A Birthday With Friends
"He's coming Ronald, and that's final." Hermione slammed the laundry basket down on the floor before turning to confront her irrational husband.
"Just because his son is decent enough doesn't mean he's somehow improved."
"But he has. He more than followed through by helping me with the French Minister. I have him to thank for the exceptional trade deal we negotiated."
"I'm sure he had something to gain by it. This is Malfoy we're talking about." Ron wasn't wrong there, even if he didn't know about Malfoy's secret artifacts. She couldn't tell him, as it was in truth secret Ministry information.
"Everyone does things for their own reasons. He doesn't have to be some type of charitable saint to be considered a decent enough person."
"Why did you only give me an hours notice?" Ron grumbled, turning on her in his agitation.
"So you couldn't spend the past couple of weeks badgering me while trying to concoct some asinine plan to keep him away."
"Well I'm not spending time with him," he huffed.
"No one's forcing you. But not inviting him would have been absurd considering his son will be here for Harry's party too. And speaking of, he and Harry are getting on just fine. Maybe you ought to consider doing the same."
"Harry's father wasn't harrassed by Lucius Malfoy for his entire working career. The Malfoy's didn't go out of their way to make his parent's life more difficult."
"No, they were just members of the same group responsible for their deaths," Hermione retorted.
"I'm not overlooking that Hermione. I'm just pointing out that neither of you had a lifetime of hearing about the horribly insensitive and hateful things the Malfoy's did against my family. The feud between our families goes back long before school and I won't overlook that."
"You don't have to be his friend. But don't stir up any drama Ron. Not on Harry's birthday."
"I won't if he won't," Ron replied hotly before storming out of the room.
Hermione shook her head in his wake. She knew full well Draco wouldn't start any bit of drama as he probably hardly ever spared a fraction of a thought for Ron. In all their conversations recently, Ron never came up as a topic of conversation. She had been meeting with him in the park once a week for the past two months on her lunch break. He was easy to talk to, charming, and never had a negative word to say about muggles, muggleborns, or any who previously fought for the Order. Of course, she recognized this could be purposeful omission of his true thoughts on his part because she was the Minister, and he had always been one to seek out friends in high places. But he'd never asked for a favor and in truth seemed to genuinely enjoy her company. It was a joy to spend time with someone who she could call an intellectual equal.
But Ron didn't know that either. So many of her dealings with Draco were a secret from Ron. At times she felt guilty. Until moments like these when Ron proved himself incapable of moving on from the past, and she knew telling him would only serve to start arguments. Nothing was actually wrong with having another friend. Nothing untoward had passed between them since his comments at the wedding. The occasional lingering stare, or his knee pressed against hers on the bench a moment too long as he first sat down. But all of these were so small, fleeting, that they could easily be waved away after the fact as nothing. She didn't overthink any time she and Harry brushed arms as the walked down the hallway of the Ministry, deep in conversation. So why should Malfoy be any different?
"Granger, your home is lovely."
"Oh, thank you Malfoy. Do I detect a hint of surprise there?" Hermione replied as she turned away from the oven with a hot pan in hand. She'd felt incapable of escaping the heat of the day from the time the party started. First the weather, now the heat of the kitchen. Her skin felt slightly sticky in the humidity and her nerves were frazzled.
Draco set his empty wine glass on the island counter. "It's simply more extravagant than I expected."
"Well, to be honest it's not fully to my tastes. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but it's all for Ron. With the success of the joke shop and my success in the Ministry, money became less of an object than he ever experienced. So he wanted to design the kind of home he always dreamed of having. Do you need more wine?"
"I'm fine. There's still plenty outside." He picked up the duffel bag he'd left on the corner table when he'd arrived about an hour ago. "Think I might join the others in the pool."
She nodded as he left, resuming her final preparations of dessert. Her dinner for Harry's birthday had gone off well, without a hint of drama directed towards Draco on behalf of Ron. More than that, Draco appeared to be getting along with everyone else in attendance. Like Ron, Neville seemed more tense at first, but once his wife, Hannah, engaged in a lively conversation about healing and useful potions for overcoming more complex syndromes, he relaxed. Hermione felt highly invested in whether or not her friends got along with Draco. Sure, he could take care of himself and he most likely only came because of her and Harry, but she wanted him to fit more seamlessly into her group of friends. Perhaps then she may see him without feeling like she's sneaking around behind Ron's back.
Draco quietly returned to the kitchen to place his bag back on the table with the others and Hermione was dumbstruck. No longer covered in his typical black pants and button down shirt, she could actually see the hard, muscular body she secretly imagined was under his many layers.
The t-shirt he wore along with the swim trunks clung to his skin, showing a hint of the muscle in his chest and shoulders in a way the stiffness of his dress shirts never allowed for.
Hermione licked her lips and reached for her glass of wine as he turned his back to her, sifting through his bag once more. His back was no worse - strong and broad with defined muscle shifting under the shirt. She slammed her wine glass down a bit more forcefully than intended, sloshing some of the wine over the rim.
As he turned to face her, she deftly turned for a rag by the sink to wipe the drops of wine from the counter.
Schooling her features, she looked up with a polite, indifferent smile. "I don't think I've ever seen you dressed so casually."
"Is it to your liking?" he said.
"Must you always try to worm a compliment from me?" she said and raised her wine glass to her lips to keep from voicing her thoughts.
He smirked. "Only because you make it so difficult. I like something hard won."
He was flirting. It was dangerous. She glared. He smirked, before he left the kitchen, towel in hand.
A heady rush of heat and emotion swirled from her chest to her head and then out to her extremities. Against her better judgment, she paced to the window to watch him stride down the stairs and back down the lawn to the pool. Every line and plane of his body called out to her. She blamed it on the wine and the strange immediacy of having him in her home. Normally she kept her cool around him, didn't flirt, remained poised. But today was different, and it had been from the moment he arrived.
She couldn't pull her eyes away as he removed his shirt.
"I thought I'd see if you needed any help," Luna said. Of anyone to walk in while drooling over Malfoy, Hermione was glad it was Luna - the only one who may see but wouldn't judge.
"Oh, yes. Everything's finished actually."
"It's so lovely this evening. The kids wanted to take a walk into town."
"Have they already left?"
"Just now. I was seeing them off out front. I think they wanted a break from the stodgy old parents."
"Strange to think we're in that position now."
"We know we'll never be stodgy or old," Luna quipped. "Let me get some of those." With her wand, she levitated the ice cream and cake and followed it out of the kitchen, down to the lawn.
Hermione followed with the rest of dessert, happy for the interruption to her thoughts. Ron, George, and Ginny were in the midst of a classic Weasley dispute over Quidditch with fiery tempers flaring. The rest of the guests laughed and watched in amusement from their seats at the table or from the pool.
"Okay, okay, everyone, let's let civility reign in light of dessert arriving," Hermione said as she let the remaining dishes glide gently onto the table. Rolf, Hannah, Neville, and Draco climbed out of the pool to join the rest at the table. Every nerve of her body was painfully aware of Draco coming up behind her and around directly to her right as she situated the plates and trays at the center of the table.
A sudden breeze rustled the edge of her dress, raising it up an inch. It felt lovely, this warm summer breeze. It was the perfect evening and in that moment she felt some respite from the oppressive heat of the day. Draco caught her eye then, his gaze serious and intense as he took his seat just to her right. In a smooth sweep, he looked down to her recently exposed mid thigh, and then back up, his gaze a challenge.
She raised a brow and met his eyes with a sardonic stare. She wouldn't let his provocation get the better of her, as much as it set her heart racing and she felt sure her cheeks flushed.
"So how are you dealing with being in the news again lately, Draco?" Luna asked, fortunately drawing his attention back to the table. Hermione grateful for the intrusion, moved three seats down around the circular table and took her seat by Ron.
"Some writers for the Prophet will always be out to get me and my family. What I dislike is the way they're still implying my son must be another evil wizard in the making."
"It's terrible," Ginny put in sympathetically. "Even after he was involved with bringing down Voldemort's daughter."
"Or by some conspiracy theorists, we interrupted his real plan to help his daughter so he might redeem his fallen father and grandfather. It seems we'll always be suspected for something," Draco explained casually. He seemed rather unperturbed by the theories. Hermione figured that probably wasn't even the most outlandish of all the ones he'd come across since the war.
"Well we've always known The Prophet is run by a bunch of nutters. They aren't worth listening to," Ron suddenly proclaimed. "You and Scorpius have proven you're essentially harmless."
Hermione beamed at her husband, hardly able to believe her ears. But Ron just kept right on spooning ice cream onto his plate, oblivious to her reaction.
"Well if Weasley can see it, perhaps others will come around too," Draco said. "Only thing I'm concerned about is the interference with Scorpius and his social life continuing if they carry out the intended raids they want to make into former Death Eater homes once again."
"We won't let it come to that in the Ministry, right Hermione?" Harry assured.
"Of course not. You've proven your innocence already. I will personally interfere should anything arise and you know how difficult I can be to disagree with in these matters," Hermione agreed.
"In any matter I'm sure," Draco replied with a smirk.
"Well I won't deny being on my bad side doesn't typically go well for anyone," Hermione admitted, not without a hint of pride.
"Isn't that the truth. I still have scars from those blasted birds you set on me in 6th year," Ron accused, waving his fork in her direction.
Hermione leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. "You deserved it for being an idiot," she said while giving him an innocent smile.
Malfoy let out a deep laugh at this. "What did he do to deserve your wrath that time?
"I was ignoring her for Lavender Brown," Ron admitted openly.
"Oh I vaguely remember that time. You two were sickening," Malfoy said.
"Sickening doesn't even being to cover it," Ginny added.
"Alright, alright. I came to my senses," Ron said as his ears turned a slight shade of red.
"And took you long enough," Harry mumbled.
Ron shoveled in his a giant bite of cake and abruptly declared he was getting into the pool.
"Awe looks like we made poor Ronniekins mad," George teased.
Ron turned, and Hermione knew he wasn't truly mad, but a storm was brewing in his eyes. "Let's see who's mad when I beat them at Quidditch. You were talking a big game earlier - think you can actually hack it, old man?"
A hush fell around the table. "Oh you will regret that Ron. And I think I can count on Ginny being on my team?"
Ginny nodded, grinning. "You bet."
"Well I've got Harry," Ron asserted.
"Well we've got Draco," George shouted, searching around the table for the next best player.
"Doesn't stand a chance against Harry. Youngest seeker in a century!" Ron declared. Rolf, Neville, and Hannah all joined in the game as well, leaving Hermione and Luna to watch the game from their seats on the lawn.
It was a close game, not without it's moments of hilarity, watching Ron and George work out some inane feud on brooms in the sky.
"I swear they're going to hurt themselves," Hermione observed, shaking her head.
"See, no matter how old we get there will always be a piece that's the same," Luna said as though there hadn't been any break since their conversation in the kitchen.
Hermione's eyes flew to Draco then, smirking from his vantage point above the tussle a few meters below. With his eyes narrowed, calculating and shrewd, he took in the debacle while also remaining alert for the snitch. She was reminded of the arrogant boy who played seeker against Harry back in school. He was still a cunning, clever, and ambitious man. Only now, strangely, the idea of him didn't make her cringe.
Later that night, as Hermione changed into night clothes, she commended Ron for his perfect words to Malfoy. "Ron, thank you for what you said to Malfoy today."
"I only said that for you. I think it's perfectly reasonable to keep them at arms length. They're right to maintain suspicions. Perhaps had we done that in the first place Lucius would've been put in his place and we wouldn't have been plagued by his son's arrogance and bigotry."
"Ronald, really -"
"Don't Ronald, me. I can't stand it when you do that. That's my opinion and it's not changing. I don't know why you're so keen on defending him. Malfoy is not some helpless creature who needs one of your protection crusades."
"That's not the point. The point is that you are being intolerant for no real reason anymore." She held up her arm as an example, the word Mudblood still etched across her forearm marring her otherwise unblemished skin. "I was tortured in his own ancestral home and you don't see me holding grudges. Because Draco didn't cause this to happen and I can be honest about the role he played in it. Why don't you try it?"
"Oh well aren't you just some saint! Why do you care so damn much about Malfoy's reputation? Don't tell me what's real or not real for my own experience. I'm going downstairs. Don't wait up."
Trust me, I've no desire to. "Fine."