Draco awoke to find Hermione's stare already fixed on him, and his eyes shot wide in surprise. "Good morning?" he asked, lips twitching.
"Is it?" she teased, situating herself on his bare chest, tracing patterns on his skin with her fingertips. His body stirred, awakening readily at the feel of her pressed against him.
Recollecting on the night before, Draco stifled a yawn and flashed her a grin. "It feels like it so far."
A secretive smile played about her lips. "I had a nice time last night."
"So did I." He eyed her with a cautious sort of amusement—uncertain as to her strange behaviour—-when she shifted further beneath the covers. Draco froze, lifting a brow as she vanished entirely. Moments later, a harsh breath fell from his lips when she laved the underside of his hardening cock with her tongue. "What the fuck―"
He wrenched the covers up to catch the mischief in her stare, and his head dropped back into his pillow with a low groan when she swirled her tongue around the head of him, then took him between her lips.
"Okay," he choked, "it's a good morning."
Hermione tittered beneath the covers then sucked the length of his cock into her mouth, smoothing her hand along the shaft. Draco's head spun as she set a teasing, sensuous rhythm, and he slid a hand into her messy curls. His eyes fell shut, highly aware of his own ragged breathing.
"You're amazing at everything," he muttered, the words falling amidst a quiet string of expletives, and he clenched his jaw as he felt release begin to swell within him. "I'm going to come if you don't stop."
Her eyes only darted up to meet his with a sparkle in them, and she sucked harder, gripping him a little tighter.
Despite the urge to sink further into her glorious mouth, he tugged a little on her curls; her mouth came off with a pop, a smile curling her lips, and he tugged her back up along his body. Without any preamble, she leaned in to press a kiss against his lips and sheathed him to the hilt inside her.
Draco drifted his fingertips along the curve of Hermione's spine, not in any rush to get up after the awakening she had given him, and he glanced up with a sigh at the tapping of talons on the window. He grappled for his wand to open the window, and an owl he recognised flew into the room, dropping a letter on his chest. His heart sank when he watched it flap several times before landing on the sill, waiting for a response.
"Who's it from?" Hermione asked, propping her chin on her hands as she looked up at him.
He hardened his jaw and unrolled the letter. "It's my mother's owl." She watched him scan the missive, and Draco felt irritation and nerves mingle within him as he sank back into the bed. "She wants to have tea this afternoon. With both of us."
Her eyes shot wide when he handed her the letter. "Is this a good sign or not so much?"
"I have no idea." Draco didn't bother to suppress a grimace. "If it were up to me, we'd spend the whole day in bed. I didn't think she would push the issue so soon, but I probably should've expected it, knowing her."
"Then we should go." She released a long, careful breath, then offered a stern nod. "Yes. I'd like to meet your mother."
"Recall," Draco drawled, sweeping a hand through his hair, "she's already met you. And she knows Potter―so there's a good chance she will be surprised to learn it's you as I haven't told her your name yet."
Although there had been plenty of speculation as to the relationship between the two of them—buried under plenty of lies and embellished half-truths in Witch Weekly and even the occasional write-up in the Daily Prophet's society pages—Draco knew his mother scarcely cared to dig for that sort of thing anymore. And besides, if she had seen something about the two of them, he would have already been informed.
He hesitated, clenching his jaw. "My mother still carries most of the old wizarding prejudices around blood status."
Hermione didn't respond for a moment, concentration pulling at the skin between her brows. "Do you genuinely believe she won't like me because my parents are Muggles?"
Despite her matter-of-fact tone, Draco could hear the reservation in the words―and beneath it, a sting of hurt.
He sighed, dragging her close into his chest, and planted a kiss to her hair. "It isn't that she won't like you. She simply doesn't favour the idea of anyone less than a pureblood for my partner. But you already know I don't care about all of that."
She blew out a breath, her fringe ruffling with the puff of air. "I feel like I'm inadequately prepared now. Suppose I should know more about courting customs or something like that."
"You don't have to meet her if you don't want to." He kissed her on the mouth in a lingering, searing press of lips. "Not now, not ever."
"But is it important to you?"
Draco pondered the thought for a moment, staring down at her; he skimmed a hand up along the curve of her hip. At last, he sighed. "I suppose it is. But not as important as your comfort."
"Okay," she breathed, biting her lip to hold back a smile. "Although I feel I ought to remind you on our first date you told me it didn't matter that I can't afford your dowry. I shall be very stern with you if that turns out to be false, and I need to sell a vital organ in order to keep you."
He threw his head back with a laugh, the tension breaking in an instant. "You're adorable, and I love you to pieces. Not organ-harvesting-style pieces."
Her face softened and brightened at once. "Okay. Let's do it. But you have to help me select something appropriate to wear."
In Draco's return owl, he'd specified a location as far from the Manor proper as he could think of. It had to be both close enough so that Narcissa wouldn't be forced to travel from the grounds, and far enough so that Hermione wouldn't be at risk of experiencing another episode like she had the last time they had been to the manor.
Within the grounds sat a small carriage house that had been converted to a cottage at some point after the stables had been removed. Draco had frequently absconded there as a boy when he sought to escape the manor, and sometimes during the war when Voldemort's presence became too overbearing, the air in the manor too stifling.
It had a small porch with a wrought iron furniture set, and Draco Apparated himself and Hermione directly there upon the arranged time. He spotted Lucy first, sitting on a wooden bench around the back of the cottage and knitting something that looked like a jumper, and she beamed at the two of them, her bright eyes lingering on Hermione.
Hermione had been a little too silent in advance, her countenance too stiff, and Draco pulled her hand into his with a reassuring squeeze. Under his breath, he said, "I'm not going to let her say anything about you."
She offered a stilted nod, rolled out her shoulders, and offered a false smile as they rounded the carriage house.
His mother was already seated, a tea service on the table before her from which Podski prepared a cup. The way the elf's face lit up with a wide smile upon seeing Hermione might have been comical if not for the way Narcissa's eyes slid to land on the pair of them.
"Mother," Draco said, ducking in to press a kiss to her cheek. He stepped back, resting a hand on the small of Hermione's back. "I'd like you to meet Hermione Granger; Hermione, my mother, Narcissa Malfoy."
Hermione briefly looked as though she wasn't certain how she ought to react, and she offered a strange little nod. "Missus Malfoy; it's wonderful to meet you."
For her part, Narcissa paled, her expression carefully blank, but her eyes startled wide. "Miss... Granger." Her stare slid briefly to Draco and back. "The same, I'm sure. In fact, I do believe we have met."
His mother was surprisingly lucid, though Draco wasn't certain whether it would bode well for the course of tea. He withdrew Hermione's seat for her before settling into his own, and Podski bustled about pouring two more cups. Draco was amused to note he had already memorised Hermione's preferences after serving her once; she had clearly made an impression the last time she had visited the manor.
"Thank you, Podski," Hermione said with a warm smile, and the elf blushed before she turned back towards Narcissa. "Draco's told me as much; that we've met before. I'm not certain whether you would know, but I lost my memories at nineteen. I've only recently reintegrated into the wizarding world."
"Indeed." Narcissa sipped her tea as though the conversation were infinitely banal. "I believe I'd seen something about that in the Prophet. I can't imagine how the two of you have come to know one another."
Draco felt the subtle jab―that they were worlds apart, even now. "We came across one another some months ago," he offered, unwilling to delve too deeply into the situation lest his mother's judgement come to the forefront so soon.
But Hermione cast him a hesitant glance. "Draco's been instrumental in helping me. I've been seeing a specialist in an effort to regain my memories."
He could have sworn amusement flickered through his mother's face, and he ground his jaw. "Has he, now."
Whether Hermione felt or understood the tension, he wasn't certain, but she shifted a little in her seat; Draco nudged her fingers with his own beneath the table. "Obviously, you know I've been working with Harry Potter," Draco said brusquely, "and he's been helping Hermione as well."
Any hint of amusement dropped off. "Of course. They were always friends." Narcissa took another careful sip of tea, the cup rattling a bit against the saucer when she set it down. "So you cannot remember anything that occurred prior to the last five years?"
"No." Hermione lifted her chin though a dull flush of colour crept into her cheeks. "Although Draco's informed me of the details, I understand our younger selves didn't exactly get along."
Narcissa looked as though she might simply laugh and be done with it, though her expression remained derisive and unfriendly.
"And despite all that," Draco broke in, the words a little louder than he intended, "she's still interested in spending time with me." He offered a thin, sardonic smile. "I'm a lucky bloke."
His mother's lips pulled into an approximation of something that might have been a smile if he didn't know her any better. If he had to guess, Narcissa was torn between a desire to disparage the relationship between them and a deep-seated sense of loyalty to Potter for what had transpired between the two of them during the Battle of Hogwarts.
"Indeed," his mother murmured. "I must admit, I am surprised by this development. I hope you'll forgive my bluntness, Miss Granger, but the matter isn't whether you and Draco didn't get along at Hogwarts; the matter is that of a war."
Hermione lifted her chin and sipped her own tea. "I am well aware of the role Draco played in the war―and I am also aware of the strides he has taken since, particularly in his position with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I've gained a lot of respect for him in the months since we've met, and upon learning the depths of the wizarding world, even more so. I believe that everyone deserves a second chance―as Draco has most certainly offered me."
Draco felt a stirring of emotion within him at her conviction, and her fingers grazed his this time.
Narcissa's brows lifted, and Draco could tell she hadn't expected Hermione to bring such a vehement defence to the matter. "Well," she said quietly, folding her hands atop the table. "Based on discussions with Draco, I'm certain the sentiment is mutual."
"It is," Draco allowed.
Pursing her lips, Narcissa surveyed each of them for a moment. "Interesting." She waved between them, her fingers thin and frail; she looked pale, and Draco suspected she would need to retreat to the manor soon. "And what are your intentions?"
Hermione's fingers trembled a little in his, but Draco squared his shoulders. "Courtship. For now."
"I see."
They hadn't discussed anything further, particularly while the matter of Hermione's memory was so up in the air, and Draco didn't think it was a good time to bring up any mention of marriage or heirs. Though, of course, he didn't expect his mother to behave with the same decorum.
"With the consideration for more," Draco added before his mother could begin down that road, "should the circumstance arise, and should we both remain amenable to the idea at that time."
Narcissa pursed her lips, that same battle warring with a flicker through her expression. "Very well," she said softly. "You'll have to forgive me, Miss Granger, that I am rather unwell. I'm afraid this meeting has expended most of my energy."
"Of course," Hermione returned, sympathy flitting across her face. "Draco's kept me informed of your condition. I would hate to keep you from your rest."
"Perhaps, Podski," Narcissa said, finishing her cup of tea, "some sandwiches."
The elf gave the small group a large, toothy grin before vanishing. Moments later, he returned with a tray of finger sandwiches and small plates.
Narcissa selected one for herself, dabbed at her mouth with a handkerchief, then folded her hands once more. "I should think I'll retreat now. Miss Granger, thank you for coming. It was nice to meet you again."
Draco rose to his feet to assist his mother with her chair, and Hermione followed suit; as though summoned, Lucy bustled around the cottage and took Narcissa's arm. Together they began to walk towards the manor.
Casting Hermione a look, Draco retook his seat and selected an assortment of morsels. She looked a little shell shocked but joined him, placing a few cucumber sandwiches on her plate.
"Not everyone gets food," Draco said, finishing a bite of his own. "So I'd say―it could have gone worse."
She looked a little pale but offered a weak smile all the same. "Your mother is terrifying."
"She is that," Draco said, gesturing with a scone. "And that wasn't even her at full power."
Hermione released a heavy breath, her shoulders sinking. "Okay." As though speaking to herself, she nodded once, then scanned the carriage house. "This is quite nice, by the way."
"It is. It's probably my favourite of the outbuildings on the grounds." He cast her a sidelong glance. "You did well―thank you for speaking up for me."
Her expression softened, and she shifted a little closer. "I wanted her to know that we aren't only together because I don't know about our past. As is the case with anyone I might meet."
Draco finished off his plate, leaned back in his seat, and squinted up at the sun. "You're a little terrifying yourself, you know. I think you might have impressed her."
A wry smile curled her lips, reaching as far as her eyes, caught with a gleam of sunshine. "One can only hope."
After what Draco could only deem a positive first meeting between Hermione and his mother―based solely on the fact that his mother hadn't refused to speak with her or kicked them both off the grounds―he felt a surge of positivity race through him when he awoke the next morning.
It was Monday, his first day back at the DMLE―and his first in a new position. Although he knew Aurors training on patrol wouldn't get any interesting assignments―and in fact, Potter had probably given up a more interesting role in order to train him in this capacity―Draco couldn't help the frisson of excitement that darted through him, wave after wave.
The only hint of grey that threatened was the way Hermione's last treatment session had gone, and she would have another that morning.
After spending the bulk of the weekend at his flat, she had gone home Sunday night. In between showering and dressing for the day, he sent her a quick message.
I hope your session goes well today. Let me know.
Minutes later, his phone buzzed, and his mouth curled of its own accord as he opened the response.
I will. Have a good day on patrol. Proud of you!
He smiled at his phone for a moment before slipping it into his trouser pocket. Then he donned his Auror robes, pinned his newly returned badge in its place, and drew in a deep breath. He hadn't worked as hard as he had to let a few naysayers in the department get him down.
He shoved the tension from his jaw, released his shoulders, and Apparated to the Ministry.
"You can't keep checking your phone all day, you know," Potter said, tutting his tongue as Draco checked once more for a message. "I'm worried about her, too, but you aren't making a good impression."
Briefly, he scanned the messages he'd already sent.
How did your session go?
Did Huxley say anything about what happened last week?
Hermione? Is everything alright?
Forcing down a fluttering of nerves, Draco snickered and stowed his phone. "I'm not trying to impress you, Potter."
"You should." The man's tone was indignant, even if his eyes danced with humour. "I'm the one reporting to Robards about your progress."
"Fine." He straightened his shoulders and gave a curt nod. "Let's assess the situation. Flower shop―robbery―no evidence left behind. Poor customer relations? Lack of proper warding in place? Bad blood with the rival florist?"
They'd spent the last hour and forty-five minutes offering bland assurances to the florist off Diagon, ensuring the man they'd do their best to catch the culprit responsible for the theft of two dozen premade arrangements. Draco had expected his first case to be dry, but he hadn't expected... this.
Potter frowned. "Could be any of the above. Honestly, it feels like a waste of Ministry resources given the relatively low cost of the stolen merchandise. I suspect the only reason Robards even sent a team to check this out with as much urgency as he did is that there's been a string of similarly banal robberies down the high street in the past fortnight. There's a chance this could be connected―and the key suspect was formerly with one of the big crime syndicates we're aware of."
Draco cocked a brow. "Crime lords throwing a wedding, perhaps?" They both snickered. "Find out the colour scheme of the stolen arrangements, cross-reference to upcoming wedding announcements, and you've got the baddie."
The smile dropped from Potter's face to be replaced with consideration. "It's not a bad idea." He shook his head. "At any rate, we still need to submit the report. I can't imagine this is going to turn any heads."
"Noted."
As they began pacing the street, Draco couldn't help but feel impressive as an Auror on duty, even if the duty was investigating small-time flower thieves. More than once, eyes had landed on the pair of them together. And while Draco had never been keen to throw Potter's name around―in fact, he had sneered at the thought at first―there was something about being in the man's presence that bolstered his own self-esteem.
Potter checked his badge briefly. "Nothing new yet. We'll file this report and see what else has come in. We usually like to keep an Auror presence in Knockturn and the division between the two, especially at night." He sighed. "Okay, check with Hermione again."
Draco drew his phone out but still nothing. His last message had been sent prior to meeting with the florist. "It's unlike her not to respond," he murmured. "And she should have been done already." He didn't want to rehash the way she had suddenly forgotten about Potter the week before, but he couldn't help the creeping suspicion that this session hadn't gone any better.
He tapped out another message.
Hope you're feeling okay. Please check in when you can―Potter driving me spare.
"Hey," Potter barked, reading the message over Draco's shoulder, but he sent the message off anyway.
By that point, Draco suspected they were both delaying their return to the Auror's Office―not only because the case of the stolen floral arrangements felt almost too comical to take seriously—because their joint concern for Hermione had pervaded the easy atmosphere that had characterised the rest of the day so far.
Another ten minutes passed, and they still hadn't heard anything.
"Call her?" Potter suggested, jamming his hands into his pockets.
Draco sighed and dialled the number. He waited while the tone rang four times before cutting off. "Nothing," he muttered, ending the call. "I suppose we ought to return to the office and just wait for her to return my messages."
It wasn't that he didn't trust her to look after herself―it was that she had a tendency to go quiet when something happened that she couldn't understand or rationalise, and those were often the times when Draco wanted to be there for her. But he knew if something bad had happened, she might not want to let on.
Beyond all that, he couldn't ignore the churning in his gut, spurred by an instinct that something wasn't quite right.
As they were working on the report, the end of the day approaching, Draco felt his phone buzz in his pocket at last. He grappled for it, Potter's wide eyes meeting his, and his heart stuttered as he fumbled with the small buttons to open the message.
I'm fine. Just tired. Thanks for checking in.
Sucking on his teeth, Draco stared at the message before brandishing the phone towards Potter.
"Sounds like bollocks," Potter bit out. "Doesn't it?"
"It does."
He tried her number, but still, she didn't answer, and Draco sagged in on himself. The last thing he wanted to do was nag her to the point of irritation; if she didn't want to talk to him at the moment, he would simply have to respect that. With a shrug he knew was a little too flippant to feel genuine, he pocketed the phone once more.
"If she wants to be left alone, we'll leave her alone," Draco muttered. Potter looked as though he wanted to contest the statement but thought better of it. They both knew Hermione well enough to understand that it wouldn't go well to force her otherwise. But somehow, Draco felt all of his first-day enthusiasm seep away, as if through his skin. He shook his head. "Let's just finish this damn report."
Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! I always love to read your theories about what's going on. I hope you're all having a great week!
Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko, andFaeOrabel, respectively.
