If Draco thought Hermione nervous about the dinner with the Weasleys, it paled in comparison to how out of sorts she seemed now. They would join her parents for Hermione's birthday dinner this evening and Hermione would be lucky if she had any nails left with the way she'd gnawed at them all day.
Contrary to her normally over-informative nature, Draco had been given a rather scant picture of what to expect from the Grangers.
"So what ah… exactly have you told them about me?"
Hermione's stare jerked up from the tea she'd been stirring idly for the last ten minutes.
"Oh! Well, my mum… she's known about you from the beginning, really. When we would chat about my week, I'd mention meeting with you in the morning. Apparently I mentioned you a lot," she broke off with a slight flush.
"Then when you sent the package of toothpaste for them at Christmas my mother launched a full-blown inquisition about you," she added with a laugh. "Which of course then Dad got involved. I told them we were seeing each other before we left for France."
Draco stared down at his hands. "Granger I think you know that's not what I was asking."
A few beats of silence and Draco found he still could not look up.
"They knew your name. When I told them… when I told them we were friends. My dad he—he had a lot of questions about you because he remembered your name. You have a rather unique name, especially in the Muggle world, it's not one you forget. He recalled you from letters I used to write home from Hogwarts."
Draco's head snapped up at that revelation.
"You wrote home about me?"
Hermione averted her eyes and Draco felt shame bloom in his chest at the guilty look that stole over her features. She opened her mouth to speak, but Draco beat her to it.
"Don't," he said harshly. "Don't apologize. I'm reaping what I've sown."
He stood abruptly and brought his empty tea cup to set in the sink. He leant on his forearms against the counter and stared out the little kitchen window, while he heard Hermione draw in a careful, measured breath behind him.
"They don't know about you from the war. My letters home after Fourth Year were… heavily edited to say the least. They just remember you as the boy who used to taunt me for my appearance and my—my heritage."
Draco bowed his head over the sink. I am okay with this.
"They don't know about your role in… they don't know anything about your parents either," she rushed out.
"Thank Merlin for small mercies," he said bitterly. Better her parents think him the former bigoted bully than the gullible moron who joined a murderous cult and watched their daughter tortured by his aunt in his own home.
Her small hand rubbed up his back then and he closed his eyes at the comforting touch he didn't deserve. "Please don't withdraw from me. Please Draco."
He turned to look at her and when she worried her bottom lip between her teeth he drew her into a tight embrace. Gods it was her birthday and she had to console his fragile feelings. I am okay with this.
"Any words of advice before I'm eviscerated by your parents?"
That earned him a weak chuckle. "Like I said earlier, I've apparently mentioned you quite a bit, so don't worry, I did talk up your good qualities. Just be yourself and they'll warm to you, I'm sure."
Draco did not share her optimistic view.
As they got ready for dinner at the Grangers', Hermione kept throwing out random bits of information about her parents, Draco's brain scrambling to keep it all straight.
"So they're dentists, which are the equivalent of specialized healers, but in the Muggle world you address them as Doctor..."
"Mum comes from old money, but you're better off sticking with a handshake as a greeting, I think she'd consider the whole kiss on the hand thing a bit sexist…"
"Dad will have done the cooking and Mum will have done dessert, or she'll claim to have anyway, but the cake will probably be from a bakery…"
"I know you'll feel underdressed, but I think it's best if you just wear a button-up and nice trousers. I don't think Dad wears suits except for weddings, funerals, and the occasional dental conference…"
As they apparated to a little wood of a park at the end of the Grangers' neighborhood, Draco noticed the tight lines around Hermione's eyes and mouth, indicating her apprehension. He resolved not to let her down.
He fucked up immediately.
When the door opened into a handsome foyer of the modern suburban home, Draco and Hermione were greeted by a smiling woman. Hermione's grin resembled something close to genuine as she embraced her mother (an older version of her daughter's features, but with straight hair that fell to just above the shoulders) and then they were ushered inside.
"Hello darling! Happy birthday!" her mother enthused and Hermione repeated her greeting to the man just behind her. Hermione's father was shorter than Draco expected, the remnants of the curly hair from the wedding photo on Hermione's mantel reduced to wisps on a balding head. Familial affection concluded, Hermione stepped back and to Draco's surprise (and relief), slipped her hand in his.
"Mum, Dad, this is Draco. Draco, these are my parents, Jean and David."
Cue Draco's immediate faux-pas.
"Pleasure to meet you Mrs. Granger," he intoned politely, offering his hand to Jean first.
Jean instantly frowned and shook Draco's hand. "It's Doctor. Doctor Granger."
Fuck. Me.
"Right, sorry," said Draco, already flustered. "That word's still new to me," he made a brave stab at humor and Hermione, loyal witch, gave a forced laugh.
"Nice to meet you as well, sir," Draco offered his hand to David who looked like he'd rather eat nails than shake his hand, but completed the social nicety all the same.
"Welcome to our home," said Jean, seeming a bit friendlier since Draco explained his minor misstep.
"Thank you for having me."
A brief awkward pause, before Jean gestured for the couple to come in further. Draco followed as Hermione shot him an encouraging smile and tugged him along after parents, feeling like a man walking towards his own execution.
Draco disentangled their hands to surreptitiously remove his wand and restore the wine bottle in his pocket to its original size. She'd made comments in the past that the sight of a wand was a surefire way to set her parents on edge, so Draco took no chances and stowed it back out of sight quickly.
If he weren't so anxious, he would have made a smarmy quip to Hermione that she'd been holding out on him. The Grangers were very clearly well-to-do: an expansive house, tastefully decorated with several large art pieces, Muggle appliances that even Draco could recognize as state-of-the-art, and a glimpse out the large window of the sun-room showed a lavish, verdant lawn and garden.
As the Grangers showed them into the dining room, Draco presented the wine to Jean.
"Oh how thoughtful!" She took the bottle from him with a genuine smile. "I'll let this breathe during the salad course."
Before Draco could stop himself he corrected her. "Oh, no need, you can serve it immediately, it's elf-made."
"Elf-made," Jean repeated blankly and exchanged a look with her husband.
Fuck. Me.
The group settled around the handsome wood dining table, Hermione's parents sitting in the pair of chairs opposite Draco and Hermione instead of at the heads. Draco only just managed to stop himself from pulling out Hermione's chair for her. David poured everyone a glass and raised his in a toast.
"To Hermione. Happy birthday darling, and many happy returns."
The Grangers both took careful sips of their wine, David regarding the bottle thoughtfully. "This was made by elves you said?"
"Yes, sir."
"House-elves? Or are there more than one type?"
"It means house-elves, yes Dad," Hermione broke in.
"Aren't those the poor creatures you're always campaigning for freedom for?"
"Yes," Hermione clipped, perplexing Draco. Usually once someone, anyone, in a five-mile radius mentioned house-elves, she'd recite a well-rehearsed dissertation on how their servitude was akin to slavery. Further, why didn't she talk up her major success of passing Elfish Welfare Laws? While admittedly not freedom, but what Hermione accomplished a few years ago effected such a significant change in wizarding society that Draco knew it rounded out her list of achievements on her Chocolate Frog card.
"Do you have elves?" David asked Draco.
Draco gripped his fork tighter than necessary and bit the inside of his cheek. "I do," he begrudgingly admitted.
Apparently Hermione's father felt that response a sufficient indictment on his character and returned to eating his salad with a frown rather than pester Draco to elaborate.
"How's work going dear?" Hermione's mother stepped in, quickly changing topics.
"Work is fine. Still getting settled into my new role and playing a bit of catch-up after our holiday in France," she shot Draco a small smile.
Draco expected either one or both of her parents to ask a follow-up question about Hermione's promotion or new responsibilities, but nothing came of it.
Dinner could not have been more different from the meal he'd shared with the Weasleys just one week prior. Draco felt he had precious little to contribute to the already stilted conversation with Hermione's parents, whereas last week, Molly and Arthur asked him questions about his career, his opinions on the latest Ministry decrees or recent quidditch matches, and even politely inquired after the wellbeing of his mother.
The other stark difference between the current dinner and last week's affair manifested in Hermione. She finally gave Draco a glimpse of the double life she led: the two versions of Hermione.
The Hermione from last week relaxed once the stress of preparing dinner dissipated, an ease and warmth to her demeanor as she'd chatted amicably with Molly about the antics of the other Weasleys or debated recent goings-on at the Ministry with Arthur. Both Weasleys congratulated her on her centaur legislation from earlier in the summer, and asked about her upcoming work after her recent promotion.
The Hermione next to him sat rigidly, offering rote responses to her parents' perfunctory questions about her career. She seemed almost afraid to mention anything remotely related to magic, as if one strange term or odd word would set her parents off. It dawned on Draco that Hermione must share very little of her work life with them, and he wondered how much they truly understood of the importance of Hermione's role within the government.
Was this the difficult balancing act performed by all Muggleborns? Draco experienced a sickening rush of shame at the way his childhood self had so cruelly mocked Hermione and others like her. She juggled two different lives, straddled two different worlds, and it must take a toll on her, yet she bore it all so nobly. He could only hope that the fund he's started in her name could eventually lessen this burden for future generations of Muggleborn children.
"Oh, Hermione, you'll never guess who we had in for a cleaning the other day. Carol Bishop! She was asking after you and then she told me her son Rodney, you remember him from primary school? Well Rodney just earned his doctorate in psychology!"
"Oh… yes, how lovely," said Hermione flatly.
"Yes, yes, quite an achievement. And her other son is in his second year at Cambridge. On a rowing scholarship, you know."
Hermione made a noncommittal noise in her throat.
"And your dad's cousin Evelyn dropped by the other week. You remember her eldest, Caroline? She's engaged now and it sounds like the wedding will be next May…"
"…Kirsten's youngest is expecting another baby, can you believe it?"
"…Mrs. Eldrich told me Louisa is 7 months along and Moira is entering her final year at law school in America, somewhere in Boston if I recall. She's specializing in trust and estate law and planning her wedding on top of all that…"
"….graduated with honors…"
"…celebrating their first wedding anniversary already, bless them…"
"…her mother thinks she might be expecting, but didn't want to speculate…"
"….engaged…"
"…married…"
"…pregnant…"
Hermione's parents traded anecdotes and tidbits of information about their patients and some of their relatives, Hermione only contributing to the conversation with alternate responses of "How nice," and "How lovely," while stabbing her roasted potatoes with vigor.
When they'd finally exhausted the list of noteworthy accomplishments of tertiary acquaintances and distant relations, Draco was incensed on her behalf. Didn't they know their daughter was one of the most famous people in the wizarding world? That her list of achievements would be documented in history books? That little witches and wizards everywhere wanted to grow up to be like her? That society considered her an expert in magical creature advocacy and a policy-writing virtuoso? That she held the distinction of having the most laws passed in the shortest amount of time in her tenure to date at the Ministry? Oh and all this after she'd helped rid the world of an ego-maniacal dark wizard and dubbed Brightest Witch of Her Age at just 18.
"Hermione, have you told your parents about your newest legislative effort?"
"Oh! Well, it's really not that major…"
"Of course it is!" Draco addressed the Grangers. "She's being far too modest. After her landmark legislation passed, her department head tasked her with adapting several of the measures to strengthen laws against poaching dragons and creating more preserves."
"Did you say dragons?" asked David, dumbstruck. His wife shushed him.
"What did you pass?" inquired Jean.
Hermione fidgeted a bit in her seat. "After a few years of re-writing and appealing, I finally succeeded in getting a law on the books that protects lands inhabited by centaurs from wizard encroachment."
Draco grinned at her in encouragement, but when he looked to her parents, they appeared nonplussed.
"And that was a… problem? For… centaurs?"
Surely now his little swot would take in an impressive breath and launch an impassioned tirade about the mistreatment of centaurs at the hands of magical humans going back centuries?
Instead, Hermione shrugged her shoulders, a pink tinge coloring her cheeks. "Yes, umm, it was a rather sore point between our races," she said meekly.
A rather sore point between our races. He hadn't thought Hermione capable of uttering such a massive undersell. Oh how Draco wanted to push the issue on this. He longed to go on a furious diatribe about how the repercussions of their daughter's work, so instrumental in shaping modern wizarding law, would be felt for decades.
But Hermione would most likely not appreciate him jumping to her defense and talking her up to her own family the entire night. Plus, he'd need to mount his own self-defense, as Jean now commenced an interrogation of him, Hermione's new boyfriend.
Hermione's mother, every bit as sharp and inquisitive as her daughter, gave Draco the creeping sense his brusque answers to general questions were less than satisfactory.
"Hermione tells us you work in the sporting world. Quidditch, yes?"
"Yes, I'm a scout for the Wimbourne Wasps."
"And did you complete additional education for this career?"
"No, further schooling was not required."
I was also a potions addict and thrilled to simply be alive and not in Azkaban after I'd completed my NEWTs remotely, so no, I did not pursue further educational opportunities. Additionally, the Ministry of Magic would have laughed in my face had I dared apply for any position there. I also do not even need to work for a living because I am what commoners call "independently wealthy."
"Never understood Quidditch, if I'm honest," grumbled David. "Too busy of a game if you ask me. Not sure why you magic folk can't have something sensible like football."
Draco grabbed onto the end of his statement in a desperate bid to score points. "I caught my first football match on Hermione's television just last week. It must be nice to have your sport so readily available to view without having to go, physically, to a stadium."
"Yes, well it is the most popular sport in the world," drawled David.
Salazar's prick, this man clearly loathed him. Jean hastily filled the awkward silence with more questions.
"Where did you grow up Draco?"
"Wiltshire."
"That's a beautiful part of the country. Any siblings?"
"No, just me."
"And what do your parents do?"
"Mum!" Hermione hissed, shooting Draco an apologetic glance. He knew then that his compassionate little witch had absolutely forewarned them that the topic of Draco's parents was off limits. Her mother however, pursed her lips at her daughter's outburst. As Jean turned to Draco to apologize, he cleared his throat.
"No, it's all right Hermione," he assured quietly, even though his heart thudded against his ribs.
"My mother is a philanthropist." Draco didn't miss David's eye roll. "And my father passed away several years ago." In prison, left off the sentence. Somehow he didn't think that tragic detail would endear him to the Grangers.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Jean offered sincerely and Draco gave her a brief nod. He felt Hermione's hand grab his beneath the table and squeeze.
"And was he also a philanthropist?" David asked and Hermione glared at her father. "Dad! That's enough."
"I'm just trying to get to know the young man," he answered defensively, not taking his eyes off Draco.
"Yes," Draco ground out. "In a sense."
Hermione tightened her grip on his hand. Jean changed topics again, probably cognizant of the unease in the air. She and Hermione chatted about the state of the Grangers' garden while the men ate in stoic silence until everyone's plates were clear.
"Come on lad," Hermione's father said abruptly to Draco and stood. "You can help with the washing up."
Hermione opened her mouth as if to protest, but Draco cut her off with a swift shake of his head. Even though he desperately wanted to whip out his wand and levitate and clean the dishes by magic in some sort of power play, he doubted it would amuse Hermione.
Dutifully following David into the kitchen, he stopped a few feet away from the sink. Draco hesitated for a moment, then abandoned all caution and rolled up his sleeves. His oddly faded Mark might go unnoticed, or rather, Draco hoped, Hermione's father would be ignorant to its meaning.
David gave Draco a once over then snorted. "Don't bother, I can spot a man who hasn't done a day of manual labor a mile off."
Feeling exposed, Draco leaned back against the counter while the older man turned on the tap and rinsed the dishes.
"You remind me of a few members of my wife's family," he said. "I'm the son of a dock worker and a school teacher and I had to scrape my way through dental school. Jean comes from a rather well-to-do bunch. One of her great uncles was even an Earl or something else ridiculous. I taught her how to wash a dish, if you can believe it."
Draco remained silent, waiting for David to speak plainly and admit to this ruse of clearing-up as a way to corner him away from Hermione.
"And I wasn't born yesterday. I'm well aware that isn't some silly, amateur ink you've got on your arm. I know precisely what your smudged symbol means."
Draco clenched his jaw painfully tight, the stab of shame hitting him square in the chest. He'd never, ever be rid of this Merlin-forsaken brand. I am okay with this. I am okay with this.
"I've read all about your world, thanks to Arthur," David continued. "Arthur Weasley is a good man. A year after Hermione started at that school of yours, I asked him to send me and my wife a few wizarding history books. Hermione went on and on about her best friend Harry. A poor little orphan who was also raised by Muggles, hidden away because he's some sort of savior in the magical world. Suddenly Hermione's entire existence seemed to revolve around this boy, about helping him survive again, prepare for another battle with this dark wizard. So Jean and I armed ourselves with knowledge. We read about your first war, about the Death Eaters and little Harry Potter. The Malfoy name came up quite a bit."
Draco's posture stiffened, knowing what was to come.
"Not that I could forget that bookshop brawl between your father and Arthur. I read all about your infamous family. About what they stand for. How your father was quite the staunch supporter of some genocidal wizard who spouted off hateful rhetoric about people like my daughter. Rhetoric you used to parrot at her. I should show you the letters she'd send us home from school about a snotty little brat with a funny name who liked to belittle her. So you can stand in my kitchen all you like and try to play the doting, innocent boyfriend card, but I know better. I know that failed tattoo means you once believed people like me, my wife, and my daughter were scum."
Gods, but he wanted a potion right now. Something, anything, to take away the searing burn of indignation and guilt raging within him.
"I've not held those ideals for a long time now," Draco clipped.
"That's all well and good for you, and congratulations on achieving enlightenment, but it doesn't mean I want you anywhere near Hermione."
Draco nodded and looked away, eyes trained on the opposite wall. On one level, he understood, could see exactly where a man like David came from in trying to protect a loved one. But Draco told himself after their near-death experience in France that he would fight for Hermione, and he intended to keep that promise, no matter how excruciatingly uncomfortable that may make him.
"I'm going to assume you haven't read a more recent magical history book?"
"I think I've learned all I'll never need to know about the wizarding world," countered David.
"More's the pity," drawled Draco, drawing on his anger from earlier. "Hermione is mentioned in quite a few of them. She's a savior in her own right, a household name, and is colloquially known as 'the Brightest Witch of Her Age' though she loathes the title. She has an Order of Merlin, First Class, the equivalent of a knighthood from your Muggle queen."
David blinked and looked rather impressed. "What's she doing with you then?"
"That is a question you can ask her, I suppose. Hermione is the most forgiving person I've ever met."
David snorted derisively. "Perhaps too forgiving."
The men shared cold glares.
"She seems quite taken with you and happy, I'll give you that. But know this: I won't need magic if I find out you've hurt her in any way."
Draco nodded to show he understood, even if he wanted to smirk in this Muggle man's face at the idle threat. "I hardly think it will come to that."
David finished the rest of the dishes in silence. "We'd better go back."
"I couldn't agree more," Draco said with a hint of a sneer.
I am okay with this. I am okay with this. I am okay with this.
Hermione fell into a somber mood when they returned to her home after dinner with her parents. Draco told himself not to make this about him, told himself not to dredge up how awkward the evening had been, but he just couldn't help himself.
"Are they always like that?" he asked her gruffly as they settled side by side on her couch.
"Like what?" she asked, blinking up at him.
Draco scoffed and tucked Hermione further against his side. "Dismissive of your career, ignorant to your brilliance, bringing up random acquaintances' achievements—"
Hermione cut him off with a sudden frustrated huff and sat up straight. "Rodney Bishop! Of all the stupid boys from school to bring up… Rodney Bishop used to eat paste!"
"There she is. Welcome back, Granger."
"So what if he has a PhD!" She snorted. "Perhaps his dissertation was on the psychology behind mankind's quest to lick glue off his fingers when he wasn't picking his nose… honestly."
She jumped up and began frantically pacing in front of Draco. "And I'm sorry Mum, that I'm not on the same exact rigid life path as all these angelic, perfect children of your contemporaries, I thought it was important for me to have my own career aspirations and goals before choosing to settle down! Merlin, but this was not how I was raised at all! Why she insists on throwing it in my face that all the other women my age are just ever so thrilled to be getting married and starting families … ugh! I had it practically drilled into me as a child that nothing, nothing was more important than education and the pursuit of one's ambitions! Oh but now that such esteemed people as Mrs. Eldrich are in her ear about not being grandparents yet, I suppose my life plan isn't good enough anymore!"
Draco stood and gripped her by the shoulders. "Breathe, darling," he murmured and collected her against her chest.
"You're bloody brilliant, you know," he said sincerely. "They should appreciate you as you are, love."
"I'm reaping what I've sown," came her hollow reply, a mournful echoing of his statement from earlier.
He held her at arm's length and gaped down at her, incredulous at such a thought. "Granger you can't be serious… you think you deserve to be treated like that?"
She gave a half-hearted shrug and Draco watched in horror as tears gathered in her eyes. "I told you before, ever since I brought them back from Australia… things are so strained between us. It's nothing like we used to be… and it's all my fault."
When her lower lip trembled, he pulled her back to him, unsure of how to make this right. Her silence in the face of having her successes overlooked at dinner bothered him still, but now he'd realized why. The futile effort of a child desperately wishing for their parents to bestow praise, the bid for approval lurking just beneath the surface as an adult with the same fervent desire, resonated with him in an uncomfortably familiar way. The way one simply stopped drawing attention to accomplishments big or small, life-changing or mundane, because the coveted reaction never occurred. Easier to retreat than set oneself up for yet another crushing disappointment.
Just another bitter shared experience between him and the woman in his arms.
Draco let her breathe shakily against his chest for a few minutes before tilting her chin up. "If I tell you there may or may not be an enormous chocolate cake with obscenely thick strawberry buttercream icing in your kitchen right now, will you perk up a bit?"
She rewarded him with a small smile and an eye roll. "You had Watson make it for me, didn't you?"
"Well I sure as hell didn't bake it, but I told Crick to tell him 'thank you' and that you would be over the moon and probably refuse to share with me."
Hermione broke away from him and dashed into the kitchen. "It's my birthday Malfoy, you're lucky if I let you lick my fork!"
"As long as you let me lick something else," he retorted and ducked as she threw a tea towel at his head.
Glad that she recovered from her bout of melancholy, Draco conjured her birthday present. He'd gone for a thoughtful rather than lavish gift and he'd be lying if he said he didn't regret it. Still, the way she'd squealed in delight that he'd thought to mat and frame the parchment declaring her centaur legislation law appeased him for the time being.
He'd hold on to the other gift he'd also commissioned for a different occasion. When was the right time to gift one's paramour with a white-gold necklace from which hung a brilliant sapphire the size of a chicken's egg? Although giving her birthstone jewelry on her birthday probably qualified as the best occasion for such a gift, something held Draco back from presenting it to her.
Of course they'd wanted to meet at the Hog's Head. Draco had it all planned out, he'd get there early, slink into a booth in the back, draw as little attention to himself as possible and—
"Oi Malfoy! Over here!"
Ginny fucking Weasley and her loud, crass mouth.
Now that Draco had made nice with the Weasley parents and Potter and his wife, Hermione wanted to bring her other best friend (and ex-boyfriend, Draco thought bitterly) into the mix.
I am okay with this.
Ginny beamed innocently up at him as he approached her table.
"I have to stick with water, but I got you some Ogden's, the rest of this group are shameful lightweights," she said conspiratorially and slid a glass toward him. Draco nodded gratefully at her and tossed back half the drink in one go. Ginny eyed him with sympathy.
"You can relax you know, this isn't like dinner with her parents."
Draco grimaced at her. "Heard about that, did you?"
She opened her mouth to reply, then narrowed her eyes at the windows of the pub.
"Oh no, the three of them. They're arriving together," groaned Ginny.
"And this is bad because…?"
"Ugh, just you wait, he does it every time."
Draco followed her gaze to see Hermione, Potter, and the Weasel King himself chatting amicably as they approached the door and entered all at once. Walking up to the table side by side, Hermione flashed a smile at Draco (one that definitely didn't warm his dead, black heart, no, not at all) but then her grin became rather fixed as she glanced uneasily at Ron.
Ginny pointedly looked away, Potter stared at his shoes, and Hermione's mouth set in a grim line, but Ron Weasley smiled like he just won the Quidditch World Cup, waggled his eyebrows, and gestured between himself, Potter, and Hermione.
"So a pureblood, a half-blood, and a Muggleborn walk into a bar…"
The entire group simultaneously rolled their eyes and groaned while Ron cackled in glee.
"Come on, that is funny! Malfoy's never heard that one, I reckon!"
Draco arched a brow at the chuckling red head, unsure of how to respond.
"Ron, no one, anywhere, ever, has ever laughed at that opening line," asserted Ginny.
"Yeah, sorry mate," Potter slid into his chair next to his wife and planted a kiss on her cheek. "I think you're on your own with that one. It doesn't even have a punch line and I don't even really qualify as a half-blood."
Hermione also greeted Draco with a peck on the cheek and if any of the assembled group were uncomfortable with the affection, they didn't make it known.
"Bugger, it's my turn to treat, isn't? Butterbeers all around?" asked Potter, getting back on his feet.
"A teeny, tiny, Firewhisky for me?" asked Ginny sweetly and Potter frowned at his wife.
"You're pregnant so, no."
"Bugger. Well speaking of, I need the loo."
"I'll join you!" Hermione said and Draco realized too late what the rest of them were up to with this amateur attempt at coincidence.
Draco sighed and turned to Ron, the lone person left at the table with him.
"Did you know this was coming?"
The red head scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I mean, no one in this group is known for subtlety, so I figured this would happen eventually. Merlin, I thought they'd at least let me have a drink first."
They both glared down at the table, Draco warring with an entire spectrum of emotions. Should he speak first? Wait it out in silence for Hermione to come back? Fake a medical emergency?
"My parents liked you," Ron said gruffly, still staring at a stain on the wood. "And they haven't come right out and said it, but I know Harry and Gin more than tolerate you. That's to say nothing for how Hermione feels about you, which I'm sure you uh… know already."
He shifted in his seat and coughed before continuing on. "And you did save her life," Ron's voice picked up in strength. "I owe you for that, at the very least."
"You don't," Draco interrupted harshly. "Owe me, for that… don't…"
Deep breath.
"Sorry for… you know, how I acted before, when we were younger."
Ron shrugged. "You were an absolute arse, honestly. S'pose you've turned out all right, if Hermione and half my family will vouch for you."
Ron turned, forcing Draco to look him in the eye. "So yeah, this is going to be weird for a bit but… yeah… look Malfoy, if you hurt her… well I'm sure you know there's a whole queue of people who'd be out for your precious blood."
Draco nodded and smirked. "Your threat, while laughable, has already been issued by Granger's father."
Ron barked out a laugh. "Met David did you?"
He scanned Draco from head to toe thoughtfully with a wicked grin. "Oh I bet he loathed you."
"Yes, he made that quite plain."
"Did you get the 'I won't need magic to end your existence' speech?"
Draco pursed his lips. "Yes, as well as a thorough dressing-down for all my past sins."
Ron sniggered. "Ah, don't let it bother you, even if you deserve it. Her folks mean well they just don't quite get what Hermione's been through."
The men lapsed into silence and Draco wished everyone would just return to the table now so he could exit this reality of having a conversation with the Weasel. The things I do for you, Granger.
"Your team had a great season," Ron said suddenly. "The Wasps have been a threat for the last several years. That semi-final loss was tough, but the Chasers from Kenmare are brutal…"
Stilted quidditch chat used up the rest of their designated alone time together, Draco finding Ron surprisingly knowledgeable about the league as a whole. Oh sweet Circe's tits, did he just internally admit to sort of not hating this conversation?
I am okay with this.
"Oh look Hermione! They're both still alive!"
Ginny flounced back to the table with Hermione and Harry, all three of them wearing smug grins that made Draco want to hex them.
"Everyone good?" Hermione asked innocently. Draco rolled his eyes but Ron piped up with, "Sorry Hermione, it went so well that Malfoy and I have decided to elope. I'm sure you understand."
The group howled in laughter while Draco scowled.
"All right, what have I missed?" asked a newcomer that Draco surmised was Padma Patil since she slid in next to Ron and immediately stole a sip of his drink.
"Ron was just announcing his impending marriage to Malfoy, so sorry you had to find out this way," Ginny supplied, adopting a mournful tone and patting Padma's hand.
Padma regarded the pair of men for a minute. "Your children's eyes would be amazing, I'm sure, but your complexions are all wrong for each other," she deadpanned.
Ron slung an arm around her and chortled. "Too right, besides I've a thing for dark-haired witches."
Draco sat back and though he acted more of a quiet observer for most of the evening, relishing in the way Hermione's hand drew circles on his thigh beneath the table as she interacted with everyone, he couldn't help but feel included.
If Hermione envisioned this for their future as a couple spending time with her friends, well then Draco found he didn't mind so much.
A/N: The next chapter will be up on 10/3 and though I loathe picking favorites, the next chapter might be one of mine within this story. Thank you all for your lovely comments/reviews/kudos, they bring me a ton of joy! Also, interacting on tumblr is a good time, so drop a question, an ask, or say hi if you're so inclined: heyjude19-writing.
