Despite the numerous strange and miserable happenings that had occurred in Draco's life over the last few months, he found it mildly interesting that among the strangest was the fact that he had started to enjoy yoga.
While the first lesson had been uncomfortable and awkward at best, each class after that had progressively improved to the point where he almost looked forward to it.
Of course, the opportunity to watch Granger contort herself into different poses in skin-tight activewear wasn't a bad thing.
But invariably, he also knew it was a chance to spend time with her. Between work, classes, and schoolwork, her schedule was busy and arbitrary, and he often went days without seeing her.
So he had resolved himself to the enjoyment of both yoga―wherein he could see her in person―and his Muggle telephone, with which he could at least speak to her.
The fact alone that she had become such a vital part of his life in only a matter of months spoke to some deep part of him that had been alone for so long. And with his father in prison, his mother in the hospital, and his best mate in a new relationship, Draco deeply coveted Granger's presence in his life as they shifted towards something resembling promise.
After her yoga class that afternoon, they walked the grounds of her campus. Spring had begun its gradual shift into the bright warmth of summer, and it was a seasonably hot day. Granger's small hand rested in his, her fingers entwined with his own, the motion of it having grown so natural that a surge of energy darted through him at the feel of it.
He almost didn't want to break the calm, relaxing silence after an otherwise strenuous week.
Draco had been pushing himself harder than ever to improve his spellwork, his mother's healers had been arranging her move back to the manor, and Granger had become the bright spot in his life.
"Do you have to work tonight?" he asked casually, hoping she would say no.
"No." Her eyes flitted up to meet his. "What did you have in mind?"
A shrug lifted his shoulders as he tugged her a little closer by their locked hands. "Nothing specific. I just hoped we might spend some time together."
Granger had a way of staring at him, whether intuitive or instinctive, as though she could see right through him. A soft smile curled her lips. "I'd like that. How are you dealing with everything―with your mother?"
"As well as can be expected, I suppose," he drawled, dragging his free hand through his hair. Obviously, Granger didn't know the extent of his mother's condition, but he had spoken to her after his last meeting with Healer Brooks, and she knew the prognosis was bleak. "I don't know. I think I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."
He had also failed to mention that his last visit with his mother had featured yet another argument about Draco fulfilling his duties to his house by marrying a proper pureblooded woman. Wars had been fought and lost over such an ideal, and Draco didn't give a rat's arse over his future intended's blood status.
The smile fell from her lips, and she offered a thin, reassuring press of the lips. "I'm here if you need to talk about it." Pressing up on her toes, she brushed a kiss against his jaw. "Maybe we could just hang out today and relax. Order a takeaway or something."
"That sounds like an excellent plan," he said, sinking a little into her touch.
"I haven't seen your flat yet."
Draco tensed on instinct, his mind suddenly roving the contents of his flat in case there were things she shouldn't see. Anything overtly magical was likely concealed aside from his potions set up in the second bedroom. He would simply have to perform a quick locking charm. Realistically, she would need to find out eventually if he truly wanted things to go anywhere between them.
And after the conversation with his mother forced him yet again to consider such things―while it was still too soon to say anything for certain one way or another―he did want things with Granger to progress.
"Sure," he offered, "we can go there."
Her eyes sparkled with warmth as she beamed at him. "Great."
After a harrowing trip on the underground, wherein Draco fumbled his way through an excuse as to why he didn't know the proper route to his own home, they finally arrived at his flat.
Despite himself, Draco felt a frisson of nerves. Only Theo had ever been to visit his flat―aside from the occasional overnight visitor in the past―and to bring Granger into his space felt oddly intimate and somewhat intrusive, like a glimpse into that which comprised him as a person.
But she meant more to him than to allow such a trivial thing to get the better of him.
She peered at the small sitting room immediately off the entrance, which led into an open kitchen, a smile breaking across her face. Draco took the moment of her preoccupation to cast a silent locking spell at the door of his second bedroom. With another thought, he glamoured some of the spines of the books on his shelf in case she decided to browse.
"It's very clean," she said at last, eyes flicking to his.
"If you mean there isn't anything in it," Draco returned with a chuckle, "you're right. I'm not fond of clutter, I suppose."
Granger's smile widened. "Then you must hate my flat."
"I do not." He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. "Your flat isn't cluttered; if anything, it's simply lived in."
She deepened the kiss, tongue grazing his for a second, before drawing back. "I like to call it organised chaos."
It was a valid reason why his kitchen was essentially bare of any of the appliances hers had―most of which he still didn't even know what they were―but mostly because he always cooked his food with magic.
"Organised chaos is good," he murmured, pulling her close against him with a sigh. Having Granger in his private space was a reminder that this was real, and he was most likely going to fuck it up. "Thanks for coming over."
"Of course," she said, the words muffled against his chest. Turning her head up towards him, she rested her chin on his chest and added, "I'm always happy to spend time with you―and your friends. I think Harry's growing on me, and I rather liked Theo. He has an interesting sense of humour."
"That he does," Draco snickered, sweeping a loose curl back from her face. "He liked you, too. He's just a little awkward with new people."
Her expression faltered for a moment. "Especially when they aren't actually new."
Draco brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone, offering a thin smile. "You're braver than I would have been―if the tables were turned. I don't know if you'll want to meet any of your other old friends―I know you said you wanted to move on and leave the past behind you."
"It's difficult," she breathed, "because knowing you and Harry makes that so much more... complicated? I feel..." She blew out a breath, shaking her head. Draco released her, and they sank into the sofa before she spoke again. "I feel as though I'm torn between wanting to know more and live in the past for a while and allowing myself simply to move forward. Or whether there's a way to exist with both."
"I can't even imagine how that must feel," Draco said quietly, locked in on her dark eyes, "but I'm here to support whatever you want to do."
Her face softened with a smile. "I know. And I appreciate it very much."
"Okay."
Ducking her chin, she added, "I'm quite hungry. What do you feel like?"
Draco hummed, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "I'm fine with whatever you decide on. Surprise me."
After they had eaten, a variety of takeaway boxes spread on the coffee table in the sitting room, Granger hopped to her feet to collect the rubbish. Draco pulled the empty containers from her hands and deposited them in the bin, and she followed him into the kitchen, looking around.
Idly, he wondered whether she might say something about the utter bareness of his countertops. But she simply trailed her fingertips along the surface, watching as he cleaned up a little clumsily by hand.
"I wish my kitchen were this tidy," she mused, lips twitching with a hint of humour.
Draco snickered, folding his arms as he leaned against the island. "Clean freak, I suppose. That, and I'm not home all that often."
"Right," she replied, "you're always out drinking tea."
A slow grin spread across his face. "Exactly."
Granger drifted a step closer into his space, a teasing warmth in her eyes. "I've had a nice time today."
Inclining his head, he stared at her for a moment. "As have I." He palmed the small of her back, hitching her flush against him, and his heart flared in his chest at the feel of her. Never could he have imagined Hermione Granger making him feel this way.
She reached up, entwining her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, and Draco ducked in, seeking her mouth.
Almost instantly, the contact intensified, her lips parting to the sweep of his tongue. He skimmed a hand along her side, down around the curve of her arse in those tight trousers, and a whimper escaped her lips.
He kissed her still harder, lost to the rampant cadence of his heart, swallowing her breaths as his hand played absent circles against her arse.
"Draco," she whispered against his mouth, fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. She tugged at the garment, and he tore from her lips, staring at her as he pulled the jumper over his head.
Her throat shifted with a swallow as she ran a hand up his chest through his shirt, and the contact sent a shiver through him.
Kissing her again, softer this time, he caught one of her breasts through her shirt with a gentle squeeze. He didn't know how far she wanted to go and didn't want to frighten her off, so he let her dictate the pace between them.
She shuddered and pitched forward into his hold, one of her hands teasing the muscle of his lower abdomen beneath his shirt. Arousal flooded through him at her indolent touches, and he broke from her mouth, trailing a line of kisses along the curve of her jaw, sucking at the sensitive flesh of her neck.
Draco coveted the soft, breathy cries that fell from her mouth, and a smirk pulled at his lips when she ground her hips idly against him.
Her hand drifted along his thigh through his joggers, and she froze.
Instantly, Draco released her and drew back, something unsettled manifesting itself in the pit of his stomach. Her fingers lingered on his leg, curling into the fabric, but her eyes met his with a heavy swallow.
It took a moment for him to realise―and then his heart sank.
The handle of his wand had shifted in his pocket, and her fingers had grazed the smooth wood of it.
As though she didn't dare to ask any louder, she breathed, "What's this?"
His heart, racing from the heat of her touches, dashed in a different direction entirely as he stared at her, wide-eyed. But hadn't he—earlier that same day—thought she ought to know the whole truth?
Releasing a long breath, Draco ducked his chin and dropped a hand to land on hers. He slipped his fingers beneath her loose grip, pulling the wand free. Granger's eyes followed, but her body stood still and tense, and he wasn't certain she was breathing.
He brandished the wand, letting it hang from his fingertips, and for a long moment in which Draco didn't know how to form words, they both stared.
At last, he cleared his throat. "It's a wand."
"A wand," she whispered in echo, the words hovering somewhere between doubt and incredulity. "For mag―" She choked on the word, as though she didn't quite know how to express it.
Draco forced a thick swallow, though his throat had gone dry. She shifted slightly out of his hold, her eyes lingering on his hawthorn wand. He twisted it into a proper grip, her eyes watching the movement, and didn't dare look at her face as he said, "Yes. For magic."
"You weren't―" A heavy breath fell from her lips, and finally her eyes flitted up. "You weren't joking."
In response, Draco took her hand into one of his, opening her palm, and he slipped the wand into her hand. She flinched, eyes dropping again as he curled her fingers around the handle.
Her entire body quaked with a recoil as she stumbled a step back, sucking in a breath. "What is that?" she ground out, her shoulders lifting with shallow breaths, but her fingers remained clenched, tense and white-knuckled, around his wand.
Draco brushed the tips of his fingers against her knuckles, wondering how strongly his wand interacted with her core magic. "It's magic." When she didn't respond, he gathered the shreds of his courage from the corners of his being and pressed on. "The wand is attuned to me, and it won't interact with you in the same way―but it's an instrument of wielding, sort of like a conduit. So you'll still feel your magic awaken through it."
"What does it do?" she asked at last, though her countenance remained stiff and uncertain.
It was a good sign, he thought, that she hadn't fled; that she was curious.
But still, terror coursed through him that all of this at once might overwhelm her and drive any possible progress in her recovery back. The discovery of magic was hardly a subtle nudge―especially thrust upon her without preamble.
It was exactly what the cognitive specialist had cautioned against.
After a moment, he sighed and jammed his hands into his pockets. "It does everything. Magic is… everything."
Granger flexed her fingers on the handle but shifted the wand into her hand, peering at the lines of it. "How does it work?"
"Different woods combine with different magical cores." He dragged a hand through his hair with a grimace when she merely lifted a brow. "It's difficult to explain because, by its very existence, magic isn't particularly explainable. It just is." He tapped a finger to the length of the wand and just barely withheld a wince when her fingers flinched away from his touch. "This one is made of hawthorn, ten inches long, with a unicorn hair core."
She snorted, the sound of it alarming in its flippancy. "This is all some elaborate hoax. Unicorn hair?"
"Unicorns are real," Draco said, a smirk pulling at his lips despite himself. "As are phoenixes, dragons, mermaids―"
"Stop it," she whispered, pressing the wand back into his hand. "I'm not stupid, you know."
Edging back a few steps, she folded her arms and gnawed at her bottom lip as if she couldn't quite decide whether she wanted to stay any longer.
"Merlin," Draco huffed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'm not good at this. I know you aren't stupid, but I'm not making this up. Fine―look."
With a non-verbal flick of his wrist, the kitchen went dark. He could hear her sharp, sudden gasp, and moments later, caught her wide eyes in the dim light from the sitting room. With another twist, the lights returned. Draco eyed her with caution. "I imagine it's a lot to take in."
Granger only clapped a hand over her mouth, her brows high and furrowed on her forehead, and her unblinking eyes locked on him. "I can't possibly―dragons?"
"Dragons. You've seen them, actually."
"I haven't," she whispered into her hand, muffling the words. "I don't know what to say."
Draco pursed his lips, wishing all of this had gone differently. If he had simply worked out a strategy to reveal magic to her, it wouldn't have been such a shock. However, he couldn't imagine such a scenario.
"Do you want me to explain any of it?" he asked quietly. "Or would you rather I not."
She shook her head slowly, and Draco could see the glassy sheen to her eyes. "You told me magic was real."
He hadn't wanted to be the one to say it—or to infer that he had kept anything from her—when she hadn't wanted to discuss it. Not after the way she had reacted the last time when he had hesitated on telling her they'd known one another.
"How do you―but you live―"
"I live as a wizard, Hermione."
Stark silence followed the pronouncement, and Draco released a heavy breath as he sank into a seat at the kitchen table. To his tremendous relief, Granger followed suit, though she eyed him with something akin to mistrust, the spark had gone cold in her eyes.
"I don't actually take the underground," he blurted, though it was the least important element of the situation. "Potter and I work as Aurors―it's the enforcement agency within the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement." When she didn't respond, he pressed on. "We all met at a school in Scotland called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Her jaw tightened, but still, she said nothing. Grimacing, Draco summoned two glasses of water, and she eyed hers as it settled in front of her but didn't take a sip.
He cleared his throat and dragged a hand down his face. His eyes drifted towards the ceiling. "You're the most talented witch I've ever known."
"None of this makes any sense," she said at last. "So you're telling me I can do these―these bits of magic."
"Spells. And yes, you can."
She eyed the table for a long moment before taking a careful sip from her water as though she anticipated it to be something else. Finally, she levied a great sigh. "And Theo isn't a chemist."
"That is your first question?" he asked, fighting a smile. "No, Theo's pursuing a mastery in potioneering."
"Potioneering," she echoed, testing the word. "Brewing things, or―"
"Right."
Her eyes widened and dropped to her own exposed forearm; the scarring from when they'd met was entirely gone. "The paste you gave me for this scarring. Did you make it?"
Draco reached to brush his fingers against her unmarred arm but paused halfway when she stiffened. "Yes. I brewed it."
She opened her mouth to say something more when she scrunched her eyes shut and caught her head between her thumb and fingers. Heart stuttering, he ducked in and asked, "Are you alright?"
The last thing he needed was for all of this to trigger something untoward within her.
After a moment, she released a breath, and her eyes slid open again. "Yes, I think so." She eyed him for another minute, the silence growing tense, and she pursed her lips. "So you do all of this―you do magic―and still live among everyone else?"
"Muggles." He hesitated, uncertain how deeply he wanted to delve into the politics of it. "Non-magical people are called Muggles, in Britain anyway. And yes. Magical beings are governed under a Statute of Secrecy."
"Did you say there is a Ministry of Magic?"
He nodded, fidgeting with his wand out of habit. "We have our own laws and constitutions."
"And we went to a magical academy?" Her eyes remained wide and hesitant, though Draco tried not to take her implicit wariness personally. He couldn't imagine how he might have reacted had he not grown up with magic woven into the fabric of his existence. "What did we study there?"
Shrugging, Draco chanced a look her way. "Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology. If I recall, you were particularly fond of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Potter was an ace at Defense Against the Dark Arts."
At that, her face shifted with a flicker of fear. "Is that an issue?"
"It is," he allowed. "It's why Aurors exist. Consider it… a combination of law enforcement and militia." Lowering his voice, he added, "That's why my father's in prison."
"Is it a magical prison?" she asked, the words tinged with uncertainty, but Draco nodded.
"Magical prison," he confirmed. "My mother's in a magical hospital called St Mungo's."
Granger pulled at her hair, at last looking at him with an exasperated stare. "I don't know what to make of all of this. Any of it, to be honest. I can't… I have no idea what to say."
"It's a lot to take in," Draco said quietly. "Especially all at once."
"And you've been living like me―why? Because I said I didn't believe in any of it?" Despite that, her tone didn't seem particularly accusatory; her eyes shone with suspicion.
"Partly," he agreed, "but because I didn't want to overwhelm you until you were ready to hear about it." Blowing out a breath, he added, "Obviously, this isn't ideal."
"Obviously not," she returned. When he set his wand in the centre of the table, she met his eyes and reached for it when he nodded, fingering the length of it once more. "So you're telling me I knew all of these things. How to cast spells and brew potions and interpret runes and―" Her eyes gleamed once more as her fingers wrapped around the handle. "And now I don't know any of it."
Draco ducked his chin, feeling his chest tighten at the sense of loss on her face. "Yes. Unfortunately, that's what I'm telling you. I suspect it's still in there―if you wanted to dig. But I know you've been trying to leave the past behind you."
A derisive, humourless laugh fell from her lips. "I think this rather changes everything, don't you?"
"Yes," he breathed. "I hope you aren't upset with me."
"Honestly, Draco," she said, quiet, apologetic. "I don't know what to think right now. I wish I had known, but I don't know how I could have expected you to tell me, when every time you hinted at it, I―" She cut herself off, clenching her jaw into a line, and placed his wand carefully back on the table.
For a moment, she only stared hard at the wooden table and then swiped beneath her eyes.
"Hermione," Draco began, feeling sadness pull at his brow.
But she whispered, "Don't." She pressed her eyes shut, massaging again at her temples with a wince. "I don't know what to make of any of this, and I think I should just go―"
"You don't need to go," he intoned quietly. "Please. I don't want to overwhelm you."
"Too late."
The words stabbed at his heart, and he nodded. "Okay."
"I need to think about this." A breath slipped through her gritted teeth as though one of pain. "And get some fresh air."
Disappointment swelled with him, and he wondered whether he had done insurmountable damage this time. Maybe he had been kidding himself to think there was actually a shot for them. The thought hurt so much more than he could have anticipated.
"Can I help you get home?"
"No," she huffed quickly. "I don't think I even want to know how you―no. I'll be fine."
Rising from her seat, she brushed again at the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes and made towards the door. Draco followed her at a short distance, biting down hard on his bottom lip. "I'd like to be sure you get home safe."
"I get home safe all the time," she huffed, not quite meeting his eye, but then her tone softened. "Thank you, though. I'll send you a message when I'm home."
"Okay."
As she fumbled with her shoes, Draco plucked a title from his bookshelf and offered it to her. "If you want. This might explain things better than I can."
She took the book and stared at it for a moment; Draco realised her hands were trembling as she gazed at the title print: Origins of Modern Magic. "Thanks," she whispered, clutching it to her chest. "I'll call you or… something. I don't know how you communicate."
"Please don't do this," Draco murmured, his chest unbearably tight. "This is your world, too. I want to help you understand."
"I know you do," she said quietly, the words lonely and sad. "I just need to work through what you've shared tonight on my own."
Draco didn't know what else he could say at the moment, so he pressed his lips into a tight line and nodded. "Alright. If there's anything I can do, please reach out."
Her eyes still shone with unshed tears, but she pressed up on her toes and brushed a kiss to his cheek; his eyes fluttered at the contact, and he wondered if she would ever kiss him again, unreserved and unguarded as she had that evening.
"Okay." She gave a stiff nod. "I will. Thank you, Draco."
He hated the formality in her words. "Good night, Hermione."
Without another word, she slipped through the door and pressed it quietly shut behind her.
Author's Note: Happy Canada Day! I hope you liked the chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you all thought! Thanks for reading.
Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.
