Andromeda Black Tonks became a regular figure in Draco's life over the following weeks. He found that he enjoyed her company immensely, and Hermione encouraged their relationship every chance she got. Draco had yet to resume his work at Elixir with Hermione, and more often than not, she suggested for him to reach out to Andromeda. It was obvious to Draco that Hermione wanted him to stay busy, and to keep his mind off of his mother.
Some days it worked.
While Draco did not know his aunt very well, he found her quite familiar, and he was comfortable in her presence, even when he wasn't sure what to say to her. She looked so much like his mother that oftentimes when he looked at her, he'd freeze for a second, certain that he'd just seen a ghost. But then Andromeda would turn to him. She was shorter and smaller than his mother, and her hair shorter. But the eyes—the eyes were the same.
He took comfort in that.
"Tell me about her," Draco said one day over steak and kidney pies at a Muggle pub in London. "What she was like when you were kids."
Andromeda laughed. "Oh, Narcissa was such a priss when we were children. I was the tomboy—always in the mud, always coming home with bruises and scrapes because I'd find a tree I just had to climb—it horrified my mother, of course. Bella, well she was the recluse. Very intense, as I'm sure you can very well imagine. Her nose was always buried in a book. But 'Cissa," Andromeda paused and shook her head. "She was my mother's favorite. Always in a pretty dress, not a hair out of place. Her room was always immaculate. It used to drive Bella and I batty."
Draco felt his lips quirk. "Sounds about right," he said with a nod.
"She was always the smartest one of us, though," Andromeda continued. "I don't think anyone ever realized how smart she was—not even our parents. She knew how to put on the pureblood princess persona better than anyone. But underneath it." Andromeda shook her head. "I don't know what was underneath it. But she was more than she ever showed the world."
"I wish she had been free to be herself," Draco said wistfully.
Andromeda shook her head. "I don't think anyone realizes how difficult it was to do what I did—flouting pureblood customs the way that I did. I never wanted an arranged marriage, but I was a good pureblood girl, and I would've done it. If I hadn't met Ted, that is."
"I understand," Draco replied. "I mean I don't, but—if I was faced with an arranged marriage and well—I'd run with Hermione. The way you did. There's not a question in my mind."
"I admit that I was a bit shocked when Harry told me that you and Hermione were together," Andromeda admitted, taking a sip of tea.
"Because of my father?" Draco asked, his voice growing bitter.
Andromeda nodded. "Lucius was always quite vocal about blood purity. I figured you'd take after him in that regard."
"I did," Draco admitted. "Until the War. And then I didn't. I realized it was all bullshit pretty early on. And Hermione—Hermione is the best person that I know."
"It makes me so happy to hear you say that, Draco. That you've been able to see past all the blood purity nonsense and find a witch," Andromeda replied with a smile.
"My mother really liked her," Draco said.
"Of course she did," Andromeda replied fiercely. "Intelligence recognizes intelligence. Cunning recognizes cunning."
"I'm glad, at the very least, I got that. If I'd never known if she'd have approved of Hermione…" Draco trailed off. "I would've spent my entire life wondering."
"You intend to marry her?" Andromeda asked.
Draco looked up at her sharply—it was the first time anyone had ever asked him that. Draco stuttered for a moment before replying, "I mean—we've never talked about it. We haven't been together all that long—"
Andromeda rolled her eyes, a gesture so similar to his mother. "Do you want to marry the witch, Draco?" she asked bluntly.
Draco thought briefly of his mother's ring, the one he had found in his father's drawer back at the Manor. How it would look on Hermione's left ring finger. He looked Andromeda directly in her eyes. "Yes," he said quietly.
Andromeda clapped lightly. "I knew it! I just knew it was serious. The way she looks at you—"
"Andromeda, please," Draco begged, feeling a blush creep up his neck. "We've never even talked about it—"
Another sip of tea, and Andromeda was waving him off. "I'm sorry, dear, I'm so sorry. I admit I have a million questions about you, and your life, and Hermione. I do my best not to overwhelm you, but—well, I am nosy."
"We're private, Hermione and I," he said slowly. "We have to be."
"I heard about that article, claiming that you Imperiused her," Andromeda replied quietly. "I don't get The Prophet—it's bullshit, excuse my French—but I heard about it."
"Ah, yes. That lovely piece of journalism," Draco drawled bitterly. "How could I forget?" He laughed. "Well, I'll tell you the basics, since you're so nosy, and in the interest of being family—She owns a potion shop in Diagon Alley, which is how we—reconnected, I suppose. I thought she could create a potion to help Mother's condition." Draco paused. "Obviously, she didn't. But, well—she tried. I fell for her. Hard. She—I don't know. She got under my skin. I'm not—I'm not used to being open with anyone but her, I guess. Sorry—"
Andromeda smiled. "Quite all right, Draco, dear. Your father was as emotionally immature as they come, and well, Narcissa—Narcissa just went along with it." She shook her head.
"Because she had to, to protect me," Draco replied defensively.
Andromeda seemed to think for a moment before she nodded. "Yes," she agreed. "That is true."
"Do not blame my mother," Draco said coldly his eyes narrowing.
Andromeda shook her head vigorously. "No, no. I'd never. I just—I just wished she'd divorced him sooner."
Draco stilled. Divorced him sooner. "What?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
Andromeda looked at him, her expression both shocked and sorrowful. "I'm—I thought you knew."
"Knew what?" he asked.
Immediately, Andromeda looked uncomfortable. She crossed her hands in her lap. "Draco, I don't—"
"Tell me," he interrupted coldly. "My father wasn't mentioned once in my mother's will, which I thought was odd. Tell me."
Andromeda swallowed daintily. "Narcissa had been legally separated from Lucius since the end of the War," she said quietly. "The divorce was finalized—right before she died."
"What?" Draco asked dumbly. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth.
"I—I thought she would've told you. I don't know if I should be the one—"
"You are the only one," Draco interrupted angrily. "She's gone and my father loved her, and what—?"
"And she loved him. Until she wanted to run, to hide, to keep you safe. Lucius refused. She still loved him then. But then you had to take the Mark, and she was so angry with him—you almost died, Draco." Her voice shook. "She was so angry." She paused, then swallowed. "She was so scared for you. When you survived, when it was over, she left him. She hated him by then—after what you'd been put through, what you'd seen."
Draco stared at his aunt in abject horror. "Her will was changed," he said quietly.
Andromeda nodded. "Yes. Right after the War. We are the only beneficiaries. Lucius signed the official divorce papers a few days before she died."
"He signed?" Draco asked, feeling numb.
"They had a prenup. Everything belonged to him. His vault has been notoriously difficult, as I'm sure you're aware. She didn't want you destitute."
"The ring," he said quietly.
"What?" Andromeda asked.
Draco swallowed back a mouthful of bile and stood hastily, his chair clattering across the wooden floor. "I have to go," he announced blankly, not looking at his aunt.
"Draco—" she began, reaching out a hand for him. "Wait, sit—"
"I have to go," he repeated, even as Andromeda stood.
"Draco, I'm sorry—"
Draco walked out of the pub quickly, ignoring his aunt as she trailed after him. He darted down the nearest alley clear of Muggles and apparated, directly into Hermione's shop. He hadn't even thought of where he was going, truthfully, just that he needed to be out of that Muggle pub and away from his aunt. He wasn't, however, surprised, that his panicked apparition had brought him directly to Hermione.
Hermione was with a customer when Draco appeared, and the pop of apparition caused the customer to jump and shriek, dropping the vial in her hands. The vial promptly shattered, sending a bright purple viscous liquid all over the floor of the shop. Hermione's eyes snapped to Draco, and she studied him for a brief moment, a variety of veiled emotions playing over her face before she turned back to her customer and politely said, "I'm so sorry, but this is an emergency. I'll have to ask you to come back tomorrow."
Draco watched the scene play out with the vague sense that he'd been here before, that he'd done this before.
Hermione locked the door of the shop behind the woman before she rushed towards him, grasping his face in her hands. "What is it?" she asked hurriedly. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"
He dropped his forehead down to hers, finding himself unable to speak. His breathing was shaky. Draco breathed in her scent, which was minutely tinged with sweat. He relished in it, and it calmed him slightly.
"Draco," Hermione repeated, her voice strained. Her eyes were on him, checking him for injury.
"They were divorced," he finally managed to reply, the words gritted out. His voice sounded strange, like it didn't belong to him.
"What?" she asked, pulling away from him and studying his face.
Draco laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "My parents were divorced."
"Divorced?" Hermione repeated, confused.
"Divorced," he concluded. He couldn't say anything else. He couldn't. There was nothing else to say, was there? He dropped his head down to Hermione's shoulder and sagged against her. She wrapped her arms around him, supporting him.
She was silent for several moments before she asked, quietly, "When?"
"Right before she died," he replied dully. "Apparently they'd been separated for even longer."
Draco felt as Hermione went rigid in his arms. "What?" he asked.
Her voice was thick when she finally spoke: "Draco, what was in that envelope you gave your father?" she asked slowly.
Draco suddenly felt cold, and empty. He burrowed into her shoulder. "I have no idea," he replied against her neck. "I didn't look."
"Oh, Draco," she said quietly, tightening her hold on him.
"Nothing makes sense anymore, Hermione," he lamented against her skin. Tears welled in his eyes, and he shut them eyes furiously, attempting to hold his tears back. "I don't—"
"All right," Hermione began as his voice broke off. "Come on, let's go home."
Draco shook his head against Hermione's shoulder. "No," he replied forcefully. "No. You need to work. I'll be all right. I didn't—I didn't even mean to come here, really."
"Draco—" Hermione began to argue.
"No," he repeated, pulling himself out of her arms. "I just—I needed to see you. I'm okay now."
Hermione eyed him suspiciously, her fingers trailing down his forearm to clasp at his fingers. "Draco," she said softly, "I really don't mind."
"I know, but I do." He shook his head again. "I'll see you when you get home."
"Draco—" Hermione began to protest.
He pressed a kiss to her lips to swallow her objections. "I'm okay," he murmured against her lips.
Her brown eyes were dark as she stared up at him.
Cunning recognizes cunning.
Draco flinched internally and pulled away from Hermione entirely. "I love you," he said quietly.
"I love you," she replied earnestly, taking a step towards him.
"Home," he repeated, apparating away.
Draco was not, in fact, all right.
He was far from it.
He paced in front of the fireplace for an hour, wracking his brain for clues as Crookshanks watched him disinterestedly from the couch. After said hour, Draco was certain that he hadn't missed any clues. The envelope and the ring, they were it. Right?
That was all he could recall, he realized with a sinking feeling.
Why hadn't he paid more attention? If he had just paid fucking attention—
He slammed his hand down on the mantle of the fireplace, causing Crookshanks to wake fully and jump from the couch with an indignant 'meow.'
Draco was so flustered that he barely noticed Crookshanks leave the room.
His mother. All he had to do was take care of her. Why was that so hard?
He was such a fucking failure—
Always such a fucking failure—
Suddenly, his chest constricted tightly and Draco doubled over, struggling to suck in a single breath. He couldn't—
He couldn't—
He couldn't fucking breathe—
Breathe, came Hermione's voice. Breathe.
Just a panic attack. It was just a panic attack. He forced a rush of air out of his nose. If he could breathe through his nose, he could breathe. It was just a panic attack—
Draco closed his eyes and straightened. If he could breathe through his nose, he could breathe. He opened his mouth and sucked in a large breath even as his chest tightened painfully. He held it in for a few seconds, then let it out as a slow hiss between his teeth. He was fine, he could breathe. He could.
Another breath. Shaky, but better.
It happened before he could even think about it: He was in the kitchen, pulling the cork from the bottle of Ogden's with his teeth and spitting it onto the floor. It was after several large gulps directly from the bottle before Draco realized what he was doing. "Fuck," he cursed, wiping the firewhiskey dribbling from his chin with the back of his hand. "Fuck!" He spit into the sink, trying to rid himself of the remaining traces of firewhiskey. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Draco slammed the bottle of Ogden's down on the counter, and the amber liquid sloshed against the glass. He gripped the counter in front of him so tightly his knuckles turned white.
He was a fucking disaster.
The alcohol hit him hard, and quick. It had been so long since he'd drowned his feelings in alcohol—the night his mother had died excluded—and he'd forgotten just how beautiful the world could be. The light in the kitchen illuminated everything so brilliantly, and everything was so lovely. Everything glowed, a hue of perfection, of rightness. His muscles were so relaxed, all of a sudden. His breathing was easier. He felt happy, he felt okay. He wanted to laugh—he wasn't sure at what. But something was funny, he was sure of it—
He wanted Hermione. Thinking of her had him smiling. She was so beautiful. Her thick, curly brown hair that surrounded her face like a lion's mane; her olive skin that was so soft and tasted so sweet; her lips, pink and swollen after he'd kissed her. Everything was fine now, and he wanted Hermione. He wanted to bathe in her light, in her goodness. He wanted to touch her skin and pull her into him. He wanted to hold her.
Hermione.
Hermione.
Hermione didn't want him drinking, he remembered suddenly.
Another disappointment. Another failure.
He was—
He took another drink. What was the fucking point now?
And another.
Then another.
Draco looked down, and he found Crookshanks at his feet, staring up at him with his yellow eyes. Suspicious. Untrusting. Like he wanted to maul Draco. Draco dropped to his knees and rubbed the cat's head. "I don't know what I'm doing," he told the cat, as he rubbed Crooks special spot behind his right ear. "What am I doing, Crooks?"
Crooks butted his head against Draco's hand, before popping him with his paw, claws outstretched. "Fucking up," was his message, and Draco heard it clearly.
He couldn't—Hermione couldn't know. She couldn't. She'd be so disappointed, and Draco couldn't bear it.
Draco chugged several glasses of water and ate several pieces of toast before brushing his teeth and lying down in bed. He had to be sober when Hermione came home. He had to be. He had only just closed his eyes when he realized Hermione might be able to smell liquor on him, so he rose and took a cold shower before returning to bed.
Hermione was prompt that evening, arriving in the fireplace two minutes before 5 p.m. Draco was waiting for her on the couch, feeling very much unbalanced and confused, but mostly sober.
"Draco," she breathed, before rushing towards him and throwing herself into his lap. "You're okay?"
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into him. "Yes," he lied. "Gods, I've missed you, you beautiful witch." Not a lie—never a lie.
"I've been thinking about you all day," Hermione said, kissing him. "I've been worried."
"I'm okay," he replied, tightening his hold on her waist as she perched on his lap. Hermione ran her fingers through his hair before resting her chin on the top of his head. They sat like that in silence for several minutes, Hermione gently stroking his hair. Draco closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. "Why do you think she hid it from me?" he asked finally.
Hermione sighed against the top of his head. "I've been thinking about that a lot actually," she replied. "You never—you never really talk about your father. Not even with me. I don't know—maybe—she was trying to protect you?"
Draco laughed bitterly. "Protect me? From what? Hasn't everything horrible already happened to me?" He felt Hermione flinch next to him, and he reached up to pull gently on an errant curl. "I'm sorry," he said immediately. "You know I don't mean you."
"I know," she said softly. "I know you didn't mean me. I just—maybe she didn't know how you felt about Lucius—or she didn't want you to know how she felt, that way—" Hermione rambled.
"Hermione," Draco said gently, finally opening his eyes to look at her.
She sighed again. "I think she hid it from you because she didn't want the way she felt about Lucius to cloud how you felt."
"That," Draco began hesitantly, "makes sense."
"I don't necessarily agree with it," Hermione continued, running her fingers through his hair once more. "But I understand it."
"I didn't know anything about her," Draco said morosely. "All of it—all of it was a lie."
"Not all of it, Draco," Hermine replied softly. "She showed you who she really was—"
"Yeah," he scoffed. "At the end, when it barely mattered."
"You know she didn't have a choice, Draco," Hermione reminded him.
"Right," Draco said through gritted teeth.
But she'd had a choice, hadn't she? She'd always had a choice.
She'd made the wrong one.
Draco couldn't help the sudden anger that coursed through him. The woman who loved him, had raised him—the woman who he would've done anything to protect, for whom he'd prostrated himself before the Dark Lord. He'd done it all, and he'd ruined himself in the process and everything about her was a fucking lie. Draco could feel the heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.
Hermione seemed to sense the turn in his feelings and pressed a lingering kiss to his temple. "Tell me what to do," she said.
Draco shook his head. He didn't even know what he needed.
Firewhiskey
No.
Firewhiskey was staunchly not an option.
"I don't know," he finally admitted, leaning heavily against Hermione. He was angry, he was grieving, but he was so very angry. Just as the anger had hit him, he was suddenly struck with another wave of grief and his eyes instantly grew wet. He was a veritable natural disaster of emotions.
"Oh, Draco," Hermione said sadly, wiping at his tears with the pad of her thumb.
"Sorry," he choked out. "I know I'm a mess."
Still. You're a mess, still
"How about a bath?" Hermione suggested. "I think we could both do with some relaxation."
Draco looked sharply to Hermione. He had been so caught up in his own maelstrom of emotions that he hadn't paid a bit of attention to Hermione. Instantly, he could see that she was exhausted; Her mane, while always unruly, exhibited a level of frizz he hadn't seen since their early years at Hogwarts. There were dark circles under her eyes, as if she had been sleeping poorly. In fact, as Draco wrapped his arms around Hermione's invariably narrow waist, he could now clearly feel her ribs even through her jumper, as if she had lost a bit of weight. She'd been working herself to the bone at Elixir, as well as constantly worrying about him. Draco felt a sharp pain of guilt deep in his belly. "Yeah," he agreed, clutching onto Hermione as he stood, and walked towards the bathroom with her in his arms.
Hermione yelped and giggled. "Draco!" she admonished. "Again, you don't have to carry me everywhere!"
"You look tired," he reasoned, placing an open mouth kiss against her shoulder blade.
Instantly, she relaxed in his arms and tightened her legs around his waist, relinquishing herself to being carried to the bathroom. He set Hermione down gently on the closed lid of the toilet before turning and kneeling before the tub and turning on the water. While he waited for the tub to fill with steaming water, he rested his head on her thighs and looked up at her.
Hermione smiled at him softly and ran her fingers through his hair again. "Don't look at me like that," she said, chuckling.
"Like what?" he asked.
"Like you're worried about me," Hermione replied.
"I am," Draco said with a frown, running a finger lightly over the top of her right thigh. "You've lost weight."
Hermione shrugged even as she wrapped an arm around her waist. "Just a little bit."
Draco's frown grew and he reached over to turn off the water before he rose to stand and began to pull Hermione's jumper from her body, tossing it to the floor. Hermione immediately wrapped her arms protectively around the top half of her body. Draco pulled her arms away and stared at her naked frame. How had he not noticed before now? Hermione had always been quite thin, and under no circumstances had Draco ever thought she needed to lose even a bit of weight. Hermione looked away from him, a blush growing on her cheeks. "You haven't been eating at work, have you?" he asked, coming to a conclusion.
Hermione's eyes flashed briefly towards his before she suddenly became intensely interested in the tiles on the bathroom floor. "No," she said quietly.
Draco sighed again before he pulled her up by the arms and wrapped his arms tightly around her, crushing her to him. "That probably means that your assistant needs to return to work, huh?" he asked.
"Only if you're ready."
"I can't have you running yourself ragged, Hermione. Besides, working with you always took my mind off of—everything."
Hermione nodded against him. "It would be nice to have you back—I didn't want to ask, though."
Draco pulled away from Hermione and undressed before stepping into the tub and sinking into the hot water with a hiss. When he was settled, he beckoned for Hermione. "Come here," he said softly.
Hermione grinned faintly before shimmying off her leggings and knickers. She stepped into the tub and sat down, settling herself between his parted legs and laying her head down against his bare chest. Draco wrapped his arms possessively around Hermione's midsection, his fingers brushing the ridges where he could feel her ribs beginning to jut out. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, stroking each individual rib.
She turned her head a bit, her messy curls swirling across his chest. "For what?" she asked, her brow furrowed.
He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, tasting the faint twang of her sweat near her hairline. "That I didn't see how tired you were. You've been working yourself to the bone and I've just been here—moping. I'm supposed to take care of you, and I haven't been."
"You deserve time to mope," Hermione argued.
"Not at your expense," Draco replied, harsher than he intended.
Hermione let out a deep sigh, clearly wanting to argue with him. "The bath is a worry-free zone, remember?" she said brightly.
"Not when I'm worried about you."
"You don't get to change the rules just to suit your needs, Draco," Hermione chastised, splashing him with a bit of water.
"Hmm, no," he agreed. "That's much more your purview, isn't it?" Hermione laughed, and Draco frowned as her ribs protruded even further as her ribcage expanded. "I'm feeding you as soon as we get out of the tub."
"Okay," Hermione replied. "Can you get Jinxy to make me a steak?"
"Yes," Draco said, squeezing her tighter. "Whatever you want."
They stayed in the tub until Hermione's fingers wrinkled and turned white and Draco all but dragged her from the water, wrapping a fluffy towel around her body. He toweled himself off briefly before pulling his boxers and t-shirt back on. "I'll go call Jinxy," he said, heading towards the living room.
"Wait!" Hermione called, fiddling with the hem of her towel.
"What is it?" Draco asked, furrowing his brow.
"Can you—can you just come here?" she asked, her eyes once more fixed on the floor. Draco re-turned to Hermione, stopping several inches away from her. Hermione reached out, twining her fingers idly with his own and pulling him in. Draco took several more steps forward until he was staring down at her. Hermione placed his hands on both sides of her hips and gently cupped his face in her hands, tilting it further down. "I just—I feel like I haven't really kissed you in a while," she said quietly.
Draco's brow remained furrowed. He'd kissed her several times today, hadn't he? He always kissed her when he said goodbye—
Seeing his confusion, Hermione shook her head. "I mean, really kissed you."
In lieu of further explanation, Hermione rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. Gentle, at first, before she began to apply more pressure and her tongue slipped out, tracing his bottom lip. Draco felt himself shiver involuntarily, his lips opening further, allowing her entrance. She explored his mouth languidly, but then grew more frenzied, more passionate. Her breath was warm against his lips, her lips soft and sweet against his. Draco's cock twitched in his boxers and began to harden. They kissed like this for several minutes before Hermione pulled away, pressing a light kiss to the corners of his mouth and dropping back down on the balls of her feet. She stared up at him, her eyes dark. Draco dropped his forehead to hers—he was completely breathless. "You're right," he said after a moment. "It has been awhile."
Hermione smiled up at him. "I just—I wanted to do that."
Draco couldn't help but grin back. "Feel free to do that to me anytime you want."
"Now go call Jinxy," she urged. "I am feeling a bit peaky."
Still grinning, Draco kissed her cheek. "Go get dressed and I'll procure us some dinner."
"Okay," Hermione agreed, her eyes gleaming.
As soon as he made it to the living room, Draco called for Jinxy, who apparated instantly with a loud pop. "Master Draco, sirs!" Jinxy cried happily. "Jinxy is being so happy to sees you!"
Draco smiled down at the little elf. "It's good to see you, too, Jinxy. How is the Manor? Is the Ministry treating you well?"
Jinxy nodded. "They is mostly leaving Jinxy alone. They is taking Master Lucius' things, sirs," she continued, her voice lower, as if she was telling Draco a secret.
"It's all right, Jinxy. I always assumed that was their intention."
Jinxy seemed thoughtful for a moment before she spoke again, "Jinxy is very happy Master Lucius' things is going, Master Draco. Especially after what happened to Mistress Hermione."
Draco tilted his head as he stared at the elf. "How do you know what happened to Hermione, Jinxy?"
"Elf magics, sirs!" Jinxy exclaimed, then quieted. "We is knowing when blood is spilt on the estate."
"Of course," Draco replied through gritted teeth. "Anyway, I need a favor, Jinxy. Would you happen to be available to cook us dinner?"
"Yes, sirs! Jinxy would be delighted, she would! Jinxy has something for Master Draco, anyway! The rest of Mistress Hermione's books!"
Draco felt himself grin. More books, that would certainly put a smile on Hermione's face. "Sounds perfect, Jinxy."
"Yes, sirs!" Jinxy replied, apparating away.
Jinxy returned in short order, weighed down by two heavy baskets, one of which was nearly overflowing with stacks of books. Draco rushed towards Jinxy, relieving her of the basket of books. "I'll take these, Jinxy, thank you," he said, heading immediately towards the guest bedroom to set the books down. Draco, however, was surprised when he opened the door. The entire room was cluttered with resized books and shelving that Draco didn't quite remember. It looked like Hermione had been hard at work at her library. Draco furrowed his brow. When had she had time to work on this?
Hermione's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "Draco, I smell food! Is Jinxy here already?" and then, after a pause, "Oh, Jinxy, this looks incredible!"
"I'll be there in a second!" Draco called back, making his way to their bedroom. Draco was surprised Hermione had any room left in the library at all. For now, he could store the books in his bedside table. Without a second thought, he opened the drawer, and carefully placed the stacks of shrunken books inside. He closed it soundly and went to join Hermione, who was already happily munching on a bite of steak on the floor in front of the coffee table, and she laughed at some Muggle program flashing on the telly.
Draco sat next down next to her, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek as she chewed her steak. She turned and smiled at him. "It's delicious," she said, smiling at him as she swallowed.
"Good," Draco replied, cutting into his own piece of steak. "Jinxy brought over the rest of the library for you, by the way."
Her smile widened. "I thought I had everything," she said with a slight tone of amazement.
Draco shook his head. "I tasked her with the last of it—after—" Draco gulped and his stomach dropped. Since she had been injured. He couldn't even say it.
Hermione took his head with hers, only a faint line running down the middle of it now, courtesy of regular potions and salves. "Hey," she said quietly. "Stop it. I'm okay."
He nodded jerkily, and his emotions once more took hold of him. His chest felt tight all of a sudden, and his mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. His thumb twitched faintly. "Right," he replied. "I know."
Hermione squeezed his hand. "Draco." His eyes met hers. "I'm okay. You took care of me, remember?"
He observed the bags under her eyes, and he remembered the way her protruding ribs felt under his fingertips. I'm not good at taking care of you, he thought instantly.
Instead, he nodded and smiled.