I don't own Harry Potter, it's all J.K.'s, and I make zero dollars off this fiction. But lots of love. :)
AN: Wow, you guys. Just…wow. Your recent reviews and all the love… *sniffsniff* I can't help but tear up a bit. Love it. So, in return, here is another chapter. Of course, on the other hand I'm now in danger of totally running the other direction with everything and stumbling off the pedestal with every word I type, but I'll do my best to stay up there. Cause you guys deserve the *best.* XOXO
Hermione stood in the doorway of the dining room and tried to look at it with a critical eye. Which, now that she thought of it, really wasn't that difficult. For starters, she never used it for company- mainly because the company she did have consisted of Ginny and sometimes Harry and the kitchen table was suitable for those needs. As a result, the door usually remained closed and she rarely went in to clean. So everything was covered with a fine layer of dust. Then there was the problem of furniture. She hadn't anticipated using the dining room as such when she'd bought the farm; it had been Ginny who'd convinced Hermione to save the space and not turn it into a downstairs office. But then Ginny had neglected to go shopping with Hermione to purchase suitable furniture, so…
She sighed and put her hands on her hips.
"This is going to be a disaster," she muttered. A day to get ready for the Sunday dinner invasion of the Weasley clan and she was just now realizing her table probably wasn't large enough; that everything was filthy; and, because it was some high-end dining set that the store clerk had selected, it all needed a good dose of furniture polish she didn't own. And never mind the state of her serving things. There wasn't even a question whether she needed silver polish or not, simply because she had no silver to speak of.
She huffed a bit at her own dilemma and looked down at the bottle of dusting solution in her hand. Well, there was only one way to tackle it all- by taking on one issue at a time. To start with, dusting.
She was partway through with the fancy sideboard with rococo detailing when someone behind her gave a polite cough. She started to reach up for a second dust rag, thought better of it, as she was halfway under said sideboard, and instead waved a hand.
"Lucius? Is that you? Could you hand me that other rag, please?"
The cough sounded again and she turned about to see Draco crouching to the floor and eyeing her amusedly. But one hand was indeed outstretched, the rag being waved about as an offering. She snatched at it and gave him an ornery look before turning back to the ornate foot she'd been working on.
"Yes?" she called back, knowing full well he was still kneeling there, probably eyeing her bum.
"Dad is out at the barn again," Draco explained, unwilling to add that Lucius had told him in no uncertain terms that he'd be hanged before he was made to dust anything. "He's taken quite a liking to those kittens."
"Has he?" Hermione said. "That's nice. I'm glad. You should take one or two with you when you go."
Draco was glad he was already kneeling. She was so casual about the whole thing, so easy going with her smiles and affection, but then so cruel in the next breath. He shook his head at himself. That's how it's supposed to be, he thought. Uncomplicated. Besides, how's she supposed to know how cruel she is if she doesn't realize you're quite fucking serious? And it's not as if you can tell her any of that in the first place…
"Draco?" Hermione said again and he realized she'd been talking to him.
"Pardon?"
"I asked why you were here."
"Oh…" Her bum wiggled enticingly in his face as she shifted position. He swallowed hard. "Er, to help? Dad said you might need some. By the way, why do you tell him everything and me nothing?"
"Hmm? Oh, I suppose because he's easier to talk to," she admitted, since she was focused more on her work than the conversation.
"Thanks," Draco murmured wryly and stood up. Hermione paused and then there was more wiggling of the delicious bum as she came out from under the sideboard. There was a scarf tied around her hair and it was even back in a bun, but a few hairs straggled out of their prison and her face was bright pink from her efforts. He thought she looked delightful.
"Draco, I didn't mean to-" she began, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist, dusting solution and rag still in her hands.
"To say that? Yes, rather," he interrupted and put a hand over his heart. "Oh, how thou dost wound me, mine lady fair."
She rolled her eyes at him. "Well if you're going to be that way, you can at least help me clean," she said and shoved her solution and rag at him. He caught them to his chest and staggered back as she brushed by him to presumably fetch more of each.
She was back a second later and paused to raise both windows and prop the door open.
"It needs airing out," she explained and he nodded.
"And a larger table."
She frowned at him, but a second later her entire face fell. "I do, don't I? This is never going to work. This table seats six, comfortably-"
"Uncomfortably, you mean," he interjected, eyeing its equally rococo design. "I imagine if one of the dinner guests sneezed they might break one of those spindles that's passing for a table leg."
She covered her mouth and looked at the table, then turned her big brown eyes upon him.
"It is rather awful, isn't it?"
His face softened. He tried to salvage the situation. "Oh, well…I think we have a similar one in storage at Malfoy Manor, honestly. I've seen worse."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "Don't try and make me feel better. This set belongs at 10 Downing Street, is what."
His brow wrinkled. "What's that?"
"Draco, you've been watching the muggle news the last two weeks straight…actually, you know what? It doesn't matter. Draco, get your things and go tell your father we're going for a ride."
"I thought you wanted me to clean."
"I do. But there's something else we need to take care of first."
"And that would be…"
"Just go, get your things. And later we'll turn this into scrap wood. Or I'll make a present of it to Harry and Ginny. Which really isn't a half-bad idea…" She put her hands back on her hips and shooed Draco out the door before putting in a quick call to Ginny, who in turn mentioned that Penelope Clearwater was looking for a dining set. With that settled, she grabbed her keys and purse, locked up the house; and walked out back to meet Draco and Lucius, who were both brimming with curiosity.
Ikea did not disappoint.
Draco even thought it might be worth risking his neck on the drive there and back, considering that the healing of Hermione's scars seemed to make her an exponentially worse driver. When he mentioned this to Hermione she gave him a disgruntled look and marched ahead of father and son.
Draco was enjoying provoking her even more now that he'd seen her quite naked. It added an extra element of danger to the encounters…and surrounded by the bedroom section, he knew she was probably thinking the exact same thing.
Lucius elbowed him. "Behave yourself. Just because she's allowed you into her bed doesn't mean you're allowed to embarrass her in that manner."
Draco glared at his father, but upon watching Hermione's slightly hunched shoulders as she hurried up the aisle away from them, clearly desperate to get out of the bedding, he did feel slightly guilty. Lucius elbowed him again.
"Don't just stand there and feel guilty. Go apologize. My god, have you learned nothing?"
He wasn't sure what made him more uncomfortable- the fact that he was being a prat to the woman he was in love with; or the fact that his father was willingly referencing Draco's sex life with the witch in charge of them both.
"Dad, you can hardly expect me to-"
"We're in a fucking muggle furniture store, Draco. Do you honestly think anyone here knows us? You can at least pretend to be a normal couple in a store named something as god-awful as Ikea." Then Lucius deliberately stopped several yards away from Hermione as she inspected a pair of chairs.
Draco hurried ahead of him, avoiding a third elbow to the ribs. "Er," he said when he stopped beside Hermione.
She spoke to him as if nothing had happened. Ouch, he thought. Then again, perhaps that was best.
"What do you think of this chair?" she asked. I like that table across the way, but I don't the chairs that match. I prefer these." She knelt down and inspected the bottom rungs and legs. "It seems in good order. Of course, we'll be putting it together ourselves, but…"
Draco thought he might as well not be standing there. She could have been speaking to Lucius, for all her casual attitude.
"Are you upset with me?" he asked in a low voice and she glanced up at him.
"No. I am a terrible driver, and you're perfectly right. I've been more on edge since my scars began fading. You can always stand to be less of a git," she said, standing again, "but I know how to deal with that, now."
"Do you?"
She smiled slyly and stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. His hands came up and he gripped her elbows to help her balance. His fingers tightened briefly as she murmured something, her breath warm across his ear, lips barely brushing the shell of it. But then he let go and she'd backed away as quickly as she'd approached and was inspecting the chairs again.
Draco's eyes were rather wide and his breathing slightly ragged. She hadn't really just said- oh, yes. She most definitely had said those things. She darted a glance at him and brushed some of her hair back before smiling prettily. He stuck his hands in his pockets and Hermione gave him an amused look. Bloody hell, there's nothing wrong with that fucking minx, is there, he asked himself. She can give as good as…
"So, what do you think?" she asked, interrupting his quite distracted thoughts. His eyes traveled down her arm to her fingers, which were dancing across the back of one chair. She bit her lips and he caught his breath.
"Fine," he said, wondering where his voice had gone. Oh, that's right. He shoved his hands further into his pockets. "Good choice."
"Glad you agree," she replied and then walked over to the table she'd been eying. He watched her go and a second later, felt his father beside him.
"Make up?" he asked his son curiously and Draco turned his glazed eyes to him.
"That's one way of putting it."
Lucius eyed Draco, then shrugged and wandered over to Hermione, who cast a quick glance back at Draco when the older wizard approached her. Draco could see her say something in response to Lucius' question and his father glanced at him as well, a knowing smirk on his face.
Draco paled and leaned on one of the favored chairs for support. Oh, hell. That confidence was going to have to come to an end. It wasn't fair, she and his father and their easy rapport- he was the one sleeping with her nearly every night, after all! The one kissing her, the one getting to know her more intimately than anyone else ever would at this point, like as not. Why, just last night she'd…he shook his head. No, he couldn't let himself get jealous that way. If she'd rather exchange secrets and hold long conversations with his father than with him, that had to be alright. He should be grateful she wanted him in any capacity, really. Shouldn't he? And besides, before his father had awoken they'd had their fair share of exchanges and bloody tender moments. No, Draco, he told himself, you're being unreasonable.
But it didn't ease the ache within him any to know that, when he saw Hermione put a hand on Lucius back and lean towards him in order to point something out. Or when his father looked down at her with that simultaneously affectionate and condescending smile on his face. Or when Hermione smiled back. He gripped the chair harder and longed for the stability of the farmhouse, where he didn't feel as much of an outsider.
And his traitorous heart kept beating.
When they got back to the house, Lucius helped Draco unloaded the prefab dining set from the back and roof of the Touareg and hauled everything inside. Then she put them to work dismantling the old table and moving it out of the dining room to make way for the new set. She hadn't bought all new chairs- she'd still need the old ones since there would be so many guests, but the new table would comfortably seat ten and uncomfortably a few more (thank god for extra leaves); which left the kitchen table for the children.
Of course, it was Ikea, so it wasn't the rustic, butcher block style furniture she'd envisioned for her dining room; ever since she'd realized she should redecorate- the kind that some grizzly old carpenter had built years ago for his daughter's wedding; and that had seen generations grow up; and thousands of pies made; and arts and crafts projects, and…well. It wasn't perfect, but the bright red, pressed wood would do- the style was a far cry from the rococo delicacy from before and Draco had declared it "sneeze-proof." And after all, it was just a Weasley dinner. These were the same people who happily called the Burrow home. She stifled a smile and shook her head.
No, she was clearly over thinking this whole thing; although that reassurance didn't stop her shoulders from tensing as she oversaw Draco and Lucius; or the nervous nibbling upon her fingers. It was only once the old table had been wrapped and set in a corner of the living room; the new chairs had been erected and checked for stability; and the new table stood proudly in the center of the dining room, its extra leaves already in, that she felt some of the nervous energy dissipate. Lucius gave her a pat on the shoulder as he left the room and she thanked him profusely before leaning back against the wall and surveying their work.
Draco was tossing a screw driver from one hand to the other. "Perhaps I could be a builder of some sort," he murmured and lifted one of the power tools again. He pointed it at Hermione and ran it a few times, giving her a menacing leer. She giggled and shook her head.
"I hope you have some other ideas," she said and Draco shrugged and began to pack the tools back in their box.
"I really don't know," he replied. "It's sort of up to Potter and wherever he can get us a place, you know?"
Hermione nodded and absentmindedly ran a dust rag over the chairs again. Draco finished boxing the tools up and then started stuffing all the packing materials into the trash bag Hermione had brought into the room. It occurred to him that they were finally on the verge of having a conversation, sharing thoughts, talking like normal adults. It gave him a small thrill- it was just another small victory he could cling to in the coming years, to pretend as if he'd had something with this woman- something special.
"Is there something else you'd like to do in here?" he asked and gestured at the walls. "New pictures? Vases? I could cut some flowers for you. Your camellias will need trimming back soon."
She gave him a strange glance. "Since when do you know about camellias?"
"We used them in Herbology once, didn't we?" he responded easily as he tied off the trash bag. "Perhaps I should try to be a gardener, instead. Plants are nice."
"They are," she allowed, then smiled slightly. "Here, let me have the bag- some of it can be sorted for recycle." He handed it over and looked at her expectantly. She shifted uncomfortably. "Er, you don't have to stay," she said finally. "You can go back to your work- I know you're nearly done with your reading."
He frowned and she bit her lip.
"Or, if you're bored with the encyclopedia, I could pick out some of the muggle classics for you. Oh, but I'm sure you don't want to read Dickens…" Her voice trailed off and Draco continued to stare at her.
"What?"
"So you really do find him easier to talk to."
"Oh, Draco, not this again-"
"Yes, this again. We talked before he woke up. I helped you win a bloody food fight. We're at it in your own damn bed most nights. But the minute I try to have a normal conversation with you now, you send me off to study muggles, or watch the news, or some damned horse needs brushing-"
"Those damned horses always need brushing-"
"My point exactly!" he exclaimed. Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the open dining room door and began to edge towards it.
"Draco, I can't believe you're…jealous of Lucius. You are the one I'm taking to bed, after all, and it's not as if he isn't just as capable of-"
Draco went very still and Hermione knew she'd said absolutely the wrong thing. Again. Then he was moving and around her in a flash, blocking the door, closing it, turning the lock. He whirled about to face her and she backed the other way, holding the trash bag between them like it was a shield. Why, oh why couldn't Ikea pack its furniture in cement blocks?
"Then why don't you go fuck my father, then?" he murmured, his voice low and quite dangerous sounding.
It almost gave her a thrill to hear the words and she felt her face go red.
"Maybe I should," she replied defiantly. "At least he doesn't act like a jealous, immature twelve year old- hey!"
Draco had snatched the bag from her hands and flung it over the table. It rolled to the floor with a soft thunk from the cardboard inside it. Hermione started to put out her hands, realized he would only take them hostage, and instead backed up against the sideboard. Draco paused in his approach and gave her a slow smile.
"I'm the twelve year old? Really?"
"Yes," she shot back, but immediately glanced about for a means of escape. There wasn't any. She was absolutely trapped.
"Hermione," he purred, leaning in close to her, putting his hands on the sideboard behind her, trapping her between his arms. "Hermione," he said again in that low voice, and she shivered as he continued, "you're the one who pointed out how highly illegal all these naughty things we've been doing with one another are. You're the one who protested us doing anything at all, because you didn't want me to get the wrong idea. And now you're the one avoiding me-" and here he pressed closer to her, "and refusing to talk about tings like two mature adults-" and there he bent his head down, putting his lips close to her ear, as she'd down with him, earlier. "And refusing to do anything, really, except let me fuck you, and I really do think, Hermione," he went on, ignoring her protests, "that you're the one trying not to get the wrong idea."
He paused and bent his head, looked her in the eyes. She was staring stalwartly at the edge of the table. He moved some and blocked her view with his shoulder. Her lids flickered some, but she still didn't respond, her lips pressed firmly together.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her temple, then kissed his way back to her ear. She was trembling again.
"Hermione," he whispered and she jumped slightly, then brought her hands up and swatted at him.
"Don't," she growled and he leaned back, but kept her trapped there.
"Don't what?"
"Don't try to sweet talk me," she replied and finally turned her eyes to his face. They looked like they were full of tears and he felt that guilty twinge again, but still refused to move. She went on when he didn't respond. "Don't try to kiss away my hurt feelings, or your nasty words, or my awful scars. You can't, alright? You never will. No matter how often you say something that may or may not be true. Your feelings are yours, Draco, and mine are…mine, damn it. I haven't tried to tell you to stop feeling whatever the hell you think it is you are, for god's sake, so why should you take it upon yourself to pry all my emotions out of me with a fucking crowbar?" She swore again and looked away. The tears had receded and she was plain old mad now.
His brows drew together. "Did it ever occur to you that you are telling me how to think and feel, by denying me the right to tell you-"
"Don't! I don't want to hear this, Draco- so, what? We screw around for a week and suddenly you have the right to bring this up again- after promising me not to make anything more of it? Promising, Draco. You promised!" Her voice broke on the last word and she let out a few sobs before stifling her tears with her hands.
Stricken, Draco moved back from her. He lifted his hands, wrapped his fingers about hers and drew her hands away from her face, held them to his chest.
"Hermione…I didn't mean to make you cry. It's just…this thing I feel, it's not something I'm willing to do halfway. We don't ever have to talk about the fact that I…if you don't want to. That's what I promised. That I wouldn't burden you with something you clearly don't want. Not the reality of saying it, out loud. But if…" He paused and Hermione blinked up at him, tears still hanging off her lashes.
She felt like a complete bitch and opened her mouth to tell him so when he spoke again, cutting her off.
"I know we said casual sex," he continued, and his cheeks flushed pink as he suddenly avoided her gaze. "And I know agreed. But there's no such thing, Hermione. Not for me, with you. And you knew that as well, going into this. So if we keep doing this, I deserve the courtesy of being treated like a human being."
"When have I ever not-"
"Yes, in everything else," he said. "With my studies, and the horses, and help about the farm. But ever since we started sleeping together you've been so damned…cursory with me. It's not the same as before- and that's the part of you that made me love you in the first fucking place."
She closed her eyes, as if she could pretend he hadn't just said the word. Heaven help her, but if being a bitch meant she denied his feelings even in the face of a confession, she would be one, gladly.
She took a deep breath and looked at him again. "So you want to be friends with benefits, is that it?"
He frowned and she plowed ahead.
"Draco, I feel a companionship with you I don't feel with Lucius, and vice versa. That's how friendship works, generally. No one person is ever going to fit another's personality perfectly. But that doesn't mean I'd rather take him to my bed. I like you, Draco. I do. You're smart, and…bright, and good with the horses, and a right sarcastic bastard and you make me laugh, sometimes. And I'll miss you…" Her voice trailed off as she realized all that was true. She really was going to miss them. Him. Draco- she would truly miss him and his snarky remarks and icy temper and the sweetness- oh, she might miss that most of all.
And just like that, all the complications and sidelong glances and bonfires she'd been avoiding the last few weeks came to call; and slid into place in one heavy lump over her heart. Bloody hell.
For Draco, all her words wrought quite the opposite effect. His heart was suddenly struggling against all the chains he'd put upon it, trying desperately to float away, her words made him hope so well. He was sure she must be able to see it shining on his face, as he lifted her hands and kissed them before settling them back against his chest. But he couldn't scare her away. He had to walk carefully- and it wasn't as if he was staying. No matter what happened next, he and his father were going.
He had to walk very carefully, with both their hearts.
"I'll miss you too," he said lightly. "But I don't care about qualifying this with some stupid title. I just want you to talk to me again. Not because I'm the only person available, or because I'm jealous of Dad. But because you do like me. Don't people who like one another talk? And instead you've been pushing me away."
Hermione swallowed and glanced away, thought about pulling her hands free. But it almost seemed a waste of time. He'd just trap her again, somehow. Like he was right now, with his words.
"I haven't meant to push you away," she finally replied softly. "And I'm sorry I have been. I'll try to stop. We can talk again, if you want to- we will talk. There. How's that?" She gave him an almost shy smile and he returned it gently.
"That would be nice."
She pressed her lips together, annoyed with herself for giving in to his demands.
"So, do you want the whole package in addition to conversation? Chats in bed, kisses over morning coffee or tea? Holding hands on the back porch-"
Draco arched a brow at her. "Trying to be funny? You know I want whatever you'll give me."
"Draco, you can't be serious. So, we play house for the next two weeks and then what? How is this supposed to help either of us? We'll just end up using one another more."
"I'm not using you, Hermione. If anyone is using someone-"
"Oh, come off it," she replied, starting to feel her ire again. "We're using each other and you know it. And what's more, you agreed to it all, as I seem to keep needing to point out."
He shook his head, looked her in the eyes. "I'm not-"
"Pretending we're some happy couple? Acting like you're anything other than a tenant I happen to be having an affair with? How is that not using me? Even if it is just to create some happy memories for yourself-"
Draco frowned, his nostrils flared. "That's what you think this is, for me? That's what you honestly think?"
She refused to answer and looked away.
"Hermione, if I am willing to use you, as you so kindly put it, to make a few happy memories, you need to understand it's only because it is you I'm making them with that it's ok. That I want to make them at all. Hermione, please look at me."
Her lower lip trembled and she continued to stare at his shoulder. He grit his teeth in exasperation and kissed her hands again as he pled with her.
"Let me make these memories with you- for you, Hermione. Let me do this much before I go. You've done so much for me- given me back my father, my dignity, my strength. Let me give you this in return. In another two and a half weeks we'll be gone- you won't ever have to think of me again if you don't want to. So let me repay you, help you, love you- whatever you want to call it- before I don't have the chance. Before I'm out of your life forever."
She shook her head and he could hear, by the shakiness of her breath, her voice, that she was trying desperately not to cry.
"That's just it, Draco. I…can't."
"Yes," he insisted softly, leaning closer, tightening his grip on her hands. "You can. Hermione."
She brought her eyes back to his and he could see her clearly, through the scars, the years of hurt and aching. Underneath it all she was a scared eighteen year old, desperate to regain the life she'd known. Desperate for exactly what he was offering her.
Again, she shook her head, turned away from him as if the sight of him watching her so steadily, so determinedly, was more than she could bear.
"I can't," she breathed again. "Because you will be gone. And I…can't take it. I can't."
He was so stunned by her words, her confession- not that it meant exactly what he'd wished for, hoped for, but it was so close, and it meant more than whatever else she'd offered- that his hands loosened; and she was able to wrench hers away in the midst of her tears and his shock, and make for the door.
But she stopped there, one hand on the wood, the other fingering the lock. She pressed her forehead to the door and closed her eyes, took several deep, steadying breaths. Please, god, she thought, let him ignore it. Let him be silent on my stupid, foolish feelings. I couldn't take him trying to talk to me about them right now anymore than I'm afraid I won't be able to handle them leaving.
There was a space of several heartbeats, where the only sounds in the room were their mutual breaths. Bees buzzed outside the windows. A slight breeze entered the room. Then Draco finally turned and went to her, his footsteps sounding loud in the closed space. She trembled and pressed herself closer to the door, as if she could pull stability from its still form. But she didn't turn the lock, didn't try to leave, and instead let him rest his hands on her shoulders.
More quiet breathing. Then, so very slowly, he tugged her away from the door, turned her around so she was facing him again. And he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight embrace. His scent overwhelmed her immediately and she breathed deep, closing her eyes and letting her hands come up and cling to his arms.
Neither of them spoke for what felt like a very long time; just stood there, arms around one another; letting the afternoon minutes tick by slowly as they accepted one another, exactly as they were. Confusion, faults, mental instability. None of it mattered, and Draco was glad to hold her, and she him.
It was a good memory to make. One of the best.
AN: There is more to this chapter…I just can't write anymore at the mo. That's a lot of pathos up there, after all. And fluff. God, the fluff…save me from it! Save meeeee…!