When Draco awoke the morning after Slughorn's party, he was alone. He almost thought he had imagined the events of last night. Or the lack thereof.
No, he had spent the night with Hermione Granger. That he was sure of, the bed beside him had a Hermione sized imprint. It was small and shallow, but it still smelt like her. Fresh and clean with a hint of something floral. Where she was now, though, was another question.
Draco slung his legs over the side of his bed, wobbling a bit when the blood rushed to his head. He stretched and contorted his body to wake it from sleep. It had been a very good sleep. Never had Draco thought sharing a double bed with someone could be so comfortable. Finally, awake, he slipped out his door to the common area. It must be nearly ten, Lucy would certainly be awake. Blaise and Theo would be engaged in a game of wizards' chess if they hadn't left for the holiday. He rolled his eyes to himself. Blaise and Theo had been keeping tally of their chess games since the age of seven. Currently, the score stood at 1,324 to 1,443 with Blaise in the lead. Then again, Theo had never been as good at detecting deceit as Blaise. For a time in fourth year, the pair made Draco referee their games. It had been the worst year of his life.
His breath caught in his throat. There she was. She was leaning against the arm of the couch, facing him, with her long, tan legs crossed at the ankles on the cushion next to her. Draco wanted to run his hands up her legs like he had last night. A book rested in her lap and she perused it while gnawing at her bottom lip. Draco wanted to pull on her lip. She was still in his shirt and if he looked at just the right angle, Draco could see she was in the same black lace panties as last night. The woman was a tease.
Draco cleared his throat. The girl startled, crossing her legs tighter and destroying that perfect triangle through which he had caught sight of the lace. She closed her book and clutched it to her chest, hiding her breasts, which were just wild enough that Draco could tell she hadn't found a bra yet.
"Good you're up." She spoke abruptly. Matter-of-factly. In a way that did not scream, let's try again. "About last night," She bit her lip and seemed to think through her next statement, "I'm sorry I put you through that."
"Put me through what exactly, Granger?" He asked slowly, his eyes narrowing as he tried to deduce where this conversation was going. He leaned his hip against the arm chair closest to him, crossing his arms over his bare chest.
"My nonsense with Ron. You've done your part, more than your part; it's not your job to heal my broken heart. It was wrong of me to throw myself at you." She held his heavy gaze. He did not speak up, "I think I had too much to drink at Slughorn's party, but that's no excuse. I'm just glad you stopped it when you did. Before either of us regretted anything." She paused again, "Still friends?"
She looked so worried he couldn't bring himself to argue. He couldn't bring up that he didn't see her as a job. Didn't see her as a fixer-upper. He couldn't bring up that he had kissed her. That it was the best night he had had in years. He couldn't bring up that she hadn't drank more than a glass of wine last night. That he had drank just a glass more.
"Of course." He nodded. His eyes chilled. His jaw set. His forehead smoothed. The Malfoy mask fell into place. "I think I'll go down to the pitch for a bit. Is Lulu here?"
Hermione shook her head, "She's with some Ravenclaw in the library, preparing for exams." Yesterday, he would have taken the mickey out of her for rubbing off on the young girl. Studying for exams in December, who had heard of such a thing aside from Hermione Granger. Yesterday, he wouldn't have a pit rolling around where his stomach ought to be while he changed and walked down to the Quidditch Pitch.
You threw yourself at me? Draco knew he wasn't delusional. He had made the first move. She had reciprocated. Too much to drink. He remembered he had had to finish her wine. She had wanted to stay sober in case Slughorn managed to corner her. "Glad you stopped it when you did." That one hit him like a freight train. She was glad he stopped. He had been so careful not to make her uncomfortable, not to move too fast, not to take advantage. Apparently, he had failed miserably at at least one of those goals. The realization had a bitter aftertaste as he took to the sky, quaffle under his arm.
What did it matter though? He flew past the half-pitch mark. What did it matter if Hermione Granger didn't want him? He was in the scoring area. She was only one girl. How many girls had he had throughout the years? Hoards of Slytherins, a smattering of Ravenclaws, even a Hufflepuff or two. He hurtled the quaffle through the right hoop. So what if Granger could've been the Gryffindor notch on his bedpost? He swooped to catch the ball before it hit the ground. He flew through the air, approaching the other end of the pitch. So what if he had wanted her to be the notch since as long as he knew what a notch was? He propelled the quaffle through the left hoop. So what if she was glad he stopped it when he did? He dove to catch the ball and took off for the first set of hoops. There were other girls. There were other Gryffindors. He could carve out that notch, find himself a proper Malfoy wife, and do it all before his birthday. He threw the quaffle through the center hoop. He always rose to the occasion.
He sat perched atop his broom, hovering just outside the scoring area, breathing hard. He would be friends with Hermione Granger. And that would be all. The quaffle thumped as it hit the sand below.
What did it matter if the dragon had red eyes?
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When Hermione awoke the morning after Slughorn's party, she was not alone. She lay on her side, back to her bedmate, using his bicep as a pillow and clutching his arm, which was wrapped around her, to her chest. She let her thumb graze over his forearm without a thought, enjoying the way his arm was soft but firm. The dark mark lay sharply on his otherwise perfect skin. He had been on the wrong side of the war. He had fought for Voldemort. And yet she found herself snuggling closer to his body. Releasing her grip on his arm, Hermione turned in his embrace. She slid one of her hands under his back and rested the other on his chest. If his arm had been firm, his chest was solid.
Draco Malfoy had never looked so relaxed. Lines had fallen away from his face, his mouth rested slightly agape, and his brow was as smooth as porcelain. His breathing was slow, in time with the rise and the fall of his chest.
Hermione allowed herself one small indulgence. Softly, ever so softy, she traced the length of his chest, following the lines of his muscles with her fingers. Continuing up his neck, she slid her hand into his hair. She marveled at how soft it was, how straight, how unknotted. It was the exact opposite of hers. She twisted and turned her fingers, letting his hair flow though her fingers, without a single snag. She had to find out what kind of conditioner he used.
Abruptly, the silence she had been enjoying was shattered. She spun in bed, truly shocked she didn't pull half of Draco's hair out of his scalp. He would never know how lucky he was that his hair was so smooth. The dragon figurine on Draco's desk had breathed fire. A little column of flame danced across the desk from the creature's mouth, its ruby eyes fixated on Hermione.
With another burst of angry flame, it hit her. She was in Draco Malfoy's bed. In Malfoy's arms, stroking Malfoy's hair. He had almost, how had he put it? Fucked her all night long. Draco Malfoy fuck Hermione Granger. Draco Malfoy fuck her. Malfoy fuck her. And the little dragon was clearly not happy about it. Hermione sprung from the bed, giving the dragon a wide berth lest its flames reach further than the edge of the desk, and fled the room.
She paced the common space for almost an hour, trying to figure out what she would do. She had slept with a Malfoy. She had almost slept with a Malfoy. And his toy dragon did not like those facts. But he wasn't just Malfoy. He was Draco. He was one of her Slytherins. Sure, she might not be ready to fuck him all night but they had grown to be friends, hadn't they? Such good friends that he would tolerate her unwanted advances last night. Certainly, they were friends if he had done that, if he had tolerated her. If he had indulged her.
This classification made Hermione feel better. She and Draco were friends. The key was separating Draco from Malfoy. That was a good start. And she could save that friendship. If Hermione Granger could help save the free world she could save her friendship. All she needed to do was apologize and promise Draco it would never happen again. Good. A weight lifted from her shoulders. They would be alright. She wouldn't lose Draco.
Next task: figure out what that figurine was. Draco didn't seem like the type to keep trinkets so it must serve some purpose. Hermione walked over to the small bookshelf that had appeared with her door. The books were all very Slytherin, excepting the fairy tale book Hermione had found in the main common room and some romance novels that Lucy adored. She skimmed the spines and pulled out a handful of volumes.
She flipped quickly through Magick Moste Evile. The pages made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she found nothing that bore even a passing resemblance to the dragon in Draco's room. A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions and Curses and Counter-Curses both proved useless. A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration almost gave her an answer. One of its later chapters discussed capturing the aura of an animal and configuring that aura into an object, but that was all the book discussed before moving onto harnessing the aura for defensive purposes.
Hermione had finished combing through the four books before nine. And Draco still wasn't awake. Lucy had breezed through the common room as she was reading about advanced petrification, off to the library to meet a friend. Draco needed to wake up. Once Draco woke up she could fix everything and then follow Lucy. Certainly, the library would have answers. Rolling her eyes at Draco's still-closed door, she returned the books to their shelves, selecting another.
Pureblood Directory: Updated for 1997 came in a large black tome and was the work of a distant Rowle relative, Euphemia Rowle, commissioned by Lord Voldemort himself. It contained biographies of "The Sacred Twenty," those pureblooded families who had fought on the losing side of the war. Hermione flipped through the contents. Hermione clucked her tongue when she saw Guant was listed among the pure, although an asterisk beside it led to the note of "Extinct." Greengrass…Lestrange... file that one away for later…Malfoy. She flipped to the page and a large crest stared up at her. Black, green and silver. Fitting. Serpentine creatures twisted and curled around a large shield, boring an ornate letter "M." Beneath the shield, a banner breezed, proclaiming "Sanctimonia Vincet Semper." Purity Will Always Conquer. Typical.
Before Hermione could embark on her eleven-page journey into the Malfoy Family, a throat cleared from across the room. She hadn't heard his door open or him enter the room, but there he was, standing half naked in only a few yards from her. Hermione was suddenly very aware that she was still only covered by his shirt and her panties from last night.
"Good you're up." She spoke abruptly, trying to sound braver than she was. The thick book barely covered her chest. Ron had always hated when she walked around without a bra, said it wasn't proper. "About last night, I'm sorry I put you though that."
"Put me through what exactly, Granger?" He asked slowly, his eyes narrowing. He wanted to draw this out, evidently. Embarrass her for what she did. Make her admit to it.
"My nonsense with Ron. You've done your part, more than your part; it's not your job to heal my broken heart. It was wrong of me to throw myself at you." He did not contradict her, "I think I had too much to drink at Slughorn's party, but that's no excuse. I'm just glad you stopped it when you did. Before either of us regretted anything." She hesitated. His face had fallen to his perfect mask. Hermione could not read him, didn't know if she had adequately apologized, "Still friends?"
"Of course." He nodded, "I think I'll go down to the pitch for a bit. Is Lulu here?"
"She's with some Ravenclaw in the library, preparing for exams." He was changed and gone in under three minutes.
Hermione's shoulders sagged. One goal accomplished, so why did she feel so … unresolved? He had forgiven her. He had confirmed that they were friends. Draco wasn't one to say things he didn't mean. Then she remembered her other goal! Flipping back to her page, she returned to reading about the boy who had just left.
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"Teddy!" Hermione squealed, whisking the boy out of Harry's arms. The boy babbled excitedly, "Harry, could you have put any more layers on him? The child is going to get heat stroke!"
"Andromeda would kill me if I returned him with a cold!" Harry defended himself, unwrapping the first of Teddy's three coats.
Hermione laughed at her best friend, escorting him into the Great Hall. They had arrived just in time for Christmas Eve lunch. When Harry's owl had arrived, that morning telling her of his surprise visit, she had been over the moon. Ever since Sunday morning, the week had dragged and Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that it had everything to do with Saturday night. She had apologized, certainly that should have fixed it. He had stopped them before the point of no return, surely, she hadn't done that much damage.
The four great tables of the Hall had been removed in favor of two large, round tables, just large enough to accommodate the professors and the fifteen students that had stayed behind. One more seat appeared to accommodate Harry's arrival; McGonagall had been thrilled to receive his owl last week. Hermione took her usual seat beside Draco, pulling Harry into the seat beside her and perching Teddy on her knee.
"Is this Tonks's son?" Professor Sprout cooed from the other side of Harry, "She always was one of my favorite students."
Harry nodded in the affirmative, going on to explain how he and Andromeda shared responsibilities of the boy. "This is Professor Sprout, Teddy. She taught your mommy herbology and she's the Head of Hufflepuff. Are you going to be a Hufflepuff like Mommy or a Gryffindor like Daddy? Hm?" Hermione smiled to the little boy.
Draco took that moment to scoff, "What of Slytherin? Most of his maternal family came from Slytherin."
"And most of his maternal family went crazy." Hermione cooed in a sing-song voice so as not to worry Teddy. Draco grumbled, evidentially he had forgotten that their shared family had quite the notorious past. "And this is your grumpy cousin Draco," Hermione cooed, "Say hi to Grumpy."
"Granger, if the kid only knows me as 'Grumpy' we're going to have a problem."
"Don't worry Malfoy," Hermione laughed, "We alternate between Grumpy and Ferret." Draco's scowl grew.
For the rest of the meal, Teddy babbled, often times so loudly it was difficult to be heard over him. Most of these imaginary words seemed to be directed at Draco. The older boy watched the child out of the corner of his eye, uncertain what to make of the him.
Draco had seen children before, obviously. He had even interacted with one or two, Lucy for example. But this child was different. This child was loud and this child was wet. He seemed to drool without stop, Draco was shocked the boy hadn't expired from dehydration yet. This child was also his estranged relative, a close one at that; Draco's maternal grandparents were the child's great grandparents. And, from stories he had heard, Draco's mother had been very close to Teddy's grandmother. Had Voldemort not raised an army, it was not unlikely the child would be familiar with Draco instead of Potter. And that made Draco … well, he didn't have a word to put to this emotion just yet, but it was as if he had a small hole in his stomach that left him feeling empty.
"Draco!" Hermione scolded, swatting away Draco's outstretched finger, "He's a baby, you don't poke a baby!"
"I just – he's looks so squishy." Harry snorted and Hermione scoffed. Teddy's babbling grew even louder and the boy waved his toy train, a new favorite of his, at Draco.
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"Hermione, what's the matter?" Harry asked. Hermione lay on the ground near the fire place and Harry sprawled in an armchair in the eighth-year common room. A chair in the corner had been transfigured into a cot for a sleeping Teddy. She wrinkled her forehead at her friend. "Don't play stupid, Hermione, it doesn't suit you. Why are you so jumpy around Malfoy? Your letters made it sound like you were becoming friendly and last time I was here the two of you got along. What gives?"
Hermione sat up to face Harry. A war waged within her head. Should she tell Harry about Slughorn's party? About how she forced herself on Draco? How he still wouldn't let their friendship return to normal. "Slughorn ambushed us on the last day of classes, basically forced us to attend his party." The words spilled from her mouth, "We went together so we could avoid that debacle and then –" Her courage left her.
"And then?" Harry raised his eyebrows, coaxing her onwards.
"I kissed him." She blurted out. "A few times. A lot, actually." She braced herself for Harry's explosion, but he continued to watch her with guarded eyes, "And then we went back to his room and, well, he stopped it before it got too far. And then I apologized for forcing myself on him and he agreed that we were just friends but things haven't gone back to normal and I-"
Harry cut her off, knowing Hermione well enough to recognize she was careening towards a downward spiral, "Hermione, when he stopped it, what exactly did he say?"
She thought back, "That I looked like I was about to be tortured. That Ron treated me like some blow up doll, but I don't know what blow up doll he meant!" That he wanted to fuck me all night long. Harry scratched the back of his neck, repulsed by the prospect of explain Malfoy's reference to Hermione.
"It sounds like he was trying not to force himself on you, not the other way around." The words tasted bitter in Harry's mouth. Not only was he discussing Hermione's sex life, but he was also defending Malfoy. Malfoy. The same boy that had taunted him for being an orphan. The same boy that had taunted her for her muggle heritage.
"That implies Draco gained an incredible amount of emotional intelligence over the past couple years. To go from vapid Death Eater to defender of my virtue in a couple years? That's quite the change." Harry grimaced. She wasn't wrong.
"Winky?" Harry called into an empty space. Winky? The little elf popped into being right where Harry was looking.
"Mis'er Po'er!" Winky beamed. After the Battle of Hogwarts, the little elf had made a remarkable recovery from alcoholism, "How migh' Winky help Mis'er Po'er today?"
"Winky, could you fetch me a pensive?" The elf nodded and disappeared only to reappear a moment later with the requested item clutched to her chest, "Thank you Winky, have a happy Christmas!"
"It's an 'onor to serve Mis'er Po'er, Sir! Have a happy Chris'mas, Mis'er Po'er, Sir!" The elf popped away and Hermione scowled, S.P.E.W. might be defunct, but her feelings about house elves had not changed. Harry should know better.
"Hermione look." Her angry eyes snapped back to him, "In the pensive, just watch it." Hermione gave Harry one last glare before submerging her bushy hair in the liquid.
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The world swirled into being around her. It was a stone hallway, most likely Hogwarts. It was eerily quiet, Hermione had only heard a quiet like this at Hogwarts once. During the ceasefire last May when Harry left them to die.
Hermione watched as two sneaker-clad feet appeared and then disappeared as their owner ducked behind a corner, frightened by a strangled voice wailing, "Please! Please! Just let me go! We're supposed to be at peace!" A girl. A young one at that. Certainly too young to have stayed behind to fight a war. McGonagall had done her best to keep underaged students out of harm's way, but age did not determine bravery.
"Just let me help you!" A darker voice growled out. The girl let out a wordless shriek. Hermione peeked around the corner and down the stairs into the hall below where the voiced were coming from.
There was the confrontation. A body — the girl — lay on the floor with a leg stuck out at an awkward angle while another body — the man with the deep dark voice — crouched above her with his wand stuck against her chest. The man had grabbed the girl's good leg and was pinning it to the floor while he pinned one of her arms with his knee, all while warding off her fist with his wand elbow. The evildoer, who Hermione now saw to be a dirty blonde, cast his curse.
The curse was unlike any Hermione had ever seen. The girl shuddered and shrieked, but only once. A sharp puncture in the otherwise perfect silence. If it were the Cruciatus she would still be writhing. Hermione watched, horror struck as the curse spread over the girl. She watched its off-white glow pulse around her chest and spread to her extremities. She had seen countless monstrosities during the past few hours, but this was the first time Hermione was rendered unable to act. She was upset she couldn't do anything. Enraged that the man would attack an injured, begging girl. And downright pissed that Harry would force her into such a position. But Harry didn't get his jollies from psychologically tormenting those he loved. There must be a reason. Hermione thought, turning her full attention back to the scene.
The glow of the curse continued to beat around her chest and her injured leg, but faded from the rest of her body. The girl made no noise, in fact, Hermione thought he heard her sigh. Was she dead? Had this unknown curse killed her? At least her suffering was over. A minute passed and Hermione was dying to act, but action in a memory had no purpose. Slughorn had proven that.
"You…you healed me?" A female voice, so different from that of the distressed girl earlier, spoke quietly from below. Mary Cort, a sixth year Gryffindor. Her and Ginny had been close from what Hermione could remember. "But why?"
"It doesn't matter why." The male voice, familiar now that it wasn't stressed, spoke, "Hurry on now. I'm sure someone will be waiting for you." Mary sprung to her feet and ran off, not sparing her attacker-turned-savior a second glace. He healed her.
Although Mary had fled, the man stayed. Kneeling on the ground and resting his weight on his heels, the man's identity was entirely hidden from Hermione, who still stood on the level above, leaning over the balcony. Hermione decided to take a chance and crept quietly – old habits died hard – down the staircase separating her from the man. Hermione reached the lower level, but before she could take another step, the man spun around on his knees and thrust his wand forward in a single motion.
Hermione gasped in horror. Draco Malfoy had stunned Harry, now rid of his invisibility cloak and standing mere inches from her.
"Potter." Draco spoke without any inflection. The blonde allowed his wand and the spell it had cast to drop. In an entirely un-Malfoy-like motion, he bent down to pick up the invisibility cloak that had fallen between the two and offered it to Harry. The two men stared at the peace offering, now secure in Harry's arms, until Malfoy scoffed, "You really need to get better at sneaking around in those things. Just because people can't see you doesn't mean they can't hear you." Despite his words, his voice held no malice.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry bit, clearly concurring with Hermione's train of thought. Seventh year Malfoy had not been a pleasant bloke.
"I could ask you the same, but I already know the answer." The boys fell into silence again, "You know it'll make no difference, right? He's just going to slaughter them all." If Draco's bluntness surprised Harry, the dark-haired boy did not let it show.
"If I let him kill me he might leave them alone or at least kill fewer people. If I stay and people fight on he will kill every last one of them." Hermione knew Harry was forcing himself to believe his own words. She knew he felt the need to justify his actions to someone, unluckily for Harry, his only option was his childhood nemesis.
"Saint Potter, sacrificing himself for the masses. If it weren't a futile sacrifice I'd say it was noble of you. Make no mistake. He. Will. Kill. Them. Even if you give yourself up. He will kill all the people you love. He will kill the Weasleys, Ron and Ginny and George. He will kill Hermione." Malfoy paused, "If you go now you will die and then they will die. You then them. Not you or them." Hermione marveled at the fact Malfoy knew their given names and that he seemed to care about whether or not they lived or died.
"It's all I can do. It's the last thing I can do for them." Harry sighed, draping his cloak around his shoulders.
"You're a fool Potter." Malfoy stuck out his hand. "Best of luck."
He looked at the hand with shock and distrust, but Harry shook it. Harry pulled the cloak over his head. Before he disappeared into the darkness he turned back.
Although Harry was almost completely encased by the night's darkness, Malfoy's figure stood, alone in the Entrance Hall, visible to anyone who cared to look. His almost-white hair hung around his face, dirty, like the rest of him, with the grime from battle. His left pant leg was torn revealing a long cut trailing from his knee to upper thigh where it continued past where Hermione could see. She had thought she had seen a scar along his thigh the other night. His once-white shirt was stained with blood, a deep red in some places and a faint pink in others, but there was very little white left. Harry looked into the eyes of his childhood tormentor. Much like his own, Malfoy's eyes had aged far past their biological age, holding a dark knowledge that very few people were unfortunate enough to hold. Hermione was smart and wise, but she believed the best in people. The war had stomped that quality out of both men - for that's what war had made these two barely-of-age wizards - leaving them still intelligent but without hope for the goodness of man and wizard kind.
"Just, if you see the chance, kill the snake. Or if you can't, get someone to. It just – it has to die." Harry pulled the cloak tighter around his body and disappeared into the night. Off to die. Draco and Hermione watched him go.
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With a sharp tug around her shoulders, Hermione was pulled, gasping from the memories. She had always hated pensives, they always made her feel as if she had been submerged in water too long. "If it was Draco you told about the snake, how did Neville end up killing it?"
Harry shrugged, "Dunno, but Malfoy must have passed the request along at some point. Neville wouldn't have just decided to kill the snake." He sent a glance over to Teddy, still sleeping soundly, "Just, think that over. He clearly understood right and wrong well enough to play a role in passing the message along. Maybe his transformation from, what did you call it? Vapid Death Eater? Well maybe it started before the war ended." The words were bitter in his mouth. But it had been Malfoy that took care of Hermione in the aftermath of the incident. And according to Ginny, the two had become inseparable. Harry owed it to Hermione to support her chance at happiness. Until Malfoy ruined it. Then Harry would bring a wrath previously unknown down upon Draco.
They sat in silence for a moment, letting the words sink into the silence, "Um, Hermione, I haven't had much time since I came back for Christmas, would you mind if I went down to the Pitch for a while?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, but nodded all the same. Leave it to Harry to drop a bomb and then focus on Quidditch.
Harry made quick work of changing and fleeing the castle. It had been over a week since he had been on a broom, and over a year since he had been on the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch. He would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to seeing his old haunt once again. Passing through the Gryffindor changing room, Harry was thrilled the wards still recognized him.
The pitch was just how he remembered it. Large, but welcoming. Not a single blade of grass out of place. Six perfectly polished goal posts rising from the scoring area. And a single Slytherin racing up and down the pitch, quaffle at his side.
Harry Potter watched Draco Malfoy hurtle through the sky and propel the quaffle through the goal post with frightening accuracy. The blonde swooped to catch the ball on its descent, finally noticing he was not alone. Tucking the quaffle back under his arm, Malfoy slowly lowered himself to the ground, stepping off his broom fifty feet from Harry.
"Potter." Draco nodded, "Had enough of your professional pitches? Come back to our lowly facilities."
"Can it, Malfoy." Harry was already beginning to regret defending the man, "Just wanted to get some practice in while Teddy was asleep." Draco's face softened at the mention of the baby, "You know, you're welcome to spend time with him once you graduate. Andromeda always spoke – wistfully – of your mother. Insisted her baby sister wasn't nearly as bad as everyone thought she was. That her nephew couldn't be as much like his father as people claimed, not with a mother like his."
Whatever softness that had been in Draco's face evaporated, "Don't talk about things you don't understand, Potter."
"Draco, I think I understand quite a bit. Your parents are gone, and all you have left is an aunt worlds apart." Harry chuckled, but the humor was lost on Draco, "You've heard I was raised by muggles, yes? My mother's sister. Petunia. Truly awful woman, only rivaled by her husband, really. But I embraced them, because they were all I had." Harry paused for emphasis, "Don't let pride get in the way of a family. A shot at happiness."
"Well, Potter, if your Quidditch career doesn't pan out, you have a future in psychiatry." Malfoy raked his fingers through his hair and sighed, "Any chance you'd want to give me one last chance to prove I'm good enough to oppose the Great Harry Potter? Been a while since I chased a snitch."
Harry released the snitch, hopped on his broom, and they were off.
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"Best four out of seven?" Draco ventured.
"Just give it up, Malfoy." Harry laughed. The blonde boy had almost beaten him to the last two snitches, but Harry had pulled ahead at the very last moment, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were avoiding something. A certain bushy-haired Head Girl, perhaps?"
"Regina Howle?" Draco wrinkled his brow, a playful glint in his eyes, "From our third year? Haven't thought of her in years, actually."
"Not who I meant and you know it." Harry grumbled, "Hermione told me about the other night."
Normally, Draco would have brushed the boy's questions off and thrown in a mind your business for good measure. Up in the air, in the middle of the pitch, years were shed off their lives. In the air, they were no longer war survivors. In the air, there was no blood supremacy, no house rivalry. In the air, in muggle athletic wear, they were simply two teenaged boys, talking about a teenage girl that had made it a habit of being very vexing.
"About how she forced herself on me?" Draco drawled.
"Sure." Harry offered a cross expression, "If that's what you think happened, let's go with that. What does she have to do to apologize then? If that's what happened, if she forced herself on you?"
Draco sized the other boy up. There was no reason for either boy to trust the other. They had hated each other all through school. But they had never had anything in common. Now they did. Now they had Hermione. Draco knew if Hermione was to stay in his life, he would have to accept Potter as well. And Red. And probably the whole Weasel gang. He found some solace in the thought that he could still be hostile to the Weasel.
"She didn't." Draco fiddled with the handle of his broom, suddenly very aware that a single grain of wood seemed to be running a few degrees crooked. "Weasley really did a number on her, didn't he?"
"He didn't mean to." Harry defended his friend, "He just – fame went to his head. Not that that's an excuse, but it's true. He always had a thing for Hermione, and she always had a thing for him. They finally got the timing right and no one wanted to admit they weren't right for each other."
"It's more than that, though." Draco thought back to the ghost of the war heroine that had crawled onto his bed, "He destroyed her confidence."
Draco had shouted many insults at Hermione over the years, too many to count really. Things about her appearance, about her intelligence, her worth, her parentage, anything, he insulted her for it. Nothing he threw at her had ever created that hollow look he had seen in her eyes. With each derogatory phrase he threw at her, a fire lit inside her and she parried with him, word for word. Six years, his main source of entertainment had been enraging her and she had never broken. It had taken Ronald Weasley only four months with Hermione on his arm to reduce her to a shell of her former self. Had Draco followed his father's footsteps, he would have been in awe, envious of the Weasel's ability.
"Ron always had this vision for himself. As early as second year he had this desire to surpass all his brothers. Be Head Boy like Bill, Quidditch Captain like Charlie, top of his class like Percy, you see where this is going? Between you, me, Hermione and Ginny, we've blocked him from all those things." Harry sighed, wistfully remembering such innocent times. "Now all that's left is for him to beat them professionally, which with George's success is unlikely, or romantically, which means surpassing Fleur. Have you seen Fleur lately?"
Draco thought back to the Halloween Ball. She had been there, she must have been. All the Weasleys were there. The oldest was Bill, the one with the scar, he had danced with Hermione. Fleur. Which one was Fleur. He remembered her as the Triwizard Championship, tall and willowy, with silvery, blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He conjured an image to his mind of Bill Weasley, the one with the terrible scars, walking into the room. He remembered catching sight of a beautiful blonde woman before he saw a shimmer of silver from behind the doors and was consequently distracted. Ultimately, Draco shook his head, no, he didn't have a good idea of how Fleur looked now.
"She's almost five months pregnant," Harry laughed, "Still glowing, I swear, she hasn't gained a pound. That's what Ron wants, the beautiful wife to bear his children, that's not Hermione."
"You don't think Hermione's –" Draco couldn't bring himself to finish the question. Putting the words Hermione and beautiful in a verbal sentence especially directed to Harry seemed wrong.
"I don't think that's all she is. Nor do I think it's her priority. But it's Ron's. He wants the wife with a size zero waist but DD breasts. It's not something Hermione would alter herself to fulfill. Ron couldn't handle that."
Hermione with those dimensions would be a freak show. Draco horrified himself with the image. Hermione was tiny, barely more than five feet tall, five feet three inches would be pushing it. To give her proportions like Potter described would be an atrocity. Draco liked how Hermione was proportioned. Her bum just bigger than his hands, her breasts slightly smaller. Her stomach was not hardened with muscles, but it was flat from her year on the run. Her hips swelled from her waist, giving her a slight hourglass. Her legs were long, despite her small stature. All of this was only noticeable when she shed those unflattering robes.
Draco nodded, "Did you know about Lavender?"
"Ginny guessed." Harry massaged the back of his neck, "I told her Ron wouldn't do that. Even with his inflated ego, he wouldn't hurt Hermione that way. I had insisted. Emphatically. Ginny kept bringing it up, so I asked if she had proof – I needed proof if I was going to ruin my best friends' relationship – she said she only had a feeling." The boys rested in silence until Harry chuckled darkly, "Ginny is collaborating with George on a new line of products." Draco looked at the boy as if he had lost his mind. Was now the time to bring up gags? "They will be safe to use on pregnant women. Won't impact the baby at all."
"Remind me never to cross your fiancé." Draco shuddered,
"Cross her once and you'll never need reminding again."
xoxox - (()) - xoxox - xoxox - (()) - xoxox - xoxox - (()) - xoxox
It had been a long time since Hermione had been alone. Between classes with Draco, studying with the Slytherins, helping Ginny plan her wedding, and living next door to Lucy, she was never alone. The silence was deafening. She used to crave quiet, it meant a respite from Ron and Harry's childish yammering, but now it disquieted her. She had grown so used to the constant companionship, companionship that did not revolve around quidditch and defeating a dark lord, that was thrilled when Teddy awoke from his nap with a shriek.
Hermione scooped the boy into her arms, ruffling his hair – he had chosen a blonde today. Hermione decided a brisk walk about the castle would do them both some good. The air in the common space had grown stagnant, even if only by comparison to the constant whirring of Hermione's head, trying to work out Draco's involvement in killing Nagini. Setting the boy on her hip, Hermione set off.
With only a dozen professors and fifteen students remaining behind for the holidays, Hogwarts was empty and Hermione did not see a single soul, aside from Teddy, of course. As she strolled through the Entrance Hall, Hermione set Teddy onto his own two feet. Holding the little boy's hands in her own, she coaxed him through tentative, supported steps, cooing all the while. As they passed the grand staircase they had just come down, Hermione heard another voice, a quiet whimpering.
Hermione had never been as reckless as Ron or as brave as Harry, so she never went hurtling head first into situations that best be avoided, but Hermione was curious. It was this curiosity that forced Hermione to pull open the door, concealed in the side of the staircase. She had never seen this door before, not that she had ever inspected the stairs for hidden doors, but one would think after six years in the castle she would have. It was small and not unlike how Harry described the cupboard that had been his room for his first decade of life. With the door out of the way, the whimpering grew in volume to silenced sobs.
"Lucy?" Hermione pulled herself and Teddy into the room. Teddy was fascinated by the funny ceiling created by the stairs above. Hermione left him to his own devices and sat beside the small girl. "Why are you crying?"
"It-It's nothing, Hermione. I'm just – I'm just being foolish is all." The girl wiped her eyes and held in a sob. She succeeded for a moment, before the cry ripped through her lips along with a gasp for air.
"If it's nothing why are you crying?" Hermione pulled the smaller girl to her side.
"I know he was a bad guy. I know that. I know he was evil and I know he killed people. But he was still my dad." She cried, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.
Hermione bit her lip. She knew Death Eaters had family. There were spouses and children and oh so many other relations Hermione was sure. But her only experience with a Death Eater family was the Malfoys. Lucius was vicious, only second to his sister-in-law, who was a complete psycho. Narcissa quiet, but, Hermione was certain, ready to pounce at a moment's notice. And Draco, he was no angel. There were no innocents in the Malfoy family, but Lucy, having been only ten when Voldemort had fallen, was by definition an innocent. Hermione never had to confront the idea of innocents being related to a Death Eater, particularly one as central as Dolohov. It was far easier to think of anyone associated with Voldemort, even if not to the first degree, was guilty. But then how to explain her reactions to Malfoy?
She shook her head to stop herself from heading down the Malfoy path. It had been plaguing her since their kiss: what category does Malfoy fit, good or evil? "Why don't you tell me about him?"
"On Christmas Eve, he would always, always, tuck me in. Even last year when he was so busy doing bad things he was there. Always. And he made sure to be there when I opened my presents. He even missed a summons for it last year. He taught me how to fly a broom. He said I was small and could never win a fight, but I could wreak havoc from the sky." She chucked ruefully, "I guess he was right judging by the quidditch standings."
She was right. Thanks to her early catch, the Slytherins were far ahead of the other teams. Only two games into the season and it would be very difficult for another team to catch up. A smile quirked at Hermione's lips, Draco did a good job with his team. She was still shocked he had given up his prized position, even if he didn't fit the general physicality needed in his older age.
"Then that's what you need to remember about him. The good things. Forget the bad, forget the Death Eater Dolohov and only remember your dad."
She sniffled a few more times, but the sobs slowly subsided, "Thanks, Hermione."
xoxox - (()) - xoxox - xoxox - (()) - xoxox - xoxox - (()) - xoxox
"I'm telling you, Potter, I would have beat you if you gave me one more chance." Draco whined as he threw open the main doors to the castle.
Harry had been pleasantly surprised by Malfoy's recent behavior. Sarcastic, yes, but without the bite that had plagued their relationship up until that point. Maybe Hermione was having a positive influence on him. Thank Merlin. Harry had worried it would be Malfoy warping Hermione. His best friend was strong and he did not doubt her morality, but he also never thought Malfoy was capable of being a bonified Death Eater.
"That's what you said the last two times." Harry laughed at the scowl spreading across the other boy's face, but the expression froze halfway into its place.
Harry turned his head to follow Malfoy's gaze. Hermione. She was emerging from a small door in the side of the staircase. Harry shivered, knowing there was a cupboard under the stairs at Hogwarts troubled him. Hermione helped a little girl, the Slytherin seeker, the Dolohov girl, out after her and bent down into the room, returning to a standing position with a child with a shock of white-blonde hair in her arms.
Now, Harry knew the baby to be Teddy, who else could it be? And Harry knew Malfoy knew it was Teddy. But there was no denying that Teddy, from a distance with his blonde hair, bore an uncanny resemblance to Malfoy. The two men approached the trio and Harry couldn't help noticing Malfoy's eyes remained trained on the baby. The resemblance held up as they walked closer. How had I not seen it before? Harry mentally thumped himself on the forehead. His godson did look quite a bit like his schoolyard nemesis. It was odd though, Harry had always thought Malfoy to be the spitting image of his father. Maybe, Harry thought, because I didn't see his mother until much later.
"Lulu?" Malfoy's voice startled Harry out of his aside, "What's wrong, why are your eyes red?"
"Nothing we couldn't handle," Hermione squeezed Lucy's hand, "But, it is getting late and if these munchkins aren't tucked into bed Santa might not come!"
"Draco! Santa!" The girl, Lulu, wailed.
"Come one, Lulu. I'll race you!" And with that Malfoy was off, bounding up the grand staircase three steps at a time. Lulu ran after him, shouting about how it wasn't fair, that he had had a head start.
Hermione sighed, casting a shockingly maternal look up at the two Slytherins before starting up the staircase herself with Teddy, sucking his thumb, clutched to her chest. Harry stood back to observe the picture. Malfoy, breathing a bit heavier than usual, slumped at the top of the stairs, smirking down as Lulu and her dark, riotous curls bounded up the stairs after him. Hermione, carrying the small, blonde boy, followed them slowly, yelling for them to "Be Careful! Santa doesn't visit hospital wings!" They looked like a young family. And it didn't repulse Harry.
"Oi! Potter!" Malfoy called, just before he bounded off for the next flight of stairs. His hesitation gave Lulu the lead. "You plan on joining us or not?"