Author's Note: As always lovelies, thank you for the support for our little story! Hope you enjoy!
Hermione apparated into her parents' front garden on Friday evening, later than she usually arrived for their weekends together. She'd been held up at the Ministry and was slightly upset at the thought she hadn't been able to scan the stacks at Devya's that afternoon—her favorite weekend ritual.
She stepped onto the porch and could smell a delicious scent wafting through the open windows, making her mouth water. She opened the door and stepped into the warm, cozy cottage. "Mum? Dad?"
"We're in here!" her mother's voice called from the kitchen.
She removed her jumper and shoes and padded toward the kitchen, her stomach rumbling as the tantalizing aroma of dinner tickled her nostrils. "What is that smell? It's positively—"
Hermione stopped short when she entered the kitchen. Draco Malfoy's shock of white blond hair was shining under the lights, his back to her. He was wearing all black and had a dish towel draped over his shoulder. He was retrieving a pan of what appeared to be lasagna out of the oven. Draco placed the dish on the stovetop to cool and turned around.
The look he gave Hermione made her feel two very distinct things at the same moment: she wanted both to kiss him and kick him. He had a smirk on his face that could only be described as gorgeous, a twinkle in his eyes that let her know he knew exactly who her parents were and that he'd been expecting her. "Hermione! It's good to see you again," he chimed merrily, walking to where she was to place a cordial kiss on her cheek.
It was for show, this she knew. For some reason she couldn't quite understand, she got the feeling that he was trying to make a good impression on her parents. And she also knew instinctively that this was not the first time he'd been in their home. No matter, these details, for in the moment his lips brushed her cheek, their core magics sparked and danced between them, their souls crying out almost audibly.
Draco pulled his face back and his eyes bored into hers, surprise and intrigue evident. She cleared her throat. "Draco. What are you doing here…in my parents' home?" she croaked.
Her mother came up behind her and put her hands on her shoulders. "Hermione! Draco here told us that you had gone to school together once upon a time. How strange is it, for another magical person to be here in this small town?"
"How strange indeed," Hermione replied, her eyes following Draco as he went to the window and poked an apple pie with one finger, testing its crust for any crumbling.
"Draco came past on Monday and brought a goodie bag of treats to welcome us into the neighborhood!" her mother gushed, smiling at the handsome man's back.
"He's a dish, Hermione!" her mother whispered in her ear, overly excited at the prospect of her daughter catching someone so good looking and charming.
"Did you know that he's a firefighter here in town?" her father asked from his place at the kitchen table.
"I had heard rumors," Hermione said, silently thanking the gods that her parents hadn't been home to watch her climb into his engine the Sunday prior.
"He offered to come past and check that all of our smoke detectors are running efficiently this coming week," her mother commented and Draco gave her a smile.
"You can never be too prepared with fire safety," he told the room collectively.
A breeze blew in the window, bringing with it the smell of fresh cut grass, causing her father to sneeze. "Ah, these allergies! It nearly killed me to work in the garden today!" her father said, his nose stuffed and he excused himself.
"You know, Mrs. Granger, if it would be helpful to you both, I have plenty of free time on Friday evenings. I could come past and do the work out in the garden for you," Draco offered sweetly.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and he raised an eyebrow in her direction, a sly half-grin spreading across his face. He was definitely trying to play up his charm and he was absolutely trying to plan spending time here around when she would be visiting. Who was this strange version of Draco Malfoy? Where was the slimy little git from second year?
"You don't have to do that, son," Mr. Granger said, coming back into the room with a bottle of nasal spray.
"It would be no problem, really. I already take care of Mrs. Fryzel's garden two streets over. It's part of being a member of this community—we look after each other," Draco told him.
"Well," Mr. Granger looked at his wife who gave him a subtle nod toward Hermione, "that would be mighty helpful."
"My pleasure," Draco told them, placing a baking sheet of garlic bread into the oven.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and he stared at her a moment longer before dragging his eyes away from hers. "Mrs. Granger, why don't you show Hermione what I brought on Monday? I think she'll get a good laugh out of them."
"Oh! I nearly forgot!" Mrs. Granger rushed from the room.
Hermione looked around at the scene before her, wonderment filling her. Draco Malfoy was standing in her muggle parents' kitchen, fixing Italian cuisine and pleasing the trousers off her father. He looked smug, pleased with his own antics as he pulled a bottle of wine from the ice chest.
Mr. Granger retrieved four wine glasses and set them around the kitchen table with the other dishes. Mrs. Granger returned from their room, a small stack of photographs in her hand. "Draco brought us some photos from your years at Hogwarts, dear. Come, have a look," her mother said, patting the table's surface next to her.
Hermione furrowed her brow, thoroughly confused as to how Draco would have photographs of her. She sat next to her mum and pulled the pile closer to herself. There was a single shot of her with Harry and Ron in second year, right after she'd been unpetrified, smiling wide. She looked up to Draco and he was watching her, his smug grin gone and genuine nervousness painted all over his alabaster features.
"How did you get these?" she asked him, turning to the next in the pile—a shot of her speaking with Professor Lupin shortly after he'd recovered from a full moon.
"Dennis Creevey. He owed me a favor and I cashed in on it by asking him to scour his brother's collection for any containing you," he shrugged.
Hermione wondered what kind of favor a Creevey could owe to Malfoy, but she decided now wasn't the time to ask. She took a moment to mourn the loss of the eldest Creevey boy, trying desperately not to picture him lifeless. Draco stood behind her and placed a hand between her shoulders—a small act of solidarity. He understood.
There was a photo of her from fourth year, dressed for the Yule Ball. "Gorgeous," her mother said.
"Very pretty," Draco agreed.
Hermione continued to flip through the photos, tears stinging her eyes as she did. Her mother and father looked over the photographs and she knew they could see them all depicted in color. Her mother got choked up at a photo of Hermione at the end of fifth year, sitting up in a hospital bed as she recovered from a curse Dolohov had sent her way. "There was so much we'd forgotten. So many pieces we couldn't put together—little glimmers of memories we couldn't fully recall. Like déjà vu," she explained, putting her hand over her daughter's as she wiped her eyes.
Hermione put an arm around her mum and kissed her cheek. "Please don't cry," she told her. "I never meant for this to happen."
"You did, though," Mr. Granger sighed. "And you kept us alive—we owe our lives to you, my brave girl."
Hermione felt her heart swell at her father's words, tears dripping over her cheeks. From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco slip away from where the small family was huddled, intent on checking his bread to busy himself and give them a moment. She wondered if he understood how touching his gift really was, the missing puzzle pieces he was threading together for her parents. The idea that he would do something so selfless was humbling and she felt a pull toward him and a respect for him that had nothing to do with the soulmates' bond in that moment.
She stood, handing the rest of the photos to her mother and walked to where he was. She took his hand a tugged, turning him toward her. Hermione threw her arms around Draco's neck, hugging him tightly to herself. He melted into her, wrapping his arms around her, returning the gesture. "Thank you," she whispered to him, kissing his jaw.
He simply nodded into her and she stepped back. The sleeves of his black button down shirt were rolled up to his elbows, the swath of color on his arm bright as she ran her hands down his arms to rest in his. She gave both hands a squeeze before she dropped them. When she turned back toward her parents, they were watching her. Her father had one eyebrow raised and her mother was beaming as she wiped a late tear from her eye.
Draco cleared his throat and a wide smile stretched across his face. "Dinner is ready," he told them all.
Hermione watched as he brought the dish of lasagna and bread to the table, a simple salad tossed in a bowl as well. Draco moved with ease as he served everyone and Hermione found she couldn't tear her eyes away from the mysterious man. During dinner, he offered comical stories of his childhood, interesting stories of events he'd encountered with the fire station, his reasoning behind selecting Winthrop's Wharf as a place to settle down. Her parents were absolutely smitten with him, and though she was initially irritated by his efforts, she found herself equally as smitten.
Draco Malfoy was the epitome of properly groomed. He was interesting, carrying pleasant conversation but also inclusive of the others. He had manners unlike any she'd ever seen, waiting on the three of them in their home as though he were a paid waiter. He was able to keep up with talk of football with her father and of gardening with her mother. He was intelligent and well put together. Hermione found herself intrigued by the man, wanting nothing more than to get even closer to him.
After they'd each eaten a piece of the apple pastry he'd baked, he took the dishes up and washed them all by hand. Hermione's mother leaned into her. "Hermione, this boy is Prince Charming! I don't know why you ever dated Roland—"
"Ronald—"
"I don't care. Draco is every woman's wish for their daughter," her mother told her. "And I see the way you look at him."
Her mother was giving her a knowing smile and her father was eyeing the mother and daughter duo with amusement. "Draco, my boy," he said loudly.
"Yes, sir?" Draco called over his shoulder.
"Stop washing dishes. You're a guest in our home and I feel like you've done too much already. Let Jean and I get those. Why don't you and Hermione go out into the back garden? Perhaps you two can catch up on everything that's happened since school," Mr. Granger suggested.
Draco tried to protest but her father put up a final hand and a push away from the sink-load of dinner plates. He gave Hermione a look and she rose from the table, feeling her heart pattering erratically. They were going out alone and she knew her parents would not bother her—they were trying to get them alone together in hopes they would be taken with each other. If they only knew the half of it.
As Draco led her to the swing, hanging in an archway climbing with roses, Hermione slipped her hand within his. "I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done," she told him quietly.
"It's really nothing," he shrugged modestly.
They sat in the swing and he used his long legs to push and pull them gently. His arm was stretched behind her, his hand brushing her curls in a way that let her know he was purposely touching her. Hermione didn't know what it was, the soulmates' bond or her overwhelming newfound fondness for him, but she felt compelled to cuddle into him. She drew her legs underneath of her and leaned into his chest. He curled his arm around her and she felt as though this was absolutely the way things were meant to be.
"How laughable that you and I should end up with the strongest possible bond between two magical beings after so many years of turmoil," he mentioned quietly.
"The Fates have a strange sense of humor," she replied with a nod against him.
"Can I tell you something, Hermione?" he asked and she noticed that his heart had started beating rapidly against where she leaned into him.
She leaned up to look at his face, the sudden change in his tone evident enough to cause her to worry. "Anything," she confirmed.
"It's not only the bond," he told her, looking up from the column of her neck to her large inquisitive eyes. "I am genuinely interested in you. You are fascinating and I find myself thinking of your strong will, witty personality and beautiful face every moment of every day."
Hermione looked into his eyes and found nothing but sincerity. He was telling her the absolute truth and she knew she was the exact same—she thought of his face first thing each morning and last thing before she fell into slumber each night. Draco's eyes flickered to her lips and his tongue darted out subconsciously to wet his own. Her heart was thudding swiftly and she knew his intentions before he put them into effect. And she wanted to meet him with equal fervor.
He brought this hand up to her neck tenderly and she leaned forward into him. Their lips met halfway in a soft brush. Their magical cores, their souls, began to thrum within them and Hermione could feel spastic energy coursing through her veins. Though her hands weren't shaking, she felt as though every nerve in her body was vibrating as he slid his tongue between her lips. As soon as she parted her lips, giving him access, the kiss went from slow and tender to heated and passionate.
Draco threaded one hand into the curls at the base of her neck and pulled her closer as his other hand held her by the waist, drawing her against himself. She ran her hands up his chest, over his shoulders and then into his hair, becoming desperate to fill the gap between them. A slight rumble sounded at the back of his throat and she met it with a whimper of her own.
Her entire body was tingling, magic palpable in the air surrounding them. Hermione lost all ability to think of anything except the man currently devouring her. He admitted he wanted her and she knew she wanted him as well. There was very little question about it—he was snuggling himself right into her heart. Her very own Prince Charming.