A/N: A complete non-war AU, in which Draco was sorted into Hufflepuff and Hermione was sorted to Ravenclaw. For HeartOfAspen.
Love to Kyonomiko for giving this the alpha thumbs up and to niffizzle for making this shine with her comments and corrections :) All remaining errors are mine.
I hope you enjoy! I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.
'Move, move, move, you idiot.' Draco Malfoy had been repeating this command to himself for an indeterminable amount of time, which was likely in the realm of five minutes or less, but that was neither here-nor-there.
For what was important in the here-and-now was that Hermione Granger, Ravenclaw swot and first in every class she enrolled in (though only just so in Potions, which had nothing to do with his godfather being the professor, thank you very much), had surrounded herself in several stacks of large tomes at a table in the library.
As Draco had been unable to find three references he needed to work on his Ancient Runes essay (due by the end of the week, a foretaste of the insane workload of Seventh year), the only logical conclusion was that Granger had taken them.
Although the pride and joy of the House of Ravenclaw was seated with her back to the aisle, Draco had yet to work up the courage to advance towards her table and inquire about any of the reference books, let alone saunter with his usual confidence and slide into the empty seat at the foot of the table as he easily would have with fellow Hufflepuffs Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott.
Hell, even if this had been Slytherin's Tracey Davis or Daphne Greengrass, or Ravenclaw's Mandy Brocklehurst, he could have come and gone with the necessary books twice already…
But it had to be Granger.
Granger who always managed to make him feel like some witless, lumbering buffoon, when as the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and their starting Seeker since fourth year, he was quite the opposite of that, and—
"As diverting as it is to guess the reason that keen grey gaze of yours has been boring into the back of my head for the past five-and-a-half minutes, Malfoy," Granger called out, head still bent over her parchment, quill scratching away, "I've a great deal more I intended to accomplish this evening and would prefer if you'd kindly step up and say or ask what you've been deliberating over."
He released a sigh, adjusting the strap of his book bag, making towards the object of his avoidance. "Should I even bother asking how you knew it was me?" His grip on the leather strap on his shoulder tightened as he stopped by the empty seat to her left, slightly perturbed she'd yet to cease writing or lift her eyes to his...
"No."
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Three silent blinks as he reigned in simmering agitation. "Are you going to make eye contact with me at all?"
"Would you like me to?" Granger countered with such haste that Draco found himself in the awkward position of sputtering…
...Witless buffoon…
He cleared his throat. "What sort of question is that? It's polite in civilised society to pause and greet someone who's come up to you."
"Ah, but you did not come up to me." Scratch, scratch, scraaaaatch went her quill. "You stood far enough away from me, staring at the back of my head as if I were some infectious troll and or an exhibit in the zoo, and I had to be the one to speak first, even though you were the one approaching me."
"Sorry—an exhibit at the what?" He restrained himself from pinching the bridge of his nose or rubbing his temples. Merlin, his head hurt. Why couldn't it even have been Daphne's simpering baby sister, Astoria, with all the books. He could handle a fifth year with a crush easily enough…
But then Granger surprised him.
The scratch, scratch, scratch of her quill ceased, and she shoved several curls (that appeared surprisingly soft and silky in the yellow glow of the library's sconces) behind an ear, floating her eyes to his.
And he forgot to breathe.
He'd hardly caught more than a glimpse of her since since the Welcome Back Feast last night, which was not surprising given that the Ravenclaw house table was sandwiched between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins, and Crabbe and Goyle had decided it would have been a good joke to begin the year with some loud and explosive product purchased at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. And he'd confess he had not been paying much attention to Granger as she'd given her Head Girl address to the Prefects from their carriage on the Hogwarts Express yesterday, what with Quidditch strategy to review and whatnot, but now…
Gods. Had her eyes always resembled chocolate from the inside of his favourite truffles, featuring flecks of gold? Had there always been a spattering of freckles across her nose? She'd been lovely enough for the Yule Ball at the Triwizard Tournament two-and-a-half years ago, not that he'd caught a close enough look at her then, but—
"...quite sure you're feeling alright, Malfoy?"
He shook himself. Granger had been speaking to him, and he'd no idea what she had said… "Pardon?"
Her brow puckered in a most becoming way. "I asked if you're quite sure you're feeling alright." Her chin lifted as those arresting brown eyes swept across his face. "First, you try to work yourself up to come and talk to me and now you've zoned out entirely. I know I've a reputation for being clipped and short with people, but I'm not so very insufferable that you should feel you can't ask me something. I really don't bite, unless in the case of that twat Ronald Weasley—and then I reserve the right to bark and rage at his boisterous swagger as much as I please."
Flashes of a biting Granger appeared and dissolved within seconds of each other, and Draco found himself shaking his head as the final unexpected remnants dissipated. "Sorry," he croaked, "I've really cocked all this up. It's just that I've been looking for a few references books for our Ancient Runes essay, and I presumed they were with you once I saw you in your usual perch…"
She blinked once. Twice. "Keeping tabs on my seating arrangements in the library then?"
A thick swallow. A flippant appearing shrug to distract from the heat bubbling under his cheeks. "Look, we've had similar timetables since third year," he deflected as the curls behind her ear rebelled and struggled to free themselves, "and since any one of the three or more books I'd need are in your stacks, so…" He trailed off, allowing a simple gesture to finish his query.
She huffed, her quill resuming its scratch, scratch, scratch across the parchment. "Have a seat, but no small talk, Malfoy."
She had spoken so soft it seemed a shared intimacy, as opposed to the direct command he was certain she'd intended. That inexplicable tightness in his chest remained as he slid into the seat and grabbed one of the books.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Granger."
Water spewed from Draco's mouth and nose, much to his horror. A quick swipe of his sleeve across his face and flick of his wand vanished the spray as though it had never happened, but the widened shock of Granger's chocolate eyes and the bruising of his ego was enough to remind him it did.
A brow arched at him. "Was it something I said?"
Ah, right. They'd been talking before he completely embarrassed himself, as he always seemed to do around the increasingly bewitching witch… Something about those eyes… Hair… Scent…
"Surely you don't disagree with me."
Her voice stirred him again, like a guiding Yule melody in the snow… Merlin, what was happening to him?
He cleared his throat. "Believe it or not, I don't disagree with you." He combed his fingers through his pale fringe. "But I think the rest of the school would think you're a nutter for saying it outright; Potter may even challenge you to a duel to defend his witch's honour before you finished the sentence."
Granger snorted. "If Harry bothered with the supplemental reading Professor Lupin recommended or bothered to train with anyone outside of Gryffindor, I might be worried. I stand by my original statement regardless."
A lazy smirk travelled up Draco's face, masking the racing of his heart. "Just so we're clear: you're saying that Weaslette is not a good Quidditch player?"
"Incorrect," she hissed through her teeth, making a jabbing motion of her quill in his direction from across the library table. "You twisted my words on purpose for the pleasure of hearing my scandalous opinion again." She rolled her eyes at his shoulder shrug but continued nonetheless. "What I said was that Ginny is a natural talent. How could she not be? The youngest in a family of six older brothers, she's probably been riding a broom since her first birthday. She flies with grace, comfort, and ease. She's fast and daring; however, she's not a team player. She's overconfident and flashy with her tricks, and leaves her teammates behind when there's an opportunity for her to stand out. Her raw talent and consistent scoring of points are the only reason she's been able to get away with it for so long—"
"And the fact she's shagging the team captain this year," Draco added with a teasing wiggle of his brows.
"Precisely." Granger waved her free hand. "She's not challenged enough here, but no one will say anything because she's the darling of Gryffindor. It's setting her up for a massive crash and burn when she's out of school and trying out for a professional team."
Stumped. There was no other word to describe Draco's current emotion. Well, he could admit to himself that wasn't entirely true, but he wasn't thinking about that. Not now at least. He drew a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and loathing the fact she was too far away to readily detect her scent. "How did we even get on this topic? And since when do you know so much about Quidditch?"
"You mentioned something your fellow Hufflepuff Nott said," Granger answered, "which led to my confirmation of Luna's statement, because I overheard her saying that same thing to Ginny in the Ravenclaw Common Room the other day, which eventually led us to what I'm saying to you right now."
He caught himself before his jaw gaped at her… At least she'd overlooked his shocked water spew in her near literal account of the previous five minutes. But before he could fill the silence with a response…
"And I've been attending Quidditch matches for the past six-and-a-half years." It was nearly a scoff, but there was a soft vulnerability in her tone that prevented him from taking it in ire. "Everyone just assumes I never pay attention because I have a book with me at every match."
Granger dropped his gaze to resume recopying her notes from today's Charms lecture, a study discipline, he learned mid-September, that she'd apparently been doing since her first year. He wanted to ask something else. Wanted to fill the silence gap between them again. They'd fallen into this pattern of homework and studying together after dinner (sometimes before) since the second week of the school year.
They'd never discussed it, nor had she ever reproached or berated Draco on the 'small talk' he had slowly incorporated into to this hallowed practice of productivity and knowledge absorption. Never declined to answer his casual questions in an effort to get to know this witch better, one bit at a time.
Sometimes Theo and Luna would join them. Sometimes there was a slinky Michael Corner to contend with. But mercifully, none of them were as dedicated as Granger, and they always left well before Madam Pince would stalk by, reminding them of closing time.
He permitted the mutually agreed upon silence to linger as he completed another couple of paragraphs and double checked the tome to ensure he had a proper grasp o the theory behind the importance of maintaining a frigid temperature when brewing a highly specific healing potion when Granger surprised him again.
"We weren't friends then, but I was scared for you that game this spring."
It was so hushed he almost missed it, but his ears caught her words, setting off a violent reaction in his arms which had him splattering ink all over his essay.
He swore under his breath, muttering a spell to clean the mess, her words clanging in his mind.
I was scared for you…
He'd handle her definition of their relationship status later, but for now… "I was scared for me, too. Scared shiteless actually."
"Was it… I mean…" She was shaking her head when he looked up at her, placing his quill in his inkpot. She offered him a weak attempt of a smile, which he learned was her way of communicating that she was uncomfortable. Extremely so. "I suppose it would be uncouth and quite callous of me to ask if it hurt."
"I was kept unconscious for the first day after my accident," he supplied as she held his gaze, blinks controlled and measured, "but once I woke up and Madam Pomfrey began reducing the dosage of my pain potion regimen, it was the worst pain I'd ever felt. I actually cried real tears - something I hadn't done since our very first night at Hogwarts, albeit for a much different reason, though."
"Oh?"
His heart purred, settling into a satisfied rhythm at the curiosity in her query. "Well, yes. I'm the first Malfoy to not be sorted into Slytherin… I've a cousin who was a Hufflepuff, but she wasn't really part of my life before Hogwarts." And she still wasn't overly involved, but exchanged owls, half of Christmas day, the occasional butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks on Hogsmead weekends, and an invitation to her wedding were more than the nothing it'd been before.
"And… your parents were… displeased?"
"Father was; I think he may still be to some degree." He stroked his chin, considering how much to disclose. Taking some stock in what to impart before throwing self-preservation to the wind. "I've a feeling Mother was almost relieved at my placement. Relieved that if the nightmare of the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's regime was to ever return, I'd have other options than the marked path of servitude because of Father's past failures." His shoulders sagged, lips twisting as he deliberated over his wording. "And I think Mother had wanted an excuse to reconnect with her favourite sister since Aunt Bella has descended into madness in Azkaban."
Granger blinked still. Didn't shudder, didn't flinch at the family history he'd laid bare before her. It was almost unnerving, and he squelched the urge to shift in his seat, declining to break eye contact and appear at all ashamed for anything that wasn't his doing…
"Are you now, or were you once, displeased with your sorting?"
"I'm not now," he answered, honest and frank. "There's something about almost dying that sets one's priorities in order. I hadn't realised what a burden Father's disapproval was until finding out I'd made Quidditch Captain over Head Boy and his snide dismissal didn't sink in until hours later. But by then I'd already owled our previous two team captains to set up meetings for advice and strategy."
Granger actually smiled at him. "And did any of them respond?"
"Both, actually." Draco smiled right back. "But only Cedric was able to meet with me. Anyways, all that to say, almost dying did hurt—" she flinched and his smile broadened, taking on what he hoped was a comforting appearance, "—but I can't complain since it seems I've come out the better for it. I've even settled on a career option for after Hogwarts.'
"Oh!" She brightened instantly, and the being in his chest preened as she leaned forward. "And what will Draco Malfoy do with his life after he's released into the great big world?"
"I'm going to be a Healer. The best damn one St. Mungo's has ever seen."
"Really?" Those flakes of gold sparkled at him across the table and her smile morphed into something challenging. Almost… flirting. "We'll have to see about that then, because it just so happens I'm bound for Healer training myself—well…" Her brow furrowed, specks of glittering gold dulling without previous warning. "I hope to be at least."
"You think there'd be some reason you wouldn't be?" Unlikely, to say the least...
Yet the witch still appeared worried. "Madam Pomfrey has allowed me to shadow and assist her this year, but my near-end-of-term evaluation has me concerned." Draco waited as she traced patterns over her parchment with her finger… "Apparently, my bedside manner is less than comforting and helpful to the patient."
Draco caught the laugh from escaping his chest just in time. It was absurd that a student should be expected to treat all things with exemplary poise, grace, and empathy… But Granger's lips parted again, and he kept his thoughts to himself… For now.
"I know, believe me, I know I can be the insufferable know-it-all Professor Snape has always called me." She gave a thick swallow, shoving serval curls behind an ear. "I know I can be harsh and demanding—I'm not deaf to what's been said about me all these years. I'd hoped my experience with Madam Pomfrey would help, but it seems to have magnified my flaws all the more."
Draco chewed his tongue, assessing her. "Would you consider self-assurance, intelligence, and confidence as flaws?"
He was not going to permit himself the time to marvel at that blush ringing her cheeks, not when she said, "It's just hard, you know? Mum and Dad are wonderful, they've never complained at all over my magic, but they're both working professionals in the Muggle world. I grew up conversing with them and their colleagues. And then first year…" She faltered here, a glossy sheen coating her chocolate irises that had Draco aching to cross the distance between them. "I overheard Ronald telling Neville and Harry that I'm a nightmare. I'd just tried to be helpful in class, he could have spelled his eye out…"
Draco could hold back his words no longer. "It was easier to hide behind the perceived mask?"
She shrugged, now drumming her fingers over the parchment, seemingly uncertain what to say next.
"Well, anyone who still sees you so is a fool." He laced his fingers over his own parchment, leaning forward as her eyes stared his. "You came out of your shell our fourth year. You let Boot take you to the Yule Ball. I remember you led the Ravenclaw O.W.L. study groups in fifth year. You're Head Girl this year; Dumbledore wouldn't have selected you if the students and professors didn't respect you. And I'm frankly surprised you've had all this time to study with me this term and aren't too busy overseeing another study group for N.E.W.T. preparations."
"Ah, about that," she cut-in, sighing and carding a hand through her hair. "You see… since Padma and Terry started dating this summer, I've apparently become competition because of my obvious history with Terry…"
Draco laughed. "You're not serious?"
"I very much am." She lifted a shoulder in half a shrug. "Mandy has always been on friendlier terms with Padma, and the rest of the girls followed suit."
"Well," he sucked a sharp breath, hoping to Merlin this wouldn't destroy the delicate balance between them, "I consider it their loss and my gain."
"Thanks, Malfoy." She swallowed, dropping his gaze; he was worried that he'd spoken too honestly for half-a-moment, until she said, "You know, out of everything that's happened, you're the most surprising thing that's come of this year so far. And thank you."
She didn't look back up from her books and parchment. Draco wasn't quite sure what to make any of that. Wasn't entirely certain about anything anymore, as delicate warmth wrapped and pressed at his heart.
February in Scotland was shite.
Daily temperatures never rose above 'frigid' and what was worse, the incessant grey cloud cover could never decide between furious rain or blustering snow. Today had been some unfortunate combination of the two, with the rain finally winning out, making Draco's idea for this supplemental Quidditch practice seem all the more insane.
But, by Merlin, he wanted to beat Gryffindor next week.
Yearned for it and dreamt for it almost as much as he wanted to finally, finally, twine his hands with Hermione Granger's. Wanted to feel those luscious lips against his own. Wanted to taste her savoury sweetness for himself.
How he'd managed to reign supreme over these warring urges and desires the entire month of January, he had no idea. They'd sent each other Christmas presents over the holiday, even exchanged a few owls each until the beginning of term. Her bewitching chocolate gaze seemed on the prowl, on the hunt, never resting, until they'd locked with his on the train in the Prefect's carriage. Their daily conversation was no longer limited to the library, but in and between classes and before she dashed off to the infirmary. And it no longer danced along the lines of 'flirtation'—it was open and unashamed.
And yet… Draco felt as though he were waiting for something. A moment. A sign that they were ready for some open and declarative statement about the changes in each of them this year…
He lost focus, plummeting several feet in mid-air before catching himself. He did a double-take to ensure this was not some figment of his imagination… A projection of his fantasies come to life.
He drew a sharp breath when his eyes confirmed that what he thought he'd just seen, he actually had seen. The icy air tore through his lungs, but what did that matter when beholding such a glorious sight? How could anything in the world possibly compare to the vision of Hermione Granger in the Quidditch stands, eyes trained on the players and not on a book. The Ravenclaw had bundled herself in a raincoat and her house scarf, and she had cast an umbrella charm about her. There appeared to be a book of some fashion in her lap, but she seemed to be writing in it as she watched his team run through drills.
Needless to say this supplemental practice may have been all for naught, as Draco found it most challenging to focus on anything but the witch in the stands.
When it had finally ended and he dismissed his team with stumbling words of encouragement and directions to get plenty of rest before next practice, he flew with as much faux serenity and swagger as he could muster up to the stands where the Ravenclaw witch sat.
Her soft smile warmed him from the inside out, and it was necessary to clear his throat before saying, "You'll notice on the time table I didn't miss my Prefect rounds." He licked his lips, clearing his throat again as the gold in her eyes danced. "I switched with Blaise Zabini specifically for this supplementary practice."
Her lips parted as he floated nearer… Was that a rosy tinge to her cheeks?
"No, no," she said. "It's not that…" She bit down on her bottom lip, unusually silent and seemingly uncomfortable. "It's just that… Well, you had mentioned wanting to get an edge over Gryffindor next week, and I came out here to take some notes."
Those urges he'd been denying clamourred, clawing and crying for release… It was inconceivable to think of anything beyond this moment… Let alone breathe…
The witch continued. "You probably already knew this and spoke to them about it, but your Chasers easily fall back into defensive flight patterns, and that won't cut it when facing the Ginny Weasley." She glanced down at her notebook, tracing over a few lines. "And your Keeper should consider some extra stretching techniques to improve his flexibility, which would aid him in blocking more of those awkward shots—I've actually got a book of simple beginner yoga poses and—"
Draco had heard enough.
His face dove, lips colliding with hers. He'd waited for some sign, and this was it. Granger waiting in the rain. Taking notes for the Quidditch team. His Quidditch team.
His lips pressed hard as his fingers gripped the slick Firebolt with all his might. He forgot he was suspended in mid-air. Forgot that if she shoved him away in disgust because he'd misread everything, or taken this step before delving into more discussion, he'd have to catch himself before plummeting to the soggy, soppy brown pitch below…
Her mouth returned his pressure, soft and gentle, and he breathed a relieved sigh, releasing her lips, nuzzling his nose with hers before floating himself backwards. Back into the chilling rain.
"I'll meet you in the library the usual time, Granger."
"What did I do to you that first day?"
"Hmm?" Hardly the most eloquent response he could have come up with, but everything in him remained under a haze of fairy dust and candlelights in the aftermath of their brief meeting of lips less than an hour previous.
"That first day in Potions, Draco."
A single kiss made him 'Draco' now. Interesting. Perhaps he should return the favour…
"Was there something I did to offend you so?" she continued, taking no notice of his momentary lapse in attention. Her brows knit together, voice lowered. "Was it… Surely it wasn't because I'm Muggle-born?"
"That was… part of it, Hermione." He said it as a test, and when she didn't shudder or balk at his use of her given name, he blew out a hard exhale, dragging a hand through his hair. He should have seen this coming after the kiss in the rain and the shy looks and hand brushings over the past fifteen minutes. This shouldn't have caught him off-guard; it was the conversation he'd been waiting for if he was being honest with himself…
"We've discussed my father and the burden I allowed myself to carry all these years about not being sorted into Slytherin. I couldn't understand how my sorting had happened, and I just knew he'd be angry. But that paled in comparison to his disappointment." He met her full, questioning gaze with all the honesty and courage he could summon. "I was supposed to befriend the Harry Potter that first train ride, only to find we'd already met and he didn't think too highly of the little shite I'd been while we were being measured for robes. And then he'd gone and befriended Weasley, who laughed at my name… And it was all distressing; I had failed before the school year had even begun."
She shifted, scooting her chair nearer his, banishing all pretense of school work. "Go on," she urged when he fell silent, losing himself to those distant, but not forgotten, memories.
He swallowed, daring to allow his hand to move until it rested several inches from hers. "I'm ashamed to say it was because you are a Muggle-born, although that's a grave oversimplification. I was crushed in the aftermath of that introduction to Weasley and Potter, and then you came bursting through the door of my carriage inquiring about a toad—"
"But that's exactly what I'm saying," she interjected. "You followed me to look some more for that ridiculous toad. We crossed the lake together in the boats. You listened to me prattle so about the enchantment of the ceiling in the Great Hall and not once mocked the fact that I'd already memorised several books on magic and large portions of Hogwarts: A History…" She shook her head, carding her fingers through her curls. "I can't make sense of that, then these past six years, and now coming to what all this is between us."
"Believe it or not," he murmured, "I'm still trying to come to terms with it all myself. It was easy to bury my fear and dread in cold avoidance as a child. It was easy to revert to the familiar that day in Potions class when you mentioned that you were Muggle-born. And then it became a way of acting around you, which was very wrong of me, Hermione." His hand braved the gap, fingers brushing over her knuckles. "It was wrong, and I'm sorry. And if you can believe it even more, you're a part of this labyrinth of my past that I've been working to rectify this year."
"Oh?"
He smiled, broad and genuine. "But of course, witch. There's the fact that while Mother and her sister Andromeda have reconnected, neither she nor her Muggle-born husband had ever been to the Manor until this past Christmas. We spent all Christmas Day together, the picturesque happy family."
She chuckled and he allowed the aforementioned brave hand to lay atop hers and continued, "Father was sulking and puffing on a pipe throughout the day, but Mother and Aunt Andromeda filled the drawing room with laughter and stories. My cousin's hair was this happy pink all day long and Professor Lupin, who happens to be her husband," he clarified at Granger's widened eyes, "cracked several smiles and shared in with the tales of his adventures with his group back in Hogwarts."
"Oh my…"
"Oh, yes." Draco hummed, allowing his beam to soften. "We even went to visit Mother and Aunt Andromeda's cousin Sirius in Azkaban, and it's now a family project to work on freeing him from that injustice… Though, I've no idea how long that will take, nor if we'll be able to succeed."
The witch turned her hand over, lifting her palm to meet his, threading her fingers between his. "I hope you do." She squeezed his hand, brushing her lips to his cheek. "You keep surprising me, Draco Malfoy."
He leaned forward and caught her lips with his, savouring her moan as he buried a hand in her curls.
This was it.
The culmination of everything his team had worked for. Everything he had laboured and toiled over.
They had triumphed over Gryffindor and were now playing Slytherin in the Quidditch final. They just had to win.
Hermione had allowed him the exquisite pleasure of sharing her bed last night (drawing the line at heavy snogging and petting, saying they both deserved more than a fumbling quickie before 'the big game') and he'd swaggered to the pitch with more confidence than he'd known possible.
He'd looked for his witch immediately after taking to the air, so pleased he could burst that, for the first time ever, Hermione Granger had come to a Quidditch match without a book. Even better, she'd transfigured her shirt to an exact replica of his Quidditch jersey.
It was a tied game, and Draco had been circling and flying with all his might for close to an hour now, battling against Blaise to find the Snitch. He swerved and twisted and then dove…
Straining, reaching, reaching…
A flash of green and black…
An exhausted groan and heave…
A triumphant cackle…
Blaise caught the bloody Snitch.
'Slytherin wins!' the sodding commentator yelled out.
Draco's mouth twisted as Blaise took a victory lap around the pitch, waving the Snitch at the gathered Slytherin students before floating his way back to Draco. "Great game, mate." The Slytherin Seeker clapped him on the shoulder, and Draco managed a congratulatory salute.
"Same to you."
Disappointment was bitter on his tongue as he floated down to the pitch, schooling his features to congratulate his team members for a well played year. "We may not have won, but you should all be proud of what we accomplished this year."
There was more he should have said, but words failed him as Hermione ran across the lush green pitch, wild curls flagging behind her as her arms pumped. They wrapped around his neck as she lunged for him.
"I don't care that Blaise Zabini narrowly snatched the Snitch before you, I'm so proud of you," she murmured, closing her lips over his before he had the chance to respond. Catcalls and whistles registered in the background noise, but they were nothing to him. Not when his witch set a dizzying and desperate pace, as if pouring out more than her words could express.
Perhaps that was so… Perhaps she knew as a Ravenclaw that there was some things too vast, too strong, and entirely too rich to be expressed with words. And perhaps he agreed with her logic, for he pulled her flush against his chest and lifted her so that her feet rested on his boots, losing himself as her fingers clutched his hair—
"Apologies for interrupting, Draco…"
Hermione tore herself away, gasping and panting, lips swollen and cheeks red.
"Mother…" Draco answered, swiping a gloved finger over Hermione's crinkled nose before turning around… Shocked into stupified silence at the sight awaiting him.
For it was not only his Mother standing amid the crowd of rowdy students, but his father.
Lucius had come.
Of course Draco had owled his mother about Hufflepuff making it to Quidditch final, inviting her, and his father too by consequence, but he never dreamed Lucius would actually come.
The Malfoy patriarch arched a brow, eyeing the witch now struggling to make her hair more presentable and less freshly snogged. "You played very well today, son."
Invisible fingers clamped down on his chest, and he loathed the bob of his throat as he gave a curt nod. "Thank you." Another thick swallow. "Thank you for coming. Both of you." His eyes travelled between his parents, freeing warmth blooming at his mother's smirk. "I suppose introductions would be in order."
"Quite so," his mother beamed.
"Well then." Draco pulled tugged his hands free from his gloves before reaching out, wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Hermione, I'd like you to meet my parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy." To her credit, his witch didn't even flinch as she proffered her hand to each parent. "Mother, Father, this is Hermione Granger. We've been dating the past few months, and she'll be joining me in the Healer Trainee program come this fall."
"If we're accepted." Hermione made a face back at him over her shoulder.
His mother mouthed something that appeared along the lines of 'I like her' while Hermione still fixed her glare on Draco, and he suppressed the urge to laugh.
Narcissa reached out and took Hermione's hands in hers and said, "If you're half as clever as I've been hearing the last seven years, I have no doubts about either you or Draco being accepted. Your N.E.W.T. scores will be a mere formality at this point."
Hermione scoffed, followed by a blush, but ultimately settled in a flow of conversation as his mother discussed a tea she would be hosting for all the beginning Healer Trainee's after they had received their acceptances, asking Hermione if there was any sweet or savoury delicacy she should be sure to have on the menu.
Draco caught his father's eye and decided this day was perfect just as it happened, for Lucius' lips quirked in the hint of a rare, approving smile.
Loss of the game and all.
Passing notes in their last Potions class of the year may not have been the wisest course of action. Not with his godfather in rare dry form after the group of first years he'd taught just before them.
But Draco decided it was all too poetic to let this moment pass them by. Especially as he'd slipped into the empty seat beside his witch, taking full measure of everything at their tabletop before meeting her inquisitive stare with a tentative smile.
'Just like our first class,' he wrote on the first note.
'Seems that way,' she replied, then pulled the parchment scrap back, adding, 'Will you vanish again this time? Treat me with cold civility for the next six years?'
He smirked and answered a question posed by Severus before turning back to the parchment. Yet another sign. He'd been deliberating since the Quidditch final, waiting and deliberating over when to share… If he should cross that line… But now he wrote, 'Not a chance. I've fallen madly and irreversibly in love with you, Hermione Granger.' He slid parchment back to her without a shadow of doubt.
She blinked down at the the parchment for several long minutes. Minutes that he may should have fretted over her answer, but she was a Ravenclaw after all. She needed time to analyse and assess.
Just as she was about to reach for her quill, Severus barked out the last of his orders, commanding the class to begin their final potion for the year. Over the next several minutes, Hermione cast him furtive glances while Draco allowed his fingers to brush over hers with every opportunity he got before sliding the parchment back to himself.
'And besides, you're already coming for one tea this summer. Wouldn't do to not be on speaking terms then… And I rather think I'll be in need of your assistance organising all the books in my study to maximise my efficiency…'
She accepted the parchment, lips breaking out into the most glorious of smiles. She murmured a quick copying spell over the large scrap, slipping the copy in her pocket before adding three drops of something to their cauldron, stirring anti-clockwise once before stirring clockwise thrice.
Scratch, scratch, scratch went her quill, and the parchment slid back to Draco.
'I figured out my Amortentia has been scented like you back in November… I love you, too, Draco Malfoy.'
Finis