Edited 10/13/15
9. Different Light
You'll always be my pretty dancer
Spinning trails of fairy dust
Making moves like nobody else
On your own
If anybody needs a reason it's right here
Giving me shockwaves
Those magical mistakes
Sending shockwaves through my atmosphere
If anybody needs a reason it's right here
[Magical Mistakes, Athlete]
Draco should have known it wasn't going to turn out well when Potter had offered to be the one to interview him under veritaserum. Draco had hoped it would be one of the other senior Order members, but Lupin was back at the cottage, sleeping for the first time in the two days since the attack on Godric's, and Shacklebolt was off organising safehouses and Order members, and appraising everyone of what was happening. So it had been Potter, or Mr Weasley, and Draco had shrugged and said, Potter, then. He wished he hadn't, now.
He had apparated to the cellar of Aberforth's pub with Hermione and a few others, and sat down at a small table opposite Potter. Hermione, Thomas, Finnegan and the Auror had gone through to the Room of Requirement with Longbottom, and Draco had remained behind in the cellar. They'd used a sticking charm to glue him to his chair in case the line of questioning triggered any violent behaviour that Voldemort may have programmed into Draco without him knowing, put his wand supposedly out of reach - although Draco was pretty sure he could grab it if he was faster than Potter - and then he'd downed one of the vials of veritaserum.
Everything had gone fine at first - Potter asking him a list of dry questions about what exactly Draco had observed while he was under the Imperius in Voldemort's service, and what information he had about the Voldemort's plans and the Death Eaters' organisational situation and movements at the moment. Finally, Potter had put the list down on the table between them, checked that the charmed quill had transcribed everything correctly onto the scroll of parchment. Then, he'd shot Draco a shit-eating grin, and the real questioning had begun.
At first Draco had tried not to answer, but the compulsion was too strong, and he didn't have a bloody choice. He'd yell for help, but that would be both embarrassing, and there was likely no one to hear him anyway. He could technically stun Potter, or confund him or something similar if he could get his wand, but he thought that might be considered to be an overreaction by Hermione and the others - and besides the veritaserum made Draco a little groggy anyway, so Potter would probably be able to grab Draco's wand off the table and dangle it out of reach before Draco could snatch it. He was essentially trapped; being questioned by a sadistic monster in the guise of a mild-mannered boy with spectacles and ridiculous hair that appeared to be trying to get as far away from Potter's scalp as possible.
So Draco just gritted his teeth and swore that at a later date, he was going to make Potter very, very sorry.
"Do you love Hermione?"
"…Yes. Damnit! Fuck. Stop it, Potter!"
"Do you want to marry her?"
"Y-yes - ugh, stop asking me this shit, Potter! It has nothing to do with the war!"
"Do you -"
"I swear to fucking Merlin, Potter, if you don't shut it I'm going to murder you. Slowly."
"I'll take that chance, Malfoy. Umm…oh - do you want to have little half-blood babies with her?"
Draco fought the veritaserum; it was starting to wear off - but not enough.
"Y-y-y-yes… Fuck you this has nothing to do the war I'm going to fucking hurt you!" Draco glared at Potter furiously, taking the chance while Potter was laughing to snatch his wand, stabbing it threateningly at the bastard as he laughed and laughed until he was nearly choking on his damn laughter. Draco hoped he choked to bloody death.
"Put your wand away, Malfoy, we both know you aren't going to use it," Potter gasped, wiping away tears of laughter, and Draco arched an eyebrow.
"You think I won't stun you if you don't stop this - this - unprofessional, personal and irrelevant line of questioning? Because I will - I will and I'll enjoy it."
"Merlin - oh god - aha - go ahead, then, Malfoy. It was worth it," Potter giggled like a child, and Draco sneered at him, bubbling up with furious irritation…and just the tiniest bit of reluctant amusement. He couldn't really blame Potter for taking advantage of his unfortunate state of truthfulness, and it wasn't like Potter had asked him anything really embarrassing; but still. It was a matter of fucking principle. He swiped one of the two spare vials of veritaserum off the table and held it up, waved it at Potter, whose laughter was finally dying off.
"I'm going to give you this when you least expect it. I'm going to slip it in one of your drinks without you knowing, and you are going to be fucking sorry you fucked with me."
"What are you? A Weasley twin now? Draco Malfoy: prankster. That just isn't right. Although to be fair, the idea - of you - and - aha. Hilarious!" Potter choked out, snorting madly at his own private - probably lame - joke, and Draco narrowed his eyes and slumped back in his chair, tucking the vial of veritaserum in his pocket and ignoring Potter's brief disapproving look as he did so.
"You. Will. Be. Sorry," Draco emphasised menacingly as Potter started giggling again, hiding his exasperated smile with a look of haughty disgust at Potter's behaviour.
"Hermione's right. You really are extremely childish, Potter," he jabbed casually, arching an eyebrow, and Potter gave him a sudden wounded, doubtful look.
"Hermione wouldn't say that."
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Fine. I'll just ask you then. Malfoy, did Hermione call me childish?"
"The veritaserum's worn off now, Potter," Draco said lazily, and smirked smugly at the man opposite him. He felt like poking out his tongue at the bastard, but that would be beneath him, so he just folded his arms and smirked silently.
They'd been at the cottage for a week now; it was taking longer than expected to sort out the plans and tactics for their assault on Hogwarts, after losing Godric's Hollow, and seeing as Godric's had been the main base for the Order, everything was a bit chaotic. Or more accurately, very chaotic. Harry, Remus, Kingsley, Mr Weasley and Professor McGonagall, were apparating madly about the countryside trying to inform all the Order members who weren't based at Godric's what had happened, and not to send any information to the Godric's house, or visit it. They had saved their most important documents, but they'd lost a lot of information too and had several safehouses compromised, and as a result they were in no state to launch a full assault on Hogwarts. Not to mention the Room was 'playing up' according to Neville, and 'misbehaving'.
But if they had to be stuck waiting around, at least the cottage was a nice place to do it; Hermione liked the house and the rolling farmland around them, and the homier, relaxed intimacy of having less people around and no busy war activity going on, like there had been at Godric's. Seamus had been right the other day when he'd told her it would be like a holiday, because that was how it had ended up feeling to Hermione. A lovely holiday from reality.
"Merlin, that smells disgusting." Hermione wrinkled up her nose and peered into the frying pan over the stove.
"I'll have you know it tastes absolutely delicious," Dean said, half-offended. "My mum always said I made the best sausage curry ever."
"Yes, your mother," Draco drawled from the table, where he sat with a cup of tea that had gone stone cold long ago, a scroll and quill that he was using to jot down ideas on tactics for the planned attack on Hogwarts, and Teddy Lupin cradled comfortably in one arm. "And she has absolutely no reason to be biased, does she, Thomas?"
"Oi, eff off, Malfoy. My mum is not a liar." Dean waved the wooden spoon he had been using to prod the frying sausages at Draco, and glared balefully. Hermione shook her head doubtfully, examining the half-cooked sausages sizzling in the dented cast iron pan.
"I don't know. I'm sure the meat smells a bit funny. Are you certain it's not gone off?"
"It's fine, Hermione. It came with the rest of the groceries, and they all had cooling charms on them like usual. Honestly," Dean protested. "What, does one of you want to cook instead?"
"Can't," Draco said immediately, "I've got the baby," and then sucked on the end of his quill, making the feathers all bedraggled, staring intently at the parchment in front of him. Hermione smiled at Draco and then shook her head at Dean.
"I cooked last night, thank you very much. I'm not cooking every night just because you boys don't want to." Tonks was even worse at cooking than the rest of them, as they'd discovered two nights ago, so she wasn't even on the cooking rotation.
"I burn water," Seamus said as he wandered in, having caught the tail end of the conversation. He sauntered over to the stove and peered at the sausages as Dean poked violently at them. "I burn it brilliantly, though. Christ, what're you doing to the poor bangers, Dean? They're already dead, you know."
Hermione thought Dean might be trying to stop them from sticking to the pan and make them brown all around, but he was being rather vicious with them, and wasn't doing a very good job of it anyway. Besides, she was certain they were a bit off. She wrinkled up her nose again, anticipating the five of them fighting over occupation of the one loo all night, thanks to severe food poisoning. Lovely. Maybe she'd pass on dinner tonight.
"You bloody well explode water, Seamus," Dean pointed out with a grin, as Hermione opened the kitchen window to let some fresh air in and left Dean to his cooking, sitting at the table across the corner from Draco and trying to read what he'd scribbled down from the awkward sideways angle. She couldn't make heads nor tails of his notes, and so buried her nose in the cup of camomile tea she'd put to brewing five minutes ago, the scent of it thankfully overpowering the unpleasant smell of the meat - as long as she kept her nose in the cup. Seamus pronounced the sauce Dean tipped over the sausages 'strange looking', and Hermione stifled a laugh at Dean's overloud snort of annoyance.
"Well," Dean said indignantly, and Hermione glanced up from her cup again to see him frowning at his pan full of sausages. "Seeing as none of you want to bloody well cook, stop criticising my cooking."
"I miss Mrs Weasley," Seamus said forlornly, with one last look at Dean's massacre of the sausages, and then sloped over to the tea pot, putting it on to boil.
"Don't we all," Draco commented absently, jiggling Teddy as he started to complain. "When the hell is Nymphadora coming to collect her bloody child? My arm is getting tired and I think he needs his nappy changed. Soon. And I'm not doing it."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "She'll be back when she's back. She hasn't spent any time with Remus in three days, and she's only been gone just over an hour."
"I think he's shit himself," Draco said matter-of-factly, and then smirked at Hermione, his eyes catching the late afternoon light and sparking silver and happy, and she couldn't help grinning at him like an idiot. Since that afternoon by the stream things had been a lot better, and they were both slowly starting to relax and decompress, getting past the trauma they'd gone through. It wasn't perfect, and Hermione doubted they would ever be able to get rid of the emotional and mental scars they'd been left with. But that was okay, she could accept that. Because Draco no longer seemed like he was about to snap and go to furious, angry pieces at any moment, and she wasn't pulling her hair out anymore, and that was something. That was enough. It was hard not to be at least a little bit happy, with no missions to go out on, staying in this cosy little cottage, with Draco. With Draco; that was the important part.
"Fine," Hermione said, setting down her tea and getting up with a groan, a mock-frown and a roll of her eyes. "Give Teddy here; I'll take him and change him then."
She took Teddy off to change - having sniffed his rear and confirmed that yes; he had, as Draco so eloquently put it, shit himself. On her way out of the kitchen with Teddy up to her shoulder, she grinned as she heard Draco say with a smirk to his voice: "I'm not complaining about your cooking, Thomas - I'm sure your mother's right and your sausage curry is just delicious - but I think I'll have just have a bowl of cornflakes for dinner tonight."
Dean grumbled and Draco laughed, and just as she started ascending the stairs at the far end of the lounge, Hermione faintly heard Seamus sigh heavily.
"I miss Mrs Weasley…so much…"
They'd set some chairs up outside at the front of the cottage facing toward the sunset, and Draco was on his fifth beer, one behind Thomas and two ahead of Finnegan. They hadn't had a drink in a while - they hadn't had permission to apparate out to the nearest Muggle town and buy non-essentials like alcohol, so they'd had to go without. Dolt, the Auror - ridiculous fucking name - had finally taken pity on them today, and taken Finnegan side-along to the nearest bottle shop, in a tiny village near on twenty miles away. They'd had to pool funds because none of them had much Muggle money, but in the end they'd scraped up enough cash for Finnegan to return triumphant with several boxes of the cheapest beer available, and a bottle of vodka so absurdly cheap no one had been brave enough to try it yet, lest it poison or blind them.
They were drinking in near silence, only the occasional words spoken and all of them about neutral topics, like the war. Draco got along well enough living in the same house as Thomas and Finnegan and they had some strange form of rapport, but they weren't friends by any meaning of the word. Polite acquaintances, perhaps. He sipped at his beer and stared at the sunset; a swollen orange-red globe half-sunken below the horizon, a few scraggly trees shadowed black against the light. Finnegan and Thomas were blessedly quiet drinking partners, Hermione was inside cooking dinner - he could hear her banging and clattering around from out here - Nymphadora was upstairs with Teddy, moping because she hadn't seen enough of her husband lately, and Draco was well on his way to getting pissed. It was quite pleasant.
And then the familiar crack of apparition sounded despite the fact that they weren't expecting anyone, and Draco dropped his beer and shot to his feet, whirling around and pulling his wand, and pointing it straight at - Potter, Weasley, and Ginny Weasley. They blinked at him in surprise from the doorstep that they'd apparated onto, and Potter put up his hands in a mock show of surrender.
"It's just us, Malfoy," he said carefully, and Draco glared at the bespectacled man. "I can see that," he snapped, heart still racing, and holstered his wand, scooped up his half-frothed over beer and slumped back into his chair, trying to look utterly casual and unbothered. His face wanted to flame up at the sight of Weasley though, knowing that the redhead knew what Rostan and the others had done to him. Fuck. He knew. Draco gritted his teeth as he flicked foam and bits of grass of the side of his beer bottle and began drinking what was left, trying to ignore the presence of the others.
Thomas and Finnegan were loudly greeting them, and offering Potter and Weasley seats outside and a few beers. Ginny Weasley - Draco didn't know what to call her anymore, because Hermione would disapprove of Weaselette, and Ginny was just too friendly - said something about going inside and helping Hermione with the dinner, which Weasley laughed at, and then the front door opened and banged shut again behind her. Draco kept staring at the sunset, wondering what his chances were of being accosted for conversation if he stayed here and looked very unwilling to be disturbed, as compared to making a swift escape inside. By the time he'd decided to make a runner inside though, a shadow loomed over him. He ignored it determinedly, but it didn't go away.
"Malfoy," Weasley said uncomfortably, and Draco grimaced and stared reluctantly up at the man. He stood holding a bottle of beer and scratching at the back of his head, looking incredibly awkward. Draco glared at him silently, hoping to dissuade him, but Weasley just kept standing there, fidgeting but waiting, his nails picking and scratching at the label on his beer bottle. Sccrape, sccrrape, sccrrape. Draco swore inwardly and gave in, if only because it seemed like the only way to get Weasley to piss off and leave him alone.
"What?"
"I, ah, could I speak to you…privately, for a moment, Malfoy?"
"Fine." The word wrenched out of Draco's mouth and he jerked to his feet, stalking off some distance away, hearing Weasley trail behind him. He turned around once they were out of earshot of Potter, Thomas and Finnegan, and scowled at the redhead. "What do you want, Weasley? Hurry up."
"I, ah…"
"Spit it the fuck out so I can get back to my undisturbed drinking," Draco snapped, his pulse fluttering fast and nervous because he really didn't want Weasley to acknowledge what Hermione had told him. It was awkward enough knowing that Weasley knew without talking about it. Fuck. Weasley scratched his head again awkwardly, and squinted at Draco.
"Um. Sorry, all right? I was a right dick the other day, and I said some shit I shouldn't have. And I'm…I'm sorry, Malfoy. I know you don't like me much, and the feeling's mutual, but we both care about Hermione and she's not happy if we're all bloody shirty at each other, so…peace?"
Draco felt the air whoosh out of him, because that hadn't been half as bad as he'd expected - and had Weasley actually shown some tact? He grinned despite himself, and stared at the hand Weasley held out tentatively for a moment, and then took it and shook once, gripping firmly. "Fine, Weasley. Peace; for Hermione's sake - not because I like you. Because I don't."
"Right." Weasley nodded vigorously. "For Hermione's sake," he agreed, "Because you're an irritating, arrogant git." But he was grinning down at the ground between them, and scratching at his head awkwardly again.
"And you're a Weasley. Need I say more?"
"Oi - screw you, Malfoy. When you insult the Weasley name, you insult my mother, and I know damn well you love her cooking," Weasley pointed out, heading back towards Potter and the others, and Draco smirked smugly.
"True - I do love her cooking. But; she's only a Weasley by marriage, so technically I'm not insulting her so much as I am you, and…"
"The Room is getting better. It's doing really well - I'm amazed at its progress. It still can't always get what I want perfectly right, and there are scorch marks and other fire damage here and there, but for the most part, she's doing really well," Neville said in between bites of chicken, and Harry laughed at him.
"Did you just call the Room a 'she', Neville?"
Neville looked embarrassed, and ducked his head self-consciously, a blush spreading over his cheeks, and Luna smiled fondly at him and patted his hand.
"Neville finds the Room responds better when he thinks of the Room as an entity, and not just a thing," she said as if it was the most logical thing in the world, and Neville was a genius. Maybe he was; he was the only one who could handle the Room so well. Hermione smirked at Neville's red cheeks across the table, shoving her chicken around her plate, not finding the meat very appealing.
"What is it about men and always naming their cars and boats and weapons and such after women?"
"What? Who does that? I know I don't," Ron said confusedly through a huge mouthful of half-chewed, buttery green beans, and Hermione's stomach turned at the sight of the mangled mess.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ron!"
"Merlin, 'Mione, you're as bad as my mum." He shut his mouth though, and finished chewing before he asked again: "So what's with the naming things after girls?"
"Muggles do it a lot," Harry explained succinctly, and then the crowded table fell into the near-silence of chewing and knives and forks scraping on plates; everyone seeming to enjoy dinner well enough, which was nice and gratifying, because it had been Hermione's turn to cook tonight, and she had been sure it was going to turn out terribly.
"So when do you think we'll be able to use it to move on Hogwarts?" Draco asked, sitting next to Hermione, his foot hooked around her ankle, and their thighs pressing hard together - they were all a bit cramped around the table, with Neville, Luna, Harry, Ginny and Ron around at the cottage for dinner. They could only magically expand the table so far before there was no room left in the equally tiny kitchen/dining room. Cho was still recovering from the curse she'd sustained, and she was on bed rest until further notice, but one of the Machi healers who was working with the Order said that Cho should make a full recovery, and that her ability to bear children shouldn't be affected, which had taken an enormous worry off Ron's shoulders.
It had been eleven long days now since the ambush on Godric's, and they would have already moved to attack Hogwarts, except the Room of Requirement wasn't allowing Neville to open a doorway into Hogwarts for some reason. They could still access the Room through Aberforth's, but no matter how much Neville tried, it kept them firmly out of the school's corridors. They weren't sure why, but Neville had been trying to figure it out. According to Luna, he'd barely gotten any sleep lately - he was too busy researching what little information could be found on the Room, and spending hours just desperately trying to make the doorway appear.
"I don't know." Neville shrugged. "I think the access issue we're having is like a defence mechanism - the Room is trying to protect itself until it's healed properly - so it should only be a temporary thing."
"It wouldn't be wards on the Hogwarts side? Voldemort's people making sure we can't make use of the Room?" Draco asked, and Neville shook his head.
"No - if that were the case they would have had the wards up ages ago. As it is, they think the Room is destroyed, and that they've got us on the run. I doubt they'd bother with strengthening their defences now."
"You need to figure out a way to get the Room to open into Hogwarts again soon, Neville. Because they do have us on the bloody run, and if we can't strike back soon the Death Eaters are just going to start wearing us down, one skirmish at a time," Harry said grimly, and Hermione kept her eyes on her roast chicken, jabbing at it with her fork and trying not to let the war talk ruin what had, up until now, been a good evening.
"Let's talk about something else," Ginny said loudly, and Hermione looked up to see the younger witch give her a sympathetic smile as she nudged Harry and continued. "We can talk about the war all you want tomorrow, but right now I just want to relax and have a nice dinner with my friends for once."
"All right, Gin," Harry said and kissed Ginny's cheek lightly, and Ron made a disgusted face and a gagging noise, muttering something about 'at the dinner table?' and Ginny punched him hard in the arm and made him yelp.
Draco's foot slid against Hermione's under the table as he picked tidily at his dinner, his eyes flicking over to her now and then, a faint uncomfortable flush on his cheeks as Ginny dragged Hermione into talk about weddings and dresses. Hermione didn't particularly care too much for wedding talk, really, because if she and Draco were able to get married - and she didn't let herself think about the fact that it still might not happen - then it was a long, long way off. But she supposed it was nice to talk about something unimportant and girly for a change. Besides, the awkward looks Harry and Draco exchanged as she and Ginny teased them about the possibility of a double wedding with perfectly straight faces, were absolutely hilarious.
They hadn't really had a chance to all get together since the attack on Godric's, and just relax, so they decided to make the most of it. After dinner Hermione, Ginny, and Luna disappeared into the lounge to talk, leaving the boys to clean up the kitchen, which they did grumblingly before heading outside to drink beer and watch the sunset. When the others left just before midnight, Ginny and Luna had to side-along apparate with Harry, Ron and Neville, because they were so drunk they'd splinch themselves otherwise. Dean and Seamus staggered upstairs to pass out shortly thereafter, and even Draco was wobbly on his feet as he locked the cottage door behind him.
He grinned blearily at Hermione as she watched with amusement as he had to try the locking charm three times before it worked, and then he reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulled him stumbling into the circle of his arms, grey eyes all hot and glazed on hers. He bent his head to hers and kissed her with his eyes still locked to hers, and his lips were so warm and soft and delicious…and he reeked of the disgustingly cheap vodka that Seamus had bought the other day. Hermione gulped and detangled herself from him, one hand clasped to her stomach and the other to her mouth, feeling decidedly queasy.
"You all right?" his voice was low and rough, and his fingers traced down the side of her cheek.
"Mmhmm," she nodded gingerly, and swallowed hard again, mouth watering sickly. "You - you smell like a distillery, Draco. It's awful."
"I drank the vodka," he said, eyes too wide and a stupid smirk pulling at his lips, swaying on his feet and reaching out to grab at the wall before he fell down, and Hermione realised with a laugh that Draco was completely and utterly pissed. She didn't know if she'd ever seen him quite so drunk while she'd still been sober - that vodka must have been potent stuff; it certainly smelt like it.
"I can tell you drank the vodka," she said very seriously but a smile twitching about her mouth, dropping her hand down from it now that he wasn't oozing his alcohol stench all over her. "You're having a shower before you get in bed with me. I'm not inhaling that smell all night. Come on." She jerked her head towards the hallway, and threw concerned glances over her shoulder as he made his unsteady way after her, making sure he wasn't about to fall over and pass out on the floor.
"Was nice," he said, sounding half surprised by that fact, as she opened the bathroom door and went in, warming the shower up for him.
"What was? Getting so drunk you're going to wish you were dead tomorrow, and will beg me and promise me anything if I'll just get you a hangover potion - which incidentally, we don't have."
"No, no," he said, muffled as he stripped his shirt off over his head, while Hermione watched appreciatively - he'd put on weight recently, and wasn't quite so frighteningly thin anymore, just lean, without an ounce of spare fat. "No. That bit will be fucking awful. I'm not so bloody pissed I don't realise the hangover is going to be death warmed up, Hermione." He grinned at her wryly as his trousers came down next, shoved over his hips leaving him only in his shorts. Hermione leant back against the bathroom vanity and stared openly, a warm feeling suffusing her, and all tangling with desire as Draco stretched lazily, the lean muscle beneath his pale skin shifting and rippling.
"No. The -" Draco waved a hand aimlessly as he searched for the right word. "- The drinking with Potter and Weasley and the others, I mean. It was…weird…but nice. Like they…actually liked me. Draco Malfoy, pureblood bigot and ex-Death Eater." Draco frowned at Hermione as his boxer shorts fell to the floor, swaying on his feet and blinking owlishly, grey eyes wide and confused. "My life is really fucking weird, Hermione."
"You're drunk. So, so drunk," she said with a helpless smile, cutting him off as he started to ramble about the oddities of life, and fate, and the paths one took and choices one made, and giving him a gentle shove into the shower. "We don't have any sobriety potions, and I've never really had need to learn the charm - and if I do it wrong it'll turn you pink and make hair grow out of the soles of your feet, if I recall correctly, so I'll just go make you a cup of tea. Try not to drown in there."
Draco put his hands forward against the wall the shower head was attached to, holding himself up, the water hitting the back of his neck, head bowed and hair dripping wet as he shot Hermione a sidelong glance, a corner of his mouth curving up. He looked absolutely bloody gorgeous. "Sure you don't want to join me?" He was artless in his drunkenness, a sweet, dark tone to his slurred words, and Hermione was tempted. Very tempted. But instead she shook her head firmly.
"Not until you've washed away the alcohol fumes and brushed your teeth," she said smartly, drawing the cheap plastic shower curtain across.
A hot, wet hand clasped around her wrist just as she finished pulling the curtain, and she squeaked as Draco yanked the curtain back and dragged her half into the shower, his hands clutching her wrists and wetting her sleeves, his tongue thoroughly exploring her mouth. The water trickled off him onto her, and his mouth was hot and greedy and clumsy, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip, his tongue darting over her top lip, sucking on her tongue…and she was breathless and dizzied and wet all down her front. Hermione's insides went all melty and hot and she felt a throbbing dart of lust, and then her stomach turned again as she huffed in a breath of air through her nose as smelt the disgusting vodka again, and then she could taste it on his tongue suddenly, and her desire was replaced by queasiness.
"Mmph," she complained frantically and Draco let her go immediately, standing there under the shower panting and smirking at her, hair plastered over his forehead and water dripping off the tip of his nose. His cock was hard, and his lean stomach caved and expanded as he dragged in breath, but Hermione hardly noticed how appealing he looked. She was too busy fleeing the bathroom for the loo, crashing through the door and banging it shut behind her.
She hung her head over the toilet bowl, holding her hair out of the way with one hand as her stomach protested and threatened to bring up her dinner. She retched a few times but nothing came up, and in the end she spat in the toilet and flushed it, pinning her hand against her stomach and making a disgusted moue as she slumped back against the toilet wall.
Merlin, she didn't know what was in that vodka, but she was surprised it hadn't killed Draco on the spot.
She stayed leaning against the toilet wall for quite a while, breathing slow and careful and hoping her stomach would settle before Draco passed out and drowned in the shower. She was certain that if she moved now, she would start throwing up everywhere and never stop. A quiet knock came at the door, and she gulped down her ill feeling as best she could.
"Yeah?" she asked hoarsely, and even speaking made her feeling like being sick.
"Hermione? Need me to, ah, hold your hair back, or something?" A rather uncertain offer came through the door, and Hermione smiled to herself - it was Draco, and he still sounded very drunk. She shoved off from the wall and opened the door, hand still pressed to her stomach. He was damp, a towel knotted around his hips and his wet hair shoved roughly back off his face, grey eyes all fuddled with drink but worried on hers.
"Are you all right?" he asked and Hermione nodded slightly, her mouth all twisted up into a disgusted expression.
"That stuff is awful. I can't believe you drank it. Just the smell makes me want to throw up."
"I'm sorry." Draco held out a hand to her and she raised an eyebrow at him. She didn't really want to feel sick all over again.
"I scrubbed myself raw and brushed my teeth," he said softly, smiling faintly at her uncertainty, and Hermione moved into his arms, slipping hers around his waist and leaning her forehead on his chest. He was warm and damp and smelt like vanilla soap and spearmint, and she sighed contentedly as his fingers soothed through her hair.
"You can make your own tea. I'm going to bed. Moving makes me feel sick," she mumbled, still feeling queasier than was fair considering he was the one who'd drunk enough to drop an elephant. Draco kissed the top of her head, and said something sympathetic in a muddled slur that she didn't quite understand, and she stumbled off to the bedroom, feeling horrible. Tucked into the warm, cosy bed, Hermione started feeling a little better, and she was sitting up in bed re-reading Madeleine Dubois-Volkov's latest update on how the scar fading potion was coming along and smiling to herself at the woman's admirable single-mindedness when Draco came in with two cups of tea, still just in a towel and with his hair spiked up in wet tufts. He looked like a half-drowned ferret.
"I got you lemon and ginger," he said, pushing the door shut with his toe and putting his own tea down on his bedside table, passing hers across the bed to her. "I remember mother always used to get the house elves to make me lemon and ginger tea when I had an upset stomach." He smiled at the memory as he un-knotted the towel and picked a pair of pyjama trousers off the floor and pulled them on.
"Thank you. That's very sweet."
"I'm always sweet when I'm drunk," he said dryly, clambering into bed and shooting her a smirk, his fingers stealing up her thigh. And then Hermione had to put her cup of tea down, before it got spilt all over them both. By the time she got to drink her tea it had gone stone cold and Draco was fast asleep, sprawled out next to her with his hair over his eyes and a satisfied smile on his lips, his hand possessively on her bare thigh. Hermione pulled her wand out of the bedside table drawer and cast a quick contraceptive charm - not having been bothered with Muggle contraceptives since she had escaped from capture - and then paused and frowned. Counted back in her head, trying to remember when her last period had been.
But the past few months had been a blur, and Hermione was too tired and groggy-headed right now to figure out where she should be in her cycle, and whether she needed to worry, or go and buy tampons. She'd work it out tomorrow, she decided very firmly, and waved the lights off with a flick of her wand; curling up under the blankets and insinuating herself back into the warm clutch of Draco's arms.
The next morning, Hermione went in search of Tonks, and found her upstairs changing Teddy's nappy and altering her face to make him laugh. He was already trying to copy the changes his mother made to her face, and at the moment they both sported pink hair, piggish noses, and impossibly wide mouths. Hermione knocked on the door and fiddled nervously with her jersey zipper when Tonks looked up. "Morning, Hermione. What d'you need?"
Hermione sucked in a deep breath, and forced herself to speak. "I was, ah, wondering if you could apparate with me to the local village this morning."
Tonks raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I could. Maybe. Why?"
"Can I talk to you about it later, perhaps?" Hermione asked, her palms suddenly getting sweaty, even though she felt cold. "I just want to make sure of something first."
Tonks gave Hermione a long, long look, her face returning to normal, and her mouth pursing up, eyebrow arching as she examined Hermione closely. Hermione shifted under the older witch's steady gaze, hands twining together, nibbling at her lower lip. She lifted her eyes to Tonks'.
"Please, Tonks?"
"All right, sure," the older witch said at last, tucking Teddy back into his little trousers and lacing up his knitted booties, scooping him up into her arms and planting a smacking kiss on his forehead. Tonks' attention swung suddenly back to Hermione, and her eyebrow lifted even higher and a smirk lurked at the edges of her lips. "I assume Draco won't be coming with us, today?"
Hermione blushed; was she really that obvious? She supposed she was. "No. No he won't be."
"Good," Tonks said brightly as she hurried past Hermione out of the bedroom and down the hallway. "He can mind Teddy while we're gone then, it'll be good pract-" Tonks broke off and shot Hermione a wicked, wicked grin over her shoulder as she started down the stairs. "Ah - good for him." Tonks finished, and Hermione blushed even hotter and trailed after the other witch without a word, feeling more mortified than she had in quite a while. She had hoped she wouldn't have to mention apparating to the village to Draco at all because he could see right through her, but it seemed as though Tonks wasn't going to let her get away with that.
Merlin, why did everything have to be so difficult? Hermione tried to ease her blush with the cool backs of her hands, and breathed in slow, even breaths as she followed Tonks down the stairs in search of Draco, desperately trying to think of an excuse. Feminine hygiene was the first thing that came to mind, and Hermione thought it seemed perfectly plausible, and sort-of-not-really-a-lie. I'm going with Tonks to the village to get…ah…feminine things, she rehearsed in her mind, and decided that any blushing would be taken by Draco as merely ordinary embarrassment, and sighed with relief. Now she just had to cross her fingers and hope for the best - what exactly the best might be though, Hermione honestly had no idea. She straightened her shoulders and put up her chin, and tried to ignore the feeling of heat suffusing her cheeks.
Hermione returned with Tonks an hour later to find a houseful of people, and a flurried discussion in the lounge that seemed to be about the attack on Hogwarts. It was quite a good distraction, actually, because no one noticed when Hermione slipped away to the loo for five minutes.
When she came back - her hands still trembling a little and her heart pounding in her chest like it was trying to rip free of its moorings - Neville spotted her and waved her over to him with a smile. Draco, Harry and Ron were talking intently with Remus and Kingsley, pointing at bits of parchment that were scattered over a large table in the middle of the lounge, rearranging them, arguing over things. Mr Weasley, Professor McGonagall, and a few others were hanging close in at the table too, making suggestions and disagreeing.
"What's going on?" she asked Neville, running her hands over her hair and trying to look composed and normal, and probably failing terribly.
"The Room let me open a doorway into Hogwarts this morning. They're planning the attack - they want to move as soon as possible."
"When's as soon as possible?" Hermione asked, throat feeling dry and heart not going any slower as she thought about storming Hogwarts. Battle; fighting and Death Eaters and students everywhere getting in the way and fighting back and death and…
"Tonight," Neville said, shooting Hermione a worried look. "You all right, Hermione? You look a little…"
"Fine," she said quickly, even though she wasn't. She had more than one reason to be terrified about going into battle - not that she would miss it; if they were going to fight, she would be there. She forced a smile. "I'm perfectly fine, thanks, Neville. Just a little…surprised, I guess. For some reason I thought it would be a while longer before we had to go out and fight again." She looked down at her hands, clasped together tightly to try to disguise the tremble to them. "I suppose I've gotten lax, sitting around here doing nothing. It's made the war seem so far away, being out here away from everything, just…waiting."
Neville gave her a reassuring smile, and patted her on the arm. "I know what you mean. Not having to fight lately has been…quite a relief. I mean, I've been busy with the Room, but it's all been very peaceful and safe - like living in another world."
"A pretend one," Hermione said, knotted fists pressing against her abdomen as she stared at Draco, bent over a spread of parchments on the table, in dark trousers and a long-sleeved tee-shirt, his hair almost pure white in the light and falling forward over his forehead. He pointed something out with his silver hand, lips moving quickly, frowning up at Harry, who shrugged helplessly. Draco pressed the heel of his ink-stained flesh and bone hand to his forehead in frustration, and then scrabbled through the parchments, yanking one out and jabbing at something written on it, arching an eyebrow at Harry, his grey eyes cool and sharp. He looked in his element; as much as he ever would be, anyway. Hermione knew he'd never really fit in with the others, but that was all right, because she didn't need him to.
"Well, yes, but," Neville said brightly, and Hermione flicked a glance at his smiling face as he gave her an eager look. "It won't be pretend forever, you see, Hermione. It's a world that all this is working towards achieving. Right now, you, me - everyone - we're all making history. Isn't that cool?"
Hermione's fingers curled up against her stomach as she nodded in slow agreement, her eyes drifting back to Draco. He must have sensed her gaze from across the room because he glanced up at her from across the room, his quill pausing just above the paper, and a slow smile spreading over his lips as his eyes met hers. Hermione dropped her hands to her sides and smiled back at him, her heart leaping and squeezing tight, and then his eyes slipped away from her and back to the parchment, as he scribbled something down and shoved the parchment across the table towards Remus with a nod, sparing another glance and slow, lazy smile at Hermione as he did so. His eyes were warm and hard at the same time, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat, fingers twitching at her sides, like fish caught on hooks, wanting to lift her hands back up and stopping herself.
And then Draco's gaze was drawn away from Hermione again as Remus pushed a piece of parchment back at him and Harry nudged him to get his attention, gaining Harry a sharp frown before Draco refocused on whatever they were working on. The air seemed to snap with released tension when Draco's eyes left Hermione, a breath whooshing out of her and her shoulders sagging. She ignored the funny look Neville gave her, smiling tightly at him and then pushing her way through the cramped lounge to the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of tea would settle her nerves. Hermione didn't think so somehow, but at least it gave her a quiet moment to compose herself in the empty, sunny kitchen.
She sat at the table facing the door, the sun streaming in the kitchen windows warm on her back, the lemon and ginger tea wafting its fresh scent up in coils of white steam. The chatter from the lounge came pouring through the kitchen door though, ruing the peacefulness, and Hermione cast a Quieting Charm to muffle the sound and sat with her fingers wrapped around her hot mug, staring down into the tea and sipping at it slowly. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do now. Tonks had given her a sharp, concerned look and said, "You owe me an explanation later, remember?" just before they'd apparated back, but she didn't want to talk to Tonks right now. There were too many things to sort out in her own head, first.
"We're going in tonight."
Hermione's head jerked up as Draco sat down at the table, opposite her, his feet stretching out beneath and bumping accidentally-on-purpose into hers. Her tea cup was only lukewarm in her hands, and Hermione wondered how long she'd been sitting there absently, all tangled up in her own thoughts. And finding no real solutions either, unfortunately. She blinked at Draco, her brain slow to process his words. He looked hard, and drawn in sharp greys and whites, and he repeated himself, worry making him impatient.
"We're attacking Hogwarts tonight, Hermione."
"Everyone?" she asked, her muddled brain finally kicking itself into gear, fingers tapping at her mug.
"A lot of people. Not everyone, in case we somehow get trapped in there, and it's a trap, or we've underestimated their forces, but a good quarter of the Order will be involved."
"You'll be going?" Hermione knew even as she asked the question what Draco's answer would be, but she asked anyway. He nodded, eyes running over her face, and she looked down at her tea, afraid he'd see something of the truth in her eyes. She cleared her throat and thought about the anticipated battle tonight, clearing her mind of everything else.
"I'm going too, then. Aren't I?" she checked crisply, and Draco's lips flattened into a thin line.
"Are you up to it?"
"Are you?" she shot back, and Draco smirked tiredly, rubbed a hand over his eyes.
"Fuck. I am. And yes," he sighed. "Of course you're going, Hermione. I did realise you wouldn't allow yourself to not be involved in this attack - I'm not stupid."
"And you're fine with that? You're not going to be all distracted by my safety and get yourself hurt?"
"I'm not fine with that, I may get distracted, but I plan to not get hurt." He smirked a little. "I knew you wouldn't hide away for the rest of the war just because you got captured, Hermione. Noble bloody Gryffindor. And you wouldn't be you if you did the sensible thing and stayed out of the fighting." He didn't look happy though, and Hermione had the feeling it hadn't been easy for Draco to not try to persuade, trick or force Hermione into not coming on the mission. She resolved right then to not mention anything to him - not yet, anyway. Her hand slid down to her pocket, patting the slight lump there. She'd need to find somewhere to hide it. Maybe charm it to look like a tampon and tuck it in her beaded purse, which Ron - bless him - had grabbed from her room before he'd disapparated from Godric's the night of the attack.
She sipped at her tea and smiled over the rim of the mug at him. "It's not like you'll be doing the sensible thing either, Draco."
"You're rubbing off on me, Granger," he said, and her last name sounded almost foreign on his smirking lips, sending a wicked thrill through her, memories twining tight knots in her belly. She licked her lips and tried not to show the shudder that went through her, but he saw it anyway, and his smirk grew. He stood, puffing his fringe out of his eyes with a sharp breath and holding out his hand to her in invitation. "Want to go for a walk to the stream?"
Hermione bit her lip. "Don't we have to prepare?"
"We've got a few hours," Draco said, rounding the table and holding out his hand to her again, raising his eyebrow, his eyes intent on hers. Hermione stood and took his hand, leaving her tea abandoned as they slipped through the lounge unnoticed, down to the bedroom to fetch their cloaks - not that it was cold - and for her to lace on a pair of trainers, before sneaking out the back door. Hermione felt like prey, with the way Draco was watching her as she hurried down the few steps to the ragged lawn, and truth be told, she rather liked the feeling. His eyes sharp and demanding on her back as the long grass scratched at her bare lower legs, and the sun weighed down her cloak with heavy warmth, and for a while, she forgot her worries and just enjoyed the afternoon.
They headed toward the stream in silence - it was a fifteen minute walk if one walked briskly, and they weren't; just strolling along unhurriedly. The sun was warm and the breeze was cool, and Hermione's fingers brushed against Draco's hand - not quite holding hands, just little touches of warm fingertips on the back of his hand. She was in shorts and a long-sleeved stripy tee-shirt and trainers, and she'd twisted her hair up into a bun and stuck her wand through it to hold it roughly in place, and wisps of wavy brown fell loose around her face. They'd walked for ten minutes and the house lay far behind them when Hermione pulled ahead of Draco, and turned and walked backwards a few metres ahead of him, a grin on her face.
She stared at Draco so intently he felt almost uncomfortable under her gaze, and ducked his head so his fringe fell over his eyes, staring at his boots as they crushed the long grass stalks beneath them.
"You're going to fall if you don't look where you're going," he warned her, looking up through his fringe, and Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. She was in an odd mood; all jittery, exuberant nerves, where Draco was mired in worry - he couldn't take his mind off the attack tonight. Tonight - Merlin, it seemed so sudden, and it was, but they were ready to move, so move they would. Once they'd taken Hogwarts back, Lupin hoped Voldemort would be forced to move on the school, for a final showdown on the Order's terms. Draco's attention was jerked rudely back to the present when Hermione yelped, and he was pulling his wand and darting forward when he realised she'd just tripped over a tussock of grass.
There was no danger - just Hermione windmilling her arms, the most ridiculous look of indignant surprise on her face as she went down on her arse on the soft earth and long grass. Draco strode up and stood beside her head, laughing down at her as she tried to catch her breath.
"I told you that you were going to trip over."
"Ouch," Hermione said rather pathetically, making a dramatically wounded face, and Draco smirked at her, cocked an eyebrow.
"Are you all right? I would've thought your arse would cushion your fall."
"Git," she got out, and narrowed her eyes up at Draco, whipped her wand out of her hair and flicked it at him - and then his legs went out from under him, and he crashed to the ground next to her, swearing, barely catching himself on his hands.
"Bitch," he told her in a gasping laugh when he got his breath back, and Hermione cackled at him like a madwoman, clutching her stomach and laughing so hard she was whooping for breath. He grinned at her and flopped back onto the grass, squinting up at the dizzying blue of the sky above, and listening to Hermione's laughter slowly wind down next to him. He shut his eyes and took deep breaths, enjoying the feel of the dry grass scratching against his silver hand; the magical construct so far seemed to be more sensitive to sensation in general, but dulled to pain - which he expected would be useful. It grated at Draco, to be grateful to Voldemort, and yet he was. How could he not be? He reminded himself that the evil bastard had ordered his hand to be taken in the first place, but it didn't stop the sick thankfulness that wormed inside him.
A thumb stroked between his brows, and he cracked his eyes open to Hermione's face hovering above and beside him, her eyes catching the sun and sparking with golden amber.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing important," Draco said softly, and reached down and grabbed at Hermione's hip, guiding her onto him and she went willingly, settling on top of him. She straddled his hips, leaning forward so that her hair fell around her face and tickled his cheek and jaw and neck, her hands planted either side of his head. She leant down slowly and Draco shut his eyes, waiting. Her lips were soft on his, soft and warm and pliable, and he kissed her back, mouths moving together in slow synchrony, lazy and gentle and warm like the sun. He loved her more than anything he'd ever loved, he thought absently as his hands slid up her sides under her tee-shirt - she was warm and smooth, her scars from their imprisonment faded to nearly nothing after twice daily applications of liniment, as were his.
Her tongue drifted between his lips and he captured it, sucked on the tip and Hermione's strangled little moan in response made Draco thrust his hips up instinctively, grinding his quickly hardening cock against the heat of her pussy. She must have taken off her bra in their room, when she'd gone to put her trainers back on and grab her cloak, so there was no barrier to Draco's hands finding her breasts - soft-firm and a small handful, tipped with dusky-pink nipples that stiffened under the brushes and gentle pinches of his fingers, prompting hoarse little sounds of pleasure to echo from her mouth into his. She smelt like everything good, and one of her hands lifted off the ground to smooth over his forehead and comb through his hair, pulling at dragging at it as she rocked her hips and kissed him hard, still moaning small and needy.
Draco opened his eyes and saw hers were shut, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, her face flushed, and he hummed into her mouth and his hands slid from her breasts, down her sides and around over her back down to her arse, gripping it firmly in his hands as his mouth moved with hers. She tasted like Muggle toothpaste and she smelt like the sun and grass and dirt, and the curling ends of her hair tickled his skin. He broke the kiss and undid her cloak, pushed it off her shoulders, stripped her shirt off over her head, and she sat there on him, smiling down at him with her hair a tumbled mess and her breasts bare in the sun. The house was far behind them, and no one ever came out this way. They were safe from prying eyes, Draco decided.
He pushed himself up on one hand, nearly tipping her over backwards as she sat there straddling his hips and looking at him with the strangest little smile on her lips. Like she had a secret. Draco let her keep it. He bowed his head to her breasts, tongue sweeping and curling around first one nipple, then the other, and her hands drove into his hair and fisted in it, her whimpers were loud in the stillness, and Draco smirked smugly. His eyes flicked up to her face as his hands gripped her waist and his mouth sucked and teased at her nipples, and her head had fallen back - she was flushed, a sheen of perspiration on her face, lips reddened and parted, and eyes glazed and slitted open, watching him as he laved his tongue over her nipple.
"Oh - Oh Draco…Draco - DracoDracoDraco…" It bubbled from her lips like she couldn't stop herself as he ground his cock up against her through their clothes and played with her breasts. His name on Hermione's lips; murmured and moaned and whispered, spilling over like a reverent litany, like a spell, like he was the only thing in her universe, and he couldn't wrap his head around why. The amount of love in her voice was more than Draco could hope to understand, especially when he was rock-hard and aching to bury himself in her cunt, but it was fucking brilliant nevertheless. He whispered her name back to her, his breath puffing over her breast, and she shivered and her fingers tightened in his hair painfully, her eyes were amber and heat on his, and then she was tugging frantically at his shirt, trying to rip the buttons open.
They never made it to the stream.