we both know that was, in fact, a lie."
"And he finally admits it!" Astoria said with a laugh, slamming her tumbler down on the counter, liquid sloshing over the sides of the glass.
Draco laughed with her, feeling the pleasant buzz of alcohol. They continued to drink and talk and laugh until Draco suddenly realized that it was late—very late. "Shite, Astoria. What time is it?"
"Nearing midnight," she replied.
"Fuck."
"What's wrong? Are you all right?" she asked, concern furrowing her brow.
"I promised Hermione I'd owl her!"
Astoria smirked. "Hermione, eh?"
"I've got to go—"
Astoria chuckled. "Hang on, Vizzy is probably out here somewhere." Walking to the far side of the room, Astoria threw open a window and stuck her head out and bellowed: "VIZ!"
A few moments later and a little barn owl came hurtling through the open window at break-neck pace. The owl landed clumsily on the back of the couch before her momentum had her hurtling over, flipping onto the floor. The little owl picked herself up with a soft hoo.
Astoria grinned at the little owl before picking it up and running her hand affectionately over its ruffled feathers. "My friend Draco needs your help, little girl."
Wordlessly, Draco conjured some parchment and a quill and hastily penned an apologetic note to Hermione:
Apologies this is so late, Granger, I hope I'm not waking you. Astoria says hello. I had a wonderful time with you today, in case you were wondering, and I do fully intend for us to do it again, very soon. I rather like kissing the brightest witch of our age. I'll see you soon, Granger. –D
Draco stood, letter in hand, and walked to where Astoria stood with her silly owl. Quickly, he tied the letter Vizzy's leg and stooped to speak to her, "I need you to take this to Hermione Granger; 12 Grimmauld Place."
The owl cooed before taking off towards the window, nearly clipping a wing in her haste.
"Hermione, uh?"
"I hate you."
"Draco Malfoy: romantic. Who knew?"
"Shut up, Astoria.