Manhattan

Chapter Eleven

Draco splashes his face with cool water and leans on his hands against his bathroom counter.

When Draco brought Granger to stay with him, he might've guessed that the spot in his flat that would remind him of the witch the most would've been his library– not his bathtub.

It's been a week and he can't even think about his en suite bathtub without also thinking about her.

When Draco had walked in on her in the bath, he froze. If he thought that her legs were distracting in those pink shorts, then distracting isn't the word for her legs when they're wet.

When Draco had walked in, Granger was relaxed back, with her head tipped back against one end of the bathtub and her ankles kicked up and resting on the rim at the other end.

Draco never would have guessed that Hermione Granger's shins would be so enticing, but all slicked with water with a few rogue bubbles dripping off of them?

Draco groans.

And then, once Draco had put his own shirt back on and Granger allowed him to turn to face her again, he was greeted with an even more appealing sight– Granger, still dripping wet, wrapped in one of his fluffy, black towels. One of her curls, which had escaped her bun, stuck to her neck and chest and Draco had to physically stop himself from following a drop of water which raced down her neck and down between her breasts with his eyes.

Draco is positive that he will never be able to scrub the image of an almost-nude Hermione Granger from his head– and at this point, he's not sure that he wants to.

My Dragon,

I hope that this letter finds you well.

I will cut right to the point of this letter– your father is petitioning for early release, as he does every year. The hearing is happening this Thursday and I require your presence.

I know that this is not ideal for either of us, but our statements are integral to the hearing, as you well know.

I appreciate your cooperation and I look forward to seeing you, my son.

I love you.

N.M.

Draco groans. Damnit.

Draco scrubs his hands down his face. He might've been able to avoid Theo's most recent party, but his father's early release hearing? Unlikely. His mother would show up in his sitting room and drag him to the Ministry by his ear if necessary.

Draco sighs.

"Granger?" Draco calls, his frustration seeping into his voice as he knocks on her bedroom door when he approaches it.

Draco hears some shuffling behind the door before the witch opens her door and reveals herself. Draco tries to ignore the unreasonably tight, stretchy pants that Granger is wearing, but he's only a man with so much will-power.

Granger leans to the side, pointing her hip out– and drawing Draco's attention to the aforementioned hip. Her hip, her thighs. Draco forces his gaze back up to Granger's eyes, and tries to stop his imagination from continuing to produce images of his own hands gripping on tight to those hips as he– No.

Draco shakes his head, as if to clear his mind. It's one thing to find the witch attractive. It's another thing entirely to even think about–

"I have to go to London from Wednesday night through Thursday evening. It's– unavoidable. I will book a room at a hotel in Muggle London that we will stay in. I need Potter's mobile number so that I can confirm his ability to monitor you while I am otherwise occupied."

Granger's eyebrows furrow.

"I'll stay here. I will be fine alone for one night," she frowns, crossing her arms over her chest.

Draco leans against the doorframe– to be more comfortable, of course. Not at all to be closer to the witch whom Draco now notices smells like green apples– his favorites. He wonders briefly if she tastes like them too before he forces that thought out of his mind.

"Absolutely not. Potter still hasn't found Weasley and we already know that he is looking for you. You're coming with me. This is not up for debate."

Granger opens her mouth, Draco assumes, to protest, but seems to decide better of it. Good. Draco isn't in the mood to argue with her in this moment.

Granger huffs and turns on her heel, retreating back into her bedroom and snatching her mobile phone off of her bedside table. She returns, closer to Draco than she had been previously, he notices. She thrusts the mobile into his hand before returning to her previous, hip out, arms crossed pose.

Draco flicks the mobile open and clicks a couple of buttons until he pulls up the menu for her contacts list.

Draco resists the urge to roll his eyes when he notices the two contacts that the witch has saved.

"Cockroach?" Draco asks pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

Granger smirks, and Draco's knees almost buckle. He sincerely tries to not think about her making that face in any other context. It doesn't exactly work, but the point is that he tries.

"Foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach was too many letters."

Draco rolls his eyes, but copies the number listed under 'Harry' into his own mobile contacts list anyway.

"What's my contact name in your mobile then? I'm sure I could guess," Granger wonders, her tone harsher than it has been since the beginning of this conversation.

Draco realizes with a start which name Granger might be thinking of. He decides to dispel that guess immediately.

Draco turns the screen on his mobile around to face Granger, allowing her to see that her contact name in his phone is simply 'Granger'.

Draco purposely makes direct eye contact with the small witch in front of him.

"You're 'Granger' to me– and have been for a while now. I'm sorry that that hasn't been clear enough."

Draco knows that he owes Granger more apologies than he could ever possibly give. He had hoped that he could simply show her that he absolutely does not see her by only her blood-status anymore, but it appears that that isn't the case. However, he also knows that now is probably not the time or place to have that conversation either.

Draco snaps his mobile shut and stuffs it into his pocket and hands Granger's back to her before turning swiftly and retreating from Granger's bedroom doorway with his tail between his legs.

Draco isn't sure that he will ever get used to Harry Potter agreeing with him.

His conversation with Saint Potter was short, but detailed. Potter agreed to stay with Granger while Draco appears before the Wizengamot– a fact which Potter also agreed to keep to himself. Draco is positive that any mention of his father and/or his possibility of early release from Azkaban to Granger would not end well for him, and the last thing that Draco needs is for Granger to march into the Ministry to give them a piece of her mind. It would be a bit difficult to protect her in that case.

Draco slings his duffle over his shoulder and steps out of his bedroom, nearly crashing into Granger when she comes out of her own room, holding her beaded bag in her fist.

"Our portkey leaves in two minutes," Draco states, opening his fist to reveal a broken stapler resting on a dirty handkerchief.

Granger nods, reaching and taking hold of one end of the stapler in preparation for when it activates. Draco stuffs the handkerchief in his pocket and wraps his hand around the opposite end of the stapler.

The portkey begins to glow and Draco feels the tell-tale tugging behind his navel before he and Granger are whisked away.

Draco lands with a thud and it takes him a moment to realize why his right side seems heavier than normal. Granger has both arms wrapped tightly around his right bicep and her face buried into their combination of limbs.

Granger squeaks and jumps backward, unwrapping her arms from around his own in the process.

"S-sorry."

Draco waves his hand in dismissal of Granger's apology. Truthfully, he quite enjoyed the feeling of her squeezing his arm. He would've gladly let her continue if she wanted to.

"Are you alright to apparate?" Draco asks, knowing that their portkey landed them in a field outside of London and that they still need to make it to their hotel.

Draco lifts his right hand as an offering. He figures that she might fare better apparating side-along than on her own.

Granger, to his surprise, takes his hand and nods, which Draco takes as permission.

In the next moment, Draco and Granger land once again deep in an alley in Muggle London.

Granger, without being asked– much to Draco's enjoyment– lifts the hood of her sweatshirt up over her head to hide her mass of curls.

"How far is the hotel?" Granger asks, and Draco detects a hint of discomfort in her voice.

"Just down the block," Draco responds in an attempt to ease her worry.

Draco understands that this is Granger's first time back in England in about a year and that the last time she was home was traumatic, to say the least. He also knows that if anyone recognizes her that she would be at an even higher risk than she already is.

Without warning, Draco slings his free arm around Granger's shoulders and tucks her close against his side. He wishes that he was doing this under different circumstances, however, this will have to do.

Granger squeaks in surprise and attempts to pull away.

"Just keep close. We'll look like any normal couple walking down the street. No one will recognize you."

Draco truly had not expected Granger to concede to his plan, but to his surprise, she relaxes against him and wraps an arm around his lower back, still holding her beaded bag in her other hand.

Draco begins the walk to the hotel, attempting to keep his focus on the faces passing him, rather than on Granger, who now has her head resting against his chest as they walk. It's not a sensation that Draco is overly used to, so if his body tingles a bit, then that's his business.

After getting settled with Granger in their hotel suite and calling Potter to chaperone, Draco heads off to meet his mother for dinner.

Draco had explained to Granger that he had an obligation and that she and Potter should order room service and enjoy their evening. Granger had mostly ignored him in favor of flinging herself into Potter's arms as soon as the hotel room door closed behind the bespectacled man.

"Thank you for coming, my Dragon," Draco's mother says, a grim note to her voice, as she stands on her toes to wrap her arms around her son.

Draco hugs his mother back tightly. He thinks that, quite possibly, his father's annual hearings are his least favorite days of the year.

Once seated at the small dining table in the Manor kitchens, Draco's mother begins her now-routine assessment of him.

"You look tired, dear," Narcissa frowns, her eyes full of motherly worry.

Draco takes a sip from the glass of wine in front of him.

"Work is busy, Mother. Not to worry, I'm perfectly well," Draco assures her. He means it, too. He is well. Work is busy, but that is precisely how he likes it.

Narcissa seems unconvinced, but doesn't comment further.

"I've had Lolly make up your room. Perhaps you will get some sleep tonight," she states, seeming hopeful.

Draco frowns. He knows that his mother will not be pleased that both this time and the previous time that he has been home that he has not stayed at the Manor with her– albeit, the previous time was unintentional. Theo's drinks were stronger than he remembered.

"Unfortunately, Mother, I will not be staying here tonight. I have another obligation, but I will meet you at the Ministry for Father's hearing in the morning."

Narcissa narrows her eyes and spears a carrot with her fork.

"An obligation, you say?" she asks, her voice taking on a tone which Draco doesn't recognize.

Narcissa chews her carrot carefully, eyeing Draco as if trying to discern something specific.

"What sort of obligation?" Narcissa asks again, and Draco suddenly begins to feel quite uneasy, as if his mother is plotting something. Her voice sounds rather hopeful, which is not a tone that Draco usually associates with his mother. "A witch, perhaps?"

Draco nearly chokes on his wine.

"Mother," Draco scolds tightly.

Since the dissolution of Draco's betrothal to Astoria Greengrass and his father's incarceration, Draco has made it abundantly clear to his mother that he will be operating on his own timeline. If he finds a witch with whom he chooses to spend his life, then it will be his decision, and his alone. His mother had ranted and raved at him for weeks about how 'This just isn't how it's done, Draco. It is tradition for the parents to aid in arranging a marriage for their heirs. Children cannot be trusted to make those sorts of decisions on their own.' Draco begs to differ.

"Now, dear, I think I've been extremely patient. I would like a grandchild to spoil before I die."

Draco rolls his eyes and groans, leaning back in his chair.

"Yes, well, that would require a witch, which, as it happens, is not in the picture."

Draco decides that he isn't technically lying. His obligation is technically a witch, however, not in the way that his mother thinks. It's a technicality, but one that Draco is comfortable hinging on.

Narcissa huffs and takes a slow sip from her own wine glass.

"Alright, dear, have your secrets– but just know that the more you deny it, the more suspicious I will get."

Draco resists the urge to slam his face down against the table. That's just what he needs– a nosy, suspicious mother. Wonderful.

Hello, friends! Yes, I know, it's Monday, not Tuesday, BUT tomorrow is going to be a busy day for me, so I wanted to upload this today in case I don't have the time tomorrow. (:

I'll admit that this chapter is not one of my favorites, but it's important in some ways, so here we are, lol.

ANYWAY. I've seen a few new names in the reviews lately, so thank you so much! (: I always appreciate hearing your thoughts on my work, just remember to keep it respectful- and that goes for anyone's work on this platform, or any other, not just mine. (:

In other news, I'm still working on my other Dramione that I started. I'm really enjoying where the story is going, so I hope to be able to begin uploading it once I've finished uploading Manhattan. It's a bit more of a slow-burn than this one- like, 'Is the oven even on?' kind of slow-burn, which is interesting for me to write considering I'm not really a slow-burn type of gal, but it's been fun so far. I'm also projecting that it'll probably end up being longer than Manhattan, making it my longest of my Dramione multi-chapters. I'm not positive because I don't outline my fics, but that's where it's looking it'll be headed, so we'll see.