A/N: Welcome back and thanks for continuing to read. This chapter is significantly shorter than I intended, as I've been very sick for the last 3 days (testing negative for COVID-19, fortunately) and so I've been in a haze of Zzzquil and feeling awful. I've also got a companion piece one-shot that is 3/4 written. I had intended to finish and publish it earlier this week but prioritized finishing this chapter. You can expect it soon, so turn on that Author Alert if you don't want to miss it. I'm excited for you folks to read something of mine that isn't a Draco POV.
Hermione left early the following day for a breakfast date with Potter. She looked more nervous than I did as she got ready, rushing around and muttering greetings under her breath as if the initial reunion would be the hardest part. She had plenty of time to go home and change before breakfast, even after taking a break to lay in my arms for another moment of peace. But the speed at which she ran to the fireplace made it seem like she was already late.
There is a stillness to the manor once she is gone. A hint of her scent lingers, threatening to keep me from thinking about anything but her and how she felt against my skin. But her task is too important to be distracted from. After all, the promise of spending more days with her could be taken away if things don't go as planned.
She was to spend the first half of their breakfast catching up, acting as if there were no ulterior motives. It wouldn't be too hard, as Granger was genuinely interested in what Potter was up to. And she could talk about her busy schedule for ages, no doubt excited to have another ear to go to. But then she would change the subject to how Severus Snape's name came up at the trial of Draco Malfoy and how it made Hermione wonder why the world didn't know what he had sacrificed. She would have to mention me and answer any questions that Ginny may have influenced him to ask. But she wasn't ready to share the secrets that we kept together. Not yet at least.
But what would he say if she did start to overshare? An upper-year Slytherin took a Gryffindor to the Yule Ball back in Fourth Year, and he never heard the end of it. I imagine what I would have felt if Pansy had told me she was hooking up with Harry Potter in our earlier schooling days before she and I had become an item. She would never have and likely couldn't have even dreamed of it. But it's likely that Potter wouldn't imagine Hermione with me, either. And I can't pretend that I would have been okay with the idea back then, or even now, for that matter. But what if somebody's fate relied on me being willing to move past it? I could handle that, couldn't I? And Potter was one of the good guys. He would have to be ready to set his opinions aside.
Potter boosting the public's opinion, and therefore the Wizengamot's opinion, on Severus Snape was not our only strategy. We also had testimonies, memories, bargaining chips, and my willingness to turn the family in. But maybe none of it would be enough. And perhaps I would end up back in Azkaban, for longer this time, filled with the thoughts of what I'd be missing. Thoughts of Hermione Granger moving on, accepting that she had gotten tangled up with the wrong person, knowing that I deserved to be there after all the people I hurt. She would be running back into the arms of Weasley within days. But she wouldn't. Couldn't. Unless…
No. It had to work. Something had to stick. If they were that worried about me, then they wouldn't have let me return to the manor, defense attorney, or not.
She returns hours later, but she isn't alone. Valencia is behind her, wearing an expression on her face that is ready to talk strategy. Hermione glances at me as if apologizing for bringing company unannounced and leads the way to Valencia's office to fill us in on what had happened.
The meeting between Potter and Hermione had gone nearly as perfect as we could have expected. He wasn't jumping at the chance to help anybody and did spend some time theorizing about Snape's attitude before committing to anything. But he does plan on going to Hogwarts in the coming weeks to show his support during a Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match, and he can expect at least one reporter there. Being back at the school would provide an excellent opportunity to bring up the old Headmaster and how he had done so much for the school and the Wizarding World.
I want to ask her if she had told him anything about us during their meeting. Or if she alluded to anything more happening behind the scenes. And a piece of me wants her to say yes, to share that she couldn't keep something so lovely hidden from the world. The image of Potter, face red and frustrated, pops into my mind. And it's a good thought, even though I know it shouldn't be. Not anymore, after everything that has happened. So, I push it down and promise myself that I won't ask unless she tells me.
"It's a good start. And good work, Granger, for setting it up. I just worry that he won't say enough or that the stain of Snape on the public's perception is too deep to change so quickly. Not everybody is as open-minded as some." Valencia glances at Hermione when she says this, and she catches it. A quick pink floods her cheeks.
"We have so much else to rely on, too. And I haven't heard a peep about Draco from the Wizengamot in weeks. If they were desperate to send him back to Azkaban, they'd surely be a bit angrier about him being back here."
"You're not wrong, Granger," Valencia says with a sigh. "But I don't like being so close to losing. We must be sure that we're going to win."
The three of us take a pause here, and it all feels heavier than it ever has been. We aren't just discussing some famous case in the classroom or reading about the sentencing of a dark wizard in the Daily Prophet. We were talking about me. And for once, it seems like there are people on my side.
"I have to bring one more idea up. And you're free to discuss it more after I leave."
"What is it?" Granger asks, wheels clearly turning in her head as she tries to figure it out before Valencia explains it.
"Harry Potter is one of the most trustworthy names there is. And him speaking about Severus will help us. But I can't help but wonder how much stronger a case we would have if the Potter boy was willing to speak on Draco's behalf. It seems as if there is no chance at that, and even if there were, it would come across as desperate. But we do have somebody who is almost as much of a public figure, and she's sitting right here."
My eyes go to Hermione, whose own have widened at the realisation of what Valencia is explaining.
"You think I should testify on Draco's behalf."
"Would that even be allowed?" I ask.
"Yes. Technically she is not an official part of the Wizengamot. And they already know that she's been in contact with you to some capacity. It wouldn't be hard for them to believe that she's become your friend and has seen proof that you're capable of redeeming yourself. At the very least, it would get us more positive press in the paper."
"But at the cost of her reputation," I say, the words setting in as quickly as I say them out loud.
"If my reputation is so easily swayed, then it can't have been good enough to begin with."
"You could lose your chance of sitting on the Wizengamot!"
"I know that this will be a challenging conversation for both of you. But please, think it over. It would be a powerful shot. And I have to admit that I would like to see how it plays out."
Valencia leaves us with this comment and takes her things, grabbing a coffee from Tomsy on her way out.
The scenario plays out in front of me when I look back at Hermione. She would defend me and tell the world that I was kind or capable of forgiveness. But she would also have to admit how she came to know of these things. The Wizengamot would know, but so would the world. She could go from the Golden Girl to the Witch Who Shagged Draco Malfoy, Death Eater. And she would have to blame me for it.
"You can't."
"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Draco."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I am. But you know what could happen if you did that. They would ask you all sorts of questions, and none of it would be kept secret. Even if it helped me, it would leave you with some fallout."
"It could hurt my future at the Ministry…" she starts quietly.
"And that's why you can't do it. Listen, there are so many people who I have hurt and so many things that I would undo if I could. I never want this to be one of them. You can give me that, can't you?"
Eventually, Granger relents, albeit rather stubbornly. It's only after I have let her talk her way through various scenarios that she gives up on the idea, leaving behind fiery intentions to find something else that works. But she deserves a break, I tell her, and minutes later, we're sitting outside the manor and in front of the gardens, drinking tea in the sun's light.
"What do you want to do? When this is all over?" She asks after minutes of sitting peacefully.
"How do you mean?"
"With your life. I've always imagined myself working at the Ministry. I couldn't dream of doing something else. What have you dreamed about doing?"
I pause and take a sip of my tea as an excuse to gather my thoughts. There were early days when I wanted to be a Quidditch star. And then days where I could see myself working side by side with Father. But there have been no hopes or dreams in ages. Even when Voldemort was living with us, it seemed like the rest of my days would be spent doing whatever we were ordered to do. I wouldn't just work side-by-side with Father, but become him.
"I- I don't know."
"Well, what about now? If you could know, without any doubt, that you have the rest of your life ahead of you, what would you want to do with it?"
I close my eyes and try to imagine a future. One where I have my wand back and can leave the manor's grounds. But my thoughts are too clouded in black to really see it all.
"I like potions enough, I guess. Maybe I could find something with that," I share, pulling out the only convincing lie from my pocket. She doesn't need to know how hard it is to trust that everything will turn out the way that she hopes.
She doesn't leave that night. She doesn't ask to stay, and I don't ask her if she'd like to. She just does, and it feels as normal as drinking coffee first thing in the morning. I think about kissing her when she crawls into bed, smelling of mint and soap after brushing her teeth and washing up for the night. It would be so easy to throw my arm around her and push her deeper into the mattress. We would fit together like the night before, desperate to feel even closer. She would let me, too. The thought of doing the same thing crosses her mind in the front of her eyes, and I see it so clearly that I wonder how many times she's done it before. But when she looks back at me and sees the dual fears of a lifetime in Azkaban and a future filled with uncertainty, she stops. She pulls back, chooses a side of the bed, and wraps herself in the familiar green blanket that she's curled up in before.
"Thank you for today," I tell her, wrapping my palm around her chin and pulling her in for a goodnight kiss.
"You're welcome," she whispers back. Then she's pulling my face back down to her and kissing my forehead and then my cheeks, one by one, before trailing to my nose and finally to my lips. "Sweet dreams."
Hermione Granger lays in the crook of my arm for the next eight hours, barely moving a muscle and looking as relaxed as ever. I can't help but wonder what she dreams about when her brain finally lets her turn off. Are they as hectic as the thoughts she has during the daytime? Does she dream of books, libraries, or classwork? Or does the darkness come back when she closes her eyes as it does for me? Whatever it is, she looks peaceful as I spend the night tossing and turning, thinking about the question she had asked earlier.
What would I want to do with my life? Could I ever work in public, or would the perception of me ruin all of my chances of success? Maybe I could work in some rundown book shop and fade away until people forget who the Malfoy family is. Or perhaps the time that I spend thinking about it is all a waste because I might just spend the rest of my life in a small, dark room, wishing I had the freedom to dream.
I don't know when my brain shuts off and lets me turn into Granger, but eventually, I wake up with my head nestled into the mess of her hair. She's awake, which I note as she runs her fingers across my forearm, tracing shapes into my skin.
"Good morning," I whisper, careful not to wake myself up in case it's just a dream.
"Good morning."
"What are you thinking about?" I find myself asking, desperate to let my first thought of the day be one of hers.
"I just realised something peculiar right before you woke up. Our hands are the same size."
"What? That's not possible!"
But as she brings her hand up, placing her palm against mine so gently until it feels like they're melting together, I realise that she's right.
We spend a few minutes in silence, holding our hands together until our fingers collapse against the others. I almost ask her what she dreamt about, eager to fill the silence with her voice, but I don't. It seems to private, too intimate, to share just yet.
"Have you always been so shy?" She asks, ending the quiet.
"Am I shy?"
"I never thought you would be. But yes, I think that you might be shy."
The moment after her lips stop moving is when I make the decision to do something wholly un-shy. I take the hand that's not entwined in hers and slide it underneath her torso, flipping her body so that she's facing mine. I press my lips down, quickly at first, and then gently as I touch them to hers, melting against Hermione.
Her other hand finds its way to my lower back, where she uses it to pull me in closer to her. Our hands, still holding each other, stay in place at our chests, gripping against each other in a way that promises not to let go. As I harden against her, I imagine taking her other hand with mine, pulling them above her head and flipping her on her back, giving me the chance to do the things I wish I could have done last night. Instead, I keep kissing her, gentle as the morning around us. I feel more awake than on any morning that came before, but my body is still bogged down from wanting to stay pressed against her like this for the rest of the day.
She doesn't move to touch me in more ways than before. Instead of travelling south, she slides her hand up the length of my body, falling against the back of my head, where she kisses me deeply once more and then pulls me away from her. Eyes still closed, she whispers.
"I can always tell how nervous you are."
A frustrated sigh leaves my lips.
"I'm sorry," is all that I can say.
"You don't have to be. I just want to know if I'm doing something wrong."
"Merlin, Hermione, you're not doing anything wrong. I don't know how to explain it. I'm just so used to overthinking everything. And I don't want to overthink this, whatever it is, but it's so hard not to wonder if I don't deserve to feel this good."
"You're allowed to feel good, Draco."
I lean in and kiss her again, giving myself permission to feel every ounce of the things that it does to my body. She's the one to break away this time, pulling our still-together hands up to her mouth and leaving the gentlest kiss.
"Have you ever… done it before?" She asks, finally sounding like the shy one.
"I've always heard that it's a bad idea to talk about those things with people you'd like to do it with," I joke.
"Some might say that all the things we've done together have been bad ideas. Come on. I'm just curious. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"Well, I haven't. I've done everything but, but we never went all the way."
"Pansy?"
"Pansy."
I don't know if I want her to be surprised. Would my nerves make more sense now, knowing that she could be the one to teach me about a new way to feel? Or would she wish that I had more experience?
"Am I allowed to ask you the same question?"
"You should know by now that I'm a pretty open book. And I have, a few times."
"Weasley?"
"Ron. Yes."
Her answer doesn't feel like a surprise. They had been pining after the other for long enough. And they had been a couple, a real couple, not hidden by the privacy of a house arrest. I would have been more shocked if they hadn't.
"It never felt… Right? I guess that would be the way to say it."
No part of me want to imagine more of it. She could have slept her way through our year, and it wouldn't make her feel any different under my fingers, as it would be a terrible thing to judge her after she has known so much about me and looked past it. But she had only been with the Weasley. And I might not know a lot, but I must know more than him. I would feel different to her, surely.
"Do you think it would feel right with me?" I want her to imagine it like I have imagined it so many times over the last few days. Did she fall asleep wondering what we could get up to? Dream about the weight of me on top of her?
She presses her lips into mine again, like it's easy now. Lips still attached, she nods to me and smiles.
"If only you'd loosen up," she jokes, pulling away from me.
"I'll keep trying," I say, only half-joking.
A/N: New chapter next weekend.