Flufftober 2022 - Day 23 - POV outsider

"Do we really have to do this, 'Mione?" Ron grumbled at her side.

"You agreed to this weeks ago when she gave me the tickets - and you enjoyed the show," Hermione said impatiently.

They flashed their VIP passes to the member of security, who then stepped aside and let them scuttle past him into the backstage area.

"It was about as interesting as this sort of thing ever gets," he conceded "But this part. The going back here, the mingling."

"She gave us the passes with the tickets - all free of charge. It would be rude to just up and leave. I thought you didn't mind Marilyn."

"I don't dislike her. She's a bit up herself, though you'd have to be either a bit arrogant or a bit self-hating to marry someone like that I s'pose, but she's decent enough. It's him. I heard what she said, and I know you did too - he comes on opening night, and closing night. This is closing night. Why was it this one she had to invite us to?"

"This was the only one that we could do. If anything she did us a favour, just as she did for George, and for your parents, and for Bill when he asked afterwards - I expect she'd much rather only spend it with her husband."

"So we should let her and not have to make twenty minutes of awkward small talk with Draco sodding Malfoy."

"It'll be ten minutes, maybe fifteen at most. We'll thank her, we'll give her the flowers, we'll go and get dinner."

"Without them?"

"I'm sure Malfoy would consider that to be just as much of a hostage situation as you would, so yes, without them."

The dancers all about them were much too preoccupied with their cooldowns and getting out of their makeup and costumes to care about them traipsing about, but Hermione finally managed to stop one of them long enough to be pointed in the direction of Marilyn's dressing room.

Things quietened once they turned down a starkly lit corridor lined with blue doors, and it was difficult to miss Marilyn's given that it had MARILYN MALFOY emblazoned on the door. It was slightly ajar, but Hermione paused and lifted her hand to knock anyway just in case - stopping at the last second when she heard a gasp from inside.

"Oh, Draco!"

Hermione's face dropped at the same time Ron's did, glancing back at him in horror as they both had the same thought about what they were overhearing. But surely not - not here, not with the door open. Right?

"Do you like it?" She heard Draco ask from inside - but casually, not like someone who was in the midst of…well.

"Of course I do, but it's massive!"

Even though she was now fairly certain that she wasn't hearing what she first thought, Hermione had to stifle a laugh at that, and a look to her husband found him doing the same.

"Can't be," he mouthed, earning a light nudge in the ribs from her elbow.

"It goes with the bracelet I got you on opening night," Draco said inside.

And there was that mystery solved. Thank Merlin.

"What, no earrings?" Marilyn asked drily.

"The earrings are at home - alongside a gargantuan bottle of wine, and an obscenely large slab of chocolate to celebrate your latest collection of rave reviews."

"You should know better than to be sweet when I'm being a prat, it ruins the bit."

"With how you celebrate every milestone my company hits, I'm just trying to keep up."

Not wanting to barge in and ruin what was quite obviously a moment (even if not the lurid one it first sounded like), Hermione fell back, motioning for Ron to wait with her. They weren't eavesdropping, they were just waiting for the right time - they could hardly help what they happened to hear while they waited.

"It's not a competition," Marilyn said.

"Good, because if it was you'd be winning."

"I don't know about that. These roses, too - they're beautiful. Gold? Are they…real?"

"Mm. But if any of your lot asks, they're painted."

"By hand by my wonderful, phenomenal, amazing doting husband?"

"Absolutely not."

The soft sound of the smacking of lips followed, which had Ron making a show of pretending to gag at Hermione's side, and a few moments passed before Marilyn spoke again.

"Seriously, though, Draco - thank you. I can't believe you still come to opening and closing night. Most husbands pick one and stick to it. I really wouldn't grudge it if you did the same. You're pretty busy, and I can't believe you don't get at least slightly bored."

"Not at all," Draco replied frankly.

"Uh-huh."

"I don't, Marilyn," he breathed a laugh "You know me, I hardly hide my boredom well. I…I like seeing you like this."

"Dressed as an ill-fated prince's mistress?"

"That too, the nightgown scene was very compelling, but it wasn't quite what I meant. You…you walk on air when it comes to all of this, and never more so than on the first and final nights. They're slightly different, too - on the first you're all excitement and determination over what lies ahead and how you intend to do it and do it right, and God help any man or beast who stands between you and that aim."

Marilyn must have been as speechless at that as Hermione and Ron were, for she did not respond to Draco's admission, and then he continued.

"Closing nights are slightly different, but I loathe to miss those even more - you don't even walk after those, you float, because you've done the damn thing, as if there was ever any doubt, and you haven't started to think about the next thing yet, because you're too busy glowing."

"I can't take all the credit for that glow, though. I wouldn't be here if not for you."

"And the thought that I might have been responsible for even a fraction of it just makes it all the more unmissable."

The sound of what followed might have been another kiss, Hermione couldn't be sure, for Ron was snapping her out of her shock over what she was hearing, clasping her gently by the wrist and slowly leading her backwards. He was right - this was not theirs to hear, and they wouldn't be thanked for their impromptu eavesdropping session, either. And whether it had been hers to hear or not, Hermione would be grappling with what she had heard for some time.

They…loved each other. It wasn't a surprise - they'd all seen the photographs of Draco darting in front of the Killing Curse for her, and Hermione personally had been on the receiving end of more than one angry tirade when he believed Marilyn to be in danger back in the day. None of that came about without love. But there was a difference between being aware of it and witnessing it, and they so seldom witnessed it. Probably at Draco's behest.

Yes, there'd be moments of tenderness, little tells, but otherwise when others were in the room, he locked up. He sneered and he made his jabs and he glared. He was hardly one for PDA. Hearing what he was like behind closed doors, even if only with Marilyn, was baffling. And she never thought it would make her smile.

The gifts she would have easily been able to imagine. Anybody who had heard of the Malfoy name probably safely assumed that Draco expressed his love, however he felt it, in the form of stupidly expensive gifts and that was that. But the words? She never could have imagined an admission like that from him. She never would have thought him capable of thinking it, never mind saying it.

Once they got to the end of the corridor, they began to walk down it again towards Marilyn's dressing room - letting their feet stomp as they did so.

"I think it's here, Ron," Hermione called, much more loudly than was necessary.

It worked, too, for they'd scarcely taken a few more steps when the door swung open and Marily poked her head out, offering them a wide grin and waving them over. She still wore her bun and her makeup from the stage, but the costume had been replaced by a fluffy grey dressing gown, her pointe shoes traded for a pair of Ugg boots acting as slippers.

The offering they'd brought in the form of a bouquet of colourful daisies looked a bit sad compared to the florist's worth of flowers that occupied every surface of the room. Pride of place in the middle of the long spacious dressing table was a display of red and gold roses, easily three quarters of the size of Marilyn herself. A black velvet necklace box sat beside it, closed and latched. The provider of said display stood slightly to the right of them in a crisp black suit, his arms folded in front of him.

"Granger," he greeted, tone and face both bored "Weasley."

They'd long since given up on reminding him that she was, in fact, Hermione Weasley now. His titles for them were more nicknames than actual names…and it was still a hell of a step-up from mudblood and weaselby.

"How did you like the show?" Marilyn asked, artfully leaving no room for awkward silence.

"It was fantastic - you were fantastic. Seriously, wow. I know I'd seen you before, but I didn't know it was you back then, so…anyway, thank you," Hermione said brightly, producing the flowers "They're not much in comparison to all of this, but we didn't want to come empty handed."

"Don't be daft, they're lovely," Marilyn beamed, accepting them "Thank you. How about you, Ron? Did you like the show?"

"I don't know much about ballet," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck "So I s'pose the fact that even I could see that you're great at it speaks for itself, really."

"Oh, I prefer performing for people who aren't really into it - they never pick up in the mistakes unless I really arse it up."

"She says as though she makes mistakes," Draco said drily.

"You're obligated to say that, you're my husband," she argued, moving to set the flowers down in one of the few available spaces left.

"He's also Draco Malfoy - I think the proclivity for criticism outweighs the husbandly flattery here," Hermione said.

Draco smirked, as if her saying so was a great compliment. And as far as what she'd heard was concerned, what he didn't know wouldn't mortify him.