While the couch initially proved to be comfortable, it was not to remain so. As such, Draco found himself wide awake in the middle of the night. Realizing that he was in Hermione's flat rather than at the Manor, Draco tried to lull himself back to sleep without much success. After an hour, Draco gave up and stealthily made his way into the kitchen for a glass of water. Sipping his water, Draco leaned against the counter and peered out into the street below, which was highlighted in great part by the rounded moon that hung in the sky.
It was a nice neighborhood, based on the modern, sleek lines of the architecture of the buildings surrounding and the tidy, well-kept lawns that accompanied them. The sidewalks were clean of debris and shone with what could only be scheduled and expert maintenance. As it was the middle of night, there were no passersby on the street below, which could not be said for a seedier neighborhood.
Ghosts had been Hermione's pretense for Draco to stay, but Draco knew that there were worse threats than ghosts—live wizards for instance. Truthfully, that was Draco's real reason for staying—he had to make sure that her neighborhood was safe—that her home was safe—that she was safe.
His fears assuaged, Draco took another long sip from his water glass, wishing it was firewhiskey, if only because it could grant him the gift of sleep in a home that was not his own, on piece of furniture he did not own.
Suddenly, he felt so fiercely for Hermione it nearly knocked the breath out of him. She had been sleeping on a couch for weeks. The thought of her sleeping on furniture she did not own, displaced from her home, made his heart ache desperately.
And the Weasel had allowed that to happen. He should have been the one to leave, to sleep on the couch without the pleasures of all his earthly belongings. Instead, he had let Hermione be the one to suffer—for weeks—alone on a transfigured couch she did not own.
But then, Draco had seen the way Weasley treated her—both demanding of her but passive when it came to her own words. The way he crowded her, pushed her, thinking only of him and his wants but never hers—never what she wanted—
Draco shook his head. Thinking about the Weasel in the middle of the night was not productive, and certainly not conducive to sleep.
What he truly wanted, if he was being quite honest with himself, what he wanted—more than firewhiskey, even—was to go into the master bedroom where one Hermione Granger laid fast asleep and crawl into the bed next to her and wrap his arms around her. He wanted to hold her now, his heart aching so fiercely for her because she had slept on a damn couch.
"Draco?" came a soft voice behind him. Draco whirled around to find Hermione, curls wild and eyes bleary, wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, her arms crossed over her chest as if she were cold.
"I couldn't sleep. I hope I didn't wake you up."
She shook her head and filled a glass of water for herself. "No, you didn't." She came over to him and leaned against the counter next to him. "You're so pale, and with the moon, I thought you were a ghost for a second."
"The very thing I'm supposed to be protecting you from," Draco mused.
"Are you cold? I can get you another blanket," Hermione offered.
"No, I'm all right. Go back to bed, Hermione."
"You go back to bed," she argued, albeit sleepily.
"I'm a tall man, and you have a small couch," Draco replied.
Hermione tilted her head up at him to peer up at him, and she blinked at him blearily. "You're uncomfortable. Oh, gods," she murmured.
"I said I was all right," Draco offered.
"No," she murmured, grabbing his hand and pulling him with her. "There's plenty of room in the bed."
Draco's heart stuttered hopefully in his chest, even as he realized that a half-asleep Hermione did not realize the implications of such a proclamation, even if he very much did. He felt his heart thrum in his chest with every step he took behind her, following her into her bedroom.
Just as with the rest of the flat, it was partially unpacked, but this room appeared to have been more thoughtfully organized. In the center of the room, placed directly in front of the vast window, was a queen-sized bed—Hermione Granger's bed, his brain reminded him unhelpfully—unmade with soft white sheets, and a goose-down comforter doused in a pleasing shade of yellow. The furniture: a dark mahogany; shining brightly as yet untarnished by everyday use. There was a rug at the end of the bed, multicolored with hints of blue, and yellow, and orange. Pictures littered the furniture, hastily placed and not yet arranged in what would become their designated spaces.
Heart still thrumming, Hermione dropped his hand and climbed unceremoniously onto the left side of the bed, pulling the comforter up over her shoulders. "Left side's mine," was all that she said, closing her tired eyes.
Draco stood at the right side of the bed for a long moment, his heart beating so hard he could hear it in the drum of his ears. But this had been her idea—however ill-conceived it had been—after all, and this had been what he wanted, hadn't it? Draco gulped, coming to a decision. He climbed into the bed beside her and pulled the covers up over himself. Lying on his side facing her back, his fingertips ached to reach out a touch her. So he did. Lightly, he rested the fingers of his hand on the curve of her waist, even as he desperately wanted to continue and pull her close. Certainly, he could settle for this.
Stretching out his legs freely, Draco smiled and closed his eyes.
When he awoke with the bright light of day, they were not as such. At some time in the expanse of the night, Draco decided he definitely couldn't settle, and his hand had drifted to her lower belly, where it still rested as he held her close. Noting the position they had begun in, at some point in the night, Hermione herself had decided herself that she wanted more, as she now lay closer to the middle of the bed, with her ankle entwined with Draco's and her hair threatening to invade Draco's face.
Draco was equal parts horrified and enthralled at the position he currently found himself in, and it was only then that he realized that Hermione was no longer, in fact, asleep. He quickly withdrew his traitorous hands from her body with a muttered, "Sorry."
There was bit of silence that seemed to last much too long, before Hermione rolled to face him, with a soft smile on her face. "Don't be. I was cozy."
"I didn't mean to—"
"Draco, it's all right," Hermione insisted, sliding closer to Draco's retreating form.
"No, I shouldn't—"
She silenced him with a kiss. It was soft at first, meant only as a sweet 'good morning' but it quickly changed from that. She pressed deeper, taking charge. Her tongue did not ask for entry but demanded it. Her taste, her smell, invaded him and Draco pushed back in kind. He couldn't get enough of her lips, her taste, and it seemed that she felt the same.
Her hands were on him. On his neck, caressing him with the pads of her fingertips—they were in his hair, running through the strands before finding the tips at his neck, gently pulling at the strands. They dropped lower, onto his chest, a palm gently pressing the muscles of his chest as she kissed him with vigor.
Then lower, as her fingers dipped below the hem of his t-shirt, where they once more began to ascend, her hands skimming the naked skin of his bare chest. Her palms found the middle of his chest once more and found the sparse curls of the pale blond that smattered his chest. Her palms diverged and began to explore his chest, smoothly running her palm across him, grazing a nipple and Draco shivered at the sensation.
As she continued her exploration, hands wandering now to his back and the muscles that lay there, Draco fought the immense urge to touch her back. He wanted to rip her t-shirt from her body and explore her the way she was exploring him—he wanted to touch her, to taste her, to make her shiver the way he did when the pad of a finger ran down the length of his spine.
She divested him of his t-shirt and pushed him down on the bed, straddling him from above as she continued to kiss him. Unable to deny himself every semblance of touch, Draco allowed himself to grasp her lightly at the curve of her waist, wanting very much to slide his hand further and palm her arse.
It was then, just with the lightest touch, that Hermione pulled away from him, gasping for breath. Her eyes, lustful, and blown wide. As she met his eyes, sense seemed to reach her, and she scrambled from him. "Oh, gods," she began.
Draco sat up quickly, "Hermione—"
"No, I'm sorry, I can't—"
"Hermione—" he tried again.
"Draco, it's too soon—"
"I know," Draco replied.
"I'm sorry, I went too far, but I can't—we can't—"
"Hermione," Draco said gently, grabbing her arm and pulling it towards him and away from her face which she had buried in her hands.
She looked up at him sorrowfully, her face red with embarrassment.
"We weren't going to have sex," Draco said softly.
"That's kind of where it was headed—" Hermione argued.
Draco sighed and gently cupped her cheek. "It wasn't going to go much further than that, I promise you."
She gulped when she looked at them. "It wasn't? Even if I—?"
"Even if. We're not ready for that yet," Draco reasoned, running the pad of his thumb across her cheek soothingly.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
"Don't be," Draco replied thickly. "I'm not exactly complaining."
Hermione seemed to calm at this. "It's your fault for being so bloody attractive," she grumbled.
At this, he smiled. "Oh, am I now?" Draco asked cheekily.
"You know you are, you utter prat."
He smiled at her and kissed her gently on the corner of her mouth—unwilling to let it go any further, because good gods, he was just a man, and he wasn't sure he had the self-restraint to deny himself a second time—"As are you," he murmured to her.
Hermione jerked at this. "You think I'm attractive?" she asked in a small voice.
Of course Hermione Granger didn't believe she was attractive—of course. Once more, Draco's heart ached for her. Another kiss to the opposite corner of her mouth. "I think you're ravishing," he murmured.
She shivered at his words, and he pulled away slightly. Her eyes were heavy-lidded as he looked at her, and she gave him a small smile. "I think I like you quite a lot, Draco Malfoy," she said softly.
Draco couldn't help but smile back. "I'm glad we're on the same page then."
After a simple breakfast of eggs and toast—the only things that currently existed in Hermione's kitchen—and a few stolen kisses, Draco returned home feeling more rested and content than he had in his current visible memory.
Sunday, however, was half-gone already due to Draco's attention to Hermione, and he had very many things to do in preparation for Tuesday. Money had to be transferred, bags to be packed, documents to be signed, and then came the dreaded task of attempting to explain to his mother what was going on, and then her subsequent transport to St. Mungo's.
Draco was quite sure none of it would go quietly, or at all to plan.
While not in her right mind, Narcissa Malfoy was still a formidable witch. The first task at hand was getting her wand away from her. Draco was a practiced wizard himself, but his mother had decades of knowledge that far surpassed his own, and he knew he stood no chance against her magic. Secondly, wands were not allowed in the Janus Thickey Ward, save for those belonging to the staff.
The thought stilled Draco. Once he wrangled her wand from her, his mother would never bear one again. The thought was devastating, and Draco immediately sought a drink in the kitchen, just to rid himself of it.
Upon finishing his beverage, Draco called Jinxy. Not since Hogwarts or his service to Voldemort had he ever stayed away from the Manor for more than a few hours. Draco felt the happiness and contentment slip away as the dread settled in.
Jinxy appeared with a loud pop. "Yes, Masters?"
"Where's my mother? Is she all right?" Draco asked the elf.
Jinxy nodded vigorously. "Mistress is all right. Mistress has a guest in the parlor."
A guest. A bloody guest.
"What?" Draco asked in disbelief.
"Miss Greengrass is here!" Jinxy exclaimed excitedly.
Draco felt the dread building inside of him relent at the thought that it was just Astoria. "Astoria?" he asked, hopeful.
"Yes, Miss Astoria Greengrass," Jinxy confirmed.
"All right, Jinxy. Can you take me to them right now?"
"Yes, Jinxy cans!" she said, reaching for his hand, which he gratefully took.
Instantly, Draco found himself in the parlor, where his mother sat in her usual chair, and Astoria sat next to her. Astoria's eyes went wide at the sight of Draco, then flicked to Naricssa, and then gave a subtle shake of her head, that Draco translated to, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"Mother," Draco greeted. "Miss Greengrass." He nodded to Astoria.
"Oh, Draco, there you are!" Narcissa exclaimed in delight. "Look who's been so kind as to join us! You didn't tell me the Greengrasses would be in town during holiday!"
Draco smiled blandly at his mother and Astoria. "I wasn't aware, Mother. I assumed they'd be spending holiday in Switzerland as they always do."
Astoria returned a polite smile, playing the part beautifully. "Oh, yes. Mother, Father, and Daphne are all in Switzerland. I just had so much coursework to catch up on that I begged to stay in London," Astoria replied.
"It's simply not proper for a young lady to be left alone, now, is it, Draco?"
Draco's thoughts drifted immediately to a Hermione, who now lived alone, and was probably unpacking the rest of her belongings at this very moment. He wondered, idly, what Hermione's thoughts would be on his mother's comment. "No, certainly not, Mother."
"As such," Narcissa began, delicately stirring her tea, "I've invited her to stay here for the duration of the holiday. Isn't that wonderful, darling?"
Draco gritted his teeth and his glance instantly shot to Astoria, who widened her eyes and raised a shoulder in a half-shrug, that he translated to: "What the fuck did you want me to do?"
"Yes, quite," Draco replied.
Narcissa, with a conspiratorial smile, rose from her seat. "Now, there is much for me to do today. I'll let you two chat." Narcissa shot Draco a small, knowing—albeit wildly incorrect—smile and left.
Astoria's smile remained plastered on her face for another few moments before she let it drop. "What the fuck, Draco?" she hissed.
"You tell me!" he shot back fiercely.
"Where have you been?"
"Why are you here?"
"Because I got an owl last night—your mother was asking for Daphne and me to have tea with her. And you're lucky, Draco—you're fucking lucky—that it came to me and not the Estate—because Daphne would've come. And what the fuck would you have done then?" Astoria spat.
"I don't know!" Draco shouted. "I don't fucking know!"
"Daphne would have showed up here, completely unaware, and—"
Draco felt all the tension drain from his body, replaced wholly with exhaustion. "I know, Astoria, I know. I made a mistake, I know."
Astoria seemed to soften at this. "Granger?" she asked quietly.
Draco nodded, not meeting her eyes. "I know it was a mistake. I just—for one night—she just moved into a new place and she asked me to stay, and how could I say 'no,' Astoria? The witch I'm falling for asks me to spend the night because her flat might be haunted, and I'm just supposed to say 'no'—"
Astoria sighed deeply. "Of course you can't tell her 'no.' But you could have told me, I would have come sit with your mother."
Draco exhaled. "I didn't even think about that, Astoria. But you're right. I've had a very long week, and my mind is not working properly, and —"
"You just wanted to be with your girlfriend," Astoria finished softly.
"Yeah," Draco replied. "Just one night."
"How was the sex?" Astoria asked boldly.
Draco glared at her. "We are not having sex yet, Astoria," he said icily.
Astoria looked affronted. "Why not?" she asked.
"Because we're not ready to have sex, Astoria—not that it's any of your business."
Astoria's expression remained, joined with a wrinkling of her nose. "What do you mean 'you're not ready.' Are you a virgin? Is she?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "You know I'm not, and I assume she's not either, but that's not the point."
"Then I'm missing said point," Astoria replied.
Draco sighed. "I really like her, Astoria," he began softly. "I think I could love her—and I think we could really be together. But it's still new, even despite the intensity of my feelings, and without knowing hers...sex could mess everything up, Astoria."
Astoria still looked confused. "I'm still not understanding."
Draco nodded. "One day you will. One day you'll meet someone that just, I don't know—permeates you, body and soul, everything that you are—and you'll understand."
"So...no sex," Astoria said slowly.
"No sex. Yet," Draco amended. "Hopefully, in the future."
Astoria smirked at him knowingly. "How badly do you want to fuck her?"
Draco groaned. "Gods, so badly."
She laughed heartily then. "Well, then. When sex is about to happen, let me know. I'll come and sit with your mother."
"First of all, that's not usually how sex works, but I see your point. Secondly, thank you for the offer; that's incredibly kind of you. Thirdly, that's absolutely unnecessary—I'm having Mother checked into St. Mungo's on Tuesday."
Astoria gaped. "I know you said you were doing it, but I never thought you'd actually do it."
Draco nodded. "Neither did I. But I'm tired, Astoria. I'm 21, and I'm exhausted. And I probably would've gone on like this for another few years, but—"
"You're building a life now," Astoria finished.
"I'm trying to," Draco said quietly. "Is it wrong of me to put in her St. Mungo's just so I can have a girlfriend?"
"That's not why you're doing it, though, Draco," Astoria reasoned.
"Isn't it?" Draco argued.
"No, I don't think it is. I think she's a contributing factor and your voice of reason—gods know you needed that—but I don't think she's the sole reason you're doing this."
"I love my mother," Draco said sadly.
"I know, Draco."
Draco sighed deeply. "You're right. It's not just because of Hermione."
"Hermione?" Astoria teased.
Draco gave her a baleful look. "She doesn't like when I call her 'Granger.'"
"I wonder why," Astoria mused.
"Because I bullied her, Astoria. Relentlessly and horrifically," Draco added after a moment.
"Her words?" Astoria asked.
"We've...we've never actually discussed it," Draco admitted, suddenly feeling horribly guilty.
"What do you mean you've never discussed it?" Astoria exclaimed.
"It's never come up," Draco defended.
"What do you mean 'it's never come up?'"
"You're exhausting," Draco lamented.
"You bullied her—in your words: 'Relentlessly and horrifically'—and you two have never even talked about it? What? Are you just pretending it never happened?"
"I suppose," Draco replied.
"Yeah, that's healthy," said Astoria sarcastically.
Draco buried his head in his hands. "It's already cocked up, isn't it?" he asked.
"No," Astoria said harshly. "But it will be if you don't acknowledge the past and apologize to her."
Draco nodded thoughtfully, and idea suddenly springing forth. "This chat has been most illuminating, Astoria," he said as he rose, "but I have a letter to write.".
Draco reached his bedroom and he quietly shut the door behind him and hurriedly made his way to his desk, finding both parchment and quill, and he began to write:
Dear Hermione,
I spoke with Astoria today, and she promptly informed me that I am a right arse. And do you know what? She is correct. Today you asked me if I found you attractive, and the thought occurred to me: How could she not think I find her attractive? And then, another thought occurred to me: Is this my fault?
I bullied you, for years. I was horrible to you, behind your back and to your face. I called you horrible names—names which I will never say again, I promise you—and made fun of your appearance, and your intelligence, and your very existence in this world.
I was raised to believe horrible things about people, and as a child, I did not question it. That's no excuse, and I don't mean to make one. I just want you to understand the things I said to you, they were ingrained in me.
That sounds like an excuse, doesn't it? It's not. I was horrible to you. Me. No one else.
I think you're beautiful, Hermione. You are kind, and you are the most brilliant witch I've ever met, and every moment I'm in your presence I feel like I am better for it.
You told me today that you liked me quite a bit, and I need you to know that I feel the same, which is the purpose of this letter. These are things I can't say out loud, but things I need you to know nonetheless:
I want to be with you, Hermione
I was horrible to you when were younger
You deserved none of it
I am so deeply sorry, for all of it
If I could change it, I would
I can't wait to see you again
Draco
As he dropped the quill, Draco wondered for the briefest second if it was too much. And in that instant, he didn't care. In that instant, it was not nearly enough. Without thinking, Draco walked to the owlery, the cool night air slapping pleasantly across his face. He tied the letter to Noctua and sent the owl off to Hermione's new address.
Noctua returned within a half-hour, before Draco even made his way away from the aperture of the owlery, a missive tied tightly to his leg. Draco pulled it free and unfolded the letter. It was simple, two words: Come over.
Draco needed no further prompting. In an instant he apparated to the street in front of Hermione's building. Taking the stairs two at a time, Draco made it to her flat quickly, and he tapped at the door.
As if she had been expecting him, the door was flung open within seconds. Hermione stood on the other side, her face puffy and red—she'd obviously been crying.
"Hermione," he murmured, stepping inside, "what's wrong?"
"Your letter," she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close.
Draco wrapped his arms around her. "I didn't want to make you cry," he murmured into her curls.
"How else was I supposed to respond to that?" she cried.
"I don't know," he replied honestly. "But I didn't want you to cry."
"I forgive you," she murmured into his ear.
"You shouldn't."
"But I do."
"Why?" he asked softly.
"Because you're not that person anymore," she replied. "You're so far from that boy that bullied me at school."
"That doesn't change the past, Hermione," he argued.
"It doesn't," she agreed. "You were horrible to me. To my friends. There are two of you in my head, you know that? There's Malfoy and there's Draco. Malfoy was the one who was horrible to me. Who hurt me. And then there's Draco, who takes me out for ice cream because I'm sad, and helps me move, and tries to save me from my telly, and writes me letters like this—" she said, producing said letter.
"I just wanted you to know," Draco replied softly.
Hermione gripped him even tighter. "Thank you. I needed to know."
"There are two of me in your head, but for me there's only you. Hermione or Granger, you're the same. You'll always be the girl I hurt, but you'll never not be the girl who tried to help me despite it. You'll never not be girl who stood up for me when I didn't deserve it. You'll never not be the girl who gave me a fucking chance despite it all," Draco murmured.
Her hands rose to his face, cupping it gently, fingertips stroking his jaw soothingly. "I want to be with you, too, Draco," she said quietly.
Draco's eyes rose hesitantly to meet hers. "You do?" he asked.
Hermione's fingers found the strands of hair at the back of his neck and she pulled at them lightly. "Yes," she murmured. "Very much."
Draco let out a shaky breath.
"Can I tell you something?" Hermione asked quietly.
"You can tell me anything," Draco replied, meaning it.
"I've only been in love once, but it never felt like this."
"I've never felt like this," Draco murmured back.
"Can you stay tonight?" she asked, her arms still wrapped around him.
"No, I can't. I wish I could. My mother summoned the Greengrass sisters last night—"
"Hence Astoria," Hermione finished.
"Yes. Although, Astoria could watch my mother—she offered!" Draco defended, as Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.
Hermione softened. "No, go home. Your mother won't be there much longer. Go home."
"Hermione, I—"
"I'm not a demanding girlfriend, Draco."
His heart stuttered at the word. "Girlfriend?" he asked.
Hermione's eyes flitted away from his, as if uncertain. "If that's what I am."
Draco kissed her then, deeply. "Girlfriend," he muttered against her lips. "Hermione Granger is my girlfriend."
She smiled up at him as he broke the kiss. "Go home, Draco. We have plenty of time."
Draco smiled broadly. "Yes, I think we do."
Needless to say, Draco got nothing done on Sunday between toast and eggs and letters and heartfelt confessions to Hermione on her doormat. It was Monday now, and he had to be more productive. Thankfully, Astoria was in staying in the Manor and Draco knew she'd be useful.
"I need help getting my mother's wand away from her," he had said.
"Are you crazy?" she had asked.
"Only slightly. Only slightly."
"How am I supposed to do that?" she had exclaimed.
"You distract and I shall abscond."
"Draco, you're insane."
"Do you have a better plan? Ask nicely, perhaps?" he had asked.
"No, but—"
"But—?"
"You're still insane," she had affirmed. "What's your plan?"
Draco had shrugged. "A nice tea perhaps. You play Astoria. Tell her about a society scandal or something. She'll be delighted. When she's distracted, I'll grab her wand."
Astoria stared at him for a long moment. "Draco, that's not a plan at all."
Draco had thought for a moment. "It's the best I've got at the moment, and if you hadn't noticed, I am running out of time."
"And when she notices it missing?" Astoria had asked with a raised brow.
"I'll lie, obviously."
She had rolled her eyes. "What? You'll tell her it's gone in for a bit of a tune-up?"
Draco had responded with an equally dramatic eyeroll, "She's just misplaced it, and I'll help her look for it in the morning."
"This is idiotic."
"Are you in or not?" Draco had asked.
"In," she had replied.
So here they were, having a delightful tea with Narcissa. Astoria was on her best behavior, as always, and Draco sat next to his mother, quietly sipping tea as Astoria and his mother chattered.
There was a brief lull in the conversation, and Draco's eyes shot to Astoria's. "Oh!" Astoria exclaimed, her eyes rising as if she had just remembered something terribly important. "Narcissa, I have heard the most salacious piece of gossip!"
Narcissa took a sip of her tea before placing the cup primly on the saucer. She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Do tell me, dear," she urged.
"Do you remember the Nott family? Theodore?" she asked.
"Draco's friend? Certainly. Terribly gangly little boy, if I remember correctly. A bit of a troublemaker, too. What has he done now?"
Astoria leaned in close, as if to tell Narcissa her deepest secret. Narcissa, mirroring Astoria's body language, leaned in as well.
At his side, Draco's fingers twitched, preparing to grab his mother's wand stealthily.
"Rumor has it that he's dating a Muggleborn," Astoria said lowly.
"A Mudblood?" Narcissa asked in surprise.
Astoria nodded in confirmation. "I've seen them myself. He dotes on the girl, adores her, really. It is the most disturbing sight to behold. She has the bushiest hair I've ever seen," Astoria replied.
Draco resisted the urge to defend the witch in question—obviously a thinly disguised reference to his relationship with Hermione—and bit his tongue. With his long fingers and Seeker reflexes, he was easily able to snatch his mother's wand. Tucking it into the sleeve of his suit, Draco nodded to Astoria—a signal that the mission had been completed.
"The Granger girl?" Narcissa asked. "She always has the bushiest hair."
Astoria smiled broadly. "The very one," Astoria confirmed.
Narcissa sighed wistfully. "Love is so very strange," she mused.
Draco's eyes shot to his mother in surprise. "It does not anger you, Mother?" he asked slowly.
She seemed to ponder for a moment. "It is unfortunate that he has sullied himself with her impure blood, and their children will be abominations, but the heart does want what the heart wants, after all."
Astoria's horrified gaze shot to Draco, who had visibly paled. "Such an interesting viewpoint, Narcissa," she said quietly.
Draco gripped the bottom of his chair, the wood of his mother's wand digging sharply into the crook of his elbow.
"Of course," Narcissa continued, unfazed. "When the Dark Lord returns, she will be cleansed. Poor boy."
Draco coughed sharply, choking on air.
"Are you all right, darling?" Narcissa asked, concerned.
Draco gulped down some tea and nodded vigorously at his mother. "Yes, quite," he replied hoarsely.
Astoria looked to Draco, her eyes shining with an apology.
Draco shook his head slightly. He had told her to create a scandal, after all.
"Draco, dear, I seemed to have misplaced my wand. Have you seen it?" Narcissa asked suddenly.
"No, Mother," he said after a moment. "But I'm certain you did not have it when you sat down. Perhaps it is in your bedroom?"
Narcissa looked thoughtful. "Yes, perhaps," she agreed. "It is getting rather late anyways; I shall leave you two alone." With a kiss to Draco's cheek, Narcissa swept out of the room.
"Draco, I'm so sorry—" Astoria immediately began,
Draco instantly held up his hand. "I told you to create a scandal, and you did. We succeeded."
Astoria looked at him oddly. "I'm sorry about the things she said," she said softly.
Draco nodded curtly. "That's how she felt in 1994, I'm certain. I couldn't have expected anything else."
"I shouldn't have pulled Granger into it."
"Perhaps not," he replied tightly.
"I just thought—"
"Astoria, it's fine. Now, I must be going. It is getting late and I'd really like to owl Hermione before I go to bed. I've got an early day tomorrow," he said quietly.
With a sigh, Astoria rose and walked over to where Draco still sat. She leaned down and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind. "I really am sorry, Draco. Good luck tomorrow. Let me know if you need anything."
"Thank you, Astoria."
Draco remained at the table for several more minutes, his mother's words reeling in his head. An abomination. She will be cleansed. Draco shuddered and a deep sadness filled him. His last night with his mother and it had been like this.
No. He couldn't let it be like this.
Draco walked to his mother's room and rapped his knuckle lightly against the door. "Mother," he called.
"Come in!"
Draco stepped inside, and found his mother at her vanity, brushing her fine blonde locks with a golden brush. "I just wanted to say goodnight, Mother," he said quietly, making his way over to her. He fell to his knees and dropped his head into her lap, the way he used to when he was just a boy. "I love you, Mother," Draco said softly.
For a moment, Narcissa was surprised, before her fingers found his hair, stroking it delicately. "And I love you, darling."
It was a portrait very reminiscent of a much younger, much more innocent Draco showing his mother his affection, and her returning it in kind. In that moment, perhaps for the very last time, Draco once more felt like his mother's little boy, her only son, instead of the weary man he had been forced to become.
The last time, he thought, and nearly wept.