A/N This is the last Dramione story and quite possibly last fic I will be posting on . The site has jut become too clunky and randomly reformats the stories when I publish them (hope it doesn't put it all in italics like last time). I am still writing and uploading on Archive of Our Own (AO3). You can find me there under JaycieVictory. Hope to see you there, but either way, this was really fun to write and would love to hear what you think :)
A Common Cause
"So, tell me, Granger. Am I the first boy you've had in your room or has another boy made it into your... sacred chamber?"
Hermione continued searching through the parchment rolls undeterred and spoke calmly. "Don't be ridiculous, Malfoy. Ron and Harry have been in here on multiple occasions – sometimes both together."
Draco's head snapped round so quickly his neck cracked; Hermione didn't look up, but a tell-tale smirk quirked her lips.
He was torn between annoyance and admiration.
Six months they'd been Head Boy and Girl together. During the first two months that comment would have had her bristling and blushing. Half from outrage, half from a prudish kind of embarrassment that he had grown to find adorable.
During the second two months, she would have at least rolled her eyes.
Now, it barely got a reaction from her.
Indeed, quite the opposite: he was the one who'd ended up reacting, which was aggravating considering getting a reaction from Granger was one of his favourite pastimes. Whether it was her eyes flashing, her hair crackling, or her cheeks flushing, she never did anything by halves.
Somewhere along the way he'd found himself wondering what it would be like to have all that explosive passion focused in a different way, focused on him.
The good news was however good Granger may have gotten at concealing her feelings, she wasn't nearly as indifferent to him as she liked to appear.
Exhibit A, the fact he was in her room.
As Head Girl Granger had her own relatively spacious chamber, minus the "no boys" edict that was spelled upon the girls' dormitories, but aside from Potty, the Weasel and occasionally the She-Weasel, no one ever went in there.
The Head Girl preferred to conduct her business in the office she shared with Draco.
Yet she'd accepted his request to come in to look for his mislaid homework without a blink (mislaid because he'd deliberately inserted it amongst her things during their last pow-wow together). Even though she could have gone and gotten it herself rather than allowing him in.
He took this as a very promising sign.
The only problem was, irritatingly efficient as Hermione was, she would locate the parchment within minutes, so he bent his powerful intellect to finding a way to prolong the visit.
His eye fell on a green armchair with a squashy orange cushion. He shuddered a little at Granger's lack of taste – really the sooner he had her safely under his influence the better – but welcomed the opportunity it afforded.
Hermione was generally polite (so long as she wasn't in a temper), and a seated guest would play on this instinct; it was much harder to ask someone to leave when they had made themselves comfortable.
He sauntered over to the chair and gracefully lowered himself into it...only to leap to his feet with something perilously close to a scream seconds later.
The cushion had emitted a high-pitched yowl of outrage and sunk its claws into his arm.
He flailed said arm madly in the air, close to panic, and it released him, falling back to the chair on all fours, back arched, tail lashing, hissing its displeasure.
It was the largest, ugliest creature he'd seen outside of the Forbidden Forest: bigger than most dogs, with fiendish yellow eyes and a furious look that promised immediate retribution.
"What – the hell – is that?!"
Granger's hands had been pressed to her mouth in what he'd taken for shock, but as she lowered them, he realised the only thing she was suffering from was acute amusement.
Lips quivering, she held it together long enough to answer him. "That... that's my cat – Crookshanks."
"That is not a cat!" Draco objected hotly. "That is a demon made furry flesh!"
At this point Hermione totally lost it, almost doubling over from the weight of her mirth. She was laughing so hard tears were leaking from her eyes.
Draco's mouth dropped open in outrage; his hand closed protectively over his throbbing arm. "Excuse me! Your feral, deranged pet shredded my robe and basically mauled me and all you can do is laugh?"
"I'm sorry." She gasped for breath and straightened up, wiping the tears away before moving towards him with her hand held out. "Let me take a look. I've got a very good salve from the apothecary in Hogsmeade."
She took hold of his arm and pushed back his robe, gently running a finger up his arm.
Draco promptly forgot all about his outraged dignity, marred Malfoy person and hell-spawned demon cats.
All that mattered was that Granger was closer than she had ever been. Close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. Close enough that her long frothy curls were brushing against his wrist.
Close enough to touch...
As if feeling the weight of his gaze, her hand slowed; her eyes raised to his.
She swallowed.
It was the unconscious signal he'd been waiting for.
He leaned in... and Crookshanks let out an ear-splitting meow.
He was holding his paw up with the most pathetic expression Draco had seen outside of Longbottom in Potions.
Hermione dropped Draco's arm like it was hot. "Oh, my poor baby!" She rushed over to the now piteously mewling monster and pulled him into her lap. "He must have hurt his paw when you sat on him."
"Oh, I'm sorry, did my mutilated flesh hurt the poor little kitty?" Draco muttered.
Hermione was minutely examining Crookshanks' paw and seemed to miss his sarcasm entirely. "It doesn't look too bad, but I better take him to the Menagerie tomorrow to double-check... Don't cry, my darling, everything will be fine." She picked him up and swept him up on to one shoulder, not without difficulty, gently caressing his head.
Crookshanks immediately began purring, watching Draco over her shoulder.
Man and beast stared at one another, the former decidedly pissed off, the latter deeply smug.
Draco's eyes narrowed.
So did Crookshanks'.
This meant war.
The last few years at Hogwarts had held many surprises for Hermione.
Not least of which had been realising she wanted to date Draco Malfoy.
It had shocked her at least as much as anyone else.
Well... that wasn't quite true. It was more like it had snuck up on her, liking him little by little so that by the time she realised what was happening, she was already in the middle of it.
Somewhere along the way he had evolved from an annoying ferret to... an unfairly attractive annoying ferret.
She'd denied that attraction for as long as she could, but realisation had been forcibly borne in on her thanks to one Miss Ginny Weasley.
Ginny had been moaning about a Slytherin boy in her Arithmancy class and Hermione had wholeheartedly sympathised, joining in and sharing some of Draco's most recent annoyances.
She'd trailed off when she realised Ginny was staring at her, open-mouthed.
"You like him."
"What?" Hermione blinked. "What on earth gives you that idea? Admittedly he's not quite as much of a prat as he was before, but that's a large leap away from like!"
Ginny extended her hand, pointing accusingly. "You're doing it again!"
"Doing what?"
"You're smiling! You're not annoyed: you find him being annoying endearing!"
"No, I don't!" Hermione had tried to scoff, then felt the tell-tale pull of her lips. She covered her mouth. "Oh, my gosh..." She turned wide eyes on her friend. "What am I going to do?"
Ginny was beaming at her. She was never happier than when matchmaking. Especially when it came to Hermione, who she had all but given up on after she and Ron had spectacularly crashed and burned, and Hermione had resisted every attempt Ginny made at a rebound.
"Tell him how you feel, of course!"
But Hermione was shaking her head, recovering her equilibrium.
"Oh, no. I couldn't possibly do that."
"Whyever not?" Ginny looked exasperated.
"Because then he'd be unbearably smug about it." Her jaw firmed. "No, if this is happening, it's happening on my terms."
"What does that mean?"
"It means if he wants me, he's going to have to work for it..."
One month later, and here she was. Sitting in The Three Broomsticks, waiting for Draco to join her and to see if he'd succeeded. For every mission he successfully completed, Draco got a date. He'd risen to every challenge she'd set him so far. Every errand. Every task. Generally, he'd remained his usual self-assured self throughout. Proffering the object of her desire with a flourish or supremely smug air. Taking the opportunity to get as close to her possible.
Today was the first day he'd balked at the request.
She took a swig of her Butterbeer and looked over at a nearby table where Ginny was sat with some Sixth Years. She caught Hermione's eye and offered an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
It was a nice gesture. Even more so considering her brother had been less than happy when she and Draco started dating. (And by less than happy, she meant apoplectic with rage.)
Harry seemed to be slowly coming round to the idea, but Ginny was the only one from her inner circle to actually have any enthusiasm about it.
A change in the atmosphere had Hermione shifting in her seat, a frisson – almost a shiver – of feeling going down her spine. Before she even turned to look, she knew Draco had entered the room. She didn't know exactly when it had happened, but somewhere along the way she had become attuned to his presence. At first, she wondered if it was part of being a witch. Sensing another's presence because of their magic. But it was only Draco who had this impact on her. A swooping, thrilling sensation in her stomach.
She turned around and the thrill gave way to amusement.
Draco was walking towards her, straining under the weight of a large pet carrier. His irritatingly perfect hair was slightly mussed for once and that alone suggested he had been through an ordeal.
He lifted up the carrier and for a moment looked like he was going to drop it on to the table with some force, before apparently thinking better of it and lowering it instead.
He plucked the bottle of Butterbeer from Hermione's hands and downed half its contents.
Crookshanks' face was squashed up against the wired screen on the front but even from this position, she could see his fur gleamed like polished amber. He gave Hermione a highly aggrieved look.
She made crooning noises of apology mixed with affection, stroking one of his paws through the mesh. "Oh, I'm sorry, my darling. I know you hate the groomers. But you look so lovely and handsome now."
There was a muffled exclamation from Draco. He had placed the bottle back on the table and the expression on his face made Crookshanks' look like beaming approval.
Hermione feigned an innocent look back. "Everything go okay?"
Draco scowled as he sat down. His alabaster skin was flushed with exertion and annoyance. It was one of her most favourite things – the rare times she could crack that smooth, polished air.
"That's it, Hermione. I'm done."
All sense of playfulness vanished. He was... done? He didn't want to date her anymore? Well, there you go, she tried to tell herself. This proved it had never been a long-term thing.
Wasn't this what she had wanted? Wasn't that what the challenges and errands were about? A way to weed out whether he was serious about going out with her before she did anything silly like develop feelings for him. She should be congratulating herself on the success of her experiment.
Funny how getting what you wanted could make you feel like your stomach had dropped to your toes.
Before she could think what to say to at least save her pride, if not her heart, Draco had continued on: "You want me to carry your ludicrously heavy school bag that appears to be stocked for the next ten Armageddons? No problem. Read your top ten list of Muggle novels? Fine. I actually quite enjoyed that Austen chap. I'm even okay with not openly insulting Potty and the Weasel, but I draw the line at taking this fat lump of a feline to the groomers. Not only did he scream like a Fwooper the entire way there so that no less than three old witches stopped to scold me for 'upsetting the poor dear kitty', do you know what he did? Do you know what he did?" Hermione shook her head dumbly, relief warring with genuine mirth. Draco paused as if to give space to the extent of his outrage: "When I took him out of the carrier he weed on my shoes."
A hiccup of laughter escaped her, and she slapped her hands over her mouth. Draco's outrage deepened to epic proportions. A loud purr started emanating from the carrier.
"It's not funny, Hermione! How would you like it if I did that to you?"
Feeling almost giddy with relief now, Hermione deliberately misunderstood. "How would I feel if you weed on my shoes? Well, I'd have some concerns about your upbringing to be honest..."
Draco started to stand, clearly ready to flounce off in high dudgeon, but Hermione's hand on his arm forestalled him. "I'm just teasing, Draco," she said contritely. "I'm truly very sorry. Crookshanks must have been very out of sorts to do that. He's normally perfectly housebroken."
His finger shot out to point at the carrier which was now purring so loudly that the table was vibrating. "That woolly mammoth did it on purpose!"
Hermione was now stroking his arm. "No, no," she soothed. "Crookshanks would never do that. Just an unfortunate accident. And I'm so grateful you took him for me."
Draco was still looking highly affronted but then he suddenly seemed to become aware of what her hand was doing. Much of the tension left his body and he tilted his head, peering up at her from beneath his silvery fringe, voice suddenly throaty: "How grateful?"
She almost laughed again at this very Slytherin leveraging of the situation but instead answered him with all the newly discovered feelings in her heart. She drew his face to her and softly kissed him.
The purr from the carrier now sounded more like a growl.
She pulled back after a couple of seconds, never really being one for public kissing, and feeling a little shy that their first one had been in the open, where any fellow student could see.
She met Draco's gaze, half expecting to see him at his smuggest, but his smoky eyes looked dazed with delight. Then they focused on her with a look of such hunger and determination a shock of feeling went down to her toes.
He reached for her and pulled her into quite simply the most passionate kiss of her life. There was nothing to do except meet it with everything she had, audience bedamned.
Whooping noises, half-jeering, half-encouraging drifted over from the nearby table... and a paw shot out from between the mesh and knocked the bottle into his lap.
Crookshanks mewled and shot Hermione a look that could only be described as forlorn.
"Oh, I'm sorry, baby. But until we get your weight down, no more steak, okay? Doctor's orders."
"Whose orders?" Draco asked from behind the Prophet. Hermione wasn't a huge fan of the publication, but Draco's morning routine had to include both a cup of tea (poured from a proper teapot, not straight into the mug) and a copy of the Prophet, so she'd started subscribing to it after Draco's sleepovers became regular enough to be habitual.
She'd also started storing any copies in a spelled cabinet after Crookshanks had decided to use them to mark his scent by spraying liberally on the pages. She'd read several books on Kneazles after that, trying to figure out where his sudden need to mark his territory had come from. (Draco could have offered a few choice words on the matter but direct confrontation had never been his style.)
Hermione's voice was distracted. "They're the Muggle equivalent of a Mediwizard. Or a Healer."
Draco peeled back the edge of the newspaper to reveal an arched blond eyebrow: "You use the same healers for your pets as your people?"
Hermione was trying to coax a reluctant Crookshanks over to his bowl. "Well, no," she replied. "We use something called veterinarians – vets for short. But no one ever really says 'vet's orders' so..." She trailed off.
"Aren't vets also what you call people who've fought in a war?" Draco queried, lowering his newspaper completely to fully enjoy the view of Hermione huffing and puffing as she tried to drag a thoroughly unimpressed Crookshanks across the floor. "Are you so short of language in the Muggle world you have to share words?"
She paused in her attempts and threw him an exasperated look. "Draco, are you deliberately being obtuse to wind me up?"
He raised his brows in apparent surprise. "Why would I do that? Just because you look adorable when you're pissed off."
Her mouth turned up in a smile before she repressed it. She gave up on shoving and picked up the giant ginger feline, carrying him over to his bowl.
He neither swiped at her, sunk his claws in her flesh or farted – all signature moves he would have pulled had it been Draco carrying him.
"I just don't understand why he keeps putting on weight. He's been on this diet all week. Unless..." She set Crookshanks down in front of his bowl and turned to face Draco, deeply suspicious. "You've not been slipping him snacks, have you?"
He scoffed and pulled his paper back into place. "Hardly. You think I'd waste quality food on that beastly behemoth?"
"No, I suppose not... And, Draco, don't speak about Crookshanks that way. You know he can understand you. You'll hurt his feelings."
Draco peeped out from behind the paper again. Hermione had crouched down next to Crookshanks and was scratching behind his ears. "Darling, I know you hate it, and I'm sorry. But your health has to come first. Just one more week and we can relax it a bit. I've got to get ready for work so, please, do it for me, okay?" She straightened up and left the room.
Crookshanks glared balefully at the contents of the bowl – which had far more green in them than a cat would ever want to see – and then lifted his head to glare equally angrily at Draco.
Draco shrugged. "Don't look at me. You heard the lady. It's either that or nothing."
Crookshanks appeared to consider this, and then raised a giant paw and angrily smacked the bowl across the room; lettuce went flying.
He slunk his way over to the couch and settled against the cushions with a highly superior air, disdainfully turning his head away.
He was too far away to see the newspaper twitch as if poked or to hear the whispered "Engorgio" that accompanied its movement.
"Draco, you're overreacting."
"Oh, really? You don't think it's a touch of a coincidence that that blasted feline somehow managed to shed on every set of robes I have aside from the joke set you bought me for Halloween?"
"You can barely notice the clown stripes anymore," Hermione said in soothing tones. "That Transfiguration spell was nearly flawless."
"That's not the point! He's trying to sabotage me! He waited until he knew it was especially important I look good!"
"Aww, Draco," Hermione cooed and leaned into him, half teasing half serious. "You really care that much what my parents think of you?"
Draco immediately rearranged his features so that they were inscrutable. "It's the principle of the thing," he said coolly. "Malfoys have a standard to maintain, and first impressions are the most important."
"Draco," she spoke patiently, "my parents will care far more about whether you make me happy than what you look like."
Draco raised an eyebrow as if faced with something beyond his comprehension, but he tipped his hand with his following words, however aloofly they were spoken: "And you have conveyed to them a general state of happiness in your... telephone calls?" There was a slight but noticeable hesitation over the last two words.
"Meh..." Hermione made a so-so gesture with one hand.
Draco had her backed up against the hedge in one smooth movement.
"Well, perhaps there is something I can do to earn a few last-minute credits..."
He started kissing her neck, as always showing no mercy and going straight for her weakest spot.
"Draco..." she groaned, eyes fluttering closed involuntarily.
"Working already?" He smiled wickedly against her throat.
"It's not that." Her hands slid through his hair, but she forced herself to push him back a little. "My parents can see everything from the front window – if one of them looks out and sees us, you'll probably make a different impression from the one you hope to."
His lips stilled their skilful movement. "Ah." He stepped away from her. "In that case, perhaps we should take a train check until later."
He moved ahead of her, leading their way down the path to her parents' front door.
Hermione smiled but decided it wasn't the best time to correct him that the Muggle expression was actually rain check, not train check.
Her gaze fell to his hemline and her hands flew to her mouth.
She also decided it was best not to point out that Crookshanks' claws had shortened the back of his robes by several inches.
"Hermione, why is Crookshanks wearing a dress?"
Draco had long since conceded that Hermione was a remarkably intelligent witch. He'd even started telling her so when they were still at Hogwarts, especially once he realised the very enthusiastic response compliments of this kind brought out in her.
But there was one area where Hermione had a decided blind spot: her cat. She persisted in viewing him as an adorable kitty whose cuteness was evident to all.
Potter's current tone of voice strongly suggested he, too, recognized this blind spot and was mystified by it.
"Doesn't he look beautiful!" Hermione beamed. Never had a cat's expression more clearly conveyed abject mortification and vow of vengeance upon anyone who laughed. Yet he was quiescent as Hermione finished buttoning the tiny buttons. Draco would say this for the vile creature: there was no denying he adored Hermione. If anyone else even attempted something like this, they'd lose an arm.
Weasley was looking at the cat with a puzzled expression. "Why would you put a dress on a cat? They've got fur."
Potter, however, had a look of vague recognition on his face. "Pride and Prejudice," he murmured. "That's a Pride and Prejudice dress."
It was, indeed, a Pride and Prejudice dress in palest pink, with long puff sleeves and an empire line that cut just underneath Crookshanks' front legs. His bottlebrush tail poked ludicrously out from underneath.
Draco knew for a fact it was a Pride and Prejudice dress because he had managed to source a Muggle "fancy dress" costume and paid a seamstress to re-size and tailor it to giant cat proportions. The fact that the shade clashed horribly with Crookshanks' fur was a delightful bonus.
He schooled his face to non-reaction, as if this was the first he'd heard of it.
They were all sat in the cramped but cosy living room of Hermione's flat. Since leaving Hogwarts, things had progressed enough with Potter and Weasley that they could all sit together quite civilly, but they were still far from what you would call friends. Still, though, forced propinquity had gradually borne in on Draco that they weren't quite the irredeemably stupid tossers he had originally thought them.
This evening Hermione had attempted to grease the social wheels further with liberal amounts of Fire Whisky, and it had worked quite well.
The increasingly less stilted conversation had been interrupted by the arrival of an owl carrying a parcel addressed to Hermione. She had opened it, squealed, and immediately been lost to anything else except getting the dress on her pet right away.
"Hermione," Potter continued, with faint but dogged persistence as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Why do you have a Jane Austen cat dress?"
"It's for a pet costume competition!" Hermione beamed. "Luna sent me a copy of the Quibbler and it had an article all about this year's pageant. With a special literary theme! She must have sent me the dress as a gift. I must admit, I'd never heard of it before but then Draco told me it's an old Pureblood tradition that's been resurrected this year."
Crookshank's gaze suddenly snapped around to lock on to Draco, and Weasley's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Wha-?"
"Let me top off your glass, Weasley." Draco smoothly but relentlessly cut in, leaning forward to take his glass. His new position brought the abandoned package into his eyeline.
"Oh, look," he pointed out innocently, as if only just realising. "There's something else in the package."
There was. It was a rose-pink velvet bonnet with thick satin ribbons. Hermione practically swooned with joy. "I've got to look at this on him in the mirror!" She swept from the room with the bonnet and cat in her arms. Crookshanks face could be seen over her shoulder as she went, eyes flashing with feline fury, clearly telegraphing violence.
Potter whistled. "I'm not sure what's going on here, Malfoy, but I'd sleep with one eye open, if I were you."
Weasley was giving Draco a dubious look. "Funny… I don't recall ever hearing about the Pureblood tradition of pet costume competitions."
"No?" Draco said lightly, as he poured him another generous measure of Fire Whisky. Jubilation had him positively brimming with bonhomie. "That's probably because it's the first of its kind."
Ron took the tumbler from his outstretched grasp and took a large swallow. He was starting to look begrudgingly amused. "Then why would you tell Hermione it's a long-standing tradition?"
"Two reasons: 1) it made Hermione incredibly happy. And 2) it means the Wizarding world will get to see Crookshanks in all his costumed glory in a public competition." He couldn't suppress his gleeful smile at the thought.
"Let me get this straight..." Harry's lips were twitching. "You set up a fake fancy dress cat competition, which you must have a paid a large amount of people to set up, got Luna to advertise it, sourced a bespoke Jane Austen costume for Crookshanks-" His hand shot up to forestall any possible intervention from Draco: "Don't try and pretend it was anyone but you that got it – all because you knew that Hermione would go nuts over the idea and you'd get to see Crookshanks dressed up like that?"
"...yep."
"You're mental," Ron breathed, with something like admiration on his face. "You do realise he'll get his own back for this? That is not a normal cat." His tone suggested he was speaking from experience.
Hermione rushed back into the room, almost beside herself with excitement. "The bonnet has cut-outs for his fuzzy ears to pop through!" she squealed. "He's refusing to leave the room, so you'll have to come see. Come see, come see!" She rushed out again.
Draco smiled beatifically.
"Totally worth it."
"Come on, you fat bastard! I know it's in there. Cough it up!"
Hermione paused on the threshold of their ludicrously spacious flat – she'd convinced Draco they could just as easily live in Muggle London as Wizarding, but only with the compromise it be in Mayfair. (To be fair, her protests had become rather perfunctory after seeing the flat's glorious interior.)
She was used to the wrangling between her favourite cat and boy, but Draco almost sounded beside himself.
"Draco! What are you doing?"
Draco dropped Crookshanks on the floor and immediately assumed a completely inscrutable expression that was a dead giveaway if you knew him well enough.
"Hello, love. How was your day?" He smoothed back his hair with a pale steady hand and smouldered at her, a look that was only slightly marred by his faint flinch when Crookshanks made his displeasure felt by aiming a silent but deadly fart in his direction.
Hermione's hands slipped to her hips. "Don't you 'love' me! What were you doing to poor Crookshanks?"
The pause was almost imperceptible. "Heimlich manoeuvre. I think Crookshanks tried to eat an entire wheel of Stilton. He was choking. Looks like you were right about that Muggle healer training coming in handy one day."
Crookshanks shot him a look of disgust then sat back on his haunches and started grooming, clearly conveying how far he was above his company.
Hermione hesitated. It was a plausible story... Crookshanks had an unfortunate addiction to blue cheese, and why else would he be squeezing Crookshanks like that? However much he might gripe about him, she couldn't believe he'd really hurt Crookshanks.
She was further reassured when she noticed the arched posture her cat had assumed.
"Oh, don't worry, Draco – whatever it is, he's about to bring it up."
Draco spun round to look at Crookshanks with a crazed look then jerked back round again.
"Hermione, you must be tired after all that... fighting the good fight." He made a vague gesture with his hand. "Why don't you go put your feet up?"
He tried to sweep her towards the living room, but she shook him off. "Not yet, I just want to make sure Crookshanks brings up whatever's choking him..."
"Oh, don't worry – I'll help him."
"Draco! Will you stop pushing me towards the door? Why are you being so weird?"
He stopped pushing and stared at her, at a rare loss, then Crookshanks emitted a mighty hocking noise and a circular object forcibly ejected from his stomach, shot across the floor, then rolled around in a circle before flattening at Hermione's feet.
It was a large diamond ring.
Hermione slowly met Draco's eyes. His cheeks were slightly pink, but his gaze was steady.
"Hermione Granger, will you-"
"Yes."
He grinned the rare boyish grin she loved so much. "You didn't let me finish."
She slid her arms around his neck. "I didn't need you to."
He was looking slightly chagrined, but his arms were pulling her close. "This really isn't how I was planning on doing this..."
She shook her head, beaming through shiny eyes. "It's perfect."
Her gaze fell on the ring.
"I'm gonna need you to clean that, though."
"I was just thinking that... But first..." He pulled her in for a thorough kiss.
Just as his eyes closed, he saw Crookshanks skulk from the room, tail lowered in utter dejection.
"Draco, you're being ridiculous."
"No, love, I'm not. That mangy feline almost knocked you over last time, and I'm not risking our child's health."
"He was saying hello! He just forgot that my centre of balance is totally off, thanks to this monstrosity." She gestured at her admittedly rather larger than usual abdomen. "You know how sorry he was – remember all of the apology mice he brought me? Besides, even if he had knocked me over, it's very unlikely it would have harmed the baby."
"Very unlikely isn't good enough!" Draco replied. "So long as you're pregnant, he's not coming anywhere near you!"
Crookshanks had been sat nearby looking pitiful but at Draco's words his hackles rose, and he hissed malevolently.
"Don't think I can't tell when you're swearing at me in cat language!" Draco shot back.
Crookshanks' hissing only grew louder.
A suddenly high-pitched Hermione stopped them both in their tracks.
"Stop it! Just stop it!"
They turned to stare at her.
"Seven years! It's been seven years of the two of you fighting like this, and even now when it really should be about me, you're both still making it about you! You think I need this kind of stress? I am trying to grow another person inside of me here, and you two are not helping!" Crookshanks was shuffling his paws, head lowered. Seconds later Draco realised he could see this because he was doing the same. It wasn't so much the anger and frustration in Hermione's voice that had stopped them both dead; it was the tears. "Now, if either of you care about me at all, you will learn to live together!"
A good few seconds later – she really couldn't build up much speed with that much waddle – they heard the sound of the bedroom door opening and closing. Man and feline winced at the sound of continued crying.
"Okay..." Draco took a deep breath and turned to face the cat. "I'm..." He coughed, straightened his cuff and tried again. "I'm sorry that I said you couldn't go anywhere near Hermione. You're welcome to sit next to her on the sofa. Just... just don't jump up at her anymore, okay? ...or sit on her. You're not exactly an itty-bitty kitty, you know."
Crookshanks' tail twitched dangerously.
Draco's eyes closed, not quite willing to see what he was doing, as he crouched down and stuck out a hand.
He didn't need to see to sense the incredulous feline silence.
He opened his eyes and spoke stiffly. "For Hermione." He gestured once more.
Crookshanks looked recalcitrant for a moment but then he looked over to the bedroom from which they could still hear the sounds of Hermione's soft weeping, and all the fight seemed to go out of him.
He sat back on his haunches and raised one paw.
Draco carefully shook it.
There was another short silence as man and beast stared at one another before both wheeled round and fled from the room.
It was hard to say who was more embarrassed.
Hermione heard the sound of a door swiftly closing and uncovered her face, tears miraculously drying.
That was the one advantage of all the sodding pregnancy hormones: the discovery that she could cry on command.
Okay, admittedly her move was a little on the Slytherin side, but clearly both of them were too thick-headed to sort it out on their own.
The two were far more alike than they cared to admit – they just needed a good reason to force them together, then nature would take care of the rest.
She plucked a treatise on centaur magic from her nightstand and snuggled down against the pillows.
It didn't matter what kind of creature you were dealing with – the old adage rang true.
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.
fin