A/N: Hey folks! I've had a few people inquiring about how long we're going to go with this one. My intention isn't for it to be too long, and based on what I have planned, we're probably just a touch over the halfway point. So, 75,000 words seems like a good estimate at this time.
As always, thank you for reading. Comments are very motivating, and I appreciate every single one. I've added a quick note about my next story in the A/N at the end of this if you're curious.
We're slowly approaching why this story is rated M (aside from the odd violent flashback we've already read.) Keep this in mind if you're sensitive to intimate themes. Thanks!
Hermione Granger needs to leave my house.
They're talking like colleagues by the time we reach Valencia's study. Granger is quickly filled in on the case she's worked so far: How Mother will provide memories to the pensieve that show how rarely I had a choice, how I would be giving testimony of feeling threatened into working toward Voldemort's mission, and why I didn't – or couldn't – kill Dumbledore.
She needs to leave if she isn't going to attach herself to my lips again.
Granger's first idea is to see if the connection to Snape could pay off. He did hire Valencia for me, proving that he believed in some sort of future for me. Snape wasn't exactly a hero in the eyes of most, but Granger insists that Harry Potter thinks he is. She even shares that she might be able to get Potter to shift the public's opinion on him. If the Wizengamot believe that a war hero hired my defense, it could play favorably.
Seriously, what is she still doing here?
Valencia thinks that it's a good idea. However, Granger will need to ensure that it doesn't seem like she is working from within the Wizengamot. It could ruin the strength of the case, even if she isn't going to vote on my trial outcome. And Potter will need to agree, of course. But would she present it to him as a way of saving me, or just clearing the name of somebody who had so much to do with Potter's success? She didn't seem so sure of an answer.
How can I even start to think about what has happened without her there to distract me? Her hair, which has been underneath my fingertips. Her eyes look as good as they do closed as they do open. Or her hands, maybe still tingling like mine are, which have danced across my skin. Fuck, what have I gotten myself into?
The pair work together for hours, throwing around ideas and trying to find Wizengamot cases of a similar nature. They look back at me for the occasional nod of agreement or one-word comment, but the idea of thinking about anything aside from kissing Granger seems to be the hardest challenge since coming back to the manor.
Their day ends with a discussion on ways my image could be improved, like volunteering my time or donating pieces from the manor for an upcoming wizarding museum. They don't seem like enjoyable ideas, and neither of them asks if I'd be willing. But of course, I would be if it meant escaping Azkaban, right? Yet somehow, I can't imagine it happening.
Valencia eventually leaves, thanking Granger for her bright ideas.
"We should have had her from the beginning," Valencia turns to me to say goodbye.
The air changes immediately after Valencia has left. She's grown used to going on her own, not needing me to remind her where the fireplaces are. I almost wish she hadn't because then we could all walk there together, and it would only make sense for Granger to leave with her.
We turn to look at each other as if a million things have been left unsaid. But this time, it seems like the words are lost on both of us. I think about kissing her to end the quietness, but the idea of closing the space between us feels foreign. One kiss meant something, but two would mean that we're trying to get somewhere else. And I still don't know if we are.
My mind wanders to Tomsy and how convenient it would be for him to pop in and interrupt us, pulling our thoughts away from each other. He doesn't. Useless git.
"I should go, too," Granger finally says, as if the weight of uncertainty has started to crush her.
"Okay." And then I think about kissing her again. Really kissing her. The urge feels overwhelming, unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. Two things could happen. Either she would realise her mistake in kissing me earlier and shove me off before walking to the fireplace in disgust. Or she would kiss me back, harder this time, and I wouldn't be able to resist taking her back up to my bedroom.
Ultimately, I let her decide. And our lips don't touch again, even though the thought crosses her mind, as evident in the way she glances down at my lips not once, but twice, on our way down the hall. She walks with her body closer to me this time. But our hands are still too far apart to consider reaching out, so I don't.
"I have to go to the Ministry tomorrow, but I'll see you soon. Okay?"
"Okay."
We nod at each other, and the slightest smile breaks free from my lips. She grins once she realises it, and then the flames lick her away until I'm back in the manor with nothing to distract me.
She must have known that I would spiral into too many thoughts at her absence if she didn't come tomorrow. She'll be working, but she didn't say anything about the day after. What would happen then? Would she come over and find me in a mess of my emotions, knowing that kissing me might snap me out of it again? That couldn't happen. Our next kiss would have to be deliberate. There could be no room for regret from her.
Would she have regretted it if I had kissed her after Valencia left? If I had scooped her into my arms, carried her to my bedroom, laid her down on the four-poster, and asked her to trust me while I took off our clothes? What we did so far was good. It had felt right. I had done everything right. But the idea of going further… Maybe my body wouldn't have permitted me. Perhaps I would be the one who regretted it.
Draco Malfoy shouldn't get to feel good. That's what everybody must be thinking. Even being able to sleep in my bed, in the comfort of the manor's wall, must be considered a disgusting lapse in judgment by the Wizengamot for the wizards who know what I've done and what side I aligned with. Imagine if they knew that I would get to fall into bed in the arms of a woman who they adore, a hero who did everything right. I would be tainting her, ruining her. What would the Weasel think, or even Harry Potter himself?
It won't happen. Not until after the trial, at least. Maybe if the court lets me repent for my crimes somehow, whether it's Azkaban again or one of the dozen plans that Valencia and Granger discussed, then I'll be free to think about a future where I can have some comfort. Granger will understand. She has to. Maybe she's already thinking about the same thing anyway.
The decision feels final at first. I won't let myself get attached to Hermione Granger until the trial. She can help with the case and keep me company, but that will be that. No kissing or touching. It would go back to the way it was yesterday when we were reluctant friends and nothing more. I didn't even know what had changed the course of that friendship, when she had decided to kiss me or when I had decided to kiss back.
It might feel like a good and sound decision, but the idea of it all doesn't leave my head as I dress for bed, nor as I crawl into the sheets. It floats even heavier when the green blanket finds its way into my arms, and I smell her on it. I throw it to the floor, only to grab it again seconds later, missing its warmth.
"Tomsy," I snap, after three dozen tosses and turns in bed.
He brings me something to help me sleep, mixed in with a cup of tea for comfort. It kicks in slowly, and then all at once, and my mind goes blank.
It feels like no time has passed when my eyes snap open the following day, light pouring in the window as proof that it has. My thoughts take longer to wake up, and there are seconds where everything feels as it once was. Comfortable. But a mere moment brings me back to my body, suddenly hyperaware of how it feels to be wrapped up in sheets, green blanket included, and I'm back to wondering how Granger wakes up. The thought of her makes me even more aware of the rest of my body and the morning greeting between my legs. Something that had rarely happened since before Azkaban but felt like a nuisance even now.
It will go away on its own. It always does. And I know I shouldn't feed into it and not let the swell distract me from how much I should not be thinking about Hermione Granger. I should get on with my day, have breakfast, and maybe do some reading. Try to find new ways to fill my day now that I'm aware of how many days I have left.
But I don't shake the idea of it away. And as I crawl into the shower, now a part of my morning routine, a flash of her here with me proves that it's not going away. Not until I take care of it myself. The gentle lingering of my soap- a citrus smell, like her- floats through me with the steam from the hot water, and I'm done for. Then it's images of her showering next to me, skin bare and soft, pushing up against mine and tugging at me for more.
My hand wanders down my skin, slower than usual, aware of the feeling of it running down my torso until it reaches my cock. I'm going to regret this later; I know it. But the inescapable urge to keep going rings louder in my head as I hold on to the thought of how it would feel if it was Granger's hand gripping onto me, moving with my body as it begs her to drop to her knees.
My other hand reaches to the back of my head like hers did only yesterday. Again, I imagine it's hers, feeling its way through my hair and grasping at it desperately. But unlike the other, this one feels close to real. Her hand has been there already, and its memory is ignited by touch. I cling to this as I keep going, the memory of it all bringing me closer to the edge until I finish, my mind etched with the outline of her curves.
The regretful feelings I knew I'd have appeared as quickly as the steam fades. I approach the bathroom mirror, pushing away the condensation and coming face-to-face with my dark eyes again. This time, I try to look back into them in the same way she might. She's somebody who has stood across from me and welcomed me closer to her, willing to forget about the things she knows that I've done. Could I not do the same?
Maybe I can let her decide if she can look past the rest. The things I've done, the good that I haven't. It may be more selfish to put the decision on her, but the fantasy of her seems too good to let go of one day seeing in person.
I head for ink and parchment after freshening up and thoroughly cleaning the sleep and pleasure off of me. Would a letter find her at work? Would anybody wonder what she was up to? As Valencia had said early on, my owls might be monitored. But we'd sent letters before, so what was one more?
Come over when you can. I'd like to talk to you about something. You won't find me like I was last time, I promise.
Draco
It doesn't take long for the owl to be back at my window, dark parchment attached to his ankle.
I'll be there after dinner.
Hermione
My finger absentmindedly traces over her name as I start to wonder what to say. How much could I leave to the imagination and make sure that she still knows the darkness she's unwillingly invited into her life? Images of her storming out in anger, saying she should have known better, flood through my thoughts. Even the idea of her returning to Weasley rises to the top. She would never have that kind of calmness with me.
But what is it that I want once she decides? A few nights of fun? Some thrill? An outlet to release all of the built-up tension? The answer seems so far away, clouded by the need to show my authentic self beforehand.
The time between our owls and her visit stretches on. Every outcome of our conversation is imagined. The variety of ways that she could be hurt or angry. Even the ones where she isn't hurt end with her declining to keep helping Valencia and agreeing to stay friendly to keep herself safe. I am alone at the end of all of them.
She finally arrives after I spend ages pushing around dinner that I don't end up eating. Tomsy comments on this, crying about whether it was good enough for me.
"Hi." She's not wearing cloaks. Instead, she's got dark trousers and a purple t-shirt on. She must have gone home to change after leaving the Ministry.
"Hi."
The thousands of ways that the conversation could go, and the fear of the draw, suddenly shrink away when I finally look into her eyes. They're soft and excited, peering at me over blushing cheeks.
"How was your day?" She asks sweetly.
I almost roll my eyes at the innocent question. She must know that it hasn't exactly been the simplest of days.
"Fine."
A moment passes when I realise my mistake.
"How was yours?" I finally ask.
"Good."
The shortest answer to a question that she has ever given me.
"Um. Right. Shall we go sit in the library?"
I let her lead the way and wonder if I should walk side-by-side with her and keep up the pleasantries. It almost feels like I want to know about her day, what she did, and who she spoke with. I hope it was good.
"You said you wanted to talk to me about something," she interrupts our silence after sitting across from the fire.
"Yes. Right. Sorry."
My earlier plans crumble away with her sitting next to me. I'd even rehearsed what I might say, how I might start by asking her what she wanted to know. The confidence that I'd had in those rehearsals seems moronic now.
"It's okay. Take your time."
She's too nice for me.
"Well, I just. I guess I just wanted to talk through some things. Especially if, you know. Suppose something like last night were to happen again. I guess I just wanted you to know what you've gotten yourself into."
A thought of realisation clicks in her head. It seems like this wasn't what she'd thought I would say.
"Oh. Alright. Is it about my job? Because like I told Ms. Collins, it'll only draw attention if I bring it up at work. My personal life doesn't matter unless I'm officially a member."
And then it dawns on me. Would she bring any of this up at work? Could I tell her something, only for her to submit it against me at the trial? I wanted to tell her everything. To share it so that she could decide what she wanted. She sees the anxiety on my face and quickly moves to free me of it.
"I'm not telling anybody anything. It's their job to figure out what they need to. I won't share what Valencia tells me or what you tell me, Draco. You don't have to worry about that."
"It's just that, you know. I've been struggling a lot with things since I brought the Ministry to my family and since I've been back at the manor. And it's been weighing on me a lot. And you – you seem to be this ball of light whenever you're here. And I don't want you to start something with me if I still scare you. But the only way to know for sure is to tell you the things you don't already know."
She looks prepared this time around like she finally knows why she is here.
"And now you're worried that I'll use it against you. Not just between us, but before the Wizengamot." She doesn't phrase it like a question. She knows that it is what is happening inside of my head.
I nod gently, afraid that she'll worry that I doubt her honesty. Because maybe I am. Granger takes another moment to gather her thoughts as if she has more faith in her ability to rehearse an answer than I do.
"Would it help if I gave you something that you could use against me? Something that nobody else knows?"
I consider it briefly and then nod.
"Only if you want to," I add.
"Harry was always so against using Dark Magic. Even at the end. He beat himself up for days over having to use the Imperius curse, and we wouldn't have gotten where we did without using it. But he made it seem like it was one of the only things keeping us from becoming like the Death Eaters or succumbing to what Voldemort wanted. Ron agreed, too, even though he was often angry enough that it wouldn't have surprised me if he had changed his mind.
"I thought like that too. At least at the beginning. But as I'm sure you can imagine, I've read many spellbooks. I've learned how to do them all, at least through words. And slowly, they just became that: words.
"Anyways, one night while I was with the boys, I needed some space back when we were on the hunt for Horcruxes. Ron was wearing one around his neck, and he was such an arse. And Harry kept to himself so much at that point. I was just so frustrated and maybe desperate. I left the tent to clear my head and to get some air. I walked too far away, and maybe a part of me was considering not walking back. Maybe I could find the next Horcrux on my own, bring it back to them, and prove that I wasn't just good for thoughts and theories."
She finally takes a breather, stopping as she remembers what will come next.
"But then I passed the protective enchantments. I knew that I had, but we were so far away from any villages, and it was so late at night that I let my guard down."
My skin starts to prickle as I imagine the numerous possibilities that could come next. She keeps going before I can imagine the worst.
"A snatcher found me. He was on his own, thank goodness. But he didn't even try to take my wand. He must have thought that I wasn't a threat. Or maybe he thought I was a Muggle, just lost in the woods. And I didn't know which one made me angrier. So I disarmed him first, and the look on his face was quite refreshing. Nobody was ever scared of me, and a part of him was.
"He realised who I was after I had his wand in my hand, and he looked embarrassed about it. He could have had an opportunity to capture one of Harry Potter's friends, but he didn't act quickly enough. So, he used his words to make up for his stupidity and started throwing these empty threats at me. How he wasn't alone and how they'd bring me face-to-face with Voldemort. Disgusting things. And I snapped. I used his own wand and used the Cruciatus Curse on him. And the worst part of it was how easy it felt. I know you have to mean the unforgivable curses to be able to cast them, and I did mean it. It felt no different than a simple hex.
"I snapped his wand and altered his memory before I left. I don't even know his name or if he made it to the Battle of Hogwarts. Maybe he's in Azkaban now, or maybe he's dead. I don't really care. But I felt something within myself that night, some power to make my own decisions that I rarely felt during the war. And I couldn't tell anybody about what had happened. Harry and Ron would have been so furious with me for leaving the enchantments and even more angry at me for using that spell. So I've kept it my little secret and have told nobody. Until now."
She looks up at me, expecting a reaction. Maybe some judgement or pity for what had happened. But it doesn't come. One simple curse didn't hold a candle to the ones I'd cast, but it had meant something to her. And it reminds me of the first time I'd cast the Cruciatus, so afraid of how it would feel and even more scared that it would feel good. And she had felt the same things. And yet she was still good. So, so good.
"Do you ever regret casting it?"
"That's the thing. I don't think that I do."
"I think that I regret every single one I've ever cast."
"Tell me about them." She asks curiously and kindly, and suddenly I'm sharing them all with her. I start with Mrs. Figg and share how weak the curse was. I keep telling her about the ones she already knows about, like Terry Boot, Colin Creevey, and Angelina Johnson. But then it leads to the rest, the ones done in secrecy with Father at my side. I even tell her about the time I had to use it on a muggle who had been hiding wizards in their flat in London during the war.
Granger keeps her face steady throughout it all, nodding with an aura of understanding when I express how each one made me feel. She doesn't look afraid when the list is done, and the idea that she thinks that is the worst of it makes me want to weep.
Once I've paused to collect my breath and thoughts and prepare myself for the rest, she inches her way closer on the couch and places her hand on mine. A familiar electric current runs through me, and I sink into the feeling, letting our skin become one.
"You did what you had to do," she whispers, slowly tracing my veins with her finger.
I turn my head to see just how close she is to me, and then I collapse it into her neck. Her hair is everywhere, keeping me from lying in the crook of her shoulder, but its smell is more comforting than I could have imagined.
"That's not all," I whisper, terrified to escape her warmth.
"Oh."
I consider staying here, like this, until she makes me move. If what I say next is enough to ruin what we've had, it could be the last time I have the opportunity. But then it would all be a waste. The regret could never end. So, I move my face slightly, brush my lips against her collarbone, and pull away. She lets out a heavy breath as I do.
"Have you ever read the Ministry reports on Stephen Petale?" I ask.
She thinks for a moment until the name is familiar. She nods weakly, surely imagining how his death tied into the Order.
"Voldemort killed Stephen and his wife. But they had a daughter, Olivia."
An image of Olivia comes back to me. I had spent so many months trying to forget what she looked like, bury the thought of her and remember only what I'd done. But she was so innocent, and I had stolen everything. She was reading the Daily Prophet when I found her, curled up on the couch where she was probably waiting for her parents to return. She knew that they had been gone and had likely assumed the worst. But there was still hope in her eyes, and I saw it until the very end.
It takes a long time for me to choke out the words of what I did. And as I re-live them, Granger imagines it for the first time. I catch a single tear falling from her eye, dropping down to the space between us.
She looks at my face again once I finish, out of breath from its tragedy. Perhaps she's wondering if it's too late or if it's something she can get revenge for. Maybe she knew Olivia and had mourned for her.
"Okay," she says after a long time.
"Yeah?" I look at her, hoping that she understands what I'm asking. That I want to know if it's alright with her that I could do something like that.
"Yeah." She says, both to herself and me.
Relief hits me first, suddenly aware that telling her is the hardest thing that I've had to do in a long time and that I managed to do it. And then more of it, knowing that she was still sitting across from me. But then there's the all-too-familiar sense of remorse, knowing that Olivia Petale and her family had gone from real people to a story that I got to tell because nobody hurt me how I had broken them. And then it's the grief of all of it. Of the war, my parents, and the image of their bodies wasting away in Azkaban. It's too much, and I can't help but cry.
She swoops in almost protectively, and it's so quick that I barely have time to feel shame over crying in front of her. She pulls me into her, lets me lay my head in her lap, and starts to run her fingers across my neck and her other hand in circles on my back. It's comfortable, and I barely want to move by the time the tears stop.
"You never have to be that person again," she whispers, and it feels like ages since anybody has spoken. "We're all safe now."
I had heard those words before. From my parents, from words inked in the Daily Prophet. But they never sounded quite so true as Granger saying it now.
A/N: As I've shared, this is my first multi-chapter Harry Potter fanfiction. My intentions were to use this story as a way of learning more about Draco and Hermione as characters and as potential lovers. Additionally, it's been to use the writing process as a way of holding myself accountable and falling back in love with fanfiction writing. I feel like I've been doing a good job on that end. This story has been (and mostly will be) pretty contained. However, I've decided on what my next story will be, and it's a big one. After this fic is done, I'll spend more time outlining and planning another Dramione story, but this time it will be a much darker, more intense, and larger scope project than The Bright Green Blanket. And for my benefit, it will be third-person narrative instead of Draco's POV. So if you're enjoying my writing and are curious in reading something that will be much bigger and better, then stick around and turn that author's alert on when you can.
See you next weekend with a new chapter!