Chapter 15: Bloom
May 19, 2018
The Royal Suite at the Goring Hotel
An Idyllic State of Courtship
The early years of Draco and Hermione's relationship were intensely clandestine, which the royal family has since stated on multiple occasions was a decision made to reflect the Prince's concerns about possible invasions of Hermione's privacy. Around the same time, rumours had begun to surface that His Majesty was requesting Prince Draco's attendance at nearly the same frequency as his father's, despite tradition only dictating the presence of one Prince of Wales. This increase in compulsory royal duties combined with the couple's emergence from the sheltering walls of Hogwarts Castle meant that for a time, the two were able to keep to a state of blissful uninterruption, adjusting to life after university without the pressures of public appearances. Both Prince Draco and Hermione have since described the first years of their relationship as quiet, unremarkable, and marked by the intimacy and support of family and friends—though, if one is reading between the lines, there is some indication the years of secrecy can most aptly be described as the calm before the proverbial storm.
Well, one thing Rita Skeeter is not is an idiot, unfortunately. If she were even the slightest bit more stupid, I think that'd be an improvement, but as things are, I definitely get the sense she's lying through her teeth. This chapter in particular—which is the shortest one in the book (owing to our excellent—until they weren't—attempts at secrecy)—contains a definite sense of her typing away with glee, posturing from whatever dark chasm she lives in about what might have been going on with us behind the scenes. I have to guess she suspects perfectly well the secrecy was not particularly idyllic, nor was it especially blissful. If one is reading between the lines, I'd say she considered this the fracking dark ages.
Joke's on her, though. Our final year at Hogwarts and transition into quote-unquote Adult Life was relatively blissful. In fact, it was such a wonderful time I hardly noticed any cracks that may or may not have been festering beneath the surface.
December 31, 2011
Hogwarts University
"Hello?" Hermione half-shouted at her phone screen, Blaise's elbow nearly colliding with her nose as he and Harry continued their violent attempts at something she supposed might have been dancing, though at present it looked a bit more like a collective seizure. "Draco, can you see me?"
"See you? Yes," his voice replied, his furrowed brow frozen temporarily on the screen. "Hear you? Less so, I'm afraid."
"Sorry, sorry, hang on—Blaise," she said, grabbing at one of his flailing arms, "I'll be right back, I'm just going out into the hallw-"
"WHAT?" Blaise asked.
Hermione pointed to her phone screen, holding it up for him to see, and Draco gave a somewhat stilted wave. Blaise, as anticipated, waved maniacally back.
"IF YOU SEE PANSY, TELL HER TO RETURN IMMEDIATELY," Blaise told Hermione, who gave him a relatively uncourteous nod of acknowledgement before darting between Theo and Fleur, stumbling into the corridor and holding the phone up, squinting at it.
"How about now?" she asked, breathless.
"Better," Draco said, his pixelated face freezing temporarily before reappearing in rapid motion. "Sorry, I suppose I could have just called, but—"
"No, no, I wanted to see you," she assured him, sliding down to sit on the floor outside the door of the boys' flat. Inside, the music was still a touch too loud, though she doubted anyone would complain. New Year's Eve wasn't exactly the time to go to bed early, and she doubted many people were even home. "So, how's Nairobi?"
"Well, I'm afraid I haven't seen much outside of state dinners," Draco lamented wryly, "but I suppose I've enjoyed myself as much as can be expected, given the circumstances. My grandfather's asked me to give a speech condemning illegal wildlife trade at an event tomorrow evening," he explained, "so I've been a bit preoccupied."
"You'll be great," Hermione assured him. "You're great at public speaking. Need my help with anything?"
"Yes, actually, if you don't mind," Draco said, looking relieved, or so she suspected, though it was difficult to tell with the way the video kept freezing. "Could I send the speech to you for a last minute preposition massacre? Someone else will read it, I'm sure, but I'd feel better if it had the approval of someone actually qualified," he joked, "unlike these talentless hacks who work for me."
"Ah yes, me and my numerous qualifications," Hermione facetiously agreed, though she was quietly very pleased he had asked. "Send it to me. Want to practice?"
"Maybe later," Draco said, his smile temporarily filling her screen before abruptly flickering out and back in. "For now, though, I just want to see you. Wish I could be there."
"Me, too," Hermione sighed, resting the back of her head against the door. "Christmas was hard enough. It's about time you came home."
Facetime was nice from time to time, but physical presence was fairly irreplaceable. She hadn't seen him in about three weeks, having been at home for the holidays and returning just after he was called away to Kenya with his father, and while it had been nice to spend time with her family, she was missing Draco terribly. He seemed to feel the same way, if the hazy image of him on her phone was any indication (that, or the volume of dirty text messages she'd gotten recently, though his particular version of filth was usually nothing racier than a wink emoticon every now and then).
He smiled again. "I'll be home in a couple of days. Tuesday, I promise."
"Tuesday," she exhaled. She could wait until Tuesday. "Not a moment later, okay?"
"You have my word, Miss Granger. I won't keep you from the party," he assured her, "as I wouldn't want Blaise to take too many points, but I just wanted to tell you I love you, and that I can't wait to spend this year with you."
She bit down on a smile, opting to admonish him first. "I haven't promised anything yet, Draco. I don't know if I'll be able to find a job here, remember?"
"Right, right," he permitted, half-laughing. "It'd be far easier if you'd simply let me help you, you know. I'm something of a useful connection," he offered. "My grandfather knows a guy."
She launched into a familiar refrain of, "I don't need—"
"—my help, I know, I know." His smile broadened. "Still. We'll make it work somehow, won't we? If you do go back to California, I'll simply… I don't know. Perhaps start a war of some sort?" he mused thoughtfully. "Do we suspect that would require some visits to the consulate?"
"Yes, that would do it," she agreed. "You could try to annex California?"
"I do regret never having owned it," Draco sighed, and Hermione laughed just as the door opened behind her, sending her careening backwards.
"NEW TRACEY," came Blaise's voice from somewhere above her head. "DID YOU FETCH THE ICE?"
"Blaise," she said, lifting a hand. "I'm down here."
He glanced down, unimpressed.
"Do you not have any ice?" he barked. "Minus five!"
"I wasn't sent to get any ice," she informed him, sitting upright.
"Oh," he said, puzzled. "THEN WHY AM I HERE?" he demanded of the empty air, disappearing again as the door shut behind her and she struggled to rise, one-handed, to her feet.
"Well, you heard him," Hermione told the still-fuzzy image of Draco. "I'm off to fetch some ice."
"He'll forget, I'm sure," Draco said, shrugging. "He probably went back inside and immediately decided to teach Theo to rumba again. He tries every year, but Theo's about as coordinated as he is, I don't know. Stocky."
That sounded about right. They shared a conspiratorial nod of agreement.
"Will you be up at midnight?" she asked him hopefully. "I could text you. Seems strange not to. What's the time difference between here and there?"
"Doesn't matter," he assured her. "I'll stay up."
"You don't have t-"
"What?" he asked, frowning at the screen. "You're cutting out."
Technology, Hermione inwardly sighed. They'd been to the moon, hadn't they? Seemed like in comparison, inventing a better way for her to tell her boyfriend she missed him should be child's play.
"I love you," she said. "Did you hear that?"
"What?" he asked.
"I said I love y-"
"Hermione? Can you still see me?"
"I LOVE YOU," she shouted at her screen, frustrated, and he laughed.
"I know," he said smugly. "Just wanted to hear you say it again."
"You're the worst," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Come home soon."
"Yes, dear," he told her. "Straight away, right after this speech. Which, by the way, I will send you in the morning, should you have the time or will or requisite sobriety to cast a glance."
She doubted it would require much editing. He was typically fastidious about his grammar, and besides, he knew she'd look it over as equally as she knew he'd stay up for her text.
"I look forward to it," she assured him. "Love you. Happy New Year, Your Highness."
"Happy New Year, Miss Granger," he replied, a smile tugging at his lips again. "I love you. Say hello to everyone."
She nodded, blew him an air kiss, and then let the video cut out, her battery drained to pretty much nothing by the spectacularly shoddy 3G performance. She grimaced and crossed the hall to her own flat, about to temporarily plug her phone back in before pausing at the sound of voices coming from the other room.
"—just saying, if you have feelings for him, Daphne—"
"He's my friend, Roger, and he's in a relationship with someone else. Frankly, I'm getting very tired of having the same argument."
"Daphne, you can't honestly think I believe—"
"What? Me? You don't believe me? Fine, then leave, Roger. Nobody's forcing you to stay."
Hermione winced, a little trapped between coming and going as the argument continued.
"I keep telling you, I love you, I want this to work, but—"
"Oh, spare me. You love me? Then believe me. There's nothing going on with me and Theo, and you can either come with me to the party with my friends or you can go home. Up to you."
There was a moment of tensed silence, and then Roger's voice had softened slightly. "Can't you just be with me tonight, for once? Is that really asking too much?"
Hermione, who had opted to simply freeze in the middle of the living room, was a bit torn. On the one hand, as someone separated from her boyfriend, she could certainly understand his request to spend the evening alone together. But then again, as a person who had never exactly warmed to Roger, she found herself immediately discounting the previous hand.
"They're my friends. And it's Blaise's party."
"It's in Theo's flat."
Daphne groaned. "They share it, Roger—"
"Why is it so important to you that you always be there?"
"I can't do this again, honestly, it's exhausting—"
"Daphne, wait—"
Hermione, who was very quickly about to be discovered, very cleverly (and with enormous panic) darted back to the front door and slammed it shut, announcing her presence just as Daphne marched into the living room with Roger at her heels.
"Oh, hello, Hermione," Daphne said coolly, smiling at her as Roger stumbled to a halt at her back. "I'm just going back across the hall. Are you coming?" she asked over her shoulder, and Roger blinked for a moment, obviously quite torn.
"Yes," he said uncertainly.
"Good," Daphne said, voice clipped as she turned back to Hermione. "See you there?"
"Yes, of course," Hermione said hastily. "Just, um. Plugging my phone in and grabbing some… ice."
"Oh yes, Blaise sent me to get ice," Daphne said. "Naturally I assumed what he meant was more alcohol."
In retrospect, that was probably precisely what he meant.
"Good thinking," Hermione agreed, and then, feeling awkward, she added, "Well, see you in a couple of minutes!" with an absurd amount of enthusiasm and hurried into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her only to find Pansy sprawled across her bed. "Jesus Christ, what the—"
"It's just me, Hermione," Pansy sniffed, sitting majestically upright. "There's no need for blasphemy."
"What are you doing in here?" Hermione demanded. "Were you trying to get rid of my yoga pants again? Because I keep telling you, one hole is perfectly fine if I wear them in my own house—"
"I'm escaping my boyfriend," Pansy said.
"—and furtherm- wait, what?" Hermione said, stumbling to a flustered halt. "But… this is my room, and also," she said, glancing around with confusion, "what?"
"Well, I was going to my own room, naturally, but then Romeo and Juliet over there were having a row, so I wandered in here," Pansy summarized with a fleeting wave of her hand, "and now you've arrived, so that should catch you up." She rose to her feet, dusting invisible specks of Hermione-infested lint from her dress. "Anyway, if that's all—"
"Why are you avoiding Neville?" Hermione demanded.
"I'm not," Pansy said neutrally. "I'm escaping him, Hermione, honestly, you really must learn to listen more closely—"
"But why are you—"
"Well, he's just so very…" Pansy trailed off, making an evasive face which lacked any conceivable translation. "Isn't he?"
"Uh," Hermione said.
"Yes," Pansy said, "I agree. Anyway, I'll see you shortly."
"Pans," Hermione sighed. "If you want to talk about i-"
But Pansy had already gone, sashaying out of the room without a second glance, and Hermione, realizing she was talking to herself, merely plugged her phone in and paused to check a notification in her inbox.
HERMIONE,
PAPER WAS ACCEPTED! EXCELLENT NEWS ALTHOUGH PERSONALLY WAS MORE THAN CONFIDENT THIS WOULD BE THE CASE. WILL PUBLISH LATE AUTUMN, WHICH MY CLOSE FRIEND AND INTERNATIONALLY ACCLAIMED AUTHOR GILDEROY LOCKHART (HAVE YOU HEARD OF HIM? SURELY YOU HAVE AS HE IS A BESTSELLER THRICE OVER. YOU SHOULD REALLY CONSIDER HIS BOOKS IF YOU HAVE NOT, THOUGH CANDIDLY BETWEEN US IT MAY BE WORTH NOTING HIS PRIMARY SOURCE OF INSPIRATION IS HIMSELF) HAS ASSURED ME IS A PRIME PERIOD FOR PUBLICATION.
AM TREMENDOUSLY PLEASED OUR FINE WORK HAS AT LONG LAST BEEN ACKNOWLEDGED. HEARTY SALUTATIONS! PS HOW DO I ADD THIS TO MY LIST OF HONOURS ON THE INTERNET WEBSITE? ON SECOND THOUGHT YOU ARE WELCOME TO CHANGE IT YOURSELF ON MONDAY, I AM QUITE CERTAIN YOU PREFER TO TAKE CARE OF THINGS YOURSELF. CHEERS!
Hermione shook her head, setting her phone down. That could wait. Instead, she hurried over to the boys' flat just in time for the Ignition remix, everyone appearing perfectly normal (or what was normal for them, wild dance moves included) by the time she made her way back.
Draco's return to school (precisely when promised) and the start of term at Hogwarts meant that for a time, Hermione's primary form of entertainment was their usual Friday night study periods, which remained relatively uninterrupted until Theo's birthday. Fleur had planned a surprise party, much to their dismay, which nobody was quite willing to inform her would almost certainly make Theo's very bones attempt to escape from his limbs. Draco had been unanimously nominated by the others to warn her, at least, that she should not invite anyone outside of their usual group (she had almost invited Michael Corner, which they all shuddered to consider, and Tracey Davis, whom Fleur had not quite sorted out was merely a name Blaise continued to call Hermione and not an invisible person in their group) and while they were all quietly certain Theo would be immensely displeased she had even discovered the date of his birthday (she had apparently glimpsed and/or temporarily stolen his passport for purposes of uncovering it), they dutifully gathered at her request and hid cordially behind the sofa.
"He's going to kill us," Blaise whisper-shouted from behind one of the decorative chairs Pansy had insisted they needed to improve the habitability of their living room. "We're all going to die."
"Why are we doing this, then?" Neville asked, frowning. "Surely Fleur would have underst-"
"Hush," Pansy said in a tone that was slightly firmer than suggestion, opting to punctuate the statement with a careless pat of his knee.
"She just doesn't quite grasp yet that he doesn't enjoy things like this," Daphne remarked in a noticeably colorless tone to Neville. Roger, it seemed, had not received an invitation to this particular event; Hermione suspected he had not been informed it was happening. "Understandable, I think. I imagine it's quite foreign to her that someone wouldn't wish to be the center of attention," Daphne added innocently, straightening her party hat and taking a sip of wine.
Hermione and Draco exchanged a glance, communicating their various reads on what, exactly, had just been said, only to be interrupted by the sound of the door opening. They leapt to their feet, shouting, "SURPRISE," and immediately regretting it upon discovering it was merely Harry stood in the doorway, shaking his head in apparent startlement.
"Just me," he said, and then added, "Theo's going to kill us, you know."
"We know," Blaise assured him cheerfully. His party hat was intentionally crooked, Hermione suspected. "Ten points gone for lack of punctuality, Henry."
"Eight?" Harry suggested.
"Twelve," Blaise said.
"Mm. Five," Harry said.
"Ballsy," Blaise proclaimed. "Five it is, for pure cheek."
"Sit down," Pansy sighed, tugging Blaise's sleeve back down behind the chair and giving Harry an impatient look. "Just come inside, would you?"
"You know, I'm surprised you're going along with this, Pans," Harry pointed out, wandering into the room without any particular sense of haste. "I should think you of all people would be opposed to this sort of spectac-"
"Henry, be seated immediately," Pansy said.
"As you wish, my queen," Harry replied, swooping by to kiss her artlessly on the forehead and nodding to Neville before ducking behind the sofa, positioning himself in the cramped space presently occupied by Hermione, Daphne, and Draco. In place of his usual hint of jasmine, Hermione caught the wafting scent of something far more floral, though she couldn't quite place it.
"You smell like perfume," Daphne noted, successfully reading Hermione's mind and sniffing the air around Harry.
"Do I?" Harry said innocently. "Seems unlikely."
"Does it?" Daphne countered, skeptical.
"I suppose it's a mystery," Harry replied, reaching for her glass as she generously conceded to hand it to him, rolling her eyes.
"Okay, I hear footsteps," Blaise announced. "EVERYONE BE SILENT IMMEDIATELY."
"Excellent work, Blaise," Draco said.
"Thank you, Your Highness," Blaise sniffed, all of them falling to actual silence just as muffled voices came from the other side of the door.
"—was just a comment, Fleur, I wasn't fixating—"
"Let's not talk about it, okay? I shouldn't have said anything. It was just an observation, that's all."
"Yes, but you did say something, and now I'm simply defending it. It's not that I don't like him—well, that's not true, I loathe him, what's not to loathe—but I was simply suggesting he doesn't seem to know her at all, which is hardly anything to be upset about—"
"Theo, we can continue this later, can't we?"
Again, Draco and Hermione exchanged a glance.
"Here," Harry whispered to Daphne, handing her the drink back.
"Thank you," she managed, clearing her throat delicately and taking something more akin to a gulp than a sip.
"Theo," Fleur's voice sighed, "has it perhaps never occurred to you that people who are not privileged enough to occupy a place in your little friend group may not know every intimate detail of your lives? They're getting to know each other, that's all."
"Still, it seems somewhat fundamental, doesn't it? It's been months, anyway, and he should know by now doting on her isn't the same as understanding her. It's the opposite, in fact, given how she is, and—what?" he asked, sounding concerned. "What is it?"
"Nothing." Fleur's voice was agitated. "I just don't want to talk about this anymore."
"Why? I didn't mean to upset you, it's just—"
"It's nothing, Theo, truly. Can we just go inside?"
"Why," Theo's voice laughed. "You haven't planned me some sort of heinous surprise party, have you?"
Silence.
"Oh," said Theo.
"You hate it," Fleur noted dully.
"You should have told her," Hermione whispered fretfully to Draco, who grimaced in reply. She assumed the idea of doing so had gone against his entire princely code of ethics.
"Of course not," Theo lied quickly, his voice a too-bright falsetto. "It's so thoughtful, Fleur, thank you—"
"Let's just go inside," Fleur said. "I'm sorry."
"Fleur, no, stop, I'm sorry—"
"What if we just stay here?" Harry suggested. "I mean, we're all very comfortably hidden."
"Always an option," said a muffled Neville, whose too-long legs were folded awkwardly against his chest.
From the other side of the door there was a pause and a flicker of shadows which suggested Fleur and Theo had kissed or embraced.
"It's fine," Theo said soothingly to Fleur, and beside Hermione, Daphne drained her glass. "This is just a story to that will be funny at some unidentifiable time in the future. You know, like… hey, remember that time Fleur threw a surprise party and everyone listened to our conversation through the door?"
"What?" Fleur said, alarmed.
"They're definitely listening through the door," Theo assured her. "They're nosy little monsters and they're beyond help."
"Ten points to Nott for accuracy," Blaise noted sagely.
"Five," Harry suggested.
"Twenty," Blaise argued.
"Four," Harry said, unfazed.
"Mm, compelling option," Blaise mused. "Four it is."
Harry winked at Hermione, who rolled her eyes precisely as the front door opened. They all struggled to their feet, not quite managing to say anything coherent this time except for Neville, who boomed out a "SURPRISE!" so violent it must have come from a place of pure and unfiltered discomfort.
"You're all terrible," Theo said, wandering inside with his arm around a weakly smiling Fleur. "Thank you," he said to her, brushing a kiss against her cheek. "This was very thoughtful, and also, all of my friends are going to die tonight."
"It was fun while it lasted," Pansy remarked, wandering to the kitchen to refill her glass as Fleur followed her, leaving Theo to turn towards Daphne.
"Oh look, canapés," Hermione said loudly, hurriedly angling a confused Draco away as Daphne took a step in Theo's direction.
"Greengrass," Theo ventured tentatively. "I don't suppose you, um—"
"Heard absolutely everything? Only a little," Daphne replied. "It's fine, I get it. Everyone hates Roger. It'd almost be a joke by now, I suspect," she added wryly, "if it were a little more funny."
Theo forced a laugh, which quickly died to nothing. Blaise had stolen Pansy's party hat and was in the process of coaxing his way into thieving Neville's, which Hermione was glad to see kept them all distracted enough from the opposite side of the room.
"He's not good enough for you," Theo said softly.
Hermione blinked, uncertain whether to let things continue.
"I had good," Daphne replied. "I broke it."
At that point, Hermione—who knew Daphne well enough to know she desperately needed to be cut off—nudged Draco sharply in the ribs. "SHOULD WE PLAY A GAME?" she asked too loudly, and to her relief, he caught on quickly, glancing momentarily at where Theo and Daphne were talking before rushing to put his faultless political instincts to use.
"Yes, a game, what a marvelous idea—we had a schedule of some sort, didn't we?" he called to Fleur, who shrugged, apparently having lost interest. He hurried to pull out his phone, muttering to himself, "Right, um… oh." His face paled, and then he forced one of his polite company smiles. "Well, let's see who knows the birthday boy the best, shall we?" Draco said, obscuring the tension in his hands with a familiar look of everything's fine, nothing to see here. "Blaise can moderate."
"Yes," Blaise said firmly. He wore two hats on his head by then, and a third was fastened to his chin in something of a conical beard. "Sustained."
"Will the game at least be in English so the rest of us have a chance?" Harry drawled to Draco, handing him a drink, "or will it be in whatever twin language you two speak?"
From Draco, loftily: "It could be in Portuguese, Henry, and I'd still win."
From Harry: "That's because you speak conversational Portuguese."
Draco, after a beat: "In my defense, I did not know you were aware of that."
Harry, with smug satisfaction: "Well, I for one can't wait for your birthday."
From Hermione, hopefully: "For the record, I was thinking more like Twister, or—?"
From Blaise, boisterously: "One hundred points to whoever wins!"
Hermione, hastily: "Yes, okay, this game sounds perfectly fine—"
From Pansy, coolly: "You forget, Draco, I've witnessed quite a lot of Theo's life. I was going to take all the secrets I've kept to the grave, but a lighthearted party game sounds like a perfectly fine alternative."
Draco, with a grin: "I'll take that bet. Hermione, you in?"
Hermione, sighing in concession as Draco pulled her into his lap: "Sure, why not. I do happen to know a lot of his views on Shakespeare."
From Blaise, approvingly: "That's an entire round. You have a definite advantage."
Harry, with a scoff: "Please. As if we haven't all discussed him at length with Theodore."
Theo, beckoning Fleur towards him: "I simply think he's misunderstood. The man was an expert at dick jokes and yet that's only ever a footnote in discussion. Do you think he enjoys his puns being overlooked in favor of a simple reflexive 'to be or not to be?' I have my doubts."
Fleur, slipping an arm around Theo's waist: "On second thought, perhaps I should sit this one out. Better I learn from the historians, I suspect."
Pansy: "We're really more like unwilling participants."
Harry: "I'd say a captive audience, actually."
Pansy, taking a disinterested sip: "We're very much trapped against our will, yes, is the point."
Neville: "Well, I'm obviously very much out, so that's… what, just Daphne left?"
They all swiveled expectantly to her, minus Pansy, whom Hermione would have sworn muttered something unintelligible (but almost certainly derisive) about Neville under her breath.
"Me?" Daphne replied with a delicate laugh. "I've only just met him, comparatively speaking. You've all known him far longer. Minus you," she said with a glance at Hermione, "but you have a massive point deficit, so you should really take every opportunity you get."
From Hermione, with palpable relief: "I hate you and I accept."
From Draco: "Doesn't matter. I'm going to win."
Hermione, feigning dismay: "What about me?"
Draco, pointedly removing her from his lap and setting her down on the table beside him: "I love you, Hermione, but there are points on the line. This is not a team sport."
From Theo, with a chuckle: "Ever the chivalrous prince."
In the end, Draco beat Pansy in a sudden death round, the final question being, "What is Theo's opinion on global warming?" with the answer—in a surprising outburst from Draco—"HUMANITY IS A FEVER AND SHE'S SWEATING US OUT," which was then followed by a raucous shout from Pansy that the entire game had been rigged.
By then, everyone was back to normal, Fleur once again laughing beside Theo, and Pansy softening enough to pass Neville a few nearly-fond glances. Blaise had accumulated party hats from everyone in the room, and though Daphne had spent some time distracted with her phone (texting an absent Roger, as Hermione initially assumed), as far as Hermione could tell all was perfectly well.
It was only later that Hermione noticed Daphne had been compulsively texting her the correct answers to every question, including an answer that had nearly tripped Draco up: What is Theo's favorite dessert?
"Trick question," Draco had said instantly. "He doesn't like desserts."
"I like some desserts," Theo demurred before pursing his lips in warning at Harry, who had no doubt been about to imply something inelegantly Shakespearean (in that it would have been, as Theo preferred it be known, made in accordance with the Bard's great tendency for bawdiness).
"Well, he doesn't like chocolate," Draco said in rapid calculation, ever the serious competitor. "So, I don't know. Maybe carrot cake?"
"Correct," said Blaise, though no one had been very quick to move on from that unbelievably unlikely answer.
"You don't like chocolate?" Fleur said, turning to Theo with mild horror. "Seriously?"
"Carrot cake is fine, but still," Hermione said with a shudder. "That can't honestly be your favorite—"
"I had a chocolate cupcake once I rather liked," Theo contributed neutrally, which had been precisely Daphne's answer: He doesn't like desserts, but he prefers carrot cake to chocolate. Minus one specific chocolate cupcake.
"These two," Hermione sighed later, letting the phone fall against her chest as Draco settled into bed beside her. "They're positively killing me."
"Well, not everyone can have a straightforward relationship like ours," Draco joked. "You know, boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, girl is technically ineligible to be boy's official consort and refuses to let boy help her find a job… It's a tale as old as time."
Hermione rolled over to face him, shaking her head.
"I'll find something," she promised him, brushing her fingers over his mouth as he kissed the tips of her fingers. "It's just hard, you know. I know I have to get a visa, but I don't really know what I want to do, and…" She shrugged, tapering off. He'd heard enough of her I Don't Currently Have A Dream speech by then. "But I'll look, I promise. I'll find something. I want to stay here." At his mutedly arched brow, she sighed. "Really, I do! But I want to do it on my own," she said firmly. "Without your help."
"You do realize everyone takes advantage of their connections," he reminded her. "And it's not like I'd bribe someone, Hermione. I'd simply make a few call, see if there's anything interest-"
"Just let me do this," Hermione cut in gently. "Okay? Let me… make a choice. For my own life."
He heard the underlying request and nodded.
"I promise," he agreed, "I will not lift a finger to help you."
She smiled, more than pleased.
"Good," she said, and kissed him. "That's all I needed to hear."
"Alright," Pansy said firmly, "it's been two months. We need to talk about your future."
February had passed without much ado. Draco was gone a few times, but nothing was terribly out of the ordinary. The only possible distinction was that in his absences, he seemed to be even more present in media than he was before; she didn't quite know how to explain it, but coverage about his appearances seemed… different.
"Mom, I'm fine," Hermione replied, shaking her head. "And also, in case it escaped your attention, we're at a party."
Harry had brought along two of the people he knew from Army service, which was interesting, particularly as they both knew (and were apparently quite good friends with) Neville, who miraculously managed to relax to a less neurotic version of himself in their presence. One was Seamus, an extremely Irish person who spoke rapidly and without much coherence, and who also had the kind of superficially muscled look suggesting his primary skills were arson and shirtlessness. The other was Ron, a flamingly red-headed person who made a lot of snappy quips, which Hermione appreciated. It was Ron's birthday, and for whatever reason, Harry had convinced him what he desperately needed was a trip to the Hog's Head, which continued to be the best and worst bar Hermione had ever been to. Somewhere overhead, the old speakers seemed to be alternating between Cher Lloyd and One Direction, neither of which was particularly welcome for anyone who wasn't Seamus, who seemed to know all the words, or Blaise, who always scraped together an enviable rhythm for any given song like it was part of some sort of Bacchanalian revel.
"Hilarious," Pansy drawled, unfazed. "Listen, we both know you're going to stay, so you need to start looking for something." She took a sip from her glass of wine, watching Neville and Ron do a similar head-bobbing dance move across the room. "Neville's grandmother is highly connected. He was just telling me her friend is looking for someone to work at an arts non-profit she's starting."
"I'm not especially into art," Hermione reminded her. "I'd rather write, or, I don't know. Just—something," she sighed, though she had no actual concept of what that 'something' would be. The problem with being good at school, she reasoned internally, was that things which were not school seemed positively daunting. She still had the option of law school, but had lost interest in the idea after spending so much time knee-deep in literature. Perhaps she'd never really been married to it; back home, everyone always told a smart girl to be a lawyer whether she possessed the requisite skills or not, but here, Hermione was surrounded by smart girls who considered the prospect of lawyering to be positively banal.
"Anyway," Hermione continued, "until I decide what I actually want to do, I don't want to just pick anything. I'd take a gap year, but of course I wouldn't be able to afford it," she said with a sigh, "and I certainly wouldn't be able to stay in the country, so—"
"Chances are, Hermione, you won't be able to do anything you choose for yourself," Pansy told her, adding a shrewdly discerning glance. "Whatever job you take, it will have to be something approved—the arts are uncontroversial, for the most part. Charities. Anything with children, actually. People seem to unanimously support those, don't they? Society is rather unnaturally fond of children," she mused very seriously to herself, which made it immensely difficult for Hermione not to gawk at her.
"Why?" fell out of Hermione's mouth with something slightly too-squeaky, and Pansy passed her another impatient look.
"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "I've never personally seen the appeal of motherhood, but that certainly doesn't make it invalid—"
"No, not why do people like children," Hermione cut in, exasperated. "Why does my job matter?"
"You know why," Pansy said simply. "Whatever it is you end up doing, it will reflect on the royal family."
"But nobody knows about me," Hermione argued, and Pansy rolled her eyes.
"Just because I've forbidden you from reading that dreadful Inquisitorial Squad heap of rubbish doesn't mean it doesn't still exist," Pansy reminded her. "You never do anything interesting—obviously," she added, casting a slow, disapproving gaze over Hermione's apparently criminally boring outfit, "so naturally they've grown tired of you, but once you're out in the world, that will no longer be the case."
"But—"
"They caught on quickly once," Pansy pointed out. "Just how long do you think you can date a prince before people begin to notice?"
Hermione hesitated. "Okay, say you're right. Even though you're not," she added quickly.
"I am, but continue," Pansy replied.
"Even if you're right—"
"Which I am."
"—I don't want my job to just," Hermione began, and grimaced. "You know. Be handed to me."
"Of course not," Pansy agreed. "You'll need to put in some effort. Like, for example, contacting Neville's grandmother's friend," she repeated firmly, "who is a connection of mine, not Draco's, which you should consider a distinction, should you ever decide to possess any sense. Neville's quite useful, you know, if not a bit…" She pursed her lips, glancing over at him. "Well, you know. Soft, I suppose."
"Pans," Hermione said, aghast, and she sighed impatiently.
"He's fine," Pansy told Hermione. "He's perfectly bearable."
"Are you kidding me? 'He's fine,' that's it?" Hermione demanded, dismayed. "I thought things were getting serious between you."
"Mm, yes, they are," Pansy agreed, sipping from her glass. "He told me he loved me last night, in fact."
"But—" Hermione stopped, losing track of her argument and faltering. "What did you say?"
"I told him to put his head back between my legs," Pansy said without any change in tone, "and put that mouth of his to use."
Hermione gaped at her, and in response, Pansy fixed her with a half-mocking, half-laughing glance. "I'm joking," Pansy sighed, bristling. "I said it back, of course. No point in doing otherwise, is there? Though I will say he waited a rather long time to say it."
It struck Hermione as completely incomprehensible that Pansy could be saying the words she was saying in the tone of voice she was saying them. Despite having known each other nearly two years by then, Hermione still couldn't quite imagine how Lady Pansy Parkinson Six-Names could possibly be a real human person.
"Pansy," Hermione said, her voice carefully strained. "Would you appreciate it if I were to try being honest with you?"
Pansy considered it a moment, drumming her nails against the table. "No."
Hermione bit back a groan of frustration. "Okay, but—"
"Hermione, you're a very romantic person," Pansy said, "which is perfectly tiresome, but also incredibly inconvenient. In the real world, people can't simply run around chasing whatever it is you seem to think is necessary for a relationship."
"What," Hermione scoffed, "like actually liking the person you're dating? Is that where the bar's been set too high?"
"I like Neville just fine," Pansy said. "He's completely tolerable."
"Pans, that's—"
"What are you two talking about?" Daphne said, falling into the seat beside Hermione. She'd been out to dinner with Roger, which was apparently a thing that was still happening. Across the room, Harry waved to her, and she waved back, settling into her chair. "Who are these boys with our Prince Harry?" she asked, leaning in to murmur to Hermione, who was immediately cut off (naturally) by Pansy.
"Available," Pansy said firmly, "and either one of them would be an improvement upon your current love interest. Except for the Irish one," she amended, and then frowned. "Actually, I'm not overly impressed with the weasel one, either. Nevermind," she announced, shaking her head, "statement entirely retracted, carry on."
"Thanks, Pans," Daphne said drily. "I said who are they, not what, and for the record, Roger could certainly be worse."
"Oh good," Hermione said, throwing her hands in the air. "So your boyfriend is perfectly fine," she said to Pansy, "and yours could be worse," she concluded to Daphne, giving them both disapproving glances.
Daphne and Pansy exchanged a look, then turned back to Hermione.
"Yes, and…?" Pansy prompted expectantly.
"Precisely what I was going to say," Daphne agreed. "Some of us have to settle for 'fine' and 'could be worse,' Hermione, since we can't all have devoted royal princes."
"It's hardly that simple. I've got stuff, too," Hermione insisted, though the other two looked doubtful. "You know, like how I'm a secret and all that? And apparently I can't have a controversial job, either," she added with a pointed glance at Pansy, who shrugged to Daphne, who looked fully unsurprised.
"Well, fine," Daphne managed, reassuringly patting Hermione's shoulder. "You certainly have… stuff."
"Thank you," Hermione said graciously, "but my point is relationships certainly aren't easy, but you can't just give up. Why exactly are you still with Roger?"
"Because he's absolutely spectacular in bed," Daphne said, to which Pansy offered a solemn toast.
"Is it that," Hermione attempted gently, "or is it, I don't know—that you're afraid to be alone?"
"It's his penis, Hermione," Daphne said. "Really, there's very little beyond that."
"Well—" Hermione groaned, turning to Pansy. "What about you? Is it just that Neville is the right sort of person?"
"He has other talents," Pansy said evasively.
"Ah," Daphne said. "That big?"
"I would never reveal something so blatantly uncouth," Pansy said.
"So… yes?" Daphne asked her.
"I certainly didn't say no," Pansy replied, scoffing into her now-empty glass and then signaling across the room to Neville, who hastily scurried over to the bar. "In any case, Hermione, you must desist with your nonsensical concepts about what's necessary in a relationship. What exactly do you expect us to have? Me, not you," she corrected in an aside to Daphne, who rolled her eyes. "Your choices may be characteristically terrible, but mine are, as ever, perfectly fine."
"I want you to be in love," Hermione wailed to them both, resting her elbows on the table mid-lament. "Is that so much to ask?"
"Love is hugely impractical, so yes, definitely too much," Pansy sniffed. "Do you know how many marriages fail?"
"Yes, and besides that, it's fragile, too," Daphne agreed. "There's always that fear of…" She waved a hand carelessly. "You know."
"Pain?" Hermione guessed.
"Sure," Daphne permitted, making a face of total disapproval. "That."
"What are you lot talking about?" Harry asked them, bounding over to set a glass down in front of Daphne. "Our dance moves, I imagine."
From Daphne, who coolly picked up her drink: "Actually, we're discussing love and sex. What would you rather have, Harry?"
From Harry, wisely: "Ah, come back to me. I sense an incorrect answer embedded in this highly loaded question and I don't know yet which one it is."
From Pansy, pursing her lips: "It's not loaded. It's simply a question. If you can only have one or the other, which do you choose?"
From Hermione, surprising no one: "I say love, of course."
Harry, with a laugh: "Well, you would, wouldn't you?"
Hermione, frowning: "What's that supposed to mean?"
Pansy: "That it's easy to choose love when love is good, isn't it? But how often is love actually good?"
Harry, shrugging: "Can't honestly think of any examples."
Daphne: "Nor can I."
Hermione, with a groan: "You're all depressing me. Someone get me another drink."
Harry, shouting to Ron: "OI, A DRINK."
Ron, shouting back to Harry: "What kind?"
Harry, still shouting: "SOMETHING IMBUED WITH OPTIMISM."
Ron, with potent bemusement: "What, like a Cosmopolitan?"
Blaise, appearing directly behind Hermione and startling her: "Don't be ridiculous. If any form of alcohol is optimistic, it is clearly tequila."
Neville, setting a new glass of wine in front of Pansy: "True. Nothing says 'I've forgotten all the pain you've caused me in the past and I surely will again' like tequila."
Hermione, with sly opportunism: "What about you, Neville? If you could only choose one, would it be love or sex?"
Neville, with a tentative glance at Pansy: "This seems like a trick question."
Blaise, with his usual boisterousness: "I say love."
Daphne, Pansy, and Harry, all with palpable surprise: "Do you?"
Ron, from across the room: "Did we settle on a drink order?"
Harry, shouting back: "RON, PLEASE. WE'RE ABOUT TO HAVE A REVELATION."
Blaise, draping himself across Pansy's lap: "Of course I say love. Love is a wonderful thing. Companionship is highly underrated."
Pansy, drily: "I find this very surprising for someone who regularly chooses sex."
Blaise, sagely: "Well, sex is rather easy, isn't it? Whereas a proper connection with another human person is vastly more difficult to find."
Hermione, slightly in awe: "Blaise, that's… that's perfect, yes, I completely agr-"
Blaise: "That's assuming love is real, of course, which I highly doubt."
Hermione, with a sigh: "—ah, rats. So close."
Harry, with a chuckle: "Oh, I think it's real. It's simply uninterested in us."
Neville, thoughtfully: "I don't think so. It's just rather hard to find, isn't it? But it's there, I imagine."
Pansy: a silently furrowed brow, as if she wasn't quite sure what to make of this.
Daphne, sipping her drink: "Oh, love is real, definitely. It's just mostly a cosmic joke told by a vengeful deity, isn't it? Or misplaced hormones. Biology or something, to encourage us to procreate."
Hermione, with a mournful sigh: "You're all terribly depressing."
Ron, calling out to them: "Hello? Alcohol?"
Harry, shouting back: "YES, PLEASE, WE NEED SOME."
Neville, after a long pause: "Well, for the record, I also think I would choose love. I think love is quite important, isn't it? The sensation of sex can be… well, replicated—"
Harry: "Technically not to the same degree of satisfaction, but I will submit to some suspension of disbelief. Carry on."
Neville, rightfully carrying on: "—whereas love can only be approximated quite poorly. Thus, I imagine love would have to be the choice."
He paused, glancing down at Pansy. "Don't you think?" he asked her quietly, and for a moment, Pansy stared at him, seeing him in a slightly different light for what appeared to be the first time (owing perhaps in part to her view being obstructed by a still-perching Blaise).
"Yes," she said uncertainly. "Yes, I suppose that's true."
She carefully stretched the hand out towards him which was not already obscured by Blaise and Neville took her fingers lightly, twining his with hers.
"Oh, by the way," Neville recalled with an unsubtle lack of transition, turning pointedly to Hermione, "would you have any interest in meeting a friend of my gran's? She's looking for someone to start working on a new passion project of hers and I thought perhaps you might like it."
"Did you?" Hermione prompted drily. "Or did Pansy put you up to it?"
Neville hesitated, glancing at an apathetic Pansy. "Do I have to answer that?"
"You are, in general, never required to acknowledge Hermione in any way," Pansy assured him loftily. "If you find her tiresome, we can always have her deported."
"Oh," Neville said uncertainly, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Sure," she said to Neville. "I'll meet her. Can't hurt, right?"
"Certainly not," Pansy agreed, just as Ron arrived with a pint of beer in each hand.
"Here," he said, slamming them down on the table. "Is this optimistic enough?"
"You certainly are if you thought this would be in any way satisfactory," Pansy told him, and he glared at her.
"I think it's nice everybody gets along so well," Harry declared, patting the top of Pansy's head in a way that suggested the contact was not entirely gentle. "Positively heartwarming. We've already got plenty of love here, haven't we?"
"It's either that or some sort of symbiotic relationship," Daphne said.
"Eh, potato, potato," Harry said, and then they all glanced up to watch Seamus (predictably) remove his shirt, collectively languishing in the follies of their mildly parasitic youths.
"I'm on my way," Hermione said breathlessly to Daphne. "Is Draco there yet?"
"Was His Royal Highness punctual? Yes, Hermione," Daphne replied with an audible roll of her eyes. "One of the few incontrovertible truths in life."
"Oh, good," Hermione replied, hurrying through the bustling crowd of Diagon Alley. "I'll be right there, I just have to, um…" She removed the phone from her ear to glance down at the map on her screen, attempting to zoom in closer. "I think it's… a left?"
"Get a taxi," Daphne told her. "We're all dying to hear how it went."
A little mutter of "Is that Hermione?" was audible in the background, and then there was a brief rustle as the phone was passed from hand to hand.
"How was it?" Draco asked, and before Hermione answered, she paused, having not quite processed it entirely.
"It was… good," she said, which was not at all an accurate statement, though not entirely false.
In reality, her meeting with Neville's grandmother's friend—a stunningly poised woman called Minerva who, once a profitable CEO, was now investing in an arts initiative encouraging community participation in public spaces of London—had been interesting in ways Hermione had found entirely expected. Minerva McGonagall was a no-nonsense, not particularly warm person with a fascinating mind, and while Hermione was uncertain whether Minerva had liked or disliked her (or perhaps felt nothing, as seemed to be a very British way to go about things), she had come away knowing only that she was deeply invested in one day finding out.
"I think the project is interesting," Hermione admitted slowly. "The job may not be, but all entry level jobs are mostly administrative, I suppose."
"That's true," Draco said spiritedly. She suspected he was grateful she'd entertained the thought of an interview at all. While Daphne and Pansy were not required (and were, in fact, not particularly encouraged) to seek post-university employment, Hermione would need a job if she intended to stay in the country—short any sort of royal dispensation, which she intended to continue refusing. "Well, I'm sure you can tell us all about it when you get here."
It was a lunch to celebrate Daphne's birthday, which coincidentally took place the day of Hermione's interview. Per usual, the moment Hermione discovered she'd need to come to London, Daphne had offered up her family's residence and expressed some level of excitement at being able to see her sister, though Hermione was (in part) dreading Astoria's resurgence.
Luckily, Astoria had clearly recovered from her experience as Draco's erstwhile girlfriend, opting instead to chat about this society person or another. Ultimately, lunch with Draco, Theo, and Daphne could not have been more pleasant, even with Astoria's presence. Spring had begun in London, rewarding them with a bit of atmospheric pleasantry, and the warmth of the sun outside bled through to their private table, which had been the result of Draco's usual sleight of hand.
"So," Draco said, his hand resting covertly on Hermione's knee, "are you thinking of accepting the offer, then?"
"She'll have to offer, first," Hermione reminded him with a laugh. "I imagine there are multiple qualified candidates."
His smile quirked. "None as qualified as you."
"Still," Hermione warned. "Don't get your hopes up."
"Well, mine are certainly up," Daphne said. "I, for one, am very much hoping not to have to return home after we sit for our exams." She shuddered, glancing at her sister. "I don't know how you do it, Astoria."
"I'm rarely home," Astoria assured her, shrugging. She was wearing the most astoundingly crisp silk blouse Hermione had ever seen, the light hitting her hair in a way that caused her to glow like the coiled lemon peel in any given Dutch still life. "It isn't the worst thing, and besides, I don't envy you the lecture you're going to get from Mother if you refuse."
"Wait, but we'd be able to live together?" Hermione registered, excitedly putting two and two together as Daphne gave a dry little laugh, clearly having already planned on it. "Oh, and would Pansy join us?"
"Ah, that would be a no," Theo remarked with a grin, exchanging a head shake with Draco from across the table. "Pansy's freedom ends when she finishes her exams. She'll be living respectably with her family," he said in a stuffy aristocrat's voice, "until she inevitably marries Neville and becomes Lady Seven-Names."
"Oh," Hermione said, frowning, before turning back to Daphne. "But you're not…?"
"Not quite the exemplary daughter Pansy is, no," Daphne confirmed, half-smiling. "To be honest, I look forward to the inevitable scolding. I think staying at home would be the more miserable option."
"You could just date a rugby player," Astoria suggested. "I know plenty by now."
"Strangely, I rather think I'll pass," Daphne said drily, and across the table, Theo entertained a mindless sort of smile as he toyed with the handle on his cup of tea.
"Greengrass is the brave type," he said, appearing to direct the comment at Hermione despite his eyeline flicking up to meet Daphne's. "She's precisely the flatmate you need, California, if you're going to survive the mean streets of London."
"Oh, stop," Daphne told him, though she looked as if she might have been fighting a smile. "You're being ridiculous as usual, Nott. What help would I be on the streets? I hardly have any knife expertise."
"I keep offering to change that," Theo reminded her, "and yet you continue to insist these are not Dickensian times, which I refuse to believe is true. What else has all this artful dodging been practice for? Fun?" he prompted with a scoff. "I for one fully expect to die set ablaze in my wedding gown, surrounded by regrets and a molding cake."
Daphne's lips quirked again. "Hush."
Theo's smile curled up and warmed, his gaze dropping back to his tea.
"For the record, I'm more than happy to share a flat with you," Hermione said to Daphne, who was marginally able to tear her attention away from Theo to reply with a glance of enthusiasm. "Provided I get the job, of course. And provided it's something I can afford."
"Well, that's just absurd," Astoria said with a prim sort of laugh—something very ah ha ha, which Hermione assumed could not have been a sound typically found in nature. "This job is in the arts, isn't it?" Astoria asked, in something of a derisive tone. "Mother and Father would never permit Daphne to live somewh-"
Draco cleared his throat quietly, his hand tightening around Hermione's knee.
"It's fine," Daphne assured Astoria firmly, issuing her a warning glance. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, won't we?"
"Burn it, actually," Theo suggested. "If we're using Blaise-isms."
"Which, to be clear, we shouldn't," Draco said thoughtfully, "though inevitably, we will."
"The man is a cultural icon," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Do you think he has any idea?"
The others (minus Astoria, who was eyeing what appeared to be a picture of herself from a website on her phone) all exchanged a glance.
"Yes," they said in unison. "He definitely knows."
Spring had always had a tendency to move very quickly in Hermione's experience, and the last few months at Hogwarts were no exception. Slughorn, who had somehow managed not to notice Hermione was in her final year, was devastated to learn he was going to lose her as an assistant, opting to frantically offer her another summer of paid research. Hermione, who had already accepted the job with Minerva's arts initiative—called The Transfiguration Project, it was supposed to reference the transformation from underused community space to interactive works of public art—was happy to refuse, focusing instead on studying for her last batch of finals and spending long hours cloistered in the library with Draco.
There was no mistaking that Draco's absences had become more pronounced, and the press surrounding his public appearances had changed somewhat. Speculation about his romantic entanglements continued—DRAGONFLOWER remained convinced of their romantic conspiracy, despite an uptick in Theo's appearances at Fleur's side—but there was something else now, too. People seemed to refer to him less by his name and more by his official capacity, as if he had risen somehow in esteem. Hermione was immensely proud of him, though she remained happiest when he was close by.
As their final term drew to a close, it was becoming more and more pressing to find a place to live. Nothing was within Hermione's budget, of course, but she couldn't quite stomach the idea of Daphne paying most of their rent. It made her feel a bit small, in fact—though that was admittedly not Daphne's doing. Hermione had simply forgotten for a time that she was not born into Daphne's money, and this was the first moment of actually realizing what Draco had meant when he called Daphne 'the good kind of posh' all those months ago.
"I know it's getting to you, but try to think of money the way Daphne does," Draco said one day while they were studying; he for a geography exam she joked was mostly amateur cartography and she for her advanced expository writing class. "When it's inherited, it's rather rewarding to put it to use for people she cares about. It's hardly charity."
"I know, but still," Hermione grumbled, distracted yet again. "I'll have trouble affording rent in London even with help from my parents, and there's the cost of living there, too, so—" She shook her head, sighing. "I suppose I'm just worried."
"Well, think of it this way," Draco suggested, hooking his foot around the leg of her chair and pulling her closer, setting his hand on her waist as they sat obscured from view in the corner of the library. "It'll need to be somewhere with quality security," he murmured in her ear, "considering it will sometimes play host to a rather compelling political figure."
"Oh?" Hermione replied innocently, batting her lashes as he chuckled, his grip tightening on her waist. "Whoever do you mean?"
"It will have to be somewhere private," Draco said in lieu of answering, opting to brush his lips against her ear, "so it would have to be quite a good neighborhood."
"Mm," Hermione agreed, the heat of his breath sending the usual thrill up her spine as he slid his cheek alongside hers. "Anything else, Your Highness?"
"Well, you'll need a proper bed," he said with a kiss to her neck. "Supportive mattress." A kiss to her clavicle. "Comfortable sheets." A kiss to her cheek, then her nose, then her lips. "A duvet," he murmured, "which speaks to your personal aesthetic."
"Is that all?" she asked faintly, his hands traveling under the oversized sweater she'd long since commandeered from him and grazing over her breasts, peeling back the fabric of her bra to brush reverently over her nipple. "I'd hate to think I've left any stone unturned."
"I do so thoroughly agree," he said, which was a statement that ended in half a muted groan as she slid her palm up his thigh. "So, really, perhaps you might let Daphne win this one?"
"Daphne?" Hermione asked, dazed into forgetting what they'd been talking about, and he promptly slammed his book shut, rising firmly to his feet and pulling her after him to the single stall bathroom at the back of the library, proceeding to fuck her senseless on the lip of the porcelain sink while discussing between panting breaths the benefits of Egyptian cotton.
Despite their obvious distraction, Hermione decided Draco had raised some good points (sheets aside, that is, since she'd never met a jersey cotton she didn't like) that perhaps shouldn't be ignored. Pansy, of course, was quick to cement these in Hermione's head in a far less flattering way.
"The moment you go public, you'll need a veritable fortress," Pansy said flatly. "I still discourage you from this," she added as her usual caveat, "as you remain not at all cut out for it—but if the world does indeed collectively go mad, you'll need to live somewhere in Daphne's price range, not yours," she scolded, delivering Hermione to a childish sulk. "You underestimate what people will do once they discover your relationship, as ever. If you thought privacy was difficult to come by now, just wait—"
"I still think you're getting ahead of yourself," Hermione said, scrolling down the website she'd been searching for available flats. Daphne was off with Roger again, which she still did from time to time, much to Hermione's disapproval. In this particular instance, though, Hermione suspected Daphne's absence was intended for Pansy to give precisely the stern talking-to she was currently in the throes of. "And anyway, I really can't find anything that works. This one is great," she said, angling the screen towards Pansy. "It's private and secure and all that, but the only available unit is three bedrooms, which I certainly can't afford—"
"Oh, this is lovely," Pansy said approvingly. "Yes, this is very much the sort of place you should be living in. I accept."
"Yes, but it has too much space," Hermione argued. "I hardly need all this excess. And see? This place is much more affordable, so—"
"No," Pansy said flatly. "That one's in Knockturn. Don't be ridiculous. You'll wake up with one of your kidneys gone."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest that of course not, and besides, hadn't Pansy heard of gentrification—but she was interrupted by Fleur, whom they'd both forgotten had been in the room waiting for Theo to return from a meeting with his advisor (the primary surprise there being that Theo had ever listened to anyone's advice, which they all still reserved doubts about).
"If I may," Fleur offered, coltishly untucking her long legs from beneath her and joining them at the kitchen bar, "I anticipate spending quite a lot of time in London this coming year. Perhaps, if you wouldn't mind another flatmate, I might convince you to include me in your living arrangement?"
Hermione paused, glancing at Pansy, who looked equally uncertain.
"Well," Pansy said slowly, "it is one solution."
What neither Hermione nor Pansy wanted to say, however, was that they weren't entirely sure the prospect of having Fleur in the apartment Hermione shared with Daphne was such a good idea. What if Theo regularly slept over? What if Daphne and Fleur didn't get along? What if something happened, and—
"Ah, let me be clear," Fleur said, successfully catching telltale signs (not that they'd ever been subtle) of Hermione's distress. "I would be present quite rarely. Still, I prefer to have a place of my own which is not a hotel," she told them in a reasonably factual tone, bending slightly to eye the screen. "And it is quite a lovely flat."
Hermione couldn't help feeling this was the most difficult of her final exams.
"Suuuuuure," she eventually managed to say slowly, hoping something would come to her if she merely attempted any form of speech, which to her dismay was not an effective strategy. "I'd have to talk to Daphne first," she demurred, "but—"
"By all means," Fleur said, shrugging. "Talk away."
To Hermione's surprise, Daphne seemed perfectly unfazed.
"I like Fleur," Daphne said. "I think it's an extremely reasonable arrangement. The flat is perfect," she added, clicking through the pictures again with a nod, "and if this soothes even your overwrought mind, then I say yes. Let's do it."
"But," Hermione began. "In terms of, um. Potential conflicts of interests—"
"There's no conflicts and certainly no interests," Daphne assured her, and then softened. "It's been nearly a year, Hermione," she said. "I should probably learn to get used to her at this point, don't you think?"
"I—" Hermione hesitated. "Well, I don't know. That seems—"
"What?" Daphne asked, sighing. "Realistic? Well-adjusted?"
"Defeated," Hermione confessed, and Daphne gave a grim little laugh.
"It's not as if Fleur won," Daphne said, shrugging. "I simply lost. There's a difference."
Hermione winced. "But Daphne—"
"Let's do it," Daphne said firmly. "Okay? There's no reason not to. In fact," she said, "if I were to refuse, I don't know that I could face her again. She'd surely know why, and then what would happen to my friendship with Theo?"
That, Hermione reasoned, probably made sense in some very twisted game theory she rather wished they didn't have to entertain. She ended up telling her mother about the flat with some degree of unease, though she couldn't imagine how of the three of them, she was the most concerned.
"Well, I like the apartment," Helen reasoned over Skype, "and you like Fleur, don't you?"
"Yes, Mother," Hermione sighed, loath to confess to her grudging admiration yet again. "That's not the issue. I just worry, you know. If we let her into the group, she might be…" She grimaced. "Permanent."
"You're a newcomer yourself," Helen reminded her. "What if they'd shut you out, hm? I didn't raise you to reject beautiful French women on the basis that they are beautiful and French. If anything," Helen said brightly, "you should steal her secrets."
"So you're saying you raised a thief?" Hermione asked doubtfully.
"If all went according to plan, then a subtle one, yes," Helen said. "Either way, you shouldn't worry yourself. Whatever's meant to be will happen, I'm sure of it. Look at you and Draco," she said, and Hermione gave a sigh of nostalgia mixed with resignation, unwillingly determining someone who'd happened to run into the prince of England should likely have a touch more confidence in fate. "I have to think things happen for a reason, sweetheart. And anyway, I'll feel better if you're living your posh transatlantic life somewhere safe."
"I know," Hermione grumbled. "Still, everything's going to feel so wrong if Theo's with Fleur and Daphne's with Roger. Doesn't anyone care what I think?" she demanded, suddenly very frustrated the answer appeared to be a resounding no.
"I do, if it helps," Helen assured her kindly, before adding, "By the way, there was a lovely cover in the grocery store claiming Draco's replacing his father in succession to the crown. It's hot garbage, but I can't help it," she lamented with a shake of her head, "I read all the silly little articles about royalty now—I tell David it's for education but obviously all of it is trash—"
"Replacing his father?" Hermione said with a scoff. "I can't imagine what Prince Lucifer would do. Probably swell up like a balloon in a fit of rage and then float away to be punctured in space."
She was pleased not to have run into him too often over the past few months. If there was one aspect of her relationship she was happy to forget about from time to time, it was most certainly Prince Lucius of Wales. The unexpected reminder that he existed prompted her to a sullen grip of dislike.
"Well, still, it's a nice thought," Helen said warmly. "It must be nice to hear Draco's so well-liked, isn't it?"
"Am I?" asked Draco's voice, and Hermione jumped, noting him in the threshold of her bedroom and smiling what she hoped wasn't a terribly guilty smile. "I hope I'm polling well in the Granger household, at least."
"Oh, always," Helen proclaimed with delight, every pixel of her face lighting up at the sight of him. "How is England's best set of teeth?"
"Pansy's fine," Draco said cheerfully. "I heard her scolding Neville on the phone, so I have to imagine she's living her best life."
"Excellent," Helen said. "And the second best set?"
"Oh, Blaise is fine, too," Draco assured her, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Just tell her how you're doing so we can go," she said firmly. "I have at least another page to write, and you should certainly be studying before you leave—"
"Well, that all sounds terrible," Helen said. "Consider me dismissed. Talk again when finals are over?"
"Yes," Draco and Hermione said in unison, and Helen chuckled, eventually hanging up with a flurry of goodbyes and I love yous as Hermione tossed Draco his textbook, putting him to work.
"Daphne and I decided to take the flat with Fleur," she told him, abruptly remembering after a moment that she hadn't mentioned their final decision on the topic yet, and he looked up, pleased.
"Oh good, I'm glad to hear i-"
"You couldn't actually replace your father for the throne, right?" Hermione cut in, apparently not done entertaining her arbitrary thoughts, and to her surprise, Draco hesitated. "Like… that's not an actual possibility, is it? Legally speaking?"
"Where'd you hear that from?" he asked neutrally, and Hermione blinked.
"Just some stupid tabloid my mother saw," she said, and frowned. "Why, is there truth to it?"
"Of course not," he assured her, which seemed to be genuine. "I just wondered where you'd come across that particular rumor."
"You've heard it before, I take it," Hermione guessed, and Draco gave her one of his alas, you're much too clever shrugs.
"It's nothing to worry about," he promised her. "Certainly not as pressing as your tragic overuse of adverbs, anyway."
She rolled her eyes, giving him an affectionate shove. "Still," she said. "You'd tell me if you were, you know. Becoming king, right?"
"I'll make a note in my diary to tell you," he offered solemnly. "You'll be the first to know, right after Rita Skeeter."
"You do know you can talk to me about, whatever. Stupid stuff," she said. "Things that bother you, et cetera, et cetera."
"I know," Draco said. "There's just not much to say. My grandfather is…" He trailed off, running his fingers through his hair in concentration, parsing out his words. "He thinks my presence offers some small margin of popularity, I suppose you might say."
"You are a crowd-pleaser," Hermione noted in agreement, and at that, Draco laughed.
"It's not the crowd I aim to please," he said.
She heard the undertone of let's take a study break, shall we? that lingered in his voice. He may not have been especially committed to sexting, owing to his general sense of opposition to anything written out, but he had other ways of telling her what was on his mind. Namely, the deepened timbre to his tone, combined with the lavish way he was mentally undressing her.
"Focus," she told him.
"I am," he said, taking the book from her hand and marking it carefully. She loved that about him; the way he was so meticulous, the brush of his fingers across the page a thoughtful promise of how he would touch her, the way he would inevitably make her melt. "You look distressed, Miss Granger. You need a reward for all your fine work."
"The reward," Hermione said drily, "will be graduating, don't you think?"
"Mm, perhaps," Draco permitted, setting the book aside and snaking an arm around her waist, tugging her down on the bed and positioning her beneath him. "Though," he murmured, "why limit oneself to one reward, when multiple will do?"
"Multiple?" Hermione echoed. "I'm not sure we have time for that."
He slid down the zipper of her hoodie, pressing his lips to the braless curves underneath.
"You underestimate me," he said, and in response, Hermione gratefully closed her eyes, his meticulous hands proceeding to find their vocations in precisely the right places.
The end of their time at Hogwarts was bittersweet, to say the least. It seemed everything would be changing, and Hermione found herself both saddened and uplifted as she and her friends piled in for a picture outside the Slytherin dorm and its recalcitrant lock. When the camera went off much too early—Hermione's father being not entirely the greatest photographer in the world, for which she was grateful in this single, isolated instance—Blaise, who had initially sprawled languidly across the floor, was being yanked up by Pansy as Theo had Daphne in something of an artless headlock, and Draco and Hermione were looking at each other, goofily adoring smiles slapped across their faces as Helen shouted at David to take the picture horizontally, not vertically, and for heaven's sake, was it recording?
It wasn't, and it was, in fact, the best picture Hermione had ever taken.
They'd all be moving to London in various capacities. Theo and Blaise had found a flat not too far from Daphne, Fleur, and Hermione, while Pansy and Draco were returning to their respective families' residences. Still, it wasn't as if they'd have what they'd had before, living across the hall and constantly barging into each other's space. They'd have various duties now, with considerably fewer opportunities for dance parties on the kitchen floor, and certainly no spontaneous talks at three in the morning with Blaise about the meaning of life when Hermione couldn't sleep ("Establishing an infallible legacy," he said firmly, and then, "no, wait—does cheese count? Surely cheese counts"). There were going to be no further episodes discovering Pansy rearranging her things; probably fewer knocks at the door followed by Theo bursting in regardless, announcing "…AND YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE?" about a conversation from three days before.
The apartment had been well-loved, as they'd all been during the time they'd spent inside it, and when it was finally empty—Daphne and Pansy pausing beside her to look around at how much bigger the space seemed when it wasn't filled with the various trinkets of their lives—Hermione couldn't help feeling like everything was about to change. She leaned her head against Daphne's shoulder, sighing in wistful lamentation, and even Pansy was uncharacteristically sentimental, appearing to obscure what Hermione thought might have been a tear up until she complained, sniffing, about the flat's incurable dust mites.
After about five minutes without speaking, Daphne disrupted the silence first.
"I broke up with Roger," she said.
"Finally," Pansy scoffed.
A smile pulled at Hermione's lips at that, relief mixing with the hilarity of Pansy's completely typical response, and eventually, Daphne giggled, then let the sound evolve to a laugh, Pansy's mouth wrenching up with what appeared to be faltering opposition until the three of them were practically hysterical, piling over each other on the floor in complete and total exhaustion.
Maybe it wasn't a wistful end, Hermione decided, determining it wasn't at all the place that made them. It wasn't this flat, or this school. If it wasn't this particular floor they'd collapse to in a fit of laughter, it would surely be another. It was about them, not about Hogwarts, and yes, everything would change, but for once, she was ready for it. There was something waiting for her on the other side, and for the first time, she felt prepared to face it.
So it wasn't an end. Not at all.
It was a beautiful new beginning.
Our Hogwarts years were idyllic in a way, yes. Rita Skeeter is definitely right about that. But it was the years to come which would bring us our most terrible mistakes, which would in turn earn us our happily-ever-afters. Sure, mine's still in progress, but isn't that the fun part? Isn't the adventure in not knowing what will come?
I certainly couldn't have known what was coming at the time, and in retrospect, maybe I wouldn't have wanted to. There's something to be said for not knowing how a thing turns out making the outcome even sweeter—which is something I certainly hold on to now, knowing that the end of this day remains, as my life has always promised to be, entirely unpredictable.
a/n: So sorry this was late, I was traveling this weekend and wasn't quite done last night at my usual update time! Additional apology: I will be finishing Paradox next week, which for me usually means a tear of 3-4 updates all at once, so I'm taking one (1) week away from this story to wrap up that one and then we will return to our regularly scheduled programming. Thank you for your patience!
If you haven't heard, I have a new book coming out on Halloween called Lovely Tangled Vices, which is mostly about rival witch sisters, a couple of inadvisable love affairs, and a coven masquerading as a sorority. The pre-order for it is now available (or will be shortly after this posts) on all my social media. I'm also doing a giveaway for the book, so be sure to check that out if you have any interest! Thank you endlessly for reading. I am immensely grateful to have you.