Draco Malfoy didn't know whether he wanted to apparate out of the room or take the witch beside him out for a butterbeer. Not even the Minister of Magic could contain her by the time she got done. "Thank you for helping me with this, Kingsley. I trust you'll keep this out of the Prophet?" Scratch that. Make it a firewhiskey. The underlying warning in Granger's voice was the most Slytherin thing Draco ever had the pleasure of hearing.
Both the Headmistress and Kingsley stiffened in surprise. "Of course," the Minister replied, baffled. Draco couldn't hardly believe what he was seeing. "Wonderful," Granger said sweetly. "It would be a terrible shame if I had to retaliate somehow against yet another invasion of my privacy."
For the first time in his life, Draco questioned the Sorting Hat. He shifted in his seat.
"Miss Granger!" The Headmistress harshly scolded, unable to believe what she was bearing witness to. "Do you have any idea what you've—"
"Professor," Granger interrupted. Both the Minister and Headmistress were taken aback. Draco, however, resorted to propping his ankle on top of his knee. He was watching the show, impressed. "Forgive me, but the fact is, I have had enough of my life encroached upon by a paper that is barely worth the compost Neville uses it for. Furthermore, not even the Ministry can touch me. You see, I am not fully a witch, as I cannot perform magic. Nor am I a squib, as my parents weren't magical. Nor am I even a muggle, as I was originally born with magic."
Granger squared her shoulders and met her elders with a fierceness she once reserved for the battlefield. And for dealing with him when he was being a right git. There was an unexplainable rush in watching that fire being unleashed on someone else. It felt a lot like pride. "I cannot be classified as any other sort of creature because I am, in fact, human. My existence no longer falls under the wizarding world's legal jurisdiction."
A deathly hush fell over the room. Bra-fucking-vo, Granger.
"All I ask for is to be kept out of the papers, Kinglsey," Granger said, losing her threatening undertone completely. "I just want to live what's left of my life in peace." When McGonagall and the Minister of bloody Magic quietly nodded in unison, Draco didn't think he'd ever seen anything so beautiful in his life. Leave it to Granger to still be the most powerful witch in the room without magic.
"Now, with that out of the way," Granger sighed, instantly turning back into the woman he knew. "I'd like to propose a partnership program. Given my own experience with being thrown into a foreign world at eleven years old, without so much as a proper introduction to anything outside of a textbook prior, I think it might be time to organize a Pre-Hogwarts introductory education program for muggle born children. In order for a child to properly make their entrance here, their education should start between the ages of five and seven to stay on par with their pure and half-blood classmates. That is, without being forced to work three times as hard as everyone else to do so."
Draco immediately sat up as McGonagall and the Minister leaned forward.
"I'm willing to donate half the gold in my vault, as well a continuing contribution of fifty percent of my shop's earnings to fund such a program. Given my calculations—"
Draco's stomach dropped. There was no way she'd be able to stay afloat if she lost that much money. "Wait, Granger."
All heads turned toward him, but it was Granger's quizzical stare that he focused on. "What?"
"Leave the money in your vault and drop that number to twenty five percent."
"Draco!" Granger fumed. "What are you—"
"I'll personally fund the rest."
Neither of them paid the other two any mind. Let them think what they want.
"I couldn't possibly—"
"What, Granger?" Draco challenged quietly. "You mean you can't allow an ex Death Eater to help clean up the mess that we made?"
He wouldn't ever say it, but he relished the way she skewered him with that little glint of defiance in her eyes. When it didn't stem from them trading insults, it was nearly as much of a rush as flying. She gave back what she got. She didn't back down. Ever. And he loved it.
"Professor, Minister, could you excuse us for just a moment?" Granger asked without looking at them. Before anyone could say a word, she'd grabbed Draco by the hand and was dragging him out of the room. Draco ignored the way his heart skipped a beat.
The moment the Headmistress' office door closed behind them, she rounded on him. "That was dirty," Granger hissed. "Pulling out the Death Eater card? For the love of God, Draco! You're no more a Death Eater than I am a pure blood."
Fiendfyre blazed in her eyes, and all Draco could do was burn in them.
Granger crossed her arms over her chest rigidly, and suddenly they were children all over again. "You should know that the next time you start to think that dirty guilt trip attempts are a good idea, I have no problems with reminding you why I don't need a wand. This is my battle to fight, and my cause to advocate for. It has nothing to do with you, and you know it."
"Except it has everything to do with me," Draco answered, trying and failing to sound cold. Damn Granger. Why could he never keep it together around her anymore?
"How does the education of muggle born children have a single thing to do with you?" Granger retorted.
Because of the hell I put you put you through.
Because no matter how much I wash my hands, they'll never be clean.
Because it's about time we made a change.
"Because if the Ministry sees that I'm a changed man, they might lessen my parole time."
"Draco," Granger sighed. Her patience with him was wearing thin. He could see it as plainly as words on the parchment. "I'm heading back in there. Are you coming with or are you staying out here?"
The Slytherin silently nodded, gesturing for her to go ahead of him. He didn't trust himself to speak just yet.
The moment she opened the door, the voices inside abruptly quieted. Neither Draco nor Granger acknowledged it. Instead, the pair took their seats in front of McGonagall's desk with their heads held high.
"I apologize for that," Granger said without any preamble.
"Never mind that, Miss Granger," McGonagall answered carefully. "The Minister and I are aware of the... differing views between you."
"Thank you, Professor. Minister," Granger said, her inner swot coming to the surface.
That was when she turned back to Draco. He wasn't too sure he liked the cool, businesslike face she watched him with. "Now that you have offered a counter-proposal," Granger said, a hint steel in her tone. "What are you looking for in exchange for your contribution to the program?"
Draco smirked. Showtime.
"McGonagall allows me to live off campus for the remainder of my parole," he said smugly. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor leaned back with all the confidence of a predator and gestured to the Headmistress. This was too good not to capitalize on. "The Minister can even put the Trace back on me, if he wants." He barely contained himself when Granger, McGonagall, and the Minister exchanged torn, conflicting looks. "I'll sweeten the deal," Draco lazily drawled. Victory was practically in his grasp. "I'll not only fund the startup costs, but I will match whatever Granger donates to it every year. Call it reparations or something."
The only reaction he watched was Granger's. She eyed him carefully; he could practically see her internally calculating. "Fine. If you're going to insist on creating a hemorrhage in your family's vault, this is how it's going to work. You are a silent partner. I get to name the foundation. More importantly, Headmistress McGonagall and Minister Shacklebolt will be in full control of the curriculum, as well as hiring the staff to operate it."
Outwardly, Draco may have appeared bored and uninterested. Internally, he was flying victory laps. He lazily turned to their shell-shocked audience. "Do we have a deal, Headmistress? Minister?"
"I... I think so, Mister Malfoy. Miss Granger." McGonagall replied, reeling from all she'd just witnessed.
"We have a deal," the Minister said quietly. "This will honestly be the best PR the Ministry has had in years. Possibly ever." He cleared his throat, turning back to Granger with a slight hesitancy that Draco couldn't miss. "I trust that neither of you want your names publicly attached?"
All business, Granger nodded. "That is correct, Minister."
"What will we be calling this new program, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked.
There was something in that tiny smile as she said, "The Winter Lily Foundation."
A few hours later, both Draco and Hermione slid down to the floor, side by side, the moment the door to the Defense classroom closed behind them.
"Holy..."
"Shit."
The pair laughed quietly the second they locked eyes. "There was a lot more involved than I originally thought," Granger chuckled. Draco hung his head, resting it on knees. "You mean to tell me," he loudly groaned, "that you ambushed the most terrifying witch in the world—apart from you—and the bloody Minister of Magic... completely unprepared?" The blonde Slytherin fought a grin at the sound of his Gryffindor counterpart's tired giggles. "Yes. I suppose I did."
"Bloody Gryffindors."
"Bloody Slytherins."
Draco welcomed the comfortable silence that fell between them. There was something special in their silences. When neither of them was working to find something to say, it felt like crawling under a blanket at the end of a long day. They both could take comfort from the other's presence without the conventional need to find meaningless words to spew just to make noise.
He couldn't be sure if she felt it, but for him, all the force of an accio hummed. He noticed that Granger sat in the same position as him. Her forehead rested on her knees, curls tumbling down her legs like waterfalls. The palms of her hands laid flat on the floor beside her, but the longer he watched, he saw that sometimes her hand would inch a little toward him before she'd snatch it back.
Could she...?
No, Draco. Remember your contract and your commitment, Draco. You great git.
"Draco?"
Alright, fine. So you like the girl. She's still just your friend. Idiot. That's all the two of you can ever be, but if you keep being a moron, you'll fuck that up.
No fuck ups.
"Hmm?"
"Why did you really do what you did back there?"
Because I want to do right by you.
Because I respect the fuck out of you.
Because trying to make up for all my sins is impossible.
"I'm on parole for the next ten years. Can't really put a price on relative freedom, can you?"
"Stop lying to me, Draco. You're selfish, not stupid."
He turned his head just enough to see her with one eye, not bothering to hide his smile. "Know me that well already, do you?"
"Your actions typically contradict your words. Like making feeble excuses to give off the illusion of not really caring, but then giving warnings when you should be docking points, granting O's on reports that deserve an A at best—"
"I highly doubt that," Draco muttered.
"Shocking someone right out of an emotional spiral—"
"Granger—"
"I'm not done! Honestly, Malfoy," the tiny terror lightly admonished. Draco's entire world came into focus when Granger pulled back the chestnut curtain to peek at him and grinned. "You might want to be careful, or your father will hear about this."
This woman would ruin him. He knew that for a fact.
"Let him," Draco chuckled. "Not much he can do while he and most of his mates are all locked up in Azkaban."
"How are you doing, anyway? That's got to be hard for you."
Under no circumstances should she ever be directing any measure of pity towards him.
"I'm fine," he grumbled.
Of course, Granger would immediately lift her head and cross her arms over her knees. "Hey." Her firm tone contradicted the soft understanding on her face. It threw him. "Don't do that thing where you brush things off with me. That brooding of yours isn't going to get us anywhere."
Draco didn't know what to do with that. Especially after she said, "us".
"I've about got you figured out, Malfoy," Granger said smugly. "The old you may have been sincere in his snarky, harsh, pigheaded and generally unpleasant attitude, but the wizard that became my friend is actually quite lovely. Not to mention he likes to put up an act quite frequently, because Merlin forbid anyone else sees what Astoria and I see."
There she goes, knocking his feet out from under him. Again.
"Let's just go to my room and get this over with, yeah?"
Granger's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. She clamped both her hands over her mouth, and by the time her shoulders started shaking Draco nearly lost it. "Real mature, Granger," Draco said, a wide grin spreading across his face the second he turned to walk away.
Luckily, everything Draco kept at the castle was easily shrunk and stowed away in that bag of hers. "Extension charm," she'd explained nonchalantly, as though this were an everyday occurrence. Then again, before that tumor, it very well might have been for her. He couldn't imagine what it was like, having to babysit two idiots all the time.
Draco glanced over the empty, barren bedroom one more time. It didn't hold any meaning for him. It was just a room. That's why it was surprising to him when he turned and saw Granger walking around his classroom. He watched, mesmerized by her delicate fingers skimming across the top of his desk, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as her gaze roamed over the rows of desks. It was only when she reached the edge that her sights settled on the back corner.
"Granger?" Draco whispered.
"Why am I Granger?" Her voice, barely audible, even in the extreme silence, shook on the use of her own name.
He didn't know how, but he had to fix this. Now.
He flew to her side, taking her in his embrace again. With her head resting on his chest, her arms wound tightly around his waist, the pair settled into an instant peace. Draco's heart pounded out a loud, explosive rhythm as he breathed in the scent that was uniquely her; welcoming the burn that came with forced restraint. He settled for resting his chin on top of her head and staring at the dull bricks in the wall.
Because if I keep saying your name, it will make everything too real.
Because our entire lives won't allow us to be anything more than what we are, and we're already pushing it.
Because I don't want to face the fact that you already mean more to me than you were ever supposed to.
Because if I were to brew Amortentia right now, I'm positive I would smell vanilla, books, and coffee.
"Because you've always been Granger," Draco whispered. "I can't imagine you ever being anyone else." The darkness in his spirits lifted when he felt a slight lift in her cheeks against his chest. "I think I can live with that."
Neither of them knew how long they stood there like that.
"Draco?"
"Hmm?"
"How long has it been since you last flew?"
Draco's eyebrows furrowed.
"I don't know. Why do you ask?"
"You don't smell like fresh air and grass anymore."
Draco found himself beaming as a particular memory came to mind.
"I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and—"
Granger never finished that sentence.
"Quite fond of the way I smell, eh, Granger?"
He nearly toppled them both over when he felt a sharp pain shoot up his back.
"Ow! What the hell?"
"Shut up, Malfoy."
"I'm Malfoy, now?"
"When I'm angry with you, yes."
Draco immediately missed her warmth as she slowly backed out of his hold. Granger tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. "I suppose we should get out of here, then," she said, and strode quickly toward the door.
A rather appealing idea came to mind.
"Hey, Granger!"
The woman stopped in her tracks, turning back to him quizzically. "What?"
"You're a free woman now."
Her eyebrows shot up. A question. "Yes. What of it?"
"Let's go get a butterbeer. To celebrate."
Chocolate brown eyes widened in surprise. Did she not want to go out in public with him? Her eyelashes fluttered, wiping away her evident shock with each blink. "Sure. I suppose we could. A butterbeer would actually be quite nice."
Yes!
The trek off Hogwarts grounds wasn't nearly as depressing as either of them thought it would be. If anything, it felt symbolic, like closure. As the pair wandered through the streets of Hogsmeade, it was Granger who spoke up first. "We should probably go to the Hog's Head. Unless there's somewhere else you'd rather go first?"
Right. Rosmerta.
A flash of dark hair caught Draco's attention from the corner of his eye. "No, the Hog's Head is fine," he muttered. He only dared to inch his head a little further to the side. "Why don't you go on ahead? I'll catch up."
"Draco?" Granger said worriedly. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah," he said, hardly daring to breathe. "Try to find us a clean table, ok?"
"Sure," she said, her hesitance clear.
The second Granger was out of sight, Draco did what he did best: he disappeared.
There weren't many things he was proud of, but his aptitude with a Disillusionment charm was very nearly unmatched. Slipping through the spaces with the grace of a snake, he meandered to the alleyway beside Madam Puddifoot's, where he knew he saw Astoria heading mere minutes before.
He knew he spotted her. There was no mistaking it. There was also no mistaking what he saw now.
A tall, lanky bastard shed his coat, discarding it on the filthy ground.
A dark-haired witch before him, falling gracefully to her knees.
Said lanky bastard slips the straps of her dress down, his fingers lazily grazing her creamy skin.
She allows him to free her breasts, watching him with pure adoration.
She's practically fumbling with excitement as she pulls his pinprick of a cock out.
She's greedily taking it into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed with a hardly suppressed moan of delight.
"Fuck, Stori," Theo Nott hisses through clenched teeth. His pug ugly head tips back in pure pleasure while bumbling fingers are carding themselves into hair that Draco knew to be smoother than silk.
She abruptly pulls back, the sound making a sharp pop, and she glares up at him. "Don't you dare call me that. We talked about this."
"Sorry, love."
That was all he needed to see. Now he was free too.
Draco's grin stretched from ear to ear, suddenly feeling lighter than a feather, as he removed the charm. The horrified looks on both their faces were priceless. "Don't stop on my account," he laughed, stopping his ex-girlfriend from getting up. "I was just leaving." Draco turned and walked out of the filthy hole without another word. It was easy to ignore the embarrassing shouts of his name. Theo could have her.
Mother was just going to have to be disappointed when he owled her to cancel their betrothal contract.
Draco spotted Granger the moment he set foot into Aberforth Dumbledore's filthy pub, and he couldn't contain how elated he was to see her. Her head tipped to the side in that cute little way she does when she's curious, watching him intently as he swiftly walked towards the table she picked.
As requested, the damn thing was actually clean.
"Draco, what happened?" Granger asked. "You're... in an exceptionally good mood."
When Draco took the chair in front of her, he finally allowed his eyes to roam over her with a sly grin. "It looks like I'm free, too, Hermione."
The poor woman's glass stopped just before it touched her lips.
