Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lost With You by Patrick Watson
February 16th, 2000
Hermione wakes to the sound of a horrendous crash coming from the kitchen. She bolts upright in fright as the sound of soft snores continue beside her.
"Someone's in here!" She hisses through her teeth, smacking Draco in the arm repeatedly.
She slides to the edge of the couch, peeking over the arm rest into the kitchen and seeing no one. Hermione rips the blanket off of Draco's sleeping form, pulling it tightly around her body.
Draco must have gotten up in the night and grabbed the blanket. She thinks absently, looking around the living room, taking stock and searching for what could have made the loud bang.
Draco groans loudly next to her, obviously not awake yet or alarmed by the sound of someone breaking into the cottage. He rubs his face with a shiver.
She can see her clothing from last night, folded neatly on the coffee table next to his. That's odd… she things, her heart racing, breath catching in her throat. Grasping onto Draco's calf, she can feel the panic spreading, rising from her gut.
What intruder would fold their clothes neatly and place them side by side?
He finally rouses, untangling himself from her death grip on his calf and grabbing his clothing. He pulls on his trousers quickly, taking his wand from the pile.
The rummaging has stopped, Hermione is frozen, blanket wrapped around herself tightly. She stands, staying directly behind Draco, wand pulled.
"Mistress Narcissa sent Pinky to make breakfast!" Pinky announces herself as Draco steps closer. The poor little elf is holding a carton of eggs in one shaking hand and a frying pan in the other. She stands in a yellow apron, peeking out from behind the kitchen island.
Draco shoves his wand in his waistband, scrubbing his face violently before pinching the bridge of his nose. "My mother sent you? To cook breakfast?" He doesn't sound convinced.
"Pinky knows that Master Draco cannot cook, Narcissa didn't want Mistress Hermione to have to." He tilts his head back, clearly frustrated. Hermione steps out from behind him, trying to read his face.
"You can't cook?" She asks and Draco levels her with a look.
"Of course not. I've never—"
"Master Draco has never set foot in a kitchen in his life. Pinky has cooked for the Malfoy family since before he was born!" She shouts with a triumphant wag of her index finger.
Hermione looks between the little house elf and Draco only half clothed. He looks calm in the early morning light that filters through the window, annoyed but calm none the less.
His bare scarred chest looks different compared to the dim lighting from last night. The half moons cover so much of his torso.
Something clicks in her suddenly and she flushes violently, clutching the blanket tighter around her chest.
"Draco. Did you drape this blanket over us last night?" He shakes his head in negation, Hermione looks at Pinky and goes a violent shade of red. "Please leave. Pinky, I appreciate your kindness, but please leave," she chokes out, mortified that this house elf has seen her fully naked.
"But breakfast! You shou—"
"Please leave. I don't want to ask again." Pinky looks devastated, her big eyes moving between the two of them as her lip quivers.
"Fine! There's food in the fridge and clothing upstairs. Fend for yourselves!" With a loud crack, Pinky disappears into a cloud of blue smoke and the echo of a wail.
"I think you've royally pissed off my House Elf." Draco says, bemused. Hermione lets out a noise of frustration.
"She's seen me naked!"
"I've seen you naked."
"That doesn't even compare." She's clutching the blanket tighter around herself, knuckles white in a death grip. Turning her back to him to compose her embarrassment.
Hermione can hear Draco fiddling in the kitchen, the sound of the fridge opening and closing, a pan being placed on the stone counter. There's a loud grunt and she looks back into the kitchen.
"You've honestly never cooked a meal in your life?" His grey eyes level her from the other side of the counter. He tilts his head like she's vexed him.
"I truly don't know how you find this surprising." She moves, slipping on her jeans and t-shirt from yesterday before joining him in the kitchen.
"Not even Christmas baking? Sugar cookies and gingerbreads with your mother?" He's looking at her from the corner of his eye.
"You've met her right?" He looks defeated, overwhelmed as he picks up a pot. All the previous annoyance melting away.
She takes it from his hand gently, "Do we have any bacon or sausage in the fridge? We can have that with eggs. That's simple enough." He does as he's told, dutifully opening the well stocked fridge.
Even at Grimmauld Place where Harry regularly feeds four to six people, she's never seen a fridge this full.
"You're going to have to be more specific." He's closing up, clearly getting inundated with emotions because he's out of his element. Hermione slides in behind him, looking at all the butcher paper packages.
Pinky went overboard with stocking this fridge.
"Apple and sage sounds lovely." She takes the package, noticing all the fresh herbs and grabbing those as well. "Would Pinky have brought potatoes?" He nods and she bends down to open cupboards.
Hermione falls into a rhythm, setting everything up across the counter as Draco watches her like a hawk.
"I promise you I've done more dangerous things than cut up potatoes." she says with a laugh and he looks away, embarrassed. "Here." She motions for him to come and stand next to her, handing him the knife.
"How do I hold this?" He grips the handle tightly, knuckles almost turning white.
Hermione places her hand over his, manoeuvring his fingers so they're situated comfortably. She grabs a potato and with her hand still over his, shows him the motion.
"Gentle, even cuts so everything cooks at the same time." she says, letting go of his hand and moving over to the herbs.
He's focused, mouth in a hard line, brows furrowed together, cutting everything as evenly as possible. She's seen that face before, in the darkness of the potions classroom prepping all the ingredients. There's a hint of a smile on his face and she sees he's made the connection too.
Hermione finds a cast iron skillet, coating it generously with oil before letting it heat on the gas range. The oil glissens and she points it out, bringing over the potatoes he cut and tossing them in.
"We're going to fry these until they're brown and crispy." He stands in front of the pan dutifully, spatula at the ready.
She's cooked so many times with her friends in Grimmauld Place, like a dance that everyone knows the steps to. Effortlessly filling in for one another without a word. Preparing the next step without being asked. Music playing, laughter, and idle chatter filling the kitchen.
But this is different, just the two of them together with the sound of hot oil as their soundtrack. She checks on him, looking at him from the corner of her eye, trying not to make it obvious. He was nervous at first, terrified he would disappoint her, dutifully listening to her careful instructions.
Now he's getting more confident, more cocky. He grabs the handle of the skillet with his bare hand, flying back when it burns him.
"Fucking hell!" He yells, rushing to the sink and submerging his seared flesh. She's at his side in an instant, pulling a first aid kit from below the sink.
"Lukewarm water on a burn to help take the heat out. Let me see." She takes his hand gingerly, gently patting it dry with a kitchen towel. His palm is already blistering from the heat of the cast iron. "This was my fault, I should have warned you that you should always assume everything in a kitchen is hot."
"I feel like that should be a give in and most people would know." He sounds disappointed in himself.
Hermione rubs a thick orange salve into his hand carefully and bandages him up. She grabs an oven mitt from the front of the stove and hands it to him.
"This will help." He stares at it for a moment, before looking at her. She wonders if this kindness is foreign to him.
Part of her can hear Narcissa's stern tone in her mind, the way she puts emphasis on the hard consonants of his name. Draco, what have you done now Draco.
Hermione touches his face gently, running her thumb over his cheekbone.
They continue on and she notes how careful he is around the pan, the oven mitt on his hand at all times. She makes sure to talk her way through everything, telling him how she knows when to add what, when things are finished cooking, how to make them taste better.
It reminds her of cooking with her dad on Sunday mornings before her mom woke up. Before Hogwarts, they would get up early and make a feast, just for the three of them. He always bought sausages with rosemary and fried their eggs in bacon fat.
His voice sounds distantly in her thoughts, his careful even tone as he talked his way through everything, much like she's doing now.
Draco's mitted hand ghosts the small of her back, pulling her from thought. "Can we make tea?" He asks and she smiles.
She plates their food carefully as he towers behind her. He managed to find a little orange teapot with matching cups and was rather pleased with himself for navigating the cupboards. They take their food to the table, Draco at the head and her just next to him.
"Why didn't you use magic?" He asks suddenly, tilting his head. His posture is perfect, no elbows on the table, he even pours his tea in an elegant way. Hermione looks at him for a moment, confused at the question.
"Sometimes, I just find it easier to do things the muggle way." she says, focused on her plate now. "I find it comforting in the time it takes to do things…Harry and I cook together at home a lot and we both prefer it." He nods, pouring tea into her cup before adding milk and sugar to his.
"Comfort…" He mumbles.
"Sometimes it's nice when things take time, it helps you enjoy them."
They eat the rest of their meal in comfortable silence.
When they finish, Hermione charms the sink to do the dishes. That's one thing she will never do by hand. She turns, attempting to go up the stairs when Draco stops her.
"I would like to shower please, and brush my teeth. I'm assuming the bathroom is upstairs?" He looks embarrassed as he lets her push past him, "There's something you're hiding up here isn't there." She lets out a giggle. Draco follows her closely, she can feel the heat of him behind her.
At the top of the stairs are three doors, a decadent bathroom with a clawfoot tub directly in front of her and two bedrooms. She throws a look over her shoulder to his disdain before opening the door on the left.
"You have to remember, I haven't been to this cottage since I was thirteen." There's a little twin bed pushed up against a window that overlooks the cliff. In the daylight, she realises just how far the drop is as the sun sparkles off the water. Stepping in, she does her best to keep a straight face, tries her hardest not to laugh.
"The Cannons? Merlin I have a type." There are several Chudley Cannon posters on the walls, the players move triumphantly and she even recognizes one of them. Ron has the same poster in his bedroom. She steps into the room, running her fingers along the spines on the bookshelf.
He has the full series of Belinda Rushworth's books, the only one that's missing is the latest, but she sees one she doesn't recognize. Pulling it from the shelf, she flips it over to read the back.
"My mum bought me that one. We spent the summer before second year here and I was waiting for the release of the third book…" Letters to my younger self. She's never heard of it.
"Can I borrow it?" She's already clinging to it before he can even answer. He's nodding, scanning the shelves before plucking another book.
"You might like this one as well, this was a Christmas gift from a few years ago…I don't know how it ended up on this shelf…" He passes her a beautifully foiled hardcover.
"The Last Dragon?"
"It has an ending you'll enjoy, it's cathartic." She nods, adding it to the little pile in her arms.
She moves across the room slowly, taking everything in, like she's looking through a pensieve of a life Draco lived before the war. Sitting on the bed she realises just how many bookshelves there are in here. Crammed full, Hermione notes they're probably charmed so they won't collapse.
A broom sits in the corner, much smaller than anything he would be able to ride now. She finds it hard to imagine a young Draco learning to fly, it always seemed like something he was just born to do.
There's an unrelenting clenching in her chest as she draws parallels between this room and her own childhood bedroom. The one she will never return to. The bed moves as Draco sits next to her, she didn't realise she'd been staring at the floor for so long.
"The last thing my parents ever gave me was a book…" she says, looking at him. "It's a muggle book…my dad found it at a charity shop. He bought it because he thought it would help me with my Defence Against the Dark Arts class…" She smiles, closing her eyes. "I haven't read it yet, part of me doesn't want to because then I feel like that chapter in my life will end."
He puts his hand on her knee. "What book is it?" She cracks a grin.
"It's called Interview with a Vampire. Bless him, he thought it was a real interview with a real vampire, but it's just a work of fiction." Draco leans back on the child-sized twin bed, struggling to fit his tall frame on the small bed.
She reaches with her hand to brush a few stray hairs away from his eyes, causing him to look at her with warmth.
"Thank you for letting me see this." she says and he closes his eyes, leaning into her touch.
Pinky left clothing for both of them in the main bedroom, on top of her pile is a note from Harry.
SOS if you need. Tell me you're safe.
HP.
She changes into the grey corduroy dress and white wool sweater, pulling on a pair of tights before returning to the bathroom. She tries to tame her hair before it dries, rummaging through the medicine cabinet hopelessly before giving up and just braiding it.
Descending the stairs she comes face to face with Draco staring helplessly at the stove.
"Why are you scowling at it?"
"I can't remember how to turn it on. None of the charms I know are working and I'm about thirty seconds away from setting my own fire to boil water." She cracks a smile, taking her wand from her pocket.
"Ignire." With a quick flick the range clicks to life and Draco hums in approval, placing the full kettle on the burner.
"Household charms are something I've never needed." Once again he sounds defeated.
"Molly taught me all the ones I know. Without her, I would be doing everything the muggle way." His eyes catch hers, brows furrowing.
"You've braided your hair?" She looks at him, confused, pulling her braid and looking at the end of it.
"Of course I have. It would be unruly otherwise." He crosses the kitchen, brushing a loose curl from her face and cupping her chin.
"I like it when it's unruly…" She blushes, eyes flitting between his as he leans in, brushing his nose against hers. He kisses her softly and her heart is pounding like it's the first time she's ever been kissed.
She fists the front of his shirt, the same one he was wearing yesterday. She can smell the remnants of lavender and mahogany.
He tugs at the end of her braid, freeing it before running his hand through it.
The kettle whistles from the stove and she breaks the kiss in a panic at the sudden noise. She moves to the range, turning the burner off and pouring the water into the same orange tea pot as before.
"I have to send a message to Harry, can I use the Floo or does this place have a secret owlery?" she says with a smile.
"You don't have to ask my permission for anything, there are no blood wards here."
She stands in front of the fireplace casting her Patronus and whispering a quick message to her otter. Out of the corner of her eye she catches Draco's look of confusion. The creature swims off in the air, disappearing into the chimney in a puff of green flames.
"You aren't allowed to make fun of my little otter."
"I didn't say anything."
"I can feel your judgement!" Her hands land on her hips as he pours her a cup of tea, sliding her cup across the counter. "At least it's not a peacock…" she says sarcastically with a roll of her eyes. Taking a sip she makes a gurgling noise. "Merlin, you make terrible tea. I thought it was just this morning but this is no better than dishwater."
He laughs, placing his cup on the saucer. "It's incredibly awful, isn't it?"
She only nods before falling into peels of laughter.
They bundle up and walk to the nearby town. He tells her it's pointless to wear this many layers when all their clothes have warming charms on them. She tells him to just pretend he's a muggle for a moment as they hold hands in a seaside village in the middle of Wales.
Not a single person pays them any attention as they walk down the main street, the only street actually.
A few people pop in and out of the shops, carrying their groceries, stopping, chatting to one another and she can feel Draco relaxing next to her. His shoulders slumping, jaw unclenching as he slowly realises that no one here cares who they are.
She wants to bottle this feeling as she steals a kiss from him in the bakery.
If there was only a way for them to disappear forever.