Her lips are on mine, and I've never felt more at home. Her lip balm tastes like freshly picked strawberries, and it's the best damn thing I've ever tasted.
"Hermione..."
She moans as I mumble her name in her ear. I kiss down her jawline and neck, inhaling her scent. She's mine, and damn it, I've missed this—missed her.
My head is cloudy once she pulls back and she breathes, "See? No self-loathing." I realize she was making a point versus actually wanting to kiss me.
Her face softens, "You should get back to the Ministry. Also, I think it's best if I return as well. I supposed Monday should be soon enough?"
"You can't!" I all but shout at her, taking us both by surprise. I clear my throat and speak softer. "You can't."
"Pray tell why I can't? You were all for me going back a few weeks ago!" She's glaring at me with her hands on her hips, in all her swotty glory.
"The people who attacked you aren't done. This last time was close enough. I won't lose you – completely."
Her hands fall from her side, and she looks apprehensive.
"How do you know this?" Her eyes refuse to meet mine, and I begin to wonder what she's keeping from me. I explain the insignificance of the guy who attacked her, and she visibly relaxes.
"I'll be okay, Draco. I can't stay trapped at home, and you know I won't. Go back into the office, I think I'll call upon Ginny... o-or Astoria."
At that, I relax and kiss her forehead, before stepping into the floo once more, calling out for the Ministry.
The sound of my door opening pulls my attention and before I can snap at Jacob, I notice Potter .
"How is she?"
Harry leans against my door frame, looking at me earnestly.
"She's becoming... more receptive to me."
I let out a breath as he sits in a guest chair in front of my desk.
"Look, I shouldn't be telling you this, so keep it to yourself," Harry clasps his hands together, "we got something."
My eyes snap to his, and I search his face. "Something useful, I hope?" I ask with a bit of heat in my voice.
"Another drop," Harry smirks. "How's that for useful?"
The cheeky bastard, I chuckle inwardly.
"Isn't the smirk my signature? When's the drop? Where?" I try to hide the eagerness in my voice but fail miserably.
"Malfoy, you know I won't tell you. I told you this out of courtesy because we're friends, but I can't risk you blowing this. I've got this under control."
I sneer at his response and then begin finishing my report I was working on before Harry stopped by.
"She's coming back Monday. At first, I thought it would be good for her..."
I let my sentence trail as I imagine the worst that could happen. Harry runs his hands down his face.
"I'm surprised she waited this long, to be honest." Harry stands and makes to leave. "I'll er – let you get back to it."
"Later, scar-head," I say with no malice.
He chuckles, "Later, ferret. Dinner at our place tonight. Be there."
I scowl half-heartedly, with a roll of my eyes. Harry leaves my office, and I try to jump back into my paperwork, but my thoughts are distracting. Could this possibly lead to something? It won't bring my Hermione back but praise Salazar if the people behind this receive the Kiss.
I lean back in my seat, trying to think who would order something like this. What would be the motive? She's a part of the 'Golden Trio,'— I roll my eyes and scoff just thinking of the phrase that the Daily Prophet coined. As they put it, she's the Golden Girl, the brains behind the 'Savior of the Wizarding World. Who would want to hire a hit against her?
I tap my quill against my report, lost in thought, until…
No. That's absurd...
I sit up rim-rod straight, slamming my hands on my desk.
"SON OF A BITCH!"
I begin to pace my office, running my hands through my hair roughly, pulling in frustration.
Of course. We're all so blind.
The war may be won, but I have no doubt there are still people who'd do anything to keep a muggle-born from taking office. It's unheard of. The highest position in all of Wizarding Britain going to a muggle-born? That's sure to ruffle pureblood feathers.
Shame washes over me. When I was younger, I'd have felt the same way. My shoulders slouch, and I return to my seat. Instead of continuing with paperwork, I pull a fresh sheet of parchment and begin to think of those who I suspect may not have renounced the old ways.
I scratch my head at my list of potential pure-blood assassins. Was the name of the monster who attacked my fiancée on this list? If so, how the hell was I supposed to figure it out? I couldn't exactly go undercover— I'm too close to Hermione, I'm too easily recognized. Maybe I'd be able to ask for a little help on this matter.
I pen a note to Blaise to meet me for drinks tonight and another to Hermione, letting her know I'll be home late.
The ice tinkles in my firewhiskey as I watch the door. It's Friday night, which means the Leaky Cauldron is more crowded than average. I nod to Neville as he bustles around, helping his wife, some Hufflepuff broad that bought the place from Tom about two years ago. What the hell was her name again?
Blaise slides into the booth on the opposite side of me, and Theo brings up a chair to the side. I order us a round of Old Ogden's, then put up a Muffliato spell - courtesy of Potter's expert knowledge - as to not be overheard.
"I think I know why Hermione was attacked," I state.
They look at each other then back to me with blank expressions. I lay my list on the table, and Blaise let out a whistle.
"These are all old pureblood names, Draco." he pauses to take a large gulp of his firewhiskey. "Are you thinking this is because she's... muggle-born?" He cocks his eyebrow.
"I could see it," Theo says, a contemplative expression painted over his chiseled features. "Have you told Potter?"
"And have Saint Potter take the glory?" Blaise cuts in, laughing to show his comment is without venom. "Hush, Theo, you're talking crazy over there."
"I don't think Potter is the way to go here," I say pointedly. "I actually had something else in mind."
I stare at Theo and hear Blaise protest.
"What about me? My charm, my grace, my dashing good looks."
As if to prove his point, Blaise flashes a smile showing off his sparkling white teeth against his ebony complexion. He wiggles his eyebrows and takes a swig of his firewhiskey in a way I can only assume is meant to be seductive.
"Yes, so very charming indeed," I say with great sarcasm, rolling my eyes, "but it has to be Theo. You and your mother played neutral in the war, and of course, I very well can't. I'm engaged to a muggle-born. I plan to remove the Malfoy name from the Sacred 28 once Hermione and I have children,"
I wave my hand to Theo as if to introduce him.
"He's our only chance,"
I turn to Theo to see him staring into his glass.
"You're my only chance, Theo."
He claps my hand in a shake. "We've been best mates since nappies. I'll do it. Pass me that list— Blishwick?"
We all laugh, they may be lower status than Malfoy and Nott but still pureblood elitists.
"Bulstrode?"
"No, remember Millicent married that muggle-born bloke," he says.
Blaise cringes behind his drink. "Her parents weren't too happy about that. Although no one else would have her." He shutters.
Theo continues, "Burke, Fawley, Parkinson. The others on here I know have become more progressive. They realize times are changing and don't want to be left out of the new social circles."
I nod. "It was pretty simple. Especially with 'From the Ashes,' just listed those who haven't picked a stance. Millicent obviously has but, her father needs to be scoped still."
I tell the boys I need to get home to Hermione, and we agree to get together tomorrow for Theo's recon mission. I finite my spell and apparate into our living room, landing smoother than I expected after two stiff drinks. I notice the light on Hermione's study and push the door open slightly. Hermione is sitting at her desk, reading a slip of parchment.
"Sorry-"Hermione jumps about a mile and hastily puts the parchment in her top drawer.
Her hand over her heart, "Merlin, Draco! You gave me a fright."
"I apologize, darling. I only meant to let you know I'm home," I nod my head toward the drawer. "What's that?"
"Hmm? What? Oh, that. Nothing, really." She smiles in a way that seems more nervous than reassuring.
"Sure doesn't seem like nothing," I say, a bit more darkly than I mean to.
"It's nothing, Draco." She presses, challenging me.
Her eyes begin to spark, and I'm even more sure than before that it's something. I move around her desk, closing the distance between us, and she juts her chin up at me as I tower her. Her mouth pops open just slightly, and her breathing becomes shallow.
"You were drinking." It's a statement, but it comes out sounding like a question.
"And you're hiding something from me. These are both facts."
The spark in her eye ignites. Just as she's about to begin her tirade, I capture her lips. She's taken off guard, placing her hands on my chest to pull away as my tongue swoops over her bottom lip. Instead she releases a soft moan and grabs my lapels, dragging me to her. I grab her ass with my left hand, gripping her hip with my other.
"I love when you get all Gryffindor guns blazing on me," I whisper into her ear, licking the shell, pulling her lobe into my mouth, sucking lightly.
Our grandfather clock begins to chime, indicating that it's 6 o'clock, and I groan, remembering dinner with the Potter's.
"Curse Potter. We have dinner there tonight," I give her my best Malfoy smirk, shooting her a wink. "Unless you want to cancel."
She swats my chest, "Ginny had stopped by while you were out. I told her we'd be there, so it's too late to rescind our acceptance. I'll grab my coat. We can walk over."
I groan. Hermione may have lost her memories, but some things were just so Granger.
I slip my hand into hers once we don our coats, and make our way a few houses down to Potter's, just like the muggles in our town.
We walk in comfortable silence, and my mind wonders to the drawer in her desk. What might she be hiding from me? The slips appeared to be notes from the moment I was able to catch a glimpse of them. Has she been speaking with Ron again?
A scowl slips through and appears on my face. While walking in on them ignited a fury I've never felt, I couldn't bring myself to be mad at her before, since she was still processing her life. A second time, however, I won't forgive.
You. I choose you.
Her words ring in my head, and I shake the directions my thoughts took me. No, if Hermione Granger says something, she means it. She wouldn't be corresponding with Ron. That just leaves the question, who then?
"Penny for your thoughts? You look positively sour, Draco." Hermione scrutinizes me.
"Just thinking of Italy – work stuff" I lie smoothly as she knocks on Harry's door.