Draco rubbed his temples, tired from work, as he waited for Hermione to arrive. She'd owled him just after he'd arrived home, asking if he wanted to go out to the Leaky for drinks this evening. It was adorable how she tried to keep her personal and professional life separate, waiting to ask him until she'd left the office instead of ten minutes ago while sitting across the table from him. Small smiles and stolen glances seemed to be the limit of workplace romance for her, not counting their complete loss of control last week. He would have laughed, if the question hadn't also created a pit of worry in his stomach. They hadn't talked about what happened between them over the weekend. He didn't want to press her, and while her sly glances were reassuring, he was desperate to know how she was feeling. But if it was important for her to keep professional and personal separate, then he'd do his best to be patient.
On the other hand, her compartmentalisation resulted in successfully avoiding another topic he was not eager to discuss: being seen in public as a couple (if that's what they were). Several times this week, she'd asked if he wanted to go out for lunch, biting her lip in a way that drove him mad and made it difficult to keep his hands off her. Cursing himself internally, he insisted on having food sent up from the canteen so that they didn't interrupt their work; he'd known the excuse would work on her, the swot. After the second day in a row, he began pre-empting her question by ordering take-away before she asked. It was unsustainable, simply delaying the inevitable, and he knew that time was up. He'd responded to her owl, declining, but asking her over for dinner at his place instead, and she would arrive any moment now. She was going to fight him on it — he knew that her Gryffindor sensibilities would be in a riot over the situation — but she was too smart (and too important to him) for him to play games with.
Hermione arrived — right on time, beautiful as always — with a soft smile on her face, eyes sparkling. Rising from where he sat on the couch, he let out a sigh of contented relief when she stepped into his arms and kissed him. A knot he hadn't realised he was carrying loosened in his chest.
"Do you like curry?" he asked, against her lips.
"I knew I smelled Indian food!" she exclaimed, giving him a quick peck on the lips before darting around him and towards the kitchen where a variety of take-away containers sat, kept warm by a stasis charm. "I'm hungry, but just how much do you think I eat?" she teased.
Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her. Merlin, she felt so right in his arms. How had he waited all week to do this again? Brushing her hair from her neck, he kissed behind her ear, and she angled her head to give him better access.
"I wasn't sure what you liked," he murmured against her skin. "Besides, you hardly ate lunch today. I'm sure you're starving."
Releasing her, he handed her a plate and began loading his own with rice and green curry. Hermione sampled one of everything, which didn't give him any clues for what he should order in the future.
Midway through their meal, Hermione asked (as he'd know she would) why he didn't want to go to the Leaky Cauldron.
"Is it Ron? I think you'd get on well with him and he won't be upset about you being there with me. He's changed a lot since school, too."
Draco set down his fork with a sigh. "Hermione… No, it's nothing as simple as that. Gods, I didn't want to talk about this over owl; I hate that we even have to talk about this at all… But whatever this is" —he gestured between them— "I think we should keep it between us for now." Her head tilted slightly and her brows furrowed with concern as he rushed on; if she started talking, he wouldn't get an opportunity to finish. "It's not that I don't want people to see us, but like I said, I don't want your… involvement with me to reflect poorly on you."
She protested, like he'd known she would. "That's utter rubbish, Draco! I don't give a damn what other people think. You've served your time and shown everyone you've changed. People need to let the past go. It shouldn't matter!"
He took her hands in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "Perhaps you're right and it shouldn't matter… but the reality is, it does." She opened her mouth to say something, but he barreled on. "Imagine what the media will do. We'd never get a moment to ourselves. Besides, if people knew, the launch of the program would be overshadowed by speculation as to…" Draco paused for a moment, searching for the right word, before trying out what had first come into his head. "…our relationship."
A soft smile lit Hermione's face. "Is that what this is? A relationship?"
"Well," he sputtered, unprepared for the rapid change in direction. "If.. If you want to. I didn't want to assume, but—" She cut him off with a kiss.
"I'd very much like for us to be exclusive, Draco. But I don't think that this is something we should keep quiet. Wouldn't it be better to make it public and control the narrative a bit?"
His heart surged, making it difficult to focus on convincing her of the need for privacy, but it was important. "I need to show you something," he said, standing and reluctantly retrieving a few of the letters that he hadn't burned yet.
Hermione took the letters curiously. Draco turned away from her, closing his eyes as he released a long breath through his nose. He'd hoped to avoid showing her these.
"Draco, why would you keep these?" she asked, sounding appalled. He could hear her flipping the pages over, shuffling through them.
"I don't," he replied flatly. "These are from this afternoon. I already destroyed about a dozen this morning."
"There were more?"
"This is what I'm trying to tell you." He sat next to her, taking her hands in his. "I get these every day. I won't have you pulled into this, too. You've been through enough. Most of these letters are from fanatics — followers of Voldemort's who escaped notice during the war. Those don't bother me anymore and everything they say is utter rubbish. But I can't stand the thought of them threatening you because of me," he said, bringing her hands to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.
"Draco, please tell me you've reported these to the Ministry."
From the way she was levelling a glare at him, it was clear she already knew the answer. He shrugged, pulling the letters from her hands and tossing them back on the table. "It's not worth it, Hermione. And it's not like they could track where all these letters are coming from anyway. Someone like me isn't worth the effort for something that's likely to lead to nothing, anyway."
"Draco," she said, angry now. "Those are death threats! You don't deserve to be treated like this." He felt her fingers on his jaw as she turned his face to look at her. "You know that, don't you?"
The look on her face was enough to break his heart, like she truly cared about him. It had been so long since anyone had looked at him like that. "Please don't worry about it. It's been happening since the war ended. If someone was going to try anything, they already would have. Nothing has ever come of it. Some people just can't resist sending their hateful opinions out into the universe, and I'd rather they directed it at me than someone else." Hermione looked wholly unsatisfied with his response, pressing her lips together. "Let's just keep things quiet for a little while, until we're both ready to deal with the press and any additional… attention," he said, looking pointedly at the pile of letters. He rubbed her arms (crossed tightly across her chest) soothingly. "I just want some time to keep you all to myself, without having to worry about all that rubbish. Alright?"
Hermione nodded, though she still looked displeased. As much as he wanted this to last, he couldn't imagine her wanting him long term. Elated as he was when she'd said that she wanted to be exclusive, he couldn't get ahead of himself. He needed to think about her. If they went public, things would be very bad for her. It was best to keep things quiet in case she changed her mind. Safer.