Draco changed out of his clothes and into his dressing gown, laying his wand and holster on the bed. He tried the door to the bathroom. Finding it unlocked, he assumed it was unoccupied and strolled in. He was instantly met with the sight of the only other person alive with the surname Malfoy.
"Have you come to apologise to me?" Hermione, her wand speared through her nest of curls, leaned over the tap, testing the water temperature with the back of her hand. Perhaps she also found the bath ideal for puzzling through her latest problems.
"I actually came to take a bath," Draco said, eying her red dressing gown. The silky fabric clung to her round arse and hips. "But it seems you've read my mind and drawn it for me. Thanks ever so much."
She snorted. "This bath is to you like living on land is to Merpeople."
"Oh goody, I do love analogies. I've missed your little barbs since our last Defence Against the Dark Arts class together. But as the tub's almost full, enlighten me as to your intended meaning."
"It's not for you," she said definitively, reaching for the narrow shelf over the tub. Hermione picked up one bottle of scented bubble bath after another, narrowing her eyes at the labels. "You have lavender, wild lavender, French lavender, and lavender with bergamot, as well as a separate bottle of pure bergamot."
A hint of defensiveness crept into his tone. "Those lavenders are quite different, I'll have you know."
"And the bergamot?"
"They don't make wild lavender or French lavender with bergamot. And as you know, a proper bubble bath is a potion in its own right. I like to tinker with the ratios."
She shook her head, a smile breaking like dawn over her lovely features. "What do you recommend?"
"Well, if it was my bath, I'd choose French lavender."
"Let me guess — it's the most expensive." It wasn't a question, but instead of rolling her eyes, she laughed.
"You wound me," He flung his hand over his heart to exaggerate his mock-hurt. "No, I simply find French lavender to be the most calming. But this is your bath, as you say, not mine. Are you trying to relax before bed?"
He didn't miss the pink tint creeping up her neck. "I… I like to think in the bath. I do some of my best work there."
"Working, even in the bath. You have the work ethic of an American, you know." That earned him another tinkling laugh. "For you, I suggest vanilla." He scanned the rows of bubble bath, located the bottle in question, and offered it to her.
She didn't take it from him.
"Some people think vanilla is plain," she murmured, not meeting his eyes.
"Good thing I'm not 'some people,' then. They're missing out."
Appealing to her curiosity had been the right move. She looked at him with her golden gaze, pupils alight with academic interest. "How so?"
He rotated the bottle in his hand, ruminating. "Vanilla is stunningly complex, and subtle. It's beautiful on its own or when paired with anything else, from fruit to florals, even woodier and spicy scents. Or honey," he paused. Especially honey. "I'd never suggest you were plain, Hermione. Plain is as much a word for you as living on land is for Merpeople."
Hermione accepted the vanilla bubble bath from him but didn't respond immediately, focusing instead on pouring a few capfuls in the hot water and turning off the tap. Foamy, sparkling bubbles rose and filled the tub, obscuring the water beneath. The vanilla scent, exotic and intoxicating, scrambled Draco's thoughts.
She straightened, hand on her sash, and cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'd like to get in now. Or maybe it was you who was raised in a barn?"
It was a callback to her first night here. More than that, it was an opening. A small one, but an opening nonetheless.
She likely expected him to exit the bathroom and call it a night, but instead he turned around and faced the door to her bedroom. After a pause, he heard the silk gown slide off her skin, a series of small splashes, and a soft sigh. His hand twitched.
He kept his back turned to her. "I won't pretend I came in here to apologise, firstly because I didn't know you were in here, and secondly because, as you know, my intention was to be in that bath you're taking now."
"It's quite nice," she teased.
"I'm sure it is. But I've ruminated on our earlier altercation, and I would like to sincerely apologise to you, Hermione. I shouldn't have said those things about you and your parents, especially in front of an audience. Those words are a poor reflection of my esteem for you. I'm sorry."
A gentle swirl of water accompanied her quiet reply. "I'm sorry, too."
"Please," he cut his hand through the air, although he still didn't face her. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I've tried to change over the years, but I… someone who helped me isn't here anymore. She's been gone for many years now. And her absence created this massive vacuum in my life."
"It must be hard to talk about her."
Oh, if only she knew.
"Theo and Pansy have been there for me, seen me at my absolute lowest, but gods, it's so empty. The days stretch on forever, and nights are worse. Everything and everyone has moved on," his voice cracked. He hadn't intended to share this much, but it was somehow easier confessing everything without having to look into her eyes.
"But I'm stuck. I can't move on. I can't get a job to pass the time with this thing on my arm, not to mention I have a criminal record. The Ministry syphons off any goodwill I might try to gain, and extorts me for money when it suits their political agenda. My family is dead, and until recently, my wife, whose hand I forced into marrying me, hated my guts. And you had good reason to hate me, you know. This isn't an excuse and the last thing I want is pity. I'm not trying to make this about me, but what I'm trying to say is…."
"You're lonely," she said matter-of-factly. "If you antagonise me, you get a reaction. And that makes you feel less alone."
"Old habits die hard," he admitted.
Her pained whisper took his breath away. "Bad habits, too."
"Bad habits, too," he agreed. "At the pub, we had a grand time together. I hoped things would get better. But I opened my mouth this afternoon and well… It's me who keeps fucking everything up. Maybe if I'd been kinder to Potter and offered my handshake in the right spirit all those years ago, we'd be proper friends now, the Golden Square or some shite."
Draco ran a hand through his hair in agitation. None of it was coming out right. He should be complimenting her, winning her over, not digging himself further into the hole.
"I'm lonely, too, you know."
Draco's throat ran dry at her admission. "You are?"
"You can turn around," she said softly. "It's awkward talking to your back."
As soon as he faced her, he was overcome. Hermione relaxed into the curve of the tub, skin flushed from the warm bath. Bubbles hid everything from her collarbone down, but Draco didn't miss the way they clung to her breasts, moving minutely with her shallow breaths. Her bright eyes reminded him of the faerie queene. He would be glad for her to lure him deep into the perfumed waters and drown him then and there.
She was simply the most beautiful sight he'd ever beheld.
Being in here, with Hermione — it was something he never thought of doing with Astoria. If they'd lived in one of their respective manors, they would never have shared a bathroom. She might have been uncomfortable sharing this one, had she ever moved in.
That thought ferried him to another question: How well would he have known Astoria, really? What if the woman he wrote letters to wasn't the same woman who would have shared a life with him?
He'd never know.
Hermione wandlessly transfigured him a seat out of a bath mat, which he gratefully took by the edge of the tub. It seemed they both wielded powerful wandless capabilities.
"I spent the first two years after the war in Australia, trying to fix what I'd done when I Obliviated my parents. I told myself I kept them hidden for their protection, but the truth is, I didn't want the world to know. Harry and Ron knew where I'd gone and what I went there to do, but they were the only ones. In theory, the spell was reversible, and I expected to be back within a few weeks. But, as you know, it didn't work." She sniffed, eyes watery.
It took her a moment to continue. "We kept in touch via letters. In my absence, Ron embraced his true sexual identity, and we agreed to part ways. Harry pressed me for details on the breakup and what was happening with my parents… it stressed me out so much I had a nervous breakdown. I lied to them both and said all was well and I'd be back soon, and then I stopped answering their letters. I was essentially alone in a foreign country."
"Merlin. I had no idea."
"No one did. I came back after I begged Minister Podmore to let me take my parents with me and remain in the magical world. We were both in the Order, and I guess he felt sorry for me because eventually he acquiesced. Huge violation of the Statute of Secrecy, I know, but I'd gotten little else out of my stint as a war heroine."
Draco sighed and rested his forearms on his muscled thighs. "That's surprising, and yet unsurprising at the same time."
"I'm a Muggleborn, first and foremost in everyone's eyes. I wasn't offered a spot to continue my studies, or even an entry-level job at the Ministry. He had to pull strings to get me the job I had when you found me, and it paid basically nil. I had no money, I'd lied to everyone who mattered in my life, and now… now," she choked, tears rolling down her face. "Now they're dying and I don't know how to save them!"
Without thinking, Draco reached down into the bath and took her in his arms, her sobs barely muffled by his shoulder. His sleeves were soaked with water, the robe likely ruined, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Mostly he tried not to think too much about the fact that only a whisper of silk prevented them from being skin to skin.
He held her until her crying grew softer, and her fingers on his back faded from desperate clutching to a much more uncertain grip. Hermione pulled away, only a little at first, and Draco got the message and closed his eyes. She slipped from his arms and back into the water. When he opened his eyes, he didn't miss the way she hid her injured arm from him, dunking it forcefully into the bubbles.
"Blaise told you they're dying?"
Hermione nodded, red rimming her eyes. "He gave me the news this morning. He confirmed their prognosis with several specialists."
Draco thought for a moment. "You said you do your best thinking in the tub. You're trying to figure out a way to save them, aren't you? That's why you're in my tub. You haven't given up."
"I believe this falls under communal property, so it's our tub. And I didn't realise I'm that transparent."
"I like to think I'm getting to know you," he smiled. She smiled back, and it sent sparks all the way down to his toes. "Why don't we consult the Healers on the list I made?"
Her lips trembled, and Draco had a fleeting fantasy of sweeping her out of the tub and quelling them with his own.
"What if they concur? Or what if they have an even more dire prognosis? I don't know that I could take it."
He knew just what she meant. Some things were worse than death.
With a quick Accio, the list popped into his hands. He scanned it quickly.
"One of them is your old friend, Patil."
"Padma?"
He hummed in confirmation. "The very same."
"I don't know. I remember her as harsh. Judgmental."
"She's taken an oath to heal and respect the privacy of patients and their families. I doubt she'll judge you."
"I think Blaise does." Her voice wavered again.
Draco cracked his knuckles, his magic fizzing hot under his skin. If that was the case, he'd deal with Blaise later. But he didn't want to scare his wife, who right now needed convincing that he could help her.
"You have important, firsthand knowledge of everything that's happened with your parents. We could meet with her," he plodded on, the idea sounding better and better. "Even if she has the same opinion as Blaise, it would be good practise to talk about what happened. I mean, you do plan to talk to Potter and Weasley again, don't you? They'll see the article. I'll be shocked if they're not knocking at our door the minute it appears in print."
"They'll probably bash it in. No subtlety, those two," she shook her head fondly. Her gaze bordered on tender. "You'd really go with me?"
"To speak with Potter and Weasley? I don't have a death wish," he said, leaning back on the seat. "But of course I'll be by your side to meet with Patil. Seems like the husbandly thing to do. Besides, it's people like her I need to convince that not only have I changed, but also, I didn't murder anyone."
Mostly, he wanted to convince the woman in front of him.
Hermione shifted in the water, sending the remaining islands of bubbles careening towards the porcelain walls of the tub. Draco sucked in a breath and hoped she didn't notice how much of her gorgeous body was suddenly on display. He summoned one of his towels and folded it over the edge of the tub. If the goosebumps along the tops of her breasts were any indication, the water had grown cold.
She stroked the towel, running her palm over the soft fibres. "You're incapable of murdering anyone. Anyone with sense can see that. No one knows about what happened to your mother besides you and Theo, right?"
"And the killer, I suppose. I've hired private eyes, paid for dubious information, examined the warding around the Manor… I can't figure out how they got in. And I don't know why my mother didn't fight. Her wand's last spell was a stasis charm to keep our dinner warm. The only thing I can think of is that the intruder was a friend of hers. But what society witch would commit murder?"
"The killer has to be someone she trusted. Or maybe someone your father told her she could trust," Hermione posited. She finally made a move indicating she'd like to exit the bath, and Draco did the gentlemanly thing — not the husbandly thing — and gave her privacy. He strode over to the corner, but not before glimpsing a whirl of the white towel and her long, bare legs in the mirror.
He bit his fist and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling.
Focus.
"Maybe, but it's unlikely. My mother remained loyal to my father in the marital sense, but she and I were both moving on. Once we were out from under his influence, and I completed my sentence, we were free to manage our affairs. With the Dark Lord dead and no longer holding court in our home, we renovated. The drawing room," he couldn't see her face, but he surmised it paled at the mention of the locale of her torture. But Draco needed her to know it was gone. "The dungeons… anywhere that he or that hideous snake touched, we destroyed and rebuilt. My mother's roses bloomed again. We had a year to ourselves at Malfoy Manor, and I can safely say it was the best of my life."
"You've always seemed close with your mother."
"Not as close as we could've been. Pureblood society aims to cleave the bond between mothers and their children, and my father held firm to tradition. My first few years at Hogwarts seemed designed to tear me down, push me away from my potential and bend me towards my father's ideals. I mean, you know from the trial…"
"Tell me again," Hermione encouraged.
Was he imagining the warmth at his back? The nearness of her hushed voice?
He swallowed hard. "He persuaded me to take the Dark Mark, conscripted me in the Dark Lord's army without a care for my welfare. Meanwhile, he lied to my mother, told her it was the only way I'd be protected. He lied to me and my friends, promising the Dark Lord would reign supreme and my loyalty would be rewarded when Potter's reckoning arrived. All the while I consoled myself with the thought that he acted out of love."
Her warm hand alighted on his shoulder, as light and precious as a butterfly. "That's not love, Draco."
"I know that now," he whispered, all out of words.
Should he face her? Put his hand over her own?
She stood so closely, as vulnerable in her towel as he was now, revealing the depths of his childhood trauma. He tried to lean into the first gentle touch he'd experienced in years. Hermione's hand asked for nothing, only offered tenderness and empathy. But it was as much a balm as it was a burn, because her nearness stoked a fire in his chest.
Her hand slipped away, and Draco instantly mourned both its loss and his cowardice.
Another chance, gone. You idiot.
But as quickly as he chided himself for the missed opportunity, her hand found his, and before she could change her mind, he squeezed. She squeezed back, harder, and let go. Their interlude concluded with the unmistakable sounds of Hermione putting on fresh clothes.
A whoosh of breath left his chest. A small triumph.
Hermione came back into view as she walked towards the door that led to her bedroom. She'd let her hair down, the ends a bit damp, and she wore blue silk pyjamas with H.M. embroidered on the chest pocket. Mrs. Tannenbaum's handiwork? His wife continued to surprise him. He didn't try to touch her again, but his fingers dug into his damp dressing gown for something to do.
What did one say after a mutual baring of the souls, the night before their marriage would be revealed to the world?
He met her honeyed stare and said what was on his heart. "I'm less lonely with you around, Hermione Malfoy."
It surprised him how much he meant it.
"I like you, too, Draco Malfoy," she smiled back at him. A rogue curl fell over her face, and although it tempted him, he didn't tuck it behind her ear. Tonight had been enough.
It wasn't cowardice that held him back as she smiled and turned the doorknob — instead he bravely faced the possibility of true friendship with his wife.
Surely that would be enough.
Wouldn't it?
Gods, he was so fucked.
00000
Draco entered the kitchen the next morning to discover Mrs. Tannenbaum baking whilst humming a medley of Christmas carols. Hermione seemed in good spirits and sang along between bites of a hearty English breakfast.
He was almost afraid to disturb the domestic scene. "Did we get the paper?"
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed his housekeeper. "See for yourself, Mr. Malfoy."
To his relief, the article quoted them both correctly. Draco arched a brow with a small smile, supposing that was just one of the many advantages of having Pansy Parkinson at your side.
EXCLUSIVE: The Death Eater and His Golden Girl
Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger's Decade of Romance
Recently unearthed marriage records reveal Draco Malfoy, 29, wed Hermione Granger, 30, in a secret ceremony on 22nd December 1999. The star-crossed lovers were just 20 and 19 years of age at the time. The match comes as a surprise, to put it mildly, as the two aligned with opposing sides during the war, and it was widely thought that Mr. Malfoy would choose a Pureblood bride.
However, Mr. Malfoy is clearly smitten after almost ten years married to the Wizarding World's heroine. "Hermione's love for me proves that even the least likely among us can, with the right motivation and support, find redemption. I don't deserve her, but I try a little harder each day to be a worthy husband."
"While we prefer to keep a low profile after so many years in the spotlight, we're thrilled to share our love with the world. Draco and I will attend the Solstice Ball as our first public event together," Hermione Malfoy, née Granger, informed us.
The family's solicitor, Theodore Nott, Jr., confirmed the marriage and the couple's desire for privacy via owl. 'The Malfoy family appreciates the many well-wishes on their happy marriage. They are private citizens, and request their privacy be respected.'
The Malfoys have many estates, including the notorious Malfoy Manor, but reside together in Kensington Gardens, London. The Daily Prophet offers their warm congratulations to the Malfoys.
But what struck Draco was the photograph Pansy chose to introduce he and Hermione to the public as a happily married couple.
In the half-page photo, Hermione looped her arms around his neck over and over again, a playful smile lighting up her features. The ease of her movements spoke of routine, a habit established over a decade of marital bliss. For his part, he held Hermione close to him, leaning into her touch, a gentle but clear possessiveness in his eyes.
Mine, Draco thought. I look at her like she's mine.
Although his mind time travelled back to those moments in Pansy's office, savouring the memory of her body against his, he finally found his voice. "Any reactions so far? Have we heard from Pansy?"
"I don't know," Hermione said, spearing some eggs with her fork without looking up at him. Draco wondered if she avoided him out of nervousness. And if she did, was it the potential negative reaction to the article making her nervous, or was it him? Did she regret their interlude in the bathroom last night? "I cast a reverse silencing charm over the house and directed all mail to Pansy's office. I assume we'll see her later?"
Before Hermione finished her sentence, the Floo activated. "On the contrary, you'll see me now. There's no way you'll be going to my office, or anywhere else, for that matter, anytime soon," Pansy strode in with a broad, sincere smile on her face in a smart skirt suit, starched to perfection.
She triumphantly marched to the nearest window, whipped out her wand, and with a few quick motions, enlarged it and beckoned to both Draco and Hermione. Neither of them moved.
"I've charmed the window so no one can see you. Come and look," she waved them over, implying any refusal would be futile.
Without thinking, Draco reached for Hermione's hand. His heart gave a small flutter as she took it without pause. They approached the window and looked out, utterly unprepared for what they saw.
A crowd had amassed in front of the flat and spilled out into the surrounding street. Instead of a boiling sea of rage, the people below were all smiles and laughter. Many held signs aloft, with messages of felicitations for the happy couple.
"You did it, darlings. Your love story is a huge success — my crowning achievement, really. Macmillan ought to lay flowers at my feet for all the papers I've sold today. You've received hundreds of owls, and they're overwhelmingly carrying well-wishes. Some people even sent gifts. There've been a few Howlers, but we expected that."
Hermione's mouth hung open in awe of the display below. "Pansy, you're a genius."
The other witch smirked. "Can I quote you on that?"
Hermione shocked them both by pulling Pansy into a hug. "Thank you."
Pansy's gaze met Draco's over Hermione's shoulder, and he read her expression as only friends with a long history can. He detected more pride there than the satisfaction of a job well done. It hadn't occurred to him to Occlude, but even if it had, his happiness and gratitude refused to be concealed.
A series of impatient knocks made the women jump apart.
Draco drew his wand, edging closer to the door. "Pans, I thought we agreed to increase security."
"I did, and Hermione updated the wards. They should be foolproof," she insisted.
A vaguely familiar male voice bellowed between blows to the front door. "HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER! OPEN THE DOOR THIS INSTANT!"
Along the outskirts of his peripheral vision, Hermione stuck her wand into her bun and ran past Draco towards the door.
"Hermione!" Draco shouted. "Are you mad?"
She flung open the door, and Draco, temporarily blinded by flashbulbs, cast the first spell that sprang to mind.