I have a YouTube playlist for this story, but if you aren't following along with the updates on it, then the most important song for this chapter is Blind by The Natural Synthetic. It's for the scene in the maze. Very important. It really sets the mood of where I think their relationship is right now.
Props to you if you catch the Avengers and the Megan Fox/MGK references.
Apricity – Chapter Twenty-Six
Draco had never been in the vicinity of anything called a burrow before, and he never would again.
It wasn't that he was trying to err on the side of judgmental, but he was erring on the side of judgmental. He was sure the other members of the Weasley family were tolerable and that their mother kept the place as tidy as possible inside, however his hatred for the Weaselbee automatically depreciated the value of the home.
Did the Weasel's mother know what his neglect in Paris had wrought upon Hermione?
As Draco stood in the entrance hall of the mostly-empty Ministry, waiting for Arthur Weasley to come out of the Floo to meet him, he felt his anger levels starting to climb. Just thinking about that piece of rubbish was enough to get him to a boil.
No wonder Hermione wanted him there.
He hoped that's all it was. He knew he could handle it if it was something to do with her anxiety around food, but that didn't mean he wanted to. He just wished she wasn't sick. Not because it was a burden—because he just wanted her to be okay.
But if she needed him, he would be there.
The Sunamuras had understood—even encouraged it—and after a lovely Christmas brunch and lazy morning spent opening a few gifts, Draco left through the Floo for the Ministry. Hermione's reply to Draco's had told him that Arthur Weasley was going to meet him in front of the Ministry Floos so he could Floo him in through the wards. Now, he stood there waiting to do just that.
Christmas at the Burrow was going to be interesting.
He knew Hermione wanted him there and had invited him, but how did the Weasleys feel about it? Draco's parents had held their son in their dungeons. Granted, it was only for a short time, but it had happened nonetheless. Lucius had never been exactly kind to Arthur, either. Draco had heard many-a-rant from his father regarding the Weasley's infamous poverty and Arthur's strange interest in Muggle artifacts.
This was going to be the wildest Christmas for Draco on the record of his life. Not only would the Weaselbee be there, but he assumed the other Weasleys and Potter would be there, too. Potter and he had the most violent past and Draco had a scar bisecting his chest to prove it. But the Weaselbee was different.
Their future was violent.
In spite of that, he wasn't going to ignore Hermione if she asked for him to be there. Not today of all days, and not after learning everything he had from the books Rose had given him. Not when any manner of horrible things could happen if she chose to eat and get rid of it.
What if she died after Christmas dinner?
Draco straightened his back when he saw the Floo flare to life. He'd worn a blazer and trousers out of respect for the adults that would be in the home, so he took the time to straighten his tie and push his hair back.
Maybe he should have brought weed.
Arthur Weasley strolled out of the Floo with a bright smile on his face, the positivity of his attitude taking Draco a bit aback.
"Ah, Draco Malfoy!" Arthur bellowed, the heartiness of his voice rivaling the heartiness of Ryo's. "Happy Christmas to you!"
For some reason, all of Draco's thoughts flew the coop and left him empty and nervous. Sweat began to collect in the lines of his palms. Arthur was by no means imposing, what with Draco being taller than him, but he had a glint in his eye that let Draco know who he was. No matter how bumbling he seemed, he was still a Pureblood wizard and he had received the same education as Lucius and Narcissa.
"Happy Christmas, sir," Draco said, clearing his throat. He was much too aware of his tattoos. They felt like they were floating up off of his skin.
"So, you're coming to Christmas dinner, then," Arthur said, grinning as he put his hands on his hips. He wore a strange outfit and hat that Draco couldn't even begin to explain. "You're very, very welcome in our home, dear boy, but you can't be surprised if I tell you I'm shocked. According to my daughter, you and er—well, my boys have no good words to say about you."
Draco tried not to cringe. "Well, sir . . . I could say the same."
Arthur let out a short laugh. "You have your father's honesty."
"Hopefully nothing else besides that," Draco muttered. He held out his hand. "Thank you for letting me—"
"Nonsense, my boy!" Arthur practically roared, taking Draco's hand in both of his and giving it a vigorous shake up and down. "There's no need for thanks and gratitude. It's Christmas and my Molly's made plenty enough for a village. There a place at the table for you, and a sweater with your initial already knitted."
Draco tilted his head to the side in confusion, his arm aching from the continuous handshake. "A what?"
Draco wiped his hands on the fabric of his trousers again.
What the fuck was this sweater? It was God-awful. Why would the entire Weasley family wear what felt like stiff eyelashes as a jumper in a cramped living room with a bloody fire in the hearth? And not a single one of them looked perturbed. Gods. Sweat was gathering underneath his neckline.
The entire family was there, but Draco was too overwhelmed to focus on them all and match faces to names to memories. The only ones who really stood out to him were Potter, Weaselbee, the She-Weasel, and the elder brother Bill. Bill, he remembered from Hermione's memory because he'd been the one to stay calm when Draco showed up.
Ginny was sitting astride Potter's lap, a ring on her finger the size of a fucking boulder. If he hadn't bought it with his Order of Merlin galleons, Draco would be surprised. She kept shooting Draco curious glances, her gaze washing over him beside Hermione, who sat between him and the Weaselbee.
As the family conversed in merry, raucous tones across multiple separate groups, Draco tried not to consider weeping. This sweater was a horrific nightmare, but the embrace Molly Weasley had given him when she welcomed him into her home had nearly eclipsed him. He was afraid it would hurt her feelings if he took it off.
It wasn't like he could ask Hermione for assistance. She was drowning in her jumper. It was a hideous maroon color and looked just as itchy as his, but it was so big on her that it looked like it belonged to him. The neckline hung off of one shoulder, exposing the sharpness of her bones in a way that made his heart ache. He highly doubted it was as itchy for her as it was for him.
She was sitting so rigid on the couch that he wondered if she would rather not be here at the Burrow at all. To her right, the Weaselbee leaned away from her with his elbow on the arm of the couch and his temple propped against his fist. He was discussing something with his father, but his body language made it clear that he didn't want to be sitting next to Hermione, either.
Hermione plucked at a thread on her leggings so much that it was clear she was uncomfortable. She wasn't talking to anyone, but no one seemed to notice that the expression on her face was the same one he saw when she was zoning out in the Great Hall.
He wanted to hold her hand.
"So, how has your holiday been going, dear?"
Draco jolted, hearing the kind voice of Molly Weasley to his left. He tore his gaze off of the worn wood floor and turned his head to look at her. He gave her a polite curve of the lips.
"It's been going well, Mrs. Weasley."
The suddenness of his voice drew everyone's gazes in his direction. All conversation ceased and attentions were focused on him. Draco felt the ice coming from them warring with the heat from the fire.
"Were you staying on at the—at your home?" She was smiling, but it seemed a bit strained. He wasn't sure if that was just how she smiled, or if she really would rather not talk to him. "I worry that would be a bit lonely, in that big house all by yourself."
Draco felt his heart wrenching in his chest, like someone had grabbed it and twisted. The silence felt heavy.
Hermione shifted and it felt like she was leaning into him, but he couldn't be sure. He'd never discussed his mother with her. He'd never discussed his parents at all. She'd have no reason to give him secret comfort.
"Yeah, I haven't really been back there," Draco said with the awkward sort of laugh one gives in a situation where one would rather be anywhere else. "It's waiting for me when I do."
"Have you given any thought to what you'll be doing with your parents' things? There's got to be quite a few dark artifacts in there that would be of interest to the Ministry."
There was a collective exchange of glances, and Ginny glared at the oldest Weasley, who had barely done more than watch everyone down the length of his nose all afternoon. Draco remembered him from his First Year—faintly—and he'd been the scribe during all of the Death Eaters' trials. That meant that he'd been present when Narcissa died.
What the fuck was his problem?
Draco sat up straighter on the couch, rubbing at his chin with his hand. He let out another laugh, unsure of what to say. He'd gotten rid of the things of his mother's that he didn't want anyone to know about—he could still remember burning them in that alleyway in London—but why would he get rid of anything else?
Oh.
Percy was being a prat.
"Mum!" Ginny whined from Potter's lap. "Percy can't just say things like that! Tell him off!"
Molly shot Percy a stern glare. "Percy Ignatius Weasley. You mind your manners when speaking to a guest! Get into the kitchen and help me make the pie!"
As Molly started back toward the kitchen, George perked up from his seat in the armchair beside the fireplace.
"Wait, mum! We were going to go out back to play a game." He grinned and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, towards the back door. "Can't you make the pie without him and let me handle the punishment?"
"No, he needs to help me make the pie!" she complained. "You've all helped with something or another, and now it's his turn to help."
"But mum!" George said. "You know we always play a game before Christmas dinner!"
"No!" Molly was getting red in the face.
"Come now, Molly," Arthur said with a cajoling smile. "I'll help you make the pie. Let them all roughhouse in the yard. You know that's what they like to do."
Molly glared at him. "Arthur."
"Molly."
"Arthur."
Arthur sidled up to her, grinning. "Molly."
After some back and forth, finally Molly agreed to let Percy go out to the backyard.
Draco felt a small measure of anxiety as everyone got to their feet and started heading for the backyard. He glanced around at them all and then found himself looking at Hermione.
She stood in front of him, almost between his knees, and held her hand out to him. They hadn't done much more than exchange pleasantries and sit next to one another since he'd arrived, but it felt almost as forbidden as snogging in front of the entire Weasley family.
Their eyes met.
She blushed.
He couldn't help the way he smirked when he took her hand and let her pull him to his feet. Her head tipped back so they could maintain eye contact.
She looked more beautiful than usual today, with her curls braided in rows along her hairline, her edges curled against her skin, and the bulk of her hair in fluffy curls that hung down her back. The maroon of her sweater made her face look warm and glowing. There was a different sort of smile on her face—one that seemed to betray a more relaxed nature for the strained one she wore at school. He wasn't sure if he could attribute it to his presence or not.
As they stood there, hands entwined between them, Draco saw Arthur eyeing them out of the corner of his eye. His facial expression was unreadable.
"Ready to play?" Hermione asked.
"I'm always ready to play," he murmured, his thumb caressing the back of her hand. He looked her up and down. "Are you?"
Her cheeks were dark. "Of course. But this isn't Quidditch, Malfoy, and these are games I've been playing since I was twelve."
He arched one eyebrow, perplexed. It almost felt strange hearing her call him by his surname, but it made sense. Him being here had to be a shock enough for the Weasleys. Their friendship was implied. Potter and the Red Weasel would likely see her calling him "Draco" as an insult.
She pulled her hand out of his and turned to follow everyone else outside. It hadn't snowed, so it was colder than usual outside for December, but the moment he stepped outside, Draco realized why everyone was wearing the hideous sweaters that Molly had knitted.
They had warming charms built into them.
Hermione spoke over her shoulder, almost sneaking a look back at him. Her sweater was so big that her legs poked out from beneath it in a way that was almost as comical as when she wore her marshmallow coat.
"You're going to lose," she said.
"Oh, I am, am I?" He laughed and followed after her across the lawn, his hands finding her hips as quick as they could before anyone outside noticed. He whispered into her ear. "Then you'll have your awards when we get back to the castle."
"Draco, if you don't—"
She slapped his hand away and darted forward to stand next to Ginny, who gave Draco a weird look. The Weaselbee and Potter were a ways to the right, talking amongst themselves and eyeing Draco with narrowed gazes. Percy stood to the left with his back as straight as a rod and his nose practically reaching for the sky. Charlie, grizzled and sun-beaten, stood beside Bill's wife Fleur with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. Then, Draco came to Hermione's other side, where he folded his arms and watched Bill and George.
The two brothers turned to face the tall stalks of wild grass that surrounded the Burrow, raising their wands to the backyard section. Draco couldn't help how impressed he was by their charmwork. The grass got taller, moving and shifting with a deep rumbling in the Earth. A few moments later, the work was done. The men turned to face the group.
"All right, everyone listen up," George said, his voice edged by excitement. "This is a game of Quidditch like you've never played before. This is human Quidditch."
Draco's brow furrowed. How absurd.
"What genius you've all just witnessed us perform is a spell to turn the grass into a maze." George looked at Draco, still grinning. "Sorry about the poverty, Malfoy. We can't all afford a real hedge maze. Some of us have to make ours out of grass."
Draco ran his tongue along his teeth to hide his laughter. Something about the way George said that let him know he hadn't meant it to be cruel.
George went on, "There's an entrance for each of us ringing the maze. One of you will be the Snitch, and you'll just start running. The rest of us split into two teams. First team enters on the west side of the maze, and the second enters on the right. If you run into the opposite team member, you have to attack them. If you manage to land a jinx or hex, then your team gets a point. If you manage to land one on the Snitch, your team automatically wins. The kicker? The Snitch is the only one who's allowed to use a Disillusionment charm."
Bill stepped forward and waved his wand. He conjured a scoreboard and charmed it. One side said Team A; the other said Team B. "When your spell lands, the maze will know and mark it down. And one last thing."
He waved his wand again, and music began to play from somewhere. Draco didn't care to look behind him and see where. Bill grinned.
"We play until the music stops, and whoever has the most points—if none of us catch the Snitch—wins."
Draco raised his eyebrows. He'd never admit to anyone other than the Wizengamot, but this was actually quite a clever game. He could honestly see he and his own mates playing something like this. He glanced down at Hermione, who gave him a ferocious grin that almost took him aback.
He'd never seen her look so excited.
"Who's the Snitch?" she asked, tearing her gaze away and then looking up at George.
"You, little girl," George said. "This is the first year you're the smallest."
The triumph on Hermione's face looked harmless to outsiders, but to Draco, he felt like it was rather sinister. Did she feel like it was some sort of competition between herself and Ginny? How Slytherin of her.
But still sad.
"Wait," came the Weaselbee's voice, sounding obnoxious and in disbelief. "Are you sure? There's no way. She's always been loads bigger than Gin."
Draco prayed to the Muggle gods for the patience and understanding necessary to allow the Weaselbee to keep breathing.
"I have not!" Hermione cried, and it was the first thing she'd said to him since Draco had arrived. Her hands were in fists at her sides, the arms of the sleeves of her jumper nearly covering them. "That's incredibly rude, Ronald!"
The oaf gave her a disgruntled look. "It's not rude; it's just honest. You never were a small girl, and Ginny is. Even if you weigh less, she's smaller than you. So she should be the Snitch."
Ginny tsked. "I don't want to be the Snitch. And no, I'm not smaller than her. Hermione, hold out your arm."
The girls pushed up their sleeves and held out their arms beside one another's. Draco almost wanted to look away. It wasn't her scarred arm, but she just looked so ill. How did no one else recognize that?
"See?" Ginny said. "She's definitely smaller than me. Even if she was bigger than me last year, she'd probably still have made a better Snitch than me. You're just an idjit, Ron."
Draco gritted his teeth. This wasn't like yesterday—Ginny wasn't his friend. He couldn't take her aside and give away Hermione's secrets like he had with Pansy. And he couldn't just murder the Red Weasel in his own backyard. Instead, he watched Hermione side-long, checking for any flicker of upset on her face.
Her smile was as bright as ever.
"Then I guess I'm the Snitch," she said, putting her hands behind her back. "But I warn you—I'm very good with charms."
Potter barked a laugh and strolled near. "I guess you forgot I'm very good with Snitches."
"I guess you forgot that I am, too," Draco said, arms remaining crossed as he stepped in front of Hermione.
Wait.
Why had he done that?
Everyone stared at him with wary expressions. Everyone save for the Weaselbee, who glowered openly at him without budging from the spot he stood on. Draco felt Hermione's hand curving over the top of his shoulder, and he moved aside. His cheeks were warm.
"I haven't forgotten, Malfoy," Potter said, running his hands through his messy black hair. "I also haven't forgotten that I've beaten you more than once in that regard."
The heat left his cheeks and ran to his heart, where it fueled his penchant for competition. For competition and possession.
"Yeah, but this time, the Snitch is mine."
More awkward silence as everyone tried to discern his meaning. He knew he was treading on dangerous waters. There was no way the Weasleys would find it acceptable to know that Hermione had invited Draco after they'd snogged more times that was medically necessary. The only way that made sense to him was if she'd told them he was just her friend.
Friends weren't possessive.
"You always did claim victory prematurely," Potter said after a moment, apparently deciding that Draco was talking about their past Quidditch games. "And it always proved to be a mistake."
Draco sneered and rolled his eyes. None of them knew that whether he won their little backyard game or not, he was still the one that got to touch her in the places that none of them would ever see.
Except the Red Weasel. He was sure to have touched her in some of those places.
Draco narrowed his eyes down at Hermione, feeling a strange desire to grab her by the throat and Apparate them to a private place where he could erase the Red Weasel's marks from any place she'd allowed him to place them.
Salazar, he hoped Potter hadn't been working on his Legilimency.
"Teams are gonna be according to age," Bill said. "Me, Charlie, George, and Percy on Team A. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco, and Fleur on Team B. We—"
"Absolutely not," The Weasel interrupted. "If you think I'm going to be on his team, you've gone completely mental. I'm barely keeping my wand in my pocket as it is!"
"Ron, just—" Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "We all know you hate him. You can be on our team."
The Weaselbee looked like he wanted to argue some more, but he didn't seem able to look either Hermione or Draco in the eyes. He gave a sharp, curt nod.
Bill continued. "So Hermione's the Snitch. Team A, to the west. Team B, to the east. Hermione, just walk straight up to it and the maze will let you in. Let's go!"
Everyone started walking in the directions they were supposed to go, but Draco lingered towards the back. He knew if they got caught, there'd be Hell to pay, but he was Draco sodding Malfoy. He wasn't going to break bread at the table with the guy he hated most if he couldn't break some of the rules of decorum along the way.
When the backyard was clear and the voices were fading, he said Hermione's name.
Almost to the wall of the grass maze, she turned to give him an inquisitive look. He smirked.
"Come here."
"What? But we're supposed to—"
"I know," he growled. "Come here anyway."
She pursed her lips and glanced to the left and right. With a sigh, she pranced over as quick as a pony and came to him. His smirk deepened.
"You can't always have your way, you know," she said, lifting onto the tips of her toes to cup his face. He didn't have to uncross his arms—she kissed him anyway.
"Yes, I can," he said. "With you."
"Oh, no you cannot," she said, giving him a reprimanding once-over.
"Watch me." He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. The moment her chest touched his, he hooked his hand around the back of her neck and pressed his lips against hers in a kiss that he hoped sizzled. It certainly set his own nerve endings alight. He pulled back, smirking down at her. "Happy Christmas, sweet girl."
"Prat," she whispered against his lips, and then she darted off into the maze without looking back at him.
Draco walked backwards, casting a couple more surreptitious glances about. He dragged his hands through his hair, marveling at the way his life had changed in such a short amount of time. Sometimes, he felt like the eight months that had passed since the end of the war were equal to the eighteen years he'd been alive. He gazed at the grass wall where Hermione had disappeared into and bit his lip.
Even if they weren't bonded, he was going to do anything he could to keep her.
Draco ran into Percy first.
He was rounding a corner when he saw the tall, gangly priss standing in an aisle trying to decide which direction he was going to go. By the time he saw the hex coming, Draco's wand tip was already smoking. Draco held in a laugh as a classic Jelly Legs took him out.
"I suppose," Percy said, breathless as he fought to stay upright, "I owe you an apology, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco slipped his wand back into his sleeve. "I suppose I'll accept it."
"Excellent." Percy grimaced. "I'm glad . . . Whew . . . We can come to this accord."
He hadn't actually apologized, but Draco took off past him just the same.
Draco had been wandering through the maze for a good fifteen minutes now, the sounds of spells and laughter echoing in the air as members of each team encountered each other and dueled. Draco had no way of knowing which team was winning, but he didn't much care. He was on the hunt.
If he ran into Potter, he'd be all right, but the Weaselbee was the one he was really interested in running into. If he couldn't outright fight him, then a hex would do. A jinx.
Maybe even a curse.
Yeah, a curse. He'd curse him and explain that in his family, they considered it a jinx. The Weasleys could argue over the semantics of spell classification, and Draco could hide his smirk behind a false apology. It wouldn't be equal to the beating he desperately wanted to give him, but it would have to do.
Draco crept towards the end of an aisle, his feet soft on the grass underfoot as he did so. He could hear footsteps coming from the other side, heading right for him. He smirked.
It was Potter.
He stepped out and took a side stance, brandishing his wand. Potter skidded to a halt, ripping his wand out of his back pocket and aiming it directly at Draco's chest. Panting, he gave Draco a quick smile.
"At least we're not in the loo this time."
Draco burst out laughing at that. He couldn't help it. He lowered his wand.
"How about we agree to not do this again?" he suggested, pushing his hair back. "We both know I'd eviscerate you this time."
Potter smirked and lowered his wand. "It'd only be fair."
"Naturally."
They stared at one another for a long moment, and then Potter took a step closer.
"We've both been through too much to play games, Malfoy. I don't want to beat around the bush and speak in riddles."
"All right." Draco slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Ask me your question."
Potter took a deep breath.
"Are you and Hermione going together?"
No games. No word-mincing. No beating around bushes.
"No," Draco replied, "but we have something."
"Does anyone know?"
"Nah." Draco shrugged. "I don't know if she wants anyone to. Especially not—"
"Don't worry about Ron. I won't tell anyone. The last thing I want to do is stress Hermione out."
Draco's eyes narrowed a fraction. Did he know about her disorder?
"She doesn't handle stress well," he said, choosing his words with careful hands.
"I was surprised when she told me she was going to ask the family if you could come for dinner, but I don't think I was angry. Ginny wasn't the least bit surprised, either. So I don't think you need to worry about either of us."
"And everyone else?"
"Err—well . . ." Potter looked up at the cloudy sky, also choosing his words. "Charlie doesn't give a damn about anything other than dragons. Fleur's got too big of a heart, so she was fine with it. Bill was concerned, but he's not the confrontational sort. Percy flips between wanting you arrested on principle and wanting to get in good with you just in case you become something of consequence later in life."
Draco was beyond laughter at that point. He almost gaped, speechless.
"George thought it was funny—he laughs at everything, you know. Molly loves everyone and she feels poorly for you. Arthur is quite literally a teddy bear. And Ron was . . . Ron."
Draco shook his head. "Of course."
"Obviously."
"And Hermione?"
"Well, she invited you, didn't she? She—"
"I still want to know what she said. Was she—"
"Why would you need to know what she said if she invited you, Malfoy? Isn't that—"
"I just want to know."
Potter's expression was deadpan. "You just want to know."
"Yes, I—"
"Because you want to know if she fancies you."
Draco bristled like a porcupine. "Just answer the bloody question, Potter."
Potter's eyes twinkled with mirth that Draco could tell he was trying desperately to hold back. "She told us it was important that we extend the olive branch to you, that you've changed, and that you might like to see the Burrow."
"Wow."
"So do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Like the Burrow."
Draco looked up as he thought. "I've seen it."
"What does that mean?"
"It means it's been seen."
"But what does that mean? Have you seen it and like it, or—"
"It means I've seen it. If I say something, I mean what I say, Potter. I've seen the—"
"But you can't just—"
"I most certainly can just." He gave Potter a once over. "I'm Draco Malfoy."
Potter nodded, averting his eyes to look at the nearest wall of grass stalks as though it were telling him how to respond.
Draco wasn't sure what to think about the turn of conversation, but he was certain that it was monumental. And when he really stopped to think about it, he couldn't say he truly despised Potter. He didn't like him—had felt rejected by him, really—but he didn't hate him.
Besides, they had a lot more in common now.
"I don't like you, and I never have," Potter said, looking up at him. "But for her, I suppose I could learn. We have eternity."
You have abso-fucking-lutely no idea.
Draco nodded. "Until eternity, then."
"Until. Go on. I'll give you a head start."
They shared a smirk, and then they walked past one another.
Draco wasn't sure what to make of that conversation. It wasn't all that different from the sorts of bickering he did with Pansy and Blaise, but it definitely wasn't the conversation of a friend. He didn't know whether or not Potter and he could ever be friends, but if he and Ginny were accepting of him, then that was a good sign, wasn't it?
He chuckled to himself as he wandered the aisles, turning left and right.
A double date with Potter and the She-Weasel.
His laughter was getting out of control when he stumbled into a row that went in two different directions. Bill was there, blocking the intersection at a stand-still with his giggling wife. The way they were looking at one another down the lengths of their wands made Draco a tiny bit uncomfortable. He started to back away, not wanting to interrupt them.
He doubled back the way he came and went a different direction. He stuck close to the walls, glad for how tall the Weasley men were. If the stalks were any shorter, he'd be seen clearly because he was taller than the Weaselbee.
Draco rounded a corner to the left and stopped.
Hermione.
Her lips spread into a slow grin. "Should I run?"
"Perhaps," he said, sauntering closer with his wand held loftily in his fingers. He gave her a smile he hoped seemed catlike, and then he began to pace around her. "All I have to do is hex you, and then you're mine, right?"
"If you're fast enough," she said, turning to look at him as he walked behind her back. She kept turning her head to track his predatory stroll. "But I warned you."
"You said fairly good at charms."
"Fairly is good enough."
"Hm."
They scrutinized each other. Bill had looked at his wife as though she were made of diamond and dipped in molten gold. Draco wondered if they looked at each other the same way Bill and Fleur had. He hoped Hermione felt like he was.
Around them, the music still played. It didn't seem to have any specific genre overall, but the current song wafting around them sounded like a soft clubbing song. He'd heard many like it in Muggle London over the Summer. The game was still afoot.
Hermione's smile turned mischievous.
"Dance with me, and I won't duel you."
"Dance with you?" His head pulled back on his shoulders, but he was still smirking. "What makes you think I won't just take advantage of you and hex you anyway?"
"Because you would never take advantage of me," she said, and the way she said it showed him it had a much different meaning. She held her hands out to him as he came around to her front. "So dance with me."
He put his wand in his back pocket and raised one eyebrow. "What if someone walks by?"
"I'll cast a Disillusionment spell. I'm—"
"Allowed, yes."
"Allowed."
After a moment, when Draco still hadn't taken her hands, she began to dance anyway. There was a big smile on her face as she made slow movements with her hips, twisting her hands up into the air above her head. He let out a laugh, and it caused her to throw her head back and laugh, too. She spun, much like she had at the concert, and continued to laugh. It was like they were in a dream.
Another reminder why he felt the way he did for her. Things had changed, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
"You're ridiculous, you know that?" he murmured.
She crooked a finger at him.
"Come here anyway."
Draco came towards her, reaching for her. She twirled around and put her back against his frontside, still swaying her hips and shaking her head to the tune of the music. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close, dropping his head into the crook of her neck and shoulder. She smelled of flowers today.
She fit against him so well.
They danced like that to the music, Hermione's hands playing in the hair at the back of his head as they swayed. It was nice to close his eyes and imagine they were in a club in London, enjoying the vibes and the lights. Like when they'd gone to the show, but without Pansy and Blaise. Just the two of them.
He wished they were alone right now.
She twisted in his arms when the song changed, her fingers interlocking behind his neck. Her head fell back and she gave him an almost delirious smile. They never stopped moving, and neither did his hands. One stroked back and forth across her lower back and up to her waist; the other smoothed along her arm from shoulder to elbow and back. He couldn't tear his eyes off of hers.
"I'm really grateful you came," she said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. The more I get to know you, the less time I feel like I can spend apart from you. Whether we choose to stay bonded or not, I couldn't imagine spending Christmas without someone who might be part of the rest of my life."
He gazed at her lips. Her words were squeezing at his heart, tugging the strings and playing a melody that he would dance to forever if she'd let him. The maze fell away. The maze, the Weasleys, the burrow, everything. It fell away into nothingness.
"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispered, his head dropping down.
She breathed a laugh, her eyelids fluttering shut. "Happy Christmas, Draco."
"Mm."
Their lips met, and even the Winter fell away, too.
Kissing Hermione Granger had always and could always be like dancing in the center of a crowded street in Hogsmeade. Nothing inherently wrong with it, but forbidden in the way it felt to have her body molded to all the crevices of his own. Forbidden, the way she seemed to reach into him with her tongue tasting his own and her heart pulling him down to meet her. Kissing her was as dangerous as straddling the railing of a hundred-feet high bridge, looking down at the water as it rippled and moved in different directions. Listening to the way it called to him.
Her kiss called him to the depths of the sea, where he would gladly forget how to swim.
And Draco had kissed plenty of witches before. He'd kissed Muggle girls, too. He'd kissed them all in several places, but no place was as sweet as Hermione's mouth. Nothing was as rewarding as feeling her fingers in his hair, trailing across his scalp. Nothing as arousing as hearing the way she made a little sound whenever his tongue met hers. Nothing could compare to the sounds she made.
His spirit twisted and burned for her.
Draco's hands drifted along her sides and up to hold her face. He pulled back, looking into her eyes with an intense, almost troubled expression on his face. Her smile faltered and he saw the question lingering there in her eyes.
Did they both feel the same way?
"Draco," she whispered, staring at him with something akin to awe or curiosity, "do you know how beautiful you are?"
"No," he whispered back, a strange fear flashing across his mind as her hands slid to his chest. "How beautiful am I?"
"Achingly."
A second passed—the span of the beat of his heart—and then they were snogging again. Wildly. With vehemence. They were stumbling towards the wall of grass stalks nearest them, heedless of the risk of kissing like this in the open. Not caring if anyone walked up to them, not caring if they were being loud, and not caring if they were in the backyard of the Burrow.
Their hands were everywhere.
Touching each other, touching their faces and necks and chests and sides and—anywhere that they could get their fingers dug into. Anywhere that was visible. Anywhere that wasn't. They pulled and clawed and fondled and pressed, snogging as though they were in the common room and not outside in the cold wearing ugly as fuck sweaters.
Draco forgot everything about himself, tilting his head to the side and commandeering her body in a way that she would be unable to ignore. She was forced to focus on his lips just to keep up, just to be able to get oxygen.
Circe, when they got back to the castle, he was going to pin her to the wall. He was getting on his knees in front of the couch for her. He was going to kiss her on the countertop with her thighs bracketing his sides. He was going to do everything he could to make her see the binary stars they were bonded to dancing right in front of her eyes.
"Didn't take you for a dancer, Malfoy."
Oh, fuck!
They jumped away from one another, whirling around to see Ginny standing in the center of the aisle.
"How long have you been there?" Hermione asked, catching her breath as she fought to smooth her curls back into place.
"Thirty minutes. You see, I've mastered the art of making myself invisible if I stand very, very still."
Draco and Hermione exchanged confused glances, but when Ginny began to laugh, relief flooded their eyes.
"I'm taking the piss out of you two," she said, skipping over to stand next to Hermione. She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward, peering up at Draco with a mischievous expression. "I suspected you two were canoodling."
"Canoodling?" Hermione practically screeched.
"Granger, relax," he said. "There's no reason to pretend I wasn't just fucking your mouth with my tongue."
"Draco!"
Ginny was laughing as hard as he was. Draco felt like he knew her, given that he'd "met" her in Hermione's memory. He found it easy to laugh with her.
"It's all right with me if you two are . . . You know," Ginny said, reaching to squeeze Hermione's hand. "I just wish you'd write me once in a while so I could know what the bloody Hell is going on in your life. I mean, it is Malfoy."
"I am Malfoy," Draco teased, leaning down.
"Shut up," Hermione said, glaring at him as she grabbed his chin in her hand and kissed him square on the mouth. Right in front of Ginny. "And Gin, please don't tell anyone here. I don't want everything to fall apart before pie."
Ginny laughed again. "No, we wouldn't want achingly beautiful boy to miss out on that. So, I walked up when you guys were still dancing. I wanna dance, too."
Hermione took her by the hands and dragged her back out to the center of the aisle, the two of them laughing as they began to dance to the rock song that had begun to play. Draco watched them with a faint smile on his face.
It hurt thinking about the fact that this was the first time he'd seen Hermione this happy outside of the dream world.
In the next moment, more people joined them. It was like they'd all been called here, pulled like a magnet to the three of them. First came Potter, then Bill following Fleur. Percy slunk in behind a disgruntled looking Weaselbee. By the time Charlie came jogging around the corner, the girls had convinced everyone else to start dancing. After Draco sent a pointed, challenging look in Potter's direction, the two of them joined in.
The music was still playing, so the game was still on. It had to be coincidental. Everyone was talking, asking what they were doing just standing there if the Snitch was caught, but all Draco could do was watch the way the light reached Hermione's eyes while she danced with Ginny.
She called me beautiful, he thought. Achingly beautiful.
He hoped she decided to pick him.
Then, George came around the corner and stood beside the very irritated-looking Weaselbee—the only person not dancing.
"What is this, a human Quidditch dance party?" George cried, laughing.
Ginny and Hermione looked at one another, and then fell into a fit of giggles.
"I guess so," Ginny said, and she threw her hands up into the air as the music swelled. "Dance with us!"
He did.
They danced for more than one or two songs, everyone jumping and spinning and moving in tune to the melodies that surrounded them. Draco found that it was easier to do it if he just stopped thinking about it. Much like he had at the concert venue, he lost himself to the music and the fact that it was making Hermione happy.
And he was happy, too.
"Happy Christmas, everyone!" Ginny cried in a joyous voice, throwing her arms around Potter's neck. He picked her up and spun her.
It wasn't about the past or the future. It was about the present. They'd all survived, and they could rejoice in that. No matter what happened at school or during the war—no matter what they'd done at the Battle of Hogwarts—they could all dance together.
It was indeed a happy Christmas.
