"We are all fools in love"
Hermione awoke flat on her back in a patch of warm sunlight. Someone was making a good bit of noise in the kitchen, which must have been what had broken her slumber. After this early morning's er, activities, she probably could have slept a good bit longer.
She smile and yawned. Wait, someone in the kitchen? Draco must have stayed! Hermione's eyes widened. He had never stayed over before—he always apparated back to the Chateau before she woke. They'd never discussed it, but she figured it was part of the unwritten code of being his aunt's houseguest. Or maybe it had something to do with Astoria, and now that she was at school…?
She sat up, easing out of bed and sliding into the prettier of her two dressing gowns. Whatever the reason, the smell of coffee and something else delicious was drifting into her room, so she wasn't going to sit around having an internal debate.
She approached the kitchen to a perfectly lovely sight: Draco standing at the stove, his back to her, wearing nothing but a pair of drawstring muggle-type joggers slung low on his hips. She shook her head and tilted her chin, sighing audibly. It just wasn't fair. The broad shoulders and long back, tapering to the slim waist and hips. The little dents that just peeked out from the waistband of his trousers? And he was cooking.
Then he turned around.
Hermione couldn't help a much bigger sigh escaping her.
"Oh so you've decided to join us?" he teased.
"Coffee before chit-chat," she said, ignoring the physical beauty on display in favor of the inner woman. She pulled down a cup, poured and took a first, heavenly sip. And then a few more. Draco watched her, amusement on his face.
"Ahhh," she sighed as the caffeine hit her bloodstream. "What is all this? It smells amazing."
"I told you I was good with breakfast," he deadpanned, stepping over and into her personal space with a signature Malfoy smirk.
She blinked up at him, unsuccessfully suppressing a silly smile as distant memories of Theo's terrace surfaced. She trailed the tip of her index finger down his bare chest. "You're going to have to prove that."
He looked down at her for a beat before suddenly wheeling away to open her oven door while throwing a very arch look over his shoulder. "Croissants are ready."
"You made croissants?" Hermione knew her mouth was hanging open in a very unflattering way.
"Baking is a lot like potion-making. You just have to be very precise." Hermione found his clipped, know-it-all tone annoyingly attractive. "Sit." Draco pointed to the table, which already held an array of fresh fruits and pots of yoghurt and various things to put in it.
Hermione sat.
"Oh this is wonderful," she sighed a bit later, shamelessly slathering butter onto her second warm croissant. "You've definitely proven yourself. You can stay any morning and make breakfast any time." Draco's eyebrow went up and Hermione felt her cheeks warm. She reached distractedly for the few days old copy of the Daily Prophet that was sitting on the table. It was the issue Ginny had mentioned, featuring the Founders Ball.
"Oh, I've been meaning to ask you about this," she said, shaking the page with the headline about the ball at Draco. "Is this why you have to be in London this weekend?"
"Yes," he scowled. "Unfortunately."
"If you don't mind my asking." Hermione helped herself to a slice of pear. "Why?"
Draco heaved a dramatic sigh. "My mother." An eye roll that reminded Hermione of their school days followed.
She looked at him inquiringly.
"It's the one thing she 'requires' of me socially," Draco said, aggressively spearing a blueberry on his fork. "We have an informal agreement that if I go with her to this, she can't harass me the rest of the year to come to dinners and galas and what-not."
Hermione's eyebrows went up and she thought simultaneously that Narcissa must be made of rather stern stuff and that there was no way she would let her parents manipulate her like that.
"I know." Draco put his hand up and Hermione realised her face must have given away her thoughts. "It's intolerably boring and I find it more difficult each year to feign politeness with that crowd. I am not looking forward to it. Immensely."
Hermione toyed with her coffee mug then took a deep breath, In for a penny, in for a pound, Granger. "Would it help" —she darted a glance at his flinty eyes then looked down— "if I went with you? As your date?" She had wanted to know how they would go public. Hermione swept her eyes back up, realising her heartbeat had sped.
His eyes widened. "No!"
She flinched back, hurt.
"I mean," he continued more slowly, holding her gaze, "that you would hate it."
"Or would they hate me?" Hermione was unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Draco stood up abruptly and came around to her side of the table, pulling out the chair next to her and turning it to face her before he sat down and took her hand. Hermione kept her gaze averted, still stung.
"Look, I'm going to be honest, Hermione." He craned his neck to find her eyes, "It would be uncomfortable. It's the Sacred 28 and maybe a handful from the next tier down—if they're rich enough. But to a person, they're all pureblood snobs. And they won't care that you are a war hero or that you're brilliant or that you're there with me. They'll still treat you as a muggle-born inferior. I can't expose you to that."
"What if I don't care? What if I would do it for you?" Would you do it for me?
Draco was shaking his head and Hermione felt her insides do a slow drop. "You don't know what it's like," he said. "What they're like. When they're all together. It's miserable enough for me—and I'm one of them."
"I'm sure I've endured worse." Hermione felt her chin lift.
He pulled back and his face shuttered. "No. I couldn't let you."
His words held a quiet finality, but she was nothing if not tenacious. "Couldn't let me or don't want me?"
Breath exploding angrily from his lips, Draco stood up and started clearing dishes to the sink. "I refuse to answer that." His voice held an iciness she hadn't heard in months.
Hermione realised she had crossed her arms over her chest at some point. "What other conclusion am I supposed to draw? You've said I'll be uncomfortable. I've said I'll endure it. For you. And you still say no. So I can't think of any other reason why."
His cool suddenly shattered, "You don't belong there, that's why," he bit out, then stalked out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Hermione stood up and followed him. He was angrily pulling his shirt over his head and summoning his shoes.
"It means what I said." Spots of color had bloomed high on his cheeks. "There are some situations you can't brazen out. Some places you can't just put your chin up and toss your Hermione Granger curls and say: 'Fuck it, i'm here whether you like it or not'. And I'm not saying it's right or it's good," some of the anger seemed to drain out of him at this point, "but it is the reality." He looked up at her and his eyes were somber.
She felt the anger drain out of her too—replaced by something infinitely more frightening. "So what does that mean, Draco?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"It means I'll see you on Sunday." He got up from her bed, somehow impeccably put together again, and stepped in front of her. He lifted her chin and looked deeply into her eyes. To her utter mortification, she felt tears pricking there.
"I thought you'd be leaving a bit later."
He sighed and glanced away, "Theo's in town unexpectedly and I have to meet him at noon in Diagon. It's important and it's the only time we could make work."
Hermione gathered the tattered shreds of her dignity around her. "Tell him I said hello. And owl me before you arrive on Sunday. I may be out doing some last bits of fieldwork." She turned away and began tidying something—anything.
She felt Draco's hand warm on her shoulder, gently turning her back around. "Let's not leave it like this," he whispered.
"OK," she said, forcing herself to look up at him. His lips brushed gently against hers and her eyes closed.
"I'll miss you," he said softly. But before she could respond, he was striding out of the room and down the hall.
And Hermione had never felt more like a kept woman kept in her place.