Hello everyone! Here's the new part, which I hope you'll find enjoyable. I want to thank you all SO SO MUCH for all the comments and encouragement and reading this. Seeing that this story – which is my favorite baby right now – was bookmarked so many times feels incredible, but your comments are even better, actually the best gift you can ever give to a writer. Its what makes me go on and write more. Thank you, you are all amazing and I can't tell you enough how grateful I am!
Having that said, we're almost at the end! Almosstttt. - grins – I enjoyed writing this story so much, but it was set to a deadline and I didn't have enough time to explore this little world as much as I wanted, so there will be another one, a companion story of sorts, and I hope you'll give it a look. Watch this space, and I'll let you know when it's up. In the meantime, you're totally welcome to check my other dramione works. I'll be flattered and super happy and completely over the moon, especially if you share your thoughts with me and leave me a comment. Feedback is, after all, what feeds the writer's heart. Thank you so much for all that generous love you shared with me!
Part Nine
"Malfoy," she called him that when she was annoyed, or when she wanted to tease him, but mostly, when she was annoyed. Time had passed and they had fallen back into a routine, and he annoyed her often and a lot. That hadn't changed one bit, in fact, so many things stayed the same, even though there were new layers of knowledge and questions and feelings. Oh dear Merlin, feelings. Like she didn't have enough on her plate now, or like it wouldn't be just damn easier if she didn't spend so much damn time around him. There was pride, fondness, longing; things she didn't even dare naming in her own head as they spread through her consciousness like incantations she found in her favourite book.
The winter had come, with the snow and excitement for their children, and tension between two of them. She could cut that tension with a knife if she tried. It was constantly there, when they argued over one thing or another, when she threw popcorns at him when he scowled at her choice of films. Sometimes it felt like she had switched sides, which was insane and frankly, unacceptable line of thinking.
Sometimes she felt stretched too thin, attempting to be two people. One person known by the wizarding public, Hermione Granger, the war hero, the widow, the fucking respected person who didn't do wrong things. The other her was just a person, a single mother, a hard worker. She was a friend. She was doing her best to consider both sides. She was forgiving and it wasn't a weakness, she never tolerated injustice and she never damn would.
There were no more sides. There shouldn't be. This was Draco, and oh God, she knew who he was and what he was like, with all his prejudice and entitlement and the damn, dutiful guilt he wouldn't admit to, even if it stared back at him from the mirror.
She was a woman too. She wanted to be wanted, and there was a man who definitely, certainly wanted her. That sheer thought made her skin crawl, and perhaps she should have been given a medal for excelling in brand new sort of masochism.
But right now, she was simply annoyed and even angry with Draco, and he was doing his best to push her buttons. Because he knew how, and he could, and it was just this simmering thing between them that she couldn't step away from. They enjoyed these rows way too much, and Hermione wondered if there was a better way to burn all that energy they pored into insults, but it was a working day. She better keep her mind away from that kind of thoughts.
"We don't have an entire day to waste, and I certainly don't need -"
"Enough, Granger," his hand gripped her upper arm, and he pulled her close. She didn't mind the closeness, not at all, but it was so goddamn distracting and she had to end this silly fight over nothing, so they could go back to actual work at their hands. But he insisted on being an annoying, attractive little prat, and being a male, physically stronger than her, so she stayed connected to his unrelenting arm that held her. "I am not spending another day in the office discussing who is right. As much as I despise it, we're going to settle this like Gryffindors," he stopped to give her a mischievous look, the one that equalled a gauntlet thrown straight into her face. Which was something she wanted to accept, if there wasn't a pile of work already waiting for them, but that look on his face, that look she wanted to slap and kiss away at the same time -
"Draco Malfoy! We have work to do," her attempt was just as good as doomedbecause he was in one of those moods. He wasn't going to give up, he was going to be impossible and stubborn just to get what he wanted, because in his damn blond head he was in the right.
He, of course, ignored the bit about work completely.
"I know my name, woman, you don't have to yell. Get your coat."
"Draco -"
She tried to free herself from his hold, which resulted in a childish game of pulling, grabbing and swatting. Damn him. Damn him to hell and back, because she was starting to feel amused instead of angry, and it was hard not to. Deep down she knew he was doing some things just to annoy a laugh out of her. His hands were larger, he was taller, so tall that she had to look up to frown at his pretty smirk. He took her hostage, pulled her even closer, her trapped hands against his chest, and God, his heart was like a hammer. This didn't feel so bad. It didn't feel bad at all.
"Your menacing stares will not help. Granger, for once, do as I say, would you?"
She stared at him, knowing that he wasn't going to give up. Her hands stayed against his chest when they should have moved away. She opted to put on her coat and scarf herself, before he had the chance to do it for her. He wasn't above it. She could pay him back for this at some later point. This was merely a tactical retreat, she told herself.
"I am pleasantly surprised to see that there is still some reason in your head," he said, putting on his coat and smirking into her face. Such annoying, attractive smirk it was, and she would like to -
She shouldn't be thinking like that, but she couldn't help it much – these slips were getting more frequent, because, Merling help her, she found him handsome and smart. Gorgeous. He was a collection of inconsistencies and contrasts and a constant, walking challenge to her mind. He was interesting and smart, and he was never short of surprises. And that, that was good, so so very good. He was Draco Malfoy, probably the most arrogant person she knew, and she found him completely amazing.
"I am certain that you have gone completely mad and have finally lost your wit," she said, looking at his extended hand, lamely playing the game. "Are you kidding?"
"Do you not trust me?" he shot back. So many layers to a single question, and damn it all.
"This is not a matter of trust, Malfoy," she persisted and mostly faked her anger but grasped his hand nevertheless. "Sometimes I'm certain your son is more mature."
"And I am certain my son would completely approve of this. Therefore, you can rest assured that my plan would be approved by a mature person," she glared, and he rolled his eyes. Of course he would have an answer to everything, the annoying git, but that was the best thing about him. "There. On count of three, Granger," he said.
He didn't count. Of course. Cheater. The pull of the Apparition took her balance and she swayed a little as the snow all around them blinded her for a moment.
"Malfoy! Where the hell are we?"
She was disoriented at first, but there was a feeling of familiarity about the place. Oh no, he didn't. Did he? Did he really?
"Seriously, Draco? Hogsmeade?"
He was smirking into her face in a way that made her want to slap him. He shruged.
"I thought this would be an appropriate spot. Evening out the score and all that -" she glared at him and he arched an eyebrow at her. "My face is still sore from your fist and I demand retribution," the elegance of his little speech was so incredibly exaggerated, he had to be doing it with a purpose.
"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, are you still thirteen?"
He came closer, close enough for her to see every shade of grey and every bit of silver as he looked at her, his eyes locked on hers.
"Oh, thank Merlin we're not," he said. And smashed a fistful of icy cold snow into her face.
It was a fight of epic proportions. Completely ruthless, with no rules and no mercy, just sheer stubbornness neither of them lacked. Hermione fought valiantly, but eventually the predictable, infuriating physical strength of a young male made him victorious, effectively trapping her against a tree.
Or, perhaps, she had let him do exactly this, because she was tired. Perhaps she was having a better time than she was willing to allow. In any case, she was caught, and her captor looked happy, with a snowball ready. She really didn't want it smashed into her face again. He did it once, the snow was cold, her arms were aching, she wanted a break. A break from everything, really, including her overanalysis of whatever was this thing between them. At this point she was ready and willing to beg for mercy.
Well, almost.
"Okay, okay, you win," her breathing was hard, her foggy, wet breaths puffing into his smirking face.
"Come again?"
"You win, Malfoy," she was laughing now because this was ridiculous and insane and so damn good, and she didn't even remember what they were fighting about any more. It just didn't matter, not more than tiny wrinkles forming around his eyes, announcing a smile. She saw plenty of smirks, cocky overconfident grins, but the smiles were rare. They were precious. They transformed him, and that was why she wanted them. "You win! I surrender," she finally caught her breath.
He dropped the snow, planted his hands against the tree trunk, closely framing her face, and oh God. His eyes were intent and soft, boring into hers. Her breath caught and her throat tightened under the intensity of his stare.
"Granger," he said, barely a whisper, his lips merely inches away. Oh, oh, oh.
"What?" she asked, looking as his eyes become different, purposeful. Almost frightening. She could feel a fire spreading through her chest.
"I am positively, completely sober right now," he said, and announcement, a promise and a threat all at once.
She didn't remember their first kiss all that well, actually she could barely recall it, except for the fact that her face was above his and his hands were warm and everywhere. The memory of that kiss lacked sharpness and excitement, and as much she tired to relive it, it left her wanting. It was an achy feeling low in her stomach. The tree trunk behind her welcomed her weight as he leaned against her, pressing close, and Hermione could feel every bit of him, wondering if her brain could fry itself or just shut down from this feeling alone. He looked at her, pierced her with those eyes of his, frantically seeking something, and for a moment she feared that what he was searching for wouldn't be there. She was just about to speak, because she just wanted him to do it already, or her heart would burst through the seams of her chest. She would freaking explode. His lips were soft whisper when she felt them, soft and wonderful like something long expected and she gasped, achy for more. It started as a slow kiss, slow and so terribly sweet, but this was them, and just like that growing thing between them, the kiss changed. It exploded, deep and possessive and so fucking right, with tongues and teeth and her breath caught between them as he advanced, wanting her and taking from her. She fought, battled to feel more of him, his skin, his hair, his mouth, his moans, whatever she could get. She wound her hands around his neck, then her hands slid up and down his chest, touching, testing, mapping him like her territory, because she wanted to do this and the slow burn ofeverything destroyed all her resolve and landed her here. Right here.
They pulled apart, and Hermione realized she didn't want that. She didn't want to go back to the office, like she was supposed to want. She wanted to keep kissing him, right here, like this; as if they were students hiding away from the rest of their classmates.
"Granger," his voice had a breathy quality. His eyes had settled on her face as if he had found whatever he was looking for, looking somewhat hysterical and a little drunk.
"Malfoy," she put a finger onto his lips and he let her. His hair was a mess she had created. He looked well kissed.
"Tell me you don't regret doing this," he said, and she was about to go another round of ranting because he was still at this, but his eyes stopped her and she swallowed hard, stopped in her tracks.
His gaze was deep and dark weight of silver. His body was a solid wall against hers and she pressed against him when she moved to kiss him back. Slower, longer, gentle; with different intent this time, entering his mouth to let him know that she meant it, and she thought she could see relief on his face when she looked at him, but it was a wavy flicker.
"Tell me are you going to do this every time we can't reach an agreement on something?" she asked.
He almost smirked. "Are you going to be annoying again?"
"We haven't settled anything, if you recall," she answered, wondering which conversation were they actually having now.
"I was distracted," he shrugged, stole another kiss, and another and another, sliding out of whatever was on his mind when he looked at her like that, and frankly, she wasn't up to all that right now. She just kissed him, because there wasn't such a thing as rushing Draco Malfoy.
"You're a prat," she said, sighing against his cheek.
"Yeah, I am," his voice was soft. She pulled him closer and curiously watched his eyes change, turning darker again, like he was some kind of chameleon. He kissed her again, hard and deep and somewhat frantic, and she sighed and sagged against the tree behind her. He kissed and kissed and kissed her, like she was oxygen and he was running out of it.
"Malfoy?" she managed, lips sore and swollen and he pressed his forehead against hers, breathing hard.
He was silent, just looking at her, like he wanted this and wanted to run away at the same time, twisting himself in knots all over again because he crossed another damn invisible line. Like he remembered all those reasons why this was supposed to be wrong. But she was done with this, one step forward and two steps back, and the damn world dictating whom she should or shouldn't be kissing.
"Can we be done, Malfoy?" she wrapped both of her hands around his larger ones, cold from the snow, tired from the wars. "Because I'm not going anywhere. I am most certainly not going anywhere no matter what anyone says or thinks and you should know that by now."
She could almost feel the breath he was holding and the tension of his back. She kissed him, sweetly this time, like a blessing against the white snow and bleak sky, to make him know that she meant it. It seemed that he was there and yet he wasn't, like he was still attempting to shield himself away. His shoulders sagged but he nodded and kissed her forehead.
"Let's go," she said.
Hermione pulled him away from the tree and down along the path they both remembered, until the towers of the castle rose in front of them. She led him, because she didn't believe in giving up. She took him with her, because that was the way she wanted it to be. In the distance before them stood the familiar outline of the castle. He set out to break this place once, but it was more than just pillars and bricks and walls. She looked in the distance. Those moments after the battle were so crystal clear. The fight was a blur, with several moments jutting out from the commotion, but the stillness afterwards was what remained with her. And she remembered Draco, then. And even then she wanted to do this – just reach out and let him know that it was over. Done. Even if she didn't like him then, at all.
Perhaps there were things you simply couldn't mend, like a permanent crack marring the smoothness eternally. Some things you could fix. She knew this, and she held his hand tighter in hers, and if he couldn't believe it yet, then she would believe it for both of them. You could mend these living, aching things; you could pluck them out of the past, plant them into a better time, hopeful present or promising future and turn them into something new. You couldn't change them, and you couldn't forget, but you could deal. He would learn. After all, he was smart.
She turned to face him and watched as Draco looked down at their hands, interlinking their fingers so they'd fit. He stared at their hands and something came alive in his eyes. It looked like a belated realisation, and it was sad, but it was also promising and Hermione, the incurable optimist and believer in good held on tighter.
And then he finally, finally said it. "We can. We can be done."
xxXxx
She moved. A little bit, enough to tickle him out of the slumber.
"Granger," he protested.
She moved again. And again.
"Damn it, woman," she was intent on getting up. Apparently. But, he didn't want to get up. He liked where he was, where they were, like this. With them and a sheet separating them from the rest of the reality.
"We've got to get up, you know that," she said.
Did they? He didn't want to. He positively didn't want to leave the bed.
"Draco," she was protesting, rather unconvincingly. Her leg was sliding down against his, and she was tracing patterns across his chest. She was completely cruel, this wicked woman. If she kept this up, he would be wide awake, all right. And ready to do certain things they didn't have time for.
"I can't get up. I think I sprained something," he said. Lame attempt, but hey, it was worth trying. She leaned her arms against his chest to prop herself up, her smirking face above his.
"Told you not to do wild things," she said. He looked at her face and then below, properly expressing his appreciation for the lack of her clothing.
"It's entirely your fault," he said, sliding his hands along her sides. Merlin, it's been such long time since he properly did this. Not the one night stands, those were meant for a brief relief only. Draco didn't enjoy those few encounters with the women he didn't know. Time spent with Granger had a different quality though, it tended to fulfil those empty, hidden places within him where he didn't like to venture on his own. But with her, he didn't even have to. That aching hollow inside would just fill up and smooth over, and he would think content thoughts, unable to worry about future or dwell into past, as if she was able to pull him into here - and - now and make him stay. "I couldn't help myself, with all this... inspiration at hand. Hands," he said. She swatted him away from her breasts and he plopped down into pillows, giving her a content smile.
To put it simply? He didn't feel lonely any more.
"Excuses," she said.
"Really? Who could tell you were hiding this under all those frumpy clothes."
"I do not have frumpy clothes," she was pulling him by the hand, so he sat up and met the air that wasn't as warm as their little sheet protected cocoon.
"I don't mind them," he was smirking. "Especially when they're not on you."
"Oh, stop it. You know we have to go and pick up the kids. Ginny can't watch over four little monsters the entire afternoon while we're writing reports," her reprimand wasn't all that effective with that smile she was sporting. If past two hours were good for him, then they were very good for her. He saw to that, he always did. It was a matter of pride and well, he liked when she looked like this, with that recently - shagged happy glow about her. He was probably grinning like a fool, but he didn't care.
"Granger, Granger," he was able to see much more of her like this, with sheets pooling around their lower bodies. At this point he was tempted to remove that obstacle as well, "Writing reports is an important thing," he said as he tried to catch her arms. They wrestled playfully, and he finally ended on top of her, victorious. "I've got you."
"Malfoy, I'm gonna kick you," she threatened.
"Empty threats, Granger," he said. "You need me functional. You like when I'm functional," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. She rolled her eyes at him, becoming slightly flushed, annoyed, just how he liked her the best.
"I don't need you annoying," she replied.
"But you enjoy when I annoy you."
"Draco, I'm serious -"
She sighed and gave him one particular look, the one that wasn't feisty or even threatening, but tired. It discouraged him from further convincing to stay in bed, because as much as he wanted that, he knew they had to get going soon. He let her pull him out of the bed and up onto his feet and he greedily soaked the sight of her naked in front of him.
Still, for all the lack of consideration for pretty much anyone he knew, he didn't want to make Granger feel worse. If he did, it somehow proved that he wasn't good. Good enough for her.
"Oh, you silly thing," she said, looking at his face. She smirked, then it melted into a soft smile that made his chest feel funny, like it was full of tiny butterfly wings. "I had no idea you'd be so clingy," she teased.
"I'm not clingy," he protested, because he didn't like feeling like this. Almost exposed, even if it was with her.
"Attached," she smiled fondly. It was making his chest warm inside, and the feeling was expanding and spreading through him.
"Dedicated," he countered.
"Fine," she put a finger onto his lips. "Shower?" she offered.
Like he would say no to more naked time with her. Even if he ended up smelling of her strawberry soap.
Granger liked to shower with him. She liked to kiss in the rain – she liked to kiss and be kissed and held; she liked to lie down, put her head in his lap and read a book. She liked his fingers in her hair, his hands on her back. She liked him, obviously.
He followed her into the shower, closed his eyes under the warm spray of water. Here - and - now, he thought. Here – and - now was good. It was where he would like to stay.
"Do we have to leave?" he continued their debate.
"Draco," she let out an exasperated sigh. He could tell that she didn't want to stop this, either. The thing was, he'd gotten used to this. Her. Spending regular, intimate time with her. He had a love hate relationship with that time, because it was limited. He felt like he had to steal her away; from their work, from the kids, and rest of the world. The fact that she wanted to be stolen felt good, but he was starting to crave more.
"I know," he said, before she could launch a rant at him. Another thing was that their personal arrangements, otherwise known as dating, weren't a matter of public knowledge.
"Unless," she was looking at him, giving him a probing, inquisitive look. It was a type of look he didn't see on her very often.
"Unless what?"
Then there was a spark in her eye. She hesitated a couple of moments.
"Unless you come with me, and we pick up Scorp and Rose," she lowered her eyes to his chest. "We go for a walk, go to a groceries store -"
She paused, biting her lower lip.
"M-hmmm?" he nudged her nose with his. She was beginning to use that heavily scented soap on him. That thing which smelled like her and reminded him of her and the fact that she was something on loan, like a book hidden inside of his inner pocket.
"Come back here -" her eyes were looking for that moment when he would pull back. He swallowed. Was she going to suggest what he thought she would? He wasn't going to disagree. No. He was done disagreeing. He could do this. He could –
Draco licked his lips. Their eyes were connected in an unspoken understanding. She continued.
"- and you lovely lads stay here. For a dinner. And a film. And pancakes tomorrow," she held her breath, like she could read his thoughts.
Soapy hands paused on his chest. He removed wet strands of hair from her face and it was suddenly
quite serious.
This was it. This was actually it, and the moment just slapped him upside the head, unprepared. This was that book he wanted to read, that thing which happened once if you were lucky to stumble upon it. Maybe twice, if you done something to deserve it. He wasn't sure he deserved it, but he could have more of this and less of those times when the cold pillow next to him smelled of her.
"I like that plan, Granger," he made his own voice more confident than he was feeling, but she smiled at him. A big, sappy smile he soaked up with his eyes and lips and his every pore.
"Oh," she breathed against his lips.
"Good," he said.
And then questions started arising in her eyes. Realizations and then more questions and possible answers; because this was goddamn Granger she thought of everything, in every situation, while she made plans and backup plans. He loved and hated that because she rarely stopped thinking and overusing that big brain of hers and she always had an answer for everything.
"We will have to talk to the kids -"
He felt foolishly bold and placed his finger on her lips, shushing her.
"The kids are going to love it," he said, meeting a look that prompted discussion which he didn't want to have. Well, not under a shower. "Oh come on. The kids are keeping their fingers crossed for us to -"
"I know, Draco," her eyes were deep and dark, but still warm and promising, full of hopes and sunshine and good things he didn't really dare hoping for. "That's why this is serious."
"I am serious," he said. Just like that. Without doubts. Well, with some doubts, but those weren't about her. He was goddamn serious. He knew what was at stake. Because Scorpius loved Granger and he would accept her as a mother and Draco wouldn't toy with that, or with Rose's feelings, or Granger's. At some point he had become that kind of man.
"Are you sure?" she asked and the way she was looking at him told him that she was hopeful, and if she was hopeful then she was ready, willing to dedicate herself to this. And if that was the truth, then there was a chance, there was hope because Hermione Granger was someone who could make things happen. And perhaps, the things she was, the good things, could outnumber his bad things, or cancel them out, or something like that.
"Will you stop that? I. Am. Very bloody serious," he said, a kiss after every word.
"You're not just – you're not going to- " she lowered her eyes. He still wasn't used to a sight of vulnerable Hermione Granger; in his mind she was a powerful being, stronger than most people he knew, far more strong than himself. With a finger under her chin he gently coaxed her to look up at him again. If she wanted him to reassure her, then he would.
"Granger. Stop double checking. It's not something I would just lightly accept. And I won't change my bloody mind."
"Oh. Oh. Good."
He might have said that he loved her as well. But he didn't, yet, and she didn't say it either. He couldn't say it yet. It would probably surface in midst of a fight – they still had plenty of those – when they were both uncensored enough, to actually speak those words. Or, they would find their way to his tongue, eventually, some day. He was aware that he was loved in return, even if he didn't always feel he deserved it. No, he most certainly did not deserve it, but he would be stupid to turn it down, to curl himself up in the dark, when she was light, and she was so warm.
Draco gave her a smirk and poked her shoulder. He needed to hold onto this moment and drop its weight. Her lips were soft and willing under his.
"Exactly. Now please, rid me of this soap, or She – Potter will figure us out before we can say Quiddich."
xxXxx
The house was filled with nervous energy when Hermione walked in. It was the feeling she got when she walked through the door, knowing that something wasn't right. The noise coming from upstairs told her that children were in their room, playing. Their noises seemed content enough and she assumed that the third occupant of the house was the distressed one.
It wasn't usual for Draco to owl her at the Ministry if one of the children had a minor accident. Even his handwriting seemed different, like he had pressed the quill into paper too hard. Hermione found him in his favourite chair in the living room, distractedly staring at the quiet fireplace.
"There aren't any hidden curses in there, I assure you," she joked when he didn't even look up.
"Granger," he greeted, rubbing his eyes. She recognized this mood, when he was out of reach and locked away with no one but himself. Hermione knew one thing well, a thing that most people wouldn't guess about Draco. He was his own hardest judge.
"Should I go upstairs and check if everything is okay?" she asked. He looked at her, but didn't answer. It was one of those moments when his thoughts seemed just below the surface, yet untouchable. "What happened?" she asked and waited until he spoke.
"We were at the park," he resumed looking at the fireplace. The words were coming slow. He got up and walked to her. "They were running around and Rose fell -" he looked at Hermione, pausing like he was bracing himself for something. "She hit her knee pretty bad. I had dittany with me."
She smiled. It was a little bit ridiculous, because most parents, didn't walk around with essence of dittany in their pockets. She did, and because of her, Draco did as well.
"I think we've already agreed that I trust your parenting skills," she said, coming closer. The smile she offered him didn't meet a reply on his lips, instead he was still serious, still anxious, and his eyes were uncomfortable to look into.
"She called me daddy," he finally said and it fell off his lips like a stone. Hermione stared back at him, caught by surprise - not because of what Rose said, because Rose treated him like something hers. But there was this heartbreaking thing about Draco - despite his confidence and arrogance which propelled him further, it seemed that he couldn't crawl out of his shadows. It seemed that something was always waiting to grab him and pull him back, but she wasn't about to give up on him. She would go in there and drag him out - because he was worth it.
"I got there and she just kept saying it." his eyes were low, like he had done something wrong. "In the park. In front of someone. And -"
He stopped and looked away. Oh Draco, she thought, gently taking his face with her fingertips and made him face her again, because she wasn't going to judge him. Because she wanted him to get rid of the darkness, even if she had to lure him out, bit by bit.
"And then?" she asked softly.
"I told her we'll fix the knee. And I did."
Hermione took a deep breath. They didn't have this conversation yet, but their children were assuming their parents were a permanent fixture. Hermione took them to daycare, Draco picked them up, or other way around. They had lunches together, they took walks together, they played together. "Draco... why are you upset over this?"
"I am not her father," the air rushed, tight and heavy from his chest. "I might do the everyday things, but I am not -"
"Draco, she knows who is her father. But you're the one who fixes hurt knees. She trusts you," Hermione paused, holding his face between her palms and thinking if he would ever stop wondering if he met the merit of being worthy. Even if he stood up for himself at other times, this was the area he still felt he needed to defend himself, or rather, defend everyone else from what he used to be. "She loves you."
"I'm not Ronald Weasley, Hermione," he replied quickly, too quickly. "I'm not the war hero. I'm not a person one could be exactly proud of, and I'm not -"
She pressed her forehead against his, stopping the definition of what he was not, and what he wasn't allowed to be. "What's going through that blond head of yours?"
"Do you want this for your daughter, Granger?" he asked quietly. "Me?"
Was it too soon to talk about this? It wasn't that she couldn't make a decision on this, she merely wondered if this came up too early. It had been months since their relationship had become public knowledge, but to Hermione the entire journey here had lasted much longer. Perhaps, since the day when he first walked into their office, or since the day when she saw him holding his son. She wasn't the one to rush in, because she liked planning and predictability, but her relationship with Draco had its own course. Combined, they were like a force of nature, which sometimes couldn't be steered. Sometimes they had to adapt instead.
"I feel that I should remind you, Draco Malfoy, that I was never good at conforming. And if the memory serves me well, neither were you."
They were staring at one another, and Hermione thought it was the moment when he would pull back. He didn't do it this time, though. He stayed, and another wall was brought down when she pulled him into a hug.
"Listen to me carefully, Draco Malfoy. Very carefully," her throat was tight, and she felt like her heart had leapt into it and got stuck in there, on its way to burst out. "You are good enough for me. You are a good enough father for my daughter. That is something I am going to decide, and not someone else. I will hex your ass if you continue thinking otherwise."
For couple of moments there was only the sound of breathing. His voice sounded like he had been running when he finally spoke. Oh, he had ran for miles - miles and miles until he finally arrived. She felt the tension leave his arms, his body, and she held him, good and long, until his breathing became a familiar soft hum around her.
"Is that so, Granger?" he asked, the voice quiet and low.
"I am the brightest witch of our age, Malfoy," she found a spot to lean her face against, just under his chin. A place just for her. "A know – it – all, which means I am right."
"Then I have no right to complain?" he asked. She could hear faint traces of a smile in his voice and knew that he was far from complaining.
"None whatsoever," she said, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat under her cheek.
