Draco Malfoy was used to an uneventful life. Since his sentencing after the War, and re-taking his final year of Hogwarts education, Draco's routine had never wavered: wake up, eat breakfast, mill about aimlessly for hours trying to find something to occupy his mind, have lunch, mill about some more, dinner, sit in the study of the new house he had acquired, and then bed. The same, each day like clockwork, ticking away to nothing. Until Harry Potter showed up on his doorstep, asking if he wanted a job. The idea had been preposterous, and Draco had told him as much, albeit with some creative vocabulary, but then he'd sat through another day, the unopened mail pulling up in the corner like an accusatory finger and the circles of dust like the rings of a great tree, converting his neglect.
Yes, Draco Malfoy had given up. In a most un-Slytherin fashion, he'd hide like a coward, unable to be around the rest of wizarding society. Because every person was a person he had wronged, cone to judge him like the ghost of Jacob Marley. And Draco did feel like that, as if the weight of all his choices dogged his every step, so that he was wading through grief and anger and shame and every other black and twisted emotion that festered in his soul. He'd given up, and no one had really noticed.
Except now, it seemed someone had.
So the next day, he'd wrote his first letter in over two years, telling The Boy Who Lived that he would hear him out. So he did. Consultant, adviser on Dark Magic and Death Eaters. He wasn't surprised, but it still stung that that was all he was worth now: a tattle-tale on the machinations of the wizarding worlds most corrupt souls.
But he'd taken it.
And so he'd worked for the Ministry for this past year, coming back to himself in fits and starts, trying to figure out who he was meant to be.
But still, it was an immense shock when Hermione Granger apparated onto his doorstep, not even bothering to knock as she slammed the door closed behind her, robes billowing out like ink in water.
Draco set down his newspaper, ankle crossed nonchalantly over a knee.
"Granger."
She didn't reply, just clutched her wand in her hand, chest jackrabbiting a hundred miles a minute. Not that he cared.
"Granger," he repeated, putting his annoyance and frustrating and begrudging worry into his tone.
Hermione lifted her face, hair in her eyes as always. He had to admit, in all the time he'd known her, and gotten to know her again over this past year, he didn't think he had ever seen her so scared.
Draco cocked his head, ears registering a sound he hadn't noticed until now:dripping. Hermione Granger was dripping water onto the carpet.
Draco stood, filling up the doorway. "Would you care to tell me why you burst into my house as if death were at your very heels and are now dripping water onto my very fine carpet, Granger?"
His words seemed to shake her out of her stupor. The fire came back into her eyes, and she poked her finger into his chest. Hard. Repeatedly. Until she was backing him up against the side table, the glass vase his mother had bequeathed him rattling as his weight hit the flimsy wood.
"Why did you not tell me about the Hellhounds?" she enunciated darkly, chest pressing into his, her robes soaking the silk of his shirt.
Draco pulled a twig from her hair, trying not to look at her. Damn her and her closeness. "What Hellhounds?" he asked lightly.
"The giant, rabid, black as night dogs that have just chased me for the last five hours! The ones enchanted with Dark Magic, which you said wasn't possible, when I asked you, after the Ministry received reports of a group of Death Eaters buying dogs and making them attack Muggles, and they reported they had glowing eyes before we Obliviated them!"
Draco paused.
"Harry and I call them Hellhounds."
A beat of silence.
"It's a Muggle thing," she clarified.
"As if I needed to know that," Draco muttered. "Look, Granger, while I can't say that it's a pleasure to see you, because it isn't, you still haven't explained why you're here of all places. Don't the Ministry have adequate safehouses for you to use? Let me guess, the bookcases were too small, am I right?"
He flashed her a sardonic grin, but she didn't laugh. She only balled up her fists, nostrils flaring like a bull facing down a Matador. Draco braced himself.
"Because, I was the one who put Warding charms on your house, even though the Ministry said not to bother, that you were just an asset fulfilling a purpose. Because I spoke up for you at your trial three years ago, and I never told you. Because I was scared and didn't know who to turn to. So, will you help me or not. I'm tired, cold, I lost my shoes in the lake and I'm soaked and I feel like I'm about to fall over. But if you can't find it in yourself to pull your wand out of your backside and help me with a problem that could have been avoided if you had been more forthcoming, then that's fine, and I'll just chase down ten dogs on my own, unless they kill me first, which is highly likely given my magical status."
Without a word, Draco removed her sodden robes with a flick of his wand, casting a Warming charm while he was at it. "I'm at your disposal, Granger. But really, must you have been so dramatic? And vulgar? And just for the record, pity and sob stories don't work on me. My heart isn't like that."
Hermione arched a brow. "Do you really believe that, Draco?" she asked before walking ofc to the kitchen.
It was only after she'd gone and he could hear the screeches of the kettle boiling did he realize that she'd called him by his first name.
Hermione had always believed in magic, to some extent. Whether fairies or dragons and enchantresses when she was little, to the magic of science as a young girl to the magic of the Wizarding world. But she had to admit, there were few things less magical than a hot cup of tea when you're freezing cold.
The cup chased away the chill starting to bite into her fingers, and her jumper was drying by the fire in the kitchen beside her tweed robes. She felt underdressed, even though she still had her paisley blouse on, as if the clothes were a needed barrier between her and Malfoy. She was mad at him, yes, for withholding information that was vital to her case, but maybe there was a reason for it.
Or maybe she was seeing only what she wished to see.
It was something she'd never been able to shake, something that was a core and integral part of herself. Maybe it was because she was Muggle-born and been thrust into a world full of magic and had suffered prejudice that she wanted to believe that the world was good, that people were more than just one thing, that no solitary factor defined them. Or maybe it was because she chose to believe in all of the good, after seeing all of the bad the world had to offer.
Or she could just be really stupid.
Hermione sighed, crossing her arms as she looked out the window, scanning the grounds for anything amiss. There wasn't anything she could see with her eyes, but there was an unnatural stillness. Like the call before the storm, an inhaler breath before you blow out your birthday candles.
It was not comforting.
A knock sounded on the door. She'd almost forgotten that she'd locked it, a habit that had not wavered in the three years since the War had ended.
Hermione crossed the room and unlocked it, since it was highly unlikely enchanted dogs would knock, let alone knock so politely.
Draco's pointed face peered down at her, eyebrow arched as if to say 'Was locking the door really necessary, Granger?'
She raised her own right back. This one said, 'I am in fear of my safety, Malfoy, and will take every precaution, even if they may not be of use.'
Draco smirked. "Fair enough." He uncrossed his arms, face softening with the motion. "Listen, Granger. About you putting up those protective wards..."
Hermione twirled a hand in the air, grinding his gratitude to a halt. "Don't mention it, Malfoy. I also put them up for your mother, in case you were wondering. And as many families as I could. Just because Purebloods have looked down their noses at me since before I even got on the Hogwarts Express does not mean that I will not take precautions with their safety. They are still human beings; you are still a human being, and I believe that's worth something."
Draco's face was carefully blank, although she could just detect the corners of his mouth tilting into the beginnings of a smile. "Wow, Granger, and here I thought you were merely a swot with a brain the size of Antarctica. It seems you have more heart than most of the wizards I've encountered in recent years. And you know.. how I acted, in our youth, well, I'm not saying I'm completely blameless, only that there was no other possible way I could have turned out, given my heritage, my upbringing. But I'm different know, although I suppose it doesn't make much difference."
Hermione had no idea what possessed her, but she gripped his hand, small fingers encircling his large wrist. "It means something to me, Draco, that the first day I showed up here to work with you you didn't throw me out on my ass and tell me to shove it. Or when we spent ours working on cases together, debating theory back and forth until the early hours. You've done so much good since those days of our childhood, and I only wish you could see yourself in a better life. Because I certainly do, and I'm glad I got the chance to know the real you."
Hermione drew back, stifling a yawn with a hand.
"You're exhausted," he pointed out.
She rolled her eyes. "Running for ones life at break-neck speed in gloomy weather does rather sap ones energy, Draco."
"Indeed, one can imagine. The guest room is yours, if you want to stay. There should be extra blankets and pillows and other bits around in one of the cupboards upstairs, I'd imagine."
"I don't mind just taking the couch, Draco," she said with a roll of her eyes.
Draco shook his head and gave her a look that said, 'Are you actually being difficult about this? Seriously?'
"Just take the damn room, Granger," he practically growled at her.
Hermione smiled. "Fine, fine, I'll take the room. Only if you get some sleep; I don't want you staying up all night on watch."
"That's acceptable."
"Good, you need your beauty sleep anyway," she quipped, placing her cup lightly in the sink so that it didn't chip the other crockery.
"Ha bloody ha, Granger. You wish you could look this good with four hours sleep," he shot back at her.
"No, I don't," she replied honestly. "I don't really care about how I look. If I don't match up to someone else's expectation of beauty, that's not my problem. Yes, sometimes I wish my hair wasn't so darn frizzy and untameable, but at the end of the day there are more important things. If someone is going to judge me, they such judge my words and my character, not if I'm wearing lipgloss or look like I haven't had any sleep."
She raised a defiant brow. But Draco only said, "Good, you shouldn't cafe about other people's opinions of you, you're too good for them anyway. You're too good for most people Granger, and, for the record, I do think you're pretty. Even with the hair. It's fierce and bold, as are you."
Draco stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom, watching as the shadows lengthened. Their goodnight had been pleasant enough, but his thoughts continued to nag at him, like a scrap of fabric caught on a nail.
He was worried. Worried he wouldn't be able to keep his secret at bay with her around, the one he tried so desperately to hide, especially when she was near. Because she couldn't ever know the truth. Not now, not ever. It would destroy this cordial friendship they'd struck, this amiable tolerance. Draco didn't want to lose that.
Draco leaned against the open window, the night breeze caressing his cheek and ruffling his hair. Although he'd promised not to stay up all night on watch, he would have felt uneasy if he didn't at least look.
A clap of thunder sounded in the distance, a storm, churning and impatient.
It was not a good sign.
He would have turned away from the window, would have gotten into bed and slept until the morning -or at least tried to- but something told him to look. To see.
Draco certainly saw.
Pounding across the grass, lightning illuminating the glossy threads of their coats, seven black dogs raced for the house, their master hidden in the trees, a nameless figure in a cloak.
Well.
Shit.
Hermione was a light sleeper. She always had been, since her time at Hogwarts, since the return of Voldemort. She'd learned to keep an ear out, to make sure that she was never deeply asleep unless she be required to spring into action.
Which was why, when Draco barged into her room, fear and worry and surprise in his grey eyes, she was already up, dressed, and wand in hand.
"Let's go," was all she said.
The two rushed down the stairs, Draco in front, as if he was being chivalrous and trying to protect her. As if she needed protecting.
When they got to the bottom of the stairs, she purposefully side-stepped him, going to the living room and drawing the curtains wide.
In retrospect, she wished she hadn't.
The hounds were almost on them, thundering towards them at an unnatural speed. Great.
The two of them were talented, yes, but against seven of these things?
They couldn't call for backup, there wasn't the time.
So they were merely sitting ducks, waiting for them to start hammering at the wards, which would not last.
And it wasn't like a wooden door would be much of a barrier.
They were backed into a corner.
And Draco seemed to know it, for as she turned around, he gripped her by the shoulders, his expression unlike anything she had ever known.
"Hermione," he breathed, "you need to go. Now."
"What?" she sputtered.
"I said, you need to leave. Now. Before the Hellhounds get here."
"You called me Hermione," she said, dazed. "You've never called me Hermione; not ever."
"Now is not the time for this," he said angrily. "Now, go!"
"There's no way for me to get out! If I leave, they'll only chase me, if I Apparate, they'll just follow my magic and track me anyway. What am I supposed to do, Draco? What are we supposed to do?"
"You're going to use this," he said, putting his hand in his pocket and drawing out a silver compact. He pressed it inti her hand, fingers curling over her own. "This is a Malfoy family Portkey: it will take you to my mother's house in Cornwall. They won't be able to track you. Explain everything to my mother, and she'll look after you."
Hermione shook her head. "What about you? I am not leaving you here, alone, to face seven of these things. I won't consider it, not for one heartbeat. If we go, we go together," she insisted, tears in her eyes.
Draco smiled down at her, sadness and admiration in his eyes. "It's only designed to take one person, it was designed for a situation like this. So you're going to take it, and you're going to be safe, be because I won't accept any other alternative."
"Why, Draco. Why?"
"Because I love you," he shouted, tears in his eyes. "I love you, and it would kill me if anything happened to you. Please, Hermione," he begged, "please just do this."
"You... you love me. I thought you didn't even like me," she said, voice tinged with hysteria.
Oh.
My.
God.
"I tried not to," he said breathlessly. "I tried so damned hard. And then it was just little things. Sitting working together on a case, your laugh when I made a joke. Or that time we argued about the best uses of Ashwinder eggs until three in the morning. And then I realized, realized that some small part of me had always felt this way, always felt drawn to you. Like a magnet. Like the North Star, brighter than anything I had a right to. And I know you likely don't feel the same way, and I've made peace with that, but now I'm glad you'll know, in case I die, I'll die knowing that you know my greatest secret, the one I tried so desperately to hide. So, now that that's out of the way, take the damn thing and-"
Draco was interrupted by Hermione grabbing him by the front of his robes, looking him squarely in the eyes, and kissing him soundly on the mouth.
"I love you, too," she said, meaning it with every inch of her, every cell of her heart. A heart that was full of him. "And I've loved you for a while. After the War, after things with Ron and me didn't work out, I closed myself off. But then you waltzed into my life, and it was like this great thawing, like the world after the Ice Age. Like I'd been asleep, and you'd woken me up with your wit and your charm and your capacity for kindness, for keeping up with me and always giving me a place just to be myself, a person who would never judge me. And it was the little things for me, too, be it you noticing how I take my tea to looking after me that time when I had a cold, and you did all my paperwork for me, without me even saying a word. I fell in love with the man you've become, the man I'm proud to be friends with. And it is because I love you, that I'm saying. This is my mess, so I'll clean it up."
Draco sighed, resting his forehead against hers. "Together," he promised. "You and I are doing this together.'
And so they did.
In the end, after firing so many spells they could hardly keep their arms up, until they were sweaty and their throats were raw, the two sat with their back to the wall, not even bothering to move from their defensive position under the window.
Hermione took Draco's hand.
He grinned at her, and it was one of delirium and exhaustion, but also that most important thing: love.
The Ministry came to collect the bodies after a few hours, having been notified by an Patronus from Hermione to Harry. At the sight of the two of them, still holding hands by the front door, he only smiled and said, "It's about flipping time."
Their friends were happy for them, and indeed, none where in the least bit surprised, for they knew something that the clueless couple had failed to realize: the hounds of love had been after those two for a while, and now they'd finally caught up.
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Welcome to not only my first Dramione one-shot, but my first Harry Potter one. The title is naturally taken from the Kate Bush song of the same name, a long favorite of mine. I do not own it by any means. I'd live it if you left a review and shared your thoughts.
Thank you so much for reading.
With love, Temperance Cain.