The loud crack of apparition rattles the windows of the terraced Victorian houses lining Hermione's street. She quickly casts a disillusionment charm, hoping that her neighbours will put the noise on a passing airplane, rather than magical activity on their doorsteps.
Right this moment, she wishes she hadn't added anti-apparition wards on her house, it would have saved her some time and much effort. She's scrambling to cast complex charms to allow access for a slouched Malfoy, leaning what feels like his entire body weight on her.
Her door finally opens, allowing her to rush in her living room, dropping Draco unceremoniously on her sofa, muttering a quick 'finite' under her breath to lift the disillusionment as she jogs to her kitchen at the back of the house. She opens a drawer to pull out the canister she knows is kept inside then runs back to the front of the house.
"Granger, I'm fine." Wheezes Draco. "Really, it's not that serious."
Hermione kneels down on the carpet and firmly stabs his thigh with the epi-pen she is holding in her hand. She hears the distinctive click, subsequently attempting to count in her head to administer the full dose, but her internal voice is overwhelmed by the wizard's yelling.
"Owwwwwwhhhhhh! What the fuck is that? Death on a stick?"
Hermione doesn't want to risk having Draco stand up and injure himself any further. She casts a soft stunning spell, apologising mentally, promising to revive him as soon as the muggle medicine has done its job.
Draco wakes up to the sound of rain falling on the window panes. He is comfortably resting on a sofa, head supported by a soft cushion and an afghan wrapped around his shoulders. The room is dark, but enough light filters in from the street to allow him to observe a cosy living space, in a typical bay-windowed Victorian room. A fireplace is framed by tall bookcases with various pictures arranged on the mantelpiece. The place is timeless, made comfortable with soft furnishings and elegant by the femininity of the décor. He doesn't remember how he got here precisely, but he knows instinctively that he is in Granger's house.
Invoking the witch in his thoughts makes her appear through the double doors, holding two steaming cups of tea. She must have changed since they got here as she is now wearing silken loose trousers and an oversized jumper, the too-large knit hanging over her bare shoulder. She looks domestic and yet so enticing, his heart could sigh at the sight of her. She hands him one of the mugs and sits down in the armchair next to him.
"This is some place. You live here alone?"
"Yes, I actually prefer it that way. How do you feel?"
"Good. Relaxed. At peace." Draco is surprised by the candour of his own answer, considering that's precisely how he's feeling. He needs to understand what's going on. "What exactly happened?"
She leans back to reach for the potion card she grabbed before apparating from Epicurious Brews, unknowingly revealing more skin from her sliding neckline. He gulps and looks down into his cup, distracting his lips by blowing on his drink.
"Euphorix: relaxes the mind, eases the conversation and lubricates social interactions." She reads from the card, but then huffs. "From what I can gather, the chef used jobberknoll feathers for the 'eases conversation' part. Not a bad idea since it's an ingredient used in the brewing of Veritaserum. But he mustn't have used a gold paring knife to cut them, and it became highly unstable. You were basically having an allergic reaction to the potion."
"But I remember a shocking amount of pain in my leg." Draco adds caressing the afghan that's fallen to his waist. "And how did I end up in your tastefully decorated living room? And by the way is this cashmere? It's so soft!"
Hermione is infinitely amused by the wizard. He seems to have dropped all reserves in front of her. His consciousness is streaming freely from his mouth. Then it hits her: Veritaserum, of course!
"The pain was actually the remedy, a muggle one I keep at home." She will apologise for stunning him later, if at all; she first wants to test her theory. "I'm guessing you're having residual effects from the jobberknoll feathers. I bet I can ask you just about anything right now."
"Nope. I'm a vault, gorgeous witch. Locked down." Draco slurs, not even aware of his choice of endearment.
Hermione asks with a knowing smile. "What is Lavender Brown doing with Gregory Goyle?"
"They're going to the Falmouth Falcon game next weekend." Comes straight out of Draco's mouth, he can feel the secrecy vow pulling at his conscience, but his statement is vague enough that it slips through.
"Yep, Gringotts." She chuckles with an eye roll.
Draco's addled mind mistakes her sarcasm for cynicism. He decides that he owes it to his new-again friend Gregory to defend his intentions towards Lavender in front of the witch. "He loves her so much!" He gushes while unable to identify Greg by his name.
"I'm sure he does."
"I'm telling you, people search their whole lives trying to find the love he has for her."
"I wouldn't know." Hermione admits quietly.
"You would if you saw it." Draco is now staring right at her, the moonlight reflected in his grey eyes, refracting its silver shards and boring into hers.
"Sometimes it's really hard to believe love is real." Hermione cannot maintain eye contact and sighs defeatedly. "What about you? Have you ever been in love?"
"I am." Draco manages to keep that answer to the confine of his head, but still adds out loud, his pupils growing darker. "I see you." The effect of the jobberknoll feathers must have been dissipating as their conversation went on. He kept one secret unsaid but another one still made it out. It may not have been the whole truth, but it was the real him.
"Okay, I think that's enough truth for tonight." Hermione stands up from her armchair briskly to pick up Draco's empty mug. "I've put a mild sleeping draught in the tea. Close your eyes, rest up. It will help get rid of the leftover potion in your bloodstream. I'll be here when you wake up."
Handsome doesn't begin to describe the wizard Draco has grown into. The first thing Hermione noticed when she reconnected with him was his tall athletic figure, sharply tailored suits capped with striking mercury eyes. But since then, she has begun to piece this new man together, each layer that is revealed leaves her parched for more while drowning in his stormy gaze.
He is asleep on her sofa, breathing softly, his hair mussed and his body lax. The golden ratio could be drawn from the proportion of his face alone, she muses, the arch of his nose balancing the perfect line of his jaw. Hermione has never lied to herself. She is ridiculously attracted to him, but then again who wouldn't be? His physical beauty aside, she is mesmerised by the mind behind the allure: their verbal sparring, his grace over the disastrous date, his apology, his playfulness. Beyond all this, she can sense there is a core to him that he shields from the rest of the world. That centre calls to her, she is yearning to know the whole him.
Draco stirs and opens his eyes suddenly, finding Hermione instantly in the dark room. He sits up slowly as she stands up from her armchair, discarding the book she was not reading on the seat. Out of an ancestral reflex, she approaches him, touching his forehead to check for temperature. Her fingers are soft and cool. He closes his eyes, relishing the surprising contact.
Hermione's eyes widen in surprise at her own intimate gesture, she clears her throat, removes her hand then sits down at the other end of the sofa, leaning against the armrest to face him, thankful that the darkness is covering up her blush. "Feeling better?"
"Yes, thank you. That was quite a night." Draco rubs his face in embarrassment. "Ask me something to test if I'm still an open book."
"So Draco Malfoy, tell me: what are your intentions towards Gregory Goyle?"
"Nope, sorry I don't kiss and tell." He cannot help but feel relieved.
"I think you're safe from the truth." Hermione declares playfully.
"I may be safe from the truth, but not safe from you!" Draco suddenly remembers the part of the evening when he was stabbed in the thigh. "You've failed to explain why you attempted to maim me. What was that thing you did to my leg?"
"Oh that! Muggles call it an epi-pen, it releases a specific potion directly into your bloodstream to counteract an allergic reaction. I guess wizards are not used to needles and jabs, lucky them."
"How come you have one? Has something like this ever happened to you?"
"Not to me, but it happened to my mother one Christmas." Hermione recalls, her voice growing vulnerable as she retells the event. "One minute we were fine, enjoying the celebrations at a muggle party, and the next she was choking and going into shock. It's a miracle a neighbour who carried their own device was present, as they administered the medicine quickly. Longest three minutes of my life at the time."
"I can only imagine." Draco slides closer to her, instinctively reacting to her obvious growing distress, seeing her eyes shining brighter in the backlight.
"From that day onwards, my mother has always insisted that I have one with me, she always feared that it ran in our family and that I would be left unprotected in the magic world without one."
Hermione's only sob escapes her unchecked. The thought of her parents wanting to protect her from harm in the magic world being the cruellest irony, knowing magic itself was the cause of their estrangement.
"Since my parents' obliviation, I've hung onto it like a lifeline to my mother." She continues, tears now flowing silently. Her voice is distant, heavy with long suppressed agony. "Like she is still in my life, caring about my wellbeing, remembering me, her daughter; chiding me to renew my prescription, embracing me when life gets hard, protecting me from harm." She takes a long inhale, trying to compose herself. "I loved them so much that I was ready to sacrifice everything to protect them. The cost of their safety is my torment. I don't regret it, but it hurts every damn day." She wipes her face quickly. "Instead of a family, all I have is a muggle apparatus." She bitterly concludes. "I guess it's best just not to love at all, right?"
Draco is slammed by the wall of emotions coursing through him. The poison of her despair is dimming the light of her very soul. She is caving in under the weight of her anguish. That can't be! She is everything pure and strong. He refuses to let her give up on love and light altogether. He is pulled towards her by the force of his conviction, and reaches over with both hands to cradle her face. He can feel his magic reverberating through his arms at the contact of her skin. He lowers his eyes to stare into the sombre pool of hers.
"Oh Hermione, no. Love is always worth it." He is fervent in the incantation of this absolute truth. "I see wizards every day ready to throw themselves into the unknown for love. To love is to hurt, but it's also to give, to receive, to share, to grow. You wouldn't be the amazing witch you are today without loving your parents and being loved in return. It shapes our world and powers our magic."
Draco's voice dies out in his throat, his thumbs softly wiping the moisture from Hermione's cheeks. Her eyes are dark in the nightlight, shining brilliantly with unshed tears. One drop escapes her fluttering lashes, tracking down to her lips. Draco's stare is roving over her face, following the tear's journey down, landing on her mouth.
Only a shiver separates tears from a kiss. And Draco loses his fight with her gravity, pulled into Hermione's orbit he leans into her slowly, savouring her breathy anticipation, landing gently for the softest of kisses. Her lips are warm and moist, salty and sweet, uncharted and feeling like home all the same.
He wants more, he craves more. But he is also aware that his witch is distraught, going for more would not be right. So he pulls back, looking in her eyes the whole time, smiling gratefully at her diaphanous beauty in the darkness. He leans forward, resting his forehead on hers, taking a steadying breath.
"Kind of defines you, doesn't it? These moments when you lose all control, when you cannot protect the ones you love." He whispers to the night.
"Is that what happened to you?"
He shuts his eyes at the memories. "There was never a single moment like yours, it was more insidious. But it definitely left a mark, an invisible scar I carry with me every day."
The rain has picked up again, Hermione shifts on the sofa to rest her head on Draco's shoulder. He pulls her close and drags the afghan over them both for warmth. They fall asleep together, listening to the pitter-patter of the autumn drizzle.