Author's Note: There's a character's death mentioned in this chapter...

Chapter 3 – He likes them only slightly browned

It was a slow Thursday evening a week later when Draco decided to leave the responsibility of closing down the café to Martin, even though he knew that the Frenchman would use the opportunity for an intimate moment with Yvette. But tonight he didn't care, and he could always reprimand his barkeeper the next day if anything was out of order.

No, tonight he planned to show Hermione the headquarters of the resistance, after finally giving in to both Hermione and Pansy arguing with him about the lack of safety. Hermione was furious about having someone decide over her head, but he wanted her safe—he wasn't going to lose her to this goddamn war a second time. So he conceded under the condition that he would be Hermione's company during her visit; as much as he trusted Pansy, he didn't trust everyone in her group.

"Don't frown, Draco," Hermione said when they walked the short distance from his place to the headquarters. "It doesn't suit you."

"I frown whenever I want to," he retorted, not flinching at the glare he earned in response.

"Petulant child," she murmured under her breath, just loud enough to let him hear her words.

He stopped mid-walk and turned towards her, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't, Hermione. Don't call me that when you know exactly why I'm worried."

With an appeasing smile, she reached for his hand, only to frown when he hid it in his coat pocket. "I know, Draco. But please remember that I can protect myself if I have to, I'm not a child you need to supervise every minute of the day. It'll be fine tonight, I promise."

He knew she was right; people always seemed to underestimate her, but she was fully capable of protecting herself. He just didn't like that she wanted to keep putting herself out there after everything she had been through recently as a consequence.

"Draco, I promise, it's going to be fine. I'm just going to say hello and talk a bit with the people." She reached into his coat pocket to intertwine her fingers with his. Her soft smile grew wider when he finally nodded in response to her words. "Now, let's get inside. It's freezing, and Pansy promised there would be some cake-looking thing..."

A few silent minutes later, her hand remaining in his coat pocket, they arrived at a derelict looking building that had seemingly taken one hit too many. However, Draco confidently headed for a side door and then knocked in a specific pattern.

Pansy opened, and her smirk widened when she recognised them. "You made it!" She stepped aside to let them in. "We weren't sure you'd come at all... No need to look like a sourpuss, Draco."

Inside, they were met with a lot of noise coming from everywhere in the room—printing machines in one corner, people still talking heatedly in another, but cheering from everyone else who had seen them enter.

Draco squeezed Hermione's hand gently when he noticed that she was stumbling next to him. "Remember the cake-looking thing," he whispered with a smirk.

"People, we are finally graced by the famous Hermione Weasley, still better known as Granger..." Pansy couldn't keep a satisfied grin off her face when she introduced Hermione to her group.

"It's great to have you here," a woman in the corner said with a big smile, even waving briefly. "Sorry for your loss, though."

"Thanks," Hermione replied politely, leaning slightly into Draco before she straightened herself again. "I heard there was going to be cake."

"Oh, Madeleine over there whipped up something," Pansy replied, pointing to the woman who had offered her condolences just now. "Nothing fancy, though."

Encouraged by the smiles on everybody's faces, Hermione finally walked further into the room, pulling Draco along as she still held onto his hand. "I'm glad to be here, thanks for letting me join..."

"It's an honour to have you in our midst," a man with a dark brown beret replied, bowing his head slightly. "We've heard many stories about your courage..."

"Is it true that you were almost caught by the fascists?" Another man in the row behind asked excitedly.

"Yes, how did you get out of there?" a woman on the other side asked, looking as if she was going to hug Hermione any second, only held back by Draco's rather intimidating look.

"Guys, give her some peace," Pansy intervened after she had noticed Draco's silent sneer. "I'm sure she will tell the story when she is ready to. Now, bring the cake and the wine."

A table was hastily cleared and a couple of chairs placed next to it while the cake and wine were brought in with great pomp.

"Draco, please, ease up," Pansy whispered, nudging him in the side. "I trust these people, and you trust me, can't that be enough? You've never been as protective with me..."

He let out a deep sigh. "I know."

"Good." Pansy smiled. "I'm going to stay here overnight. You two need an evening alone; you've been dancing around each ever since you got back, and I feel like an intruder right now."

"You don't have to–"

"Try the wine," she said, stopping him with the shortest of glares. "I gave Michel a hard time to find a decent box of bottles. And you don't want to know what we had to pay for it."

When they returned their attention to Hermione and the others, they noticed that Madeleine was already in a deep conversation with Hermione about the difficulty to find nylons, and Hermione's laugh in response to Madeleine's sarcastic remark helped Draco to ease up.

"I tore my last pair while we were travelling back here," Hermione said, still chuckling.

Another woman, who was filling the glasses with wine, turned around with a look of curiosity. "How did you get out?"

"By sheer luck," Hermione replied, a hint of sadness to her voice. "They were coming for me, and they even followed us from village to village. So, we had to take a detour." She kept staring at the woman with the wine until recognition widened her eyes. "Millie? I mean Millicent?"

"Yes, it's me," Millicent said with a blush to her cheeks and a brief nod. "Followed Pansy here," she added more quietly, her eyes fixed once more on the glasses in front of her. Seconds later, she turned around again, a smile on her face and two glasses of wine in her hands, shimmering beautifully in a dark, rich red. "Here."

Draco smiled politely as he took his glass and took a first sniff of its content. He hadn't seen Millicent Bulstrode in ages, not since their school days in fact. After all, he barely had contact with the group to keep any incriminating witness account to the minimum, except with Pansy, and she usually neither told him too many details about the group's activities for the same reason. The short but warm smile on Millicent's face when she shared a glance with Pansy didn't escape him. Knowing Pansy, Millicent was a lost cause...

Moments later, Pansy raised her glass, demanding everyone's attention. "Toast to those who have fallen for the cause, may their sacrifice not be in vain."

"Amen," murmured the others; some of them even made the sign of the cross to honour the fallen.

"And a toast to us, those still living and keeping up the fight because someone has to. May our work be helpful to the Allies."

"Death to the fascists!" was the overall response to her second toast, with everyone in the room raising their glass.

"And now, let's celebrate the lucky arrival of Hermione!"

With that, pieces of cake were distributed to everyone while the happy chatter filled the room, enjoying a rare moment of peace in this on-going war.

..

It was late when they made it back home to Draco's place, with Hermione being quiet throughout the short walk, her hand squeezing his tightly. Her demeanour didn't change once they stepped inside his place; she only sighed when he carefully pulled her coat off.

He reached for her fidgeting hands once he had hung up both their coats. "What's the matter, Hermione? You're so quiet all of a sudden..."

With a brief, sad smile, she looked up at him. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I just miss him."

"Hey, it's fine. He was a large part of your life," he said, carefully pulling her closer inch by inch until he could wrap his arms around her.

"The evening was nice," she whispered, "but it brought all the memories back. It just hit me, you know?"

"You should have said something; I'm sure Pansy would have understood..."

She shook her head. "They seemed glad that I was there; I didn't want to disappoint them."

Hearing that, Draco let go of her, only to place his hands on the sides of her face to tilt it up until she was looking at him. "Hermione, you lost someone. They would have understood because they've all lost family and friends too." He gently brushed over her cheeks with his thumbs, wiping away silent tears that she could no longer hold back. "Want to tell me what happened?"

She shook her head once more. "I'm just emotional because I've had too much wine, that's all."

"I don't believe you," he said in a calm whisper and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. After a weak smile, he reached for her hands on his waist to guide her to the living room area, where he seated her on the worn-out settee he had once found in an abandoned house; he sat down on the sturdy-looking sofa table in front of her. "Tell me what happened. I don't want you to feel like you need to bottle it all up for my sake, all right? I'm glad that you're still alive and that you asked me for help... You know I would do almost anything for you."

"I-I know," she replied with a suppressed sob, nodding briefly. "I wish I could tell you how much I appreciate that..."

"You don't have to; I know."

She wiped away the first angry tears from her cheeks and inhaled deeply. "They just shot him from the back, you know? We were about to arrive at the port to get over to Britain, and they ambushed us. We didn't even have the chance to defend ourselves. I-I... I even had to leave his body behind. They would have killed me too if I had stayed there."

Draco waited patiently while she let out the grief she had bottled up for so many days—curled up on the sofa, sobbing loudly but no longer bothering to wipe her tears away. It stung his heart to see her break down like this, so vulnerable. In an offer of comfort, he brushed his fingers over her hands and lower arms, and it seemed to soothe her ever so slightly; he kept brushing those soothing patterns until she started to calm down again, emerging, however briefly, from the grief that had so completely overwhelmed her.

"So-Sorry."

He shook his head gently. "No need to be."

She pressed her lips into a thin smile and wiped her eyes. "It's stupid really. We weren't even that close any more. We fought a lot, you know? Over nothing and everything in the end." She grabbed his hand that was still brushing soothing patterns on her wrist and held it tight.

"That's not stupid. We did have our fights too, remember?"

"Yes," she said, her thin smile widening. "But I also remember that we were able to talk through it in the end, you know? It wasn't like that anymore with Ron; the fighting never really stopped. I think we stopped listening to each other a long time ago. We even slept in separate rooms when we were waiting for the boat in Cherbourg. Separate rooms, Draco! We were married! Married people aren't supposed to sleep in separate rooms!" She tried to suppress a sob, but it only turned into a loud hiccup. "I-I heard that you had a café somewhere in the region, so I tried to get here. But... but the fascists were everywhere... I mean, they were hunting me. That's when I wrote the first note."

"What about the other members of your group?" he asked calmly, running his thumb gently over her pulse point.

"Harry is... he's in Britain, he's the only one who made it over. God, I still need to tell him that Ron is dead." Her voice broke when she tried to continue speaking, turning into a voiceless whisper. "I...I can't do that."

"I can tell him for you," he offered quietly to take the burden off her shoulders. "Is there any–?"

"Hold me. Please."

He had her in his arms within seconds, providing a safe place for her to break down and let go of control as long as she needed to. Her grief touched him more than he would have admitted; he had learned to keep his emotions at bay, not letting the constant feeling of loss get too close to him—too many people had died in that war, so the daily news of new deaths had seemingly numbed him. And now there was Hermione crying into his jumper with abandon, and he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed and conflicted for the first time in a long while.

After a while, Hermione finally turned her head to the side and sighed deeply. "You know I thought about you a lot, about the time we had together..."

"You did?" Draco tried to keep his heart under control, but it still jumped at her admission.

"Yes," she said with a single nod. "I missed those days. Carefree, just the two of us. Maybe I shouldn't have left Casablanca that night with the plane..."

"Please, don't say that–"

"Every time Ron and I fought," she continued, completely ignoring his interjection, "I had that thought in my mind. Maybe I shouldn't have left you."

He let go of her, only to pull her up. "You did it for a reason, Hermione. What good could you have done if you had stayed with me in Casablanca? Nothing. Maybe save the odd refugee, but that's it. You believed in the cause–"

"Did I?"

"Yes. And you made me believe in it too. You're the reason why I came here—well, not exactly here, but France in general. You're the reason why I help Pansy and her group. You're the reason why I put every cent I still have into providing help for those who ask. I do all of that because you believed in the cause back then."

"Make me believe again," she whispered, her forehead touching his while she gently cupped his cheeks with her hands. "Please," she added, brushing her thumb over his lips.

He closed his eyes at her touch. It was so promising, and it caused him to shiver. All the kisses they had shared before came back, flooding his mind—the feeling of her lips against his, the passion behind every single of their kisses, and how they had always left him wanting more. She couldn't possibly know how much he longed for her touch, how much he longed to once more share that connection with her, yet... "Hermione, you just lost someone. I don't think it's a good idea rig–"

She didn't leave him a chance to finish his sentence, claiming his lips in a searing kiss.

Draco only struggled against the kiss for a couple of seconds until he gave in to her request of comfort and the repeated breathless plea. His fingers digging into the hair on the sides of her face, he kissed back fervently, getting himself lost in the feeling of her lips, something so familiar yet so unknown. Right there, he didn't care any longer about doing the right thing; all he cared about was that he had her back in his arms, offering a comfort he didn't know he needed.

..

Draco spent the next morning in his office at the café, working on his finances and trying to figure out how to keep the café profitable despite war bringing almost everything else to a standstill. However, that morning, he was working slower through the bills and receipts than usual, as his mind kept going back to that kiss he had shared with Hermione the night before. Her desperate plea still rang in his ears, and licking his lips ever so often, he could still feel the touch of her lips on his. He had barely slept, trying to sort his thoughts about the implications of it all. At one point, he had given up his attempts to sleep, and had instead decided to come in early and deal with the café's financial aspects, avoiding Hermione altogether for the day.

However, a knock brought him back to the present, and seconds later, a wary looking Edith pushed her head through the door. "Boss? Your friend wants to speak with you..."

"Friend?"

She nodded. "She said it was important."

Taking a deep breath, Draco nodded, bracing himself for a rather uncomfortable conversation after leaving without a word this morning. "Let her in."

"Here you are." To Draco's imminent relief, Pansy came into his office, transformed into an ordinary farmer's wife—except for her nails. "You weren't at your place, so I figured this would be the only other place I'd find you."

He leaned back, running his fingers along the edge of the desk. "Edith said it was important."

She sat down on the only other chair available in the room and smirked at him. "Edith wouldn't have let me through to you if I hadn't said that. That woman is over-protective of you, I tell you."

"What are you planning this time?" he asked, drumming his index finger rather impatiently on the desk. "I'm pretty sure that's the only reason you're here..."

"Mostly, yes." Her eyes briefly skipped down to his nervous fingers, then went straight back up to meet his gaze. "You know that the fascists are reinforcing their troops at the coast because they think the Allies will land there. They know the allies are coming–"

"And you want to stop them?"

She nodded. "The Allies count on us, Draco."

"You know that Gruber will search the café again in the hope to find traces of our collaboration? One day, one of us will be too careless..."

"Draco, the Allies are planning something! And we need to keep the fascists from gathering their troops there." She glided forward on her chair until she sat only on the edge of it, her voice taking on a desperate tone.

"Yes, I've heard a few rumours about it."

She leaned forward, winding herself up like a restless spring. "We don't need much this time..."

He sighed. She always came to him when her group needed supplies—according to magical laws, they could multiply their supplies only to a very low limit and always had to organise the rest. And that was where he came in. It was a highly dangerous task every single time, risking discovery and more whenever he had to plough through his contacts to get what was needed. At least his expenses were more or less covered each time. "Make me a list, and I'll see what I can find. I won't promise anything. And you know my price..."

"No chance this time to pay you in kind, right?" She winked at him knowingly.

Smirking briefly, he shook his head. "No."

"Pity. It would have been easier... But you'll get your money, don't worry." Looking somewhat relaxed, she leaned back. "Speaking of paying in kind, Hermione seemed a bit off when I came back to your place. Did you two talk?"

He nodded and leaned back as well, folding his hands before himself in an almost defensive gesture.

"Merlin, when did you come here this morning?" She clicked her tongue in disapproval and let out a sigh. "Draco, what did you do? Hermione told me that she hasn't seen you yet today because you'd left your place before she got up..."

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you." Glaring at him, she straightened up in her chair. "So, what did you do?"

"I did nothing," he replied, holding her gaze. "She kissed me."

"What? And...?"

"Nothing." He shrugged. "Nothing else happened, Pansy."

"No, no. This isn't nothing. I don't care who started it, you should have stopped. Maybe you haven't noticed it, but people around here are rather adamant about paying the dead the proper respect, and what you did... Draco, no. Just no." She leaned back, shaking her head in disbelief.

"What?"

"It's one thing to shag me because I'm what the people here would call a free spirit with as much disdain as they can, but her? She's a fucking icon, Draco! And she is mourning her dead husband–"

"Whom she didn't love anymore–"

"They won't care about that, Draco. All they care about is that Hermione and Ron were married, so she is supposed to mourn him, regardless of how she felt about him before he got killed." She got up, only to lean over his desk to reach him, shaking her head once more in disbelief. "You fucking lovesick fool..."

"Are you done?" he retorted, barely holding back a growl. "I fucking know all that... Don't you dare to judge us, you weren't there last night."

"Yeah, if I had been, it wouldn't have happened."

He leaned in until his face was only inches from hers. "Your little party caused her to have a breakdown. All she wanted was some comfort."

"And of all things, it had to be a kiss?"

Sneering at her words, he got up as well. "Make me a list of what you need," he said in a dismissive growl.

"I need you to keep your hands off of her as long–"

"Keep arguing, and I will up the price this time."

"Bah!" With a huff, Pansy straightened herself to her full height, only to turn and head towards the office door where she turned back once more before opening it. "All I am saying is that you should be patient, Draco. Please?"

He nodded and watched her leave after a peek outside to make sure no one could see her tiptoe to the secret exit near the bathrooms. As soon as he was alone once more, he sat back down in his chair and let out a deep sigh. Pansy's visit hadn't helped his conflicted emotions about the whole situation at all—he knew that the kiss had breached a list of rules pertaining to the mourning etiquette; he knew that he should indeed be patient until the shortest appropriate amount of time had passed before he could even consider courting her officially. He should have stopped her, but it just didn't feel right to do so in that moment. With one last lick of his lips as if he could still feel hers, he returned to the receipts on his desk.

..

That day, Draco avoided going back home until the very last moment, until it was time to close down the café for the day. Pansy hadn't come back with her list of supplies either, but he expected that it would take her a while to write it all down; plus there were always moments when she had to stay inside somewhere to keep out of sight. Even the walk home, usually done in hurried steps because it was late and he was tired, took longer. He still had Pansy's words in mind, calling him a lovesick fool just because he hadn't stopped Hermione from kissing him. Why couldn't it ever be easy with Hermione? Just for once?

Eventually, his steps did carry him home, and with a big sigh, he entered the place. He braced himself for the awkward silence between him and Hermione, however, they were going to resolve it without hurting the other too much. He stopped in his tracks to take his coat off when he heard a familiar voice speak in the kitchen, with a loud chuckle following. He briefly closed his eyes, fighting against the urge to just button his coat up again and leave the place to sleep at the café.

"No, not like that. He likes them only slightly browned... Put that batch on my plate then."

"He used to like them a bit more crunchy when we were–"

"Trust me, he likes them only slightly browned."

Pansy. She was here. Teaching Hermione how he liked his fried potatoes. Bloody witch. After a deep breath, he opened his eyes again and hung up his coat to enter the kitchen moments later. Without saying anything, he took a seat at the table.

Pansy nudged Hermione in the side with a nod in his direction, then returned her attention to the pan. "Yes, that's perfect. You're getting the hang of it."

Hermione's smile froze when she saw him while she piled the potatoes on the plate that was obviously meant for him—the other two plates were already filled. He could see that she was fighting against the urge to just leave the kitchen for her room, as tensely as she stood in front of the stove.

Pansy then brought the first two plates to the table and placed them at the seats for her and Hermione. "Finally made it home, I see."

He nodded, his eyes fixed on Hermione, who sighed before taking up his plate to bring it over. "A couple of patrons didn't want to leave."

"And who are you to throw them out, right?" Pansy replied, not even attempting to hide the spite in her voice, and sat down.

"Here," Hermione said when she placed his plate with fried potatoes and what looked like an arrangement of winter vegetables in front of him. "Hope you like it."

"Looks good." He kept watching Hermione while she sat down. She looked worn, as if she hadn't slept either. Shooting Pansy a side-glance, he noticed her smug smile and realised she must have arranged this on purpose. Bloody witch.

"I have to say, Hermione's a good cook, the way she handled the potatoes," Pansy said, breaking the silence at the table while they were eating. "One could think she'd never done anyth–"

"Why are you here, Pans?" Draco interrupted her, putting his fork down again after swallowing his bite.

"You said you wanted a list of supplies..."

"You couldn't have had someone bring it to the café, could you?" He saw Hermione flinch at his low growl, which he hadn't intended. Keeping his eyes fixated on Pansy, he flexed his fingers to keep them from grabbing Hermione's hand for comfort. "You know no boundaries..."

"I live here, too, remember?"

"Draco, stop it," Hermione said, putting her fork down and looking straight at him for the first time since he had come back home. Her voice was quiet but firm, demanding his attention. "I'm glad she came back because I was lonely..."

He nodded.

"Look, I realised I made a mistake when I kissed you, all right? I just felt... lost in that moment. Yes, lost... And then you looked at me like that–"

"Honey, it's not your fault," Pansy said with a soft smile and put another spoonful of potatoes into her mouth.

Hermione turned around to look at her, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly at the other witch. "It is."

"I could have stopped it," Draco replied, reaching for her hand, only to flinch when she pulled it back.

"No," Hermione said with a shake of her head. "You wouldn't have. I shouldn't have done it in the first place."

Draco would have loved to hex Pansy a few times for her game, for setting this all up. Pushing the almost empty plate away, he got up. "I'm tired. You can leave the list on the table in the living room, Pansy, and then excuse yourself back to the headquarters."

"Oh, throwing me out?"

"I am, yes."

"Draco, don't, please." Now Hermione reached for his hand while he made to get up. "There's no need to throw her out."

Barely holding back a sneer when he met Hermione's inquiring gaze, he briefly twined his fingers with hers. "I have had enough. I'm going to bed."

..

Later that night, Draco was woken from his sleep by a gentle hand brushing over his shoulder and arm. However, it still took him a few more brushes to fully realise that he wasn't dreaming it. Confused, and struggling to stay awake, he opened his eyes, only to see that he wasn't alone in his bed. "Hey..."

Hermione smiled sadly in response; she lay in front of him, her eyes searching his face. "I couldn't sleep."

"Nightmare?" he asked softly, searching for her hand with his.

She shook her head. "I'm still not used to sleeping alone in a room... Ron and I have always shared a bed until... until we had to wait for the boat over. I know it sounds stupid, but I just can't sleep alone. It feels weird."

He yawned and smiled when she let his fingers intertwine with hers. "Is that why you're here?"

She nodded, her eyes wandering down to their hands, avoiding his gaze.

"You know that we are treading on very thin ice right now?"

She nodded once more, this time meeting his gaze. "I know. And I'm really sorry for kissing you, I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset."

She smiled and stroked over his cheek with her free hand. "I like how you always look at me... It's like back in Casablanca, or back in Paris. Your eyes always softened then when you saw me, and they still do now. I missed that. Honestly."

Fighting to keep his eyes open, he looked at her more intently, noticing the slightly furrowed brows and how she kept biting her lower lip. "Why did you come back? I thought you wanted to reach the States when you came to me in Casablanca..."

"I did. But then Harry contacted us, saying he needed help... And..." She bit her lip again in an attempt to find the right words. "He was his best friend; Ron just couldn't say no." Her sigh turned into a quiet sob.

"Shh... it's okay." Carefully, he pulled her closer until he could wrap his free upper arm around her.

"It's not okay. It's..." The rest of her words were lost in another sob, muffled by his pyjama top. "I wished him away, and now he's dead."

"He didn't die because of you... They shot him in an ambush." He pulled her up and pressed a soft peck on her forehead to calm her down. "It wasn't your fault."

She closed her eyes at the touch of his lips and then took a deep breath. "I really should have stayed with you in Casablanca."

"Don't say that–"

"I'm not saying this because I'm emotional again," she replied earnestly, shaking her head. "I thought about it, you know? I... I was just confused back then. I mean, I loved him, and then... and then I saw you again. For a moment it was like back in Paris, just the two of us. I know you tried to do the noble thing with sending us away, but I think you wanted me to stay."

After a heartbeat or two in silence, Draco nodded. "You're here now, that's what counts," he whispered. "Now try and get some sleep."

"I had planned to ask for a divorce once we had made it to Britain," she said in the same whispering tone, ignoring his last remark. "I would have waited for you."

"Hermione..." Draco couldn't finish his sentence because he couldn't believe what she had just said. It was too much to sort right now with his sleepy brain; it was something to go through the next day. "I wish you hadn't said that. It's not making things easier, you know?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I just wanted you to know, that's all."

"I mean it," he replied and closed his eyes because they started to get heavy. "I'm glad you're here now, with me, but we can't just take things up again where we left them... They have changed."

"Are you saying that you don't want–?"

"No." He tried to suppress a yawn. "But we can't just continue like nothing happened. Your husband is dead, Hermione, and you're supposed to mourn him, not kiss me."

She turned on her back, letting out a small disappointed sigh. "Six months. A lot can happen in that time..."

"I know. But I want to do it right. I would wait those six months so that I can court you properly in public."

"You would?" she asked, turning her head towards him, surprise shining through in her voice.

His eyes still closed, he nodded and then pulled her closer to him. "Now, sleep. You're lucky that I can still talk while half asleep."