Trigger Warning: body talk, references to size but no numbers


Apricity – Chapter Twenty-Three

Fan-fucking-tastic.

They were back to avoiding each other again.

On Wednesday, Hermione didn't speak to him. She didn't look at him. She didn't come to his room at night, and she didn't appear in his dreams. She was already in the Great Hall by mealtimes, and she didn't come back to the common room until after supper. When Draco did see her, she was with someone.

Theo.

It brassed him off. More than words could explain, it brassed him off. At this point, Theo had been told to stay away from her. It would be one thing if they were studying together, but to spend hours and all three meals together? How was Draco supposed to discern if she was following the new rules?

For all he knew, Theo could be hiding it for her.

Who was Theo to her, anyway? Had Draco's earlier suspicions about them hooking up or having some sort of relationship been true? Was she spending time with Theo because she fancied him, and her regret was based in infidelity?

Draco knew he was insecure. He knew for a fact that he was insecure, because the moment she'd panicked and shown her regret, he hadn't been surprised. In fact, he'd been more surprised that she wanted to try anything with him at all in the first place.

It hurt.

At breakfast on Thursday the 22nd, Draco—as well as the entirety of the thirty or so remaining students at Hogwarts—were astonished to see Hermione marching into the Great Hall to plop down at the Slytherin table beside Theo. The Weaselbee had left the previous day with another group of students leaving for Christmas, and Draco had seen her at the Gryffindor table with Theo during all three meals. But now, here she was, at Slytherin.

She made eye contact with Draco for a moment, and then plated herself up some eggs, ham, and fruit. Theo fell into conversation with her easily, obviously unsurprised to see her there.

Bitterness tasted like ash in Draco's mouth.

So yesterday, while she was avoiding him and spending every waking moment hanging out with Theo, she'd told him she would be sitting at the Slytherin table. He doubted she'd told Theo why, given that her issues were not exactly something he figured she'd spoken of aloud before.

But the fact that she'd told Theo she would sit with him irked Draco.

Draco received two owls. One of his regularly scheduled letters from his father, which he tucked into his pocket so he could put it in the wooden chest, and one on parchment he didn't recognize. He felt concerned at first that it might be from Ryo with some horrible failure of the interview, but when he opened it and saw Blaise's familiar handwriting, relief flooded him.

Draco,

I know you leave to go to Wales on the 23rd, was it? That's tomorrow? Did you wanna come to London today for some Christmas shopping, dinner, and dancing? I'm meeting Pansy while my uncle and aunt handle some business in the city. We got reservations for Italian, if you're interested. We're staying at a Muggle hotel—it's called The Masengon. I think you stayed there once with your parents. Can you meet us there at two?

Best,

Blaise

P.S. You can bring Granger, can't you? I think Pansy wants to apologize for real this time.

Draco's eyebrows rose and he glanced down the table. Would she want to go all the way to London with him?

Theo looked up from his porridge and looked in Draco's direction. He was laughing at something that Hermione was also laughing at, and when his eyes met Draco's, his smile faded a fraction. Hermione glanced at him, and then she looked at Draco, too.

Draco wondered if they felt the same tension he did.

He contemplated it for a while but found that there was absolutely no good reason why he shouldn't invite Hermione to go. It was Winter holiday, and if she were doing anything with Theo today, she could reschedule it because Draco said so.

Blaise,

We'll be there. I remember the hotel so we'll meet you in the lobby at two.

D

When Theo and Hermione left, they walked directly in front of him, across the table. With confidence that Draco had always possessed when it came to Quidditch and competitive sport, he called Hermione's name. There weren't many people at the table but seeing as Hermione Granger sitting at Slytherin was shocking no matter how many were present, several pairs of eyes watched as she and Theo stopped to look over their shoulders.

"Come to London with me today," Draco drawled, keeping his eyes on Hermione's. "Just for an outing."

"Right now?" She exchanged glances with Theo, and then looked at the doors to the Great Hall. "Like, right now now?"

"Yeah, we could do that," Theo said, and the smile he gave her made Draco want to cringe. "We could—"

"Not an open invitation," Draco interjected, giving Theo an openly cold look. He brushed toast crumbs off of his hands and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

A Slytherin Fourth Year nearby coughed and tucked into her bangers and mash.

Theo narrowed his eyes at Draco. "Ah. I see."

Hermione looked from one boy to the other, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. "Right, well . . . London? I suppose I could go. I'm not leaving for holiday anyway."

Theo placed a hand on her elbow. "Are you gonna be all right?"

Was she going to be all right?!

What the actual fuck?

Draco felt his anger flaring in his chest like an impending volcanic eruption.

"She'll be fine," he snapped. "She'll be with me."

Theo glared at him, and it almost took Draco aback. He'd never seen Theo give him such a vehement look before.

"I'll be fine," Hermione said, and Draco watched her put her hand on his shoulder. He wanted to scream. "Draco, that sounds lovely. I'll meet you in the common room?"

"Yeah, that . . ." He trailed off when he saw her glance at the Great Hall doors again. "Actually no, that's okay. Where are you headed? I'll walk you so we don't lose track of each other."

"Are we taking the Hogwarts Express?"

"Yes, I was thinking we could since the plans we have are for the afternoon, and I wouldn't want us to miss it."

"We won't miss it. I just have to run to—" She looked at Theo again, who was glowering at Draco with his arms crossed. "I mean, I was gonna—"

"It's okay, really," Draco said, cutting her off. "I'll come with you. I think the morning train leaves at nine, and we've only got twenty minutes."

He knew exactly why she wanted to meet him later. She had every intention of going straight to the loo, and he knew it. Question was, did Theo know that's what she was doing?

Or was she just trying to get a few extra moments alone with him?

Theo scowled. "Draco, I can walk her—"

"That'll be all, Theo," Draco said, giving him a once-over. "Hermione's coming with me."

"I haven't agreed to anything," Hermione retorted.

Theo stepped towards her. "If she hasn't agreed to anything, then—"

"I don't know about you, but I don't think a double date consists of five people. Typically," Draco said, placing his hands flat on the table and pushing himself to his feet, "they consist of four people. I'm afraid there's no room, but thank you for offering."

Hermione appeared shocked, her eyes wide and jaw hanging open. Draco hadn't meant to do it—to say it like that—but he couldn't think of any other reason to keep Theo out of their business, and to keep him from insisting on going to London, too.

"A double date?" Theo asked with a scoff.

"Yes. With Blaise and Pansy. She wants to make true amends, and they've made reservations."

"Reservations?" Hermione and Theo said at the same time.

"For Italian." Draco's lips curved up into a smirk and he gave Theo a lazy look. "So I'm afraid you simply can't come. Hermione—I'll meet you at the door in a few moments."

Without casting another look in their direction, he walked towards the door.


Draco stepped down off the train.

He turned and held out his hand to Hermione, who looked at him with surprise. She placed her hand in his and he helped her down onto Platform 9 ¾.

She'd gone back to the common room with him and while he went to stuff his father's latest letter into the wooden chest, she'd changed clothes and grabbed a crossbody bag. Now, she wore an all black-and-red plaid dress with long sleeves and a short hem, thick black tights, and a pair of boots. Draco himself wore a pair of dark denims, a long-sleeved black shirt, a black belt, and his own boots. They both wore their coats.

They hadn't spoken the entire train ride, even though Draco thought it made the awkwardness ten times worse than it had to be. They were the only people on the entire train, and they'd taken a compartment together towards the front of the first car. Draco had kept himself occupied staring out the window and thinking, while Hermione had curled up on the seat and fallen asleep the entire four hour trip.

He'd be lying if he didn't steal the occasional glance at her while she slumbered.

"Come on," Draco said, his fingers still curled around hers. "We've got to go to their hotel and meet them."

"Okay," she said in a small voice, glancing around the empty platform. Then, she frowned. "Are you sure Pansy wants me here? I'm not entirely sure it's the best idea."

"Why?" Draco couldn't help but speak through a smirk. "You gonna launch yourself at her again?"

"No," she said. "That was . . . Out of character for me. I have a short temper these days."

"Blaise told me Pansy wants to apologize again," he replied with a shrug of his shoulder. "I figure she's going to behave."

"Fine, then so will I."

"Good."

Hermione started to pull her hand out of his.

For some reason, he felt a spike of panic in his spirit. It wasn't like it mattered—Blaise and Pansy knew Hermione was coming. But something about the mental image of the two of them walking up to his friends without holding hands bothered him. It wasn't like they were dating, or like this really was a date. He just wanted to touch her.

He tightened his hold on her hand. Because she was so much shorter than him, she had to bend her arm to be able to accommodate him. She tipped her head back to look up at him, her curly hair brushing his upper arm.

Was she going to tell him to let go?

"Ready?" he said.

After a pause, she squeezed his fingers and held tight. "Yeah, all right. Let's go."

Draco Apparated to the hotel, which he remembered was near the clock tower. When they appeared in the alley beside it, Hermione leaned against his side a bit, holding his hand with both of hers. He glanced down and saw that she was gazing up at the bricks with an apprehensive expression on her face.

No, she wouldn't want to be in an alley, would she?

Draco gave her hand a gentle tug, and he pulled her in the direction of the busy sidewalk. They went into the building, which looked much more extravagant from the front, and entered an expensive lobby with white marble floors and a fountain. Draco spotted Blaise and Pansy walking towards them, having just come from the elevator. Blaise raised his hand in greeting, and Pansy's lips twitched upward.

Their eyes fell to where Hermione was clutching Draco's hand. Draco held his breath, wondering if his friends would react poorly.

They came to a stop in front of them.

"Happy holidays, you two," Blaise said with a brilliant grin. He wore a black pea coat much like Draco's and trousers. His kinky curls had been freshly shorn, the edges of his hairline shaped just-so. "How was the trip over?"

"Oh, it was fine," Draco said. Without letting go of her, he nudged Hermione with his elbow. "This little one slept the whole way, though."

He saw her cheeks tinge darker as she returned Blaise's smile.

"Aw, don't give her any pet names," Pansy said, but she was smiling. She was clad in a white turtleneck, a pleated miniskirt, tights, and heeled boots. Her lips were painted a vibrant red. "You're making her blush."

Draco let out a nervous laugh, his gaze bouncing from one girl to the other to Blaise. It was clear that both boys were worried about what would happen next. If they got into another kneazle fight in the lobby of an expensive hotel like this one, it wouldn't look good.

Finally, Hermione spoke.

"Yes, it went fast, I guess you could say. Draco told me you guys had reservations tonight?"

Blaise and Pansy nodded, and Pansy said, "We made dinner reservations at our favorite Italian spot. It's Muggle, but it's one of those places only celebrities frequent. All it takes is a little—" She raised one hand and wriggled her fingers with a playful lift of her eyebrows. "—zhoosh of Legilimency, and they let us in every time."

"Although," Blaise said, "one time, we did pretend we were celebrities. We came up with this elaborate backstory and placed it into the minds of everyone there. It was ridiculous—someone called Muggle photographers. What are they called? The pollarozzo?"

"Paparazzi?" Hermione's brows pulled together.

"Yeah, those guys with the cameras." Pansy giggled and swept a hand through her long black hair. "They took so many photos of us, assuming that we must be celebrities from another country. That was—this Summer, wasn't it, Blaise?"

"August, I think." Blaise leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. "Now every time we go, they think we're those same celebrities."

"You don't obliviate them after?" Hermione asked.

"Why would we?" Blaise said with a glint of mischief in his eyes. "It gets us a reservation every time, without fail. We just tell them our names and they clear our favorite booth."

Pansy let out a dreamy sigh and linked her arm through Blaise's. "It's right by a window overlooking the river. Since it's on the upper floor, you can see London for miles and at night—with the lights—it's just delightful."

"That sounds really beautiful, actually," Hermione said.

"I'm surprised you aren't going to complain about us using spells on Muggles like that." Pansy's painted lips curled up into a small smile. Her gaze moved all over Hermione's face, scrutinizing her. "Doesn't it go against your moral Gryffindor compass?"

Draco felt the back of his neck prickle. He knew Pansy well—this was her way of testing the waters with Hermione, to see if she was "cool" or not.

He glanced down at Hermione. She was still smiling.

"My moral compass went defunct a long time ago," she said. "We've all done wicked things with mind magic before."

There was a small pause before Pansy grinned.

"I think we'll get along just fine."

Like that, the tension that had been growing shattered and everyone relaxed. Draco felt it leaving his body in droves, felt Hermione leaning more fully against him. Blaise wrapped his arm around Pansy and slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat.

"So, we thought we'd get started with some Christmas shopping," he said. "We're visiting with my aunt and uncle this Christmas and they're a bit non-traditional. They just gave us some galleons to exchange at Diagon, so we did, and now we're itching to spend them. And you, Granger, are probably the one who know this city better than we do, yeah?"

"I mean, I grew up in a suburb of London," Hermione replied. She tapped her chin with her free hand and looked out the floor-to-ceiling window on the front of the hotel. "There's a mall I know of that we can go to. We can Apparate there outside."


"Well, they seem to be getting along."

Draco looked up from a table full of women's shirts to see Blaise standing next to him. Then, he looked across the crowded store. Hermione and Pansy were near the wall, chatting amiably and giggling while they sifted through a rack of dresses.

"I'll never understand witches," Draco muttered. "I was so sure they were going to tear each other's eyelashes out."

"I was more concerned when Pansy did a complete 180 and told me to invite her!" Blaise said, keeping his voice low so the girls wouldn't hear them.

"Wow, really?" Draco was stunned. "That's not how she seemed to feel the day she went at Hermione's throat. Fuck."

"Pansy's a bitch, but she's got a heart," Blaise said with a laugh. "I think she truly did feel bad, when she thought about it. No one wants their drink laced with anything, and fey tea is known to be dangerous. I mean, she regretted it right after the two of you passed out. Did you ever figure that out, by the way?"

"Figure what out?" Draco searched Blaise's eyes. It was strange standing next to someone who was as tall as him, Draco having gotten so used to looking down at everyone.

"Did you ever figure out why you both passed out at the same time?"

Oh, that was right. Because of the star bond, they'd been so connected that they both felt the effects of the tea. Which in many ways proved that they were bonded.

Draco didn't think it was intelligent to keep pretending it was a possibility. All the signs pointed to yes.

They were bonded.

"Yeah," Draco said, "but I don't want to talk about it. It's good that Pansy's come 'round, though."

"Hm." Blaise eyed him, but didn't press the issue. "I'm glad they're getting along, in any case. It would have made for an awkward dinner if they fought over pasta and wine."

Draco nodded, absentminded as he watched the girls chase after each other, excited as they held dresses up to their bodies. The last time he'd seen Hermione laugh that much was in the dream world, when they were dashing across the sand towards the sea.

At one point, Pansy held a dress up to herself, then passed it over to Hermione, who shook her head and said something. Pansy replied, gave her an exasperated look, and then grabbed Hermione's left wrist. Hermione stumbled forward as Pansy shoved the sleeve of the shorter witch's jumper up and wrapped her fingers around her forearm. She said a few words to her, grinned, and passed her the dress once again.

With a grimace, Hermione accepted it. Pansy turned back to the dress wall and resumed hunting. But Hermione lingered in place for a moment, staring down at her sleeve.

Draco swallowed.

Pansy had been pointing out her size.

But knowing Pansy as well as he did, he could tell her smile was genuine. She really was having a good time with Hermione, and she probably hadn't even realized that she'd triggered her. He knew there was no way she could know exactly what her shenanigans had wrought upon Hermione, so it made sense that she would forgive her easily.

"Blaise, darling!" Pansy cried across the store. She'd moved to the shoe section. "You've got to come help me pick!"

Blaise went to where Pansy had called him to watch her try on a pair of heels.

They'd been shopping for a couple of hours now, and this was the final store. Blaise's pockets were laden with his and Pansy's purchases, shrunk down to fit until they could go back to the hotel before dinner. Hermione had purchased a couple of small things in other shops with Muggle money she had on her person, but Draco could see that she was a lot more cautious with her money than the Slytherins were. Draco himself hadn't gotten anything, knowing that he only had a certain amount of money to live off of while he was doing his internship.

If he got the internship, that is.

He knew how lucky he was to have his own Gringotts account not be empty. The war during Seventh Year had kept him from spending the money his parents gave him monthly on anything other than tattoos, which were inexpensive compared to the things he usually spent his galleons on when he was younger. So he had an entire years' worth of allowance that he'd been stretching out.

Of course, he could just answer his father's letters. Then he could get access to the Malfoy family accounts and funds wouldn't be an issue.

But his pride wouldn't allow it.

"Draco?"

Draco turned away from a wall of men's denims and looked down to see Hermione. She stood there with a few hangers hooked over the edge of her hand.

"I'm gonna go try these on," she said. "I want to get something nice to wear tonight if the restaurant thinks Pansy and Blaise are bloody celebrities."

"Okay," he murmured, reaching to brush a loose feather from her hair. There were quite a few things in the store that had feathers, so he wasn't surprised she'd attracted one.

Her eyes followed the movement of his hand, but she said nothing about the outward display.

"I didn't want you to think I just disappeared, or anything." She looked over in the corner of the store where an open doorway led to a hallway of fancy doors. "The dressing rooms are over there."

"All right," he said, a bit perplexed. "Did you want me to—"

"Could you just sort-of . . . Hover nearby?" She lowered her voice and averted her eyes. "It's mortifying, but I haven't exactly tried anything on in months. I don't know if this is even going to be successful. I ate breakfast today and didn't get to—I don't know if I got the right size—they might be too small, and—"

"Hey," he said gently, placing his hand on her elbow and bending a bit to look her in the eyes. "Don't worry. Just use your wand to transfigure it all to fit. Don't worry about how anything fits—just focus on things like the colors."

She took a deep breath. "Okay. Yes. I can do that."

They headed over to the fitting rooms, and Draco sifted through a rack of men's jumpers and knits while she disappeared through a door. He passed through all of the colors and styles, wondering how Hermione was doing. He had never been the type to show how anxious he was, but when he thought about his mother and how she must have struggled with her robes, it made him worry about what thoughts were going through her head.

Was she okay?

Time passed.

And passed.

And passed.

And passed.

Blaise and Pansy wove their way through the crowd of shoppers to come to where Draco was leaning against a shelf. He was holding a shoe box and Pansy's arms were full of clothes.

"Where's Hermione?" Pansy asked, glancing into the hallway. "I'm about ready to go."

"She's trying on dresses," Draco said, gesturing to the hallway. "It's been nearly twenty minutes—I'm about to go in after her."

"So go in there," Pansy purred, smirking.

Blaise snorted. "You can't be serious. What do you think they're gonna do? Snog?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Pansy, we're not—"

"Don't play me for a fool, Draco Malfoy," Pansy said in an exaggerated accent, wrinkling her nose up at him. "Anyone with a pair of eyes can see you're positively obsessed. She holds your hand like she's afraid to fall, and you watch her like she's going to disappear if you look away. It's sickening and it's adorable and I love it. I'm sure at dinner, you'll be eye-fucking one another all evening."

"Good thing we're going dancing afterward," Blaise said.

"Come off it, Pansy," Draco growled. After what had happened with them in the chair in the common room, he doubted anything of the sort would be occurring. But the fact that Pansy—someone on the outside—could see that something was there between them? It felt validating.

Hermione couldn't possibly have a connection like this with Theo.

"So we'll meet you, then?" Pansy said. "I really want to get back to the hotel so Hermione and I can get ready."

"Wait a second," Draco said, sighing. "She only had a few things. Let me check on her, and then come back out and tell you."

Leaving them behind, Draco entered the long hallway.

"Hermione?" he said, raising his voice. "Hermione, are you all right?"

Silence.

Concern pulled his brows together on his forehead. If she was silent, she was either dead or something was wrong. Since he was still alive, she wasn't dead.

That meant something was wrong.

"I'm just checking on you," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You wanna let me know which one you're in?"

Silence.

"Come on, Granger. Pansy and Blaise are getting antsy because we've only got an hour-and-half until dinner, and—"

"Third one. On the left."

Her voice was meek—merely a murmur—but it made his panic levels slam his heart up into his throat. She didn't sound okay at all. His head whipped to the left just as he heard a lock click. He turned the golden handle and pushed it open.

Hermione stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself in a coral satin dress. She looked phenomenal, but the look on her face was enough for Draco to see that she didn't like it.

"What's the matter?" he said softly.

"I hate my body," she breathed, her eyes wild. Her hands were shaking as she smoothed them down the front of her abdomen over and over and over. "I don't like my curves. I wish they were gone. It doesn't look right."

"What do you mean?" He kept his tone calm as he pushed the door shut behind him. The room was small and he was so tall that it felt cramped.

"My legs are too short and my torso is so long—it doesn't look right. I don't look—look normal. My hips are nonexistent and my breasts are too big. It makes me look like a woman."

"You are a woman."

"I don't want to look like one!" she shrieked, and then she buried her face in her hands. Her body trembled as she took shallow, manic breaths. "I don't want to look like this. You don't understand. You don't understand."

Draco frowned. She sounded on the verge of hyperventilation. "I do understand—but you don't look wrong or abnormal. You look—"

"I can't wear this dress," she whined, and she reached behind herself to frantically pull at the zipper. It seemed to either be stuck, or resistant to coming down. With a panicked whimper, she stamped her feet. "Get it off me. Get it off me!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" he said, and he brushed her hands out of the way. "Calm down, all right? I've got it."

She pouted, looking at herself in the mirror with a sour, revolted expression as he yanked the zipper down and the two sides of the dress came apart. She held it to the front of herself and started to turn away, but Draco was faster than her. He molded his frontside to her back, rounded his spine, and rested his head on her shoulder. She stiffened as he slid his arms so tight around her waist that they doubled around to her back. Their eyes met in the glass.

"Stop looking at yourself like you hate what you see," he said in a soft voice, his eyebrows rising up. "Even if you do, pretend that you don't."

"And what am I supposed to do?" she mumbled, placing her free hand on his forearm. "Look at myself through someone else's eyes?"

"Exactly."

"Whose? The Dark Lord's?"

Draco couldn't help it. He laughed. She had a tendency to do that—make him laugh as though they didn't have years of past and trauma between them. As though they had always liked one another.

"No, you little brat," he said through a grin before he buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled the scent of her perfume. Gods, he wished she didn't feel so frail in his arms. When he lifted his head again, he said, "Look at yourself through mine."

The look on her face was unreadable. Shy or concerned or scared, he was unable to discern.

"If I did that," she whispered, "what would I see?"

Draco thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to put into words what he saw when he looked at her. Long ago, he would have had nothing good to say. Now, he had so much floating around his head that he didn't know how to tell her. He didn't know how to sift between what was real and what was just a dream.

What if it was all just the bond?

But as he stood there, studying her reflection and feeling her body leaning back against his as though he were her pillar, he knew exactly what she wanted to hear.

"You'd see a rose," he said. "The kind that blooms in the Winter. My father planted an entire garden of them for my mother, and every Winter, they'd bloom right outside the window of her tea room so she could have something pretty to look at when everything was grey." His heart rate sped up, but he forced his voice to stay steady. "Anything the world throws at you, you weather it. You can handle anything, and when I look at you, I see the way you keep going, even when it seems like you might fall apart. It doesn't matter what your body does or doesn't look like, okay? You bloom when everything is grey."

For a moment, her lips started to curl upward. She was going to smile.

Then, as fast as the light had crossed her face, it turned to shadows and she crumbled. Her facial expression fell to the depths and she dissolved into tears. He felt her body shaking in the circle of his embrace, much like it had in the dream when he'd made it to the hotel room and caught her as she fell.

He didn't know what to do.

So he turned her around and kissed her.

Her held her face between his hands, tipped her head back, and pressed kisses all over her face that he hoped could assuage whatever pain she felt. He knew that she hadn't told him everything was okay after what happened in the common room, but she was so upset and he had no idea how else to comfort her.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, and then he kissed her lips again. "Do you hear me?" Another kiss. "Stop crying." Another. "Stop." Another. "I hate it when you cry."

Draco's lips pulled her into a deep, torrential flood of a kiss that left her no room to weep. It was either cry or be drowned. His tongue slipped past the seam of her mouth, parting it so he could spell out his feelings to her better than his words could.

Kissing her was like coming home.

Just like that, the kiss became a snog, and then her back was pressed up against the mirror. The dress had fallen to her ankles, and Draco's hands were smoothing down her bare back. Her sobs became whimpers as she wrapped her arms around his neck so she could pull him down to her level and kiss him back.

He pulled back to catch his breath, his forehead resting against hers and their eyes dancing across one another's faces.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

"Mhm," he hummed, and then he kissed her one more time. She returned the kiss, her hands cupping his jaw and sliding down his neck to flutter across his tattoos like she always seemed to like to do. He shuddered from the tickle of her fingertips, feeling his stomach coiling into a familiar tight shape.

Didn't they have somewhere they needed to be?

With great reluctance, he broke their kiss and stood up straight. He looked at the clothes hanging on the hooks on the wall. "Which one did you like the best?"

Sniffling, she pointed to a pastel lavender dress with thin straps and a black stripe down each side. "That one."

"In the Winter?"

"Well, with my tights and—and we're gonna be dancing . . ."

"Hm. Let me see it."

He looked up at the ceiling as she changed out of the dress that had caused her such distress, and then accepted the lavender dress from him. As much as he wanted to look at her just to see whatever it was that she saw that he didn't, he knew it would only cause her more anxiety.

"Okay, you can look," she said.

Draco lowered his eyes to her body, where they swept the length of her form. The dress was the type that contoured to her body, with a short hem that stopped just under her rear. The black stripes that ran vertical down either side of the front were mirrored on the back, and there was a thin black belt wrapped around her waist. Though the majority of the dress was rich lavender in color, the neckline and straps were made of the same thin black fabric as the stripes.

She looked fucking good.

"You're wearing it," he said.

She blinked. "I am? Are you sure?"

"Yep," he said, and then his hands latched to her waist like magnets. "You're fucking wearing it."

He kissed her throat, nuzzling through her curls and tickling her. She laughed and her fingers slid into his hair. His hands traveled up and down her sides, feeling the soft dress and the dips of her curves, and he felt heat spreading across his skin like wildfire. The kisses he was dropping onto her throat turned heated and insistent.

"Draco," she panted. "This is—it's a dressing room."

"Do you want me to stop?" he challenged, tracing her pulse with the tip of his tongue.

She made a strangled noise and shivered, her fingernails scraping his scalp. Giving him no reply, she tilted her head to the side, pressing her skin closer to his mouth. He growled and scraped his teeth along her flesh, his fingers digging into her back on their way down to her rear end.

Draco lifted his gaze to the mirror, seeing her curls hanging to the small of her back, and his tattooed hands gripping handfuls of her fleshy bottom over the top of the lavender dress. He saw her on tip-toe, trying to remain as close to him as possible.

In this moment, she was his.

"Are you guys coming?"

Pansy.

Right outside the door.

"Shite," Draco breathed. He called, "We're coming!"

They drew away from one another, sharing small, secretive smiles. Hermione then gestured to him to turn, which he did, and she put her clothing back on with frantic speed. They both laughed as they moved, Hermione trying to roll her tights up onto her hips as Draco laced her combat boots for her.

"Hurry up," Pansy said in mock-annoyance. "Every second you two waste snogging is one second less for me to do your hair and make-up, Hermione!"

"I know, I know!" Hermione called, dragging her jumper over the top of her dress and scrambling to fix her hair.

Draco tried not to feel too excited about the fact that she didn't try to convince Pansy they hadn't been snogging. It didn't mean anything. She might think all of it was due to the bond.

It might not mean as much to her as it did to him.

They exited the dressing room, Draco with the lavender dress on the hanger and Hermione with the clothes she'd decided not to get. She smiled at Pansy, and then went to put the clothes back.

Pansy's gaze rose to his hair, which he knew was a mussed-up disaster, and she smirked.

"Say nothing, and I won't kill you," Draco warned.

"I didn't say a bloody word."

They went back out to the main floor, where Blaise was giving him pointed looks, too, and then Hermione was dashing back over. She wasn't empty-handed, though.

"Pansy," she said in a grave tone, holding up a pair of platform heels as though they were one of the Deathly Hallows. They were lavender with black straps and about three-and-a-half inches high. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. "These. Shoes."

Pansy—who had given her selections to Blaise to hold—slapped a hand over her mouth.

"You have to get them," she said, and then she slapped a hand over her mouth for a second again. "I mean—you have to."

"I must."

"You simply must."

And so it was decided.

They headed to the register, where a woman stood behind one of the registers with curly blonde hair and a smile. Pansy and Blaise moved ahead first, greeting her and wishing her a happy Christmas. As the clerk began to take the hangers and drop them into a bin below the counter, Pansy started rifling through her purse.

"You can use galleons," the woman said, and she gave each of them a pointed look.

The four teenagers exchanged glances, and then it clicked. The woman was a witch. Likely a Half-blood or a Muggle-born. She was doing them a favor.

"Oh!" Pansy's face lit up. "Excellent. Then there's three more things I wanted to go grab!"

As she dashed off with Blaise in her wake, Hermione took her place so she could be rung up first. She placed the heeled platforms and the dress on the counter, beaming up at the taller witch.

"You both look so familiar," the witch behind the counter said as she typed the numbers from the dress price tag into the register. "Why do I recognize you?"

Hermione let out a nervous titter and looked up at Draco, who placed one hand on the counter and leaned on it. They looked into each other's eyes, silently discussing what to say. After all, in the wizarding world, they were the equivalent of the heroine and the villain, and here they were, shopping together like the war hadn't just happened eight months ago.

"Did you go to school with us?" Hermione said, mindful of the other patrons in the store. It wouldn't do to expose the wizarding world two days before Christmas.

"No, I studied abroad," she said.

"Beauxbatons?"

"Ilvermorny. I just graduated in June and came back to Britain in July." The woman grinned, and then she glanced up at Draco. "Aren't you Draco Malfoy?"

Draco's heart skipped a beat.

"I don't know if I recognize you," she said, pointing to Hermione. Then, she gave Draco an almost mischievous smile as she folded Hermione's dress and laid it onto a sparkly tissue wrap. "But you, I know. Your family is somewhat of a topic at Ilvermorny."

"Really?" Draco said, astonished. "In a good or bad way?"

"Eh, not so good. The war was highly discussed in America, and your father was in the papers at least once a week. He used to do business with Pureblood families in New York, and I think that's why it was so shocking when he made his stance known. Supporting that Voldemort fellow, and all."

Draco tried not to let darkness from his heart bleed into his eyes. He knew his father was known, but he hadn't thought that he would be infamous in other countries. It was difficult to think about the world outside of the British wizarding world when it felt like it was the entire universe for him.

His father shamed him even thousands of miles across the sea.

And what does this mean for my internship? If he was known in America, then it stands to reason he might be known in Japan. Father did business all over the world.

If Lucius stole his last chance at a future away from him, he would burn every single letter in that wooden chest.

"So, you're his girlfriend, then?" the witch asked as she rang up the shoes.

Beside him, he felt Hermione jolting out of some sort of reverie.

"Me? Oh, I'm—"

The witch gasped. "Wait. I know who you are! You're Hermione Granger. You're the Witch Who Won the War—from The Prophet!"

Hermione gave her a meek smile, and took a small step towards Draco's side. "I suppose."

The witch gave them each a strange look in turn and then put one hand on her hip.

"So . . . If you're Draco Malfoy . . . And you're Hermione Granger . . . Then why are you two out shopping together?"

Draco had absolutely no clue how to answer that.

"I think I'd like to pay now," Hermione said, threading strength into her tone. "What's the total?"

"It'll be 349 pounds, love," the witch said, looking Hermione up and down and then at Draco. "So around 70 galleons. Did you want a shopping bag?"

"Erm . . ." She rifled through her purse. "Yes. But just a second . . ."

Something in the clerk's face told Draco that they were going to have a nightmare on their hands when she pieced together exactly how shocking it was that they were in London together.

"Oh, that's all right," Hermione suddenly said, her voice a rushed, embarrassed whisper. "I didn't realize this shop was that expensive. It must be designer. I must have misunderstood the price tag . . . I just won't—"

"You want to put them back?" The witch looked astonished.

Hermione didn't have enough money.

Draco almost sneered. He was a Malfoy, and whether they ended up keeping the bond or going their separate ways or whatever they did, she wasn't going to have to go through the humiliation of putting her purchases back. Hermione would have whatever she wanted.

"Nah, it's okay," he said, reaching into his coat pocket for the coin purse he always kept on him. His mind raced, doing math in his head as he began gathering galleons. "I'll take care of it. You said I can use galleons?"

"Yes," the witch said, tossing her blonde curls back. "I take wizarding money all the time, and then I just transfigure it later for the manager since he's—" She whispered, "Muggle. I'm certain if my parents had sent me to Hogwarts, I'd have been sorted into Slytherin."

"Oh, I'm sure," Draco said with a half-smile.

"Are you sure you want to buy this for me?" Hermione looked horrified. "It's a lot of money."

He wasn't sure. He had no idea what was going to happen with his internship and unless he sucked up to his father, he wasn't getting anymore money until he could figure out a way to make some. And if he did end up going to Japan, then he might need to pay for things like a place to live, food, and other expenses.

But Hermione was going to have whatever the fuck she wanted.

"I'm sure," he said, holding Hermione's gaze as he dropped the galleons into the witch's waiting hand in a way that would be impossible for shoppers nearby to tell what he'd given her.

She smiled.

Once her dress and shoes were in a nice, large bag with the shop's name on the outside of it, they said good-bye to the witch behind the counter and headed for the door to wait for Pansy and Blaise.

"It's going to be in the papers," Hermione whispered, sliding her hand into his own as though it were second nature.

"Probably," he mumbled. "Does that bother you?"

She looked worried. "It's not me we need to worry about."

Ah. He'd almost forgotten.

Potter, the Weaselbee, and all of her friends were going to have simultaneous conniption fits when they read those headlines.

Blaise and Pansy traipsed up to them, holding three shopping bags between them.

"Okay, we should go back to the hotel, Hermione," Pansy said before Draco could say anything more to Hermione. "I can't wait to see the full effect. This is so exciting!"

"I'm excited, too," Hermione said.

"All right, Draco," Pansy said with a fierce grin. "I've got to steal your little one away for a while."

"Have fun," he drawled, giving Hermione's hand a brief squeeze before he let it go.

Hermione flushed and gave Draco a small wave. Pansy took the bags from Blaise, including the bags that they'd shrunken to fit into his pockets, and then the girls left to go find a place to DisApparate.

Blaise clapped a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Now that they're gone, we're off."

"To where?"

He steered Draco around to look across the open mall. Draco's eyes scanned the many colorful stores, passing over the crowd.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"The jewelry store," Blaise said, his tone excited.

"What for?"

"Jewelry, dumb-arse." Blaise slung his arm around Draco's neck and they headed for the jewelry store across the way. "Pansy and I are almost to our one year."

"Do you have enough Muggle money for that?"

Blaise smirked. "No. But I've got a very skilled Legilimens with me, and we've both got wands. How's that sound?"

Draco couldn't help it. He smirked.

"Excellent."

They entered the store, their eyes absorbing and devouring the necklaces, rings, bracelets, and earrings on display. The shop wasn't as full as the clothing stores had been, but it was full enough for the boys to wander about without any clerks approaching them yet. Near one side of the store, a clerk was helping an older man find something for his wife, and it made Draco's lips twitch up.

That was one nice thing about his father. Lucius had loved Narcissa with every fiber of his being, and he'd done anything and everything for her. What he lacked in attentiveness, he made up for in affection. Narcissa had no shortage of gifts coming to her at any day of the week. Flowers, chocolates, robes, furniture.

Jewelry.

And then Draco saw it. Resting in velvet and encompassing everything he saw when he looked at her.

It was the perfect Christmas gift.

"Isn't it a little soon to be thinking of jewelry for you and Granger?" Blaise asked from his right side. "How long's it been since you got together?"

Draco placed his hands on the warm glass and leaned over it, gazing at the sparkling gemstones set in white-gold. "We're not together."

"You're not? But you're so . . ."

"So what?"

"Possessive."

"And?" Draco felt heat flooding his body, reaching towards his cheeks. "What of it?"

"You're not together, but you act like you are, and you want to get her jewelry?"

Draco looked at him. "Buy."

Blaise smirked. "Yes, buy."

Of course he wanted to get her jewelry. He wanted to buy her whatever she wanted and give her the world. He wanted to take all the pieces of her that the man in Paris had torn asunder and sew them back together. He wanted to hold her while she cried and wash her when she couldn't wash herself and play in the ocean with her beneath the moon. If it was real—if it was truly real—he wanted to embrace the star bond, not reverse it.

He wanted to give her something that shone the same way her smile did under the silver stars of his dreams.

"Witches deserve nice things."

She had to have it.

Five minutes and a disgustingly easy Legilimency spell later, Blaise and Draco each left the store with a gift bag.