After a quick shower, Hermione emerged from her bedroom dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt to find Draco taking stock of the framed pictures on her living room mantel. He had re-dressed in his suit trousers and dress shirt from last night, but damn if he didn't still look perfectly put together. Not a wrinkle in sight.
She watched him as his hand reached up and plucked a frame down to inspect it closer. Frowning, he stared at it for a few moments before shaking it and then inspecting it again to look for any movement.
"It's a Muggle photo," Hermione explained as she approached him. He looked up, startled, and flushed slightly at having been caught handling her things.
"Your parents, I presume?"
Hermione looked down at the photo he held and nodded. It was from her parents' wedding day, both of them smiling widely at the camera, her mother clutching both her bouquet and her new husband's arm tightly. The Grangers looked so young and carefree, and Hermione had trouble remembering a recent time when they'd looked that happy, that unburdened.
"You favor your mother," remarked Draco, lifting the photo up next to Hermione's face. "Though I can see now where you get the hair," he teased and Hermione chuckled. Before her father started losing his hair, his head was covered in the bushy curls that Hermione eventually inherited.
She wondered what Draco was thinking as he carefully replaced the frame on her mantel and his gray eyes swept along the rest of the pictures accumulated there. There were two more of her with her parents: one from her fifth birthday and another from their holiday in France when she was 13. All the rest of her framed memories were of the wizarding variety: several from Hogwarts, all the Weasleys in various images, Harry and Ginny's wedding day, Harry holding an infant Teddy, and the prized photo at the front and center of her with Ron and Harry. Hermione couldn't remember for the life of her what Ron had been saying in the photo, but she and Harry were throwing their heads back in giddy laughter, Harry removing his glasses every few moments to wipe tears away. Luna's husband Rolf had taken the picture at the Burrow several years ago and Hermione loved it for the hope it inspired. After everything the three of them had been through, school stress, arguments, running for their lives, keeping secrets, romantic relationships, loss of family and friends, more life-threatening scenarios than they could count, they could still laugh this freely with each other. They could still love one another, unreservedly.
She had a sneaking and sad suspicion that Draco did not have any personal keepsakes like these displayed in his home.
"I think I'll take my tea now, did you want another cup?"
Draco shook his head and flushed again. "I, uhh, haven't had any either." When Hermione gave him a quizzical look he explained, "I didn't know where you kept the milk and sugar and didn't think you'd appreciate me rummaging around your kitchen."
Hermione almost smacked her forehead in exasperation at her own thoughtlessness. When she'd told Draco to "make himself at home" while she showered, she should have realized this might be slightly uncomfortable for him. Hermione's townhome was a mixture of the magical and Muggle, but her kitchen in particular was almost entirely Muggle. Having learned to cook without magic, she relied on the comforts and ease of Muggle technology like her electric stove, refrigerator, and microwave. In her opinion, all the stasis charms in the world couldn't compete with the convenience of a refrigerator.
Hoping he hadn't felt too foolish around the unfamiliar devices, she led him back to the kitchen. He took a seat on one of the stools at her marble island and Hermione busied herself with fetching tea so as to occupy her mind and hands. Though she wasn't looking, Hermione could feel his eyes on her as she opened her fridge to get milk and then pulled some sugar from an overhead cupboard.
This is positively surreal, she thought, wondering how on earth they'd ended up here. Here, with Draco sitting in her kitchen, adding far too much sugar to his tea, and glancing around curiously.
While he cast his eyes around her home, Hermione fidgeted with her teacup. When did the charged atmosphere turn so awkward? Not an hour ago, the man had been inside her, but now she couldn't think of anything remotely interesting or appropriate to say. Should they discuss their feelings or implications of last night's and this morning's actions? Where did they stand with each other now? Where were they supposed to go from here? Draco hadn't run out of here screaming yet, and certainly seemed in no hurry to be away from her, so what did it all mean?
But instead of voicing any of these concerns, Hermione blurted out, "Would you like a tour?"
She expected him to smirk or cut her down with a quip. Instead, he took a moment to sip his tea before quietly replying, "Sure, Granger."
Hermione fell into the role of brisk hostess then, taking comfort in performing the social ritual of showing a welcome guest around her home. They began in the kitchen of course, and though Draco didn't verbally ask her questions, any time she saw his brow furrow at the sight of an unfamiliar Muggle device, she gave him a brief explainer of its function.
They moved back out to her living room, Hermione deciding to save the lesson on television for a future date. Oh, thinking about having him over again already, Hermione?
Pushing away her snide subconscious, she showed him the guest bedroom and bathroom just past the fireplace and then around the other side to her office, or as she likes to refer to it, Library One. Draco smirked as his eyes scanned the wall-to-wall shelves filled with books, but made no comment.
She led him up a flight of stairs to the third level. Technically, this is the master bedroom, but Hermione preferred sleeping on the second floor, closer to the fireplace. She didn't explain aloud that the reason is so she can hear someone coming through her Floo in an emergency. Some of her survival instincts will never fully disappear.
The large room off the master bedroom was probably supposed to function as a nursery or child's room, but Hermione converted this into Library Two. Hermione offered a swift apology to Draco for the state of this bedroom and walk-in closet: her suitcase was open on the bed, clothes piled all around as well as stacks of parchment and books. She meant to be all packed for her Venice trip by now, but Draco had thoroughly put her off that task last night.
There was also the matter of a giant ginger creature currently occupying her suitcase.
"Oh for goodness' sake, Crookshanks!" She bustled over to the bed and forcibly evicted the cat from her luggage. He protested with a loud meow as she deposited him to the floor. "You're staying with Harry and Ginny! I can't very well bring you on an international trip!"
He narrowed his yellow eyes at her, then flicked his gaze to regard Draco for a long moment, before swishing his tail imperiously and scampering out of the room. Hermione rolled her eyes and Draco chuckled.
"Is that your familiar from Hogwarts?"
"Yes, the very same."
"I can't believe he's still alive," he said bluntly.
Hermione shrugged. "Me either, honestly, but he is part kneazle so that may contribute to his extended lifespan." She pointed to a short flight of stairs past Library Two. "That leads up to the rooftop terrace."
The tour of her home complete, she led Draco back down to the living room. They hovered near the fireplace before Draco cleared his throat.
"What are your plans for the rest of today?"
"I've promised to have Ginny over for lunch so she can collect Crookshanks. I'm sure you also noticed that I haven't quite finished packing for my trip."
He nodded solemnly. "Right, I'll get out of your hair then," and he coupled this quip with a suggestive smirk that turned Hermione's legs into jelly.
As Draco gathered the rest of his clothes and belongings from last night, Hermione warred with herself over what to say to him. Should she thank him for staying over? Thank him for the multiple orgasms? Ask him if he enjoyed himself? Drag him back to the bedroom for another round? Interrogate him about this new milestone in their friendship?
"About last night and um, earlier… I'm on the potion, so…" Oh sweet Merlin, that's what she comes out with? Don't worry Malfoy, I'm a progressive witch who takes a monthly contraceptive potion, so no little illegitimate heirs or diseases from our two romps.
Draco's face colored and she watched his throat bob nervously. "Oh, right, I uh, figured that… though I probably should have asked, or uh…"
He trailed off awkwardly and Hermione felt like sinking into the floor in embarrassment. He moved toward the front door to gather his cloak and robes from the hanging hooks and Hermione already felt bereft even though he hadn't left yet. Have they completely obliterated the friendship they've cultivated over the last 14 months?
Draco turned to face her and Hermione was struck by how much taller he was, almost looming over her.
"When are you back?"
"Next Sunday evening."
He nodded and chewed his bottom lip in thought and Hermione wondered what made him so nervous. Though she only just showered not a half hour ago, she felt herself beginning to sweat.
"You'll do great, you know that right?"
Hermione nodded and offered him a weak smile, only slightly buoyed by his encouragement. "I'm sure it will go fine. I've got my whole presentation transcribed onto color-coded notecards, and I have an audio recording of myself reading it through, so I can remember where to take the proper pauses for breaths. Last week I actually went to Scrivenshaft's and finally got my hands on that timing parchment that contains a built-in countdown charm, so if I spend too long on the dual meaning of the alu sequence, then—"
"Granger," his hypnotic drawl effectively cut her rambling short. His striking eyes danced with mirth at her anxious babbling, but it switched quickly to an intense heat. "I—" he started but then faltered, at a loss for words.
Hermione could only stare up at him, on the edge of a precipice and in danger of losing her balance. She knew she should say something and although she couldn't shut up a moment ago, speech has eluded her.
Finally, Draco seemed to have had enough of the lingering question hanging between them.
"Sod it all," he muttered darkly then pulled her forward by the shoulders and crashed his lips down to hers. She eagerly reciprocated, forgetting about the awkwardness, as his taste and touch erased any doubts that the desire between them was mutual.
After several minutes of exploring her mouth with his own in what felt like a promise of future explorations, he pulled away slowly and smiled softly.
"Owl me when you get back?"
Hermione nodded absently, knowing he could have asked her for anything after that kiss and she would have gladly acquiesced. When he swooped down for another lingering kiss, Hermione didn't know if she'd make it to Venice anymore. Sorry, something's come up and I'll have to cancel my presentation and attendance at this prestigious learning summit because I simply must spend the rest of my week being snogged senseless by Draco Malfoy.
He finally released her and gave her a rare, boyish grin before taking his leave to walk to the nearest apparition point.
Hermione lost track of the time as she dazedly stared at the door through which Malfoy had just exited. With a shake of her head, she came to, and let out a long string of giggles. The past 24 hours had been so utterly bizarre that she still couldn't quite wrap her head around everything that happened.
She resigned herself to finish her packing before Ginny came over, because Merlin knew that her friend's interrogation would probably last the entire afternoon. Stopping briefly in her bedroom to make up the bed, Hermione paused after rustling the sheets. They still smelled like Draco's cologne.
Resisting the urge to climb back in bed and luxuriate in the memories of last night with his tempting scent still clinging to her sheets, Hermione made the bed in a hurry. She could only imagine the size of Ginny's smirk if she came over to find a disheveled bed.
She had just latched the clasp of her suitcase when she heard the Floo activate in the living room below. Ginny tumbled out and screamed Hermione's name.
"I'm here, all right, just a minute!" Hermione shouted back. Checking again that her luggage was properly closed and Crookshanks no longer trying to paw the latches open, she made her way back down to the living room.
As predicted, Ginny's face was smiling as wide as it could go without splitting itself in half.
"Well, well, well." Ginny crossed her arms and leant back slightly to survey Hermione. She scowled in response and put her hands on her hips.
"Well what!?" She really didn't appreciate the knowing look Ginny sported.
"Now I know what you look like after a proper shag," Ginny crowed and Hermione buried her face in her hands in exasperation.
"For the love of Godric, Ginny!"
She felt Ginny tug her arms and with a resigned sigh sat down on the couch next to her friend. She summoned some tea and sandwiches from the kitchen as the women made themselves comfortable. After a few steadying sips in which Ginny watched her expectantly, Hermione sighed again and knew it was time to face the music.
"All right, I will answer some of your questions, but the second you get too crude, this conversation is over," Hermione warned flatly.
Ginny comported her face into the perfect picture of innocence. "Understood, but if I may rebut?"
"You may."
"You are the only woman in my life that is not married to or dating one of my brothers. Luna doesn't count because all her descriptions of sex with Rolf are far too clinical. You'd think someone with her imagination would be far more exciting, but no. So I simply ask that I be allowed some leeway in the questions because I need to live vicariously through someone."
"But you're married!"
"Yes, and you never let me talk about my sex life!"
"Because it would be disgusting! Harry is basically my brother and I still haven't recovered from you getting drunk and confessing how many times you've had sex in the Harpies locker room."
Ginny snorted. "Point taken, but please Hermione? Take pity on an old, married woman?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the redhead but felt a little pang of guilt. "Fine. But I reserve the right to refuse to answer questions that make me uncomfortable."
"Of course. So how big is he?"
"Ginny, are you kidding me!?"
Ginny met Hermione's furious glare with raised palms. "I'm sorry, but I had to. Merlin, your face," Ginny chortled at her embarrassment and took a swig of tea. "How about instead, you take me through all the events of last night and this morning, and I will ask follow-up questions during your scandalous retelling?"
Hermione supposed that was fair, and began recounting her evening with Malfoy starting from their dinner in Muggle London. True to her inquisitive nature, Ginny interjected often with questions.
"How did he dress?"
"A tailored, expensive suit, of course."
"And for the opera?"
"Tailored, expensive dress robes, of course."
"How did he react to your dress?"
"He said I looked 'bloody gorgeous.'" Hermione blushed and Ginny let out a triumphant laugh.
"How was the show?"
Hermione faltered a bit here. She tried to put into words the palpable tension that had prevented either of them from truly paying attention during the first act, and when Hermione reached the point where Blaise Zabini interrupted their evening, Ginny gasped loudly.
"How did Malfoy react?"
"He seemed really angry. I got the impression they're no longer on friendly terms."
When Hermione described how Blaise had then accosted Malfoy after the show to throw thinly veiled insults at both him and Hermione, Ginny let out an angry snarl.
"That absolute arse! I would have hexed his pretty boy face into another dimension."
"Malfoy was close, I had to just about physically restrain him from attacking Zabini in public. He almost had his wand in his hand before I could convince him we should just leave."
Ginny's face became pensive. "Interesting."
"What is?"
"Nothing, do go on," Ginny urged but Hermione knew her friend was filing away an observation about Malfoy's character. Hermione tried to describe the moment when she'd finally realized they were quite alone in her home last night, but didn't know how much she wanted to divulge. Seeming to sense her friend's hesitation and wanting to respect her privacy, Ginny inquired, "And if one were to rate Malfoy's abilities in the snogging department, one would say…?"
Hermione covered her face again and let out a few deep breaths as she tried to collect herself. "Positively outrageous," she mumbled into her hands and Ginny giggled excitedly. Hermione was grateful to Ginny for showing some restraint when her line of questioning became more abstract, allowing Hermione to comfortably share some details.
"Am I to assume that you were left feeling… satisfied?"
Hermione let out a slight cough of embarrassment. "Yes, several times over."
At that response, Ginny regarded her with something akin to pride in her eyes. She could tell the redhead was holding back, and while she appreciated that, decided to throw her a bone.
"All right, I can see the question written on your forehead, go ahead."
Ginny smirked. "And may I ask by what means he… satisfied you?"
Hermione laughed openly, decided that having a close female friend, practically a sister, and one that wanted to gush over her love life didn't have to necessarily be a bad thing. "First with his hand, then I was on top of him, then this morning he used his tongue and then the final time he was on top of me."
Ginny's jaw dropped, a rare occurrence in Hermione's experience. "You're telling me that Draco Malfoy went down on you after one night together? Do you know how long it took for me to get Harry to do that?!"
Hermione scrunched her nose in disgust. "Please, Gin, please. I do not ever want to know the answer to that question. Ever."
Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine, and thank you for telling me. I'm certainly starting to see that ferret in a whole new light!" It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes, but she supposed if Ginny were teasing her about Malfoy then that had to mean she approved in some way.
"Would you say the two of you are dating now?"
It shouldn't have, but Ginny's practical question caught Hermione completely off guard. Were they dating? They hadn't discussed a single thing besides Hermione's inelegant statement about contraceptive use and her impending Venice trip. Oh Merlin, now what?
The panic on her face must have shown, because Ginny called to her in concern. "What's wrong?"
"We didn't… didn't discuss what any of this means! And now I'm leaving for a week and I have absolutely no clue where I stand with him." She sunk her head in her hands in defeat.
"Hermione," Ginny said gently. "How did you part this morning?"
"Well we snogged a bit more and then he told me to owl him when I'm home again." She met Ginny's gaze and noticed her friend was giving her an encouraging smile.
"Don't you think that means he's interested in you? In more than a one-off?"
Hermione sighed and reluctantly nodded. She felt like she'd come at this backwards; every other bout of intimacy with men had come after an exclusive romantic relationship was already well-established, save for her dalliances with Cameron, but her time with him had only ever been for one purpose, a mutual understanding. But with Malfoy? She had no idea how they were going to navigate this new situation and now she'd be apart from him for more than a week.
With some more encouragement from Ginny, she tried to put it out of her mind for the time being. But once Ginny had left with Crookshanks and she was alone with her thoughts once more, she found it difficult to concentrate on anything else.
When she texted Ginny this morning that last night's events had been "unexpected" it wasn't a lie. Of course she didn't expect to have sex (fantastic sex, at that) with him. She certainly hadn't expected a most welcome repeat performance this morning. But perhaps the most unexpected feature of the last several hours was Malfoy himself.
While yes, the snogging and shagging had been frantic and passionate at times, she kept coming back to the surprising moments of tenderness he'd displayed. The uncharacteristic softness in his voice when he'd requested permission to touch her or enter her, the hesitation to let his hands roam her body until she'd been practically pawing at him for minutes on end, the enduring gentleness he'd exercised in their first kiss…
It was these memories that gave Hermione hope that perhaps something more awaited her upon her return from Venice.
Draco woke Sunday morning with an absurd expression on his face. It was a smile. He quickly scowled to rid his countenance of such an insipid expression, because Salazar what type of fool woke up smiling?
This fool. The same fool that had staked a claim on Granger. Finally.
He lost the battle and grinning, flung a pillow over his face, reliving Friday night and Saturday morning for just a touch longer with his own hand.
When he arrived fully dressed in his dining room and actually ate a passable breakfast, he thought he might have startled his own house-elf to death. The poor thing looked uncharacteristically flabbergasted at the way his master loaded his plate with eggs, bacon, kippers, and roasted potatoes.
When Draco did the same thing Monday morning, Crick was better prepared this time, and schooled his features to that of an impassive servant as he poured Draco's tea. Granger didn't know he had two elves, perhaps he should tell her? Yes, he'd file that little revelation away for when she returned and see what kind of debate ensued. What would she be like in bed after a fight? Merlin, he'd love to find out soon. Images of her keening in pleasure underneath him swam before his eyes, and distracted him to the point where he was running later than normal when he reached the Muggle café.
"Good morning," he actually greeted the young barista who answered him with a wide-eyed look at his sudden turn to friendliness after years of barely an acknowledgement. Draco didn't notice however, and contented himself with returning with his coffee to their table.
Yes, this table belonged to him and Granger now, but he'd have it to himself all week. Finding it easier to concentrate here than in the lonely silence of his own home, Draco set to work rebutting some of the concerns laid out about the fund he was so close to establishing in Hermione's name at Hogwarts.
One of the governors had made a very astute point about ensuring extra potions supplies for demonstrations as well as the availability of different magical creatures. Draco thought these excellent additions to helping familiarize the young ones to the world of magic. It seemed the cantankerous pureblood contingent was finally giving up dragging their sorry feet on this, as Draco, and McGonagall, had managed a most elegant argument against their objections about what to tell pureblood children about this endeavor, lest they feel left out. Well, McGonagall at least had been elegant in her word choice, turning Draco's reply of "Tell them to get stuffed, Headmistress," into lengthy prose about how these Muggleborn children would surely benefit from learning about magic firsthand from qualified witches and wizards at such an esteemed institution as Hogwarts, instead of second-hand through books or their Muggle parents.
The latest issue Draco needed to tackle involved re-tooling and renaming Muggle Studies. Having given a great deal of thought to what Hermione always said about the piss-poor curriculum, he also remembered her other complaint: the name of the class itself.
"Muggle Studies. It makes it sound like just one step up from Care of Magical Creatures."
Taking this to heart, Draco had proposed to have the course renamed to Understanding Non-Magical People. He was still waiting on this tenet to gain approval, as well as the tenet to make it an included course of the mandatory Hogwarts curriculum as opposed to the additional and optional classes taken by older students.
He just hoped Granger wouldn't be too angry with him when she found out he'd been planning this without her. But still, that was most likely several months out, after the Ministry would have its say.
Now that Granger was his, he could… wait. She's your what exactly? He frowned at the thought. They'd never discussed the repercussions of the weekend's step in their relationship. What had all that meant to Granger? What did it even mean to him?
Fuck, this was becoming confusing. Maybe it would help to go over the facts? Fact: he and Granger had slept together. Twice. Fact: the sex had been spectacular. Fact: the thought of her naked body being caressed by his hands and lips was going to occupy the rest of his evenings and mornings from now until such time as she let him touch her again. Fact: She was in Venice the rest of the week. Fact: He had absolutely no idea how she felt about any of this. About him. Fuck.
Putting the conflicting thoughts and feelings out of his mind, Draco's work day passed quickly. That night, he sent off his latest update to McGonagall and went to bed after reminiscing thoroughly about how good Granger tasted and the delicious way he'd made her moan his name.
On Tuesday morning, Draco woke with a scowl and desperately hard again. Something felt distinctly off today. He picked at a piece of toast sourly before giving up on having an appetite and moving on to the coffee shop. He'd hoped the caffeine would work as a pick-me-up but no, he still felt a lingering sense that something was terribly amiss.
Frowning into his coffee, he couldn't place the origin for this melancholy. Glancing across the table at the empty chair opposite him, his frown deepened. What was Granger doing right now? Italy was an hour ahead, perhaps she was in a conference session now? She'd be listening attentively, taking more notes than necessary and most likely arming herself with a thousand and one questions to barrage the poor speaker with at the end. Merlin help those presenters, they probably had no idea the rapid rate at which that woman's brain fired.
Was she thinking of Draco at all? Doubtful, she had a very busy week ahead of her. Why should she spare a thought about him? What did he even mean to her anyway? Sure, they were friends and they'd obviously come to know each other intimately in the physical sense, but why should that mean a thing to Granger?
He barely paid attention to the parchment on his desk at the office. What he needed was some outdoor time today, but there weren't any practices or scrimmages to observe on his schedule. This left Draco staring glumly at his paperwork, willing it to be more interesting. Or at least, interesting enough to take his mind off a certain witch.
Gods, what was his problem? He'd existed before she'd swept into his life, right? He'd managed to be a functioning adult human for years before Granger blew in and… and showed him what a pathetic existence he'd really inhabited.
He was a fucking shell of a person and the light of her presence only illuminated that sad fact. And now that she was gone, he felt that creeping sense of being adrift at sea. He had no one, was no one.
I am in control of this.
I am in control of this.
On Wednesday morning, Draco blinked awake slowly and didn't want to leave his bed. He felt fucking miserable, even with his body's new routine of waking him up with graphic thoughts of Granger. He didn't even bother with the dining room charade today and just apparated straight to the alley to get to the coffee shop.
The elderly owner was working the till and gave Draco a sort of pitying look when she handed him his coffee, and Draco responded with his most withering glare. He must really look a sight if he was receiving sympathy from a stranger. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd only enjoyed roughly three hours of sleep?
His office felt no less suffocating that day either. Pacing the length of it, he went over every detail of Friday and Saturday in his mind. There had to have been something he missed. Something to explain this moroseness that seemed to consume him from the inside out.
Finally, a thought struck. Had those two instances with Granger been temporary? Her feelings for him fleeting? What if their time together had been a quick exercise in indulging some lustful feelings on her end, and nothing more?
Was it more for him? Shit, how would he even know?
I am in control of this.
Shakily he sat in his office chair and buried his head in his arms on the desk. How would he react if Granger returned triumphantly from her trip and wanted nothing more to do with him? She had a whole week away from him, and knowing Granger, she would be doing a whole lot of thinking. What conclusions might she come to, alone in another country? Perhaps her memory of their night together wasn't quite as positive as his?
Oh gods, he could picture it now. She'd be pacing her hotel suite, twisting her hands anxiously, wondering how on earth she ever thought sleeping with Malfoy was a good idea.
Regret. She would feel regret for sure. She would remember who and what he was and regret giving her body to him, to surrendering so beautifully and fully to the passionate spark between them. Surely, that part had been real? Draco closed his eyes and recalled the charged atmosphere before they kissed for the first time. The way she seemed so alive under his touch, how she'd arched into his body, how she'd cried out in bliss…
But Hermione Granger was nothing if not the most logical person he'd ever met. In the seductive darkness of her bedroom, of course sleeping together seemed like a grand idea. And in the morning? Well, Draco was already there anyway, and naked, no less, so perhaps that had been enough for her to want a repeat performance. But Draco was not with her now. She could be alone with her rational thoughts and he had a depressing idea about what she'd inevitably decide. That he was good for a shag, and nothing beyond.
I am in control of this.
Draco felt like screaming, or throwing his office furniture against the wall, or simply lighting everything on fire with a quick Incendio and running home to his well-stocked liquor cabinet. He did have another option, however. A mandatory office-wide meeting at Whisp & Wright this morning on the recent league ruling to allow for two more players on final rosters had forced Draco to postpone his monthly healing appointment with Browning to next week, because the universe loved gifting Draco with impeccable timing. But now, next week seemed a lifetime away.
It had been years since he'd used the emergency Floo line for Healer Browning. He'd needed it to help stave off the urges to chase his firewhisky with a dangerous combination of Dreamless Sleep, a Pain Potion and a Draught of Peace years ago. Eventually he'd just bothered Theo when he was too drunk to do anything else and had kicked the potion abuse. But Theo didn't seem to be an option anymore. They hadn't even spoken since their weird interaction at his mother's New Year's Ball over the pen, and Draco had no idea what his friend was up to these days.
His hand was halfway to the jar of Floo powder on his office mantel when he stopped himself. No, a silly little matter like Granger resenting letting him touch her didn't warrant such hysterics. He could ride this out on his own.
I am in control of this.
On Thursday morning, Draco woke with a sharp gasp of a yell. He threw off his sweat-drenched sheets and sat over the side of his bed with his head between his knees, willing himself not to vomit. He pulled in harsh breaths, gripping at his hair, trying in vain to dispel the images of his nightmare from his mind.
Not nightmares, no, no, Draco, those were memories, taunted his snide subconscious.
Memories of his insane aunt torturing Granger on the drawing room floor of the Manor. Memories of her dirty, tear-streaked face as she screamed, cried, writhed, and shook in extreme pain under Bellatrix's unyielding wand. Memories of how he'd turned away, unable to bear the sight of a girl he'd known since the age of 11 curling in on herself as she bore the shrieking demands of his aunt and her relentless casting of the Cruciatus Curse.
Memories of how through all that disgusting and horrendous inflicting of pain, Granger had lied, had defied her tormentor with incredible strength. She never wavered from protecting her friends, from protecting their mission. That girl would have died to save her friends, so stalwart was her belief in their cause.
And the worst memory of all: of how Draco, standing there, equipped with a wand no less, did nothing.
He was a fucking monster.
That's the conclusion Granger would eventually reach while on her trip and away from him. It wouldn't be some silly little thing about ruining their friendship, or unsure if they'd moved too fast, no it would be a far worse reason. But it would be the right reason.
How dare he think he had the right to even befriend Hermione Granger? After what his twisted family put her through? How could she even stand to look at him, let alone talk to him? Yes, obviously he'd apologized sincerely for his treatment of her over the years, but had she truly forgiven him? Draco didn't think he could, if he were in her shoes.
Had she been afraid to refuse his advances? Alone in her home with a former Death Eater, her former personal bully, had she been uncomfortable and unsure of how to get him to leave?
A severe wave of nausea wracked through his body and he found himself curled up on the floor in the fetal position. After several minutes of mild convulsions, he unfurled his sweaty body and shakily stood. After a shower of chilly, near freezing, water to numb his sore limbs, he slowly pulled on his office robes and somehow made it downstairs to the Floo. He wouldn't be able to handle the coffee shop today, knowing he'd be alone, knowing she wouldn't be across the table from him. He wished he could talk to her, just a few minutes, to explain his behavior, to apologize for how he'd come on far too strong.
Arriving in his office, he all but collapsed into the chair behind his desk, beyond grateful for the direct connection from his home to here. He pulled some reports toward him and tried to read, but his vision blurred. After trying and failing to move beyond the same paragraph several times, he gave it up as a bad job and rifled through his post. That task took all of three minutes and he was back to dwelling on thoughts of Granger.
He wondered if hashing out some of his ideas for Muggle Studies would help, but quickly nixed the idea. The mocking voice inside his head began taunting him for even thinking of this pursuit.
Oh, the wealthy heir thinks his gold can buy forgiveness does he?
You could empty all your vaults at her feet and it wouldn't be enough to make up for what you did.
You've changed, is that it? So because you no longer wish death and destruction upon Muggleborns that makes you worthy of her?
You'll never be enough for her. Never.
Draco stood and gripped the edges of his desk, squeezing his eyes shut. Warring images raced through his brain: Granger spasming while being tortured, Granger running her hands down his abdomen to reach for his belt buckle, Granger's eyes flashing in hurt as he called her a "Mudblood," Granger's face lighting up in a smile as he walked towards her before dinner…
He loosened his tie, feeling as if the air around him was leaking out of the room. It was getting harder to breathe. I am in control of this. I am in control of this.
Fuck it all, he was in control of nothing.
Swallowing his pride, he groped desperately for the jar of Floo powder on his office mantel and managed to gasp out the line name for Healer Browning.
After several chimes, the healer's face appeared in the fire.
"Draco, is everything all right?"
Draco shook his head and tried to keep his voice steady. "Yes, I mean… no. I need… I need to see you today, if possible."
"Do you need me to contact St. Mungo's?"
"No, I haven't used, I just… I need to talk to someone."
The healer nodded thoughtfully and looked down, most likely consulting his schedule on his side of the Floo.
"I have an opening at 11 this morning, would you like to meet me then?"
"Yes… please." Draco responded hoarsely and ended the call. Abandoning all pretense of working, he slumped to the floor in front of the fire and stared at the empty grate.
He remained on the floor of his office for the next hour and a half, then sent a quick memo to his boss to explain his absence for the remainder of the day. Draco rarely took sick days, and couldn't remember the last time he'd begged off work, but knew he wouldn't be able to return after his appointment.
He walked down the streets of Diagon Alley in a daze. The sun felt too bright and too hot, even though the weather was pleasantly mild. Upon being shown into the healer's office, Draco all but collapsed onto the leather couch and raised his desperate eyes to the man who could hopefully keep him from drowning in despair.
"Draco, I thank you for reaching out to me in your time of need. Would you like to tell me what brought you in here today?"
Draco took a deep breath and eyed the floating parchment and quill poised just next to Healer Browning warily. No turning back now. But where to even begin?
"I'm not sure I… I had a nightmare and I've had trouble this morning recovering. I can't concentrate at work… I can't even eat."
Scratch, scratch.
"One of your recurring nightmares?"
"Yes… my aunt… she's… she's torturing… someone… right in front of me. And I just stand there."
Scratch, scratch.
"Have you been suffering from nightmares often as of late?"
Draco shook his head. "No, but the last few days I've had difficulty sleeping… and eating. I can't… I can't focus on anything and I feel fucking miserable," he bit out.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
"Has something occurred to spur these feelings? Anything new in your personal life or routine that you find upsetting?"
Draco hesitated, but wondered if divulging the Granger situation might be helpful. "Well, I took my… friend out to the opera on Friday evening. We had dinner before as well."
Scratch, scratch.
"And how would you describe the evening out with her?"
"It was fine, I think," Draco began tentatively. "She seemed to enjoy it, to enjoy being out with me."
"How did you feel about the evening?"
"Good. I mean, I enjoyed it too… being with her. But we had an unfortunate run-in with an old classmate and I think I embarrassed myself in front of her."
"What happened?"
"He insulted her, and me and my family. We got into a verbal altercation but I didn't hex him, much as I would have liked to. He would have deserved it too."
"How did he insult your friend?"
"He was quite nasty about her blood status." Just like I used to be.
"I see." Scratch, scratch. "Does anything else stand out from your evening?"
Oh, does it ever.
Salazar, there was nothing for it, he was going to have to come clean about the recent romantic development with Granger.
"Well, she invited me to her home after the show and I ended up… uhh staying the night…"
He could no longer look his healer in the eye and instead cast his glance over to the book case on the far wall of the office.
"Did you engage in physical intimacy?"
If he wasn't feeling so thoroughly miserable at the moment, Draco would have laughed at the absurdity of that question and at the calm, clinical tone it was asked. Sex was not discussed openly in proper, pureblood families, because there really was only one purpose for sex and that was to produce heirs during marital relations.
When Draco was 12, his father had summoned him to his study for a private discussion about Draco's duty as the sole heir to the Malfoy estate. He'd been confused at first as to why his father talked in circles about "duty to his forefathers" and "repressing urges to defy his responsibility to the family name" when Lucius had abruptly taken out his wand and taught Draco how to perform a contraceptive charm. The charm, his father warned, was merely a precaution should Draco be weak enough to give in to any "hormonal temptations of the flesh" and he was to use the charm to safeguard against any illegitimate offspring before marriage. Lucius then tersely thrust a parchment containing the instructions for a contraceptive potion at Draco then dismissed him.
And that was the closest instance to sexual education that Draco ever received. Luckily for him, and Theo and his other male friends, the Manor library teemed with books on every subject under the sun, including subjects of the more carnal nature (complete with graphic illustrations) and pagan sex rites that detailed quite precisely just how men's and women's bodies could be used for pleasure.
So hearing the question "Did you engage in physical intimacy?" in a casual, conversational tone from a man old enough to be Draco's father was a truly surreal experience for him.
"Yes," Draco finally replied, not removing his eyes from the book case. "Twice."
"How do you feel about taking that significant step with another person?"
Draco chewed his bottom lip as he tried to sort through his swirl of emotions about sleeping with Hermione.
Continuing his stare across the room, he began slowly, "I feel… honored that she would trust me enough to invite me into her home. And into her bed. But beyond that I'm not sure… I mean… how can I…how can we…?"
He trailed off and felt utterly lost. Healer Browning didn't break the silence and Draco knew he was waiting for him to talk through his emotions.
Letting out a huff of frustration at his own lack of eloquence, Draco's spiraling thoughts tumbled out of his mouth in an unstoppable stream. "I mean, how the fuck am I supposed to feel after that? We shagged and it was beyond satisfying and I have absolutely no idea what the fuck I'm doing! I sure as hell enjoyed it and she gave me every indication she did too but… what if she's regretting it now? What if she hates me or thinks I pressured her? I don't think I did anything untoward… I confirmed consent at every turn, just like the classes taught, but fuck, I don't know what the hell she thinks about all this! And where does that leave me, eh? I go to bed, alone, wake up, alone, attempt to drink coffee, alone, and all I can fucking think about is her! About how she's not here because she's bloody brilliant and is off being a supreme swot at that international conference while I'm stuck here just… just existing! We spent this fucking fantastic night together and then she swans off to Italy and I'm sure she's drowning in resentment at shagging a former Death Eater and I'm the idiot that didn't even bother to have a discussion with her about what we're doing or if we're together or if she even wants me in any capacity… are we even still friends anymore? Why can't I recover from her absence from my life of only a few days? Why do I feel so sodding worthless and like nothing I do even has a point? I exist in a damn void and she's the only one I want to talk to about it but I can't very well do that with her so far away… and I don't even know why that's upsetting me because she's returning in a few days and I'm sure she's not having an entire mental collapse just because she's gone and messed with our established routine by leaving me here… and… and…"
He drew a ragged breath and continued to glare at the bookshelf. "And well… you're the healer, what the hell do I do with all this?!"
All Draco heard for the next minute was the frantic scratch of the quill and he tried to block out the noise, lest he whip out his wand and attempt to set it on fire again. He'd tried that petulant move in their third-ever appointment together, but the healer was quicker than he looked. Draco wondered just how many times the older man had needed to stop an enraged client from setting his note-taking nuisance ablaze.
"Have you considered that the reason why you are upset is simply that you miss her?"
Draco whipped his head back toward Browning. "Miss her!? I don't miss her!" He sneered at the mere implication that he should fall prey to that type of useless sentimentality. Men like Draco did not miss people.
The healer met his childish outburst with a patient stare over his spectacles. "In matters of the heart, I personally always find honesty to be the best path forward."
Draco scoffed and folded his arms over his chest. Matters of the heart, what absolute bollocks. Of course he didn't miss her, because missing her meant he cared far more than he should, which was simply ludicrous.
Matters of the heart.
Heart.
And the worst game of word association took place inside his mind. Heart. Love.
Matters of the heart meant… it generally meant love, yes? How preposterous. Insane. Ridiculous. Fanciful.
Love.
Draco mentally snorted. He wasn't in love with her or anything. He wasn't… he was not… he could not… love her. His heartbeat stilled within his chest, seemed to sputter to a stop, then roared back to life and synced with his brain, the blood rapidly pounding in his ears almost deafening. He couldn't possibly be this fucking stupid. No. No no no no no no...
He really was going to vomit this time. He shot up off his leather seat and bolted to the adjoining washroom just in time. Draco gripped the edge of the sink tightly and braced himself as he retched into the porcelain. Most of what came up was bile, having nothing in his stomach so far today, and it burned his throat something awful. He dry heaved several more times before the worst was over.
Clammy and shaking, he couldn't bear to look at the sallow face with purple bruises under exhausted eyes in the mirror. With his head bowed over the sink, a floating glass of water appeared and gently tapped him on the hand. Thinking there was no way his body could expel anything else, he took a few small sips.
"Why does admitting you miss or care about this person upset you?"
Browning's calm voice came from just behind him, as if they were simply continuing the session, as if Draco wasn't violently ill over the sink not a moment ago.
He was still dizzy, breath coming in gasps as he tried to organize his thoughts. No longer caring about appearances, he backed against the wall of the washroom and slowly sunk to a seated position on the floor, his gaze landing at Browning's shins in the doorway.
"Because I shouldn't… I really shouldn't… she's only a friend… and she's… she's a… Muggleborn."
"Do you think her inferior because of her parentage?"
"No, it's not that." How could he possibly begin to explain? Two warring ideologies existed within him, and had for a while. It was… inappropriate for a pureblood of his storied family for him to want her in any capacity. But in this new world order, with no Dark Lord issuing edicts about blood statuses… well the script had flipped, hadn't it? It was nothing short of criminal for a pariah like him to deign to hope a righteous heroine like her felt anything other than pity for him. That he still even felt the twinge of his twisted upbringing showed that clear as day. He was weak, pathetic. A disappointment to both sides.
"I know that I don't deserve to be with her. No matter what I do in this life I can never deserve her, even if she… reciprocates my feelings."
"Are you afraid of feeling happy?"
"Yes," he breathed out. He didn't have the strength to keep up an inner monologue simultaneously any longer. He pushed out a question that had been bothering him for some time.
"What if I'm addicted to her? What if I only substituted sleep potion for her?"
"You've been clean for years, Draco."
Draco shook his head in disagreement. It was true he hadn't touched certain potions in years but he would always be an addict. "But you know it's still there, that urge to use never really leaves, especially when shit gets bad."
"I see. I think you're falling prey to your own false equivalency argument here. How did using potions make you feel?"
"Numb. Like I could disappear for a while. I didn't have to think or feel or remember."
"And how does being with her make you feel?"
"Overwhelmed."
"Let's explore that feeling, you've described her this way before."
Draco closed his eyes and lost himself momentarily to recent memories of Hermione. Keeping his eyes closed in concentration, he focused in on what those interactions meant to him.
"She overwhelms me in every way and I'm unsure of how to process what I feel around her."
It was an incessant onslaught to his senses: the sight of her, the scent of her, the sound of her, and now he was acquainted with her taste and touch…
"There are some days where I don't even know who I am anymore, but she makes me feel like I could be something. Something other than a complete failure. Before we… reconnected I was content doing the bare minimum. I had a job, I kept out of trouble, I quietly cleaned up my family's name, I kicked the potion habit, and I thought maybe not being a complete prick was enough for this world."
He took a deep gulp of air. "But she… she makes me hope for something more. She is one of the few people that would actually have the right to kick me when I'm down, but she'd never do that. It's as if she actually fucking believes I'm worth a damn and I can't remember the last time someone made me feel that way, if ever. There's not a false bone in her body and I can't even be honest with her about how much I… admire her."
Apparently you can't even be honest with yourself. Admire? Hmm. Appropriate, sure, but is that the whole truth?
"From everything you have described, it seems to me that this young woman has a positive impact on your life. I believe we have talked through all your excuses for not pursuing a relationship, except one."
Draco raised his head but knew the answer already.
"Your own fear," supplied Browning. "What has you so afraid of telling her you'd like to attempt dating?"
"You mean besides a humiliating rejection and crushing of my spirit if she doesn't feel the same?" Draco drawled but Browning didn't budge. One day. One day he'd get the stoic healer to respond to his sarcasm.
"Fine, besides the devastating blow to my pride… I'm worried that I might... well it's only a matter of time before I cock it up somehow and hurt her." Again. You mean hurt her again. Do remember, Draco, just how much pain you caused her from ages 11-17 when you were busy being a ruthless bully.
"In any relationship, be it friendship or otherwise, there is of course never a guarantee of success. But Draco, don't you think you owe it to yourself to explore these feelings in a healthy way instead of continuing to repress them? I think we've quite established your recent stress was borne from you missing her company."
That's the problem, isn't it? I don't just miss her, I'm fucking bereft without her.
"I think we need to discuss changing your mantra at this time. As you know, I did initially counsel against your current one, so I'd like to revisit that discussion."
Draco nodded to show he was listening.
"Do you recall my previous objections to 'I am in control of this'?"
"You told me control is often an illusion and that one of the only things we truly can control is how we react to situations."
"Correct, so bearing that in mind, how do you feel about 'I can accept the current situation'?"
Draco snorted derisively. Was he fucking serious? No way was he chanting such a mouthful while trying to come out of a panic attack.
"Too formal?" Guessed Browning. "How about something more colloquial? 'I am okay with this.'"
I am okay with this. I am okay with this.
Wasn't that what Browning had been trying to teach Draco for years? Acceptance of the world around him, acceptance of his past, acceptance of Potter's forgiveness, acceptance of Hermione's friendship, and now acceptance that he truly cared for her.
I am okay with this. I am okay with this.
A/N: As always, thank you so much for reading and interacting with this story. You can find me on tumblr: heyjude19-writing.