The Malfoy Manor was no longer Draco's place of residence. Hermione did not mind that, not at all. She was worried about having to return there when Draco asked if she would like to meet his mother.
Of course, Hermione wanted to meet Mrs Malfoy properly. The sophisticated woman made Hermione nervous, understandably. Hermione was curious what she might think about her son dating her, especially with their history.
"How do I look?" Hermione smoothed her hair back and stood stock still. Like she was a soldier up for uniform inspection. Draco laughed lightly, then took her by the shoulders.
"Breathe." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "You look perfect."
"She's going to hate me," Hermione countered. "I'm not a Slytherin, I don't fit in, I'm literally the opposite of everything you've been taught to value."
Draco raised his eyebrows. He made the are-you-done face before Hermione shut her mouth and grimaced.
"Slytherin?" Draco smiled slightly. "My mother knows how to behave, Granger," Draco glanced away from her. The corners of his mouth turned down slightly. Hermione immediately felt a flutter of anxiety.
"I didn't mean it like that," Hermione insisted, unsure what that meant. She didn't know how he took it.
"Relax," Draco's eyes found her and softened slightly; the sharp grey warming the longer he looked at her. "I'm more worried about my father than my mother."
Hermione winced. "When are we seeing him?" The Malfoys' divorce was still being occasionally mentioned – more in gossip columns than anything. Especially regarding who was getting what, and it seemed like Narcissa Malfoy was not getting much of anything.
Draco grimaced. Hermione walked to his chest and closed her arms around him. She smiled when his arms came up around her, caging her in his warmth. He exhaled slowly and inhaled deeply. She felt his breath in her hair.
"Well, he doesn't want to see mother," Draco's words hummed through her. "He's in his bitter, spiteful stage."
"Isn't that his default setting?" The questions slipped out, and she went still. His father was a sore subject, and she knew not to make fun of it. She wasn't trying to make fun of it; it was just what she did when something was difficult.
To her relief, Draco chuckled. His chest rumbled, and his body shook slightly with laughter as he held her. She tightened her grip, and so did he. They stood together, hearts in sync, easy, steady beats against each other.
"It is, isn't it?" Draco pulled away and kissed her lightly. His fingers tangled into her hair as he attempted to tuck it behind her ear. He managed with a delicate twirl of his finger and looked rather pleased with himself.
"Ready?" Hermione teased the hair falling into his eyes, then cupped his cheek. He had shaved that morning, but the invisible stubble was already snagging at her palm. She liked the roughness of it. Draco shut his eyes, leaning into her hand like a puppy.
"Let's go," Draco said, eyes still closed. Hermione watched Draco step out of her front door and down to the pavement, momentarily winded. He peered back at her, waiting for her to shut the door.
She thought she might be in love with him. And she was terrified.
It turned out that the rumours in the gossip columns were true. At least, as of now, they were.
Malfoys' past lives of splendour had been reduced.
Draco led her to a quaint cottage. The grounds were small; their short rock walls and wooden gate were topped with snow from the recent winter storm.
It was elegant and reminded Hermione of Shell Cottage if it were to exist in the countryside beside a stream and forest. It was equally as lonely. Just as on the edge of the world as beside the expanse of an ocean. Instead of a sea of salty, dark water, there was a sea of leafless trees and white-capped crowns of evergreens.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Draco swung the little gate open and stood aside for Hermione to walk past. The snow crunched gently under the soles of her boots. She liked the sound of it, nostalgia pulling her back to snowball fights with Harry and Ron.
The gate made a satisfying sound when he clicked it shut, the remainder of the snow falling off it and swirling into the slight breeze. But it did not make as satisfying a sound, or as beautiful a swirl as the snowball's explosion on Draco's back.
Hermione covered her mouth, giggling, a little appalled at how messy it was, the white clinging in a splash to his overcoat. Draco stood absolutely still; the shock of the blow apparently froze him. Hermione felt nervous the longer the silence went on, before Draco reached for the wall. Hermione thought he was about to tell her to leave. She thought he was reaching for the gate again to open it and to promptly dismiss her.
A scream escaped her lips before she could turn in time. He had made a snowball from the snow on the low wall, and it was now decorating the front of her overcoat and some of her face. She looked at Draco, her mouth open in an O of disbelief. The cold flakes were already melting into her hair and against her chin and neck.
"You little-!" Hermione scooped snow into her fist and hardly formed a ball before they were both slinging loose snow into the air, never actually quite hitting each other but instead creating their own little blizzard of furious laughter and joy.
Hermione tackled him. They landed in the soft snow, Draco with a yelp.
"Well then," Draco swiped snow from his eyes. Hermione dumped more onto his face. He sputtered, laughing. "It's safe to say that Hermione Granger likes the snow."
"Only when it's like this," Hermione flopped into the snow beside him. Draco's face disappeared behind a wall of white as she sank about six inches. The sky was grey above them, but the sun was peeking out at them in the distance – a sliver of promising blue slashed the sky.
"Like what?" Draco turned onto his side to look at her. He pulled the damp hair from her face and swiped snow from her eyebrows and jaw. His face was vibrant pink from their excitement and the cold.
"Like glitter," Hermione smiled at him before sitting up. "But without the hurty, jagged bits."
Draco laughed and sat up beside her. He made a show of dusting himself off, like a man de-linting his suit before a night out.
He hopped up onto his feet with more energy than he had departed her apartment with, then hauled her to her feet before pressing his cold lips to hers. His tongue brushed against hers before he pulled away, breathless and grinning.
"I know, living with one's mother at our age is not exactly attractive," Draco said as he walked– arm snaking around her waist– to the front door. "But-"
"You don't have to explain," Hermione cut him off, trying to save him from any discomfort. He didn't have to talk about these things if he didn't want to. And moments before meeting Narcissa Malfoy was probably not the best time.
Draco unlocked the door. He shifted on his feet, suddenly nervous. Then he cracked the charming and surprisingly ornately carved front door open. Warmth expelled itself against Hermione like a warm hug against all the cold snow. She stomped the excess snow off her shoes before stepping onto a thick carpet in the foyer.
Draco took her coat before removing his own, hanging them, and then using his wand to clean them from dripping melting ice onto the floor.
Hermione stepped up to him and combed his wet hair from his forehead, sleeking it back. He had the appearance of a man fresh from a shower but also fully clothed. Her stomach did a little flip, and an ache throbbed dully inside her pelvis.
"Draco," a smooth voice greeted him. Hermione spun, flushed and a little embarrassed because she had somehow forgotten that she was here, in fact, to meet his mother. "And Hermione!"
Hermione felt her eyes go wide in surprise. She had no control over her facial expression and hoped she didn't look as terrified as she felt.
Her entire body felt dry and warm, her hair was tucked neatly away despite being dried and poofed. In Mrs Malfoy's hand was a wand, and that wand was directed at Draco and her.
Mrs Malfoy was mothering them. Hermione inhaled shakily and exhaled steadily.
"Hi, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione extended her hand, smiling. Mrs Malfoy opened her arms and hugged her instead. Draco slipped into the end of the hug and kissed Mrs Malfoy on the cheek. She beamed at him before directing her attention back to Hermione.
"Hermione," Mrs Malfoy smiled warmly, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
Hermione's relief seeped through her entire being. Draco placed a gentle hand on her back and guided her to the dining room.
Hermione stood at the table. Her fingers brushed the surface, unsure if to sit or to help. The table was already set. Carefully placed plates, glasses, and candles waited patiently to be used. Hermione watched Draco blush at his mother's words. Mrs Malfoy's words were not guarded or whispered, but Hermione couldn't hear her anyway.
It didn't matter because Draco glanced at her and gave a shy grin as he helped his mother bring the food over. Mrs Malfoy levitated two dishes, and Draco did the others. Easily, they worked together as only two people who lived together could.
In another world, Hermione might find it odd; a grown man living with his mother. Here, in her world, she found it incredibly charming and so selfless she wanted to kiss Draco right then.
"Sit, dear," Mrs Malfoy gestured, pulling a chair back but not sitting.
"I feel like I missed an opportunity to help with something," Hermione laughed nervously. "You know, to make a good impression?"
Mrs Malfoy tittered. Draco slipped a chair back and guided her by her waist to seat her. Hermione sat, smiling up at Draco, who took his place beside her.
"Oh, don't worry about that," Mrs Malfoy smiled graciously. "Draco has told me so much about you."
Hermione blushed, looking at her boyfriend. Warmth spread to her toes and fingertips, to the tip of her nose and surface of her cheeks.
"I'm not well practiced lately in the art of cooking," Mrs Malfoy beamed, though a little shyly, at the spread of food, "but I do hope you enjoy."
"The meal looks lovely, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione hoped she sounded reassuring and excited at the same time instead of a nervous mess.
"You can call me Narcissa, dear," Narcissa smiled graciously.
"Thank you, Narcissa," Hermione tried the name. It felt heavy on her tongue, but she hoped it would feel more like family with time.
Hermione couldn't wait to dig in.
"Draco," Hermione squeezed his forearm on the tabletop. His whiskey was watery, her wine was warm. "It's fine."
"It's not," Draco seethed. His eyes flashed, and Hermione knew it wasn't because of her or what she said. But because he was hurting, she wanted to ease that pain. "He should show his bastard face. It's the least he could do."
Hermione knew it had to do with the state of his living. The way they were making do with his salary as an Auror in a cottage Narcissa inherited from her Black parentage. A cottage that needed intensive repairs and cost her most of the rest of her inheritance to restore.
"Do you think he would still come?" Hermione looked around, her stomach rumbling. Their last meal was lunch Narcissa had baked for them. Roast chicken and potatoes – simple and indefinably delicious.
"It's been an hour, Granger," Draco said irritably. He swirled the watery whiskey so that the dull amber liquid mingled more with the clear water, then gulped it back in one swig. "You don't know him. He's always on time. He's not coming."
"It's okay, isn't it?" Hermione did not actually want to meet Lucius, but she had been prepared to do it for Draco. Draco had met her parents with great charm and immense humour. Draco had exceeded all her expectations and had since been having lunch at her parents' house every other week.
Draco smiled, a little strained but genuine. "He would've ruined our day anyway." Draco leaned forward and kissed Hermione. The whiskey was woody and strong, but slightly sweet.
"Do you want to go somewhere else to eat?" Hermione looked around. She wondered if being here, in the spot his father had stood him up, would be okay to sit in and have a good meal together. Or if Draco would let it go and enjoy their plans even with his father's bitterness tinting the air.
Draco looked around with her. He waved at a waiter and then smiled at her. "I've been dying to try the baked fish in butter," he whispered for only her to hear. Like it was some secret. A switch had flicked inside him, and Draco was suddenly unbothered and relaxed.
Hermione wondered if Lucius' spite extended so far as to cut Draco from the inheritance or if Draco had inherited his father's spite and cut himself out.
It didn't matter to Hermione one way or the other. She loved seeing him smile again and loved that she had been welcomed by Narcissa.
Hermione thought she was in love with him, and that thought made her merrier than the wine.