He was going to fuck this up. Inviting Granger over had been a horrible, rash, and stupendously moronic idea. Draco wasn't remotely emotionally prepared for the reality of inviting this woman into his home. Although, he did at least have the foresight to order the elves to remain either in their quarters or somewhere out of sight for the evening, as he wasn't quite sure how to broach that topic just yet with Hermione. Poor Crick most likely thought his master was going round the bend, but he merely fixed Draco with an indifferent stare before blinking once and agreeing to inform Watson there would be no need to cook.
This obviously meant he needed to figure out how to provide a meal without the aid of elves. As soon as his work day ended he placed a Floo call to a French restaurant in London that had catered some of his mother's galas in the past, and after throwing his surname and a whole lot of gold around, was able to arrange for delivery of a veritable feast at precisely 6:30 that evening.
Having no clue which kind of dishes she preferred, he'd opted for the sensible choice of one of every dish listed on the menu. Pragmatism at its finest. The long table in the dining room groaned under the weight of dozens of French delicacies, as Draco cast a strong stasis charm across everything.
He'd changed out of his robes for the evening and that had been a whole episode of angst as he dithered over how to dress. He felt completely out of sorts, and realized this was the first time he'd entertained a date entirely on his own at home. Former dates with pureblood women took place in social settings or planned outings or parties that were sure to be photographed for the society pages, which meant dress robes. Same thing goes for dinner with his mother.
Maybe just the suit, like he'd worn for their dinner in Muggle London? But even that felt too stuffy for a dinner in with a friend. A more than friend? Fuck.
In the end, he decided on a white dress shirt sans tie and smart black trousers. It was definitely an outfit that would have wrinkled his mother's nose at being far too casual for dinner, but he had a suspicion Hermione would not care.
And now he had 30 minutes of panicking before Hermione arrived. He paced the length of the downstairs traveling parlor in front of the large fireplace. Should he be seated casually in one of the armchairs when she arrived? Perhaps doing his best Lucius impression with a glass of brandy in one hand, and a novel in the other? He'd be the perfect picture of refined wealth and lord of the manor. Draco mentally snorted, thinking that reminding Hermione of his father was probably the last thing he wanted to do given the (pun intended) bad blood there.
With two minutes to go, he finally settled on leaning against the door frame to the parlor, arms casually crossed in front of his chest, exuding nonchalance. He held that pose for two full minutes. When the flames lit green right at the stroke of 7, Draco tried not to jump, though his heart had leapt into his throat.
Hermione stepped gracefully out from the fireplace, ducking slightly to avoid hitting her head on the mantel, and cast a quick Tergeo on herself. Instantly, the stray soot was banished from her dress and hair. She was a vision in a flowing, bright marigold dress that fell to mid-calf. The wide straps left plenty of shoulder on display and a darker hue of silk ribbon under the bodice accentuated her small waist. A golden spring flower personified.
She cast her eyes anxiously around the parlor before she finally spotted Draco in the doorway. "Welcome," he greeted her, unfurling himself from the doorway to approach her.
"Hello," she smiled and tucked a strand of hair that had already escaped her low ponytail behind her ear.
He stopped several feet in front of her, a safe distance. "That's a lovely dress," he murmured sincerely and earned another nervous smile.
"Thank you, I bought it in Venice." She smoothed down the sides of the fabric. "I know you said not to bring anything, but my parents always said to never arrive anywhere without a host gift, so umm, here." She flushed and held out a bottle of wine toward him. Draco accepted it and read the label.
"I know you probably have an actual wine cellar and I don't even know if this will pair well with what you're serving tonight, but I saw it in the shop and couldn't help myself. If you notice, it's the same bottle we—"
"—we shared at the Muggle restaurant, before the opera," Draco finished for her and she met his eyes in surprise. And there it was: that glowing in her eyes when he said or did something that pleased her. A look that shot a shock of warmth through his entire being.
"Surprised I remembered?" he teased.
"Maybe a little," she confessed with a light shrug. "Honestly, I'm more surprised a bevy of house-elves weren't here to greet me upon arrival."
"Sorry to disappoint you Granger, but it's just you and me tonight."
A pregnant pause followed his statement. The atmosphere suddenly seemed to twist from slightly awkward to one thick with anticipation. Perhaps it'd be best to take a slower approach this evening until they clarified exactly where they stood. Taking a fortifying breath he offered, "Why don't I let this breathe for a bit and show you around? Dinner's ready whenever you like."
Hermione beamed and stowed her wand in her little beaded bag. "All right. But given the size of this parlor alone, I imagine this might take a rather long time," she teased.
Draco smirked; she loved taking shots at his obvious wealth. "I'll give you the condensed version then. Wait here peasant, I'll set this on the table."
Leaving the uncorked bottle out amongst the varied dishes, he took a moment to wipe his damp palms on his trousers. Fuck, but he was nervous. Trying desperately not to focus on the meaning behind all of her words or actions thus far, he schooled his features before returning to Hermione.
"Is there a brochure or map to help me on our journey?"
"Why, so you can bury your nose in reading material and miss out on my talents as a tour guide? I assure you, my oral skills are unmatched."
As soon as he finished his unfortunate sentence he clamped his mouth shut and turned away from her. A tense silence fell again and Draco desperately wished for some kind of charm that would prevent him from spewing any and all sorts of accidental sexual innuendos for the foreseeable future. Fucking Salazar, not five minutes in and he was already blowing this.
He coughed to clear his throat. "Right, well that was the traveling parlor, obviously. I mostly stick to this side of the first floor and my wing on the second floor." Most of his home was tragically underused, but when you live alone and never host visitors except your own mother, that is to be expected. He would be leaving this fact out of the tour.
He led her up the main grand staircase, and noticed how she admired the ornate tile work of the ground floor. The stone walls along the staircase were dotted with portraits of pastoral landscapes of the surrounding county of Berkshire and the neighboring one of Draco's former home in Wiltshire, though to Draco it all looked the same anyway. A few sheep grazed along one that Hermione stopped to watch with interest, and a collie bounded into frame to herd some of the stragglers. Draco explained that his mother was responsible for most of the décor, as Draco couldn't really be bothered.
"How long have you lived here?"
Draco scratched the back of his head in thought as they reached the top of the stairs. "I'd say 7 or 8 years? I lived on my mother's estate for a bit, but when I saw this place up for sale, I couldn't pass on the deal."
"Did you know the family that lived here before?"
They walked slowly side by side now, as Draco opened doors at random for Hermione to poke her head into the rooms if she desired.
"No, but it wasn't a family estate anyway, it was some elderly wizard with the surname Franklin. Apparently he had this built for himself back in the late 1800s. He never had any heirs and with no family claiming the deed for succession it fell to public sale. I was most fortunate to come across it when I did."
"What about the house attracted you?"
"It wasn't the Manor," he said bluntly and saw her wince in his periphery. "Truly, it's in excellent condition and came with several dozen acres, so I can fly comfortably behind the estate. There's a village about ten miles north, but no other homes close by. I've come to value my privacy."
They'd come to a point roughly halfway down the hall. Draco directed a hand ahead of them. "That's the start of Mother's wing for when she visits, I've actually no idea what's in most of the rooms. But this is what I really wanted to show you."
He threw her a knowing smirk as he heaved open one of the large oak doors to his library. Hermione did not disappoint. She stepped past him, her mouth falling open in awe, the light from the sun setting outside the tall glass windows reflecting in her eyes and some of the golden undertones of her hair. Granger in his library glowed both literally and metaphorically, and Draco felt a swell of pride at being the one to inspire this reaction.
"Oh Malfoy, this is wonderful! How do you ever leave? This might be more square footage than my entire home!"
The library was impressively vast for a private residence, though probably half the size of the Malfoy Manor library, and the bookshelves lined floor to ceiling with tomes or scrolls on every subject imaginable. The entirety of the western wall being the exception, with the ceiling-high windows overlooking the back of the estate. Draco waved his wand to ignite the candles all along the wall, as the sun was dipping lower in the sky. In one far corner of the library was Draco's desk, set in front of the fireplace. He conducted all of his financial obligations here, his handsome dark cherry desk littered with neat stacks of parchments, a collection of quills in a silver holder, and a smattering of ballpoint pens in a crystal dish.
Hermione walked slowly into the middle of the room and revolved on the spot, as if to breathe the entirety of the collection in all at once. Draco was once again struck with the sensation of viewing the world through her eyes. All these sights and experiences that he took for granted (the ballet, the artistry of the opera house, the grandiosity of his home and library), sparked a wonder in her that made his heart swell. She was so uninhibited in expressing joy or awe at the magic around her, and at times he could feel that delight too, in just being a witness to her new discoveries. Merlin, but she was amazing, this witch. This witch who had seen death, war, and loss, and could still feel something other than absolute disdain for the world, it both puzzled and enchanted him.
"May I?" she asked politely, though Draco could tell she'd been physically restraining herself from running to the nearest shelf and grabbing the first thing she touched. He gave her a slight incline of the head, and she was off.
Grinning like a child in a toy shop, she ran her fingers lightly across the spines of the books as she walked carefully past the shelves.
"Are these all from the Manor?" She called, as she came to a stop in front of the Potions section.
"Not all of them, but perhaps about two-thirds. The Ministry confiscated a ton, as you can imagine, and I've collected my fair share over the years."
With a sly grin, Hermione reached out and finally pulled a book from its place. "It seems the Ministry wasn't as thorough as they should have been." She held up the book and Draco approached to see Moste Potente Potions in her grasp.
Draco raised a disbelieving brow. "Didn't realize you had a taste for the more insidious texts, Granger."
Her grin grew even more mischievous. "Yes, well, when you brew Polyjuice Potion as a Second-Year, sometimes you have to bend the rules just a bit."
"You brewed Polyjuice in our Second Year? How? Why?"
"To answer your first question, yes, to answer your second question, quite successfully, and to answer your third, well you'll have to ask me again after a few glasses of wine I think," she playfully responded and returned the book to the shelf.
He was caught between biting out a scathing retort at her refusal to answer him and intrigue at the way this woman constantly captivated him. She turned away and resumed her path around the perimeter of the shelves, pausing here and there to inspect a title further.
Draco's mind began to wander into a fantasy realm. One where he envisioned himself slowly approaching Granger from behind, pushing her right up against the shelves, lifting the skirt of her dress up, yanking down her knickers and shagging her until they both couldn't feel their legs.
"Merlin, are these all first editions?" Her excited query broke through his lascivious thoughts about how it would feel to take her right here, right now, in his library.
He shoved his hands in his pockets as he strode over, willing his body to calm down and behave in her presence. "I'm not sure about every single volume, but the ones from the Manor at least are quite old, so I would assume so, yes."
She gaped at him. "You would assume so?" she repeated faintly and shook her head in amazement. A few wisps of hair escaped her ponytail and Draco kept his hands fixed to his trousers so as not to brush them off her neck. The urge to reach out and touch her was causing a dull ache to bloom within his chest.
"Anything you'd like to borrow? You're welcome to, any time." He offered and her eyes lit up. You're welcome to borrow me too, any time. I'd even let you keep me.
"Perhaps, but not tonight. I don't think I'll ever leave if you let me start reading," she laughed warmly and Draco failed to suppress the surge of hope that her statement implied a future time she'd be present in his home.
"Well I don't know about you, but I could do with some dinner. Shall we?"
She smiled at him as they took their leave of the library, and Draco held the heavy oak door back with one arm and gestured for her to pass through first. As she brushed past him, a strong wave of her trademark hyacinth-resembling scent invaded his nostrils and mixed with the lingering scent from the old, dusty tomes and ancient parchment and all of a sudden it hit him like a tsunami. Amortentia.
Draco had just identified that third and final scent that had wafted out of Slughorn's cauldron back in his Sixth Year of schooling: Hermione Granger in his library. Mystery fucking solved.
For Draco's own exclusive suffering, that particular brew conjured the three scents most enticing to him in the entire universe. He now knew his personal temptation hell comprised the once glorious rose garden of Malfoy Manor in summer, freshly brewed hot coffee, and Hermione Granger in his library.
I am okay with this. I am okay with this. HOW THE FUCK DO I BECOME OKAY WITH THIS!?
He had frozen with his arm outstretched, still holding the door open.
"Malfoy? Everything all right?"
No. I'm fairly certain everything is absolutely fucked.
"No, I mean, yes. I mean, could you give me a minute? Sorry, I hadn't realized I'd left my desk in such a state and some of those documents should probably be put away. I'll meet you back in the foyer."
She glanced at him questioningly, but thankfully obeyed. Draco let the library door swing shut as he backed into the room. Shakily, he leant against the top of his desk and covered his face in his hands.
No, not this, never this. He couldn't fall for her in such a spectacularly soul-crushing, permanent-feeling, anxiety-inducing fashion. But now that he knew the truth, there was no going back. It was the fact he'd been denying to himself for a while now, the words he couldn't admit aloud in front of his healer. He was in love with Hermione.
I am okay with this.
Could he reconcile this? Time to review some facts again. Fact: Hermione Granger was currently in his home, waiting for him to complete his mental meltdown so they could dine together. Fact: He had requested her presence here this evening and she had willingly agreed. Fact: He was in love with Hermione Granger. Damn it all.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt the truth of this realization manifesting deep within his soul and then branching out to course through every vein along with his magic. And though he now knew his feelings to be deep and true, he felt completely incapacitated with uncertainty. How to proceed from here?
A choice.
That one word weighed heavily upon him. Choice.
Choose, Draco. For once in your life, make a real choice. He could remain up here and sulk, continue to repress his emotions and wither away in misery, or…
Or…
March downstairs and woo the ever-loving-fuck out of Hermione.
He pushed himself away from the desk and stood tall. He shook out his sleeves and assured his shirt and trousers were unwrinkled. He ran a hand gently through his hair to make sure it fell to the side just right. Then he strode purposefully from the library, shoulders back, and head held high.
There was a beautiful woman awaiting his presence in the foyer and he was going to court her within an inch of her life.
When he returned to the main staircase, he found Hermione fidgeting nervously in the front hall. She shot him a relieved smile when he reached the foot of the stairs.
"Sorry for making you wait. Ready to eat?"
Draco led her back past the traveling parlor and several small sitting rooms, but stopped when he no longer felt her presence beside him. He turned around, confused, only to find Hermione rooted to the spot at one of the thresholds. It was his mother's music room, though he'd never seen Narcissa set foot in there, it's just what his mother dubbed it when Draco had allowed her to furnish it to her own taste.
Hermione shot him a wide-eyed look and gestured into the room.
"Oh my, is that a—?"
"A piano, yes."
"No, no, not just a piano. That's a Blüthner!"
She didn't even wait for his permission to enter, just approached the instrument carefully while Draco trailed in confusion. The expression on her face was one of disbelief and deep reverence, almost as wonderstruck as she'd looked in the library.
"Oh and it's antique! I've never even seen one in person, how did you ever get your hands on one? Actually, never mind," she chuckled. "I forgot who I was talking to for a minute. Don't tell me how much this cost or I'll lose my appetite," she teased.
"Do you play?"
Hermione shook her head. "Not anymore, but I had lessons all through childhood up until I received my Hogwarts letter. I had a wonderful teacher and she used to say that if she ever came into a significant amount of money, the first thing she'd buy would be a Blüthner piano." She smiled fondly at a memory and slowly circled the instrument.
"I'm afraid I don't know as much about pianos as yourself. What's so special about the maker?"
She came around to the front and eyed the keys as she answered. "Supposedly the sound is warmer and richer than other pianos and if you notice the strings," she pointed to the propped-open back and Draco's eyes followed. "Those strings are single-hitched on a pin, which leads directly to individual tuning pins by the keys, as opposed to other piano strings, which are often looped. It's also got an extra string in the treble."
She stepped back, still in awe. "This is the instrumental equivalent of seeing a unicorn. I mean, do you realize how many famous composers used this maker? Brahms, Debussy, Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninoff…" She ticked off names completely foreign to Draco. "Queen Victoria was rumored to have one as well and—"
She cut herself off abruptly, and met his eyes, looking apprehensive for some reason.
"And you must have no idea what I'm babbling about. How did you come by this piano?"
"My mother furnished this room, it's hers, actually. I had lessons as well as a child on this very instrument. They also ceased when I went to Hogwarts and I remember Father had it moved to one of the vaults, but I can't remember the reason. Mother brought it back out, obviously, when I moved here."
Hermione's eyes darted nervously between the piano and him. "I don't understand, it's just that…"
She took a breath as she looked up at Draco. "All those famous, classical composers I named, they were unfamiliar to you, yes?" He nodded and she continued. "That's because they are all Muggles. And this," she gestured back to the piano, "is entirely Muggle-made."
Draco's brow furrowed and he could hear the unspoken questions running through Hermione's mind. Why would pureblood matriarch Narcissa Malfoy allow something built by Muggles into her home? Why would she keep such a thing? Why would she dedicate an entire room to its display?
Oh, Mother, do I have some questions for you, he silently fumed. How many times during his formative years did he hear both his parents rail against anything related to Muggles? Muggles were barbaric, lazy, stupid, unworthy to share this planet with wizards, according to them. But apparently those descriptors didn't apply when it came to antique, luxury goods. Draco was torn between laughing and wanting to set fire to the instrument out of spite.
"It would seem I'll be having an interesting conversation with my mother in the near future," Draco clipped.
"I'm sorry, it was none of my business and—"
Draco waved her apology away, hoping she understood that it was Narcissa's uncovered hypocrisy that was the cause for his irritation as they made their way, finally, to the dining room.
"Granger, please, think nothing of it. Let's just have some dinner."
Her meek and abashed expression slid off her face when she took in the amount of food awaiting them at the table. She snorted in a rather un-ladylike way, but nowadays Draco would describe the sound as adorable rather than grating because he was positively besotted.
I am okay with this.
"Seriously Malfoy? Are you sure there won't be another fifteen or so people joining us this evening?"
Draco busied himself with pulling out a chair for her because he was a gentleman, and also because he wouldn't have to look at her when he admitted, "I wasn't sure of your preferences so I thought it safest to order a variety."
He took his seat at the head of his table, having placed Hermione to his immediate right. She cast an amused eye over the impressive spread. "Well, I do very much enjoy French food, so you really couldn't have gone wrong. For future reference, I'm no longer fond of mushrooms or trout." When Draco raised a questioning brow she elaborated. "When you have to survive on wild mushrooms and fish for months on end in a tent, you'd swear it off too."
Draco gave her a pained smile and redirected the conversation away from the war and back to France. Hermione talked excitedly about her love for the country and of her childhood holidays there with her parents.
"Let me see if I have this right, you've never been to Paris?"
"No, I've been to Paris, not wizarding Paris. Our family trips remained firmly in the Muggle world since I couldn't perform magic over the summer hols anyway."
"I'll have to take you some time," Draco offered before he could stop himself. He hastily occupied himself with a spoonful of bouillabaisse.
"That would be lovely," came her soft reply and when he met her eyes, her face was almost as red as her tomato bisque. Instantly, visions of whisking Hermione off to any country her heart desired danced in front of his eyes, and he added "international holidays" to his mental list of courting ideas.
"You enjoy shellfish, I've noticed," she spoke up, gesturing to his choice of first course.
"Starting a file on me?"
"Of course. You make it easy when you order the same type of dish each time we've dined together."
She kept notes on his likes and dislikes then. His confidence was going to reach dangerous levels before the night was over.
"If you must know, it's a recent development for me. I was never allowed to have this as a child because shellfish is too much of a risk—"
"—a risk for infection and food poisoning," Hermione finished for him and Draco merely blinked back at her and she laughed.
"It figures your pureblood customs would be the same as Muggle royalty. Shellfish is also rumored to be banned for the royal family of the UK."
"How do you know all of this?"
"I read it in a book."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course you did, Granger, it's you after all. I'm curious as to which book provided that information for you."
"The Sacred Twenty-Eight."
Draco almost dropped his spoon in shock. "You. You've read that book?"
She nodded fervently. "Yes, there's a copy in the Hogwarts library. I read it in Second Year after I learned there was such a ridiculous hierarchal system based on blood in the wizarding world. It was written by an ancestor of your friend Theodore Nott, did you know?"
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair and took a sip of the wine Hermione had brought. Oh if his father could see him now, attempting to woo the most famous Muggleborn since Minister for Magic Nobby Leach while drinking Muggle wine and discussing the most revered of pureblood texts.
"Yes, Theo and I shared a memorable evening a few years back where I helped him dispose of several dozen copies in his family home."
That evening had been memorable indeed. Draco and Theo had gotten absolutely plastered on some disgustingly expensive scotch and defiled every copy of that blasted book, which amounted to 52 tomes. They performed all manner of defacements to the books, including setting them on fire, changing the titles to things like The Sodding Twenty-Eight: A Beginner's Guide for Ruining Generations of Promising Young Wizards and Witches Due to Blind Allegiance to Blood Fuckery and Willingness to Commit Incest, and charming the pages to sing quidditch chants. But he wasn't about to inform Granger of all this.
"That's nice that you have a friend like him. I mean, that umm, shares your outlook…" she trailed off nervously and sipped her wine. Draco hoped she meant that in a positive way, as in, his outlook that blood purity dogma was utter bullshit and he'd very much like to embark on a serious relationship with someone descended from non-magical parents.
"You'd like Theo," Draco offered, steering the course of conversation. "He was a giant swot at school, just like you."
She playfully rolled her eyes and Draco talked some more about his quieter friend and gave her a few anecdotes from his childhood before Hogwarts.
Hermione asked him about work as she cut into a piece of filet mignon. "I hear you recently helped scout Mary, no that's not right… Maureen! A Maureen Tyler? A, umm, Beater?"
Draco cocked his head, bemused. "I recall merely introducing Maureen Tyler to Ginny Weasley—"
"Potter."
"Whatever. I introduced the two of them and may have made mention of her unmatched beating skills and that Weasley was welcome to do as she liked with that information."
Hermione appeared to be thinking hard, trying to recall something. "It's Potter and if I'm right… she had… ummm… an average of 6 unseats per game? Is that the right term for when they knock someone off their broom?"
Oh this was truly adorable. Granger was attempting to talk quidditch stats with him as if she knew anything about the game.
"Yes, her career at Hogwarts was quite legendary but she had yet to make it off the reserve roster for the Tornadoes, so I thought perhaps the Harpies might be a better fit for her talents."
Hermione frowned and concentrated hard again. This woman could memorize the name of every stupid sorcerer who'd so much as sneezed notably throughout the history of time, but her quidditch knowledge was a gaping black hole.
"And she also was quite skilled at… oh, what's the term… hoop moving? No, Keeper switching?"
"Hoop-swapping, or forcing a hoop-swap. That's when a well-timed bludger forces the opposing Keeper to change the main hoop they're guarding as a Chaser prepares to score, opening up a greater scoring area for the Chaser," Draco explained, putting her out of her misery. Merlin, he was already half-hard at being in the rare and enviable position of instructing Granger in a subject.
"Oh, right," she muttered sheepishly and placed a piece of the steak in her mouth. Her expression changed to one of pure pleasure.
"Mmm, this filet is… perfect. All of this came from the same restaurant?"
"Yes, we'll have to try it together some time. I know I ordered far too much, but like I said, I wasn't exactly sure of your tastes and it would have confused my house-elves to—"
Draco stopped talking as Hermione stopped eating, fork halfway to her mouth. Oh, fuck. She carefully placed her fork back on her plate and dabbed her lips with her napkin as Draco waited for the axe to fall.
"How many?"
"Only two," he replied and she scoffed.
"Oh, only two slaves, you're practically middle class," came her withering reply and if he wasn't so busy getting offended he'd tip his glass to her in respect.
"They aren't slaves, Granger."
"Oh really? And just how did they happen to find themselves in your home?"
"When I purchased Franklin House, they came with the deed—"
She held up a hand to cut him off.
"Do you even hear yourself? They came with the deed! You're talking about advanced magical beings as if they were property!"
"Because they are! You of all people should know that, considering your office classifies them as such!"
She sputtered in a dangerous mixture of rage and indignation. "I'm well aware of the classification laws, thank you very much, considering I had to fight tooth and nail to have their welfare protected by law!"
"Well then, if you are so well acquainted with the welfare laws, you must know that since I still have elves in my home that I'm compliant with them! How can you even be upset about this? Do you want to inspect their furnished living quarters? I treat them well, I've never punished them or abused them! They live a perfectly comfortable life here!"
Why couldn't she let this ridiculous crusade go? Why was he being judged for the way he was raised? Elves were an expected part of a wealthy, pureblood upbringing and hadn't he already proven to her that he wasn't cruel, like his father? Seriously, what more did he have to do?
"A benevolent slave owner is still a slave owner!" she fired back, cheeks pink. "These creatures don't have any autonomy despite possessing powerful magic and intellect. Simply because you don't treat them with open hostility and violence doesn't matter, because they never had a choice but to serve their intended master without any form of payment for services. Ugh, you sound just like Ron!"
Draco saw red, his blood boiling in his veins at the mention of her oafish ex-boyfriend.
"Don't ever compare me to Weasley," he growled. A tense silence fell and they both glared at one another. Draco could see her fists clenched at her sides as she shook with anger, chest heaving, with her prissy little chin high in the air.
Maybe it was all the pent-up angst from being unable to articulate his romantic feelings for her, or maybe it was the unfortunate mention of Weasley, or maybe it was the confusion surrounding their current relationship, or maybe even sexual frustration… or maybe it was a mix of all of these things that caused Draco to spectacularly implode the formerly pleasant evening with his next words.
"Is that what you've been doing for the past two weeks? Comparing me with him? Go on then Granger, tell me, how do I measure up?" He spat harshly and slid his chair back from the table, tossing the napkin from his lap onto his unfinished dinner.
"Come on, don't be shy on me now. I mean, now that you've experienced all of me," he sneered and gestured his hand up and down his entire body. "I'd love to hear what your notes say and how thorough you've been. I bet they're ridiculously detailed," he jeered, then flicked his eyes and hand in the direction of his crotch. "Down to the last inch."
Her eyes were pure fire and he knew he'd pushed her too far, but so wounded was his pride that he was past caring.
Hermione slowly slid her chair back and placed her napkin on the table. "How dare you," she spoke with a trembling voice before rising gracefully and stalking out of the dining room.
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, and counted to five. He stood up and only made it halfway across the dining room as she was already marching back to give him a piece of her mind.
"You know, I was really looking forward to this evening with you! I'm sure it was painfully obvious while I was stumbling over those blasted quidditch stats, but I even asked Ginny to help me think of topics of conversation that would interest you!"
A slight pang in his chest at the pleasing notion that she cared enough to prepare that way, but it wasn't enough to quash the blinding anger.
"Ah, how lovely that you so openly discuss me with that entire dim-witted family! Do tell, how do they feel about their precious Hermione Granger spending alone time with a Death Eater?"
"I'm not openly discussing you with anyone but Ginny!"
Draco immediately changed his tack. "Ashamed of our friendship, are you? I'm just your dirty little Death Eater secret?"
"For Merlin's sake, of course not! And stop calling yourself that!"
"What? A Death Eater?" He challenged as he looked down his nose at her. "And why not, Granger? Isn't that what your precious Potter and Weasley think about me?"
"I don't bloody care what they think, or what anyone thinks! All I want is—" she cut herself off abruptly and backed away, swallowing a lump in her throat. "It doesn't matter, I don't even know why I bothered."
She turned suddenly on her heel and stomped down the hall toward the traveling parlor. Draco followed her this time, intent on getting in the last word and hell-bent on self-destruction, blood pounding in his ears.
"We're not finished here Granger!" He strode into the parlor and towered over her again. She was so much shorter and smaller than him, but no less imposing, especially with how angrily she glared up at him in that moment.
"And what is there left to say, Malfoy?" she barked right back at him. "You've made it abundantly clear how little respect you hold for me and my friends, so what more could you possibly want to say?"
I want to say that I need you. I want to ask you to stay. I want to tell you I'm sorry. But nothing came out of his mouth.
His silence only seemed to irritate her further, as she took a sharp inhale and puffed out her chest. "You've been hot and cold with me all week to the point where I have no idea where I even stand with you! So just tell me, please, what is wrong with you?"
"Isn't it obvious!?" He bellowed. "I'm in love with you!"
He should have realized it when a ringing silence descended upon the cavernous room. He should have realized it when Hermione's mouth dropped open and all the ire left her countenance. He should have realized it when her eyes went wide in pure shock.
But Draco did not realize that he had not silently bellowed those words inside the privacy of his own mind, but had, in fact, shouted them into Hermione's face. He did not realize this fact until Hermione let out a shaky whisper of, "What did you just say?"
And then it hit him.
"Fuck." He said this aloud too, and then turned and half-ran from the room and the woman who'd just endured his screamed confession.
He staggered to the liquor cabinet in the dining room and grabbed the first bottle he could get his shaking hands around. Luckily for him, it was Ogden's and he poured a hefty measure into his empty wine glass, spilling plenty on the table in the process.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck," he repeated and downed the glass in one go. He immediately poured another.
Draco threw himself back into his chair, swallowed the alcohol, poured another measure, but left the liquid in the glass this time. He was going to be sick or possibly combust on the spot. Could one die of mortification? Draco was certain he was about to discover the answer.
He covered his face in one large hand, the other gripping the glass as if it still tethered him to the earth, and wondered at how phenomenally foolish he'd acted this evening. He'd completely and utterly ruined any chance he would ever have with Hermione.
At what point, Draco pondered, would he finally stop blowing up his own life?
After finally, finally, getting Granger all to himself after months of pining after her, he decided to antagonize her with a debate on elf rights, insult her closest friends, and imply that she would be so callous as to cruelly compare/contrast lovers. Oh, and to cap it all off, he literally played his entire hand not two minutes ago when he'd yelled his innermost feelings right in her pretty and incensed face. No one to blame here, this mess was all on him.
I am okay with this.
I am not okay with anything.
Draco didn't know whether he wanted to hurl up his dinner, laugh at his own ineptness, or cry as the misery took hold. Unable to make any sort of rational decision, he simply sat there, clutching his face and his whisky, while his body forced him to take in oxygen.
A soft slapping of shoes on the hardwood flooring attuned Draco to Hermione's approach. He couldn't even summon the will to look up and confirm this to be true. He heard her pull out her same chair from dinner and sit down. From the bit of his vision that wasn't obscured by his fingers, he saw her fold her hands delicately in front of her on the table. He heard her take a deep breath. Draco dropped his hand from his face, prepared to deal with the fallout of his rash words.
"Did you mean what you said?" she asked quietly.
"No," he replied instantly and as Hermione's face fell, he scrambled to explain. "I mean, yes! I mean… fuck!"
He downed the whisky and refilled the glass again, sloshing even more over the sides as his fine motor control gave way to nerves.
No more hiding, he decided then. If Granger hadn't left yet, that must mean she wanted to hear him out. Here was his last chance.
I am okay with this.
Deep breath. Look her in the eye.
"I meant what I said back there, but I didn't mean to shout it at you," he began and noticed her eyes shined especially bright.
"It was the honest answer to your question. It's why I've been such an absolute wretch of a person this week. Do you know what happened while you were away, Granger?" He asked desperately and she shook her head.
"I went fucking spare without you. I barely lasted two days before I felt miserable… I wasn't sleeping or eating... You'd have thought a sodding Dementor was following me around, it was pathetic," he spat and paused to down his glass and refill it. What was this, his fourth or fifth drink? The alcohol didn't even burn his throat anymore.
"I thought there was no way you were thinking about me. There was no way you didn't completely regret what we did together. You were off in Venice having second thoughts about ever setting eyes on me again and all I could think about… all I could feel was…"
Draco pulled his stare away from her and instead cast his eyes down at the table. "I missed you," he admitted hoarsely and swallowed the lump in his throat.
"I missed you and it bloody hurt," he met her gaze again and felt a slice of guilt cut into him when he noticed a tear escape her full eyes.
"The night after the opera, in your bed," he continued in a hushed tone. "Gods, do you have any idea how long I'd wanted to do that with you? And of course it was fucking fantastic, and I'll remember that night until I finally die, but then you were gone. Just gone. I was left to kick myself for not telling you how much I wanted you, how I didn't want to go back to being friends or polite acquaintances or whatever farce of a label we had before." He took a steadying inhale, still unsure if he was helping or hurting his cause.
"But then you sent me this," and Draco took out his wand and summoned the postcard he knew to be residing on his bedside table. Hermione looked on with wide eyes as the little scrap of paper zoomed through the dining room towards Draco's waiting hand. He held it out to her, and she took it with trembling hands.
"You sent me that postcard and I dared myself to hope… to hope that I meant something to you. But do you know what the worst part was? All the ways I envisioned you rejecting me when you returned. When you were late to coffee that first morning I assumed you wanted nothing more to do with me. When you mentioned that wizard researcher, I assumed you were throwing me over for someone else. And I'm sorry," he swallowed another lump in his throat.
"I'm sorry I didn't know how to tell you all this. To tell you that I'm a warped, twisted, imbecilic excuse of a man who wants nothing more than to be… to be someone important in your life."
To be worthy of loving you.
His breathing felt ragged, labored. Hermione stared down at the postcard as if it held all the answers to life's questions and Draco waited for her to respond to his rambling, semi-coherent monologue.
Finally, she looked up at him.
"I sent you this postcard not two hours after I arrived in Italy," she said in a small voice.
"Why?" he choked out before he could command his tongue. He needed to hear her say it out loud.
"Because I missed you." She quickly wiped at her wet eyes and continued. "I missed you to distraction." Draco was sure his heart was going to rip itself out of his chest, inch its way onto one of the silver platters on the table, and then present itself to Hermione.
"I honestly did," she laughed shakily. "Do you know how bad it got? For only the second time in my entire life I mistranslated a rune. An attendee asked a straightforward question during the Q&A portion and I positively flubbed the meaning of the rune and then had to backtrack to correct myself all because my mind drifted right to where it always drifts these days…"
She gave him a watery smile. "To you."
Draco couldn't breathe because his breath, his heart, his entire essence had been stolen by the woman across the table.
"I didn't regret being intimate with you. Not for one second," she said firmly, her voice growing stronger. "I'd rather like to do it again."
Wait, did that mean she wanted to…? What the hell did any of this mean? Help.
The confusion must have been written across his face because she took pity on his befuddled, and now lust-addled, brain and clarified, "I want to be with you, properly. Not just in the… in the bedroom. I want to give this, give us, a real chance."
A new emotion now took over: panic. The bedroom part he could handle just fine, but the rest of it? He had an abysmal track record when it came to the fundamentals of adult relationships (see: Pansy, Astoria, and/or Daphne).
"You do? But I've no idea what to do… I don't know… I don't know how to…" Draco trailed off helplessly and groped for the firewhisky, but a small hand quickly wrapped itself around his wrist, halting his progress. Hermione kept a firm grip as she stood from her chair.
"Yes you do. You do know." With that declaration she slid her hand up his arm and shoulder as she moved away from her chair and took the one step around the table corner. Planting herself in front of him, Hermione dragged her hand up to the side of his face, her eyes still swimming with emotion.
"You do know," she repeated then tilted his chin up to capture his lips in a fierce kiss.
To Draco, it felt like they'd never stopped kissing from two weeks ago. All the useless suffering and strife that had occurred in between the last time his lips were connected to hers and right now, melted away as he lost himself to her taste.
She thread her fingers through his hair and deepened the kiss. He then remembered that he also had hands and that his hands should always be touching her, and gripped her hips to pull her even closer.
His kisses became apologies and unspoken declarations. All the words he couldn't say, all the promises he wanted to make, all the feelings he couldn't quite articulate yet, all the vulnerabilities exposed from losing his composure earlier, Draco poured all of it into worshiping her lips with his own. Could she tell?
Though the strength of his feelings should utterly terrify him, Hermione seemed to harbor no such uncertainty, and answered him kiss for kiss in a way that gave Draco hope that she understood without him having to speak the truth aloud.
She moved her hands down to clutch his shoulders then swiftly lowered herself to drape her legs over either side of his hips in the chair. The skirt of her dress cascaded over their lower halves and Draco found himself with Hermione straddling his lap at the head of his dining room table.
He should invest in a Pensieve.
Draco wrapped his arms around the small of her back, pressing her even closer, and they both simultaneously panted at the wanton way their bodies began to instinctually grind against each other. He pulled his lips away from her mouth to reacquaint himself with other areas of her skin.
"Missed you," he rasped as he kissed up the exposed column of her throat.
"Prove it," she challenged breathily. Draco audibly groaned when she rocked her hips into him. Gathering what little was left of his wits, he pried one of her hands from the side of his shoulder. Taking it firmly in his own, he pressed her small hand on top of the erection straining painfully against his trousers.
"Proof enough for you? You've had me in this state for two weeks," he admitted with a smirk.
And then she one-upped him. Rivaling his smirk with one of her own, Hermione flipped his hand into hers and dragged it under the skirt of her dress.
"Ditto," she gasped before shoving his hand inside her knickers. She was already drenched for him.
One hundred billion points to Gryffindor.
Draco curled one of his fingers against her and she let out a pleased little whine. He moved his mouth to her ear. "Is it all right if I—?"
"Gods, yes, it's more than all right," she interrupted and writhed against his hand. He slipped two fingers inside her and swallowed her low moans. With one hand languidly pumping in and out of her, he used the other to slide the straps of her dress off her shoulders and lowered his head to nip at her collarbone. Hermione's legs tightened around him as she slid her arms free of her dress straps, then reached behind her back to undo her bra and discard it.
Yes, he would be looking into that Pensieve purchase tomorrow. Draco had no idea what occurred in this dining room for the previous owner, but it surely could not beat fingering Hermione on his lap with her bare breasts mere inches from his face.
He leaned forward to capture one in his mouth and she let out an encouraging moan. Both of Hermione's hands clutched at the sides of his head as he closed his mouth around her taut nipple, and Draco felt her inner walls clenching his fingers, her release approaching. Maneuvering his fingers just so and rubbing his thumb along her clit was all it took, and then she was coming undone with a high-pitched cry.
Draco kissed back up her neck while she caught her breath. When he reached her lips again, she smiled against his mouth and Draco removed his hand from within her to pull her to him again. She kept up the torturous undulating of her hips against his stiff member, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain control. Hermione's hands worked furiously at the buttons of his dress shirt.
"My—bedroom—upstairs—we—can—if—you—still—want—" he mumbled in between her breath-stealing kisses.
"No," she replied firmly, then kissed a path up to his ear, "here. I want you here. Now."
If he put in a rush owl order tonight that Pensieve could probably be here first thing tomorrow.
His position in the hard-backed dining room chair was not going to give him the leverage he wanted or needed to fuck her properly. Grabbing her firmly around the waist, Draco set her up to standing. She helped him shuck his shirt all the way off and looked to him to take the lead as she trailed her fingers up and down his bare chest. Plucking his discarded wand off the table, he wordlessly banished everything left from dinner.
Hermione reattached her lips to his and the wand clattered to the floor as her hands made quick work of his belt buckle. Draco pulled her flush against him, before scooping her up and setting her down on the edge of the two-century old, antique mahogany dinner table. As he'd suspected when he stepped in between her legs, it was the perfect height.
Clever witch that she was, Hermione understood his intentions exactly, and gathered the skirt of her dress up about her waist. Draco tugged her knickers down, before returning upright to hover over her to claim her mouth, relishing in the way her tongue moved out to seek his own. Merlin, this girl could snog. Hermione gave an insistent tug at his waist band, urging him to step out of his trousers. Draco resisted the temptation to quip about her eagerness because his nervousness mounted again.
Standing completely nude before her, Draco took a moment to commit the sight before him to memory. Hermione's curls were barely held back in their ponytail, cheeks flushed, her bare chest heaving, and the light material of her marigold dress bunched around her middle, as she perched at the edge of his needlessly opulent table, scorching him with her heated gaze and waiting to be ravished by him. This perfect vision of a woman wanted him.
Theo probably owned a Pensieve, he could Floo over after and "borrow" it.
I want to be with you, properly, she'd said earlier. She had no idea how those words had ignited his soul. Draco brought a hand up to gently cradle the side of her face, and she closed her eyes at the soft touch. "Are you sure you still want to—?"
"Draco," Hermione interrupted swiftly, her eyes snapping open. "I want you inside me now."
Was the Wizengamot in session on Monday? He really needed to get that petition on their docket about no one else in society being allowed to speak his given name ever again. Those two syllables belonged to Hermione now.
Draco captured her mouth in a burning kiss as she angled her hips slightly upwards so he could easily sink into her wet core. He groaned at the reunion of their bodies and stilled momentarily, enjoying the euphoric feeling of her walls completely enveloping his cock. He began moving slowly in and out, mindful that the hard wooden surface was probably not the most comfortable for her backside, but the noises leaving her mouth made it seem as if she could not care less.
Hermione leant back on her elbows, allowing Draco to drive himself even deeper inside her. A few frantic thrusts later, and she gave up the battle with her upper body strength and laid herself flat on her back. Did she have any idea how beautiful she looked? Sprawled across his furniture, breasts bouncing as he drove into her, over and over and over until—
"Ohhh… my… yes Draco… Draco!"
Draco dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips as he chased his own release. He came with a guttural cry before slumping forward to rest his forehead against her chest. Instantly, he felt her hands stroking his hair as their breathing slowed, and Draco could lie here forever, still inside her.
I am okay with this. I am absolutely, one hundred percent okay with this.
"Malfoy?" she called softly.
"Mmm?"
"Care to finish the house tour? I believe you made mention of a bedroom?"
He grinned against her bare skin and both felt and heard her giggle. Reluctantly, he pulled out from between her thighs and held out a hand to help her up.
A/N: The continued support of this story amazes me, thank you all so much. Feel free to ask me questions or yell at me on tumblr: heyjude19-writing.