It started with flowers.
He'd always given her flowers, a tradition that began even before they'd gotten together.
Lucius Malfoy, despite having been sentenced to life in Azkaban after the war, was still entitled to two visits per month. He only ever had one visitor—his wife, Narcissa. Ministry employees in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were required to accompany Azkaban visitors to and from the prison, and they were also required to be in the room during the visit. This meant Hermione Granger had the "privilege" of seeing Lucius Malfoy twice a month, which was two times too many, in her opinion.
However, Narcissa had taken a liking to Hermione after she accompanied her to Azkaban the first time, and had apparently had a bad experience with the next DMLE officer who had taken her, and thus requested Hermione every time she went. Hermione didn't have the heart to say no, so she endured Lucius's scathing glares twice a month, and Narcissa was always happy to treat her to lunch afterwards.
Draco Malfoy, who worked in the Office for the Removal of Curses, Jinxes, and Hexes nowadays, found out about Hermione and his mother after the fourth visit, Hermione's third time accompanying Narcissa. He'd been given nearly a full pardon at his trial, only required to serve a year's probation, pay reparations, and give up any and all known Dark materials to the Ministry. In addition, if he were to get a job, it would have to be at the Ministry.
Surprisingly, the reparation fines were not as hefty as the Malfoys were expecting, though some of the artefacts they had to surrender had been worth thousands of Galleons on their own, and the family's reputation as a whole had taken a significant hit as well; even if Draco were allowed to work outside the Ministry, any business he tried to start or any shop he worked in (if he was even hired in the first place) would never get the revenue it might have received normally just because he, and therefore the Malfoy name and reputation, was involved. So instead of opening an apothecary or a potions development firm, he disenchanted objects people brought in from their homes or items seized after an Auror search at a property. Ironically, many of the items he worked with had come from his own manor, an oversight the Ministry either never realised or never bothered to correct.
Hermione passed by the Malfoy heir on occasion during lunch break, when she would often eat with Harry Potter, who was steadily working his way up the promotion ladder as an Auror. Ron Weasley, who was once also an Auror but had decided to leave to help his brother George at his joke shop, would join them whenever he happened to be in London. She and Malfoy would exchange nods of greeting when they passed each other, or sometimes say "good morning" or "good afternoon", but usually wouldn't speak otherwise. Hermione even occasionally brought artefacts over to his office after the Aurors conducted a search on some Death Eater's estate or someone was arrested with such an object. But their interactions never crossed the line of cordial and professional and into the personal realm, until he'd found out about her accompaniment with his mother to Azkaban.
Bouquets started to show up at her work desk after each visit to the prison—vases filled with white daisies, blue forget-me-nots, or pink carnations. Hermione quickly put two and two together and figured they were from Malfoy, but she didn't realise each flower had meaning until Ron pointed it out one day while picking out and eating the best biscuits in the variety tin she kept in the bottom of her desk drawer.
"Hey," he said through a mouthful of biscuit. "That's an apology right there." He gestured to the massive bunch of blooms sitting next to her armchair.
"Swallow before speaking," Hermione said disapprovingly, watching Penguin crumbs fall onto her papers with dismay.
Ron did so, then pulled out a biscuit and held it out to her. "Jammie Dodger?" he asked.
"No, thank you." Hermione wrinkled her nose and waved it away. "But what do you mean, 'that's an apology?'"
"Flowers have symbolism and can even express a message, didn't you know?" Ron said, digging through the biscuit tin again. "The type of flower by itself has meaning, but colours mean different things, too. You probably know red roses mean love, but a yellow rose would mean joy or friendship, and sometimes flowers can mean multiple things and you have to figure out what they're meant to say based on the other flowers with it. So here you have bluebells and white roses. White roses can mean anything from sympathy to youthfulness, but you also have bluebells. Bluebells in general can mean gratitude or humility. In this case, paired with the white roses, unless the person who sent you that is sorry someone died but is also thankful for some reason, it probably means they're really sorry for something."
Hermione could only stare.
Ron pulled out a chocolate digestive but looked over and caught her looking at him with her mouth slightly open when he realised she hadn't responded. "What? Is there something on my face?"
There was, but Hermione was preoccupied with other things. "How… how do you know all that?"
"My family may be blood traitors, but my parents still grew up with all those pureblood customs," Ron shrugged. "Mum was all into flowers and such, and she would talk about all the different meanings and whatnot all the time. She'd point out all the different kinds outside the shops and make me help in the garden sometimes, and I guess it rubbed off on me."
"Where was all this in Herbology?" Hermione wondered.
Ron shrugged again. "Dunno. Guess having Mum tell me over and over again made it stick better." He made a particularly loud crunch in emphasis, but Hermione could only sigh as she watched crumbs scatter over her desk again.
The flowers became a regular occurrence twice a month, integrated into Hermione's routine as much as her visits with Narcissa to Azkaban, always followed by lunch at some upscale café in Diagon Alley. Hermione would return to her office after bidding farewell to Narcissa and move the new bouquet from the centre of her desk to its usual place next to her reading chair, which remained in her office, much to her boss's chagrin. If Hermione needed to read a long text or do book research, she wanted to be comfortable, but Robards just couldn't seem to understand that.
The bouquets sat under Stasis Charms until the day before her next Azkaban visit, when she'd dispose of the blooms, which were always faded and a little wilted despite the charm, and she eventually started returning the vases to Malfoy. They were always beautiful and almost certainly Irish Waterford crystal, but Hermione didn't have any more room in her cupboards to store what would have been nearly twenty vases at this point.
Hermione wasn't sure why, but she found herself looking for more ways to cross paths with Malfoy. After only really knowing the bully he was in school and then the scared boy she saw during the war, this post-Voldemort Malfoy was like a different person altogether. She knew he kept to himself most of the time; many of the younger Ministry employees either despised or were scared of him, or both. Some of those who went to school with him felt similar, though many had moved on and maintained professional attitudes with him. Narcissa was his father's only visitor, so Hermione knew he never went to visit Lucius. Despite having to pay reparations, he was clearly still wealthy enough to wear tailored robes and gift her Waterford crystal vases multiple times a month.
She found out he wore glasses when she brought him a music box one day, jinxed to scream when opened instead of playing music. He was at his desk taking notes from a book floating near his head, a pair of gold rims perched on his nose. Seeing him so intently focused on something stirred something in Hermione. Interest. Intrigue. It helped that he'd grown into his sharp features, becoming rather fit as he became an adult. She didn't speak to him that day, but she wanted to know more. She had questions, and she wanted answers.
Who was Draco Malfoy?
Gradually, Hermione started seeing Malfoy more often than even her strategically planned visits. The DMLE was experiencing an influx of Death Eater arrests, possibly due to the upcoming first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, therefore recovering more cursed objects as their properties were raided.
On top of this, Harry had been partnered long-term on a project with Malfoy, and he'd invited Malfoy out to their weekly get-togethers at the Leaky Cauldron. It was a standing invitation for everyone; whoever could come, would, and those who couldn't would join another day. Despite mostly being populated by former Gryffindors, Malfoy came to most of them, occasionally even being joined by some of his former housemates. Blaise Zabini, who was dating Luna Lovegood, was also a frequent sight at the table, as was Theodore Nott, who worked in the Time Room of the Department of Mysteries and would often stop by Hermione's office to discuss theories. To everyone's surprise, Pansy Parkinson even came to a few gatherings, though never for long and always with a slightly pinched look on her face. No one was sure why she came in the first place, though Hermione had a guess based on how Harry always had some excuse to leave early whenever she did.
Hermione found that she and Malfoy got on rather well. He wasn't much of a talker, but they did have good conversations about work subjects, and he listened intently as Hermione chattered on about the research she was doing in her free time, how her now-ancient half-Kneazle, Crookshanks, was doing, and even some of her daily life outside of work. Malfoy would occasionally chime in on things he was knowledgeable about or suggest things that might help with Crookshanks' health, but for the most part, he was content to listen.
One night, a particularly large crowd showed up at the Leaky; nearly everyone who attended relatively regularly was there, and nearly all the Weasley children showed up as well since Ginny, a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, was home for their off-week, and Charlie was home from Romania for a rare visit home. In fact, the only one missing was Bill, who was still on assignment in Egypt.
The group had a grand time, catching up on everyone's monthly doings, drinking copious amounts of butterbeer and firewhisky, and listening to work stories, from Charlie's tales from the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary and the best plays from the Harpies' matches to Harry's harrowing Auror raids and the newest Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes products.
The night wore on, and as it got later and later, people started to drop off. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan were the first to go, followed shortly after by twins Padma and Parvati Patil. Blaise left with Luna, and the Weasley family, plus Lavender Brown, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson all left for The Burrow together. Eventually, only Hermione, Harry, Malfoy, and Neville Longbottom were left at the end of the night.
Neville soon left to find his girlfriend Hannah Abbott, who had recently become the landlady of the pub. It was getting rather late, anyway—it was nearly midnight, and Hermione had things to do the next day, even though it would be the weekend. Harry lived in Godric's Hollow and therefore had to go into Diagon Alley to Apparate home. Pansy had left several hours before, but Hermione suspected she'd be waiting in Harry's flat for him to arrive. Hermione lived on the Muggle side of London, so Draco walked her home after bidding farewell.
"I never did thank you in person for the flowers," Hermione said as they exited the pub, the door creaking closed behind them. "I do appreciate them, but I hope you don't mind that I've been sending back the vases."
Malfoy was silent for a few moments. "I'm glad you do," he said finally. "And I never thanked you for accompanying my mother on her visits, either, so I suppose we're even."
"I enjoy your mother's company, so it's no trouble for me."
"And my father?"
"He's never said a word to me. And anyway, it adds up to only an hour per month." Hermione still would have preferred never to see Lucius Malfoy again, but she had grown fond of Narcissa, unexpected as it may be.
"How did you end up being the only one to do this with her, anyway?"
Hermione shrugged. "According to her, the man who took her after I did wasn't very professional. She said he made remarks to both her and your father and was a bit rough when doing Side-Along. So she requested me again."
"But why not anyone else? She could have found any other, but she wanted you specifically." Malfoy had never asked about her doings with Narcissa before, even though it was the entire reason he sent her flowers in the first place. Hermione was surprised he hadn't discussed it with Narcissa, either, despite being his mother.
"That's something you'll have to ask her," Hermione replied. "I'm not entirely sure, myself. But I must admit, I've grown quite fond of her company in the past year."
"And she of yours. She speaks of you often." Oh. So he had discussed her with his mother, or at least Narcissa had talked about her to him.
"And what does she say?"
"She enjoys your conversations together," Malfoy said. "I think you're like… a breath of fresh air for her. Years of society events mean she's usually reduced to polite small talk or veiled discussions. You never grew up with that, so it doesn't bother you to speak freely of what's on your mind."
"I never thought of that." The air was quiet, except for the chirping of crickets and the distant sounds of vehicles driving down the busier streets. Hermione realised they'd stopped walking and were standing in front of her door. A faint breeze fluttered past, making her shiver slightly.
"She likes the passion for the things you care about. Your curiosity and the lengths you'll go when you want to accomplish something or find answers to your questions," Malfoy continued. "She admires you." He moved closer, almost infinitesimally. "I admire you."
Their feet were nearly touching, and Hermione found herself with her back against the bricks and her eyes staring into Malfoy's.
"Tell me not to," he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek, even as his eyes flickered down to her lips and back up to her eyes.
Hermione took a shuddering breath and slowly reached her hand up. Her fingers brushed the side of his neck. "I'm not going to tell you that," she whispered.
Malfoy closed the minuscule distance between them, his lips brushing hers in an almost feather-light kiss.
Hermione slowly opened her eyes as he pulled back slightly. She opened her mouth, but she had no words.
"I'd like to see you again," Malfoy said quietly, still holding her gaze. His fingers brushed her cheek. "And I'd like to take you out properly."
"Okay," Hermione whispered back. "I'd like that."
Malfoy drew back, lifting her hand and pressing it to his lips. "Have a good night, Granger."
"Good night, Malfoy."
Hermione opened her door and stepped inside, but she lingered for a moment as Malfoy turned and walked back down the street, listening to the crickets chirp and savouring the crisp, sweet breeze as it brushed past her. She ran her fingers over her lips, watching him fade into the darkness, before retreating into the foyer and heading up the stairs to her flat.
Narcissa found out about their relationship very soon after it became public; Hermione hadn't thought to ask, but she hoped it was because Malfoy had told her and not because his mother had seen the Prophet article featured on the front page on Monday.
They didn't speak of it until after they'd left Azkaban and were sitting down at a café, waiting for their tea.
"Did you see Draco often?"
Hermione picked up her teacup and took a sip to hide her surprise. She assumed Narcissa knew about all of her son's comings and goings, what he was doing, and who he spent his time with. "What do you mean?" she asked, careful to avoid sounding defensive.
"He works in the same department as you, does he not? I had presumed you would see each other often, and that's where your relationship developed. But perhaps I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I apologise." Narcissa sipped her own tea.
"No need to apologise," Hermione reassured. "I was only asking for clarification. But no, we only see each other in passing at work. We saw more of each other at Harry's gatherings at the Leaky. That's where we were able to get to know each other better."
Narcissa was silent for a few moments. "I don't see Draco as often anymore," she finally said. Her voice became distant as she continued, "Sometimes I worry I wasn't there enough for him in his younger years. Lucius was… harsh. He didn't like it when I 'coddled' Draco or let him indulge in small pleasures. He said it would make him weak, and Lucius did not want a weak heir."
Hermione stayed silent, drinking her tea. It wasn't like Narcissa to be so open and vulnerable with her thoughts—pureblood upbringing dictated much of her mannerisms, particularly in public. That she felt comfortable enough with Hermione to tell her her thoughts was no small thing.
"Just before and during the war, he pulled away. I don't blame him; who would want to live in the same house as that… thing? " Narcissa's shoulders deflated. "After the war ended, I saw more of him, but he seemed to be weighed down by something. And even though I'm his mother, I couldn't do anything to help him, it seemed. And then there was you," she said.
"And then there was me," Hermione repeated. "What about me?"
"You make him lighter," Narcissa said, "lighter than he's been since he was just a little boy. Thank you."
Their relationship progressed steadily from there. Dates turned into weekend outings and then holidays to his family chateaus and other properties. The Daily Prophet had a field day when they first found out, but Hermione had a tried and true method for keeping wild speculations and outright falsehoods from making it into the paper. As it turned out, the Malfoy vaults held a variety of decorative pieces, including several antique jars. Malfoy was happy to see them go, and Hermione was all too happy to send them to her favourite beetle Animagus whenever another reminder was deemed necessary. So instead of the headline blaring, WAR HEROINE FRATERNISING WITH FORMER DEATH EATER across the front page of the Prophet every time they went out in public, Granger of Golden Trio Seen Out With Malfoy Heir in Diagon Alley would be featured at the bottom of the designated social page. As both were rather private individuals, Hermione would have preferred their relationship not to make the papers at all, but this would have to do.
Malfoy still sent Hermione flowers in Waterford crystal vases twice a month, but other flowers would show up, too: a yellow rose, a purple iris, a bundle of daffodils. Hermione still accompanied Narcissa on her bi-monthly visits to Azkaban, but sometimes she would give Hermione a knowing look just before she departed—the downsides of spending not an insignificant amount of time with your partner's mother.
And before they knew it, nearly a year of their relationship had passed by. They still preferred to keep it quiet, especially since they worked adjacent to each other in the Ministry, but they had grown more comfortable in their new roles with each other, and mostly everyone knew about them by now and had more or less accepted them. Occasionally a wayward Howler would make it through their mail filters at work, or someone might shout at them from across the street, but it was nothing they couldn't handle.
Hermione first started noticing the change in her bouquets about a year and a half into their relationship. Gradually, instead of the usual balanced array of colours the blooms usually were, the flowers were slowly beginning to incorporate more yellow, regardless of meaning. She had bought a book on flower meanings a while ago and enjoyed taking a break from work to interpret that day's vase, but she was sure he didn't mean to say he regretted their relationship when he sent yellow carnations one day. It started normally at first, just a few here and there, but one day she received a vase full of only daffodils and baby's breath—all yellow and white. She didn't question it too much, but she noted the change and even took it in stride when her bouquet was only yellow roses the next time.
She realised Malfoy had a different sort of look in his eye when she wore gold rather than silver. If she asked him for his opinion on the colour of a piece of clothing, his answer would always be either yellow or the next colour available that was closest to it. His flat, while mostly devoid of decoration, contained one gold picture frame on the mantel in the sitting room. A candid photo of the two of them sat inside; Hermione thought Colin Creevey might've taken it when they had attended Ron and Lavender's wedding a few months ago.
She stewed over it for a few weeks, even affirming her suspicions by wearing the colour on purpose, but finally, she asked. Yellow wasn't her favourite colour by far—and no, red wasn't her favourite, either. Everyone seemed to think that whatever your Hogwarts House theme was had to be your favourite, resulting in her receiving many red and gold gifts over the years. She had a soft spot for red, but while it brought back memories of the Gryffindor common room and dinners surrounded by a sea of red as she ate with her housemates, it also reminded her of bloodshed, of war, of more difficult times. No, red wasn't her favourite colour by far.
Malfoy was so Slytherin she wouldn't have been surprised if his childhood bedroom had been emerald and silver, so she was taken slightly aback (after which she felt more than a bit hypocritical) when she learned his favourite colour was not , in fact, green or silver, but navy blue.
Hermione also preferred the tranquillity of blue—the colour of the ocean, the sky, her childhood bedroom. It bled into her clothing choices, her wall paint selections, even her desk supplies. In fact, now that she considered it, she didn't think she had a single item that was all yellow. She had things with yellow or gold accents, and perhaps a hair tie or two as part of a set, but nothing especially significant. So why would Malfoy give her yellow flowers and gold jewellery, have gold-accented decor, and have a clear preference when she wore warm-coloured clothing if blue was both their favourite colour?
"I like you in yellow," he'd said, but didn't elaborate further. Hermione disagreed—she thought the colour washed her out—but she started finding yellow things for him.
At first, it was just small things. She dug out the yellow hair ties from the bottom of her drawer. She wore clothing that included the colour more often. She started wearing more gold jewellery over her silver pieces. Draco never said anything out loud, but more yellow things started to appear. Gold pins for her hair. Books bound with yellow or gold covers.
And despite the trend of her bouquets as of late, when she found a single sunflower and a deep red rose laying next to her morning tea, she knew these blooms had clear meaning: happiness, strength, hope—and love.
One day, while running errands in Diagon Alley, she spotted a dress in the window of Twilfitt and Tattings. Hermione didn't normally shop there—it was more high-end and expensive than Madam Malkin's, and Hermione was nothing if not practical. She could get perfectly good clothing from Madam Malkin's for a much better price. But this dress looked like it was made from sunshine. It was a deeper hue than the standard sunshine yellow—it was almost gold, shimmering subtly in the sunlight. The style, sleeveless with a sweetheart neckline and a ruched waist, wasn't something she usually wore, but she couldn't help but feel drawn to it. She decided to finish her errands and see if it was still there by the end of the day.
No one had purchased it by the time Hermione left the café she'd eaten lunch at, so she figured it wouldn't hurt to try it on. In the dressing room, she stared at herself in the mirror, taking in every inch of the outfit. The neckline was more flattering than she had expected it to be, and the length was a little longer than she assumed it had been, coming to just under mid-thigh. The darker shade made her complexion more glowy rather than faded. The skirt was loose and flowy, and she turned from side to side a few times just to see it swirl around her legs.
A frequent wearer of pantsuits and pencil skirts, Hermione wasn't used to the freedom this dress offered her. Eventually, she decided to buy it. She had room in the budget, and she figured Draco would appreciate the new addition to her wardrobe. She knew it was going to be more than the average piece she would get at a place like Madam Malkin's, given that there wasn't even a price tag on the dress, but nearly choked when the clerk gave her the total. Her hands shook as she counted out the appropriate number of coins and she almost told the girl to put it back on the rack, but in the end, she left with lighter pockets and a freshly wrapped sundress in her arms.
Immediately after she'd left the shop, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd made a mistake spending so much of her hard-earned galleons on an outfit she might not even wear more than once or twice. Hermione knew she had enough to spare on a purchase like this, and having dentists for parents meant she'd never had to experience any significant trouble with money growing up. In addition, the Malfoys had more gold than she could even fathom, and she knew Draco would buy her anything she even mentioned in passing without batting an eye. She was sure she could ask for an island and he'd either bring her to one his family already owned or he'd find a way to buy one, no questions asked. But she couldn't help but feel a bit silly, spending so much on such a frivolous purchase.
She brought it home and it hung in her wardrobe for weeks, always there for her to see when she prepared for the day. More than once, she wondered if it was too late to bring it back. But she finally caved and shoved it in the bottom of her suitcase when they went on holiday to the French Riviera.
And the look in his eye when he saw her emerge from the house, wearing the dress and a pair of sandals he'd given her made her want to buy ten more.
They spent most of their time on holiday in the city of Nice, exploring the streets and markets, strolling through museums, and just enjoying the sunny weather so uncommon to see in dreary England. Malfoy had been there many times in his life, considering they were staying at his family's property, so he was able to show Hermione around and bring her to places she might otherwise have missed if she was just a regular tourist.
On their last day in France, the pair spent the day reading on the beach under a giant yellow umbrella. Hermione enjoyed a Muggle historical romance, one of the few fiction books she owned, while Malfoy studied up on the various properties of wand woods. At one point, Hermione left and came back with two drinks. Small pieces of strawberries and raspberries floated among the ice. She handed one to Malfoy, who sipped it experimentally before nodding and placing it next to his chair. She found herself stealing glances at him whenever he took a sip and trying not to snicker; seeing the scion of House Malfoy drinking a Muggle beverage through a straw would never get old.
Later, Hermione watched Malfoy walk down the beach toward her, a yellow umbrella in one hand and a large blanket under his other arm. It had been a clear day, and it was shaping up to be a beautiful evening as well. They'd put together quite the spread for an oceanside picnic—sandwiches, crisps, fruit, and even some ice cream, packed carefully in containers charmed with a Glacius. Hermione had even successfully convinced Malfoy to leave the good china back at the house, favouring her Muggle melamine dishware instead—it was far less prone to breaking, and who brought expensive china to a picnic, anyway?
A light breeze wafted off the ocean, and Hermione could taste the salt in the air as the pair walked toward the water. The sun, just touching the water, bathed the whole beach in golden light, casting long shadows and making the waves shimmer as they lapped gently onto the sand. They set up their picnic spot and settled down for their meal, discussing what they'd read that day and watching the sun sink lower and lower beneath the horizon.
"I've told you enough about the many woes Jane Austen has put Emma through, what about your book?" Hermione said finally. "I've never heard of using wand wood shavings in potions."
"It's not common," Malfoy said, taking off his glasses. "It's actually a relatively new development. Sierra Harpin discovered some of the properties of the wood can sometimes cause a potion to take on some of the wood's characteristics as temporary side effects."
"Fascinating. So if you put hazel wood shavings in a potion, would the drinker be able to detect underground water? Or be better equipped to perform nonverbal magic with pine shavings?" Hermione mused.
"It's a theory," Malfoy replied. He ate the last spoonful of his ice cream. "Harpin first discovered that wand woods affect potions when shavings from her own wand accidentally fell into the potion she was brewing. Apparently, it doesn't take much to change the properties of the whole cauldron. Harpin's focus is on how wand wood shavings affect already existing potions, but there is another lab working on the development of new potions to capitalise on the full effects of the wand wood." His voice was animated and his face was lit up, and Hermione thought she'd never seen him as passionate about a subject as when he was talking about potions.
"Malfoy, have you looked into the conditions of your employment?" Hermione asked. "Do you have to stay at the Ministry forever, or are there any jobs that require potions skills at the Ministry?"
His face fell slightly. "I can't leave the Ministry—at least, that's what they told me," he said. "And the positions that involve potions require a Mastery."
"You can still find a Master Apprentice, right? Not everyone would turn you away, surely." Hermione wasn't naïve enough to believe that everyone would take a former Death Eater, coerced as he may have been, but surely someone would consider the totality of his unfortunate circumstances, right?
"Yes," Malfoy agreed slowly. "There are a few apprentices here in France, but the best schools for potions are all in England. There's no doubt that they know who I am."
"But have you asked them?" Hermione pressed. "Have you applied to all of them?"
"No, I haven't," Malfoy admitted. He took Hermione's hands in his, shifting so he was sitting across from her. "But don't worry too much about it, Granger. It's not like I hate my job. And I don't even need it. I could live several lifetimes and not have to work a day in my life. I could brew whatever I wanted then, even if I couldn't sell it. I can still do that now in my free time. And"—he squeezed her hands in emphasis—"I have you."
"I know," Hermione said softly. "But sometimes I worry it's not enough. That I'm not enough." She looked away, unable to maintain eye contact while exposing her worst fears. She was normally able to keep her emotions in check, having become relatively proficient in Occlumency, but now she found her lip trembling and her eyes filling with unshed tears as all her thoughts piled up and broke down her mind barrier.
"Granger," Malfoy said. "Hermione."
The use of her given name made her look up. By now, it was nearly dark, the sun long gone and the last rays of light fading into nothingness.
"Granger," he said again. "Do you know why I like when you wear yellow and gold?"
She didn't respond, waiting for him to continue. Besides, if she tried to speak, she was afraid whatever she tried to say would only come out as a sob.
"You know the meanings of many of those flowers I send you. I know not all of them are meant to say what they're supposed to mean—if I regretted our relationship, I would just break up with you, not send you yellow carnations."
Hermione couldn't hold back a small giggle, despite her tears.
"Look at the stars, Hermione," Malfoy said softly.
She looked up into the glittering expanse above them, searching for his namesake almost on instinct. When she found it, her eyes traced the constellation back and forth, head to tail. She wondered what Narcissa was thinking about when she named her son. Was it for the dragon's strength? Its regality? Was she thinking of Aster, the dragon giant who battled the gods until Athena killed him, or Ladon, who guarded the golden apples of the Hesperides?
"I might be the one named after them," Malfoy said. "But look at all the things you do, Hermione. All the things you've already done. The things you will do. They don't shine for me." He shook his head. "I like you in yellow because it's so opposite of the darkness I was surrounded with for so long. Yellow is sunshine, happiness, joy—all the things the Dark isn't. And then there's you."
Hermione was looking at him now, tears dried and heart pounding. They were never a very wordy couple; all those words of affirmation were expressed in other ways. They even continued to refer to each other by their surnames, even after nearly two years of being together. But hearing him affirm their relationship out loud and reassuring her that he was happy made her breathe a mental sigh of relief. She needn't have worried, but her tendency to overthink made her stress about it more than she thought she did.
"And then there's me," she breathed, and suddenly she was reminded of a different conversation, with a different Malfoy, from not so long ago. She wiped the last of her tears away. "What about me?"
Malfoy leaned closer. "You're my yellow, Granger," he said simply.
"Oh, Draco."
Hermione closed the distance between them, gently pressing her lips against his. Like every time they kissed, her blood sang and she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. She reached up, caressing his cheek with one hand and squeezing the other, which was still in Malfoy's. When he lightly bit on her bottom lip, she drew back, not wanting to go too far on a public beach, but stayed close and rested her forehead on his as she caught her breath. "I love you, you know," she said. "I don't think I tell you enough."
Malfoy traced her lip with his free hand. "And I love you," he replied.
They could have stayed like that forever, cross-legged on that picnic blanket and staring into each other's gaze, yellow umbrella propped up in the sand, the skirt of her yellow dress spread over both their laps, but a sudden gust of wind knocked them out of their reverie. Hermione shivered and broke away from Malfoy. He smirked and kissed her hand before getting up and starting to clean up their picnic, now in danger of being blown away. They packed up quickly, the wind getting stronger by the minute and making their eyes sting from the salt spray.
As they headed back toward the house, Malfoy took her hand. Hermione looked back at the tapestry of diamonds above them, the Milky Way splashed across from horizon to horizon. She found Draco again, standing out against the darkness. She stared at it for a moment, watching it wink at her, before turning back and following her Draco inside.