Hermione stared aggressively at the bowl of yolks happily whisking away in front of her. She sliced some spring onions with perfect precision only for the knife to flick away from her hand to continue its chopping. The room was filled with the calming cool silk of Draco's magic and her own intentions were overpowered. With a sigh she changed the breakfast plan from poached eggs to omelettes and set about directing the magic as much as she could. By the time Draco padded into the kitchen looking extremely comfortable and strikingly handsome in his oversized robe the pan had just drifted to the table and begun to unfold the egg mixture from its surface. She took her seat as a tea and coffee pot filled their respective cups, two copies of the Prophet appearing on the table.
"I did say you would make a good housewitch once." He sipped the coffee, relishing the flavor. "My favorite breakfast and coffee just the way I like it. What service."
"You did this." She huffed taking a bite of her eggs, trying not to melt at the perfectly creamy texture. She knew the fundamentals of cooking, enough to feed herself with some level of skill, but this was divine. "I could feel your magic stealing the whisk from me."
"I wasn't even in here." He snorted, flicking open the paper with narrowed eyes.
"Tell that to the floating bowl of eggs that did not want to be poached this morning." She huffed lightly. He raised an eyebrow at that.
"What?" She questioned testily as she stabbed at her meal, barely giving any attention to her own periodical.
"Probably just the house then. I suppose it is linked to me now." He shrugged lightly as she half read an article about weather patterns in Kent.
"That seems like an unnecessary drain on your magic." Hermione responded cordially. It felt strange, having early morning quips over the breakfast table. She briefly wondered if this is what her life would be like right now if she had never left. Certainly not with Draco but maybe with... someone else. It could have been a nice sort of life.
"I have lived here since I was a child." He sighed as if put out by her ignorance on centuries old haunted houses. "It has been storing my magic for years. Nothing short of an all out attack will be able to deplete its backlog. Even then it probably has some left over from previous generations. Not that I feel like testing that theory with you here."
"Afraid the house may barbecue your little mudblood pal?" She shot back, feeling only slightly guilty at his flinch.
"No it wouldn't do that." He folded the paper and set it down next to him. "I believe my mother mentioned it preferred opening up sinkholes underfoot. Any particular reason you are looking to pick a fight or just your usual charming personality?"
"It was a joke." She muttered, sipping at her tea delicately as he watched her with a critical eye. Finally his attention flicked back down to the paper, his tone even as he spoke. "If you are looking for a fight this morning then I will give you one, but don't be so cowardly as to claim it as a 'joke'. If you are going to go on the attack, you better make the first strike decisive because you will not be getting a second one."
She scoffed, closing up her own paper to regard him. He stared at her from across the table, his eyes flitting across her face and arms. They locked on to the light port wine scar that peaked out from the deep fold of her matching robe before settling back on her eyes.
"You look dead." He remarked baldly.
"Thanks."
"Sorry." He sighed letting out the tension in his shoulders and looking distinctly less threatening as a result. "I know there's a lot to… discuss but I'm not very good at this whole feelings thing, I probably never will be."
"Well you picked a terrible..." She stumbled over the words, not sure how to title whatever they were. "You shouldn't have picked me then." He regarded her calculatingly as if she were a particularly difficult equation. His gaze seemed to cool as he came to a somewhat positive conclusion.
"Well I didn't really pick you but here we are... and I am trying." He mused leaning back in his chair. The gesture opened up his posture, in the process warming the mood of the conversation. "Which is more than I can say for you."
"Bold words considering the amount of times I have saved your sorry behind." She joked dancing around the topic. "I'm exhausted."
"Then why are you awake?" He questioned as if he had been expecting the statement. "It's not like there was anything pressing keeping you from returning to bed after your shower."
"I was hungry." She deflected eyes drifting down to her tea.
"Magic houses make excellent room service."
"I had to find clothes." She glared at him, annoyed to only find a smug grin reflected back at her. "I was not about to crawl in bed naked with you."
"Not yet anyway." Draco muttered and she pretended not to hear it. Another thought she could deal with later.
"You can go back to sleep at any time, I don't need a babysitter." She huffed resisting the urge to storm from the room like a child. It would probably ruin the effect of her previous statement.
"I'd rather not." He responded evenly, the soft dove gray swirling in his eyes cut off her fire almost instantly. For someone who was not very good with emotions he sure was transparent about them. "Hermione?"
Hermione sighed, remembering her few moments of confusion after waking. The unfamiliar setting echoed with the calls of sirens and static in the background. "I had a bad dream."
"I see." He responded blandly, eyes locked onto her. She could see him holding back the question.
"It's fine. I'm fine. Everyone has bad dreams. It's nothing major." A thick silence fell over the room and Hermione actually felt Draco's magic trickle away from her as the house withdrew back to him. The cooling blanket was replaced by still, dry air. It felt both empty and stagnant at the same time.
"I won't ask you to talk about it." He ventured. The slight twitch in his fingers was the only tell that he was struggling to stand by that fact. "But I am here. If you want."
"It was just a bad dream." She offered weakly, keenly feeling the absence of magic. She suddenly felt hollow, as if the energy to exist was no longer available. She wasn't sure if it was because he was taking hers or had been gifting his.
"It is the least I can offer." He responded without removing his gaze. She shifted uncomfortably, her breath coming in short spurts.
"C-can you stop that?"
"Stop what?" He responded immediately glancing around in confusion.
"The house. Whatever you are doing with the house."
"I don't understand. I am not doing anything."
"You've pulled all your magic away. It feels… dead without it. I'll tell you… just not when it's like this" In an instant Hermione felt his magic return washing over her in familiar comfort as if seeking her out. She sighed deeply allowing herself to revel in it for only a moment before opening her eyes.
"Sorry, I didn't realize you could feel my magic." He was gazing at her curiously, if not a bit uncomfortably.
"It's not exactly in the Hogwarts curriculum no. But I have spent enough time around you to recognize it, Malfoy." It took years for her to convince Harry to learn and Ron just never could manage. It was too subtle of a signal for most people who had spent their lives surrounded by the quiet embrace of magic. "You feel like water, sliding through my fingers. Vaguely cool and silky."
"Oh." He responded, meeting her eyes. They flashed with emotion for a brief moment before settling back into the guarded surface. Clearly waiting for her to begin.
"I think we will be avoiding the memory dive. Although I suppose you could just break through my barriers anyway if you wanted to." She joked lightly. The humor fell on deaf ears judging by the scowl on his face.
"I'd never do that to you." He offered quietly. She paused, poking at her breakfast as she gathered her thoughts. He questioned when she didn't continue."It's why you disappeared isn't it?"
"I always wondered why you never asked." She murmured while she swirled her tea. "I mean... You've asked about Ron and Harry but you've never really pushed."
"If you had wanted to tell me you would have."
"I had always intended to come back." She mused lightly, taking comfort in the feeling of magic around her as she set down her cup. The weak morning light was soothing and when she concentrated she could feel him rippling around her. It was helpful in a grounding sort of way.
"Yet something went wrong." He finished and the magic stilled, no less comforting but with an air of hesitance. His voice dropped low, starting awkwardly. "Did you kill someone?"
"No!" Her eyes flicked back to him immediately horrified and pulled out of the gentle moment. He sighed audibly and sank back into his chair.
"Thank, Merlin. Not that I would judge you if you had." His eyes focused on her again, his magic seemingly sagging in relief. It was so much stronger here, she could only wonder if her workshop had the same result on him. Probably not considering the lack of generational wealth "So then... the memory."
"Yeah... the memory." She was silent for a good long while, letting the haze roll around her, flicking away heat from her body in relaxing waves. When she finally spoke she was aware of the waver to her voice. She hated it; it felt weak.
"I obilvated my parents… during the war." She chose a spot on the counter to stare at. The happy little sunflowers on the tile seemed perfectly out of place for the situation.
"I had heard. An excellent piece of magic from what I read." His voice was neutral and bland. withholding any judgement. If she closed her eyes it felt a bit like talking to a wall. Maybe that would be enough to get her through this.
"So they say." She nodded as her tea refilled. "I sent them to Australia, to keep them safe from the war. I- I didn't know what Voldemort would do if he found them." She hated how much the statement sounded like justification. "It seemed like the best option at the time."
"It probably was." He responded from across the table. Hermione felt the aura stutter at the name but it returned to it's previous steadiness after a breath, continuing to calm her like a purring kitten. She knew she was relying too heavily on it, on him, for something so delicate and new. "He was not a merciful wizard."
"He was not." She agreed.
"He never found them though." He stated with a bitter finality of someone who would have certainly known if the Dark Wizard had located her parents. Their blood would probably be soaking the floor of his dining room a few hundred meters away.
"No. I did a... thorough job." Hermione confirmed tripping over the words as she tried to direct the conversation. It felt unwieldy, trying very hard to tear itself away from her and tumble into a rambling mess rather than a discussion. And it had to be a discussion, otherwise she didn't know what would happen. "So through, in fact, that no one could undo it."
"Oh." Draco commented quietly.
"The healers spent ages trying. I even attempted to enlist the help of the centaurs and the fae, but they were unwilling to interfere with muggles." Hermione steadied herself for the easiest part of the story. "So I did what I always have done. I researched. I spent more of my last year at Hogwarts in the library and potions classroom than going to actual classes."
"Brightest witch of her age." She heard him chuckle lightly. It burned her, even if he didn't understand why.
"I've always hated that title. At first it felt like something to prove, now it just feels like something I can never measure up to." She murmured.
"Sorry." He offered awkwardly, his magic shivering around her.
"It is what it is. Great expectations and all that." She sighed not wanting to stop but not wanting to continue the story.
"I can't believe you managed to still sweep your NEWTs with so much going on." He responded, hoping to lighten the mood. Unfortunately he had just stepped into another trap.
"I didn't." She growled. "I actually should have failed my charms NEWT. I had spent all night trying to find some Bog Myrtle in bloom and was exhausted. The examiner asked me to perform the protean charm. I couldn't get it right. I failed." Even the word sounded sour on her tongue.
"Who cares about a stupid letter, Granger." He answered quietly.
"Apparently no one. I, of course, was so ashamed. That was my charm. I mastered that before our fifth year and I butchered it. All five of the coins turned a different color from each other then exploded." She paused, pulling herself away from the spiral. "But it didn't matter. The examiner knew who I was. She simply brushed it aside and marked my O anyway. After all, she already knew all the stories. She knew I was the 'Brightest Witch of My Age' and could certainly cast it. I was just tired. I was just having an off day. I was just out of practice. She sent me out of the examination in record time with a kind smile and assurances of passing."
"I bet you hated that." He chuckled lightly, the sound was out of place and stilted. "You always demanded excellence in yourself."
"I did." Hermione had always had to fight so hard to get anywhere in the magical world. She would rather fail than know she had not merited the score. "In any event, I finally created the Elixir. Headmistress McGonagal was so proud of me she actually bought me my work table as a graduation gift."
"It is quite impressive. Not even out of school and already finishing your Mastery Mark."
"Maybe that's why I don't care about it." She mused. "I don't know if I earned it or if I just got it in the healthy afterglow of the war."
"You deserved it. That potion is a damn work of art. Memory charms are no easy medium." He responded in defense. He seemed neither impatient or distracted, happy to let her telling wander where it may. She risked a glance at him only to find him still focused on her, leaning forward over the table, his hands clasped together below his chin. She avoided his eyes.
"It was supposed to restore their memories." She continued desperately wanting to be done. "Slowly of course. Over time they would start merging dreams with reality and afterwards we could have worked through whatever was left."
"Not exactly the use the Ministry had in mind." He smirked and Hermione took comfort in it.
"I suppose not. Anyway, Headmistress McGonagall arranged an international portkey, accompanying me to bring my parents home." She choked lightly but if he noticed he didn't remark on it. "We arrived on a Saturday, around seven o'clock at night. I should have known better. Jean and Dan Granger always had date night on Saturday, Monika and Wendell Wilkins were no different."
She felt herself sliding away and gripped the table to remain focused. "Rather than go find them as Headmistress McGonagall suggested I- I said we should let them have their last night. That we could come back in the morning. That I had waited two years, what was one more night."
Even she could hear the bitterness in the last statement. She had always been so sure of herself, never doubting her judgement. She should have listened to someone else. Someone older and wiser. Her arrogance had cost her dearly.
"We came back the next morning. Dad should have been making the sausage while mom read the paper, she always burned them." Hermione added with a sad smile before her emotions hardened. "But we were met by muggle police tape."
"It was the most unpredictable thing… No one could have ever planned for it. Just the standard sort of muggle violence that could happen to anyone, a robbery gone wrong. My parents arrived home twenty minutes too early and startled them." She felt her eyes water, the tears she had cried too many times over offered little comfort to her now. "They killed my mother first, probably out of shock, then my dad... I- It was probably a mercy really, I have never seen anyone love anything like he loved her. I can't imagine he would have been able to even live half of a life without her."
She found herself staring at his watch. The perfect replica of one she was never able to find. Her heart ached weakly, the old wounds were so scarred over it was barely more than a hollow echo.
"When I came back, everything was so normal. Everyone was so happy the war was over and people were moving on with their lives, their mourning period over." Her voice cracked and she finally met his eyes. Deep mercurial pools of empathy and sorrow greeted her. A thin shadow of pain flickered across his face and her control slipped. She let the grief wash over as it had countless times before taking refuge in the stormy sea as the tears fell heedless of her shame. "Mine wasn't. Gin and Harry were getting married and it was all anyone could talk about. Molly threw herself into wedding planning even though the loss of Fred tore at her. She still met every day with a smile when I could barely get out of bed. Every little thing reminded me of them, I would break down in the kitchen as Molly washed dishes or would lose my breath after seeing Arthur sit in front of the fireplace. It was just so unfair." Her stuttering breath shook her voice but she plowed forward, unable to stop no matter how unhinged she sounded. "Even George, George who had lost half of himself, had started to smile again. I know we lost so many people and I know it's selfish but why did I have to lose both of my parents? Hadn't I already given this stupid world everything? My childhood, my knowledge, my body, my-"
Her voice had pitched to a sob which broke with a jarring gasp, tears dripping down her cheeks like trails of acid, burning her skin with their warmth. It felt like all the toxicity in her life had come pouring out of her, desperate to destroy her in the process. She became vaguely aware of a light touch on her shoulder, then her back. His hand twisted into her hair, guiding her head forward. It took her a moment to open her eyes.
She was greeted by slow, even breaths echoing through his shoulder and strands of icy blonde hair. For a moment she couldn't help but wonder if the Fae queen was right and he had been a changeling for all his cold beauty. She buried her face in his neck shamelessly as he held her, refusing to meet his gaze. The racking sobs wore away, a raw empty hole in her chest hollowed itself out until she had nothing left to give it. Even in this she wasn't enough.
As she calmed she became aware of a tight pulling sensation at the back of her head. Finally building up the courage she leaned back glancing up hesitantly to meet his eyes. She was relieved to find not pity, but compassion. The kind of benevolence that didn't tell her not to cry or encourage her to push her pain away. His face flashed briefly with annoyance and she came back to herself.
"I am so sorry." She pulled back immediately embarrassed, wiping at her likely ruined face. She yanked up the fabric of the robe that threatened to spill off her shoulder, bumping against his arm as she did so. "I swear I don't usually cry this much. That was so-"
"Knock it off, Granger. You're fine." He growled, pulling her back to his chest gently. She only struggled a bit before settling back against him. "Cry if you need to. No one is here to see."
"I don't think I have anything left." She murmured lightly against the soft cotton. Even away from his own clothes and his soap she could still breath in the scent of rosemary and lavender. "I didn't mean to bother you."
"You didn't." He responded.
"You looked…annoyed." He stilled as an awkward silence fell. Hermione only had a moment to worry before he cleared his throat.
"Your hair is trying to eat me." He delivered flatly.
"Wha-" Hermione drew back quickly only to be yanked slightly to the side as his arm fell away, knotted in her curls. "Ow! Draco!"
"Well whose fault is this? Don't you own a brush!" He hissed standing up to detangle themselves. She felt the chuckle bubble up lightly, refilling the horridly deep hole in her chest, at least for now.
"You don't brush curly hair! Not unless you want it to be the size of a carriage!"
"Well it's too late for that, so I just suggest you lean into it." He swore as he finally extracted his hand and she began to giggle in spite of herself. She still felt terrible, but less heavy. It was good to talk to someone after all these years. He stared at her, a small smile quirking up at the edges of his lips before glancing at his chair. In one elegant movement he summoned it next to her, settling close enough to rest his hand on hers. After a measure of silence he spoke again, his tone still neutral but with an underlying concern laced through it. "Do you want to finish?"
"Sure." She took a deep breath. She could do this, there wasn't much left. "After a time people stopped being so understanding, sick of the gray pallor I cast over the whole household I suppose; so I left. I went to Africa first. It was only going to be for a few months, a year at most. Just enough to catch my breath. But I just sort of kept wandering. Japan, Mexico, Scandinavia, Russia… it's all a blur now. Every time I went somewhere new I promised myself I would come back. I just had a few more things to do. Eventually I ran out of money and started to sell spare potions. Over time they turned into proper shops, filling a need based on the remoteness of the places I went. Before I knew it years had passed and everyone was so different and… I just… didn't belong anymore. I couldn't be anything other than a reminder to them, the one who was stuck in the past."
"Foolish witch, they would never think that." He sighed, rubbing her hand softly. "That is just something you told yourself."
"You weren't there!" She shot back, immediately on the defensive.
"I know." He paused carefully as if gathering his words. "But I have seen the wrath of Mother Weasel during that search. Even a month later I could still hear her screaming about you across the auror department, granted I had no idea you were the cause. I saw all the members of the DA stalking the street of Diagon Alley, handing out signs like you were a milk carton child. Hell, we are currently hiding out, on my ancestral land where you were tortured, because Potter can't accept a break up. You aren't nothing to them, they love you."
"You don't get it." Hermione sighed wearily.
"I do. I do get it." He responded. "I know it seems like you are trapped and you are. But it is in a web of your own making."
She paused, considering it. She had figured Molly would throw a fit, if for no other reason that it was her character. She hadn't known about the DA bit. Neville and Luna never told her. They really never talked about her leaving, it was why she liked them. Which only meant one thing, possibly more crushing than the rest. "Even if that were true I have pushed away everyone I have ever known for nothing. They will hate me for that if nothing else. And I am still not okay even all these years later."
"You don't have to be okay." Draco quoted. "No one is really okay anymore. No matter how much you may think otherwise."
"But Harry-"
"Is stalking you and, by association, me on, what is at best, a shaky suspicion." He snapped. "I wouldn't exactly consider him the picture of mental health right now."
They sat in silence for a while, Hermione too tired to try to explain it to him. He was tracing the lines on the back of her hand, dragging his fingers up and down the taunt tendon massaging out years of stress and writing. She was exhausted again, the temporary energy from breakfast all but extinguished. He looked no better. The Fiendfyre had taken its toll, his arm covered in the bright red of burns and the thin layer of the healing cream she had left out for him tinted it blue. The skin already looked better.
She ventured standing up slowly as so not to dislodge his hand from hers. He stared at her for a brief moment, looking up into her eyes. The sun had risen higher and dashed across his face in a splatter of golden warmth. The ash eyes were as soft as she had ever seen them, touchingly delicate and careful as if she was just a hair away from snapping. Maybe she was.
"Let's go back to bed. I am still exhausted." He only hesitated for a moment, rising to join her. In one slight twist of her wrist his fingers traced down her palm to entwine with hers lightly. He winced slightly as their skin touched, the heat from his burns warming her skin. She smiled lightly, hoping it offered him whatever assurance he needed that she would be fine. She just needed time. It would all get better in time. It had to... maybe it already had.
Finally he sighed dramatically, pushing back his hair with one fluid motion, even though it hadn't fallen out of place. He cocked his lips into a familiar smirk releasing the tension from his shoulders. "I suppose. It's not like we will be missed for having a lie in."
"We're on holiday remember." Hermione teased, wiping roughly at her face with the sleeve of her robe. She was sure she was a mess after such an ugly sobbing session but that wasn't anything that couldn't wait. "Holiday means sleep, Malfoy."
"So I have been known to point out to curly-haired witches libel to work themselves to death." He chuckled leading them back to the room. Hermione felt blessed that the house elf had clearly cleaned up while they ate. The sheets on the bed had been changed and settling into the soft mattress held no memory of the previous day.
Overtaken by exhaustion she curled into his chest, pushing his robe away from his skin. She wanted the contact, wanted to feel his still beating heart to reassure herself that she was not alone and he was in fact alive. He exhaled sharply, his arms shifting beneath the sheets. Ever so gently, she felt the tips of his fingers brush softly under her chin guiding it upwards.
His gaze was painted with a touch of melancholy, a hue that made her heart ache for him even though there was no pity left to spare for herself. She had unloaded too much on him. She took too much and left him with nothing. This is what was wrong with her, she could never manage to stand on her own.
As if reading her thoughts he rolled his eyes. "You'll be the death of me Granger. I swear it."
He smirked, his eyes flickering with humor as he brushed his lips against hers, as equally careful and delicate as last night. Much more aware, her body shivered and she pressed herself into him, taking solace in the presence he provided. After spending her morning whirling through memories he was solid. He was here. When everything and everyone else had been stripped away somehow he had found his way to her side. Call it fate, call it luck. That didn't change the way she hated the idea of letting him go.
His hand tightened against her back, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. Her pulse jumped to a hammering beat, smashing against her skin, reminding her she was alive. Here. In the present. The swell of her chest rubbed against his with blissful friction and warmth, promising something she didn't have in her. With agonizing slowness she pulled away, too tired to consider anything else. When she opened her eyes he was blinking owlishly at her. His newly reddened lips settled into a small grin, genuine and rare to grace his face. He let his head fall back into the pillow, closing his eyes. She reached a lazy hand to brush some hair into his face. He chuckled lightly but left the strands brushing against his cheek bone.
"Have good dreams, Granger."
"Sleep well, Malfoy."
World Building With Om
This Old House:
Ancestral homes develop a sort of sentience over time, reacting to their owners needs and wants. This happens due to the excess magic leaking off of wizards over the course of generations. As such the house will try to tend to the Master's desires first and foremost. Even if this means overriding other actions... like breakfast.
Tales of the Trio:
Naturally as the war wound down the exploits of Hermione, Ron, and Harry became public knowledge. Eventually a book was published with the assistance and reports based off of public record and interviews of various students who attended Hogwarts at the time. The information was addressed in a fairly factual, direct way and didn't stray too far from the truth.