Hermione walks slowly through the front door of her parents' home for the first time in months. After the war, she had gone as far as to secure the paperwork into her name and complete the details supporting the story that her parents had tragically died in an accident. A house fire, as it so happens.
The exterior of the home has been charmed to look damaged to any muggles. She didn't quite have the magical chops to hide it completely, as Grimmauld Place, but a few glamours give the appearance of a burned out husk; garden dried and dead and windows boarded. It was the best way she could think to keep the property safe and untouched while she was away, while also perpetuating her lie surrounding their cause of death.
Inside, it's as if she never left. Dust-repelling charms kept the furniture and carpet clean while an automatic flush kept the toilets in working order. The water company probably wonders why a burned out house has a water bill, but no one looks too hard as long as the bills are paid. Similarly, electricity is still available to light the home.
It's eerie, coming back. Her parents' effects are still in their closets and drawers. They had left for Australia with scarcely more than the clothes on their back and a suitcase each. Hermione had transferred their sizable savings accounts to their new location and secured a home for them through not quite magically legal means. It's honestly amazing she wasn't brought up on charges after the war. Obliviation, Confundus, and an illegal portkey are all in her repertoire of offences. It probably helped that the new Minister is the one that provided her the portkey.
Hermione drops her school bag at the front door and strips off her coat. She starts to lay it across the wingback by the entryway and then stops, hearing her mother's voice tell her that there is a reason they have a coatrack and really, Hermione, there are very few niceties that separate us from the animals.
She's already near tears as she hangs the coat on her usual hook, the places her parents' outerwear would usually hang are left bare.
Hermione takes a breath and counts to ten, blinking her eyes wide to dry up the moisture that has settled there. She chastises herself that she will never make it through two weeks if she can't handle the most mundane actions in her old home.
By that afternoon she has succumbed, however, to self-pity and spends the entire evening wrapped in her mother's housecoat, watching her father's favorite movie and bawling pitifully into her childhood teddy bear. She falls asleep before she even has supper and wakes before the dawn, a puffy tear-streaked mess.
Before she has her morning shower, hoping it will invigorate her, Hermione digs out the notebook Greg had gifted her and flips it open. She hadn't expected much. He was going home, after all. She is sure he is busy. His words at their parting were sweet and romantic but she doesn't have much luck with the boys in her life always following through when she needs them.
She's wrong and it brings fresh tears but of a very different sort.
Make it home alright?
I know you have a lot to do but I'm here if you need to talk
I hope you're well. Getting late so I think I'll turn in. Talk tomorrow?
Goodnight, Hermione. Miss you
Frantically she searches her bag for the pen case and flips off the cap.
I'm so sorry, I fell asleep early. I'm sure you're not awake y-
Her own message cuts off as she is greeted with his familiar scrawl
Morning. Good to hear from you. Was a little worried
She grins and settles in with her book. She tells him about the overwhelming feeling of coming home yesterday and he does his best to give her support, as best as he can through written word.
What are you doing today, she asks him finally. The sun is fully up and Hermione stretches as she waits for his answer.
Father wants to put up the tree. You probably think the house elves did it but it's one of the few family traditions we always did ourselves. I'll help him choose one and we will bring it back and set it up in the parlour.
Sounds lovely.
She means it, she really does, but it hurts anyway. Decorating the tree had always been a Granger family affair as well. This year, she won't even have one. In fact, Hermione has decided ignoring Christmas all together is probably her best course of action.
Maybe we can talk more tonight?
I'd like that, she tells him. They say their goodbyes and Hermione makes a choice to shake off her melancholy and get to work. She has two weeks to go through the house, top to bottom, and shed the skin of her past life. She will allow herself a small box of souvenirs but most everything of her parents' will go to charity.
They talk often the next two weeks. Hermione tries to be open about what she is doing each day. She tries to think of it as therapeutic, going through the house and then talking about it with someone she trusts; someone who seems to care about her. Some days are more difficult than others.
On the sixth afternoon, she finds her parents' wedding album and spends an hour eating ice cream and staring at them as they dance and laugh in the still, muggle photos. That night, she tells Greg to talk to her about something else. He regales her with a story about his father taking him on his first broom ride when he was five and how he ended up smashing into the oldest rose bush on their grounds. Scraped up and bruised, it was still a great day because his father, who he thought would be angry about the mangled bush, told him how proud he was that he flew so high the first time.
On the last day, she closes a final box and arranges a local organization to pick it up in the morning before she leaves. She will take the boxes outside to the curb and leave as to avoid questions about the strange house with a burnt façade but oddly pristine items to donate.
After school ends, she plans to live in the house for a while. Eventually, she hopes to lift the charms and employ a realtor to sell it, but she's not there yet. As long as the house remains she has a link to her family. The spell she cast, she's been told by a staff member at St. Mungo's, is likely irreversible having been so hastily done by an untrained witch. But Hermione still likes to imagine the impossible and holds on to a little muggle hope in those impossible dreams.
XXXXXXXXX
Draco is waiting in the corridor outside the rooms belonging to the Headmistress. He came through the floo early, eager to see Hermione. The Express would have already arrived this morning and only those with special floo privilege were instructed to come back at this time.
She'd been obviously upset, his Hermione, during their break and he ached to be with her. An odd sense of protectiveness had overcome him on more than one occasion. It was not what she had said through their parchment conversations, but more what she didn't say. She was reserved on most days, less eager to discuss anything of depth. She gave accounts of her progress with her parents' home like she was writing a shopping list. He would listen intently, offer as much support as possibly, but then try to steer the conversation away from holidays and traditions and keep it on light anecdotes or his more hopeful thoughts on the future. Even on what would await them at Hogwarts.
He kissed his mother this morning just after breakfast and told his parents that really he must get back and prepare for classes the next day. It's a blatant fabrication of course: He is completely up to date in all classes. He just misses his witch.
He is leaned up against the stone wall, scuffing his foot and looking, he's sure, incredibly uncomfortable. A door creaks open and he looks up to see her bushy hair coming toward him. Her curls obscure her face, head tilted down, and she shuffles more than she should. She looks sad and he hates it.
"Hey."
She starts, not having noticed him but her smile is sincere. "Hey."
"I thought I'd see if you wanted to have lunch. Great Hall or Hogsmeade… whatever you feel up to."
Her smile becomes grateful and she takes the hand he offers her. Together they walk toward the Great Hall and, when they reach the grand room, she leads him to the Slytherin table and sits with him. He locks eyes with Potter who is watching them from his own place and Draco raises an eyebrow in question. He watches the other man look at Hermione who smiles at him and waves. Potter waves back and gives "Jack" one last glance before offering up a small smile and going back to his lunch.
"Asking his advice on the pen probably did wonders, you know." He looks over at Hermione as she gives him a pointed look. "He's been nervous you were some secret villain since he doesn't know anything about you."
Draco scoffs, "Funny how close he is to the truth."
She smacks him lightly on the arm and chastises softly, "Stop that. Next time we can sit at the Gryffindor table," she threatens with a grin, "get to know my friends better."
Smiling, Draco slides an arm around Hermione's back and kisses her temple. "I missed you, you infuriating little witch."
She blushes and bites her lip, looking at him shyly as she says, "Missed you too. Thank you, for the pen. For writing me. It really meant a lot to have you there each day."
"I wish I could have seen you instead. I tried to charm a mirror but it seems I'm not top of our class for a reason."
She laughs at that and relaxes against him. Turning her head, she plants a soft kiss on the chiseled bone of his jaw. "After graduation, I'll get you a muggle phone so we can talk anytime."
Draco stiffens but tries not to make his discomfort obvious. They've not talked much of 'after'. After school. After he's not hiding who he is from the world. After people see his face and sneer at him and, likely, judge her for stooping so low.
After the realities of life settle darkness over this beautiful lie they live inside.
His change in posture must have been obvious because she tries to backtrack and pulls her body away. "I mean, you probably wouldn't want anything like that. Some muggle nonsense. You can just, you know, floo me to talk to me. If you even want to of course you don't have to…"
He turns on the bench to face her more and manhandles her into his side once again, fighting against her resistance. "I would be a pretty poor boyfriend if I didn't want every way possible to talk to you wouldn't I?"
Her eyes go wide and dart between his own, searching for an answer to a question she hasn't asked. "Is that what you are? What we are? We hadn't talked about…"
"About that fucking amazing kiss before Christmas? Would you like to open a dialogue about that now?" He smirks at her and brushes his thumb over her lip.
"We don't… I don't think that's necessary," she breathes.
"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page then." He watches as she smiles to herself. She looks happy and Draco lets relief wash over him at her easy acceptance.
She's his. Draco Malfoy won Hermione Granger.
If he can do that, even in spite of their terrible history, he thinks the world looks so much brighter.
A/N
Closer and closer they become... We've entered into "actual relationship" territory! Too bad silly Hermione still fancies herself Beauty to his Beast
Thank you so much to all of you for your comments up to this point! There are quite a few of you following which is always super exciting... and mildly terrifying lol. I hope you enjoyed this installment and I'm looking forward to hearing from you!
