A couple of things occurred to Draco over the first full week after his suspension―a natural extension of too much time to himself and too much time to think.
The most unsettling and intimidating was that he had never been half as serious about someone as he was about Hermione Granger. He had never taken the time to introduce someone to his friends, especially Theo, outside of someone they both already knew.
Most insidiously, the thought had crept into his mind and lodged itself there, helped along by a teasing letter Theo had sent following Draco's impromptu birthday celebration. Not that the man had any room to talk, as he and Potter fawned over each other every time Draco saw them together.
But the idea left Draco stewing in his ruminations on the matter. He had never willingly gone on a trip with someone―and he was looking forward to the weekend away with Hermione altogether more than he had anticipated. Not least of all because he would have a chance to reintroduce her truly to magic, and he looked forward to that as much as he valued that she trusted him enough to be the one to do it.
Their late-night conversation the night of his birthday hadn't gone far from the top of his mind, either.
After speaking with his mother's healers to ensure they didn't anticipate any issues over the weekend, he had arranged the final details of their trip with the promise that he would arrange a visit upon returning home. He'd been putting off the dreaded conversation with his mother regarding his father's attempted escape and the fallout that had impacted Draco's life after the fact because it was an ugly topic, and he knew the discussion wouldn't go well.
Hermione had arranged to come by his flat after her last exam, and he felt a strange tumult of nervous anticipation racing through him all day. It had been an effort to find things to keep himself occupied all day, and when she knocked on the door to his flat, he nearly jumped.
"It's open," he called, shifting through several books on the tall shelf in his sitting room. When she slipped into the flat, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes, Draco's stomach twisted up at the sight of her. "Hi. Are you glad to be through with your exams?"
"I am," she exclaimed, grinning. "It's a nice feeling." Setting a travel bag on the floor beside the door, she stepped closer into his arms. "And I have to say I am looking forward to our weekend away."
"As am I," Draco murmured, brushing a kiss to her lips before he drew her tight into his chest. "Very much so." Her arms banded around his midsection, chin propped on his chest as she smiled up at him, and Draco's heart clenched tight.
He forced a swallow and dragged his gaze away. "Actually, I was just going through some of my books that you might find useful. Not necessarily for this weekend, but since you'll have a bit more time now that your courses are through for the year."
Untangling herself from his hold with a quick intake of breath, she flipped through some of the books he had already selected, eyes darting rapidly across the titles. "Is this all information I would have known at one point in time?"
"Most of it," Draco muttered, folding his arms across his chest as he watched. Her enthusiasm was infectious. "Some are from my own studies."
A glossy sheen misted her eyes when she glanced his way once more. "Thank you, Draco. This means a lot." She gave a startled gasp when he waved a hand, and the assortment of books shrunk down to miniatures, and he packed them into a small bag. "Easier to carry this way."
"I don't know how to enlarge them again," she reminded him.
His lips curled into a smirk. "You're getting a new wand this weekend. Maybe you ought to learn, hmm?"
A brilliant smile spread across her face. "Okay. I like that plan."
"And," Draco pressed, falling serious, "I don't want any part of what we do this weekend to push you too hard, alright? We're going to explore magic a bit more than you've done to this point and if anything makes you uncomfortable, please let me know."
She gave a sharp, affirmative nod. "You still haven't told me where we're going."
Taking a step closer, Draco brandished the Portkey Theo had procured for him and caught her eye. "Tu parles Français?" When her lips twitched, he said, in crisp French, "Nous allons à Paris."
Biting down on her bottom lip around a grin, she responded with a soft, "Oui."
As a boy, Draco had been to visit the French magical district, La Rue Mystique, more times than he could count.
He had family in Bordeaux and Lyons, and his father had frequently visited Paris for business dealings. More than once, Draco had been left to explore the district on his own.
Bringing someone that he cared about had an entirely different feel.
Despite warning Hermione of what would happen and his best efforts to keep her steady, she looked a little green when their Portkey landed in the designated receiving zone of the Parisian hotel where he had reserved a room.
"Are you alright?" he asked, flashing her a grin as she stumbled a little. "It gets easier, I promise."
Blinking several times, she nodded at last. "Yes, I'm alright." Her eyes widened as she took in the grandeur of the hotel, and as a stern expression overtook her face, Draco shot her a look.
"You said you would let me treat you this weekend," he said softly, "and I am happy to do so."
Whether from the exhilaration of arriving in Paris or something she found in his stare, she ducked her chin and allowed a smile. "Fine. But please don't go overboard because I won't be able to pay you back."
"I don't want you to pay me back. I only want you to enjoy yourself."
"Fine," she whispered, locking her hand into his. "And for the record, I already know I will enjoy myself because I'm with you."
Draco's heart felt as though it slammed to an abrupt halt in his chest before skittering into a gallop. Brows knitting, he stared at her for a long moment before drawing her into a kiss.
The Parisian air felt fresh and alive with promise, and so much of the tension he had been carrying in England for months sloughed away as he drew back and caught her eye. "Merlin knows I do not deserve you." A grin pulled at his lips. "Come on."
He ought to have warned her that he'd booked the finest suite in the entire hotel, but she had already agreed, and he'd paid the deposit, so it was too late. But the look on her face―the wide-eyed, breathless elation―made it all worth it.
Draco drew their bags, shrunken for travel, from his pocket and enlarged them as he eyed her absent exploration of the space. Their return Portkey wouldn't take them back to London until Monday afternoon, and Draco didn't want to overwhelm her too much at once, so they had decided on a quiet Friday evening.
Hermione turned to face him, a shimmer to her eyes and a genuine smile on her face. "I can't believe we're in Paris."
Eyeing her for a moment, he dropped his head into a tilt. "Thank you for coming with me."
"Thank you," she breathed, looping her arms around his neck. "This means more than I can express. That you're taking the time to help me through all of this when you don't have to."
"I don't have to. But I want to." Pursing his lips, Draco shook his head slowly as he held her stare. "I know all of this hasn't been easy on you. And to be honest, I don't think I've navigated the situation very well. But if I have a chance to make things simpler for you, I'd like to do so."
She leaned in, capturing his mouth, and Draco melted into her touch, the way she always seemed to reach him on a different level and kissed her in return.
"I appreciate that," she breathed, lips grazing his again as she spoke. "And I'm so happy that I've met you this time around."
Draco swallowed thickly, unable to look away from the warmth in her stare. He wondered whether she would feel the same way when she knew everything.
And he knew it was time.
The district of La Rue Mystique spread out across several blocks of Paris, kept under a careful string of concealment charms, but the main street itself offered the best shopping in all of France, in Draco's opinion. Their hotel sat on the outskirts, and they selected a casual restaurant for an evening meal, taking the scenic route to explore some of the district.
Hermione's eyes widened with surprise when he paid in galleons and sickles, something knowing in her stare as though she had pieced together at last why he hated Muggle coins.
Back at the hotel later, they lounged atop the covers of a king-size bed in sleep clothes with a bottle of room service champagne.
"I can't wrap my head around the fact that magic just exists alongside everything else," she said, a hint of wonder in her tone.
"Just wait until you see La Rue tomorrow. It's something else entirely; it even puts Diagon Alley to shame." He took a sip of champagne, rolling his head to face her along the headboard. "The Statute of Secrecy is both incredibly complex and all-encompassing; the only exception for Muggles knowing about magic are people like your parents, who don't have magic themselves."
She worried her bottom lip a little, shifting closer into his side. "How does that happen? And is it common?"
"It isn't uncommon." His heart beat a little faster as he weighed the words with which to approach the conversation. "There are theories as to how Muggle-born heritage happens. Some believe that the Muggle line is distantly descended from a squib―someone born to magical parents but not in possession of magic themselves." Sobering, Draco swept a curl back from her face and lowered his voice. "And there are some old magical lines that think themselves superior because of their blood."
Hermione sank, deflating a little, and he knew he didn't need to elaborate. "And is that what you believe?"
"I used to," he breathed. Averting his gaze to stare at the covers, Draco took another sip of champagne. He didn't know how to address the matter any better than he'd dealt with the rest of it.
Silence hung between them for a moment, taunting him, before she leaned back against the headboard and sighed. "So, what changed?"
"Everything."
"It would be hard to miss the fact that I don't know all there is to know about magic yet," she said quietly, "and I realise there are things about magical society that I don't know. I've read some of your books, but I'm still missing a lot. I would like to understand―even if it isn't all pretty."
"It isn't," he choked. "None of it is."
Hermione set her empty glass on the nightstand and turned to face him; a downwards tilt to her lips and a furrow in her brow. She simply ghosted her fingertips along one of the silvery lines of scar tissue bisecting his bare chest; the feel of it sent a shudder down his spine.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
Before Draco could respond, she leaned in and brushed a kiss against the line, just above his sternum, and her eyes flitted back to his.
"A dark curse," he said, at last, eyeing her warily. "I told you about the time Potter attacked me."
"Harry did this?"
Draco gave a slow nod, keeping his chin tucked. "I cannot overstate how much he and I used to hate one another."
"And me," she breathed.
A thick blockage lodged in his throat as he echoed, "And you."
"Is any of this related to why Harry personally knows the Minister of Magic?"
"It's all related," Draco said, the words hoarse from his lips. "All of it. Including why it'll be such a big deal when London society realises you're still alive. You're famous. Potter's famous."
"But why?"
Draco scrunched his eyes shut, dragging a hand down his face, and muttered, "I'm not the person to tell you all of this, but I'll do my best." When she only waited, he blew out a breath. "When Potter was a baby, he survived a deadly curse." Although she sucked in a sharp breath, she remained silent, as though recognising how hard he was trying to get through the words. "Both his parents were killed that night by the Dark Lord Voldemort."
"I read about him, but..." she breathed. "Are you serious?"
"I wish I wasn't." He chanced a glance sidelong to meet her eyes, but there was no judgement in her face, only horrified wonder. "He thought... witches and wizards were meant to rule, that Muggles were inferior, and that everyone who stood against him was disposable. He had built up a following before we were born, but Potter's resistance to his death curse weakened him to the point where he spent many years in a state of partial existence."
Draco swallowed a mouthful of champagne. "You don't need that whole story from me because you can find that in a book if you want the details. But at the end of our fourth year, he rose again. The war began anew."
"There was a war?"
He didn't know how much she had read in his books, but very few of them contained anything about modern wizarding history. He wasn't surprised her priorities had been elsewhere.
"There was." He scrubbed at his eyes. "The Dark Lord marked Potter as his nemesis because he had defied him before. Apparently, there was a prophecy that declared only one of them could survive."
He could see the moment the pieces began to click into place behind her eyes, swirling about her clever mind, and Draco's heart sank.
"I can guess how that played out," she said quietly, a wry twist to her lips. "But how was I involved?"
"You were Potter's best friend. The brains behind all of it." He glanced away, feeling an almost unbearable tightness in his chest. "You're a hero, Hermione."
To his surprise, she pulled his hand between hers and planted a kiss to his palm. "Is this why your father is in prison? He fought for the other side?"
"Yeah," Draco muttered, "he did." His heart clamoured, fracturing in his chest as he placed her hand onto the faded scar tissue along his forearm. Her fingers were gentle, eyes still locked on him, but he couldn't force himself to meet her stare. "The Dark Lord branded his followers―Death Eaters―with something called the Dark Mark. To control, manipulate, summon. Ensure he wouldn't be betrayed."
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. "You were marked?"
He felt a nervous tremble in one hand and clenched it into a fist. "I was sixteen; my father had disappointed him by failing to retrieve the Prophecy and landed in Azkaban―for the first time." He blew out a long breath, forcing himself to push through. "I had followed along, blindly, for too long, and... he had a task for me."
"Draco," she whispered.
"I'm not good at this, Hermione," he said. "I wish I had done so many things differently. That I had stood up for myself or done anything else. But I didn't. He was going to kill my mother, and―" Breaking off with a grimace, he dragged a hand through his hair. Swiped angrily at the moisture that threatened at the corners of his eyes.
Draco hated the devastation in her face, almost as much as the pity in her stare.
"I made my bed," he muttered, shaking his head slowly. "I was a prick growing up, but I never wanted to see people die."
"And did you?" she asked on a breath.
Casting her a weary glance, he thinned his lips. "So many." Recounting the experience was more visceral than he had even expected, so he tried to block out the onslaught of memories to no avail. "He moved into the manor during the war as his base of operations, and―"
"Your manor?" Hermione gaped at him. "The dark lord lived in your house?"
"He did," Draco muttered with a grimace. "With his great fucking snake." His chest heaved a little, mouth going dry, and he looked away. Downed a mouthful of champagne, wishing it was something infinitely stronger. "I can still hear the snake."
Despair etched itself in the lines of her face as she stared, clutching his hand, and Draco tried to imagine what it must have been like to hear all at once.
"Look..." Trailing off, he stared hard at the covers again. "I'm sure this is a lot to take in, and I have no excuses for the way I acted or the decisions I made. If I could do it over again, I would change all of it. And if you can't accept this, honestly, I don't blame you―"
"Draco."
He fell silent, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth ground together.
"Tell me something," Hermione whispered, eyes wide. Draco's heart thudded so hard he could scarcely think. "This dark lord―your master―he would have seen me dead. People like me."
He breathed, "Yes."
"And you believed in all of this," she pressed, eyes glassy with tears. "About certain bloodlines being better than others."
Unable to deny it, and knowing he was digging his own grave, he ground out, "I did. Yes."
"But you don't anymore." A tear broke from her eye, trailing down her cheek, and before Draco could think to stop its path, she swiped it away. "You said you don't anymore."
"Of course I don't," he clipped. "Hardest lesson I've ever had to learn in my life."
"Shit, Draco," she breathed, shaking her head. "This is... I don't even―please tell me you're being truthful."
He drew in a deep, measured breath and spoke carefully. "More so than I have ever been with anyone."
Silent tears spilt down her cheeks as she stared at him, her eyes wide and unblinking. Draco couldn't stand the despair, raw and haunting in her stare―and especially knowing he'd caused it.
"Like I said," he said at last, "I'll understand if you don't want this anymore."
For a long moment―so long that Draco's heart began to seize and stutter in his chest―she didn't say anything. Still, she held tight to his hand in hers, trailing her fingertips along the bones of his knuckles.
"I told you once," she breathed, "that I wasn't going to put more stock in the things you've done in the past that I don't even remember than in the man I've come to know. I don't know who you were then, and it sounds like I probably wouldn't have liked you, but I know who you are now, Draco." She brought the back of his hand to her lips. "And I see you."
His heart felt as if it might simply vaporise to dust, a breath catching in his throat as he blinked at her.
Then her words sank in, seeping through his skin into his very soul, and his lips parted without words.
Never before had Draco been so flayed open, so raw and vulnerable, so willing to be hurt if only for the slightest chance that it might go somewhere he couldn't even imagine.
"Why?" he managed at last.
"Because." She brushed a kiss to his chest, just above the voracious rhythm of his heart. "I believe in second chances." Shifting up, she brought her face towards his, and Draco brushed a rogue tear from her cheekbone; her lips curved with a soft smile. "Or should I not?"
A disbelieving huff of laughter fell from his mouth. "You should. Fuck, you should," he choked out, dragging her mouth to his.
Emotion pulsed a dull roar through his veins at the feel of her lips, at knowing that she accepted him and his many flaws, and the feeling was unlike anything he had experienced before. Her fingers slid into the hair at his temples, her kisses gentle against his mouth, and Draco drew her as close as he could manage.
His heart chased a cadence with which he was unfamiliar, but warmth swelled within him at the feel of her flush against him.
At last, she broke away, her breath mingling with his own and her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"There's still more I'd like to know," she whispered, "but I think that's enough for one night."
With another lingering kiss, Draco nodded. "Alright." Sudden fatigue swelled heavily within him, along with an unsuspecting lightness in his chest. Pulling her into him, he drew the covers over them both as she stifled a yawn.
As he waved a hand to kill the lights, Hermione's dark eyes blinked slowly at his own, her face beside him on the pillow as her legs tangled with his. Unable to make sense of anything, he only pulled her tight into his arms and planted another kiss to her crown.
"Good night, Draco," she breathed, the words muffled by his chest.
Moisture stung unbidden at his eyes. "Sweet dreams, Hermione."
Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this one xo
Alpha and beta credit, as always, to the wonderful Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.
