Author's Note: I'm back! Here, have another update, and please don't kill me for taking so long between them – I swear I am so sorry I'm so horribly sporadic with them. Life is getting in the way of fanfic at the moment. I love you all for sticking with me and keeping on reading, despite the infrequent updates. This chapter I tried extremely hard to channel sweet and fluffy for Phnxgirl, and have no idea if I succeeded or failed miserably. Let me know what you think :) I hope you all enjoy, and please 'scuse any mistakes - my proofread was a little rushed.
۞ Part Three ۞
Lunch
Hermione stared at the table before her – laden with so many delicious elf-made options – and groaned, slumping down in her chair. It was Boxing Day, and she hadn't even bothered dragging herself out of bed for breakfast – she had been gestating a food-baby by the time she had left the Weasleys' at just past midnight, and this morning her jeans had actually been a smidgen tight. It had been a wonderful Christmas, but Hermione thought she was ruined for food for at least a week. She still felt full. Wrinkling her nose up, Hermione scooped some salad and a lightly battered fillet of fish onto her plate, and sat and stared blankly at it for a moment.
"I don't think I can eat," she said forlornly, rolling her head lazily to look at Malfoy just as he took his seat beside her. "Is anyone hungry the day after Christmas dinner? I doubt it."
"Well I am, actually," Malfoy said, contradicting her with an irritating bluntness, and heaped his plate with enough food that Hermione felt ill just looking at it all. Hermione had no idea how Malfoy ate so much and yet stayed so lean without seeming to exercise at all, but she was jealous; in the last year she had started having to watch what she ate to some degree or the weight slipped straight onto her hips.
"Didn't you get positively stuffed yesterday? I was waddling by the time I left the Burrow."
"No, not really." He looked down at his plate, and caught his lower lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. His eyes were very grey and shuttered of emotion as he looked back up at her. "During the trials, after the war, the Malfoy house elfs were all given opportunity to choose between either being freed, or moving into service elsewhere. None of them chose to stay."
"Oh…?" Hermione murmured, clutching her hands together in her lap, feeling her back and shoulders stiffen as Malfoy mentioned the war. It was always a dangerous topic to bring up around her; especially at Christmas, where the family reunion was also a stark reminder of all the people they'd loved, who had died. All the empty spaces around the table were painful, like fingernails digging at an old, unhealed wound. She breathed deeply, showing no trace of her emotion on her face. Malfoy tried to smile at her as he went on, but the expression was wobbly and weak and all kinds of awkward, as he seemed to sense her discomfort.
"And no squib would ever work for the Malfoys in a servant's role, not unless they were paid more than my father's pride would allow. So Christmas dinner yesterday was…well, my mother isn't exactly a brilliant cook. She never had reason to learn to cook of course, and after the Ministry stripped away the elfs, she refused to learn." Malfoy paused, and Hermione didn't know if she should say something – and didn't know what to say if she did. 'Sorry, but I think your father deserved far worse than that, and your mother's a disgusting snob' might not work out too well, she thought, even if Malfoy didn't seem to be on good terms with his father. Thankfully he saved her by continuing, his voice strained and eyes glazed over as if he was remembering.
"So father does all the cooking…and he's utterly useless at it. My Christmas dinner was burnt turkey, charred potatoes, a variety of leathery vegetables, and father being a bastard." The remnants of Malfoy's now rather bitter smile faltered and fell away as he stared down at his plate.
"Oh…I'm – I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione said helplessly, genuinely sorry for him but lost for words – especially considering she was trying to process the image of the magically-bound Lucius Malfoy swearing over a hot stove just like a Muggle. "That's…not very, er, Chrismassy." She thought she sounded like a right idjit, but from the grateful look Malfoy shot her, he seemed to appreciate the thought behind her poor attempt at sympathising.
"The Manor has never exactly been the most festive place, but nowadays it's awf–" Malfoy snapped his mouth shut with a horrified little sound as Hermione flinched in her chair, feeling the blood drain from her cheeks at the mention of the Manor as 'not festive', because talking about a bloody understatement. She felt dizzy, all of a sudden. Terribly dizzy, and sick – stomach rebelling, and limbs feeling numb and leaden. She swallowed thickly.
"No. No, festivity is not what – what comes to mind when I remember the – the Manor," Hermione got out in a cracked voice, vaguely aware Minerva was looking in their direction and managing a smile for the Headmistress, waving away the old witch's concerns. It was just a panic attack – Hermione knew how to deal with those well enough. Malfoy was staring at her in horror, concern and guilt sketching his face in tight, ashen lines.
"Hermione? Merlin, I'm sorry, I should've…are you all right?"
"It's fine, I'm fine, I –" she tried to reassure him, but her voice was thin and quiet because it was getting rather hard to breathe. God, she hadn't had a panic attack when remembering the Manor in years. What was wrong with her? Then again, that could be because everyone knew never to mention it to her, or that day, with Bellatrix, and…and Malfoy had been right there, in the room, staring at her while she screamed, and…and that was a lot to deal with, okay?
"I just didn't think," he was saying worriedly, apologising and leaning forward to search her eyes intently, his all clouded and grey and guilty, and it was disconcerting to remember him as he had been, back then, and trying to reconcile the bigoted boy with who Malfoy was now was just…impossible. Hermione was just glad that only two students were present for lunch, and they didn't seem interested in the quiet drama unfolding at the teachers' table. She wasn't sure they'd even noticed.
"It's all right. I just need a moment," she got out in scarcely more than a whisper, and then realised with a start that her cold hand was folded up in his warm one, his thumb running over and over her skin in little swipes he meant to be comforting. She squeezed instead of shaking free, consciously trying to slow and control her breathing, fixating on the feel of Malfoy's thumb rubbing over the back of her hand, his fingers curling around hers. Physical touch was always grounding, Hermione told herself, as she clung tighter.
And then as she breathed slowly and deeply and told herself to be calm, the attack passed, leaving her blinking down at their hands entwined between them and feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet as she recovered her mental equilibrium.
"I didn't think," Malfoy said again, looking just a little bit frantic. "I'm sorry, I should've… I shouldn't have brought up, um, home, to you like that, but you asked and you've said that you're well past the war, and everything that came with it. And I just – I – I apologise, Hermione. Truly. I am truly so –"
"Did you wear the hat, yesterday?" Hermione interrupted, desperate to change the subject to something less raw and embarrassing, and Malfoy broke off his apologetic ramblings with a startled frown at her unexpected, unconnected question. And then he grinned, a lopsided, pleased kind of expression, his eyes lightening and crinkling at the corners.
"I did, actually. And mother asked me where I got it –" Hermione sensed from Malfoy's tone that Narcissa hadn't been impressed by it, and she harrumphed to herself. "– and when I told her it had been a Christmas present from Miss Hermione Granger, father threw a fit. Bigoted bastard." Malfoy said the last under his breath, a frown scrunching his brows together. He shifted his grip on her hand and she nearly jumped out of her skin as she realised they were still holding hands, for Godric's sake. She drew hers back swiftly, clearing her throat and flexing her warmed fingers as she shuffled around to face her salad and now-cold fish, trying not to feel weird.
"Your mother isn't so bigoted anymore then?" Hermione asked with a deceptively casual tone, and Malfoy made a small sound in the back of his throat, flashing her an uncertain look, as if he was afraid she would have another panic attack. She lifted an eyebrow, gesturing for him to go on as she sipped at her pumpkin juice.
"No. She's still a complete snob, but no, not half as bigoted. Father, on the other hand…" Malfoy looked tired, and sounded it too, as his thoughts turned to Lucius Malfoy. "He's only forty-seven, you know. He's got around a hundred years in him at least. And with his magic bound, restricted to the house, unable to associate with his old…friends…or make any new ones, he's miserable and makes sure everyone around him knows it – vocally. And I can't have nothing to do with him, because that would upset mother, who doesn't deserve anymore stress. I can't even take over running the family business because it's the only thing father has left to him, but he keeps trying to run it as if he's still a…well, you know, which isn't helping business, and that fact only serves to make him more hateful of the world in general."
Malfoy sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. Hermione tried to imagine looking ahead to having a hundred years of Lucius Malfoy hung around your neck like a millstone, and couldn't. She picked at her salad fussily as she tried to come up with something to say, even less hungry now, after her embarrassing little moment.
"Well, it's a hundred years in which he could change?" she tried hesitantly, attempting an optimistic perspective, and Malfoy gave her a look that made her insides flutter warm; all fondness and gratitude. Hermione knew that he thought she was being hopelessly naïve to even suggest his father changing, but to his credit he didn't hint at that aloud. He just smiled at her, one hand absently straightening the position of his knife and fork at either side of his plate.
"My mother said she liked the hat," he offered after a brief silence, still smiling uncertainly. "And I do too. I've – I've never gotten a gift like that, before, Hermione." He took a little breath as if steeling himself, and met her eyes. "It means a lot," he said quietly, as if that was something very important, and Hermione smiled back at him, wide and happy. It was wobbly, the tentative bridge of friendship that they were building between them, but it seemed like it was getting sturdier, and Hermione thought she quite liked that.
"It was just a hat," she told him lightly with a shrug, embarrassed at all the appreciation, especially considering he'd spent £500 on her. She wondered what kind of terrible gifts Malfoy had gotten in the past, that her plain hand-knitted cap with its lopsided pompom could apparently exceed them all.
"But I'm glad you like it," she added hastily, flashing him another quick smile. And then when their conversation petered out as they turned their attention to the food, Hermione, kept remembering the way he'd said it. I've never gotten a gift like that before, Hermione. It means a lot. Despite her embarrassment that appreciation made her feel very warm inside, and maybe just a little bit sad for him, too.
Hermione wondered idly when Malfoy's birthday was, and whether perhaps he'd like some hand-knitted socks. She was quite good at socks.
Lunch
All night and next morning, it snowed. Enough to leave a thick blanket of snow on the ground, and the students came in to lunch red-cheeked and noses running from the cold, worn out from their snowball fights. Malfoy asked her if she'd like to go for a stroll down by the lake after lunch, a badly hidden diffidence to his voice. Hermione told him yes without even having to think about it, and then wondered immediately after when exactly it had been that they had gone from barely tolerating each other to this friendship. Because that was what it was; they were no longer just polite colleagues, but feeling their way through the process of becoming friends. But it didn't really matter when, just that they were, and that it made Hermione happy.
"Ready?" Malfoy asked as Hermione pushed away her cleared plate, and she looked up at him and stifled a laugh behind her hand. He'd already pulled on the knitted cap she'd made him and was smirking faintly at her – he looked ridiculous and undeniably adorable, and completely unlike his usual self. It suited him. Hermione grinned at Malfoy and nodded.
"Ready." Hermione stood up at the same time as Malfoy, both of them trying to exit via the gap between their chairs, which suddenly felt very narrow as she bumped into him. He was warm and very solid, and a squeak of surprise and discomfort escaped her lips as her breasts came in sudden, abrupt contact with his body.
"Oh!" she yelped because it had actually hurt a little bit, swaying back from the impact and nearly falling over into her chair like a clumsy idiot, her cheeks flaming up brilliantly. Malfoy's hand snapped out and seized her arm, keeping her on her feet but also pinned tightly to him. Hermione's breath wrenched in and she grabbed his shirtfront in reaction as she wobbled, nearly pulling them both over backwards and pressing their bodies flush together from knee to chest, her back arched slightly and Malfoy nearly falling onto her.
"Fuck, Hermione, hold still and stop thrashing," Malfoy got out as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her upright with him – and then swore some more under his breath in a strangled voice that made Hermione's heart stop altogether for a moment, and then gallop twice as fast when it began again. She tried to jerk back. "Hermione." Frustration coloured his voice and Hermione's stomach flipped strangely.
"Oh Godric…" A tiny, whimpered gasp of mortification too low for Malfoy to hear properly escaped Hermione's lips as she heard Karl Milngavie chuckling at them, the git, and she was so hot-cheeked she thought she might spontaneously combust. Malfoy's chair slid back with a too-loud grating squeal as he steadied them both awkwardly, and desperately tried to separate them, his hands on her shoulders now and hers gripping his upper arms, feeling the muscles shift beneath his skin. Her breath caught sharply again.
"I –" he began as he managed to step back and put some space between them. Hermione steadied herself and cleared her throat, brushing off her jersey and quickly side-stepping out of the now-wider gap between their chairs.
"…Well. Um…Merlin, I'm so clumsy sometimes," she rushed out, shooting a glare that threatened a slow and painful death at Karl as he snorted loudly. The Care of Magical Creatures teacher barely managed to choke down his next laugh, but his eyes crinkled and his lips twitched as he tried to hide the amusement he felt at Hermione and Malfoy's expense.
"No; my fault. Sorry –" Malfoy said abruptly, adjusting his hat busily; tugging on the tassels, his eyes fixed on the ground. Then his eyes widened and his cheeks pinked, and he shifted his stance with a low curse and turned away from her altogether. Hermione stared at his back with very wide eyes, mind stuttering on disbelief because noooo. Just…just…no. She had been around two hormonal teenage boys for long enough stretches of time in her teens that she knew exactly what that awkward, hunched shoulder, hands in pockets, turning away thingy meant. Her brain gabbled panic at her.
"Are – are we going, then?" Malfoy managed just a second later, glancing over his shoulder with still-flushed cheeks.
"Um. Er. Yes. Yes! Yes, we are," Hermione babbled like a fool, and wobbled out the most awkward smile ever.
"Have fun you two!" Karl warbled with a little wave, his tone all choked up with laughter, and Hermione groaned with embarrassment. Malfoy seemed to have finally regained his composure however, and just smirked, pinning the other man with a scathingly superior look over his shoulder.
"Oh we will, Milngavie," he said lightly in a voice saturated with meaning, low enough that no one else but Karl and Hermione could hear. "We will." And then he smiled down at Hermione, warm and affectionate. "Shall we?"
Hermione gulped and nodded wordlessly, her heart inexplicably lodged in her throat – perhaps from the embarrassment that was still roaring through her, reignited by Draco's teasing. He may have just been playing along with Karl, but it was not fair. But she collected herself and tucked her arm through Malfoy's at his offer, letting him escort her out of the Hall as if he was some kind of old-fashioned gentleman, leaving a handful of curious students and an undignifiedly giggling Care of Magical Creatures professor behind.
For some reason Malfoy burst out laughing as soon as they were alone in the snowy landscape, and while he was caught off guard, Hermione pushed him down in a snowdrift.
Dinner
School was beginning again tomorrow, and Hermione had taken advantage of the last day of holidays not by going over lesson plans again, but instead using her Christmas present from Malfoy. And oh Merlin, it had been wonderful. Apparently £500 purchased one quite an experience. The promise of pampering on the voucher had not been a lie; Hermione had never been so pampered in her life. She felt like a new witch, and had already been complimented by Minerva, Neville, Karl, and Aurora when she'd arrived at the High Table for dinner.
Her hair had been washed, cut to just beneath her shoulders, shot through with warm caramel and dark golden highlights, and styled into submission. It fell in shiny, bouncy waves around her face, and Hermione had been assured that the hair products she'd bought at the salon would help keep her hair this way. She had her doubts, but at least it looked very pretty for now. She fidgeted with the little silver otter dangling from the necklace she wore – her Christmas present from Ron, who had greatly improved the thoughtfulness of his gift-giving skills since their Hogwarts' days.
"Don't worry, Hermione. I'm sure you've triple-checked everything, and it'll all go smoothly," Neville said reassuringly, and she blinked and dragged herself out of her thoughts.
"I'm sorry?"
"Don't fret about tomorrow, I was saying," Neville repeated with a smile. "You look a bundle of nerves."
"Oh." Hermione bit her lip and her eyes darted discreetly across to Malfoy's empty seat beside her. She blushed. He hadn't seen what she'd done with the voucher yet, and she was rather nervous about what he'd think – after all, it had been his present to her, and… "Yes, I suppose I am a little preoccupied. You know me. I always want everything to be perfect." She couldn't meet Neville's eyes as she half-lied to him, and she could feel his gaze rest on her for a long moment before he hmm'ed doubtful agreement and let her be with a pat to her hand. There wasn't much for them to talk about – they'd gone out for butterbeer in Hogsmeade when Neville had arrived back yesterday evening, and swapped all their holiday news. And Hermione wasn't much in the mood for trying to sustain general light chatter – she really was preoccupied. Just not about lesson plans. So she sat quietly and fidgeted.
The food appeared, heaped up on the table in front of their plates, and Hermione wondered if perhaps Malfoy wasn't going to be attending dinner. She frowned to herself as she forked some slices of roast beef onto her plate, unable to deny her twinge of disappointment. Which was frankly a ridiculous way to feel, because of course she'd see him first thing tomorrow morning at breakfast.
"You got your hair done," Malfoy said from out of nowhere halfway through the meal, and Hermione choked on a mouthful of mashed potato. She covered her mouth and wheezed and coughed, glancing over at him with watering eyes as he took his seat and gave her a mildly concerned look. "Sorry, did I startle you?" he asked faux-innocently, and she wheezed furiously at him, grasping half-blinded for her glass of pumpkin juice as the worst of the coughing passed. Tears streaked her cheeks and she had no doubt she looked red-faced and horrid, and when Malfoy thumped her on the back several times – trying to be helpful no doubt – she flailed him off and glared pointedly.
"Get – cough – off me – gasp – you git – wheeze – you're not helping!" she got out, and when he left off, sipped shakily at her pumpkin juice. She nearly snorted one mouthful out her nose as another coughing fit seized her, but kept it down in the end. Thank Merlin, it soothed her throat and eased the last of her splutters, and she pressed the tall glass to her blotchy cheeks to cool them, the condensation icy on her skin.
"Sorry," Malfoy said, not sounding very sorry at all, his eyes raking over her, his expression shifting from amusement to something else before he veiled it with forced friendly neutrality. His voice was light and totally matter-of-fact. "You look beautiful, by the way."
Hermione stared at him.
"What?" she said blankly before she could censor herself, and Malfoy just smirked infuriatingly and turned his eyes away, dishing up his dinner – still smirking faintly as he did. Hermione didn't know what on earth to say, so she didn't say anything; staring at her plate wide-eyed, unable to eat she was so distracted. But after a few minutes Malfoy leaned over toward Hermione – oh god, she could smell his cologne – and asked Neville a Herbology question. And with that to break the ice, normal conversation resumed for the rest of the meal. She felt like she could sense an undercurrent of tension though, and it made her acutely aware of Malfoy, beside her.
Hermione told herself he was just being polite, or perhaps teasing her, but she wasn't so sure those reasons were very convincing anymore.
Breakfast
"Who's an adorable 'ittle baby, then? Who's just the biggest, cutest, cleverest 'ittle poppety-pie?" Hermione cooed with enthusiasm as she tickled baby James' fat, nearly-non-existent neck, just beneath his chin where he was most ticklish. He grinned toothlessly at her and reached out and snatched at her still rather lovely and well-behaved hair, grabbing onto a lock of it and pulling hard. Hermione winced and detached his hand, cooing some more at him about how strong he was. He burbled a laugh as Hermione contorted her face into the most ridiculous expression she could think of, and she looked up at James' parents, pleased that the five-month-old seemed to remember her from Christmas Day.
"He likes his Aunt Hermione, oh yes he does," she said half to James, and half to Harry and Ginny, who looked both deeply amused and disturbed by Hermione's abrupt devolvement into baby-talk.
"Of course he does," Harry said with a yawn and a smile, and then shovelled some more pancakes in his mouth unceremoniously. They were at The Three Broomsticks for breakfast, so Hermione could have a catch up with one of her favourite surrogate-nephews, and Ginny could get out of the house. Hermione thought that Ginny was beginning to get a bit of cabin fever – Harry was busy a lot with work, and although Ginny could go to the Burrow whenever she liked, that wasn't exactly relaxing. And the wizarding world wasn't very baby-friendly, so poor Ginny ended up just staying at home a great deal. She was looking a little peaky this morning – both of them were, actually – and Hermione guessed that James hadn't slept very well the night before.
"So are you still looking forward to going back to Quidditch?" Hermione asked, jiggling James absently and making him giggle. Ginny nodded, smiling wistfully at the mention of the sport.
"Counting down the months, actually. I do love being at home with James, but I miss flying so much. And the Harpies miss me too – and I want to keep it that way. I don't want them thinking they can do without me forever."
"How long did you end up taking maternity leave for? I know you told me but I can't remember. I swear to Merlin my brain is turning into a sieve." Hermione said to Ginny as she glanced up from snuggling James, who was currently trying to devour his fist, gumming furiously. Merlin, he was patently adorable – at the age where he was really starting to be able to interact. Hermione needed to make the effort to visit them more, she told herself. It was easy enough to apparate to their house from just outside Hogwarts' grounds, or have the floos connected.
"A year. I would have pushed it back to two, but that's too long to be away, and making it twelve months means that I'll get back to practice well before the next season begins. Mum's happy to mind James for us during the day, and except for matches my work hours are somewhat flexible. So it should work out all right. I hope."
"It's wonderful that you've got your mum to mind him – it's hard to find child-minders in the wizarding world, or so I've heard at least," Hermione said, awkwardly juggling her muffin and the voracious baby who was determined to grab at it, but was still much too small to be eating double chocolate chip muffin.
"They don't have any," Harry piped up, wiping his mouth with his napkin, and then taking a sip of coffee to wash down his breakfast – his stack of pancakes demolished. "Well, not really. No nurseries or the like. Private nannies are available if you hunt around long enough, but mostly the wizarding world just assumes everyone has a huge family, house elfs, or no need to work. Which is just…stupid."
"Perhaps you should retire from Auror work and open a nursery when I go back to Quidditch then, Harry," Ginny suggested teasingly, automatically wiping a smear of maple syrup off Harry's chin with one spit-damped thumb. He batted her hand away with a disgusted expression and Ginny laughed at him and flipped her long hair over her shoulder with a wide grin.
"Maybe I will," Harry said faux-indignantly. "I'd make a bloody brilliant child-minder."
"Oh really?" Ginny inquired in a tone saturated with disbelief, leaning in toward Harry, elbow on the table as she rested her chin in her hands, Hermione and James temporarily forgotten.
"Yes, as a matter of fact." Harry kissed his wife on the nose, and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear with a fond little smile. "Anyway, back in a minute, Gin. Off to the loo." He disappeared off into the back with a dorky grin and silly little wave for James, who remained unimpressed with his father – too busy gnawing industriously on his fist.
"Is he teething, Ginny?"
"Hmm?" Ginny blinked, pulling her eyes away from where Harry had gone. God, the pair of them were sickeningly sweet still. "Oh, um…I'm not sure, actually. He's been chewing on his wee hands a lot lately, but other than that he hasn't shown any signs of teething – and he's probably a little a bit young yet." Ginny yawned and rubbed her hands tiredly over her eyes. "I think maybe he's just found his fists."
"Well in that case he's cleverer than his father," a familiar voice said in a superior sort of tone, and Hermione and Ginny both jerked their heads up to stare at Malfoy, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Ginny gave him a look that was caught between utter confusion and minor irritation, with an undercurrent of bottled-up laughter.
"That…doesn't even make any sense, Malfoy," she said with laughing annoyance. Malfoy smirked archly.
"Rather like your husband, then?"
"Draco!" Hermione cried, prodding him in the shin with her shoe and giving him a half-horrified frown. He smiled down at her, eyes crinkling at the corners, unperturbed and rather too handsome in charcoal dress trousers and light grey-blue jersey over a crisp grey shirt…and Hermione's slightly misshapen green knitted cap. Hermione had been able to tell the exact moment Ginny noticed the cap; it was the way the redhead's eyes had gone wide and she'd suddenly had to stifle giggles that had given it away.
"Hermione," was all that he said, still smiling beatifically at her. "And this must be…James?"
Ginny gave Malfoy a suspicious sort of look, seeming rather flustered by Hermione's behaviour toward him, and nodded. "That's right."
Ginny eyed Malfoy carefully as he bent and took a good look at James, leaning in so close over Hermione that she could feel his body heat and smell his cologne. Too close, she thought as her heart skipped and raced like mad, and her…discomfort…made her breath distinctly not even. Draco lifted his cool eyes from examining little James to skim his gaze over Hermione's face as her breath came unsteadily. He looked into her eyes, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing kind of smirk. Oh. Her stomach flipped and her chest went tight – she pressed her thighs hard together as a throb made itself suddenly, insistently known between them.
Oh Merlin, Hermione thought frantically, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, eyes locked to Malfoy's as she did so. Malfoy's breath hitched and his pupils swamped his eyes, blotting the pale grey with black, and he hovered there scant inches away from her as though he wanted to just snap and kiss her. As though he was debating whether or not to…Hermione lost her train of thought as his hand came up and his fingertips brushed feather-light over her shoulder.
Then James bashed Malfoy in the face with one flailing, saliva-coated fist.
It was a direct hit to Malfoy's left eye, and he jerked back in surprise and clutched his saliva-wet, injured eye, barely biting back a very bad word. Hermione gasped and let out a half-hysterical giggle despite herself as she shifted her grip on James, who seemed to have given himself a fright with his attack, and was beginning to whimper slightly. Draco turned a lone baleful eye on her, wiping the baby saliva out of the other one.
"Cute. I see he takes after his Aunt Hermione."
"Here, I'll take him, Hermione." Ginny stood and leaned over the table, scooping the fat, wriggling baby into her arms and planting a light kiss on his forehead. "Potters – one, Malfoys – still zero."
"Oh…Merlin, Ginny! Don't –" Hermione began to huff, defending Malfoy automatically – and then embarrassment swept up over her at the knowing look Ginny gave her; all raised eyebrow and silent smugness. The younger witch's look managed to poignantly communicate that she had seen the almost-kiss, and had recognised it for what it was. Hermione stumbled over her words, flustered. "Let's not encourage a continuation of the feud," she said weakly, and Ginny gave a smirk worthy of Malfoy – who had just finished wiping his eye with a hanky, and stood there awkwardly, cheeks faintly pink, seeming to be avoiding looking in Hermione's direction.
"All right then. No feuding," Ginny said sweetly to Hermione, before turning to Malfoy with a wicked grin. "Would you like to join us, Malfoy?"
His eyes flicked to Hermione as if for permission before he answered Ginny, and she couldn't help but drop her eyes, seized by a sudden mortified shyness. She was still reeling from the fact that Malfoy had nearly kissed her – she was sure of it, and she needed some time to process that and figure out what in Merlin's name it meant before she sat down and had breakfast with him, Ginny, Harry, and James. Her face felt horribly hot and she had to resist the urge to kick Ginny under the table for inviting Malfoy, or to flee before things got even more awkward. She buried her face in her coffee, pulse thundering, hot all over and still trying to quell the arousal that Malfoy's near-kiss had provoked in her. God, please let him say no, she begged silently.
"Thank you, but no," Malfoy said politely to Ginny, and Hermione risked a glance up at him. He was shifting uncomfortably, his left hand was clenched into a fist – something Hermione knew he did when he was uncomfortable – and his cheeks were still faintly touched with colour. "Perhaps another time. I have a breakfast date with my mother, actually."
"Right," Ginny said with a direct casualness that was strikingly at odds with Malfoy's pained formality, and her eyes sparkled with suppressed mischief. "Maybe you and Hermione can come over to Grimmauld for dinner some time."
Hermione hissed wordlessly under her breath, narrowing her eyes at Ginny and poking her under the table, glaring at the unrepentant redhead. Malfoy looked stiff and trapped standing there under Ginny's teasing eyes, and his jaw clenched and relaxed before he spoke.
"Maybe." He shrugged, obviously trying to reply lightly but it came out sounding quiet and uncertain, his gaze flicking to Hermione nervously. Ginny's expression went from wickedly teasing to slack and shocked. "I'm not sure if Potter and I could survive being in the same room together for the length of an entire dinner without flinging hexes, though." Malfoy recovered himself admirably, but it was too late. Ginny wasn't stupid.
"I –" she began, but thank Merlin for good timing; James took that very moment to burst into grouchy cries, facilitating Malfoy's swift escape.
"Potter," he said with a nod to Ginny. And then he smiled at Hermione – one of those lovely, genuine smiles, completely unguarded and shockingly sweet. "Hermione." Somehow he managed to imbue her name with a wealth of meaning. "I'll see you later."
"Um…er, yes. See you later, Draco," Hermione stumbled out weakly, and then he was gone – retreating to safety as quickly as he could at a walking pace, the pompom on his hat bobbling as he disappeared through to one of the private back parlours. Hermione pressed her folded up hand to the centre of her chest and slumped back in her chair as she took a deep shaky breath, trembling from nerves. Ginny leant forward in her chair to turn an accusing, excited glare on Hermione, nearly squashing poor James who was nestled at his mum's breast, feeding contentedly.
"Merlin's great hairy balls, Hermione! You – you and Malfoy? I knew you were friendly, but…Godric's sake, you could cut the tension with a knife."
"I –"
"I thought you two were going to start going at it on the table right then, if not for James being in the way. Seriously, Hermione – Malfoy? And you didn't even tell me!" Ginny babbled, flailing a hand agitatedly. "Some friend you are! How long have you been hiding it? I know Harry doesn't know – he's utterly awful at keeping secrets from me."
"Ginny…" Hermione tried as soon as she could get a word in edgewise – filing away the fact that anything she told Harry would most definitely be told to Ginny. "Ginny, there's nothing going on between Malfoy and I. At least…I thought there wasn't. We're not…in a secret relationship or anything ridiculous like that."
Ginny gave Hermione a doubtful look. "Hermione, you know I'm not overly keen on that git, so when I say this, I mean it: If there isn't anything going on between you and Malfoy, there bloody well should be. Merlin, Hermione. Malfoy or not, I don't even care. Just go rip his damn clothes off," she said emphatically in her usual refreshingly blunt way, fanning herself exaggeratedly with one hand and grinning.
"W – what?" The two women jerked their heads around to see Harry stood there by the table, a worried frown furrowing his forehead. "Ginny, you want Hermione to go and rip whose what off?"
"Oh god. Please, just don't ask, Harry," Hermione said firmly, running her hand through her hair in frustration, wishing she could crawl under the table and die. She snatched her bag up onto her lap and her eyes checked the clock. They'd all eaten, and James was drifting off to sleep now – perhaps Hermione could plead off and escape back to her quiet rooms at Hogwarts.
"Well now, the problem is that I distinctly heard my lovely, clearly mad wife tell you to rip Malfoy's clothes off," Harry said tightly as he sat down beside Ginny and directed a pointed look between her and Hermione, his nose crinkling up with anticipatory disgust. "And thus I kind of feel that I have to ask."
"Oh my god." Hermione sank her head into her hands and then stood abruptly, handbag clutched tightly in her hands like some kind of lifeline. "No, no, I am not talking about this, Harry. No. Ask Ginny if you must know what depraved things she's suggesting and why – I'm going to go and do something nice and safe, like finish marking the fifth year essays." Hermione smiled warmly at them and said goodbye in a flurry of hugs and kisses, not allowing either Harry or Ginny a chance to protest her sudden exit. And then she spun on the spot with the telltale pop of apparition, landing with a gasp on the grass just outside Hogwarts' bounds.
Author's Note: I'm not entirely happy with the end of the last scene, but after a dozen revisions I decided this would just have to do. I hope I've managed to achieve a natural progression to their relationship ::crosses fingers:: If you enjoyed it, please tell me so in a review - I do love those XD One last chapter before the end…