A short little fic by Katrinka, inspired by the genius that is J.K. Rowling
and all things Harry Potter. Please note that the characters do not belong
to me, but the plot does. Sue me for copyright infringement, and you'll be
wasting my time and my patience, both of which are in shorter supply than
you know (curse those blasted AP tests!). That said, please enjoy.
SNAKE CHARMER
He strolled up the steps to the Ministry Library, black robes unbuttoned and flowing out behind him like a fallen angel's wings. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his slacks and his head was down, causing his blond hair to fall in his eyes; this was the only reason he missed the masses of wide-eyed, drooling females (and on occasion, a wide eyed drooling male) looking his way, hoping to make eye contact so they could wink suggestively, no doubt.
It was true: the traditional white button down shirt and black slacks, not to mention the robe, made him look like something scrumptious that had just walked out of a Gladrags Catalog. He was tall, he was well-dressed, and he was handsome.
And Merlin, didn't he know it.
But if he had looked up to see the appreciative looks of strangers following his every admittedly elegant and sophisticated move, he probably would have disregarded them anyway. He had better things to think about.
He entered into the gigantic lobby, which was an open high-ceilinged room with stained glass windows letting in light from above and decorated with mosaics on the floor. The room was crowded with people going in and out, some carrying large texts and bundles of scrolls, others just browsing or chatting with companions.
He pushed through the crowd, glad he was tall enough to see over the heads of most people. The person he was supposed to have met for lunch half and hour ago did not appear to be there.
Out of nowhere, a little goblin appeared at his side. He was perhaps a little higher than the young man's knee, but he had obviously been working with the Library for a very long time if the number of solid gold buttons on his red vest was any indication. The goblin bowed deeply.
"Mr. Malfoy." The goblin straightened. The man inclined his head in acknowledgement of the courtesy. "I believe she's on the second floor, in the Northwest wing. Shall I fetch her for you?"
Draco Malfoy had straightened unconsciously at the formal use of his name. His shoulders squared; gone was the carefree stroll he adopted when he was at ease. Basically, a stroll he used only when he was on his way to see her. She made him forget his position. Which he tried to convince himself was a bad thing. A very bad thing.
It was an argument his head had yet to win.
To the goblin's query, he shook his head slightly and turned towards the stairs. As he walked off, Draco expertly flipped a Galleon back over his shoulder, a Galleon that was just as expertly snatched out of thin air by long green fingers. No words needed to be spoken but the bare minimum with the goblin; they each had a place, had a role. Each fulfilled it, as was their position in society. This was the way things worked, had always worked.
So why did being around her make him want to change what he had been born to be?
Shaking his head, Mr. Malfoy climbed the stairs. Still, he scanned the crowds for that specific someone. The goblins were not often wrong about much, but he was anxious to see her. He was not, by nature, a patient man, and she had already stood him up for tea. He tried to tell himself to be angry at her, but his mind couldn't help thinking that maybe, just maybe, this girl was worth the extra trouble.
It didn't take him long to find her once he reached the wing designated to Magical Law. She sat at a table surrounded by books on all sides. Papers and notes lay strew about haphazardly, along with crumpled first attempts that had been discarded. She had a quill tucked behind her ear. Two more were imbedded into her red curls, securing them into a twisted knot at the back of her head.
Judging by the amount of paper spread about and the ink splotches on her fingers and smeared on her face, she had been at this quite a while. He smiled at her look of intense concentration, the way her beautiful hazel eyes scanned an ancient scroll, the way her fingers tapped her rosy low lip. If he were a nice person, he'd probably have left her to her work and worried about tea some other time.
But who'd ever accused Draco Malfoy of being a nice person?
As he watched, she sighed and dropped her head to her paper, letting out an audible sigh. He grinned wider. Maybe his timing hadn't been so bad after all.
He walked up behind her, making no noise, planning the best angle for attack. He decided that going from the side might make the best impact, so onward he crept. Gently, he laid his hands on her shoulders.
Her head jerked up, startled at his touch. The paper her head had been resting on remained attached to her forehead as she looked about.
"I'm awake, I'm awake. . . I'm also quite blind. What. . ." she muttered. Gently, he peeled the paper away from her face, as a groom would his bride's veil. He grinned into her startled eyes.
"You have words on your forehead, you know." Clearly written backwards on her forehead, from were she had rested in wet ink, were the words 'Ringwald Act of 1652'. He pulled out a hankerchief and scrubbed gently at them, liking the occupation and hating himself for being so sappy.
"Oh, Draco. It's you." She smiled distractedly as she batted away his hands, blushing at the attention. "You scared me."
He looked around, made sure no one was watching. His arm tightened around her shoulders and he ducked his head to nuzzle her neck gently. "Ah, am I such a scary person, Ginny?" he purred against her skin.
She sighed and leaned into his arms for a moment. "Do be quiet, you great prat. . ." She sighed again when he kissed her jaw just as gently. "Glad you're here." She murmured. "Been working at this for hours, and it needs to be finished by 7 or my boss will have my head on a sadistically pointy stick."
He kissed her shoulder gently before resting his chin on in, still half standing behind her. "So this is why you didn't meet me for tea?" He put on his puppy dog face as he read her notes over her shoulder, hiding his secret pleasure that she hadn't been eating with someone else. "I'm wounded, Virginia Weasely. Simply wounded."
"I missed lunch?" She looked so disoriented that he had to hide a smile to maintain his hurt expression. She looked around in alarm, trying to ascertain what time it was. He tucked away another smile. The girl was a breath of fresh air. "Oh, Draco, I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you. Dinner?"
She slapped her forehead before he had a chance to respond. "Oh, I can't. I'm supposed to take 'Mione out grocery shopping when I get home and I've still got to finish this report and then write the summary for my boss---"
"Easy, easy, slow down." He knelt down on the floor beside her, pulling out her chair so that she could more fully face him. "Don't worry about it." Maybe in the past he would have let her squirm, but now. . . "We'll have dinner some other time, okay, little Weasel?" She made a face at him for the use of that nickname.
She looks so tired, he thought as she rubbed at her forehead in frustration. He reached up and captured her hand, tucking it into his. Her hands were so little compared to his, and this only steeled his resolve. He could offer help. He could. Because it didn't mean anything, right? It was just him, offering help to a friend. Nothing more. Not any sort of commitment other than helping a friend, a strictly platonic offer of assistance. Right?
"If it would help, I'll take Granger shopping." He paused, almost wincing, waiting for Ginny's reaction. If she saw this as the desperate sucking- uppage that it was, she'd laugh at him. Or worse, she'd yell at him and it would take weeks to get her calmed down again. She might have been very pretty mad (and he had made her mad quite a few times in the past, although he hadn't cared at the time), he would much rather have her pretty and smiling.
But, instead of laughing or ripping his head off, her eyes widened in surprised and gratitude. "Would you, Draco?" she said, a grin gracing her features so bright it was almost blinding. "You are such a dear! My brothers were so wrong about you." Before he could react to that unintentional backhanded insult, she grabbed him and planted a firm kiss on his lips.
As she released him, he dazedly thought that he would gladly take Granger shopping whenever the hell she wanted, if this was Ginny's response for offering.
"Okay, she's expecting to be picked up at the Burrow in. . ." She paused, looking for some way to tell time. No clocks in the building. "What time is it?"
He informed her it was quarter to 4.
"She'll be ready in about twenty minutes, give or take. Thank you so much, Draco, it really means a lot to me." She kissed him again and turned back to her work with a renewed determination. "I'll be done by 8 at the latest, if I work straight. I'll owl you?"
"That would be great." But she didn't hear him, she was already scribbling away at her parchment. Silly bint, he thought fondly. Going to work herself sick.
And so he went off to pick up the girl's sister-in-law, a bemused little grin on his face as he pondered how low the mighty had fallen. Once upon a time, he could have looked at the girl in tears and smiled; now one little move of her hand and he was firmly wrapped around her finger. Yes, indeed, the mighty had fallen, and was greatly enjoying the trip.
He arrived at the Burrow with time to spare, apparating on the dusty path that led to the kitchen door. Apparating so far away allowed him the chance to examine the architectural monstrosity that was the Burrow, with its numerous chimneys and lopsided additions. Each floor was smaller than the last and looked even more rickety than the one below it. Scorch marks covered some of the bricks around an upper story window. Ivy clawed its way into a chimney. Birds nested in the dilapidated rain gutters. Garden gnomes held hands and frolicked through the cabbages. The place rioted with life.
And although he would never admit it out loud, Draco found himself liking the Burrow. More than he liked the Manor, anyway, because this felt like a home. It was kind of quaint, in that common way, a part of him that sounded suspiciously like his father grumbled in the back of his mind. He brushed the thought away. Plebian or no, it was a cheery place, the Burrow. It was loud and lopsided and sinfully ugly, and he liked it anyway.
He approached the door, which was a bright robin's egg blue, and knocked. Noises could be heard coming from the kitchen, but no one came to answer the door. He knocked harder.
The door opened. "Sorry about that, Gin--- Draco. . . Draco? What can I do for you?" And there stood Granger before him, wiping her hands on the far extended front of a borrowed apron. "Ginny's not home yet, but she's due to come any minute now, if you'd like to wait."
Draco sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. He told himself that he had set himself up for this, falling for a Weasely and offering to do common chores. It was his own fault.
"Actually, Granger, I'm covering for Gin today. She couldn't make it, so I offered to be your muscle." He looked around her so he wouldn't have to see the knowing look in Granger's eyes. "Your pot's boiling over, Granger."
Hermione Granger Weasely turned back to her cooking. This course was almost done, and just needed a few extra ingredients. She motioned him to sit down at the table. "Tea, Malfoy?" she offered. Despite the fact that there were more than five pots on the stove, one stirring itself, and the table needed to be set for Sunday dinner yet as all the Weasely brood came home, she was offering him tea?
Draco smiled despite himself. Watching Granger was like seeing a younger version of Molly Weasely, in her element in the kitchen. "No, thank you. You need a chair? You shouldn't be standing for so long."
"Turning into Ron, are you, Malfoy?" Granger said over her shoulder as she stirred the pot. "I may be pregnant, but I can still stand up on my own, thank you." She smiled to take the sting out of her words. She turned down the heat on the stove with her wand, and took off her apron. Beneath it, she wore a pale yellow maturnity sundress over the seven-month bulge. Her wispy brown curls were piled on her head, some coming down to frame her face in a look that he was sure she hadn't planned. "But if you're ready to go?"
He nodded. He wanted to get this over with, preferably before any of Gin's brothers saw him here. They were still a bit touchy about the whole Draco- Ginny relationship. Five months was apparently not long enough to get used to the idea, although Mrs. Weasely had taken to it surprisingly well. He had been to his far share of Weasely Sunday night dinners, just to watch Ron's face turn red. And to be with Gin, of course. He had a funny feeling that she found it amusing, too.
Ah, she was wicked, his girl.
"Do stop thinking of Gin and hurry up, Malfoy. I can see that silly grin on your face, and I should hope it's not over me. Let's go." Hermione told him brusquely.
He tried to deny it, but really, what was the point? He knew it, she knew it: he was lost. And she wouldn't go telling anybody. She was good at keeping her mouth shut, for the most part.
Draco and Hermione walked down the path on their way to Ottery St. Catchpole and its one grocery store. If it had been Draco's choice, he would have just apparated to Diagon Alley, but Hermione insisted that she come as well and pick out the food herself. She wanted out of the house, and the muggle town was the only one that was close enough to walk to without being too much of a strain on the very pregnant Granger.
It would have been very dangerous for them both if Granger had tried Apparating. Dangerous for Granger in that she might get squinched.
Dangerous for Draco if Gin or Ron ever found out that he'd let Granger get squinched. Gin would kill him. Ron would hex him, drag his body through the streets, torture him slowly, and then bury him alive.
He didn't exactly look forward to that.
So, he traveled carefully down the sloping hills of St. Catchpole, offering Granger his arm so that she wouldn't slip and hurt herself on the inclines.
People might have called Draco Malfoy a cold, heartless bastard, but nobody could ever say he didn't know how to treat a lady, provided he considered the woman in his presence a lady. That, and he had a highly developed sense of preservation. If anything, so much as a little scrape, happened to Granger on this little shopping excursion, he was screwed.
They entered the supermarket together, Granger making conversation as she pointed out things that she would like him to put in the shopping cart. She could not reach very well (she was not very tall for all that she walked with a very correct posture). She also could not lift anything heavier than a few pounds, for fear that she might damage something.
As they walked down the aisles, Granger talked about Ron's position at the Ministry (it seemed all the Weaselys were in the public service) and his partnership with one Harry Potter in a new line of Quidditch supply. Draco had to turn away from her at this point to keep her from seeing the way his lip curled at the mention of Harry Potter. He wanted to make a good impression on Hermione, so that she'd send a good report back to Ginny. Years (and Gin) might have improved his temperament since Hogwarts, but that didn't mean he had to like Harry Potter. Particularly not when Gin was so attached to him, in a platonic brother-sister way, but still. It made him see red to even see them in the same room together.
"So, what is Gin working so hard on?" Hermione asked as she put a box of cereal in the cart.
Draco shrugged. "Oh, another case, something about maltreatment of magical species. Her boss wants it done by tonight."
Hermione smiled at him. "So that's how you got conned into this job."
Draco glared at her half-heartedly. It was hard to glare at someone who looked so non-threatening. At least back at Hogwarts, she had been capable of slapping him if he went out of line, but now, with the face of the most married woman on the planet, she just didn't represent a challenge. "I resent the implication, Miss Granger, that I was conned into anything. I am not conned, ever. I am the one who does the conning."
"Of course you are, Draco Malfoy, you just keep telling yourself that." She patted his arm sympathetically before heading off to select a brick of cheese.
After about an hour of this self-made torture, Draco was relieved to see that every item on Granger's arm-length parchment had been crossed off. They approached the check out line, with Granger paying in Muggle money as he watched. It was interesting, seeing crumpled little bills instead of golden coins. He tried to figure out the value for each of the bills as they were counted, but it was in vain. He shrugged. Muggle stuff didn't interest him anyway. Really. The Harley Davidson he kept in his garage aside.
He picked up the bags of groceries as they were bagged. The woman at the cash register smiled at him. "Aw, this one'll make a good da', he will." She told Hermione in a very bad stage whisper.
Draco opened his mouth in horrified shock, wanting to correct her, as she had obviously assumed the unthinkable (Hermione and Draco? Eeeeeww), but Hermione put her hand on his arm and effectively silenced him.
"I think so, too." She said with a smile. She led him away with the bags, towards the door.
And he had stared at her, flabbergasted. Had she just said that?
He walked home in mostly stunned silence, letting Hermione do most of the talking.
After helping unbag the groceries, Draco Apparated home. It was six o'clock on a Sunday, and his bachelor flat was deserted. He resigned himself to a quiet evening at home. He could have stayed at the Weaselys for their Sunday night dinner, but without Gin nudging him to let him know that Ron had deepened yet another shade of red, it really didn't seem worth it. (They had a scale all worked out: it was a good day's work when Ron reached that plumish shade of purple within an hour.)
He sat in the couch, lying with a glass of water in his hand. It had been a long time since he'd taken a sip of something much stronger than fruit juice, and just because Gin wasn't there to remind him was no reason to go back to bad habits.
Bad habits. Gin Weasely was a bad habit, in her own adorable way. Just as intoxicating. Hell, he'd gone shopping with her bloody sister-in-law, risking almost certain dismemberment by jealous husbands if he was seen, just to see a certain freckle faced girl smile.
He fell asleep on that couch, dreaming of freckles and curls the color of sunset.
A small figure managed to get past the wards on Draco's door. It did so with the ease of many years practice (after all, with a brother who was a cursebreaker, it was too good an opportunity to learn a few tricks along the way).
The figure pulled off her green hood that kept off the night chill to gaze more fully on her moonlit prince. She went into the bathroom to get him a cover and tuck him in to the couch.
He opened his eyes sleepily at the unexpected comfort. It was not a feeling he was used to, being the one cared for. He smiled and without comprehending that she was really there and not a whimsical fragment of beautiful dream, he gently pulled her down to lie beside him on the couch, holding her close and kissing her softly before falling asleep once more with her gathered to him.
She waited till his breathing had slowed once more before gently unwrapping his arms from where they held her. She didn't want to go, but she didn't trust herself around him, not even as he slept. He was too charming, her beautiful snake.
She smiled at that. Wasn't it ironic, that the girl they whispered was the snake charmer was in turn rather charmed by the snake?
She kissed his brow, and tucked his covers around him once more. He sighed, and so did she. This was heartbreakingly sappy, but her brothers weren't around to laugh at her sentimentality. Shaking herself, she recovered her bright hair and banked the fire that Draco had left in the fireplace. Then she got up and disappeared into the shadows hidden from moonlight, humming an old song quietly.
The Moonlight Sonata.
SNAKE CHARMER
He strolled up the steps to the Ministry Library, black robes unbuttoned and flowing out behind him like a fallen angel's wings. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his slacks and his head was down, causing his blond hair to fall in his eyes; this was the only reason he missed the masses of wide-eyed, drooling females (and on occasion, a wide eyed drooling male) looking his way, hoping to make eye contact so they could wink suggestively, no doubt.
It was true: the traditional white button down shirt and black slacks, not to mention the robe, made him look like something scrumptious that had just walked out of a Gladrags Catalog. He was tall, he was well-dressed, and he was handsome.
And Merlin, didn't he know it.
But if he had looked up to see the appreciative looks of strangers following his every admittedly elegant and sophisticated move, he probably would have disregarded them anyway. He had better things to think about.
He entered into the gigantic lobby, which was an open high-ceilinged room with stained glass windows letting in light from above and decorated with mosaics on the floor. The room was crowded with people going in and out, some carrying large texts and bundles of scrolls, others just browsing or chatting with companions.
He pushed through the crowd, glad he was tall enough to see over the heads of most people. The person he was supposed to have met for lunch half and hour ago did not appear to be there.
Out of nowhere, a little goblin appeared at his side. He was perhaps a little higher than the young man's knee, but he had obviously been working with the Library for a very long time if the number of solid gold buttons on his red vest was any indication. The goblin bowed deeply.
"Mr. Malfoy." The goblin straightened. The man inclined his head in acknowledgement of the courtesy. "I believe she's on the second floor, in the Northwest wing. Shall I fetch her for you?"
Draco Malfoy had straightened unconsciously at the formal use of his name. His shoulders squared; gone was the carefree stroll he adopted when he was at ease. Basically, a stroll he used only when he was on his way to see her. She made him forget his position. Which he tried to convince himself was a bad thing. A very bad thing.
It was an argument his head had yet to win.
To the goblin's query, he shook his head slightly and turned towards the stairs. As he walked off, Draco expertly flipped a Galleon back over his shoulder, a Galleon that was just as expertly snatched out of thin air by long green fingers. No words needed to be spoken but the bare minimum with the goblin; they each had a place, had a role. Each fulfilled it, as was their position in society. This was the way things worked, had always worked.
So why did being around her make him want to change what he had been born to be?
Shaking his head, Mr. Malfoy climbed the stairs. Still, he scanned the crowds for that specific someone. The goblins were not often wrong about much, but he was anxious to see her. He was not, by nature, a patient man, and she had already stood him up for tea. He tried to tell himself to be angry at her, but his mind couldn't help thinking that maybe, just maybe, this girl was worth the extra trouble.
It didn't take him long to find her once he reached the wing designated to Magical Law. She sat at a table surrounded by books on all sides. Papers and notes lay strew about haphazardly, along with crumpled first attempts that had been discarded. She had a quill tucked behind her ear. Two more were imbedded into her red curls, securing them into a twisted knot at the back of her head.
Judging by the amount of paper spread about and the ink splotches on her fingers and smeared on her face, she had been at this quite a while. He smiled at her look of intense concentration, the way her beautiful hazel eyes scanned an ancient scroll, the way her fingers tapped her rosy low lip. If he were a nice person, he'd probably have left her to her work and worried about tea some other time.
But who'd ever accused Draco Malfoy of being a nice person?
As he watched, she sighed and dropped her head to her paper, letting out an audible sigh. He grinned wider. Maybe his timing hadn't been so bad after all.
He walked up behind her, making no noise, planning the best angle for attack. He decided that going from the side might make the best impact, so onward he crept. Gently, he laid his hands on her shoulders.
Her head jerked up, startled at his touch. The paper her head had been resting on remained attached to her forehead as she looked about.
"I'm awake, I'm awake. . . I'm also quite blind. What. . ." she muttered. Gently, he peeled the paper away from her face, as a groom would his bride's veil. He grinned into her startled eyes.
"You have words on your forehead, you know." Clearly written backwards on her forehead, from were she had rested in wet ink, were the words 'Ringwald Act of 1652'. He pulled out a hankerchief and scrubbed gently at them, liking the occupation and hating himself for being so sappy.
"Oh, Draco. It's you." She smiled distractedly as she batted away his hands, blushing at the attention. "You scared me."
He looked around, made sure no one was watching. His arm tightened around her shoulders and he ducked his head to nuzzle her neck gently. "Ah, am I such a scary person, Ginny?" he purred against her skin.
She sighed and leaned into his arms for a moment. "Do be quiet, you great prat. . ." She sighed again when he kissed her jaw just as gently. "Glad you're here." She murmured. "Been working at this for hours, and it needs to be finished by 7 or my boss will have my head on a sadistically pointy stick."
He kissed her shoulder gently before resting his chin on in, still half standing behind her. "So this is why you didn't meet me for tea?" He put on his puppy dog face as he read her notes over her shoulder, hiding his secret pleasure that she hadn't been eating with someone else. "I'm wounded, Virginia Weasely. Simply wounded."
"I missed lunch?" She looked so disoriented that he had to hide a smile to maintain his hurt expression. She looked around in alarm, trying to ascertain what time it was. He tucked away another smile. The girl was a breath of fresh air. "Oh, Draco, I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you. Dinner?"
She slapped her forehead before he had a chance to respond. "Oh, I can't. I'm supposed to take 'Mione out grocery shopping when I get home and I've still got to finish this report and then write the summary for my boss---"
"Easy, easy, slow down." He knelt down on the floor beside her, pulling out her chair so that she could more fully face him. "Don't worry about it." Maybe in the past he would have let her squirm, but now. . . "We'll have dinner some other time, okay, little Weasel?" She made a face at him for the use of that nickname.
She looks so tired, he thought as she rubbed at her forehead in frustration. He reached up and captured her hand, tucking it into his. Her hands were so little compared to his, and this only steeled his resolve. He could offer help. He could. Because it didn't mean anything, right? It was just him, offering help to a friend. Nothing more. Not any sort of commitment other than helping a friend, a strictly platonic offer of assistance. Right?
"If it would help, I'll take Granger shopping." He paused, almost wincing, waiting for Ginny's reaction. If she saw this as the desperate sucking- uppage that it was, she'd laugh at him. Or worse, she'd yell at him and it would take weeks to get her calmed down again. She might have been very pretty mad (and he had made her mad quite a few times in the past, although he hadn't cared at the time), he would much rather have her pretty and smiling.
But, instead of laughing or ripping his head off, her eyes widened in surprised and gratitude. "Would you, Draco?" she said, a grin gracing her features so bright it was almost blinding. "You are such a dear! My brothers were so wrong about you." Before he could react to that unintentional backhanded insult, she grabbed him and planted a firm kiss on his lips.
As she released him, he dazedly thought that he would gladly take Granger shopping whenever the hell she wanted, if this was Ginny's response for offering.
"Okay, she's expecting to be picked up at the Burrow in. . ." She paused, looking for some way to tell time. No clocks in the building. "What time is it?"
He informed her it was quarter to 4.
"She'll be ready in about twenty minutes, give or take. Thank you so much, Draco, it really means a lot to me." She kissed him again and turned back to her work with a renewed determination. "I'll be done by 8 at the latest, if I work straight. I'll owl you?"
"That would be great." But she didn't hear him, she was already scribbling away at her parchment. Silly bint, he thought fondly. Going to work herself sick.
And so he went off to pick up the girl's sister-in-law, a bemused little grin on his face as he pondered how low the mighty had fallen. Once upon a time, he could have looked at the girl in tears and smiled; now one little move of her hand and he was firmly wrapped around her finger. Yes, indeed, the mighty had fallen, and was greatly enjoying the trip.
He arrived at the Burrow with time to spare, apparating on the dusty path that led to the kitchen door. Apparating so far away allowed him the chance to examine the architectural monstrosity that was the Burrow, with its numerous chimneys and lopsided additions. Each floor was smaller than the last and looked even more rickety than the one below it. Scorch marks covered some of the bricks around an upper story window. Ivy clawed its way into a chimney. Birds nested in the dilapidated rain gutters. Garden gnomes held hands and frolicked through the cabbages. The place rioted with life.
And although he would never admit it out loud, Draco found himself liking the Burrow. More than he liked the Manor, anyway, because this felt like a home. It was kind of quaint, in that common way, a part of him that sounded suspiciously like his father grumbled in the back of his mind. He brushed the thought away. Plebian or no, it was a cheery place, the Burrow. It was loud and lopsided and sinfully ugly, and he liked it anyway.
He approached the door, which was a bright robin's egg blue, and knocked. Noises could be heard coming from the kitchen, but no one came to answer the door. He knocked harder.
The door opened. "Sorry about that, Gin--- Draco. . . Draco? What can I do for you?" And there stood Granger before him, wiping her hands on the far extended front of a borrowed apron. "Ginny's not home yet, but she's due to come any minute now, if you'd like to wait."
Draco sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. He told himself that he had set himself up for this, falling for a Weasely and offering to do common chores. It was his own fault.
"Actually, Granger, I'm covering for Gin today. She couldn't make it, so I offered to be your muscle." He looked around her so he wouldn't have to see the knowing look in Granger's eyes. "Your pot's boiling over, Granger."
Hermione Granger Weasely turned back to her cooking. This course was almost done, and just needed a few extra ingredients. She motioned him to sit down at the table. "Tea, Malfoy?" she offered. Despite the fact that there were more than five pots on the stove, one stirring itself, and the table needed to be set for Sunday dinner yet as all the Weasely brood came home, she was offering him tea?
Draco smiled despite himself. Watching Granger was like seeing a younger version of Molly Weasely, in her element in the kitchen. "No, thank you. You need a chair? You shouldn't be standing for so long."
"Turning into Ron, are you, Malfoy?" Granger said over her shoulder as she stirred the pot. "I may be pregnant, but I can still stand up on my own, thank you." She smiled to take the sting out of her words. She turned down the heat on the stove with her wand, and took off her apron. Beneath it, she wore a pale yellow maturnity sundress over the seven-month bulge. Her wispy brown curls were piled on her head, some coming down to frame her face in a look that he was sure she hadn't planned. "But if you're ready to go?"
He nodded. He wanted to get this over with, preferably before any of Gin's brothers saw him here. They were still a bit touchy about the whole Draco- Ginny relationship. Five months was apparently not long enough to get used to the idea, although Mrs. Weasely had taken to it surprisingly well. He had been to his far share of Weasely Sunday night dinners, just to watch Ron's face turn red. And to be with Gin, of course. He had a funny feeling that she found it amusing, too.
Ah, she was wicked, his girl.
"Do stop thinking of Gin and hurry up, Malfoy. I can see that silly grin on your face, and I should hope it's not over me. Let's go." Hermione told him brusquely.
He tried to deny it, but really, what was the point? He knew it, she knew it: he was lost. And she wouldn't go telling anybody. She was good at keeping her mouth shut, for the most part.
Draco and Hermione walked down the path on their way to Ottery St. Catchpole and its one grocery store. If it had been Draco's choice, he would have just apparated to Diagon Alley, but Hermione insisted that she come as well and pick out the food herself. She wanted out of the house, and the muggle town was the only one that was close enough to walk to without being too much of a strain on the very pregnant Granger.
It would have been very dangerous for them both if Granger had tried Apparating. Dangerous for Granger in that she might get squinched.
Dangerous for Draco if Gin or Ron ever found out that he'd let Granger get squinched. Gin would kill him. Ron would hex him, drag his body through the streets, torture him slowly, and then bury him alive.
He didn't exactly look forward to that.
So, he traveled carefully down the sloping hills of St. Catchpole, offering Granger his arm so that she wouldn't slip and hurt herself on the inclines.
People might have called Draco Malfoy a cold, heartless bastard, but nobody could ever say he didn't know how to treat a lady, provided he considered the woman in his presence a lady. That, and he had a highly developed sense of preservation. If anything, so much as a little scrape, happened to Granger on this little shopping excursion, he was screwed.
They entered the supermarket together, Granger making conversation as she pointed out things that she would like him to put in the shopping cart. She could not reach very well (she was not very tall for all that she walked with a very correct posture). She also could not lift anything heavier than a few pounds, for fear that she might damage something.
As they walked down the aisles, Granger talked about Ron's position at the Ministry (it seemed all the Weaselys were in the public service) and his partnership with one Harry Potter in a new line of Quidditch supply. Draco had to turn away from her at this point to keep her from seeing the way his lip curled at the mention of Harry Potter. He wanted to make a good impression on Hermione, so that she'd send a good report back to Ginny. Years (and Gin) might have improved his temperament since Hogwarts, but that didn't mean he had to like Harry Potter. Particularly not when Gin was so attached to him, in a platonic brother-sister way, but still. It made him see red to even see them in the same room together.
"So, what is Gin working so hard on?" Hermione asked as she put a box of cereal in the cart.
Draco shrugged. "Oh, another case, something about maltreatment of magical species. Her boss wants it done by tonight."
Hermione smiled at him. "So that's how you got conned into this job."
Draco glared at her half-heartedly. It was hard to glare at someone who looked so non-threatening. At least back at Hogwarts, she had been capable of slapping him if he went out of line, but now, with the face of the most married woman on the planet, she just didn't represent a challenge. "I resent the implication, Miss Granger, that I was conned into anything. I am not conned, ever. I am the one who does the conning."
"Of course you are, Draco Malfoy, you just keep telling yourself that." She patted his arm sympathetically before heading off to select a brick of cheese.
After about an hour of this self-made torture, Draco was relieved to see that every item on Granger's arm-length parchment had been crossed off. They approached the check out line, with Granger paying in Muggle money as he watched. It was interesting, seeing crumpled little bills instead of golden coins. He tried to figure out the value for each of the bills as they were counted, but it was in vain. He shrugged. Muggle stuff didn't interest him anyway. Really. The Harley Davidson he kept in his garage aside.
He picked up the bags of groceries as they were bagged. The woman at the cash register smiled at him. "Aw, this one'll make a good da', he will." She told Hermione in a very bad stage whisper.
Draco opened his mouth in horrified shock, wanting to correct her, as she had obviously assumed the unthinkable (Hermione and Draco? Eeeeeww), but Hermione put her hand on his arm and effectively silenced him.
"I think so, too." She said with a smile. She led him away with the bags, towards the door.
And he had stared at her, flabbergasted. Had she just said that?
He walked home in mostly stunned silence, letting Hermione do most of the talking.
After helping unbag the groceries, Draco Apparated home. It was six o'clock on a Sunday, and his bachelor flat was deserted. He resigned himself to a quiet evening at home. He could have stayed at the Weaselys for their Sunday night dinner, but without Gin nudging him to let him know that Ron had deepened yet another shade of red, it really didn't seem worth it. (They had a scale all worked out: it was a good day's work when Ron reached that plumish shade of purple within an hour.)
He sat in the couch, lying with a glass of water in his hand. It had been a long time since he'd taken a sip of something much stronger than fruit juice, and just because Gin wasn't there to remind him was no reason to go back to bad habits.
Bad habits. Gin Weasely was a bad habit, in her own adorable way. Just as intoxicating. Hell, he'd gone shopping with her bloody sister-in-law, risking almost certain dismemberment by jealous husbands if he was seen, just to see a certain freckle faced girl smile.
He fell asleep on that couch, dreaming of freckles and curls the color of sunset.
A small figure managed to get past the wards on Draco's door. It did so with the ease of many years practice (after all, with a brother who was a cursebreaker, it was too good an opportunity to learn a few tricks along the way).
The figure pulled off her green hood that kept off the night chill to gaze more fully on her moonlit prince. She went into the bathroom to get him a cover and tuck him in to the couch.
He opened his eyes sleepily at the unexpected comfort. It was not a feeling he was used to, being the one cared for. He smiled and without comprehending that she was really there and not a whimsical fragment of beautiful dream, he gently pulled her down to lie beside him on the couch, holding her close and kissing her softly before falling asleep once more with her gathered to him.
She waited till his breathing had slowed once more before gently unwrapping his arms from where they held her. She didn't want to go, but she didn't trust herself around him, not even as he slept. He was too charming, her beautiful snake.
She smiled at that. Wasn't it ironic, that the girl they whispered was the snake charmer was in turn rather charmed by the snake?
She kissed his brow, and tucked his covers around him once more. He sighed, and so did she. This was heartbreakingly sappy, but her brothers weren't around to laugh at her sentimentality. Shaking herself, she recovered her bright hair and banked the fire that Draco had left in the fireplace. Then she got up and disappeared into the shadows hidden from moonlight, humming an old song quietly.
The Moonlight Sonata.