He led her out of the room, walking down a few hallways to reach the one he was looking for. When they came to an expansive set of oaken double doors, he turned to give her a secret smile before pushing them open.
When they walked inside, he lit a fire in the fireplace and the light fixtures throughout the room with a flick of Luna's wand, filling the room with a flickering orange glow. Hermione's eyes widened as she took in the largest and most elaborate library she'd ever seen, save the Admont Abbey Library in Austria. Her parents had taken her there for her thirteenth birthday, and up until now, it had been one of her favorite places to visit. Now, despite the grandeur and beauty of the Admont, Draco's library had solidified its place above it. One thing the Admont lacked was books on magic, which this library was filled with. Hogwarts library had become her second home during her time there, but this library made even the one at Hogwarts seem like a small-town public library.
She stopped, hand in mid-air as it traced along the shelves, and turned sharply to face him. "We will not be destroying this room!"
He surprised her with a laugh. "Absolutely not. I just wanted to show you."
She turned back to the rows upon rows of shelves as he continued speaking behind her. "This became my safe haven when the Dark Lord moved in. I'd always spent a lot of time here, but once he took over my home, this was the only place I could escape to. Surprisingly enough, not many of them were readers."
She chuckled to herself, trying to imagine Thorfinn Rowle or either of the Lestrange brothers with a book in their hand and found the thought hilarious. Obviously, some of that was probably the nervous tension still pooling in her abdomen.
She walked through the rows, tracing her finger along the markers indicating various sections, and found herself wondering what kind of friends they could have become back in school if the war and the lines drawn by his family hadn't existed. They were vastly different, true. He was much more subdued and refined than she'd ever been, and their home lives had shaped them both at opposite ends of the spectrum.
But there was no denying their similarities too. Before coming to the Willows, she never would have noticed them, but they were there, nonetheless. He was driven and focused, just as she was, and both of them seemed to find respite in books and a quest for knowledge. She was overcome with the desire to share everything with him, every one of her favorite books, her favorite authors. And she wanted to know all of that about him as well.
She imagined him hiding in here, away from the chaos and terror that his childhood home had housed, sitting in one of the alcoves behind the rows of shelves, hoping to remain unnoticed.
"What did you read then?" she asked, walking back the way she came to find him standing where she'd left him, leaning casually against a decorative pillar. In here, he was the Draco he'd been over the last few weeks, no traces of the apprehension he'd felt upon first entering his home. "When you weren't out there," she finished, nodding toward the doors leading out of the library and back into the hall.
He shrugged. "Everything. I couldn't really concentrate to be honest, so I read a lot of fiction. I…" He stood up, pulling away from the pillar, and sank his hands into his pockets. "I started reading Muggle fiction actually. It started just out of curiosity, but then it became more like the smallest and most humiliating way to rebel somehow. Is that ridiculous?"
"Not at all," she said as she smiled at him, hoping to show him that he'd done more than he even realized. Just that small thing had been enough to put the tiniest crack in the dam of misinformation and lies he'd been told his entire life. "Did you find anything you liked?"
"Well I did determine that some books Muggles deem to be 'classics,' are actually garbage."
She laughed and dropped into one of the armchairs beside the fireplace. "I actually had that same conversation with my mother once. She found this list on '100 books to read before you die,' and we were working our way through it together, but half of them were just awful."
He took the seat across from her and turned his chair toward her, his face awash in the orange glow of the fire. "The Great Gatsby?Ridiculous. I pushed through and finished, hoping for some sort of resolution, but every single character is repulsive. I completely understand the symbolism and the way he was preaching against wealth, but that was essentially the entire novel. There was nothing else." He leaned back, throwing his arms off either side of his chair in exasperation. "I honestly hate that I wasted any part of my life reading it."
"My mother loved it," Hermione said seriously, before smirking and adding, "I, on the other hand, couldn't even finish it. I'm happy to know I was justified in throwing it in the bin."
"Completely justified. Though, I can't believe I've read something you haven't, and it's a Muggle novel of all things. Pretty ironic, don't you think?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow teasingly.
"That hardly even counts—I just didn't finish it," she said, shaking her head. "What's your favorite?"
He paused for a moment, looking at the fire in thought, before saying, "I haven't read that many, but so far, I think my favorite has been Lord of the Flies. I read it twice actually. I also really liked Notes from Underground and Picture of Dorian Gray."
"Really? You thought no one was redeemable in Gatsby, yet The Underground Man and Dorian Gray are likable?"
"The characters aren't likable. They're awful actually, but the symbolism isn't bleeding all over the pages and the story itself is … enlightening."
So, they discussed Muggle literature, from Jules Verne to Mary Shelley, as if they hadn't just demolished his entire house and they weren't sitting in his family's ancestral library, the same family who believed that Muggles were all deserving of swift eradication, until a loud crack brought them both to their feet, wands-drawn and aimed in the direction of the noise.
A house-elf, with large pointed ears and even larger doe-like blue eyes stood before them, kneading her hands in her white tea-towel.
"Winny! I didn't know you were here," Draco said, taking a step toward her. "I thought you were traveling with Mother."
Winny shook her head and the wispy white tufts of hair shook slightly. "Mistress said Winny was to stay here and keep the Manor for when Master Draco and Master Lucius returned." Her eyes were brimming with tears and her hands hadn't stopped twisting the fabric around her tiny fists.
Draco pulled his pant legs up slightly and knelt down in front of the elf, pushing her hands down from the front of her dress without bringing any attention to the fact that he was doing so. "What's wrong?"
Hermione's heart felt overwhelmed, and the glowing warmth she'd felt earlier turned into a blaze that rivaled the fire beside them. This had to be the equivalent of the feeling normal women got from seeing a man playing with a baby. Draco was talking to this elf like… like she was his friend. And he'd bent down to her level even. This wasn't at all something she'd expect from him. Well, hadn't he become a walking surprise over the last month?
"Winny… Winny…" She was having trouble speaking. Her chin was bobbing, and her face was red as she tried not to cry. All at once, she broke into sobs, but unlike anything Hermione had ever seen. The poor thing had tears rolling down her face, but she was completely silent. Hermione had expected Dobby's wailing or Winky's hiccupping, but Winny was crying without making a single sound.
Hermione couldn't stop herself. She walked forward, emulating Draco's stance to drop down onto her knees in front of the little elf as he asked, "Winny, what happened?"
"Winny has been all alone for months and months, and Master Draco comes home and never even comes to see Winny. And Winny keeps the house clean, and Master Draco destroys everything with… with… with a stranger." Winny buried her face in her hands, the rocking of her shoulders and the heavy tears dripping through her fingertips the only indication that she was still crying.
Draco turned to look at Hermione, a look of complete bewilderment on his face, and Hermione shrugged. She'd never been any good at cheering up Dobby or Winky either, and Kreacher was another thing entirely. As much as she wanted to help house-elves, none of them seemed to like her very much, so she had no idea how to help right now.
"Winny, I didn't even know you were here. And Hermione and I were… we were…"
He looked toward Hermione for help again, and she quickly said, "Redecorating?"
The little elf lifted her head long enough to send a wet glare at Hermione before turning to Draco again, her face morphing into a look of complete shock. "Master doesn't like the Manor anymore?"
"No, no. It's just… we… we wanted to make some changes."
"Changes? Master Draco doesn't try to send Winny away again?" she asked, her eyes full of fear as she stared at Draco.
Draco cast a quick glance at Hermione and said, "No, Winny. I wouldn't do that. We…" He gave an extravagant sigh and looked down at the floor resignedly. Bringing his gaze back to the elf, he said, "We were trying to get rid of all the bad memories. I would never send you away, Winny. I just wanted to make the house home again. I'm sorry that I hurt you, but that was not my intention."
He'd just apologized to a house-elf. The wizarding equivalent of his slave. Counterpart to the very same elf that his father had abused so badly that the poor thing had started to abuse itself in his absence. But Draco had apologized, and he hadn't even done anything wrong.
The elf's face lit up in a bright smile, and she dried her eyes with her tea-towel. Winny took Draco by the hand, or by the pinky really, and pulled him toward the door. "Master will have tea and scones. Winny made Master's favorite as soon as he arrived."
Draco looked back at Hermione, smiling apologetically, as he was pulled from the room by Winny. Hermione stood there transfixed for a moment. Her mind instantly flashed back to Draco flipping pancakes in the kitchen at The Willows, as he said, "Winny, one of our house-elves, taught me to cook some things." So, this house-elf had taught Draco to cook. She'd been around long enough that she'd essentially been his nanny, and when he'd made her sad, he'd apologized. Not to mention, she had actually pulled him from the room by his hand. This night was just getting weirder and weirder.
A crack brought Hermione's attention back to the room she was in with a jolt as Winny appeared beside her again. "Master Draco says to bring Miss to the kitchens for tea." Hermione didn't even have a chance to answer before the elf grasped Hermione's pant leg and disapparated them from the spot.
They reappeared almost instantly in front of a small table in the corner of a large, spacious kitchen. Draco pulled out the chair beside him and motioned for Hermione to sit down. She took her seat, and the little elf crawled up onto the one opposite hers. Hermione was dumbstruck. Now they were having tea with her? This was surreal.
Hermione turned to blink at Draco stupidly, and he bit back a laugh. "Hermione, this is Winny. Winny, this is Hermione Granger."
They stepped back through the Floo into Alys's office, exhausted, covered in ash, dust, and grime, and full of tea and blueberry scones. They'd sat with Winny for hours as she refilled their teacups over and over and talked about Draco as a child and how long she had served the Black family.
Prior to moving in with Narcissa, Winny had been Andromeda Black's house-elf, but when she was blasted off the family tree just as Sirius had been, the elf was given to Narcissa instead. When Draco was born, she was passed onto him. The way Winny talked about her servitude as being given from person to person was disgusting, but she couldn't deny the connection the little elf had with Draco. More than she'd seen him have with anyone, truthfully.
Winny had been Draco's elf for his entire life, and she probably knew him better than anyone. Winny certainly seemed to think so. The way she beamed at him, like a proud mother, was beautiful, a far cry from the beaten and bruised face of Dobby. Hermione couldn't understand it. The way the elf in Nicola's memories had dressed and spoken to Lucius implied that she too was far more cared for than Dobby, and Winny seemed to be almost part of the family.
Obviously, she couldn't interrupt her as she regaled them with the story of Draco's first broom ride through the house where he broke both his collarbone and an impossible to repair vase from the 12th century to say, "Hey, so why were you treated like Aunt Winny when Dobby was beaten to a pulp?"
Winny wouldn't allow them to leave until Draco promised to come back and visit at least every other week, and even then, she'd cried as they stepped into the Floo, clutching her tea towel in one hand and waving goodbye with the other. The entire night honestly felt like a dream. They'd destroyed Malfoy Manor and then had tea with a house-elf. Oh, and they'd snogged. Spectacularly.
As they walked back to their rooms, Hermione started to panic. They'd kissed, and now what were they supposed to do?
She didn't regret it at all, though she could do without the churning in her stomach and the endless slew of questions now running through her mind about it. The issue was that she wanted to do it again, but she wasn't sure what was going through his mind.
Did he regret it? He said he got carried away. Did that mean the kiss in general or… the rest of it? Did he want to act like it never happened? Should she go back to her own room? Would it be weird now?
They rounded the last corner to get to their rooms, and with each step she felt the panic growing in her chest.
This is insane. You're a grown woman. Stop acting like a bloody First Year.
Trying to harness some of the courage she felt before speaking up during every group session, she swallowed as they stopped in front of their doors.
She opened her mouth, still unsure of what was going to come out, when he said, "I'd like it if you stayed with me, but if you don't want to, after… uhm… after tonight, I understand."
When she turned to face him, he was looking down the hall, a blush rising beneath his collar. Was that a nervous blush? Like, he was overanalyzing just as much as her? Or an anxious blush? Like, gods, I can't believe we did that, and I'm disgusted with myself.
Wait, that didn't make sense though. He wouldn't be asking her to stay with him if he felt the latter, would he?
He was shuffling now, his hand on the back of his neck awkwardly, and one foot actually scuffing the floor, like a… like a First Year, she thought, bringing a smile to her lips. It was… adorable.
What the hell.
Without another thought, she stepped into him, placed her hands on either side of his face, and pressed her lips to his.
The second before their lips met, he'd seemed surprised. But just as quickly, his mouth formed to hers, and she closed her eyes, wanting to revel in this moment, enjoying it before she inevitably overthought it and drowned herself in a sea of uncertainties.
He definitely doesn't seem to regret it, she thought, as he brushed one of his hands against her ear, resting in her hair just as he'd done earlier in his father's lounge. This kiss was sweet, innocent and lovely. She hoped it said everything she wasn't able to.
I need this.
I need you.
"I'd love to stay with you, but" she said, as she pulled away. His eyes opened and found hers. The flecks of blue shone like the Pacific, but he was guarded, afraid of what was coming after the but. "I'm disgusting. Give me twenty minutes?"
The guarded look left his face, and he smiled, the stubble on his cheeks scratching against her hands, reminding her of their current position. He nodded, and she turned away from him, stepping into her room, a smile breaking out across her face the moment the door was closed.
It never left her face. She showered in a daze, and she felt like a complete idiot, smiling like a loon, but she couldn't stop. Clearly, he didn't regret it. Clearly, he liked kissing her. Perhaps, she wasn't awful at it after all.
She washed her hair quickly, the water in the tub turbid from the layer of dirt and grime rinsing from it.
"I'd like it if you stayed with me…"
She'd heard the saying 'hit like a ton of bricks' before but had never experienced herself… until now. All at once, she understood, and it honestly felt like a ton of bricks smacking into her, effectively wiping the smile from her face and causing her to seize in her chest.
What if he expected more than that?
They'd kissed now, multiple times… did that mean he expected more tonight?
She shook her head, clearing the overflowing questions, and turned the water off. As she dried off, she thought back to their first kiss, frenzied and wild, hands colliding in their attempt to touch one another, his body flush against hers.
But he stopped. He stopped. And then he'd apologized thinking he'd done something wrong. Surely, a man who'd do that wouldn't expect something from her that she wasn't ready to give.
She opened her drawers, ready to throw on her normal pyjamas, but she hesitated.
If I wear shorts, will he think I want more?
If I don't, will he feel rejected?
She snatched the leggings she always slept in, scolding herself for being ridiculous. She was not the type of girl who worried about what her clothes said about her. She never had been, and she wasn't about to start now.
Shut up.
This time, when the questions started to rise, she shut them down before they could take root. Isn't that what Alys had been trying to tell her about CBT. Changing your thought patterns.
What if he thinks –
Shut up.
What if I'm –
Shut up!
Does he want –
SHUT UP!
Even despite her attempts to assuage her thoughts, her body still hadn't caught up. Her palms were sweaty despite her shower, and her legs were shaky beneath her as she tried to force them into her clothes.
She focused on her breathing.
She recited potions ingredients.
She shook out her hands and took turns shaking each leg as well, just for good measure, despite feeling like a fool in the process.
Finally, when she could put it off no longer without him surely thinking she'd changed her mind, she twisted her hair up into a bun, securing it with her wand, and left her room for his.
She knocked lightly, and after a few seconds, he opened the door. His face was stark white, and he looked every bit as nervous as she felt. Instead of making her heart race even more, she couldn't help but smile. It was strangely comforting to see that he was just as flustered as she was.
She walked in and took a seat at the end of his bed, just as she'd done the night before. But, instead of joining her, he stood at the edge, not looking down at her, not looking at the bed at all, actually.
Once he started talking, it was as if he couldn't stop.
"Hermione, I don't want you to think that I expect anything. I asked you to stay because I like sleeping with you. I mean, not sleeping with you, but sleeping beside you, but I don't want you to feel obligated. And I don't expect anything other than that. I don't want you to think that I want that. I mean, of course, I do want that. But not now. And you… you're you and I don't … I mean that to say, I –"
She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bed with her, the shock of it cutting his words off. She said nothing, only pulled his blankets back, sliding her legs beneath them and pulling him toward her.
"I'm going to stop talking now," he said, as he reclined onto his pillow and she laid her head onto his chest.
All or nothing, she thought, pushing aside her own insecurity and doubt. She refused to ruminate too much on all that he'd just said.
"I mean, of course, I want that."
"But not now, and you…"
Did that mean he didn't want sex right now? Or that he didn't want sex with her?
SHUT UP!
She pulled her wand from her hair and turned off the lights with a flick, immersing them in darkness as she slid her wand beneath her pillow. She swiped her hair to one side, pulling it behind her, and laid her head back down onto his chest. His heart was beating wildly, and she knew hers felt the same, but apparently, he was just as neurotic as she was. If his internal monologue sounded anything like her own, then perhaps he needed some reassurance.
She felt his hand on her back as he pulled her closer to him. Why was touching one another easier than actually speaking? She lay her arm across him, her hand resting on his chest, and breathed in deeply, smelling the fresh clean of his soap and that underlying scent that took over space in her mind as Draco.
"Based on that rant, you seem to overanalyze and stress as much as I do. I've found a resounding 'Shut up' sometimes works to turn it off."
He sighed against her, and she felt him swallow. "I like this," he said, seemingly finding it easier to talk when she wasn't looking at him.
"I do too."
"I don't expect anything more than this," he said, rubbing slow circles across her lower back.
"I gathered that," she smiled into his chest.
"Will you tell me if it's too much?" His voice lacked his characteristic timbre, as it always did when he was feeling vulnerable.
"Of course," she said. She hesitated for a moment before forcing herself to take a breath and push forward. "Draco, I… I want that too, but I've never… I've been…"
Well, this was harder than she thought. She took another breath, forcing herself to calm down. We're all adults here.
The rest came out quickly, worried if she stopped she'd never be able to finish. "I've never done that before and anytime I've ever even tiptoed in that direction, I panic. Greyback, he… My brain goes there every time, and I don't know if that will ever change. I just… I just wanted to tell you that, just in case. So, you didn't think it was you. Before, I pushed Ron away because of that, but earlier tonight, I've never even gotten that far before. Maybe this will be different, but I don't know that, and I like this. I like you, and I don't want to ruin that and…" she was starting to panic again, and she felt heat rise to her face and her eyes began to swim with tears, and –
"Shut up." She stopped immediately, affronted, but then he quickly added, "You said that worked right?
She inhaled, shaking as she pulled it in, and willed the tears not to fall.
"I've never… I've never done that either. I've come close, but I couldn't… I mean, I can, but sometimes it's hard to turn off everything in my head. So, I understand. I like this," he said, as he placed his free hand on top of hers. "I'm not expecting anything else."
Repeating his words back to him, she said, "Will you tell me if it's too much?"
He chuckled, the deep rumble in his chest causing her heart to flutter in her chest. "Of course," he said.
"I'm tired of assuming that I'm constantly doing or saying something wrong," she continued. "Can we just agree to do what we want in the moment and actually discuss it like adults?"
"That certainly sounds better than making assumptions and getting lost in our own heads," he said, his fingers tracing lines across her own atop his chest.
"Deal?" she asked, turning her face up to look at him, but only making out the outline of his face in the darkness.
"Deal," he said. "I want to kiss you right now," he added without hesitation.
She smiled, feeling color rise in her cheeks, and shifted immediately as they both rolled to face one another. She could barely make out his features as he leaned in and kissed her, his fingers wrapping around her own as his hand sought hers in the dark. She rolled to her back, pulling him along so that he was leaning down over her.
He pulled away, looking down at her despite the darkness of the room, and said, "Is this okay?"
"Yes." She pulled her hand out of his reluctantly and found his face, twisting her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck and pulling his face back down to hers. His hair was just as soft as she imagined it to be, thick and slightly damp from his shower, and the tender sigh he gave as her fingertips wound through his hair and brushed across his neck was more intoxicating than anything she'd tasted from his flask. One of his hands spread across her stomach, causing warm tingles to grow beneath his fingertips and bloom through her chest.
She sighed contentedly as he opened his mouth, inviting her in, and as she swept her tongue along his, she felt again that same feeling of weightlessness, of floating on air. Her heart was racing again, but there was no anxiety behind it. It was speeding along like a boat upon the waves with no shoreline in sight, and she felt giddy.
Had she ever felt giddy before? She'd certainly never felt whatever this was, but she could see how it was possible to get lost in this. Her body hummed, crying out to touch his skin, but she refused. She didn't want to ruin this by rushing it and ending up the same way it had dozens of times before.
So, she stayed, one hand settling in his hair and the other across his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. He seemed to be just as focused on keeping himself in check, as his hand never strayed from her stomach, and their kiss never turned into the electrically charged one they'd shared earlier. But this one was equally as wonderful.
She'd never felt more present, more aware of every sensation. His breath ghosting against her cheeks. The citrusy smell from his shampoo and mint from his toothpaste. The swell of his chest with each inhale, moving beneath her palm. The soft prickling of his stubble against her lips.
Without thinking, she softly bit his lower lip, and just like before, he sighed into her with a soft shiver, his hand gripping her hip before he stopped, going completely rigid above her. He broke their kiss and dropped his head beside hers, burying his face into her curls.
"You can't do that," he mumbled, the words muffled by her hair but audible, nonetheless.
"I'm sorry." She slapped a hand over her eyes in frustration. She ruined it. It had been so sweet, and then she ruined it.
Shut up, she thought, interjecting into the swirl of inadequacies and aggravation.
He shifted on the bed, lying on his back beside her so that their shoulders were touching. "Just to clarify, you didn't do anything wrong. That is very, very right. Just… too right for now." He laced his fingers into hers; this paired with his words and her emphatic screaming at herself in her mind was enough to stop her second guessing. "But I do need you to stay over there for a minute."
Why? But that thought was quickly replaced with an oh, as her eyes went wide in the dark. Her thoughts drifted to their kiss earlier, the way he'd leaned into her and she felt the obvious proof of his arousal against her waist. She tried to shut it off, but the thought sent a wave of scorching heat between her legs and she resisted the urge to press her thighs together. She blinked into the darkness, trying to push the images from her dream out of her mind only to find them replaced with the way she'd thought about him at the beach a few weeks ago. Imagining him touching himself, and the face he made when –
Stop it!
They lay there in silence. She couldn't attest to what he was thinking, but her own mind was in a constant battle of berating herself followed by attempts to quell the throbbing in her knickers and the dozens of R-rated images running through her mind.
"You seemed genuinely surprised tonight that your friends remembered your birthday. Do you not typically celebrate?" he asked, his deep voice breaking through the sound of the silence and the onslaught of neuroses in her mind.
She took a breath. "No, I don't. I don't usually enjoy my birthday to be honest."
"You don't enjoy your birthday?" She felt him shift, turning his face toward hers. "How do you not enjoy your birthday?"
"It's just another day. I have this theory, actually." She'd had this conversation with the Weasleys every year, but they still continued to celebrate, hoping they'd change her mind one year. "Birthdays are typically very lackluster, in my opinion, but I believe it's because people imagine they're going to be this amazing affair, with balloons and parties and gifts and everything will be just peachy for the entire day. But then, when it doesn't measure up, you feel let down, cheated somehow. But if that exact same day had happened any other day, not on your birthday, it would have been just another day. It wouldn't have been lackluster at all, but just another day. So, I prefer to go into them with that mindset, then I'm never disappointed."
After a brief pause, he said, "Wow. That's incredibly depressing. I think if there's any day that a person deserves a celebration, it's their birthday."
She laughed softly and rolled over to face him, pulling her hand from his and using that arm to prop herself up. "It isn't depressing. It's the opposite actually. It's… realistic." She paused and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "But, if it makes any difference, this birthday has definitely surpassed all my expectations at being just another day."
She felt him smile beneath her lips as she kissed him one last time before they both drifted off.