All this love for all of you! and for my lovely, wonderful team LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal
It has to be today.
It's Draco's mantra for at least a week. Everyday he is certain he will confess his sins so that he and Hermione can, hopefully, start their life together. Truly and fully, nothing divisive between them. He will beg on his knees.
But everyday is so fucking perfect, each more so than the last, and he knows he is going to ruin everything.
Potter watches him often, though he is less hostile now. He watches Hermione coo over Draco as a marten, whispering what a sweet thing he is and how happy she is to have him. He watches her greet him with affection and open, unabashed happiness as a wizard. They lock eyes over her shoulder, Draco trying to convey his regrets, Potter looking back with something at least in the neighborhood of understanding.
On a very strange Monday night, Draco visits Nott for a drink, only to run into Potter already there.
"Thought you two were being discreet," he says with a sneer, side stepping the pair of them on this way to the whiskey decanter.
"No, please, help yourself," Theo calls after him. Draco toasts him before taking a fortifying drink. "As for discreet, we're in my fucking house. Which, did I invite you inside, you tosser?"
"I'm going to do it tomorrow."
Theo sobers a bit, dropping his usual flippant mirth. Warily, both he and Potter take a seat nearby as Draco falls into his favoured fireside. "You've been saying that for days," Theo points out, but Draco shakes his head at him.
"Mother sent another owl. She wants to meet Hermione; becoming quite insistent." He takes a drink, breathing deeply through his nose, before continuing. "She's pushing for this weekend, but not like this. Not with this… pretense."
"You could put off your mother," Potter suggests, and it's a testament to how his attitude has changed in the past days that he's even trying to help.
"I have," Draco denies, a bit disgruntled. "For weeks now. Funny, actually, I don't even want to delay it. I'm looking forward to letting my mother know just how serious I am." He levels them both with a look. "But not if it's going to end soon thereafter. I don't know what I'm going to say to Granger, but I have to tell her. Tomorrow." Another drink. "Probably." Another deep breath. Draco is trying to sound logical. To be calm.
Theo and Potter are staring at him, unsure, faces scrunched in thought. "Do you need us to do anything?" Nott asks, and fuck if it isn't the kindest thing he's ever said. Draco's normally frivolous friend is being uncharacteristically supportive. Perhaps Potter is good for him.
"I can't imagine what it would be," he answers truthfully. "I just wanted to say it out loud. Make it real." He pauses, contemplating the tumbler in his hand before tipping it towards them. "Have myself a drink."
They speak a bit longer, Draco making it through three more glasses before cutting himself off. It's late when he makes it home, sneaking in the window on furry legs and squeezing himself through the narrow opening left for him.
"Benedick! There you are!"
She picks him up from the sill and holds him close. He's memorizing her, drinking in her scent and the feel of her skin. One way or another, soon this all changes. He prays to Circe, Salazar, and all the Muggle Gods that she will forgive him, but their dynamic will have to rebuild. This, whatever this strange thing is between them, can no longer be a part of their relationship.
Perhaps that's an odd thing to lament, he would suppose, but being held like this, her heart open and pouring out unconditionally, beating a cadence he can feel in his bones, this was Draco's first taste of true affection. Before she was comfortable with him as a wizard, they had this. He will mourn the end of it, regardless that he hopes they will come out stronger.
Hermione stretches out her back, a long day of scribbling on parchment almost behind her, the week stretching entirely too long. When she looks up, however, it is to be faced, once again, with the stoic countenance of Narcissa Malfoy as she raps lightly on her office door frame.
"Miss Granger. If I might have a moment."
All wide eyes, surprised to see the Malfoy matriarch, Hermione searches for calm and nods. Draco has been telling her for some time now that Narcissa is insisting upon a meeting. It might be disguised as "taking tea", but she knows what this is. Hermione is expected to "meet the parents" as it were. So much about the situation seems strange, not the least of which being the relatively short amount of time she's been dating their son. A matter of months, weeks really, yet she feels like the Malfoys are ready to crack open her dowry and choose flowers for the bridal bouquet.
She wonders if that (the pressure to rush courtships and confirm alliances) is indicative of the Wizarding world in general, pureblood society on the whole, or simply the Malfoys clamouring for social acceptance.
"Of course. Please, have a seat." She gestures to the chair across from her desk, lamenting that it's not terribly comfortable for a guest. She might not have cared much about Narcissa last time she darkened her door, but Hermione is very invested in her relationship with Draco now. It won't hurt to play nice.
"If I can speak frankly?" Hermione nods, but she's pretty sure it wouldn't matter if she disagreed. "My son is avoiding me, and I can only imagine it has to do with you."
Well. Frank it is, then. Hermione can do frank.
She scoffs. "You suppose I've instructed him not to speak with you? Do you imagine anyone tells Draco Malfoy what he can and cannot do?"
"Please. If you know him as well as you seem to think, you would know my son is an absolute kitten, especially in regards to those he holds with affection. If you do not wish to have tea, there is nothing he can say to change your mind. However, I can't imagine how you see your life stretching before you if you continue on with my son. You cannot avoid me forever."
At this, Hermione just laughs. A joyful, surprising sound. It makes Narcissa wince. "Sorry. Just, you think I refused? Narcissa... may I call you Narcissa?" Giving her no more than an obligatory pause, Hermione soldiers on. "Narcissa, I told Draco I will be happy to have tea as soon as he can make arrangements. He told me the Manor is under renovations, so it could be a while yet."
"Renovations have been complete for over a week," the woman says, a little confusion in her tone and a frown on her subtly painted lips.
"Then it seems as though he is avoiding the meeting all on his own."
The two stare at each other for a moment, Hermione studying the other woman's face. Eventually, she takes a breath and tries very hard to remember that this woman loves Draco more than anything, and she proved it with a vengeance at the final battle. To a degree, she is correct about the future. No relationship can withstand a clash between lover and mother when the bond between them is this strong.
"Next Tuesday."
Narcissa blinks. "Tuesday?"
"I would be available to take tea with you on Tuesday. The Ministry is closed for Merlin's Ascension, so I would have the entire day. It also gives me the weekend to prepare Draco against whatever concerns he has."
One delicate eyebrow lifts. "And what concerns do you imagine you will address?"
"That I might have a panic attack the moment I walk through your door? You might recall the last time I visited your home I was dragged in by my hair and sliced apart by Bellatrix." Narcissa visibly falters, but Hermione continues on. "Or it could be nothing to do with that at all. Maybe he's afraid I won't know to work outside-in with my cutlery. Or maybe there are polite topics in which I need to be versed. Maybe he's afraid Lucius will try to poison me. Really, there are countless possibilities. Perhaps you might understand his hesitation, since we are being frank."
Another standoff. Another long stare. Eventually, Narcissa nods. "Tuesday then. I will expect you promptly at four. Pipsy will direct you to the Solarium. Tell my son to gift you a Bezoar if he's all that concerned for your safety."
A beat. Hermione isn't sure if that was meant to be a joke.
With that, Draco's mother stands. Has Hermione made an enemy or has she played this exactly right? She watches the woman drift elegantly from the room, not looking back and holding her head high.
Great. Now to tell Draco. Hermione assumes she's in for a few days of pouting. She grins down at her parchment. It's adorable when he pouts.
It's a warm Friday night when Draco arrives at Grimmauld to the endlessly welcome sight of Granger smiling at him and wearing a very tight fitted skirt. He had left her room as Benedick before she dressed for their date, so he's surprised, pleasantly so, by the striking figure she cuts. "Well, don't you look good enough to eat," he purrs at her through a wolfish grin, then proceeds to make good on his word, devouring the lipstick right off her lips.
A lot of throat clearing and pithy comments from Potter later, and they find themselves in a Muggle restaurant in London, hands clasped on white tablecloth and a bottle of red between them.
"Tuesday," he repeats, dreading but resigned. Almost grateful the decision is taken out of his hands. He has to tell her before they visit the Manor, no question. In effect, it's a deadline and perhaps exactly what he needs.
"I hope that's alright," she says with a frown, likely reading into his expression.
"It is. I'm surprised, I suppose. I doubt you're looking forward to it."
Hermione retracts her hand so she might pick up her glass and takes a sip. She lays it back beside her place setting before answering. "I'm not," she admits, "but I don't see how we keep going without facing some things between us."
That's pretty fucking on the nose and truthfully a perfect opening if he wants to come clean, but Draco can't seem to make his mouth work properly to take over the conversation. In his hesitation, she continues.
"We went through a lot during the war. Before that, even. But... I love you. And I'm not looking for this to end anytime soon. Or... ever." She looks at him warily, fearful, and seems far from finished speaking. Draco picks up her hand where it rests beside the stem of her glass, encouraging her to continue. "They're your family," she goes on. "If I want to be with you, I have to accept that and... and I suppose they have to accept me as well. That won't happen if I don't take a step, right?"
Hermione tilts her head, looking at him with trepidation, and he realizes she is looking for assurance, as if this is all just a casual dalliance for him. As if what she's saying isn't beyond generous of her, willing to try in light of everything between her and his family. He swallows, clasping her hand tighter and laying his other atop, engulfing her dainty fingers between his palms. "I don't care what they think," he tries, but she shakes her head at him to stop.
"You do. Or you will. I know you have your issues between you. Believe me, I think you should," she adds through a laugh. "But you won't be angry forever, and they will miss you. They'll keep trying. And I... I don't want to be what's standing between you. I'd be awfully angry at myself for it, and you'd probably resent me."
Draco studies her, not sure what she ultimately wants him to say. Known for more subterfuge than honesty, he digs deep for truth. "I could never resent you, Granger. I just didn't want to put you through the entire thing if you weren't sure. I can't guarantee my family will be polite."
"Not sure?" She repeats in question. "Are you… I mean, I thought I'd been pretty clear. Are you having doubts?"
"Merlin, no," he denies. "Not about you. I just have trouble believing you won't have any about me… eventually."
The smile she gives him is sweet and reassuring, and Draco feels that familiar twinge in his heart. "What more can I say to convince you?"
Shaking his head, Draco lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her fingertips. Whatever he would have said, he's interrupted by their server delivering their first course. By the time they've thanked the man and sampled their food, commenting on the excellent wine pairing and the unique flavors, the conversation is lost to the evening. There is no more talk of Tuesday tea or niggling doubts. Instead, he laughs when she's clever, and she blushes when he's a bit of a rogue. Another perfect evening amongst so many before this, and all thoughts of confessions slip Draco's mind yet again.
Hermione asks him back to Potter's home, and Draco readily accepts. They kept their wine to a minimum, so he is only experiencing the very slightest of effects, warmth in his cheeks and a smile on his face. Seeming to be slightly more affected, his witch is a bit giggly as they enter. Yet, she shushes him as not to disturb her roommate.
Draco is on her the moment the door closes, pressing his lips insistently to hers and sliding his fingers into her curls.
"Thank you for dinner," he hardly more than breathes against her lips. She answers with another giggle, nipping back at his.
"Your turn tomorrow. I think I'd like breakfast in bed."
Draco smiles, feeling her lips stretched as well. He hums in thought. "Then I suppose I'd better stay. For convenience, you understand. Breakfast comes so early."
"It does," she agrees. Her fingers delicately play with the fringe at his collar. "Have I told you how handsome you are?"
"You know," he says, pretending to be very thoughtful, "I'm not entirely sure you have."
Hermione pulls back and gives him a wicked little grin. "Second most handsome in the world."
"Second most?" Draco only plays at affront, guessing by the cheeky smile that she's about to turn the entire comment around.
"Well, most handsome wizard, I suppose, if you're interested in that sort of thing. But where it really counts, your ferret was just almost as charming as my Benedick. Second most handsome of the weasels in my life."
Doing his very best to throw on a casual pout, Draco feels his heart beat a little faster and hopes she doesn't notice. He's about to respond, some quip about Weasley ranking below, when she pulls away and changes gears completely.
"That reminds me…" Hermione trails off as she makes her way up the stairs. To Draco's horror, he hears her quietly calling, "Benedick? Come out, darling? How about some nice salmon?..."
As her voice fades, Draco looks around, panicked. Does he wait for her to give up, hope that she will assume that her familiar is gone for the evening? What he should do, he knows, is tell her, but suddenly he's terrified. What if this is the end? Dinner tonight might be his last with Granger. That kiss, that delicious, sensual kiss they just shared, might be nothing but a memory to which he clings. He feels like he can't breathe and knows he probably looks certifiable.
Potter chooses that exact moment to enter the room and stops short when he catches sight of Draco's face. "What's wrong?"
"She's gone looking for her familiar," Draco says, low and desperate. "I have to… I have to tell her, but I have no fucking idea how."
They both hold their tongues as Hermione comes swiftly back down the stairs. "Harry! Have you seen Benedick? I want Draco to meet him."
"Not since lunch," he tells her. "Probably already on the prowl."
"I wonder if I could modify the 'Point Me' spell or something…"
She's looking under furniture as she speaks, peering through doorways. "Benedick! Please come out, sweetheart!"
"You know how he is," Potter tries again. "He'll be back in the morning, I'm sure. Draco can meet him another time."
"No, this is ridiculous. It's ridiculous Draco has never seen him, and I want them to meet. I'm going to meet Narcissa, and Draco's going to meet Benedick, and that's that."
Draco looks back at Potter again, still panicked, still frantic, and Hermione continues to tear through the house calling his Animagus name. So many times he tried to tell her, so many missed opportunities, and he hates that this is happening now. He should have told her at dinner, holding her hand and looking into those beautiful, expressive eyes. He should have told her weeks ago, admitting his mistake and begging her forgiveness so they might continue to know one another.
Now. He has to tell her now. Draco catches her by the arm as she is breezing by. "Granger, stop." He is resolved. Braced. "I need to tell you something."
He looks at Potter for support, which is possibly the most insane part of this entire affair, and finds sympathy in those green eyes. Draco steels his nerves. He's ready. With a deep breath, Draco looks at her with as much contrite affection as he can portray and begins to speak.
Only to be interrupted by Theo fucking Nott appearing from nowhere.
"Granger, apologies, but what Draco is hesitant to tell you… and really, he's been just beside himself about it, is that your familiar actually belongs to me."
"What?" Her voice is small like she already believes it, like her heart is already broken along all the cracks he's been trying so hard to help her fix.
"No, Hermione, don't listen to Nott-"
"I appreciate you're trying to spare her," Theo plows forward, "But Harry let me know you were having difficulty, so I'm here to take care of it." Theo beams a charming grin around the room before looking back to the witch in question. "Your marten, you see, I had thought I'd lost him. Disappeared right from Hogwarts."
"Nott, stop. The fuck are you doing?" Looking quickly, desperately back to Hermione, Draco addresses her again. "This isn't true."
The eyes she turns on him are red with unshed tears. But she's Hermione Granger, so she's putting together the pieces quickly. "This is it, isn't it? What you couldn't tell me before?"
Draco starts to say no, that it's not, but fucking Nott and Potter both agree yes before he can speak.
She snaps her attention to her best friend. "And you knew? Harry, how could you not tell me?"
Faltering, Potter stutters some ridiculous taste of the truth. "We just thought you'd be so upset, we were waiting for the right time."
"The right time? There's no right time for something like this. Draco...Is this true?" she finally asks, looking back to him, her lip quivering.
"No. I mean, part of it. We didn't want to upset you, that's true. But not what Theo's saying."
Voices overlap, talking over each other. Nott is emphatically claiming sincerity while Potter defends himself and his actions. Hermione's eyes dart between them as Draco tries to answer her, tries to work in words that are continually overshadowed by the other wizards growing increasingly louder and more emphatic.
Draco's eyes dart between them, from his lover to their friends. He denies as much as he can, still unsure, barely having readied himself for confession. His mind spins, possibilities and excuses, words and speeches flashing through his thoughts. All the while, his witch looks on the verge of crisis, emotions bubbling as she searches for clarity.
He might not be able to provide it for her, but Draco himself is struck with a moment of clear thought. With his eyes on hers, the sounds of the room, two ridiculous wizards bickering at how best to make their case heard… It all fades into quiet as he looks at her and prays for mercy.
"I'm sorry," he whispers then shrinks down onto four velvet paws, small dark eyes begging her to forgive him.
Oh, snap...