HERMIONE:
Hermione brushed her hands down on her black slacks. Dressing casual always came much simpler to her than it did to Draco. Hardly a shock. Aristocratic upbringing hardly helped him blend into the masses. Hermione decided to wear a rather nice sweater, which was snug and thin, dipping in a tasteful V along her chest. She didn't want to dress up too much, since she knew who she would be facing on the other side of the Apparation point.
"I'll remind you again that you really don't have to come with me." She hardly wanted that to sound like she would not want Draco's company. However, he had been a little off ever since she mentioned that she had gotten an invitation to the Weasleys' Christmas celebration.
This could have had something to do with the fact that she had not spoken to Ron Weasley since their fight during their last year at Hogwarts. She hadn't even been in the same room as him. But, it was difficult to ignore the gracious and familial letters of Molly Weasley, as she always considered Hermione to be one of the family. So, when the older witch had invited Hermione – in spite of her lack of communication with Molly's son – Hermione was inclined by courtesy to accept.
She hardly wanted to let Molly down on account of Ron's mistakes. It did not seem fair.
"I know you're not a fan of the Weasleys, I mean," Hermione clarified, all in attempts to avoid a bickering session before they Apparated to the Burrow.
DRACO:
It was slightly jarring to him when he saw her so casually dressed for a party or gathering. It reminded him of course that they were after all going to the Weasleys and they had never truly been ones to adore the extravagant. He settled on a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black dress pants with a simple black belt. It was quite a step down for him and he felt almost uncomfortable without cuff links.
Just as his eyes narrow at her statement she corrected herself and he relaxes slightly. Dislike for the Weasleys wasn't something that he really held. It was awkward really. Agitating. He had been bred to detest them and breaking away from that was difficult and even more so given the prick of the youngest son that they had. It was amusing that Granger even though he would allow her to go without him on account of the man. Draco would rather die.
He looks her over simply before his hands rise and begin fixing the collar of her sweater slightly so the V neckline didn't ride down too lowly. His possessive nature was so casual and natural that he hardly noticed it anymore, except during sex. It was quite clear then. Grey hues rest on every inch of her before he seems to mentally decide she's decent enough to go.
"What would they think if I didn't attend? I'll be damned if that weasel thinks that I'm just a lover on the side." His jaw tightens at the very thought of Ron making the assumption that their relationship wasn't important enough to be shown to what she considered a second family. "I'll be miserable and want to kill myself on multiple occasions but I'm going."
HERMIONE:
Hermione habitually rolled her eyes as he began fixing her collar, knowing damn well that even though he was helping her, he was really helping himself. There was still a slight amount of comfort in her stomach that he was coming along, even though it was likely that he would keep to himself most of the occasion. Even she wasn't really comfortable with the idea of being around Ron just yet.
"Alright, alright," she waved off his hands in annoyance, unable to stop the small breath of laughter that escaped her. In spite of the strangeness, it was still Christmas, and she had to admit that she was almost always happy at Christmas.
"Just don't let it show on your face too much." That comment was a jest. A simple one. It told a story and tugged up the corners of her mouth.
She reached up to brush imaginary dust away from his shoulders before she leaned up onto the tips of her toes to steal a kiss from him. Small and chaste. The balm on her lips tasted like an artificial watermelon flavor, which she enjoyed.
"Alright, grab your coat, let's go," she said as she pulled back, still with a smile playing on her lips as she reached for her own jacket and shrugged it on. They would be Apparating just outside of the grounds of the Burrow and walking the rest of the way. Already, there was a strange mixture of dread and excitement churning in her belly as she tugged her curls from being caught in her collar and worked her scarf around her neck.
Once she was done up, she held out her hand to him.
DRACO:
There hadn't even been an owl between Granger and her ex-boyfriend since the spectacle of a fight. Even the comfort of that didn't calm his nerves over the possibility of reconciliation. The only person he didn't mind that would be attending was Luna. He'd never really spoken to her but she always seemed softly distant. Even when he'd jeered at her in the halls she always smiled and waved. How she had gotten with such a showboat like Potter? He'd never understand. After all, he had managed to somehow trick the Gryffindor's queen into loving him so. . .He wasn't one to judge.
He makes a mock face of dread and tugs at an imaginary noose on his neck before she leaned up to kiss him. He would never be used to it and every kiss she gave him he wanted to deepen. Every time he wanted to consume her for himself, and he restrained in doing so now. Tongue dances over his own lips when she's parted so he can taste that sweet flavor and then she's bossing him around per usual.
"Okay, mum?" He smirks slightly and follows suit to grip his black pea coat and pull it over his arms. There's a small thought in the back of his head that his mark will be visible with his sleeves rolled up but he pushes it aside. They all know what he was anyway.
When he takes her hand, he realizes that there's no place he'd rather be.
HERMIONE:
She grinned wide at the comment, and like a million times before, her mandatory scoff-and-eye-roll followed a small, supple bray of laughter.
"Yes, daddy," Hermione said in her own sarcastic tone, feeling much more complete when his hand slipped into her own.
The words felt a little weird in her mouth, as she didn't even call her own father 'daddy'. She made a small face at herself and pressed onward.
Just like that, she felt that familiar pull behind her bellybutton, tugging her towards a very clear picture in her mind. The Burrow. In a conglomeration of limbs and swirling colors, they appeared on the outskirts of the Weasley home with a loud crack!
Hermione kept her hand entwined with Draco's as she gently tugged him onward. Snow was beginning to fall lightly around the humble home, which always looked like it was barely being held together. Hermione still smiled at the sight of it. Some lights had been strung up around the Burrow, making it shimmer as they began to close in on the steps of the front porch.
She paused for a moment, hesitating only a fraction before she reached up with her free hand and rapped thrice on the door. Now a little cold, she hopped a little, convincing herself that she was more cold than excited to see everyone. She hadn't even realized she was slowly tightening her grip on Draco's hand.
DRACO:
Daddy.
It attaches to his brain like a leech and he can't let it go. She was trying to get pounced on, surely. She was trying to get ravaged before they left. The thought of a quickie at the Weasley home had been a floating muse before and now? He had cemented in his head that he was going to fuck her in those walls. Preferably in the weasel's room. It was sick and perverse, but the thought of her back arched over the place that her ex had probably wanked at the thought of her? It was just marking territory.
"Granger. . . I am going to fu-"
There's the pull of Apparation and his sentence is lost.
The trek to the door is agitating, but the falling snow calms him. He always had a preference for it over anything else. It went quite well with his hair anyway and he liked color coordination. The home looked as he had expected it. Homely and obviously close to destruction at every turn.
He'd die here.
It would collapse and he'd die.
Brilliant.
Her knocking paired with her impatient bouncing and the tightening of her hand just had him even more on edge. It'd be fine. He squeezed her hand one more time and then the door opened and the onslaught began. Draco never knew how loudly someone could scream before Mrs. Weasley greeted her.
"HERMIONE!" Immediately that hand-holding was broken by the woman giving her the tightest hug humanly possible.
A polite but aloof smile plays across his lips but before he knows it he's getting the same treatment and he absolutely goes stiff and his arms go limp like a dead fish.
What. Was. This?
He was being hugged.
His thousand galleon coat was being crushed and covered in flour by this woman's apron.
Great.
HERMIONE:
Either she had not heard him, or she was choosing to ignore him. Quite frankly, letting him finish that sentence felt terribly dangerous.
Now, she had Molly's arms wrapped so tightly around her shoulders, she could hardly breathe. Hermione let out a few strangled laughs and hugged the older witch back with all her might, drinking in the warm welcome with a smile that just could not stretch wide enough.
Hermione heard Molly say something along the lines of, "oh, none of that, c'mon in" before she wrapped Draco up in an equally large, welcoming hug. Hermione could not stop herself. Her hands flew to her mouth, her cheeks grew bright red, and she was stifling incessant giggles behind the feeble barrier.
"Let's get you both out of the cold. Come in, come in!" She beamed brightly, swatting off some excess flour from Draco's coat before she swept a meaty arm towards the entrance and allowed them to go in first. "Looking a bit peaky, but supper's just started. It'll be some time before we all sit down to eat, but there's some baking waiting on the table for snacking."
"Thanks," Hermione replied, occasionally casting Draco a very amused smile.
They didn't make it far onto the threshold before Hermione was attacked by another pair of arms. These ones belonged to Harry.
Luna stood idly by. Hands folded in front of her as she swayed like she had a tune stuck in her head. She smiled brightly.
"Hello, Draco," she said while Harry murmured statements of pure excitement into Hermione's shoulder, which she returned with a strong pair of arms and rosy cheeks. "Happy Christmas."
DRACO:
He made the mental note to murder Granger later. Those giggles made his eyes narrow to her over the woman's shoulder and when they were finally separated he couldn't help but stare at Hermione. 'Peaky?' He mouths to her with a wrinkled brow and then a glance to his own frame before they were ushered inside.
There was never a passing thought in his mind that he would be in this position. Surrounded by Weasleys. In a relationship with Hermione Granger. Awkwardly standing by while Potter practically swallowed her in an embrace. He was never jealous of Potter. There was never a reason to be. It was mostly the fact that he looked so incredibly out of place in this warm worn place. Luna's greeting is far more subdued then Mrs. Weasley and he's grateful for it.
"Hey, Lovegood." The words are threaded on with caution. Even his low and sharp voice doesn't fit in here. Luna looked practically related to him. It was Pureblooded breeding after all. She wore her sharp bone structure differently. Softer. More welcoming, unlike his own permanent scowl.
There's noise on the stairs and a catapult of Ginny goes into Hermione's arms next. Then comes George. Charlie follows and finally Bill. There are so many gingers in one place and it's getting hard to sort them from one another. He's grateful that not one of them has greeted him or wished him a happy Christmas.
Just as he's counting his blessing for this he hears the thumping of footsteps and knows immediately only a thundering idiot could make such noise. Surprise. Ron walks around the corner Draco can feel every fiber of his being ring with hate. Immediately he isn't deprecated from Hermione anymore and his arm curls around her waist as if he had been doing it all along.
HERMIONE:
It was an onslaught of affection. All in one place. All the faces beamed and swung arms around her, while Harry shuffled over briefly to shake Draco's hand and wish him a Merry Christmas. He was brief, mostly nodding his head, but it was an effort Hermione appreciated.
Ginny had almost tackled her into the wall in the boldest manner of affection. Hermione was even exchanging words with the only daughter of the family as she multitasked and greeted the rest of them.
Luna let herself go last, hugging Hermione very gently, compared to all the others. Hermione was grateful for this, as it almost felt like her ribs were bruised. By the time Luna pulled away, Granger was engaged in minor conversation with her and Ginny, hardly paying heed to the surroundings. She took a moment to shrug off her coat and scarf, hanging them up on a nearby coat rack, which looked as though it were about to crumble under the weight of countless other garments.
By the time she turned back to the conversation, she had his arm around her waist. None the wiser, Hermione leaned into the embrace on instinct, careening her head to rest on Draco's shoulder while she spoke. Her arm mirrored his own, wrapping lightly behind him, hand resting on his hip. She was content with roses in her cheeks, already blinking rather dreamily as she remained pressed against him.
Harry had leaned in to speak a few words to Ron in the distance, and it was the reflection of Harry's glasses in the light that caught her eye. Hermione tensed somewhat, but she never removed her arm from Draco's waist, even as Harry appeared to be bickering with the lad.
"Eeeevening," came an overdramatic drawl from the corner of her eye. Hermione beamed over at George, who beamed right back at her. She didn't separate from Draco this time, as she was far too tired from the wave of people, but she leaned forward slightly to kiss George's cheek.
"Happy Christmas, George. How's the shop?"
DRACO:
The easy show of affection seems to jar the female Weasley and he sort of revels in that fact. Making people uncomfortable with how gentle Granger was towards him was one of his favorite hobbies. Sometimes he'd encircle her waist with his arms let his teeth scrape over the back of her neck so she'd do that airy little sighing thing that he loved so much. Her face would flush and he'd smirk knowingly at whatever passerby was gawking.
For now? He was quite content on their proximity and the fact that they all were now forced to look at him if they wanted to talk to her. Draco strained his ears slightly so he could just barely make out Ron going on about something like 'had the nerve to come here.' and an unnatural smile bloomed on his face. That just seemed to confuse Ginny even more.
While George was talking about the shop with Granger he had been a bit floored to discover Bill was extending his hand to shake.
"Never think I met you. Heard plenty of stories though." There was a small playful grin on his lips and Draco didn't take it as a threat as he might have if the man was a Slytherin. His arm has to remove from Granger's waist to shake hands and it's quick but firm. Friendly.
"I'm sure." His voice is always distinctively cool. It's not a purposeful thing.
" 'ermione!" There's an airy sort of fluttering voice that floats to his ears and out from the dining room comes a tall woman that he can't help but stare at. She's blonde and beautiful and it takes a moment for him to recover and remember who she was. Fleur Delacour. There's a vague memory of Hermione telling him that she had married Bill. The willowy woman comes over to hug the muggleborn first and immediately after he's being surrounded in a hug by her as well.
This hug? He doesn't mind so much. Of course, he awkwardly hugs back and when she pulls away to go flutter off to her husband he can't help but watch her go. Veela charm and all that.
HERMIONE:
George could never pass up the opportunity to invade someone else's conversation. The moment Bill had mentioned hearing stories about Draco, he leaned into the side and grinned cheekily.
"Yeah, right. The heir of Slytherin stories never get old," he said, flashing a jesting wink at the pair. This made Bill chuckle. George merely grinned in triumph of getting a laugh out of someone.
Hermione playfully swatted George's arm with her free hand, but she didn't have much chance to scold him before she was warmly enveloped in a hug. It was sudden, but sweet. She released Draco briefly to return Fleur's affections, murmuring that she was happy to see the Veela, then proceeded to watch with mild entertainment as she seemed to ensnare Draco instantly, flitting away as though her subtle entrancing nature meant absolutely nothing.
Hermione returned to Draco's side nonchalantly just then but reminded him of her presence with a small pinch to his hip. Ginny seemed thoroughly entertained by this.
"Another one falls victim to Fleur," the youngest redhead said, grinning at Hermione's disapproving look. Granger glanced briefly over at the exchange between Harry and Ron when she heard the bespectacled boy raise his voice a little and say 'come off it, mate, it's Christmas'. Harry was eventually tugged away by Luna, who told him in a rather airy tone that the 'gnomes outside were singing carols'. He seemed more content in joining the whimsical blonde than bickering with Ron about ancient history. "… wouldn't worry too much about it, though. Ron was the same way when he first met her."
Hermione tuned into the conversation and let out a light bark of a laugh before clapping her hand over her mouth, drawing attention to herself. She elaborated.
"Did I ever tell you about when Ron asked Fleur to the Yule Ball in fourth year?" She asked Draco, turning her head to look at him. At this, Ginny was already trying to stifle incessant giggles.
DRACO:
It was only the feeling of her pinch that brings him back to reality and he looks to her with a furrow of his brows at why she had pinched him. The mention of another victim falling to Fleur made him smirk slightly and he shrugged. "You can't fight the magical pull, hm?" Draco purposely didn't look at Granger so he didn't have to see her scowl.
His eyebrows raise at this newfound information about the weasel and when Hermione elaborated he puts up a hand as if to stop the entire conversation. "Wait. . .You are telling me that Weasley asked out that woman?" It takes a few seconds but he's suddenly laughing so hard that his sides hurt. He can't help himself. "H-How did he think. . In what world?" But he can't get out his sentence because of the laughter in his throat. It's strange to be jovial around these people. It's strange to be jovial in general.
He pretends to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes when he finally stops laughing. "No offense, naturally, but not even her husband is in her league. So the fact that Weasley asked her? In fourth year no less, when he looked like a ginger mop?" His words were not hushed and quiet. Draco wasn't the hushed and quiet type after all. He was good at making fun of Weasley. This was a good common ground.
He can see the man in question make a step forward and that's all Draco needs to tighten his arm around Granger's waist again and turn her slightly more towards him so he can place a kiss on her lips. It's not chaste but not lingering either. Simple to the outside eye. Releasing her he finally breaks away to take off his coat.
HERMIONE:
At first, there was a certain surprise when Draco burst out with laughter, but it wasn't long before Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth and Ginny did as well. Hermione laughed because of the mental image of a mop with red tousles, and Ginny laughed because she had actually been there.
The kiss caught her by surprise, and Hermione had no chance to return it, but it all left a lingering need that was beginning to drive her slightly mad. One glance at Ronald and she understood the pretense. Ginny gave her a strange look, and the two laughed a little more.
"I think this story would come better from Ginny, honestly," Hermione said, still with a smile that was beginning to hurt, in a very good way. She was trying to reach a common ground, build the beginnings of a bridge for him, and this was a perfect opportunity. Ginny positively loved making fun of her brothers… in a very healthy, loving, familial way, of course. "She was there when it happened."
"It's true. I'm the inside scoop," Ginny replied, now feeling a little more relaxed in Draco's presence. It was written in the slump of her shoulders and the casual way she flipped her hair out of her face to emphasize her words, as though she were modeling for Witch Weekly. It was a plausible feat, too. Ginny was a rather pretty girl. "Alright, so we were outside, on the grounds. It was… Neville, Seamus, Ron, and myself. Worst idea ever, walking around with three boys when Fleur's group was just ahead of us, by the way." She waved off the words with a face. "Anyway, Fleur's group stops up ahead, and then Ron stops our group, and he turns to us. He leans in and his voice drops and he nods to Seamus like—" Ginny leaned towards Hermione for emphasis and dropped her voice low, trying to pull off a baritone, "—I'm goin' for it."
Hermione cracked just then, hand flying over her mouth once more as she tried to suppress her giggles.
"Of course, the boys are eggin' 'im on, but I'm the only one standing there like: okay, this is gonna be hilarious," she picked up the tale again, putting her hands on her hips to put a stamp on what her attitude had been in the moment. "So he walks up to Fleur and I can already see his fists sort of clenching and unclenching. He taps her on the shoulder, Fleur turns to him and – no joke – he mumbles the words out to her. I'm assuming, anyway, because none of us could hear him. It looked like she was asking him to speak up. Next thing you know, he flat-out yells it, and all Neville, Seamus, and I see is Fleur's face like—" her jaw dropped, head cocked back, and eyes went wide in horror. It dropped almost instantly so she could proceed.
By now, Hermione was almost doubled over, holding her stomach tightly. Ron's fists were already clenched, and he crossed into the kitchen to check on Molly with red ears.
"At this point, Ron has a little bit of an audience. You've got my group, Fleur's group, and a few unfortunate bystanders who are terribly interested in the conversation. Ron sort of goes stiff, jerks around, and almost bolts in the other direction—"
"I remember this now!" Hermione piped up, pointing at Ginny. "He was practically laconic when you got him back to the common room!"
Ginny had cracked, nodding fervently as she pointed to Hermione and laughed along with her.
DRACO:
He decided halfway through this little story that he didn't mind Ginny much at all. He's listening and cringes a few times at the sheer sadness of this reality. Merlin. It's the explanation of the proposal that finishes him. He's holding his ribs trying to reign himself in because logically he didn't want to be happy around the Weasleys. He wanted to be bitter and looming like he had previously been stereotyped as.
Oh well.
So there's the three of them practically crying with laughter when Bill peeks in again with a furrowed expression. Draco supposed it was quite the scene. The pureblooded leech they all hated laughing with his muggleborn girlfriend they adored and getting along dashingly with the youngest Weasley. If only his Mother could see this.
It's only when Fleur comes practically floating out again that he's able to staunch his laughter and cough slightly so the very real tears in his eyes could be wiped away by the palm of his hand. He thinks she's going to pass him but suddenly her voice floats to his ears and she gasps. " 'Eet eez French designed, no?" His eyes flicker to the coat he had hung up along with the others that didn't look nearly as expensive.
Immediately he smirks and nods to her. "Maximoff." The confirmation has Fleur grinning broadly and reaching out so innocently to touch the sleeve of his shirt that he had rolled up.
"Fine taste. Zhey do not understand. I know of 'im. I own many dresses of such design." Her words are absolutely friendly and so are her actions. It's not flirtatious or at least she doesn't mean it to be. But with this woman? Everything seems pulling. Draco straightens his posture slightly and seems to preen at the reality of being complimented over his clothing choices.
HERMIONE:
She was getting ready to scowl. She really was. Fleur had an undeniable pull around young men that seemed to send them drooling after her. It was one of the reasons Molly had been so disapproving of her. Hermione understood that this pull was not necessarily something Fleur could control, which was how she was able to staunch the jealousy beginning to simmer in the pit of her stomach.
Lucky for her, she was interrupted before she could say anything when she felt a hand on her arm. Ginny caught Hermione's eyes and cocked her head towards Harry, who was signaling for her. Hermione paused, hesitated, and felt the smile beginning to fade away from her face while she met her best friend's bright green eyes. Harry waved her over again.
"I'll make sure he doesn't drool, go on," Ginny prodded, giving Hermione a light shove.
George swept past her just then, joining his little sister's side as he drawled out something that sounded like, "so I heard the Irish are up against the Harpies in a month… you still betting they'll win?" Hermione glanced back only briefly to see Ginny's ears go red as she dove head-on into a full-blown debate with George, who was really just antagonizing her for the fun of it.
Hopefully he would get Draco in on the conversation.
"Hermione," Harry began as he caught her arm in a light and friendly manner. His tone, however, dropped to a more serious note. "I think you ought to talk to him."
"What?!" She shot out in a hiss, shaking her head. "No… no, Harry, I'm not ready for that yet."
"Look…" his arm fell away from her then, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'm not asking you to try forgiving him or anything, but… it's Christmas. For the past year, I've been doing a lot of back-and-forth between you two, and… you're both my best friends."
Hermione's heart stilled for a beat. In the back of her mind, she knew how hard this must have been on Harry, but neither of them really said anything about it.
"I'm sorry, Harry, I just…"
"I know. Just… please… try."
She drank in a deep breath and slowly let it seep back out through her nose. She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded slowly.
"Yes, alright," she confessed finally, nodding. "I'll… I'll try to talk to him. But I'm making no promises."
He held up his hands just then in surrender. "That's fine. I don't expect progress. Just… some effort."
DRACO:
He had just gotten into quite the heated debate over if silk was better for the skin or cashmere when he finally realized that she was departing from his side. Every thought of how entertaining the conversation was dropped immediately and his attention was completely to Hermione. It looked as if he was going to follow her when George nodded his head to Draco.
"What do you think?" The blonde looked over and quickly absorbed what was happening in the conversation before smirking slightly.
"Harpies just got that new seeker didn't they? Cranford? She looks awfully weak in the arms to be a proper seeker." Now, this just has Ginny livid. He was good at making people angry after all.
He pulled himself away from the conversation just so he could look over at how Granger and Potter's situation was going. He knew almost immediately from her body language and his that the man had just asked her to make nice with Weasley and being her loyal self to her friends she had conceded. Great.
It's only then that Molly comes out to usher everyone into the dining room with a bright smile and a wave of her arms to get everyone's attention. His face is set in a scowl by the time he reaches Granger and when his hand touches her lower back to usher her forward he speaks in a low town for only her to hear.
"Making pacts without me? Shame on you, Granger." There's a joking air to his words, but he always knows that she understands him far too much to think that he was only joking.
The table is long much like his own at Malfoy Manor but this time it's completely full. It's jarring to see so many people at one table and as he slides into a seat next to Granger he finds that he's never wanted to be somewhere else so badly in his life.
The weasel is sat right across from them and he's not sure if this is some plan by Mrs. Weasley or not because the woman looks as sweet and innocent as can be.
He's still suspicious.
HERMIONE:
Ginny had gone livid, though her threat of "you're gonna pay for that" couldn't be said without the hints of a grin playing on her lips. Only because George's shoulders were shaking as he chuckled to himself, of course.
The moment was brief. Apparently, Ron had just received a rather harsh scolding from Molly about his manners, and that was all Hermione heard before Mrs. Weasley's loud voice encouraged everyone into the "dining room", which was basically the kitchen. The pots and pans were washing themselves silently while Molly set out the last few things for the heavy meal.
Hermione's eyes twinkled brightly just for a moment before she felt a familiar hand on the small of her back, and jesting, but harsh words in her ear. She shot a scowl right back at him then; further proof that this wasn't exactly a pact she was particularly happy about. The absolute last thing she wanted to do over Christmas was fight, and speaking with Ron at all pretty much guaranteed that a confrontation was in order.
The table was large, packed with food and people. She sank into a seat with Draco to her left and Ginny to her right. Ron was seated right across from Draco. As much as she could appeal to Molly's efforts for unity, there were some hatchets that would just never be buried.
Hermione did something rather reassuring just then. Her hazel gaze traveled briefly between Ron's heated expression and Draco's scowl, and she knew something needed to be diffused. So, she reached for her lover's hand on top of the table, curling thin, frail fingers around his own and squeezing them gently.
"Alright, everyone, tuck in! Pass it all around, go on!" Molly encouraged with a beaming smile.
Hermione gave the hand in her grasp one final squeeze before she reached for the mashed potatoes.
DRACO:
The chair he sits in is slightly creaky and worn and there's a distinct smell of good food and soap suds from the dishes washing in the corner of the room. It was unlike anything he had ever been a part of, but he supposed if Granger liked being here there was at least some redeeming quality of the place.
You could physically cut the tension with a knife as the two men glared at one another and it wasn't until Draco felt thin fingers curl around his and his gaze flickered over Granger for a sparing moment. It seemed a simple gesture but he knew what it was. Reassurance. A request for him to remain civil or at least silent of his hate. A reminder that she was there with him. It was fascinating, how a simple touch could display so much.
When the food is finally passed to him he takes the smallest portions of everything. He didn't eat much. Furthermore, in the upper-class society, it was considered gluttonous to fill your plate with so much when you could simply always go back for more. Old habits were hard to break. Draco is bitter to admit that the food is good. Possibly the best he's ever had in his life, even if he can physically feel the weight being added to his body because of the fat content.
He's chewing green beans when Fleur addresses him. Perhaps she's the only one in this little family that is either brave enough or just doesn't care enough to outright ask him a question.
"Draco. What eez eet you do?"
He stops mid-chew to look up from his plate and stare the blonde woman down knowing damn well that the entire table was now focused on him. Brilliant.
He swallows before his posture straightens to speak. ". . It's only been a year or so since graduation. I plan on joining the Ministry but currently, I'm more of a house-husband."
Now he thinks this is hilarious which is obvious by his small smirk but only George and Bill chuckle along with Ginny who simply rolls her eyes and continues eating.
He thinks that he's never seen Ron look like he's about to explode even more than he does right now.
HERMIONE:
Hermione briefly choked on her food at the word husband, which only seemed to make George laugh a little harder while Ginny clapped her on the back and grinned.
"I think you broke her," Ginny said, and the laughter became a little contagious around the table while Arthur got up to carve the turkey and pass pieces to everyone. The young redhead decided to alter the topic. "What about you, Hermione? Are you going for the Ministry too?"
Hermione managed to gulp down a bit of juice before she shook her head avidly, clearing her throat and trying to stop her brain from racing a mile a minute. "No, no, of course not. I've been… looking at other prospects." She shifted in her chair from her own response and her knee lightly brushed Draco's, which – as usual – made her freeze a bit.
Harry scoffed playfully, drawing her attention away from the heat that called to her. "That's Hermione for 'I have no idea what I wanna do yet'," he said, idly cutting a piece of turkey from the slab he had gotten. He piled a bit of mashed potatoes onto his fork for effect. "Why don't you try for being an Auror or something? You'd do well with it."
She shook her head. "I don't think so. At best, I would excel in a research department, but I've been in the research departments at the Ministry, and… they're not really my style."
"Not enough books?" Ginny asked.
Hermione shook her head. "Not enough challenges."
Ginny made an 'ah' sound, and the conversation was thankfully switched, moving onto Harry's work at the Ministry.
DRACO:
He raised an eyebrow at her reaction and the thought of halting her so much made him smirk. It had been a simple joke but if it made her react like that? He might make it a couple more times as the evening wore on. He snorts a bit too loudly at the prospect of her being an Auror. For someone who knew her his entire life, Potter seemed as if he didn't know her very much at all. Granger being an Auror seemed as out of place as him being a maid.
Her knee brushes his own and the hand that had previously been resting on the table is now gripping her thigh tightly, fingers curling around the flesh and digging in. A painfully obvious reminder that she was there with him. His face doesn't show any signs of what his hand is doing under the table except for the small twinkle in his eyes when he decides on his next course of action.
It's only when Ron looks as if he's about to blow that Draco coolly addresses him. "Padma couldn't be here? What a shame. Or are you two not as close as you were before?" If he was anyone else, then the words may have come off as friendly.
Fingers release from her thigh to move the smallest stray curl away from her jaw with care not often displayed before grey hues look back to Ron curiously. He was good at playing this game. Better than most.
HERMIONE:
Hermione would have flinched if she weren't so painfully familiar with this type of behavior. In spite of better judgment, she normally enjoyed these displays of possession. It was a constant reminder that he cared enough to be jealous and possessive in the first place, which was more than she could say for Ron in the duration of their ephemeral relationship. He never got jealous or possessive until he realized he had lost her, and by then, it was far too late.
Her leg instinctively became tense under his grip, though Hermione was trying to decide whether or not this instinct was a desire for more, or a desire to lay the mass amount of tension to rest. Ron's red-levels were increasing by the second, and by the time a stray curl was brushed away from her face, he looked about ready to spontaneously combust.
The table was mostly silent, save for a continued debate between Ginny and George about Quidditch. Molly was already murmuring a few things to Arthur, and the table seemed to begin breaking into pieces about their own preferential topics. Hermione was grateful for this, as they were successfully dulling the attention paid to the strangled air between Ron and Draco.
Harry seemed to be the only one paying heed. Green eyes flashed between Ron, Draco, and then Hermione. He almost gave a warning to her to keep the peace, but in retrospect, it was a wasted effort. There wasn't much she could do to quell Draco's temper when it came to Ron.
Ron, on the other hand, only seemed to force himself to relax when his eyes had shifted to Hermione. Her shoulders were tense, as though she was getting herself ready to dive in between the two young men, should things get out of hand. As though reminded of a very poor event – likely a misguided hit that split open her lip – he resigned and chose to fester.
"Piss off," Ron snapped before he shoved himself up from his seat. His chair scraped loudly against the floor and he stormed off in the other direction. The table suddenly paused in its conversation.
Hermione took in a deep breath, trying to ignore Harry's intense stare, which practically commanded that she go talk to him. With an inaudible huff, she shot a stern look to Draco and pushed herself up as well, more calmly than her redheaded counterpart.
"I'll… go check on him," she excused. Molly nodded briefly, and Hermione walked away from the table.
DRACO:
He looks almost proud when Ron finally sits up and snaps at him before storming from the room. Good. They could have a nice, civil dinner now. It's when Hermione also sits up that his entire body goes rigid. He takes the look on her face towards him to offense and when she walks out of the room there's a stark silence.
He had promised himself before he had gotten too romantically involved with her that he would never get miffed if she chose Harry or Ron over him when it came to conversation or company or preference of anything. He had a lot to atone for that they did not. They had been her best friends since childhood, as rocky and strained as it had been. It wasn't his place. At least not to the opinion of his Mother and Theo who refused to answer the question.
But this? Oh, he couldn't help this. He'd broken the promise to himself and found it so increasingly agitating when she constantly deferred to Harry's opinions to try and fix a friendship that was barely there to begin with. He wasn't used to having friends like this. He wasn't used to being in this sort of setting of some sort of warped accepting and love. His own chair is pushed back and he stands up.
"Bathroom." He grunts simply and when Ginny stands up to show him where it is he just shakes his head sharply. "I'll figure it out."
It was bloody obvious he didn't give a fuck about the loo and when he leaves the room it's not difficult to hear where the conversation is coming from. If he was a different man he might have knocked on the door instead of pressing his ear to it. Slytherin through and through after all.
HERMIONE:
She had managed to divert Ron to the sitting room, just beyond the stairs. She could hear cheery conversation picking up in the kitchen/dining room, and she hated that she was here, dealing with this, as opposed to sitting around the people she loved, enjoying a hot meal on Christmas. Ron was pacing at first, but after an extended look at her, she motioned for him to sit. He did. Thankfully. She silently hoped she could end this conversation quickly so they could get back to enjoying their time.
"Ron, this has to stop," she said, now sitting in the armchair, facing away from the stairs. "I didn't come here to fight—"
"Hard to avoid, though, innit?" Ron snapped briskly, still scowling. "You brought him here, what'd you expect?"
Hermione appeared affronted just then, stiffening. "I expected the exact same thing your whole family has been doing since we stepped through that door. Peace. Acceptance. At least a fraction of civility. In case it slipped your attention, pretty much everyone apart from you has greeted Draco almost the exact same way they've greeted me. That was what I was expecting. It's Christmas, Ronald, not a bloody boxing ring—"
"The what?"
"Nevermind," she waved off the Muggle reference. "The point is: I can't do this again—"
"He doesn't belong here, Hermione—"
"And by the scowl on your face during what's meant to be the most joyous time of year, Ronald, I would say you don't belong here, either!" Her voice was a harsh hiss, higher in pitch. She was getting defensive. She sighed heavily in attempts to calm herself.
There was a painful strip of silence between the two.
"Harry said you wanted to speak with me. Is this true, or was he just making it up?" She asked, her tone a little more distant.
Ron was silent for a time.
"I wanted to apologize," he confessed finally. "For what happened."
"Well that's nice and vague," Hermione quipped, clearly unimpressed. The air shifted. "You've done plenty to me in the past year, Ron, you might have to be more specific."
"Right, as if Malfoy hasn't done fuck-all to you, yet you're still shaggin' 'im," Ron retorted. There was a small gasp that could be heard, along with a hard gust of air, as though she had it knocked right out of her lungs. The silence was deafening as it settled in. It almost lasted too long, and any fool would know that she was genuinely hurt by the comment.
"I can't believe you. At all." She said, her voice shocked into a dreary softness. Another silence. She continued. "You know, I made a chart once. At the beginning of last year, when I got to Hogwarts. It sounds silly, but I made one. It was when you forgot my birthday…"
The silence was hard now. Raw.
"I tried to tally up the number of times you told me you loved me. In the next column, I compared that number to how many times you showed it. Do you know what numbers I came up with?"
"Probably a right sight better than him," Ron snapped. Hermione ignored him and continued.
"You told me you loved me one-hundred-and-seventeen times in the seven years we've been friends. You showed me you loved me four times."
Ah, the astonishing power of mathematics and ratios. Ron was still without speech. "And since you're so curious, do you know how many times Draco has told me he loves me?" Tension thickened. Ron was stiff now. Hermione held up her index finger. "Once. Just one time." He almost relaxed. It was a trap. "Do you know why that one time completely trumps the one-hundred-and-seventeen times you told me?" Silence. "Because he never needed to tell me in the first place. I already knew. He showed me when he put me before his family, his beliefs, his friends, when he showed restraint with you and Harry, and more importantly, when he actually mustered up the gall to come here with me, and face everyone he's uncomfortable with – and everyone who might have been uncomfortable with him – just for me. And you know what? I can tell you now, he'll never have to say it again, because he always makes sure I know."
"And that's why you chose him, is it?" Ron's tone dripped with sarcasm.
"You don't get it," Hermione said, shaking her head at him. "Whether you want to admit it or not, Ron, you have not only been a horrible person to be in a relationship with, but you have also been a bad friend. The relationship portion of why I'm so unbelievably angry with you is gone. I have a good relationship now, so what we had isn't in the equation, because we didn't even have anything in the first place! What I'm angry with you about has to do with the fact that Draco was actually a better friend to me than you. While you were refraining from writing to me, or forgetting my birthday, or being cold to me and phasing me out, he was actually there, picking up the pieces and trying to put them back together. He was a friend first, and he was there when you weren't. As much as I'm thankful for that, and as much as I will never be able to repay him, my best friend of seven years should have been able to at least tell me he didn't feel that way about me—"
"I did." Ron managed in a choked whisper.
"No. You didn't. If you felt even a ventricle of what I felt for you, you would never have been so dishonest with me."
Another bout devoid of noise.
"Do you love him?" Ron asked. Hermione nodded.
"Yes. I do," she replied firmly.
"Can't believe you can say that so easily. This is Malfoy we're talking about," Ron snapped again.
There was a noise of her rising from her seat. "And with your past misdeeds, Ronald, you are not a person who has the right to judge my decisions. You've wronged me worse than any Mudblood comment out there. You were my best friend. You betrayed me. Your issue isn't with him. It's with yourself and your guilt."
Ron was silent again, and Hermione gave a long sigh, shaking her head in disbelief at him.
"Oh. One further addendum: I want you to be aware that I just gave you every reason to apologize, and you never once said I'm sorry."
She let the noiselessness linger.
"Happy Christmas."
She began her way towards the kitchen, trying her hardest to hold back the tears in her eyes.
DRACO:
He considers barging in and breaking the redheads face for the second time, but something holds him back. There's a curiosity in his blood that he always tried to get rid of. It's that nagging voice in the back of his head that always told him if Weasley finally got up the balls to apologize and talk to her again that she'd flitter back to him. Logically, he knew her, and he knew that this thought was just damaging and idiotic, but as someone raised to always see the worst before the best? It was a very real fear he had held since they had become closer.
He played off his possession with her to be purely dominant, and acted pleased to have something that Potter and Weasley once had only to themselves. He played it off as just a part of his personality. The truth was that even as a child everything he ever had was on borrowed time. Toys would eventually be put up on the shelf because his Mother considered them too pretty to be dirtied. Clothing would become out of fashion and even if he truly liked it he would be forced to move on to something else.
The nanny he adored growing up became too outspoken on his upbringing and she was fired and never returned. His schooling was not of his control. His social standing. Friends. Thoughts. Actions. They were never his own for too long.
But her? She had chosen to become his. She had stayed and this was the one thing he wouldn't allow anyone or anything to take away from him. That's why he touched her at all times in public or made sure that she knew he wanted her. He was finally comfortable and happy.
There are nights where he can't touch her because all he can think of is her blood staining the floors of Malfoy Manor. There's nights where she tries to kiss him and he flinches away from her and refuses any of her touch. There are also nights where he wakes up screaming about war and tragedy and she's the only one gentle enough to calm him down and silence the demons that only this society could create.
She calls it PTSD. She says plenty of people in his position get it.
When she wakes up screaming he cradles her the exact same way.
As she goes on and on he feels his chest restrict in a way that had only happened that first night at the piano or when he removed those flowers from her hair or when he sobbed to her.
I love you.
Don't leave.
He remembers the day so clearly and although sometimes in the past, when he thinks it over and feels embarrassment, there's none of that now.
He feels unworthy of how she feels for him. He also wants to continue showing her for as long as she'll have him. Conflicting emotions used to be his bread and butter but now they just become a garbled mess on the inside of his brain.
He's moved from the door and back to the kitchen before she emerges and when she enters it he wonders if she can see it radiating off him. The softness for her. The want to just take her and leave this place.
How does he say this?
How does he not awkwardly inject this into the conversation.
"I. . love your hair." The comment is directed to Granger after she's sat down and before he loses the balls he continues. "Your face too. I love you, basically." For all the times he's absolutely smooth with conversation to this awkward mess? Emotions were never his best bet. He says it because he wants to… and because he wants that tally to round up to two.
He wants to make an effort to not only show her but the people who care for her, that he's not the same. Not all of him, anyway.
Nailed it.
HERMIONE:
Brushing away excess tears from the ducts always seemed to be the result of fighting with Ron. It was difficult not to, when they were so close, and he still managed to say such hateful things. He never returned to the dinner table, which was a bit of a shock, considering he was always hungry. Hermione settled herself into her seat and stole a deep breath into her lungs, hoping it would quell the urge to just burst into tears right there.
The ball of sorrow was still lodged in her throat. She reached up to brush lightly at her eyes for good measure and refused to make eye contact with Harry. His concern was etched across his face, but she never acknowledged him. Doing that meant she would break down. She couldn't do that now. Not here. Not at Christmas.
She swallowed hard for good measure when she realized that the second she came back into the room the table had gone more silent than before.
I… love your hair.
This caught her attention. Instinctively, she cast her stare in Draco's direction, giving him a strange look. Love was a rather foreign word on his lips. His very, very kissable lips. It was taking her a moment to register that he was saying it at all. When he moved on to comment on her face, she felt an involuntary smile twitch at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes sparked with something new and exciting.
I love you, basically.
It took her a moment to remember that they were in a public setting. Gentle murmurs passed around them, but all Hermione could focus on was the fact that her cheeks were beginning to hurt. She was smiling very wide, and had managed to let out a little laugh from the shock of it. She couldn't even find the trust in her voice to mirror the words herself, she felt like she was overflowing with affection.
Suddenly, whatever sadness she might have felt in that moment had dissipated. She was putting the sun to shame with her smile. Soon enough, her palm had drawn itself up to graze his cheek and she threw a caution to the wind, leaning over to kiss him. It was a little abrupt, and this one was a lingering kiss. A small breath exhaled in a staccato rhythm through her nose on a barely audible laugh when the table erupted with cheers and George's mocking "oooooooooo".
By the time she pulled away, she was a little breathless, with a blush in her cheeks that was deep and red. Some of the family were banging silverware on the table, just to be rambunctious. It didn't help the redness from spreading and eventually she was laughing from the embarrassment and covering her rosy cheeks.
DRACO:
The table was silent, and that overbearing silence was worse than it ever had been at his own home, or any social gathering he had attended. Usually, it was easy to recover when the table went silent. Here? He had no idea what to do, given it was completely and utterly out of his element. But she was here. He did this for her, as he did most things nowadays.
She looked as if she'd just been given the biggest gift she'd ever seen and he can't help but smirk slightly at how wide her smile is. It's a pure and good feeling to know he's made her happy. It wasn't as hard as he had thought it might be, to display such affection in a public setting. Of course, this was around the Weasleys. It was a bit different.
He hadn't expected her hand to his cheek or the way she leaned in to kiss him, but he'd be damned if he just let her pull away without putting in his own effort. One hand curls in her hair slightly and he returns the kiss until there are cheers throughout the loud and - what he previously thought as - obnoxious family.
Her face was beet red when she pulled away and he took pride in this. He can't help but wonder what he would have been like if he had been raised in this environment. If he had home-cooked meals and loving parents who accepted every flaw and siblings that would die for you if asked. He had to wonder if he would have been on the opposite side of that battlefield.
His fist pumps for good measure which just gets another cheer and, for the first time to date, he actually smiles in the presence of the Weasleys.
HERMIONE:
Hermione was a mess at this point. Mixed feelings. Embarrassed that the apparent love of her life had encouraged the cheers, but also proud as sin that it was on her account. By now, she had a hand over her eyes and was laughing while sinking into her seat and shaking her head vigorously, as though trying to melt away from the spotlight and pretend the moment wasn't even happening.
Of course, this was not the case. Ginny had her hand-clapping Hermione on the shoulder, which caused the muggleborn to lean into her friend's embrace, only to try hiding her face in the crook of her neck. Ginny laughed and mocked Hermione while patting down the wild curls atop her head. Eventually, Hermione pulled away and playfully swatted Draco in the shoulder as the moment quieted down.
"Awh, your face is almost as red as my hair," George cooed, which shot the family into a roar of laughter. Hermione shot back into her seat and covered her face with her hands to feebly avoid the torment. The bastard was always incapable of holding back a jest that would keep the crowd going.
Even Molly was having a difficult time functioning as she excused herself from the table and began bringing out dessert. Ginny even cackled as she got up to help her mother.
The tension almost instantly dissipated and everyone had inevitably merged back into their own conversations, which were a little louder than before. It felt as though the evening had just begun, officially. Though tainted by Ron's lack of presence, Hermione smiled as her blush eventually began to fade. Still apparent, but not hardly as bad as it was before.
She reached for Draco's hand once again and felt anchored.
"Alright, everyone, let's clear the table," Molly said after a while, initiating the tradition. "Once that's done, it's time for the gifts!"
Another round of cheers ricocheted throughout.
DRACO:
He never thought that this wide of a smile would be apparent in the presence of the Weasley's home. There wasn't a moment in his life that he thought he'd be sitting down and laughing over Christmas dinner with the lot of them. Then again he never assumed that dating Hermione Granger would be a thing either. How the world has a way of amusing itself.
In a way he enjoyed this. Naturally, it wouldn't be the least bit entertaining if Granger wasn't present. After he was finished eating way too much chocolate cake, Draco gripped her hand with a tightness that only meant pleasure and contentment. Clearing the table. They did that themselves. It was a strange thing to him but he stood up with the rest of them and began to collect dishes in a haphazard pile.
A fork has tumbled to the ground where he has to pick it up just followed by a few other pieces of silverware when he hears Ginny's snicker.
"Have you ever cleaned before?" Steely grey eyes sparkle just a bit as he straightens his posture. It was hard not to like her.
"Never." And this just gets an audible laugh from the redheaded girl.
Being herded like sheep into the living room around the warm and comfortable fire didn't faze him too much. By now he was getting used to the excitement and bustle this home and its people provided. Seating himself on the worn couch he easily pulled his lover down with him as close as physically possible with her not in his lap.
Gift giving. What a fascinating thing to watch.
HERMIONE:
"You pile 'em from largest to smallest," George said, sticking out his chest proudly, as though he had just told the secret to life. Amusement, as usual, twinkled in his eyes as he nudged Draco's arm with his elbow. "Makes 'em easier to carry."
Everything was a whirlwind after that. The dishes were piled next to the sink, and magic took care of the cleaning, neatly piling them in washed mountains on the opposite side. They would be put away when most of the people cleared out of the house.
She was just as much accustomed to the noise of the family as she was Draco's subliminal possessiveness. It was this exact comfort that allowed her to fall into the barely-breathable space next to him. She succumbed to a full stomach and a lazy lounging, curling up her legs on the couch and leaning into him to the point where her side was completely flush against his own.
She would let Molly get her gifts out of the way first before she began bringing out her own.
"Alright, we have George…" Molly bustled about, pulling gifts from under the tree. She rang out the names and the redheads came about to receive them. Ron still had yet to show his face. Hermione was surprised that he missed dinner and presents. Still, the cheery tone of Molly as she listed off names and offered cheaply-wrapped parcels to her children and husband was enough of a distraction to keep her quite happy. Coalescing with the sweet touches belonging to her lover, Hermione was skirting the perimeters of Heaven itself.
"Ah! Draco, this one's for you," Molly said finally, holding out the package for him to take. She shimmied it a little in his direction for emphasis. More than likely, it was one of Mrs. Weasley's traditional sweaters. These things had become a symbol to Hermione, much like an initiation. When you got a sweater from Molly Weasley, you had a family. Molly offered Hermione a package as well. "And for you, dear."
"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said, though her voice sounded far-off. She was so terribly comfortable where she was, and moving at all, even to take up the present, was a chore. She sat up a bit and placed the package in her lap, beginning to undo the strings that held it together.
DRACO:
He watched them each get their presents and he couldn't help but feel slightly jealous of them all. Did they understand what they had? Did they get that this was only every fantasy to him? Arm flexes around Granger's shoulders as he tightens his grip on her slightly while thoughts of happiness and bitterness battle for dominance in his head.
That is until he's handed a parcel.
His eyebrows furrow into confusion as if he's heard her wrong her perhaps she meant someone else around them. His eyes flicker to Granger and then finally he takes the parcel in his hands. It brings him back to memories at his own home. They'd never spend the holiday at home. Mother always wanted to go to a gala or a party that celebrated the finer things in life.
He had asked once when he was ten if they could decorate the tree themselves instead of the elves doing it. His father laughed in his face and explained that Malfoys didn't decorate their own trees. Draco had snuck into the living room that night and Dobby had allowed him to put the star at the top.
All other noise cancels out as he opens up the parcel and is holding up a beautiful deep green sweater with a fabric that isn't scratchy or wool feeling at all. It's not silk of course but it isn't the cheap material that would be a bit easier to come by for the woman. On the front is a beautifully embroidered D in gold and red that he can only assume represents his choice in partner.
He's silent for several long moments until right in the middle of the couch he unbuttons and peels off his shirt, abandoning it to pull on the sweater.
HERMIONE:
Hermione was accustomed to her yearly Christmas gift. At home, she had a collection of sweaters, knitted from a rather fuzzy yarn. Each one varied in size, shape, and design. Molly paid very close attention to each child's varying stage in their life.
It also appeared as though this particular stage was taken note of.
Briefly, she admired the thought behind Molly's design when it came to Draco's sweater, and her cheeks blushed yet another deep red at the colors chosen for the central letter. A shy smile touched her lips. Molly appeared incredibly pleased with the reaction, laughing heartily when she realized that Draco had brashly discarded his own shirt and sought the value of sentiment in the one he had just been given.
"Lookit that, mum! Someone actually wants to wear one!" This had earned George a hard swat in the arm from Ginny, who was shaking her head at the boy and grinning. "I'm just saying, it's a monumental occasion!" Another smack.
"Go on, Hermione, open yours," Molly encouraged. Hermione glanced back to Mrs. Weasley and nodded, beginning to unravel the package completely.
The yarn was the exact same texture as that which belonged to Draco's sweater. She could only assume that it was the same red and gold that made up the first initial of his name. After all, the excess needed to be used for something, and Molly was very resourceful. The fabric was soft and smooth. Likely to have cost Mrs. Weasley a fortune, according to her tight and shallow purse.
Her own sweater was much more feminine. Hermione had to admire the work. The collar itself was wide. Off-shoulder, much like the sweaters she usually wore around her own home. Molly always paid close attention to Hermione's style, and sought to replicate it however she could. Now, she was staring at an H in the center of the shirt, colored with silver and green. She smiled brightly and blushed again.
Hermione stood slowly, holding the sweater in her hands. She glanced over to Draco. "I'm just going to change into this quickly. I'll be right back."
She relieved the room of her presence and practically rushed up the stairs to the bathroom.
In the meantime, Molly was praising her own work, which now sat comfortably on Draco's shoulders. "I wasn't certain on the measurements. How does it feel? Is it sitting right?"
DRACO:
His eyes drink in the sweater that she had also been gifted and he couldn't help but smirk slightly at the colours there. She had to have been making these for quite a while before she had even accepted the fact that Hermione was with him. It was what he could only describe as...Sweet. Something he didn't quite have experience in.
The question about his sweater has to sink in because he's realized that Hermione has left the couch. His first thought is that he's alone and he dreads it and his second thought is that she's now alone and available for private...conversation. Eyebrows raise and he's suddenly nodding to Mrs. Weasley with a quick tight smile. "It fits great. It's beautiful, honestly. Thank you."
The joke of his excitement to get it on still flickers across the room and he can't help but snort slightly. If they had this fabric they would surely all love their sweaters. A conscious thought is made in his head to pay her back for the fabric for his own and Granger's.
"Excuse me. Bathroom." As he rises he sees Ginny smirk and mutter something about 'again? strange' and he hates how much he thinks she would have made a good Slytherin. This time he actually does go up the stairs and the bathroom isn't difficult to find. He doesn't even wait to open it and then slip into the small space and close the door behind him.
"I have never felt this before. Is it happiness? Warmth. Help me."
HERMIONE:
She had been humming and washing her hands. As she had removed the sweater she was wearing, she had paused when she realized that there were a few smudges on her hands from gathering dishes. Hermione did not want to risk getting anything on the sweater Molly had knitted, so she washed, she hummed, and she was happier for it. She had "O Come, Emanuele" stuck in her head for quite some time.
She had just dried her hands on the towel near the sink and was reaching for the sweater when the bathroom door all but burst open and Draco was now closing the door behind him.
She jumped and whipped around to face him. Instinct encouraged her to use the knitted sweater to cover herself, but the moment she realized it was him, she visibly relaxed.
The sweater was righted in her hands and she was about to pull it on, but she froze halfway when he spoke. It dangled off her arms while she stared him down, perplexed and amused all the same.
It took her a moment to register the words, but they made her smile all the same.
"Help you?" Hermione asked, raising a slender brow. She released a breathy scoff and shook her head. How exactly could one go about helping someone when they felt happiness? The concept alone was a little ridiculous. She raised her hands in surrender and lazily slapped her palms lightly against the denim covering her thighs. "Sorry, but… to date, I can't recall reading about anything that pertains to a cure for happiness." Another amused tittle followed the comment. "Looks like you're just going to have to suffer through it."
DRACO:
He couldn't help but drink in the way she looked. Flushed and soft and everything in between. Her sarcasm overflowed throughout him and his eyes narrowed bitterly to connect to her own sparkling ones. Hilarious. He had only been half joking about his cry for help over being too pleased with this bloody family. It was absolutely jarring.
He'd have to get used to it because surely he'd be spending Christmas with them more often over the years that he planned on being with Granger. The thought was surprising to himself. Draco had never really just sat down and realized that his future in his mind consisted completely of Granger.
All the heartfelt softness is pushed away and ignored so he can consider the more primal things he wants. His hands reach out to take the sweater and peel it back off her arms and hang it up on the hook at the back of the door. When he turns back to her it's so naturally easy to reach out and pull her closer to him by the loops in her jeans. Maybe one day he won't feel this overwhelming urge to touch her at all times or show her how much he wants her every second of every day.
Obviously, that isn't today. Fingers curl up and over her waistband to touch the flesh of her hips and then finally resign to unbutton and unzip the jeans she wore with an easy calmness.
"Maybe you can help me through my suffering."
HERMIONE:
Not a day seemed to pass where he was not touching her, or sneaking her into private corners or edges of their home to ravage her. Though, more often than not, Hermione tried to busy herself in more intellectual ways, she could never make herself find his insatiable appetites tiresome. It was all because of the pesky way her skin tingled in the wake of wherever his touch seemed to lead, or the sensational rise of little bumps on her neck whenever his breath washed over her.
Much as she loathed to admit it, he was just as much an addiction as she apparently was to him.
At first, confusion had settled in as he tugged the knitted sweater from her arms and hung it up on the hook in the door. That confusion had melted away into deeper confusion as she was tugged closer by the loops of her jeans, which were being undone smoothly and calmly while he suggested alternate versions of alleviation.
"What? Here?" Hermione breathed out, feeling entirely self-conscious.
She had always associated the Weasley home with comfort and solace, not sexual exploits. Even if recent events may have frustrated her enough to enact some archetypal revenge, she never thought that sex in the bathroom was one of the most viable courses of action.
However, in spite of any thoughts of this is wrong or we can wait until we get home, Hermione found herself asking more important questions like, "what if someone comes in? Or hears us?"
DRACO:
The way her voice sounded as it breathed out in that surprised little way had him over the edge. If he had a sliver of leniency before it was definitely gone now. She was going on about what if's and he was kneeling down to peel her jeans off her legs and help her step out of them without falling. Obviously they had different priorities.
He stood now and just nodded to her as she went on, pulling his sweater over his head and placing it over her own on the hook. His fingers worked on his belt and the zipper to his dress pants so he could pull them down and step out of them as well.
"If you don't prefer this exact location we could always go find the weasel's room and defile it." The idea flooded him with so much warmth. He'd make sure to be extra petty and leave a mess on the man's sheets. Something told him that she'd shoot this down though. Oh well. There's always next year.
"I locked the door." His words are simple and smooth and when she asks of someone hearing them he simply shrugs.
"Don't make noise." And his lips are suddenly crashing upon her own. He's wanted her since they left to get here and obviously waiting isn't an option for him anymore. One of his hands slip under the waistband of simply delicate knickers where he knows he'll find her warm and soft underneath.
She's a drug in this way and every other way that he could imagine and by the way he drinks her in it's so dreadfully obvious that he never plans on weaning off of her.
The kiss is interrupted for a moment just so he can separate their bodies the smallest amount and take the fingers that had been touching her so intimately to his mouth. There's an obvious spark of mischief in his eyes as his lips close around them and taste her on the digits before letting his hand drop to her hip again.
"So. Sex first, or should I get on my knees?"
HERMIONE:
Just like so many times before, it was infuriatingly difficult to concentrate when his hands were doing… that. Even stripping her down, she found herself increasingly breathless.
Don't make noise.
Right. Because that had been such a simple task when they had performed this act countless times before. Hermione had grown accustomed to the walls of their home, where her moans could ricochet through the halls without consequence and added fervor. Now, she had to find a way to quiet herself, which felt like an impossible feat, especially when he was kissing her like this.
She even found herself stifling quite a kittenish sound in the back of her throat. Half-moan from the pleasures stirring in her gut with each calm stroke of his fingers against her heat, half-whimper, and mostly a firm protest when he pulled away from her altogether.
His next words jarred her so completely that she froze, watching the action of tasting her with wide eyes and blushing cheeks. It took her a moment to realize that her chest was heaving, desperate for air… or a kiss… just something. Her fingers had now wrapped around the edge of the sink with a white-knuckle grip. She was completely dumbfounded, innocent in the inquiry.
"I…" she clamped her mouth shut when she realized that her voice sounded choked and bewildered. A proverbial deer in headlights. The crash course was coming and she had no idea what sounded more pleasurable or tragic in regards to her fate. "I… what?"
DRACO:
She always had such a soft and innocent way of expressing her pleasure in his actions. Always that small kittenish moan or the gentle panting that accompanied his thrusts in time with his heartbeat. She was never one to go on about what she wanted him to do to her or anything inherently sexual. It was the innocence that exuded from her that he found the most stimulating out of everything else.
He hoisted her up now so she sat at the edge of the sink and was mostly supported by his own body pressing into hers so she could feel exactly how hard he was. Practically throbbing, really. But he continued on in patience and an ever-growing smirk.
"Did you not hear me? I'll repeat it. Would you prefer me to fuck you into the sink where you currently reside, or would you prefer that I get on my knees and make you come with my mouth first?" Each word is carefully said and sounded out just in case she needed more help understanding him.
"You have to choose."
That was the game. It was making her say what she wanted and that was something he hadn't done before. Usually it was all him knowing what she liked and doing it without much talk in between. This? Oh, this was a completely different thing entirely. It was a power play.
HERMIONE:
Okay, that was new.
Hermione had grown accustomed to certain things. Routine was good. She knew what she liked, she knew what he liked, and it was a mutually beneficial relationship. Of course, there was a little experimentation, but nothing so radical as what he was suggesting. The idea of him kissing down her body alone had her blushingly self-conscious, but this? Even the suggestion had her without the air to form proper, coherent sentences.
It was maddening. He was maddening. He knew she liked control, she liked knowing, she wasn't keen on surprises. This was why she always beamed when she knew precisely what she was getting from Mrs. Weasley every Christmas.
This suggestion was a whole new allowance of total and complete domination. Hermione had yet to decide just who had the power if it should happen.
By now, she was pressed into, almost wishing she could melt into the countertop and away from having to think about this offer at all. How could he possibly make her choose between the familiar and the unknown? Normally, when it came to this, she feared the unknown and sought the familiar. This was evident in the way she bucked her hips slightly and her thighs tensed under his hands from the friction.
Still, there was a brief flash of vision behind her eyes. Colors. Blonde hair contrasting against sun-kissed thighs. The image was far too erotic. Hermione instantaneously hated herself for growing warmer to the latter.
"Wh—" Why. She was going to ask why, but she cut herself off, for fear of letting too much naivety show. He enjoyed that too much. She needed a firmer resolve. This made her jaw clench for a moment before she swallowed hard and steeled her gaze.
"Dealer's choice," she said finally, and her voice betrayed her features.
DRACO:
She was so easy to read to him. Perhaps that was a bad thing or maybe a gift in disguise. Each movement of her facial expressions or the way her eyes crinkled at a particular idea had him understanding exactly what was happening in that head of hers. Along with the fact that she was thinking heavily of the idea of his face between her legs.
It was obvious in the way her face flushed and her eyes dipped from his eyes to his lips before returning back. There's a hunger in his stomach for the way her thighs would flex around his head and how tightly her fingers would curl in platinum blonde hair.
When they got home.
There's one final smirk before he curls one hand in her thick brunette hair and is pulling her in for a kiss that feels as if it's going to bruise his lips. It had been too long already. They didn't have much time before someone went looking for them.
Draco's free hand makes quick work on her knickers as well as his boxers and before he can even pull away to breath he's inside of her. It's as if it's the first time again. It always feels as if it's the first time. She's tight and hot and everything pulls him in for more.
Both hands curl over the backs of her knees to keep her legs effectively spread for him while his hips do the rest of the work. It's almost maddening how good she feels and how he can never seem to recreate the feeling in his head until he's inside of her again.
HERMIONE:
A million times over and it always felt like one. While lips were bruised, forced open, and devoured, Hermione was just as stripped as he in the end. She clenched hard around him upon invasion, surprised by the onslaught with a moan that she managed to bury in the crook of his neck.
Instinct almost made her legs envelop his waist, but the knees were pried open and separated for unhindered entry. It was hard not to cry out. She was doing so poorly at this. Even biting into his shoulder didn't seem to help quell the urge to whimper and moan, as she usually did.
Old habits die hard.
Her arms were strewn about his neck now, burying an eager fist into his blonde hair while the other raked makeshift talons over his skin. Her eyes had slammed shut. Many choked noises spilled up and over her trembling, raw lips, and she found herself caring less and less about the noise, and more about the building knot in her stomach that grew alongside his unquenchable urgency.
Her hips were bucking to meet him, though it was a little awkward, since she was trapped on the teetering edge of the sink. A few items tumbled over as the foundations shook. She clung harder to him as the angle deepened, rushing an invasive pleasure through her whole body.
Electrified, she whimpered his name like a prayer with loose, lustful inhibitions against the crook of his neck, then desperately kissed the area, as though she were trying to taste the holy hymn in the syllables his skin absorbed.
At last… absolution.