"You're trying not to tell him you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for." - You Are Jeff, Richard Siken
Hermione balled her hands into fists, feeling awkwardness flutter inside of her as she slowly moved closer to him. When she stopped beside him in front of a large shelf, Draco swiftly put away the book he was holding and cleared his throat. "Hello, Granger."
Hermione unclenched her fists and rubbed her palms on her jeans, trying to get rid of the mixture of raindrops and nervous sweat. "How are you?" she tried. "Doug said you've been here for half an hour."
Draco frowned. "Who's Doug?"
"He works here."
"Well, Doug should mind his own business. Do Muggles just tell on their customers like that? That's appalling behavior," he said, sounding offended. Hermione smiled at the posh tone of his voice.
"He was just being nice to me," she said. "Did you find the store okay?"
"Yes, Granger, I'm clearly not an imbecile," he snapped. "Sorry, fuck. I didn't mean to be a git. I'm just-"
"Uncomfortable here?" she guessed.
"That's not it, either," he sighed. She took a step back, but his body followed her like a magnet. Hermione shot him a pointed look, and he grimaced, moving a couple of inches away from her. "What happened to you?" he said, running his eyes down her body.
She exhaled. "My umbrella gave in and I got drenched."
"Why didn't you dry yourself?"
She wanted so badly to reach out and smooth the crease between his brows. The constant urge to touch him drove her mad. "What do you think? People would've seen my wand," she said, more harshly than she intended.
"Come here, then."
Before she could protest, he disappeared behind a row of shelves. When she followed him, he snapped his head around to check if they were completely alone before reaching his hand into his jacket for his wand. He muttered a spell under his breath, and Hermione felt a gust of warm air dry her top to bottom. She only realized she'd been shivering when it completely subsided.
"Better?" asked Draco. He reached out and ran his hand up and down her arm. The shiver that struck her body had more to do with his touch than the cold. "Don't know if I can do anything about your hair, though.'
She scowled. "It's just wet."
"It's a bloody mess."
Hermione took a sharp inhale of breath. "Draco Malfoy-"
He silenced her by pressing a kiss to her damp curls. "You're absolutely beautiful, Hermione Granger," he said in a raspy whisper. "No question about it."
She allowed herself a moment to breath him in, feeling his familiar scent engulf her. Being so close to him was too tempting, so Hermione abruptly stepped away, letting his arms fall as she turned to face a wooden shelf, reaching with a shaky hand for the first book in her line of sight.
"I'm not mad at you anymore," she said quietly. "But that doesn't mean that things are okay. Because they really aren't. I'm just not good at being angry at people, so don't flatter yourself."
She heard him exhale a slow breath. "I'm sorry, Granger."
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Draco was studying her uncertainly. He looked genuine, but something was still turning uncomfortably inside of her. "Do you even know what you're apologizing for?"
"For being a jealous git?"
"Yeah, sure," she said. "But also for the fact that we apparently have no idea how to talk to each other?"
He gave her an incredulous look. "Sometimes all we do is talk, Granger. We talk all the time."
"About nothing, apparently," she muttered under her breath. "Because there are things you're not telling me about, and you close up the second you start to."
"Fine, that's true. I might've done that. I didn't play fair when I'm angry," said Draco. "It's a fucking character flaw. I have a bunch of those, if you haven't noticed." His forcibly self-deprecating tone didn't amuse her, and Hermione gave him a blank look. He groaned audibly. "I apologize, Hermione. I'll try to do better. And, you know, I really don't give a fuck about Weasley, I was just pissed I didn't hear it from you."
Hermione shifted, looking at the book she was still clutching in her hands. "Harry did that to me more than once, and it hurt me every time. I didn't realize I'd done that to you," she admitted. "I guess we both have some glaring character flaws, Draco."
He scoffed. "I'd trade mine for yours, anytime."
Hermione sighed, then put the book back on the shelf, reaching for another one. She didn't even register the words of the summary in the back cover, but she didn't feel confident enough to face him just yet.
"Are you going to apologize too?" he said, sounding amused.
And maybe it was because she had never reached this part - when you flung open the door, when you laid your cards on the table - but she realized that she didn't know how to.
"I am sorry," she said, gaze still fixed on the book. "But you know, thinking about it, I just wonder why it didn't occur to me to just tell you."
"You always know, Hermione. So why don't you just come out and say it?"
She placed the book back on the shelf, straightening her shoulders before turning to face him. Draco's eyes shone with concern. "I didn't think you'd want me to."
He looked taken aback. "How could you say that?" he whispered. "Fuck, are you crying?"
"I'm not," she muttered defensively, blinking to clear the moisture from her eyes. "You can be emotional without crying, jackass."
Predictably, he began to laugh. "I'm doing this all wrong, aren't I?"
Hermione sniffed. "Listen. Here's what I figure. We both began this-" She waved a hand between them. "Thing. And we never really defined it, or talked about what your expectations are, or what my expectations are." Her voice trailed off when she noticed how he was standing. He had shoved both hands in his pockets, while staring stubbornly at his shoes. "Why are you being so awkward?"
He hesitated, before muttering, "Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?"
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "You kind of already have a girlfriend, don't you?" she said, failing to control the irritation in her voice. His face softened.
"You know that's not true."
"Do I?" she said pointedly. "You told me Daphne's gay, and that you have some sort of deal. But you never really explained the situation, and I never asked because I didn't want you to run."
"I wasn't going to bloody run, Granger," he snapped. "And I'll bloody tell you, if you really want me to."
"You'll tell me everything? You won't lie?"
Draco took a step forward, bending his head to meet her gaze directly. "I won't lie, Hermione," he said in a steady voice.
And maybe she was foolish for it, but she believed him.
"Okay, then," said Hermione hesitantly, wondering if she was being lenient. The ease with which she trusted his words felt like a trap, but when she looked at him, she saw nothing but sincerity. "We'll talk about it."
Draco's eyes burnt into hers for a long moment, like he was feeling out whether she really meant it before reacting. Hermione waited for him to move closer, itching to reach out and dissolve the remaining tension between them.
He took a step forward. When there was just an inch of space between them, Draco lifted his hands to cup the sides of her face. He placed a slow, lingering kiss on one cheek. Her body moved of its own accord. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, searching for his lips.
Just before they touched, he tilted his face away, her kiss brushing the corner of his mouth. Hermione frowned, feeling more than a little hurt, and leaned back. "What's wrong?" she asked, her chest tightening.
He looked raw, his eyes clouded by something she couldn't quite reach. The seconds seemed to drag around them. She tried her hardest to be patient, to drown out the voice in her head telling her to demand him open up more than just a fraction, her breath getting stuck in her throat.
"Draco," she said, her voice so quiet it was barely audible. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
He inhaled sharply, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Her grip on his shoulders tightened. Is this it? she asked herself. She didn't know if she could handle more of this push and pull. She didn't think she had the strength for it.
"You're the one who runs away, Hermione," he said quietly.
"What?" said Hermione, too dumbfounded to feel relieved that he had said something.
"You don't need to lie to me," he continued, jerking his head back to give her a view of his troubled expression. "It was easy for you, wasn't it? To leave the flat. To turn away from me on the staircase. To always find a reason to pull away from me."
Something inside of her cracked. "It wasn't easy," she said weakly.
His smile lacked humor, like he was softening a blow. "But you did it anyway?" he said. "I don't think I could do it, you know? I'm too stubborn. But it wasn't-" he paused, trying to gather his thoughts. "Granger, I can't have you running away from me all the time."
She tensed. Her first thought was to deny it, but her broken parts were glaring, and she couldn't bring herself to lie to him about it. After a moment, she whispered, "Alright, I won't," because there wasn't much else she could say. She'd made the choice to believe him, and he'd have to do the same. "Alright."
He searched her face, and Hermione waited, hoping he'd found what he was looking for.
He must've. In the blink of an eye, Draco pushed her against the shelves. The books threatened to tumble; she doubted she'd notice if they did, when he was pressing against her body so firmly, his mouth covering hers in a soaring kiss.
And she let herself be kissed by him. The taste of him, the touch of his hands, the pressure of his body - it all mixed together until the room around them disappeared, until Hermione felt certain that they were the only people in the universe and she didn't need anything but their shared breaths, the feeling he carved into her and she carved into him, right back.
"Excuse me," someone hollered. "This is a public space!"
Goddammit. Hermione pushed Draco away, her head snapping in the direction of the voice. Doug had his arms folded over his chest. Heat rose to her face and she visibly cringed. "I'm so sorry, Doug."
And Draco, her favorite moron, released a shameless chuckle. "Fucking disappear, Doug."
"Shut it," she snapped. Then she said loudly, "We're leaving."
"Are you at least going to buy something?"
"We'll bloody buy something!" snarled Draco. "Can you leave now?"
Doug gave them another irritated look, then turned around and disappeared down the corner.
"Oh Merlin," gasped Hermione, covering her face. "I'm so embarrassed."
"You think we're the first people to snog here, Granger?"
"I used to come here with my father when I was a child, Draco. It's our favorite spot," she said. "This is the oldest bookstore in Muggle Britain. I just defiled a sacred space with a stupid boy. I can't believe myself."
"Oh," he cooed. "Buck-toothed Granger came here?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Think twice before you say anything."
His laughter boomed louder. "You're absolutely beautiful, Hermione Granger. No question about it."
She rolled her eyes. "So you keep saying," she muttered. "Let's get out of here before I kiss you or knock you on the head with a book."
Draco continued to laugh as he threw an arm around her shoulders, bending down to smack a kiss on her cheek.
The store was mostly empty, but the few people perusing books glanced at them with mild interest as they passed. For the first time in the longest time, she wasn't bothered by the attention - the arm over her shoulder was comforting, and she was nestled into his side, happy and at peace.
Before they reached the cashier, Draco pulled away. When Hermione opened her mouth to complain, he muttered a rushed "stay here," and disappeared down the hall. While she waited, she looked through her purse for her wallet. She had just dug it out when Draco reappeared, holding a hand behind his back. "You can wait for me by the door."
"I have to pay for whatever you're hiding there, Draco."
"I'm rich," he said flatly. "Just go."
"They aren't going to accept your galleons."
"Really? Thanks for the information, love," he dead-panned. "I have Muggle money, Granger. Can you just do what I say already?"
"Fine," she said grudgingly. Hermione walked over to the door, sneaking glances at him, half worried he'd somehow expose them as he went through his purchases.
But he was all smooth charm. Watching him felt like stumbling into an alternate universe - the cashier giggled as she processed his payment and wrapped his book in brown paper with a smile. Seeing him interact with a Muggle so naturally, not a hint of discomfort - it made Hermione's mind fizzle.
She was still staring in amazement as he swaggered towards her, a satisfied grin on his face. Hermione felt her chest expand.
"What?"
"Nothing," she shook her head, then pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. She rose to her tiptoes, blowing in his ear, feeling smug when he shivered. "Race you to the apparition point."
She didn't wait a beat before pushing the door open and running into the storm. She cackled when she heard him curse her name loudly, chasing her, his boots slapping loudly against the puddles of water.
Draco didn't give her time to think before he was onto her, throwing the bag he was holding somewhere behind them before pulling her into a kiss. She giggled against his mouth, but the sound gave way to a moan when he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding down her back.
It never took too long for heat to rise inside of her when they were together like this. She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, rougher, tighter against her body. Wild with the feeling that it still wasn't enough.
"Want to go upstairs?" he gasped into her mouth. She nibbled the spot behind his ear, feeling the pressure increase when he ground into her. "Yeah?"
Hermione tore her lips away to press her palms firmly into his chest. She pushed him back until he fell gracelessly on the couch. He gulped audibly, and she reeled under the intensity of his gaze. "I like the way you look at me," she muttered, sitting on his hips and squeezing him between her legs.
"I like looking at you," he whispered back in a raspy voice. "I really fucking do."
She leaned back on his lap and ripped her shirt off. He moved to help her, but she brushed him off and unclasped the bra, letting it fall into the couch. Draco's jaw clenched and his chest heaved as he observed her, and Hermione let him drink her in, desire pooling in her belly.
"Hermione Granger." His voice was almost a growl.
Her lips curved in a slow, soft smile. "Yeah?"
"You're absolutely beautiful."
"No question about it?"
"Not one," he shook his head, reaching a hand to the back of her neck. He tugged her down until her breasts pressed against his chest. There was something exquisite about the feeling of her nipples rubbing against his shirt, and Hermione moaned, crushing their lips together, operating on pure instinct.
Draco's hips hitched upward and she slid a hand between them, and squeezed, his groan making her chest buzz with desire. His hands twisted into her curls until they completely slipped from their knot, falling around her shoulders.
She didn't need her wand to mumble the spell to make his shirt disappear, and when his chest was fully exposed, she didn't hesitate to press slow, wet kisses into his firm skin. She scraped her teeth across one nipple and he shivered underneath her, the hold in her hair tightening.
There was something so satisfying about watching him overcome with desire, breathing hard, flush dancing down his neck to the skin just above his belt. "Ah, fucking bloody hell, Hermione," he groaned when she pushed her hand harder against his cock. A low chuckle escaped her lips. "You like teasing me?"
"You're too easy to rile up," said Hermione, reaching for his mouth again. She frowned when he leaned away. "What?"
"I don't like to be teased," he said through gritted teeth. Hermione almost rolled his eyes, but she was startled by the swift movement of his body. Before she could fully register what was happening, he picked her up by the waist and turned them around, dropping her roughly into the couch.
She opened her mouth to protest, but a loud groan escaped when he caught her nipple between his teeth, sending pleasure rippling through her.
Her head hit the back of the couch as his mouth made the slow journey down her torso, lingering in all the spots he already knew so intimately. Her head was in a haze and her entire body vibrated with desire, his lips and tongue setting every inch of skin he touched on fire.
In a moment, he shed off her jeans and buried his head between her thighs, and Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth, unable to wholly suppress a moan.. Draco chuckled, brushing his tongue against her in firm strokes. She reached a hand to grip at his hair, the other digging into the fabric of the couch as he placed one of her legs over his shoulder.
He thrust his tongue into her greedly. Her body writhed, so overwhelmed that she didn't know if she wanted to push into him or pull away. He splayed his palm over her stomach, keeping her still as his tongue circled around her clit. He switched back and forth between gentle coaxing and a harder, insistent pressing against her, and she struggled to keep her body on the cushions, her back arching.
"Draco-" she groaned, unable to say anything but nonsense as he slipped a finger inside of her, thrusting into the same rhythm of his tongue.
It was too much. Her heart was threatening to beat out of her chest, and she felt like her entire body was floating above the ground. She pressed her eyelids tight when the vibrations of his groans sent her tipping over the edge.
She sank into the couch, her body trembling and her breaths coming out as pants. He scraped his teeth over the skin of her inner thigh, easing the sting with soft kisses.
She let him gently set her leg down, the onslaught of sensations running through her body. She mumbled a complaint when he stood from the couch, opening her eyes to find him unbuckling his pants. His eyes were dark with lust, and Hermione pressed a hand over her racing heart, taking in the unrestrained desire that took over his face completely.
When he draped his body over hers again, Hermione hiked a leg over his hip, pulling him into a slow, languorous kiss.
"Do I make you feel good?" he whispered. "Tell me."
"Sure you do," she breathed out. "You know what would make me feel even better?" she said, grinding into him until he got the hint. His lips parted, his eyes glued to hers as the tip of his cock rubbed against her.
She dragged her hand to his hips, pulling him the rest of the way in. "Bloody hell," he groaned, inhaling sharply through his nose. His abs tightened as he bottomed out, and she ran her hand through his hair, pressing kisses to his jaw, his cheek, over the sweat forming on his forehead.
It was the feeling of being so close, the desire that kept boiling and boiling until every patch of skin felt set ablaze. She touched him everywhere she could, and he thrusted into her without reservation, his thumb circling her clit. Her body writhed, the pressure increasing steadily, feeling herself rise higher and higher.
She loved the feeling of him inside of her, burning like lava as he chanted her name like a prayer. He curved a hand behind her hip and lifted her higher, the change in angle making her dig her nails into his back. "Fuck, love," he hissed.
She whimpered his name, her head falling back and spine curving upwards. His hand gripped harder and harder, until at last he inhaled sharply, and exhaled her name in a long groan. When they were both spent and quivering, his body sagged into hers.
They shared exhausted breaths, and he ran a soothing hand through her tangled curls. She didn't know if he realized it, but he was humming under his breath - a soft song, not one she knew, but it calmed her nonetheless.
"Hermione Granger-" he said after a while, his hand still in her hair.
She groaned. "Oh, for Godric's sake-"
"You're absolutely beautiful-"
"Shut your trap up."
"No question about it," he finished, sounding way too satisfied with himself.
After everything, she couldn't believe that was the thing that embarrassed her. "I'm ordering you to drop that immediately."
He chuckled. "Never."
She lifted her head and caressed his chin, kissing his lips once, then twice, then a third time, then enough times that sound ceased around them, his hold on her hair tightening, desire beginning to simmer between them all over again. Hermione wished she could freeze the moment in time.
She hoped she didn't have to. She hoped he was right there with her, in body, in spirit, for as long as time allowed.
Draco was procrastinating.
There were only so many times he could look through the flat's closet before admitting it to himself, especially considering he only kept a few changes of clothes there. Going off the amused expression on Granger's face, she was fully aware of it.
But it was her fault, really - it was practically impossible to muster the motivation to spend an entire evening in the Greengrasses' company, when he could be wasting more hours with her.
They hadn't accomplished anything productive the entire day. Granger had put up an admirable fight, but it had been almost too easy to pry her away from work or what only she would call "light reading."
Instead, they'd spent the day going from the bed to the couch to the kitchen, talking when she stubbornly insisted, and more often, not talking at all. Now, she was sitting on the bed, looking sweet as a dream in one of his dark button-downs, munching on a Honeydukes' pumpkin pasty and doing an impressive job of mocking him while remaining completely silent.
When Draco finally dug out the only formal clothing he kept there, she said, "So, what is this thing you're going to, exactly?"
"It's this party that Daphne's father is hosting," said Draco, putting on a pair of grey slacks. "I don't know what's the occasion. Douglass Greengrass is kind of-" He hesitated for a beat, second guessing Granger's neutral expression. She had been annoyingly blank when he'd told her about Daphne's parents pressuring them to move forward with their courtship, and he couldn't help but wonder if she was truly fine with it. "He doesn't say more than what he thinks is necessary. He said he wanted me there, and that was it."
"Dumbledore used to be like that with Harry, you know? Refusing to give away any information, but always demanding that he be available." When she noticed him wince, she rushed to say, "I'm not comparing, Draco, for Merlin's sake. This man is just your pretend girlfriend's father, not your mentor."
Draco bent his head down to button up his shirt. "Yeah."
"Do you really want to go?"
"I don't want to go," he scoffed. "But our parents believe we're in a serious courtship. I told you I promised to give her more time to figure her shite out. I'm ending this soon, I promise."
"And what does a serious courtship entail, exactly?"
"It's normal dating, I guess?" he shrugged. "The families are in charge of the details of the engagement, like who gets what, which traditions the couple will follow, how many children they'll have, vaults, grimoires and other useless shite," said Draco, looking up to Granger's baffled stare.
"Are courtships arranged?"
"Not in the sense that we have agreements before children are even born, if that's what you mean," he said nonchalantly. "Families can strongly suggest certain people interact. But it wouldn't be a problem if I fell in love with Millicent instead of Daphne. The courtship would be handled by both families either way. You have the freedom to love who you love."
Hermione shot him a skeptical look. "You can love who you want to love, unless they're a different blood status, or the same gender?
Draco snickered. "And you have to be really careful not to accidentally fall in love with a second cousin, though that's been known to happen more often than you'd think," he said, strangely charmed by the way her nose wrinkled at his words.
"But a third cousin's fine?" The tone of her voice made it clear she found the entire ordeal absurd. Draco didn't disagree, but it didn't faze him as much as it seemed to her.
"You'd be surprised by what people can excuse when faced with a dwindling community. The Malfoys don't partake, of course," he said quickly. "There are magical rituals specific to each family when a wedding date is settled, but for the actual couple, courtships are mostly about pretending to be chaste and pure until marriage, when everyone knows you're doing less than pure and chaste things out of sight."
Granger's eyes narrowed. "Better be no pretending about it, Draco Malfoy."
A sly smile appeared on his face. Draco dropped his jacket on the floor and slowly swaggered towards the bed, heat slowly surging inside of him as he watched Granger's gaze fall on his mouth. Her gaze flickered back to his eyes, and she swallowed audibly when he leaned forward, burying his knees on the mattress, her back hitting the sheets as he towered over her, an elbow on each side of her face.
"I'm only doing things of the impure variety with you, love," he said, right before he kissed her. She released a low groan of pleasure, and Draco deepened the kiss, her hands curling around his neck and pulling him tightly against her. His pulse leaped when her grip tightened, and he stroked her tongue with his.
"Don't go," she muttered beneath him.
Of course I'm not going, thought Draco, his mind buzzing as her hands slipped from his neck, deft fingers ripping his shirt from his pants. He groaned, feeling her nails scrape against his skin, goosebumps spreading all over his body. His cock hardened immediately.
It was hard to think much of anything when he was embraced by her familiar touch. Granger moaned against his mouth, and he wanted so deeply to get lost inside of her, again - tearing himself away felt like lifting a thousand pounds.
"No," she whimpered. "Come back, Draco."
Draco looked at her with regret. Her lips were swollen, his shirt all wrinkled as it rode up her body, exposing the silky skin of her bare thighs and tempting black lace of her knickers.
"You're being very cruel right now," teased Granger.
"I assure you, love, I'm suffering more than you."
He gave her one last appraising glance before turning away, knowing that if he didn't cut himself off his resolution would melt away completely.
He stopped in front of the mirror to readjust his shirt. He snatched his tie from the top of the dresser. "Grey is boring," said Granger. Draco smiled at his own reflection, listening to her approaching footsteps.
He didn't say anything as she grabbed her wand from the bed and stood in front of him, tilting her head before changing the tie from grey to purple. He arched a brow. "Purple, really?"
"It's lilac. It's my favorite color," muttered Granger, her lips pursued with concentration as her fingers wove the tie into a knot. "Why? Is it too girly for you?"
He exhaled a huff. "As if I care."
Granger let him go and sat back on the bed, leaning against the headboard and continuing to watch him. Draco shrugged on his grey suit jacket and checked himself in the mirror, running his fingers through his hair in a lame attempt to fix it.
He stalled again, pretending to smooth a wrinkle on his suit. "Are you going to stay?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Give me a break, Granger," he scoffed, turning to face her. Her gaze was tender, lips slightly curved upwards, all that he wanted, in the flesh.
And he was so grateful - for this lightness that surrounded them again. He'd extract this memory and place it on a Pensieve, the token of the precise moment that Draco realized he might be more than half in love with her.
"I'm not going anywhere."
It was the only reasonable explanation for what he felt, right then.
The ballroom was as pristine as the rest of the Greengrass' Manor. The walls were stark white, framed by slender pillars with ornate silver capitals, two on each side of the room. It was a relatively small space, but it was brimming with faces he'd recognize anywhere. Half a dozen sharply-dressed elves made circuits with their trays, gleaming silver and covered in hors d'oeuvres. They silently approached the guests and strode away when dismissed.
In one corner, an elderly man with a long grey beard was expertly playing the piano, his figure shadowed by the low flickering lights. People were gathered in small clusters, nibbling on appetizers and booming with strident laughter. Draco zeroed in on the bar; he would stand out, mingling at this type of event without a drink, so he filled a crystal glass with firewhiskey and looked for someone he could stand to interact with.
His eyebrows rose when he spotted Theo, who was looking put together in a three-piece suit, his dark hair now shining a vibrant shade of blue.
Draco approached him. "What's with the hair?"
"I'm experimenting," exclaimed Theo, running a hand through his hair. "It's supposed to wear off in forty-eight hours, but I might stick to the look," he wiggled his brows.
"And you thought it'd be a good idea to experiment at a party with these people?"
Draco inclined his head towards a group of older women, who were staring at them from the other side of the room. Theo blew them a kiss.
"Please, Mrs. Selwyn's shamelessly chatting with Mrs. Burke, when everyone knows she's having an affair with her husband. My hair's the least scandalous thing at this party," he said wryly and Draco had to bite back a chuckle. "What's with the tie?"
Draco looked around to make sure no one was within hearing range. "Granger was experimenting."
Theo lit up, but before he could utter a likely inappropriate comment, someone grabbed Draco's elbow from behind. Daphne leaned in to peck his cheek, then rubbed off the lipstick with her thumb. "Have you made up with her, then?" When neither of them responded, she glared. "I'm going to hex both of you! Don't go all silent on me now."
It took Theo exactly three seconds to drop his stoic expression. "So it's all in the open now?"
"We're the only two people that know, I'm sure," said Daphne. "Of course, he didn't actually tell me. Thankfully I'm too smart to be fooled. But if I'd known that Theo knew-"
Theo grinned proudly. "He told me."
Daphne's eyes flashed with genuine hurt. "You told Theo?"
"Weren't you the one who said we shouldn't talk about this in public?" pointed out Draco, twirling his still full glass.
"You can if you're smart about it," she murmured. "So, you made up?"
"Are you kidding?" piped up Theo. "He hasn't sworn once, and he's almost smiled a couple of times. It's actually disturbing."
"I can cuss you out if you're so eager," snapped Draco. "I already told you that this is none of your business-"
"What's none of his business?" asked Pansy, materializing beside Daphne. She looked at them skeptically, her nose stuck in the air. "Well?"
"Draco's choice in ties," said Daphne quickly. "Theo's mocking him for it."
"I wouldn't have picked lilac for you," she told Draco. "But it's not like Theo has room to talk. You look like you mucked up a potion and dropped it on your head, and haven't done us the favor of looking in a mirror."
Theo took a sip of his drink and smirked at her over the rim. "It's fascinating how perceptive you are, Pans. That's exactly what happened."
Her failure to rile up Theo made Pansy scowl, and she turned to Daphne with a dramatic flip of her hair. "Shouldn't you father be here? He's the host of the party, after all."
"He'll be down eventually," said Daphne, tightening her grip on Draco's arm. "He's been locked with Robards and Rowle in his study for the past hour."
That made Draco frown. "Which Rowle?"
"Thorfinn. He was released last week. Don't ask me how he got out of a twenty-five-year sentence, because I obviously have no idea."
"Oh, I have plenty of ideas," chortled Theo. "Sources have told me that he's had a very skilled team of lawyers working for him for the past few months. Where were those lawyers when he was actually being tried? I'm pretty much sure he got access to them only after asking a certain someone for a favor," he said with a pointed look at Daphne.
"I don't know what you're insinuating," she said, any trace of amusement leaving her face. "My father's not a judge, he doesn't make these types of decisions."
Theo's smile became an ear-to-ear grin. "That might be true," he said, "but apparently cases like this can be overturned by just a couple of Wizengamot members. And you know who recently assumed their chairs on our lovely high court?" He waved a hand in a theatrical motion.
"Just get out with it, Theo," hissed Pansy.
"Oh, always so eager." He tipped his head towards her. "Some of our resident tossers. Dear old Sullivan Fawley and Quidditch captain extraordinaire, Marcus Flint. What a coincidence, right? Especially since neither of their families have been especially social since the war."
"And what could all that possibly have to do with Daphne's family?"
"Why do you figure Father Greengrass is suddenly hosting all these parties for the finest members of pureblood society?"
Daphne glared at him. "You don't know what you're on about, Theo," she snapped. "My father just wanted to do something nice. You know that my family's Ministry connection begins and ends with my father's consulting work for the DMLE. Our chair in the Wizengamot has been vacant as long as yours."
Theo threw his hands up. "I'm just speculating," he said. "An infamous Death-Eater is released right after Fawley and Flint began working at the Wizengamot. A high-society party two days later. It feels a little too coincidental to me."
"We should be glad that we finally have people to fight the bogus laws Jones is trying to push through," spat Pansy. "Her latest is a massive bill raising taxes on every Gringotts account, with the money to go towards research on wolfsbane, of all things."
"And what's wrong with that, exactly?" said Draco, who had been listening in stoic silence, his head throbbing from all the information soaking in. "There've always been attempts to get that research funded, and the stigma against werewolves has never been greater. Why the bloody hell shouldn't we do something to minimize the number of them, and prevent more of them from, you know, attacking us?"
Pansy gave him a bewildered look. "They shouldn't even be around us in the first place. What are you on about?"
"No one complained about them when we needed them," he snapped. "The Dark Lord had Greyback over for get-togethers more than once. Or have you forgotten the War already?"
"Dear Morgana," whispered Daphne. "All this talk about politics is giving me a migraine."
"I'm actually finding it entertaining," said Theo. "I mean, Pansy isn't wrong-"
"Obviously."
"And by that," he continued. "I mean that yes, Jones and a bunch of former Order members have gotten louder with their demands. But other than a few laughable restrictions on books, what she's accomplished, exactly? I wouldn't sweat Jones."
Pansy looked down at her nails. "I'm just saying, we should all stick together, because we're the first getting affected by whatever they come up with."
"You need to chill out. Shacklebolt was also in the Order, and he hasn't done shite since he became Minister," said Draco. There was an indiscernible feeling nagging inside of him, making his skin prickle.
"Then again, he's spent his entire term trying to organize post-war repairs. I don't think he's had enough time to do anything else," scoffed Theo. "Jones, on the other hand…"
"I'm impressed," said a low voice. The group turned around in surprise, finding the austere face of Douglass. His mouth was set in a firm line, but his eyes were gleaming. "Having our youth so engaged is refreshing. But I'll have to cut in with a bit of old man wisdom, if you don't mind."
Daphne's nails dug into Draco's arm. He shot her a sharp look, then cleared his throat. "Of course not, sir..."
"Do not concern yourselves with those people," he said slowly. "They're used to screaming into the void, it's what they've always done. Nothing gets accomplished by making noise."
"Really?" said Theo casually. Draco knew him enough to catch the sarcastic undertone of his words. "How does it go, sir?"
"By holding all the cards in your hand, mostly," said Douglass with a laugh, giving Theo a sharp smile. He turned to his daughter. "Daphne, why don't you and Miss Parkinson look for your mother and sister? I just saw them on the far wall. They were having an fascinating conversation about ornamental grasses, if I'm not mistaken."
Daphne's expression didn't falter, but Draco saw anger flash in her eyes, disappearing as quickly as it'd appeared. She let go of his arm. "Shall we, Pans? Now, that's a topic we'd love to know more about."
"Of course," agreed Pansy, her voice tight. "Nice to see you, Mr. Greengrass."
"Always a pleasure," he said coolly. They both left, throwing them scorned looks from behind Douglass's back. "Witches these days," muttered Douglass. "Although, Miss Parkinson seems to have her head in order. She's a good influence on Daphne."
Draco felt a surge of protectiveness. "Pansy has always been clever, sir," he said. "Cleverer than us, unquestionably."
"That she is," nodded Theo, chugging the rest of his drink.
Douglass looked unconvinced. "Cleverness and passion can be easily mistaken, boys. We must not be swayed by pretty faces," he said. "Now, I need to talk to you about something rather important, Draco, if you'd step away with me for a bit."
Draco's stomach turned cold, and he immediately lied, "Theo and I were just planning to sneak out for a smoke, sir, if you'd accompany us?"
"Yes," said Theo. "We were just about to go."
Douglass considered them for a moment. Theo's presence would be a buffer, an excuse for the conversation to remain in safe territory. He didn't trust in his ability to play along, not when he was still riding high from his day with Granger.
"Let's go to the balcony, the three of us," said Douglass. "Luckily, I have some cigars with me. Now, I've already taught Draco to appreciate the pleasures of a good cigar. Do I need to do the same with you, Theodore?"
"No need, I do love me a cigar," smirked Theo. "Got myself a batch from Cuba, actually."
"Really?" said Douglass, sounding slightly impressed. Draco was fully aware of the stares they were getting as they walked across the room together, garnered - indiscernible whispers, audible despite the piano still being played without pause.
The brisk rush of fresh air helped to loosen the knot beginning to form in Draco's throat. He inhaled sharply, then promptly accepted the cigar Douglass offered him.
They remained in silence through the first few puffs of tobacco. Draco leaned over the railing and gazed down at the gardens below. They were less exuberant than his family's, seeming designed to avoid attracting extra attention. All white flowers and small trees, a barely-there fountain made of white marble hardly visible in the middle.
After a moment, Douglass said, "You're also in the rehab program at MRC, isn't that correct, Theodore?" Draco tore his eyes away from the gardens and turned to face them.
"Yes, sir."
Draco could barely recount occasions in which Theo's let his discomfort show, but he shifted unsteadily under Douglass's sharp gaze.
"You seemed very politically-informed, from the little I caught of your conversation," he said offhandedly. "Do you have any interest in working in the Ministry? I can think of a few departments that could use someone like you."
Theo waved a hand. "I pride myself in harnessing knowledge, but I don't think I fit well in..." he paused, feigning confusion. "Bureaucratic? I think that might be the word. Yes, in bureaucratic environments."
"I disagree," said Douglas in a firm voice. "Some changes would be appropriate-" He looked pointendly at Theo's hair. "-But I have a feeling you'd thrive there. Trust me, kid. I have an eye for that sort of thing."
Theo released a cloud of smoke. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Mr. Greengrass. But I'm pretty sure people on probation can't work for the government."
"Not an insurmountable obstacle, if you truly want it," he muttered, tipping his head towards Draco. "Mr. Malfoy here, for an example, will be getting released this week."
"I beg your pardon, sir?" said Draco, eyes widening. Theo looked at him with confusion.
Douglass didn't answer immediately, puffing on his cigar as anticipation filled the air. "You've made some people happy with your progress," he said, seeming amused by Draco's stunned expression. "So I've heard, of course."
"Heard from whom, exactly?"
"Ah, I've got acquaintances," said Douglass. "Ah, Theodore, I hate to be like this, but I'm an old man and I don't want to tire my poor feet any more than I have to. Would you mind fetching me a glass of firewhiskey?" Theo seemed about to protest, but the look in Douglass's eye was firm.
He held his breath when Theo nodded, looking hesitant as he stepped away from the balcony. Once the door had closed behind him, Douglass's attention turned solely on Draco. "Theodore's pretty much alone, isn't he? Both parents deceased, am I correct?"
Draco clenched his jaw. "Yes."
"But he's a loyal friend?"
"He is."
"A rare breed," said Douglass. "I admire that kind of loyalty. Now, about that silly program. You'll get an owl from the Ministry informing you of your official release. I understand that letter is the last required measure of your probation, correct?"
"Yes, sir," said Draco, aiming for a neutral tone but sounding too tight.
"Congratulations. You're officially a free wizard."
Draco took a puff of the cigar, looking back out at the gardens. If Snape was there, he'd chastise him for being so damn transparent. Don't let them see, don't let them hear, don't let them get an inkling of what's going on in your head.
"My daughter and wife have been very happy lately, Draco. And I know you've got a hand on it," he said, clamping a hand down Draco's shoulder. "The Greengrasses take care of their own."
Draco looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Malfoys can take care of themselves, Mr. Greengrass," he said with a flat smile.
Douglass frowned, but before he could respond, Theo loudly stepped through the door, his voice booming, "Blimey, Mr. Greengrass, we seem to be out of firewhiskey. People are looking to get rowdy tonight, apparently!"
"Asta must've miscalculated," said Douglass, his eyes still intent on Draco. "I'll fix that problem. You two don't take long here. We'll be having a musical performance in a bit." He tossed the lit cigar over the railing, then made his way back inside.
When the door had closed behind him, Theo exclaimed, "What the fuck, mate? I'm bloody glad I always have an extendable ear with me."
Draco shot him an unimpressed glance, but he couldn't hold onto it for long. He was glad he didn't have to rehash the conversation. "This shite is getting out of hand."
"You think?" said Theo. "My father always said the Greengrasses were the slyest of all of us. Guess that sad bastard got something right," he said, running a shaky hand through his already unruly hair. "What's he up to, you think?"
"Aren't you the one with the fucking sources?"
"My sources are good, but not that good," he grunted. "They've never said anything about Douglass, I was trying to get something out of Daphne but she seems to be more clueless than us. Or she's very good at pretending to be."
Draco's expression sobered when he thought of her. "What she needs to do is get her shite together, because I don't bloody owe people any favors."
"Too late for that, mate."
Draco groaned inwardly. Did my mother ask for Douglass's help? He disregarded the thought as soon as it emerged. Narcissa had been too preoccupied with his father, spending hours locked in endless meetings with Stewart that never led anywhere. These days, she only paid him attention when she was questioning him about Daphne.
She didn't have anything to do with it, Draco was certain. But he still felt the prickle of resentment towards her. Maybe he wouldn't be in this situation, if it hadn't been for her insistence. Or maybe he'd stumbled into it all on his own.
Draco had never set foot inside of Azkaban, but one didn't need to be locked in a cell to be imprisoned.
The evening dragged along at a snail's pace. Once they'd left the solace of the balcony, Daphne had become a fixture on his arm. She played up her charm as they strolled around the room, stopping to make light conversation with each and every person in attendance.
They made sure to always remain touching: a hand on an elbow, his palm splayed on the small of her back. She'd tilt her head to kiss him lightly on the cheek, the motion practiced enough to pass for loving.
Daphne was taller than him in heels, and he caught her shrinking herself as much she could without ruining her posture. He wondered if they looked like his parents, in any sort of way.
"Oh, dear, I can't believe she's doing it," gasped Daphne once they had left Millicent, who was less apathetic when she wasn't stuck in court mandated rehab. "Look."
Draco followed Daphne's gaze until he landed on Pansy, who tilted her head back to giggle at something Gawain Robards had said. "Is she coming on to him?"
"Oh, hell no," snickered Daphne. "Well, maybe if it'll help. She asked me to talk to my father about getting help with the probation ordeal. Her father's useless in Azkaban, and her mum doesn't want to talk about it. Haven't you noticed she's been moodier than usual, lately? Those bloody meetings have been getting to her."
"It isn't enjoyable for anyone."
"You've been handling it better than she has," shrugged Daphne. "But I told her the same thing I told you. My father only does consulting work for the Ministry, so I mentioned that Robards was better connected there, and that he was on the guest list for tonight."
She sounded genuine, but people always seemed to know more than they claimed to. "I thought Robards had retired," he said nonchalantly.
"But he's close with Harry Potter, isn't he? And Potter's big over there."
Draco exhaled a mirthless chuckle. "Do you really think Harry bloody Potter would do anything to help Pansy, of all people? Are you bloody daft?"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying he will help directly, I'm just saying it doesn't hurt for her to try to make a connection. Robards can put in a good word, it's not like it's going to do her any harm," muttered Daphne. "Why are you so testy? I thought you'd be happy after you solved your other issue."
The last thing Draco needed was to let his mind drift to Granger, so he said through gritted teeth, "Why do you bloody think, Daph?"
"Don't start again."
If it wasn't for the looks they were getting, Draco would've sneered. "You realize you're setting Pansy up for failure by telling her to beg for favors, don't you? What's Robards's deal, anyway? Since when does he mix with pureblood circles?"
"I don't think he does," said Daphne. "But my father and he do business together."
Draco's eyes drifted back to Pansy, who was now deep in conversation with not only Robards, but Douglass and Rowle. They were all paying avid attention to whatever she said, or at least pretending to. Even under the lowlights of the room, he could recognize the sugary smile softening her features. It made her look younger, almost like a deer caught in headlights. Long-term exposure made him immune to its effects, but it was one of her most potent weapons.
"You still don't know shite about him," he muttered. "Or your father, for that matter."
"You and Theo think I'm daft." She shook her head. "You're reading into things."
Draco arched a brow. "Really, Daph? You sure about that?" he snickered. "Because your daddy just told me he got me out of the rehab program."
"My father has no power to do that," she said incredulously.
"Spare me," he uttered. "Even if he doesn't have the power, he has friends that do."
Daphne shot him a sidelong glance, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. Draco almost pitied her. There was something distressing about having that sort of faith in someone. A part of him remembered a time where he'd look at his father and see nothing but relentless strength. Now it was a faint memory, and he was better for it. "Shouldn't you be happy?"
"Certainly. And grateful as well, right? For the early engagement gift? Should I repay him by putting a ring on your finger?" he snarled. "Daphne, I don't care what you have to do, but you have a couple of months, at most, to figure your shite out. And I'm fucking serious this time."
"Draco-"
He gave her a sharp look. "I'm serious," he pressed. "Granger told me about your little encounter in the restaurant's loo. You think meddling with my life like that is going to make me indebted to you? More likely to extend this sham?"
"I talked to her because I'm your friend and frankly, you were a sorry sight, you ungrateful git."
He smirked. "That's sweet, Daphne. You're one of the rare selfless ones, aren't you?" he said sarcastically. "But if you're actually my friend, you'll take me seriously when I say that I want out of this mess. I'm not going to have this argument with you again."
Maybe it was something about the look in his face, but Daphne didn't protest. Her gaze was firm and cold as she scrutinized him, and he fortified his posture so she couldn't find any weak spots to sink her teeth into. He could deny it, but Draco was his father's son, and as such, he understood that she was her father's daughter, and he was starting to notice that Greengrasses fed on hesitation.
"Of course, dear," she whispered sweetly, brushing another kiss to the side of his face. "My mother's approaching us," she whispered in his ear.
Draco's expression softened, and he nodded subtly before turning around.