Hours later they sat once more in the kitchen, darkness falling into night outside the window, the sound of the sea discernable through the howl of the wind about the small home.
Draco watches Hermione read the book, a look of intense concentration in her eyes. She has not moved for quite some time and he finds himself studying her. Studying the way the firelight plays about her curls, across her eyelashes, slashes of cheekbones. The slight upturned nose, the stubborn chin.
Remembering seeing her months before, for the first time again in the library, seeing her and feeling that point under his chin flaring to life. Feeling the coldness, the pain, his compulsion, pulling, always pulling him to her. To their memories. To his memories. Ten years past.
But he has not felt that compulsion since the day before when finally, just finally, things were said and thoughts were exposed.
Their magic strong between them. Substantial. A lace of a winter's afternoon, brilliant as the heat of the sun warms the coldness of ice.
His fist clenches at the thought of her, him, them.
So many definitions.
Draco wonders if she'd caught the slip of his tongue in front of his father.
And if she had, why she had not reacted to it.
Moving in silence with her hand securely in his own, they had Disapparated back to Severus' home, where they left him with a promise to inform him of what they discovered, with his promise that he would look into whatever information he could find.
To Apparate back at the small home they'd left earlier that morning.
Barely any words spoken between them. Though she had, once gaining the house and walking into the kitchen, turned to him, her small hand gripping his chin hard, pulling his head down so she could capture his lips.
Standing in the kitchen for a moment while he leaned into her, allowing her to support him. If only for a moment.
But then she had pulled away, immediately preparing tea the Muggle way, until finally, tea things out on the table, his tea poured out for him, she had opened the book.
And had not looked up since.
He picks up his tea and sips it quietly, holding the delicate porcelain between his hands, warming his palms for a moment. He is supposed to be looking through the parchments once more, tracing the history of he spell, but he finds he can't concentrate.
All his attention is on the witch sitting across from him.
He had not thought about marriage. Not at least, in those terms. Long term is not something Draco does well. Ever since he was forced to admit that his life span was more than likely very short, being a Death Eater spy does that, he had never thought of the years ahead of him. After the war it was about getting his name back to its previous glory, regaining his wealth. About business and contacts, becoming once more the illustrious Malfoy prince.
A day-to-day, and at most, week-to-week endeavour, with only the long term business plans making him think of the future.
But personally. He had not thought beyond a couple days ahead of him.
A survival thing perhaps, because really, what did he have to look forward to during that time? He was not interested in women, couldn't be interested in women as all of them reminded him of Hermione. He had no thoughts of family. No thoughts of what he would do personally.
But now. Now, with this witch in front of him, with her curls playing about her face, that bottom lip pulled between her teeth, he finds the future is lying in front of him in directions he can't even imagine.
Roads. Possibilities.
It tugs at something in his gut, tugs hard.
Almost hurting.
He will not lose her. That thought moves about and about his head, circling even as he puts his tea down and picks up the parchment once more.
He will not lose her, though he knows somewhere in the back of his mind, that honest voice that he can not deny, it is not entirely up to him whether she stays or goes. She had left him once before - who is to say that she would not leave him again.
But if married?
Draco's thoughts are interrupted by Hermione moving finally, lowering her book to look at him.
He is surprised to see tears in her eyes.
A rush of protectiveness overwhelmed him for a moment as something indiscernible throbs in their bond.
Hermione looks down at the book, a soft look gracing her features before she once more glances back up at him.
"This is-" she starts, her voice catching, a hand coming up to rub away the tears on her cheeks. She laughs, a short laugh, "I'm being stupid. Look at me, crying over this."
Draco watches her in concern, not understanding, having scanned the book before handing it to her, but not actually reading it.
He wonders what is in the text.
But Hermione continues, smiling at him. "This is a beautiful spell."
Simply put. Draco shakes his head slightly. "What do you mean?"
Hermione picks up the book almost reverently, the look she gives it reminding him sharply of the same look his mother used to have when she read the book.
A gentle, almost knowing look.
The similarities between his mother and Hermione takes his breath away, a bludgeon in his chest and for a moment he has to focus on the intake and outtake of air.
"The spell is intertwined with the story, but it was a binding spell originally, a blood spell done between a Malfoy heir and his bride." A smile then, distant. Continuing. "Anyway, I can understand why it affected your mother; the story could be about your mother and father, the similarities are striking." Another pause, head slightly tilted as she catches Draco's eyes. "Did your parents do this binding spell?"
Annoyance, because of the pain moving through his chest now, because of the knowledge of memories, of histories, pressing down.
"Obviously not, seeing as he allowed her to be tortured and killed."
Harsh words.
Causing the colour in Hermione's face to bleed away slowly. She looks down at the book in her hand. "Of course. That was a stupid question."
Murmured.
Draco brings a hand up and rubs at the point between his eyes, closing them for a moment, allowing him to move away from the tightness about his middle, a tightness that has existed since he saw his father sitting in the chair in that run down library.
So very near death.
So not like the man he had known, that he had remembered.
Not even a shadow of that man.
A corpse.
Living and breathing.
Hermione continues though her tone is quieter, more cautious, not looking up at the man across from her that holds his head in his hands. Feeling him, the pain, so much of it, swirling about him, through their binding, through their magic.
The deep swirl of a London fog.
Thick. Impenetrable.
"The spell is in here, the connotations of it, and we were right. Originally it was a blood binding spell, to create protection and a deep and lasting bond between two people, a Malfoy and his bride, as I said. The binding creates a magic, a personal magic, a way of communicating more than anything else. A binding, much like a wizarding marriage ceremony but a little more extreme."
A quick of her lips, barely. "It appears as if the Malfoy family has always been a bit on the extremist side of things."
Draco drops his hands from his face and looks on Hermione, his mind trying to move away from the images of his mother on the ground, and back to the cosy kitchen the two of them inhabit.
Pulling his mind forward with a great deal of control. Focusing.
"So, somehow when we cast the revised version of this spell, it reverted back to the original?" he asks.
Hermione slowly shakes her head, absently turning the pages though she is not actually reading the words.
"No. I think we created a third revision because the field of magic was still created, we know that because we were able to help Harry, and that field of magic, the shadows, they are not part of the original spell. The original spell is something…" A pause, while she tries to find a word. Continuing, albeit slowly. "I think the original spell is pure, something between the two individual casters, but nothing more than that. It was this revision that added the Dark Magic, the malevolence of it."
Draco nods his head slowly, "Thus why it is a shadowed magic, something a little harsher, a little darker."
"Yes. But the original spell, being the original spell, is the base of the magic, the strongest parts of the magic. The revision changed things, but not the actual base part of the magic, thus, when we cast it, because we…" She pauses again, a small amount of colour moving over her cheeks. Continuing. "Because we cared about one another, and it was not just a powerful Malfoy trying to entrap a Muggle born, as the revision was used for, it tapped into the original base magic, the original spell, overriding the revision, though not completely."
A moment when the words hang in the air between them.
Dark grey eyes, softer but still laced with something black, sorrowful, meeting the gentler look of Hermione, her own eyes acknowledging the wizard, acknowledging what her magic is responding to in his.
He looks away, picking up his tea once more.
"So. What do we do?"
He asks, not sipping the tea, but holding it between his palms once more. Not looking at the witch sitting across from him but at the parchments and books spread out before them.
Hermione looking at the top of the white had, as it inclines slightly to take a sip of his tea.
She begins. "The spell, the revision, once the Malfoy caster creates the field and takes the magic from the Muggle, the field disperses."
Draco looking up sharply, eyes hard.
Hermione raises a hand. "No, I'm not going to go about killing myself, but what if the reaction would be the same if the bond was destroyed."
A tearing. Through his gut, at her words, at what they might mean.
Hermione sees it suddenly, a flash through their magic, across his face. She reaches out, dropping the book as she does so, grabbing his hand that does not hold the tea.
He jerks slightly from her grasp, a jerk reaction, something not thought of, instinctive.
Hermione lets the hand go.
"I'm not saying I want to, Draco," she says, quietly, softly, pleading almost.
Then firmer. "I don't want to. But if there is a way to disperse of this magic then we have a duty to."
"Why?" One word, harsh in the room.
Hermione looked away then, not meeting his gaze that suddenly pins her. "Because we do."
A sneer, she feels it even if she cant see it.
"For Potter and his brats?"
A flare of anger, at him and his words, dying out as soon as it flares up.
"Yes," she answers. Still not looking up at him. Continuing. "But also for others. You heard that it is not only Lily who is effected; it is everyone - every child born since that battle has this magic. If there is some way that we can cancel the magic, get rid of it, shouldn't we?"
Draco knows she is being rational, always the rational one, the logical one, but he is who he is and he wants this bond, he wants this binding with this witch.
He wants it more than anything he has ever wanted.
And is angry that she wants to demolish it, destroy it, just as they have finally found it. Discovered it.
But knowing, because he understands more than just what takes place in his realm of existence, that she is correct.
They have a duty to destroy it. Even though it tastes bitter on his tongue.
Bile.
When she reaches for his hand this time he does not take it away, watching under lowered eyelashes as she turns it over and slowly traces the lines there with a finger.
It causes a tightening in his gut and a stirring in his trousers.
Though he keeps his face blank and his magic in check.
"Draco," she starts, softly, a voice he is finding he can't do without. "If we can destroy this bond, to destroy the field of magic, we can still cast the binding spell, the original binding spell, again." A motion with her hand, towards the book in between them. "We have the original spell now, the original binding spell, that is…" She lets her sentence trail off once more.
Draco closes his palm about her fingers, not looking up still.
"I meant what I said." He says in response to her.
Glancing up and catching her gaze. Catching and holding.
He sees her hold a breath and then let it out slowly, pulling her lip in between her teeth.
The reaction makes him smile, hardness falling slightly at the sight.
"About what?" she asks, and her voice is just slightly unsteady, slightly uncertain.
Draco smirking, every so small, just a rise of lip, a flowing look of warmth in his eye.
"Marriage. Not right away, not even in the next couple of years, but eventually." A sudden feeling of embarrassment, uncertainty, a foreign and not all together welcome feeling for the Slytherin prince.
He is not used to being so direct.
But all weirdness, strangeness, falls away at the look he receives from the woman across the table, the sudden sparkle in her eye, the lifting of her lips, slightly plump where she has bitten it.
Teasing, a twinkle. "Are you proposing to me, Draco Malfoy?"
Draco sits back then, a smirk now full on his face. "Absolutely not. Malfoys propose in a much more lavish style."
Hermione tilts her head slightly. "Ah. So, I will know it when…"
Draco smiling, gently, grasping her hands and pulling them towards him. "You will most definitely know, my pet."
Hermione is a grinning thing, silly, a school girl, causing something in Draco's chest to flip and settle. He pulls on her hands, and without thought, she stands up and goes to where he sits, standing in front of him.
He wraps his arms around her, laying his head against her belly, closing his eyes.
She rakes her hands through his hair, always amazed at the nature of it, the silkiness of it.
"I love you." She says this quietly, meaning it with all of her, the magic swirling about them, her body, her mind. An ache almost in her gut, with no way of telling him or showing him how very much she does love him.
His arms about her tightening in response.
A moment between them. A completeness neither of them have known for some time.
If ever.
"If you want to do this, destroy this, I will," he says, mumbles, against her stomach.
Her hands drop from his hair to his shoulders, wrapping them awkwardly around him, pulling him even closer, if such a thing is possible.
Stilling for a moment longer before she untangles herself, pushing away slightly.
He lets go immediately, feeling the change in her magic even before she says a word.
Her intellect, her mind moving away from the moment between them and to the solution of the problem.
She sits down and picks up the book once more.
After a moment of watching her he brings up what he wishes he didn't know.
"Severus has told me he knows how to break the stone."
Her head snapping up at his words, gaze focusing on him.
"Why didn't you tell me of this earlier?"
Draco is easy in the chair he sits in, slouching, arrogant, always so very arrogant, but in the line of his face there is vulnerability.
Hermione sees it and her question does not have the bite it might otherwise have had.
"No matter," she waves her hand. "So he knows how?"
Draco nods once. "Yes. That's at least what he told me."
A narrowing of her eyes then, as connections are made.
"When were you talking to him about destroying the blood stone?"
Accusing words, a slight edge of panic.
Draco can't help but let the smirk grow alongside his jaw, lips, eyes moving into that soft quicksilver she knows, understands.
Instantly the panic moves away, just slightly.
Though Draco's smirk falls away, replaced by something else, serious, not entirely expressionless, but not telling either.
"The night I used Legilimency, after I saw what was there in your mind, I wanted to be rid of the blood stone, so I met Severus to find out if he had the information."
Hermione, remembering the shock of the spell, knowing what he saw, the guilt, Ron, horror. Thoughts that still exist but not as harsh. And then remembering the shock of no longer seeing the stone on his finger the night at the Manor, knowing it meant something, something she had, at the time, not wanted to think of.
She leans slightly forward, though she doesn't realise she does it.
"And now?"
A question Draco had not thought would be necessary, that would not come next, and for a moment he stares at her.
A worried frown, moving about her eyes, up her cheekbones, pulling her lip between her teeth.
Draco smiling slightly then, warming about him, "You need ask that?"
Hermione sitting back, trying to be nonchalant, easy, and not quite succeeding.
Causing the smile on Draco's face to grow even more.
The smile is sweet. Gentle. Something not seen on his face for a very long time and one that only the witch in front of him has the privilege of seeing now.
She knows this, even as it warms her skin, causing an almost peaceful feel, like sitting in the sun and stretching muscles in luxury.
Hermione smiles back. How can she not.
Looking down at the book again, her mind immediately moving from the wizard in front of her back to the problem at hand.
"He said he knew?" she clarifies, picking up the book once more.
Draco nods, then makes an agreeing noise as she does not look up from the book.
Hermione puts the book down and sighs, a quiet sigh. "I suppose we should go see him again then."
"No." One word, causing her to look up in surprise.
"What?"
Draco smirks. "No. We can send an owl."
A worried line moves between her eyes. "But the invite?"
"Is not tomorrow. We will get his response tomorrow and then have the rest of the day to come up with a solution." A pause, another look; this one predatory, almost hungry. "Tonight, I have plans for you, witch."
Hermione feels the warmth move up her neck to her cheeks, her hands curling into fists even as the first spikes of desire move up from the base of her spine, circling and stroking up the nerves there.
"Yes," she says, slightly breathless, not realising, not caring, "And what would those be?"
Draco leaning back, easy, confidence, "Dinner."
Hermione raising one eyebrow. "Oh?"
Another smirk. "In bed."
The other eyebrow rises. "Indeed."
Draco stands then, graceful, moving to where she sits and pulling her up by the arms, suddenly, almost forcefully, so she is wrapped up in his arms, pressed against his chest, before she can think on it.
She leans her face there, smelling him, that expensive scent that has not really changed through the years, not since the first time she noticed it.
So many years ago.
Feeling the familiarity, the completeness of their magic, a tide moving back and for the between them.
He rests his chin on top of her curls, arms almost tight around her form, until he can feel two small hands coming up to rest against his chest. Pushing gently.
He loosens his arms and looks down at her just as she looks up at him.
The look on her face tears at his gut. A pain in the pleasure of it.
Her eyes so very warm. So very truthful.
Kissing her suddenly, almost harshly, a reaffirmation.
Pulling away only when both of them must breath, their faces flushed, their eyes bright in the little light of the kitchen.
Hermione brings one hand up and traces his jaw with a finger. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Draco tilting his head, kissing the tip of her finger before answering, briefly wondering if he should lie, knowing, almost as soon as he thinks the thought, that she will know if he does so.
"I will be."
He answers, as a way of not lying, but not answering.
A brief smile moves across Hermione's lips as she looks up at him. She knows exactly what he just did.
And why.
So instead of pursuing the question, instead of peppering him with questions as she might have once, she leans up onto her toes kissing him gently, a mere pressure of lips on his own before stepping away.
Turning and moving away, towards the kitchen door, opening it with one hand.
"Where are you going?" A voice calling after her as she goes to step into the hallway.
Hermione glancing over her shoulder at him. Curls moving about her head, a smile playing about her lips, giving the wizard in the kitchen a look, one that speaks more than words ever could. Of heat, of memory, of forgiveness. Of love, of future and past, of so many different things.
So very many things.
Draco follows hers without another word.