Hermione stood outside the St. Mungo's floo waiting impatiently for Draco to arrive with Harry. Ginny had offered to stay with Ron while the doctor's took care of him, and Hermione was thankful for the chance to escape. She didn't want to be responsible for Ron any more than the effort it took to get him there, and lucky for her, there were nurses waiting when they arrived. Apparently, Draco had sent word ahead of them. Speaking of Draco…
When he and Harry emerged from the grand marble fireplace, Hermione sighed in relief.
"Thank Merlin you're here," she said. Harry opened his arms to hug her.
"Malfoy filled me in," Harry said. "Apparently I made a grave mistake in agreeing to send his letter along, and I'm sorry for it."
Hermione stepped back and patted his shoulder. "It's done. And now that the gang's all here, hopefully we can get him some real help."
"Sorry, 'Mione, but I'm taking responsibility for the ole boy! I relieve you of ever again having to put up with Ron's shenanigans," Harry said, mock-serious. He held up his hand. "On my honor. If he shows up at your house unannounced again, which he won't, I'll personally escort him to Azkaban. If he even THINKS about you, he'll have to answer to me."
She couldn't help but smile. "I don't think that will be necessary, Harry. But thank you."
"If you're sure…"
"I'm sure." Hermione's eyes flicked to Draco, who was trying to hide an amused smirk. "You sure took your time getting here!" She put her hands on her hips, but she was more than happy to see him. His cheekbone had begun to bruise and she felt a compulsion to run her fingertips over it, or at the very least to hug him for coming back once again. She hoped that she would always feel her heart leap into her throat when she saw him… she hoped he would keep coming back.
"Don't razz the poor man!" Harry exclaimed, throwing his arm around Draco's shoulders. "He's been in a fist fight with a prize idiot; I think he's earned a rest."
"The way you talk about Weasley…" Draco shook his head with a chuckle.
"I'd say it to his face," Harry said. "He's my best mate, but even I can recognize when he's in need of an intervention. To be honest, I've never been able to talk any sense into him, even when there was a horcrux involved. He has to come to his own senses. Once he's conscious."
"At least he's that," Hermione said. She pointed Harry in the general direction of Ron's room, though he was savvy enough to stop at the Nurse's station and ask for the number himself.
She turned back to the bruised man before her. Draco smiled at her and shoved his hands in his pockets, as if he didn't trust them to be freely hanging from his arms.
"You didn't have to come along with Harry," she said softly.
He nodded his head towards the floo and raised his eyebrow in silent question.
"Where to?" she asked.
"To get my face looked at by a nurse, like I promised," he began, "and then anywhere. Wherever you want to go; I'm going to be awake for a while until the adrenaline wears off and I don't really feel like being alone."
"I don't really want to go to mine after all that," Hermione said.
"We could go to my flat," he suggested.
"Do you have wine at your flat?"
"I think so. Is it wise after our last encounter with alcohol?" Draco winked. Hermione blushed at the thought of how incensed with him she had become when under the influence of firewhiskey.
"It's worth another shot," she said. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Draco's cheeks grew red at the thought of what could happen if they were uninhibited by propriety. His lips might make it closer to hers. That's all they seemed to want to do, since she had held him during his mania. No, much earlier than that. Since she had agreed to go to the sea in the first place. Since he sat on her hospital bed and helped her pull her hair out of her face. Since he had saved her in the restaurant. Since he saw that first glimpse of the woman she had become in the five years since he last laid eyes on her, and ten years since they had last spoke. He felt so compelled to be around her, to ask her things, to listen to her incredible mind and the speed with which it whirred. He came to St. Mungo's with Harry because he had wanted to see her home safely… and because every moment he could seize with her from now on was a glimpse of joy. He wanted to give her that. And it was bloody terrifying that it only took two days at the seaside for him to be lost in her, but he was a goner.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she whispered.
"Like how?"
"Like you're the mouse and I'm the cheese."
Draco chuckled and offered her his arm. "Come on, you."
Hermione took it without hesitation. They traveled up a few floors via the intra-hospital floo network, to the non-emergency clinic. The medi-witch gave him a nasty looking potion, which tasted like licorice, and recommended ice to help the swelling go down. Otherwise, he had no broken bones in his face, and could expect to make a full recovery in a few days time.
Draco was relieved that he wasn't more damaged; Ron had gotten in three good shots, cheap as they were. It had hurt like hell, and he landed a precise but crushing blow to Ron's nose to get the man to stop. Draco had taken but a moment to catch his breath before scooping Ron out of the gutter and dragging him back upstairs. Most of all, he was relieved that Hermione wasn't furious with him for bringing Ron back, or for hitting him. She understood him better than most anyone he had ever met… at least, that's how it felt.
When they stepped out of the fireplace and into Draco's flat, Hermione was clinging to his sleeve. She was clearly exhausted after a non-stop day of traveling, but she still insisted that Draco sit while she poured them each a glass of wine. Draco had directed her towards a bottle of wine that he had been saving for a special occasion. He couldn't think of anything that could top her just wanting to be there, in his flat.
He sat on his deep sofa and rested his head against the back. Hermione put a knee down beside him and passed off his wine glass. She sat on her knees, propping her head up with an arm braced against the back of the couch, body fully facing him. He held up his glass to hers.
"Should we toast?" she asked.
"To what?"
"To being free," she said simply. Draco smiled.
"To being free," he repeated. They clinked their glasses together and each took a sip.
Draco laid his head back once more, and watched her as she considered the way the red liquid swirled around in the tall glass. She looked up at him again and smiled softly. This time, she gave into temptation and allowed her fingers to ghost along his cheekbone. He shivered.
"You already look better," she said. "I think that potion must be some sort of fast-acting remedy."
"But will it cure my ugly mug?" he joked, twisting his face into a silly shape. She giggled.
"You're not ugly."
"Do you need your eyes checked?" Draco asked. "I'm a ferret; that's what they always called me."
She shook her head and cupped his jaw absent-mindedly.
"You've grown into your slender face," she said. "You are quite handsome." She blushed immediately, as if she hadn't meant to say so out loud.
He beamed. "Am I?"
She wrinkled her nose. "You know you are."
"I know nothing of the kind!" He said, covering her hand with his. "I'm happy that you find my face pleasing, aesthetically."
She was bright red, but she wasn't ashamed that he knew how she thought of him. She had only just formed an opinion, but it wasn't one she was likely to go back on. He seemed to improve in her eyes more and more as the minutes wore on.
"I do," she said.
"I find your face to be redemptive," he whispered. "That, or maybe you've hypnotized me."
Hermione shivered involuntarily and blushed. She tried not to let her embarrassment show. And then she immediately felt silly being embarrassed in front of him. He had seen her far more vulnerable.
She looked around his flat in favor of avoiding eye contact. It was relatively sparse, with only a single couch and fireplace in the living room. He didn't have any paintings on the wall, or bookshelves, or pillows. It seemed like he never spent any time in the living room, just passed through on his way were two doors; one was open, and lead to what appeared to be a kitchen, while the other door remained closed.
She shivered again.
"Can I borrow a jumper?" she asked.
"Nothing in your size, but I suppose you could try a few things…" Draco shuffled through his wardrobe in his mind.
"Is your bedroom through there?" she asked, pointing at the closed door. She set down her glass.
"Yes-"
"I'll find something," she said quickly, heading for his room. He skirted around her and blocked the doorway.
"It's messy. I better go retrieve you something myself."
"You haven't been here all weekend, and it doesn't bother me," she said. She ducked beneath his arm and entered. Hermione gasped.
The room wasn't messy. It was luxurious, but not in the extravagant way the manor was outfitted. Its elegance was most obvious in the mahogany four-poster bed, but that's where excesses began and ended. It was just as modest as the rest of his flat, but much more personal. The colors were rich and warm. Simple indulgences for a modest man. The walls were a deep charcoal color, and heirloom velvet curtains in burgundy hung from rods above the windows. The bed itself had a gorgeous quilt with an intricate solar system pattern, and a mountain of pillows. Best of all was a small stove in the corner, which made the quilt stars glow.
Draco blanched as he watched her explore his room with quiet politeness. It wasn't that he had been ashamed for her to see it, but there's something intimate about seeing a person's room. It makes you look at them differently, because you've seen what their idea of sanctuary is. No woman had seen his flat, let alone the room that he had worked so hard to make cozy. There was no telling what Hermione thought. He wouldn't be able to hide anything from her, now.
"Beautiful," she breathed. She looked up at him and he blushed. "More and more interesting!"
"My wardrobe is through there," he said, indicating the skinny door beside the stove.
Hermione stepped into the small closet and switched on the light. Black on black fabric adorned every hanger. Her fingers grazed over a wide row of black shirts. Stuffed in the back corner, she found a set of flannel pyjamas in a pleasant black watch plaid print. Perfect.
"This will do," she said. He didn't answer.
His bedroom was vacant, so she changed out of her weekend clothes and into Draco's pyjamas. Her shirt had a bit of Ron's blood on it near the collar, and carried his eau de alcohol. Hermione knelt in front of the stove and pulled the small furnace door open. She recognized a fire spell when she saw one, but it was a cold flame, which allowed her to stuff the old shirt into the embers. She closed the door again and left the tee shirt to burn. As for her shorts, she folded them and tucked them under her arm.
When Hermione emerged from his room, she had pulled her mane up into a large bun on top of her head. Draco's pyjamas swamped her, but she liked it. And she was warm, and smelled like him. He was sitting on the couch and he turned when she spoke.
"Your bedroom is lovely," she said. She placed her shorts on the ground beside the living room fireplace.
His eyes softened.
"I am rather fond of it myself," he said. "And-" he cleared his throat. "You, I'm fond of you. Additionally."
Hermione put her hands behind her back and just smiled. She didn't have to say it, but her face did. She was fond of him, too.
An imperceptible look crossed his face, but for a moment, and then it was gone… as if it pained him to look at her. He looked down and breathed out slowly.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
"You don't have to think about it," she murmured. "About why we're here, and how it happened-you don't have to expect it to stop abruptly, or over-analyze every word I've ever said to you. I know it's hard not to, considering… but try as I might, the harder I think about it, the less I think those things matter. Oh.." she sighed. "Now that I've said all of it out loud, It sounds silly."
Draco looked up at her. He held out his hand.
The distance between them felt massive and important. He wasn't just reaching out his hand; he was reaching for her. If she took his hand, there was no going back. No second guessing. No walking away in fear. No dragging up the past in a drunken stupor.
He could pull her out of the dark for good. But more than that, she could invest in someone-
"Stop that," he chuckled. He was standing before her smiling. He smoothed the furrow between her brow with his thumb. "I see you over-thinking!"
"I'm Hermione Granger! I can't turn it off!" she threw up her hands and sighed. He stepped closer and cupped her cheeks in his hands.
"Perhaps I wasn't clear; I'm not going anywhere," he said.
"Why not?" she asked, curling her fingers into the front of his shirt.
"I'm staying right here."
"I think you've lost your mind," she said.
"Hermione, listen to me!" he said firmly, lowering his head so he was eye-level with her. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't want to let you go."
She pressed her forehead to his.
"Call me greedy, I don't care," he whispered. "Don't think. Just say yes. We'll see where we end up."
Hermione pulled back so she could look into his eyes. "What would I be agreeing to?"
"Well… Me, I guess."
"I'm agreeing to You?" she smiled.
"Don't laugh!"
"I'm not sorry," she said with a grin. He threw his head back and shook with laughter.
"Was that a yes?" he asked.
She reached up and brushed his bottom lip with her thumb. Hermione inclined her head up to his and pressed her lips to his. Draco cupped the back of her head with one hand and pulled her against him with the other, petrified that if he let go of her, she would come to her senses and stop. He lifted her off her feet entirely. She pulled away first, gently, feet dangling above his as he held her around the waist.
"Was THAT a yes?" he asked.
She nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck. He sighed from relief, tucking his face into her neck.
"What do we do now?" Hermione asked. She stroked his nape.
"I have to prepare for my trial, and catalogue the contents of the Manor, all in the next three months or so-"
"I meant tonight," she grinned. He set her on her feet and kissed her cheek, before releasing her.
"You've made me hungry, Granger," he said. "How do you like pizza?"
"Love it."
"Excellent!" He gave her a lingering peck on the lips and bounded into the kitchen like a teenager. When she didn't immediately follow, he poked his head out of the doorway. "Come on, I'll teach you how to throw a good crust."
She stood there, hands over her mouth in happy disbelief. He winked and beckoned her towards him, holding out his hand. Hermione took it.