Thanks to my team of very wonderful people LightofEvolution, In Dreams, Mcal. And as always, thank you for reading
Draco doesn't remember falling asleep, but then, that is the way of these things.
He is roused rather abruptly by Potter's agitating voice. "Hermione, I can't find Benedick."
The witch in question sits up, jostling Draco as he blinks awake. She mumbles an incoherent question to her friend. Taking stock, Draco has a stiff neck, and his arm is half-asleep where Hermione had been laying on it. Harry Potter, wonder wizard extraordinaire, is standing over them. Draco is uncomfortable in many ways.
"He's usually in the kitchen by now, but he hasn't been 'round for breakfast. I checked your room, and he's not there either."
"Is the window open?" she asks, suddenly more alert.
Potter shakes his head. "No, closed up."
Hermione stands quickly, wringing her hands. "What if I've trapped him outside all night? Oh, poor Benedick…"
It's not an ideal way to start a day in Draco's opinion. He needs to make a fast exit.
"I apologize for keeping you up so late, Granger. I'll be off so you can find him."
"I have to get to the Ministry," Potter throws in. "Early meeting. Send me a memo when you get in to the office? Let me know he's alright?"
She agrees to do so, and Potter leaves without a word to Draco. A bit ironic that he's so concerned for the marten and so dismissive of the man.
Hermione leans up to kiss Draco's cheek. "I'm sorry to run," she says. "Only, he's not used to being outside all night." The look on her face is mournful, and Draco wants to see it lifted as soon as possible.
"It's quite alright. I have some decisions to make today. I think I'll spend a bit more time with the books."
She nods. "Do you think you'll go back? Take the family seat?"
Does he? Draco is still unsure. The ritual, for what they had found, seems to ride the lines of Dark Magic, a great deal of blood binding and soul magic involved in its inception, but if he does not, his mother…
Even Lucius is a small concern. For all his faults, the man is still Draco's father.
"I'm considering," is all he can bring himself to say. "Go on then, find your marten, love. I'll see you soon." Another quick kiss, this time on her lips, and then Draco takes his leave…
Only to circle the house, books shrunk into his pockets, and take his marten form once more. He has just made it under the tree below her window when she exits the back door.
"Benedick! Oh, darling, I'm so, so sorry! I must've closed the window. You poor dear!" She scoops him up roughly and holds him so tight Draco can hardly breath. He can feel the pounding of her heart and scent her fear. He hates that he worried her so. The relief breaking through her pain is hardly a comfort to his guilt.
"Come on, let's get you inside. Maybe we need to install a pet door if you insist on wandering."
Draco nuzzles her arm, liking that idea very much. It would mean another option outside the tree, and he is growing tired of doing that climb twice daily.
She laughs at his response. "You really are too clever by half. What do you say to a little tuna for breakfast? Don't tell Harry, alright?"
With one last nuzzle, he's agreeing that his lips are sealed.
The Ministry could not be more boring if it tried, and Hermione is itching to leave and send Draco an owl.
As soon as Benedick had his breakfast, Hermione had left him in the house and made her way to her office, stopping by Harry's desk and leaving a note that all was well with their furry little roomie.
Now, it's after four, and she can't wait to find out what Draco has decided (or if he is still working through his options). Of course, she understands it is his decision, and would never want to sway him, but the implications for their relationship, so new and fragile, could be profound.
If he takes the seat, will he be required to protect the bloodline with a pure heir? Not that they are near the status to be considering such a thing between them, but what is the ultimate end game of dating if not a potential partner and family?
And if he refuses, what will that mean for his status in England? Will he be inclined to leave after all, hoping to escape his family's pull? And if he stays, will the guilt of knowing they are so close and in danger be too much for him to stomach? Hermione might not have any love for Lucius Malfoy, but if it was her own family in peril? Regardless of anything they had done, could she turn her back?
At the least, she supposes this will show her more of the kind of man Draco Malfoy has grown to be.
Another ten minutes, and she can justify leaving. Time is crawling as she studiously underlines her underlines and blackens the ink on parchment. So caught up in her efforts to look busy while passing the time, she doesn't hear Harry until he knocks loudly on the frame of her door.
"'Mione?"
"Oh!" She startles, and her quill fumbles from her fingers to the floor. "Merlin, Harry, you scared me half to death."
He chuckles and enters without invitation, making himself at home in the chair across her desk. "What's so fascinating down here in Muggle relations anyway? You seem quite involved."
"Honestly, nothing. Today was frightfully dull, and I'm just looking over the minutes from yesterday's meeting."
"Perfect! Then you can duck out early," he announces, leaning forward and grinning like mad.
Hermione glances at the clock, finding it nearly half past. "I suppose I could leave now. Can I presume you've made plans for me?"
"Well, I made plans for me," he tells her, "which could easily become your plans. How about it? Pint at Silver Cross?"
"Just us?" she asks, brow raised, but he shakes his head.
"The boys will be there, Luna probably. I doubt Ron, if that's your concern."
"It's fine," she says, waving that away. "I'm not avoiding him. I'm just surprised at the location… You've really got all these wizards embracing Muggle London, haven't you?"
He grins that roguish grin. "I'm a trendsetter."
Hermione can't help the laugh as she grabs her bag. "Let me just stop by the owlery, let Draco know where I'll be in case he is looking for me."
"Oh, it must be serious," Harry quips. "You never check in for anyone."
She huffs and smacks his arm lightly as they make their way down the corridor. "He's going through some things. I just want to be there for him."
Her friend just hums, and they walk a moment in silence. Hermione chews her lip as she ponders a question, Harry's sigh bringing her out of her thoughts.
"Why don't you invite him, Hermione, before you chew through your lip all the way to your teeth?"
"How do you always know what I'm thinking?" she wonders with a bit of a pout.
"Please. As if you're difficult to read," he tells her, bumping her shoulder with his own.
"If you really think it would be alright…"
Harry shrugs and pushes the button for the lift, gesturing for her to go ahead with the doors open immediately. "It's fine. Theo will be there, and they're friends. Dean is pretty easy going about nearly anything. Ron would probably try to lay him out, but, as I said, not a problem tonight."
They stand in the lift for another beat of silence before she agrees. "Alright. I'll invite him. He probably won't accept, but it's polite to try."
It's very little time before she finds a Ministry owl available for a run and writes a short note to attach to its leg.
Draco,
Going to Silver Cross with Harry and his Quidditch team. Would you like to join us? Nott will probably be there. Muggle London near the Ministry.
I hope you're well-
She scratches that out. Too formal.
Did you make a decisio-
Too nosy.
I thought of you all day-
Too needy.
"Come on, 'Mione. If we're late, it's almost impossible to get a seat on a Friday."
With a sigh, she finishes with a simple fond closing.
XOXO Hermione
"There." She pets the bird, whispering her request for it to deliver to Draco Malfoy then turns back to Harry. "So impatient," she accuses as she leaves the room, tossing her curls over her shoulder. She can practically hear him smiling after her.
Draco begins to worry when six in the evening comes and goes and no Granger. No Potter, for that matter. He had curled up in his marten form at around five, imagining she would be arriving any moment.
He had been exhausted, eyes bleary. For the entire morning and most of the afternoon, he had reviewed the tomes, pondering his future. What he wouldn't give for his witch to soothe him with a kiss, the strain showing as visible lines on his face, purple bruising beneath his eyes.
And here he sits, still waiting. Perhaps she was held up at the Ministry? It's unlike both her and Potter to be gone this late. She'd said nothing this morning about a change in her schedule…
He waits nearly another thirty minutes before deciding to check his post. Perhaps she sent him a message in regards to his familial problems. Regardless, he is going to drive himself mad sitting here and waiting.
He leaves the window ajar, giving Benedick the excuse to wander, and makes his way to the owl post, trying not to feel anxious. If she's not messaged him, he won't know what to do next.
He breathes easier when Harold hands him a short missive, her typical messy handwriting a very welcome sight.
Draco stares at it for at least a minute. She wants him, Draco Malfoy, to meet her at a Muggle pub with her Gryffindor friends?
Alright, yes, Theo Nott is somehow part of that odd circle, but the fact remains that none of them will want him there. And how is he supposed to even look at Lovegood without her reading the guilt and panic on his face? She sat in his dungeon for weeks. He had been made to deliver her food, wretched fare, barely edible, and refused to speak to her when she tried to make conversation.
Harold is staring at him with concern. "Alright there, Mister Malfoy?"
"Fine," he says, a bit short. "Thank you, Harold." He tosses a sickle onto the counter and takes his parchment in hand, weighing his options.
Would he like to see Hermione? Bloody hell, yes, he would. Alone with his thoughts all day, there is nothing else he would rather do. But at what cost? He imagines the faces, the sneers and disgust. He lives possibilities as he walks, keeping his hood up to hide his very notable shade of hair. As obvious as a Weasley, his platinum locks are just as damning as that wretched red is now respectable.
He has trouble imagining any acceptance to be found in a lions' den, and yet, every possibility, every plausible encounter and altercation, ends with Hermione smiling at him, holding his hand beneath the table, and he knows he will go. Disappointing her just isn't something he's willing to do.
Making his way back through the Wizarding streets, he emerges into Muggle London like breaking through waves to take a breath. His cloak becomes a hooded jumper in a dark alley, his trousers into denims, and he makes his way toward his witch, picking up his pace the closer he gets.
All in all, Hermione must say that she is having a decent time. Harry has been talking to Nott most of the evening. They seem to be debating Celestina Warbeck's new song, amongst other drivel. It's lovely to see her friend smile.
For her part, Hermione has been having a very entertaining conversation with Dean about broom regulations. Perhaps conversation is a polite term for Hermione soap-boxing and Dean rolling his eyes a lot, but it seems very good natured, and he even concedes her a few points. Granted, it might be the ale talking, but she thinks she might have him convinced that racing brooms should require a license to operate and a strict age limit.
Draco is never far from her thoughts, but she tries not to be obvious. No one enjoys the girl in the group who is shamelessness pining. She's fairly certain her smile doesn't give her away, except for once when Harry gives her a pitying look. She had vowed to smile brighter and talk louder and that was an hour ago. Well done, Hermione.
And so, when she looks up to see him standing in the doorway, the din of the restaurant pub silences, Dean's arguments for increased broom classes at Hogwarts fade into the background.
Hermione stands, mumbling a perfunctory request to be excused, and makes her way to the door. Draco catches sight of her just before she reaches him, and his wary and nervous expression brightens like the sun. She throws her arms around him in relief, unsure why she was so desperate to have him here.
"Hello, pretty witch," he whispers into her ear as he holds her in turn.
"I'm glad you came," she tells him then pulls back to kiss him soundly.
Perhaps she's had more than a couple of drinks, and maybe the kiss is not quite chaste. A cat call and a smattering of whistles breaks them apart. She grins at him sheepishly, and he smiles back.
"Come on. I've saved you a seat."
Hesitation returns to his face, but he follows anyway, clinging a bit harder than affectionately to her hand.
"Well as I live and breathe," Theo says loudly, the entire table turning to look. "Draco bloody Malfoy in the very pale flesh. Come on, let's get you a drink." He stands, clapping Harry on the shoulder as he circles the table toward Draco.
"Evening, Theo." She's never seen Draco so stiff. She'd been sure these two were friends...
Hermione watches the wizard in question cock his head to the side, and he mocks him. "Evening, Theo? You're so uptight." Slipping between her and Draco, Theo throws his arm around his friend's shoulder, leaning back toward her to apologize. "Just borrowing him, love. I'll bring him back with liquor so he's a bit less shirty."
She watches, slightly wide eyed, as Theo steers Draco away, positive her wizard looks back at her with a grimace.
Hermione drops back into her seat with a huff. Across the table, Harry toasts her with a shrug.
Time moves quickly when you measure it in pint glasses. Draco hadn't stayed away long with Theo, returning promptly with a dark glass of brew and settling in beside Hermione. He had been rigid in the beginning, side-eyeing Luna and resolutely not looking at anyone else. Sensing his trepidation, Hermione had tried to subtly show her support. At least, she had intended on subtle, but she fears she basically draped herself across his lap.
He makes a little small talk eventually. Theo is a safe harbor, but even Dean throws in a comment or two during their discussion of the Falmouth Falcons' new jerseys. Luna comments something about purple humdingers or some such whizzing about Draco's nose, but Hermione and Draco mostly avoid that topic by sharing a lover's glance and both thanking her for the warning. He relaxes infinitesimally after that.
It's nearly ten when things go from mildly awkward to awful.
"Oi, what's he doing here?"
She looks up to see Ron looming over the table, his arm around a tipsy and giggling Lavender Brown.
With absolutely no hesitation or self-preservation, Hermione snuggles into Draco's side, gripping his hand where it rests on her thigh. "He's here with me," she says and hardly slurs at all.
"Yeah, so I'd heard," he shoots back with a sneer. "Seems my two best mates like slumming with snakes these days."
Hermione doesn't need to object this time because Harry is on his feet in less than a breath. "Ron, that's enough."
"Right. Sure. 'Spose it is," he agrees. "Guess it was too much to hope I might spend an evening in civilized company."
"I hardly think your behavior is civil, Weasley." All eyes turn to Theo. Nothing but calm until this point, Hermione can see that he is nearly trembling with agitation, though he keeps his voice even.
"Don't believe I asked your opinion, Nott," Ron throws back, and now Draco is on his feet. Hermione rises almost as quickly, sensing an escalation that, if it isn't diffused soon, is going to result in this little group losing its Friday night pub.
"Ron," she tries, "Why don't you take Lavender and get a drink. I'll see you around." She looks around the table and takes Draco by the arm. "We were just heading out." Her date looks at her in question, and she pleads with her eyes that he follow. This can only end very poorly, and Harry looks riled enough as is.
"Don't leave on my account, 'Mione. Here, we'll just pull up a chair." Ron grabs a chair from the neighboring table and drags it closer, the wooden legs squealing across the floor. Flopping down like he owns the place, he pats his knee. "Have a seat, Lavender," he tells his witch, and she giggles all the way onto his lap, making such a show of shifting around to find a comfortable place, she might as well be giving him a lap dance.
"There," the redhead announces. "All cozy. So what's the topic tonight, gents?"
Dean takes a drink, eyes shifting nervously around the table. Theo tilts his body toward Harry, away from Ron. Luna, Merlin bless her, is staring at something across the bar with a soft smile on her face, seemingly unaware of the tension that has blanketed their table.
Seamus, who snuck in sometime after eight and is a bit less inebriated than the rest, tries for a civil response. "Late night, Weasley? Potter said you were on duty this evening. Didn't expect to see you."
"Quiet night." The answer is terse, and Hermione is aware of Ron's eyes glued to the side of her face. She looks at Seamus, refusing to meet Ron's gaze. Unfortunately, her Irish friend doesn't seem to have a follow-up, only humming to acknowledge he was answered at all.
They all sip their drinks, a synchronized dance to pass the time. Beside her, Draco is stiff once again. His eyes are glued to Theo, like he's waiting for a sign. Snakes united, and all that. Hermione would very much like to go home.
She's not sure if she's grateful or irritated when she realizes she needs the loo. Extracting her hand, she whispers, "Excuse me a moment," and tries to sneak away from the table.
In the ladies', she stares at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks are a bit flushed, but all in all, she doesn't look too overtly affected. She's rehearsing excuses, planning an escape, and walks out as tall and proud as her diminutive frame allows…
Only to nearly crash into Ron. "'Mione, what are you doing."
Straightening impossibly more, she answers curtly, "I believe it would be fairly obvious what I would be doing in the ladies', Ronald."
His eyes narrow, face going a bit red. "You know what I mean. What are you doing with that Death Eater? Look, if this is to get back at me for seeing Lavender-"
She laughs at him. Circe help her, but she almost loses her mind with surprised mirth. Apologizing through the laughter, she tries to explain. "Sorry… I'm sorry… but you're not serious. I assure you, my being here with Draco has nothing to do with you."
"'Draco'. Fucking hell, Hermione, did he obliviate you? Have you forgotten who he is?"
She shakes her head, suddenly weary, laughter gone. "I haven't forgotten anything, I promise. He's different than you think. You're going to have to trust me on this."
With a snort, her once-lover looks away. "You sound like Harry. I was just getting used to Nott, then I walk in to find the Ferret Wonder feeling up my girl."
"I am fairly certain Lavender wouldn't appreciate you calling me that. And neither do I," she adds, softly, feeling worn like old wood, tired from the weathering of a war. Is nothing easy? She thought this friendship was forever, even after everything. They'd promised, sobbing in each other's arms, the words 'it's over' fresh from their lips; they swore they would love each other forever, even if it wasn't the way they'd planned.
"No," he agrees. "I s'pose she wouldn't."
Silences stretches, taught like threads on a loom, vibrating with inaction. It will be up to her, she knows. It's always up to Hermione Granger. She sighs, then wraps her arms around his waist. "Ron, I know you worry. I know you lash out when you do." Pulling back to look up at him, his hands warm and familiar on her back. "But he won't hurt me. I trust in that."
His warm blue eyes search hers, ire and drunken embarrassment all but forgotten. "Just be careful, alright? Promise?"
Hermione nods and pulls away. "Promise." He holds her gaze a moment, then turns to walk into the mens'. She would swear his eyes were glassy.
At the table, Draco is sitting up straight, hand clenched around his glass. As soon as he sees her, he's on his feet and closes the distance between them, sealing his lips over hers in a kiss that, if she's honest, is a bit possessive.
She doesn't much mind.
"You alright?"
"I am," she says. "I think Ron and I have an understanding."
"Good," he replies, a bit clipped.
With a wan smile and a glance at their friends (who are watching the exchange with unabashed curiosity), she allows herself a yawn, only partially for show. "Want to take me home, Mister Malfoy?"
A slow smile settles, crooked, onto his handsome face. "With pleasure, love." He gives her no time to protest when he turns to the table and announces, "We're finished for the evening. Enjoy your night," and practically drags her out the door. She's laughing and feeling flushed and light, and not even the shocked expression on Ron's face as he turns the corner can bring her down.
At Grimmauld, they make it to her bed, but only just, her clothes leaving a trail like breadcrumbs up the stairs.
"I think I love you," she finally says, straddling him and holding his face in her hands. He kisses her, hard, and flips them so he is pinning her, hips moving, frantic and impatient, his face buried in her neck and his hand gripping her mane.
After, her head on his chest and her hand laid on his heart, he tilts his head to lay a soft kiss on her curls. "I wanted to say it first," he says into the quiet of the night. She hums against his skin in question, not sure what he means.
"I wanted to be the first to tell you I love you."
"You'll have to be faster with me then," she mumbles with a smile.
His chuckle is the last she hears before she drifts to sleep.