TW: Minor Violence
TW: Injury
Draco looked incredible.
He was always so polished, some variation of businesslike, and Hermione hadn't yet seen him in jeans. Though what he was wearing could hardly be classified as jeans, more like corduroy straightjackets for his thighs. His dick had to be suffocating because the tops of those trousers were so tight. He'd also left his hair down and it was long. Well past his shoulders, tapered nicely down near to the centre of his back. Hermione wondered whether he would let her run her fingers through it, pull just a bit during—
Stop.
Hermione stopped that train of thought before it could get too far along.
She had been quite distracted when she stepped out of her car at Malfoy Manor. Scorpius had been a delight on the ride. She'd never met someone who could talk about shoes for an hour, but Scorpius had been all too happy to indulge.
Do high heels hurt?
Yes.
Can I have high heels that look like trainers?
They make those.
What's the most money you spent on shoes?
That's embarrassing.
I won't tell anybody. Iss'a secret.
Thirteen hundred Pounds, limited run of Dior slingbacks. I bought them a couple years after my divorce.
Why're you divorced?
Let's talk more about shoes.
That conversation was why she answered his questions in the library. While Draco Malfoy seemed to be rather mercurial with what he was and was not comfortable sharing, his son was an open book. When Draco said,
"You both can follow me."
Hermione groaned. She'd worn heels because Draco was so tall and she couldn't always tilt her neck back far enough to look up at him in flats. He offered his hand and Hermione used it to pull herself off the library floor. She grabbed her phone off the table and read the three texts from Parvati.
He took off the ring a week after you tell him you're looking for a boyfriend?
That boy's got a thing for you.
He's a decent man. Good dad. Ron and Harry will hate him, which makes me like him even more.
Hermione locked the phone and placed it in her back pocket. Making Ron jealous was, admittedly, a selling point. He'd moved on and Hermione wanted to prove she could move on from their marriage, too. She locked the phone and placed it in her back pocket.
Scorpius grabbed her hand and they followed Draco down one hall, left, and into his office. It was a massive room, with an eight-person conference table on the right, a desk in the middle, and an oddly empty space off to the left. Draco picked Scorpius up off the ground and made for the leftmost wall, upon which hung a bunch of awards, framed articles, and one rather large frame with what appeared to be a program from a play. Upon close inspection, the photograph in the far right of the frame appeared to be of a young woman dressed as a middle-aged man.
Draco nodded toward the photo and said, "That's your mum."
Scorpius looked at the photograph for several seconds, trying to determine what to make of it. He asked,
"Why is she in funny clothes?"
"That is a costume." Draco turned toward Hermione and said, "She was in a gender-swapped production of My Fair Lady, as Professor Higgins teaching a man to become a drag queen. It was a properly scandalous performance, mostly in smaller theatres, but it had five nights at the Manchester Opera House. Bastien and I drove up for the first night's performance, I'd bought the middle box toward stage left, and I'd never laughed so hard in my life. She was young, I was twenty-four so she must've been, God, if it was May then she would've been newly twenty-two."
Hermione stepped closer to the frame. There was a column of ticket stubs separating the program and the photograph. She said,
"There are five tickets here, and they're all for different dates."
"I, um, I knew…" Draco blushed and held Scorpius a little tighter. "The moment I saw her, I knew she was going to be important to me. Didn't know how, really, but I was terrified to talk to her. So I bought out the box for the next four performances, too."
"You?" Hermione asked, shocked. "Were nervous to talk to a woman?"
"I was. Then, at the end of the final bows during the fifth performance, she turned, looked up at the box, and shouted to the entire theater that I had seen the show five times. She asked for my name, which I shouted back. Then she yelled, 'Will you take me out on a date?' I was so nervous I couldn't find my voice, so I flashed a thumbs-up. That is how we met."
"That's adorable."
"Onstage she was very outgoing, but as a person she was quite reserved. Our life together was rather quiet, soft, simple …" Draco shrugged and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Scorpius's head. "Do you have any questions?"
"Yes."
"… Which are?"
"Am I gonna have a mustache like that?"
Hermione laughed. Draco glanced over to her and smiled.
"Only if you want to."
"No."
"Okay, then. Any other questions?"
"Did she like me?"
"Yes." Draco placed Scorpius on the floor. "She liked that you had hair like mine. Your face was all squishy and red, so she called you our cherry tomato."
"I like tomatoes."
"So did your mum." Draco nodded toward the door and said, "You can go play now."
"But Hermione—"
"Hermione wants to read, and we're having dinner in the garden in two hours. You can play until then."
"Okay!"
Scorpius was out of the room two seconds later, launching himself through the door. Hermione looked at the photograph and nodded.
"She looks like she would've been a lot of fun."
"Tori?" Draco grinned. "Yeah, she was. We'd have sex, then I'd wake up the next morning to find her in the kitchen wearing nothing but one of my sweatshirts, shooing the chef away so she could make her own shitty breakfast. She's also one of the few people I've ever dated who didn't make me feel like my sexuality was something to be ashamed of."
"Oh?" Hermione wondered, "Does that usually happen?"
"Certainly. People have very outlandish ideas about what bisexuality is, and I'm past the point where I try to explain it."
"How would you explain it?"
Draco sighed and said, "I know there's literature and discourse and whatnot, but it's not complicated. If I am going to have sex with someone, when they take their pants off I'll work with whatever is down there."
Hermione admitted, "I envy you for how easily you can say things like that."
"Is it not so easy for you?"
"Nothing is easy for me anymore; not when it involves being physical with someone else."
"Ah." Draco nodded and said, "I see. Is it … I don't …" He frowned. "I don't want to ask you anything too personal."
"You're my friend." Hermione encouraged him, "Ask."
"How did sex change for you after your … incident?"
Hermione laughed.
"I stopped having it."
"Really? I would've thought your husband—"
"Ron fell prey to the same thing the rest of my friends did. Nobody wanted to touch me for fear they'd hurt me. Then I got divorced right as we started talking about it again. For years afterward I was terrified. I began to think of my arm as my friends did. I had been so lucky, so fortunate to keep it … What if my luck ran out? What if a partner grabbed me the wrong way in a tense moment? What if I fell onto the bed with the wrong shoulder? That anxiety built up so I didn't feel I could pursue any sexual relationship. I lived with that fear for years. Then my physical therapist said if I trust someone enough to sleep with them, that means I trust them to listen to me when I tell them what I can and can't do."
"Wise."
"The first bloke I went home with afterward thought my arm was such a turn-off that sex didn't happen. Even I didn't have the confidence to rebound afterward."
"I am sorry that happened to you." Draco insisted, "Genuinely, I wish you could see past it. Past him."
"Though it seemed McLaggen was ready to rip my trousers off before we so much as said hello," teased Hermione.
Draco's expression darkened for a moment.
"Did you want him to?"
"Sorry?"
"Would you have slept with McLaggen?"
"Why?" asked Hermione. "Are you jealous?"
"Right," Draco cleared his throat and made for the door. "Seems my library is calling your name. Dinner is at seven in the garden. The staff will point you there."
Hermione was left alone in Draco's office, standing there, wondering what the hell just happened. Draco had taken off his wedding ring, permitted her to stay the night, and even winked after she admitted to staring at the crotch of his trousers. She asked a simple, barely leading question and he couldn't handle it. Ended the conversation. Left the room.
What did that mean?
Hermione sighed and made for the library. Books were far less complicated than men.
.oOo.
The Head of Staff came to get Hermione from the library at 6:50. She'd been rather caught up in a book on the history of plants in Wiltshire, thinking Neville might find it captivating as well. The Head of Staff led Hermione through the manor and out into the sprawling garden pathways. They passed a large fountain, a sculpture that looked like it should be in a museum, bench after bench, and a pile of miniature F1 cars. It was like a maze, and Hermione kept careful note of each turn.
Dinner, it turned out, was on a platform in the middle of a pond, shaded by a tent overhead. It was beautiful, and Draco beckoned Hermione over with a nod. She took tentative steps along the path between the edge of the pond and the platform. It was several metres and she had not changed out of her heels, so the journey took a bit longer than it should have. Hermione plopped rather unceremoniously into the available chair next to Draco and asked,
"Do you always have dinner on a body of water?"
"Not when it's raining," he quipped back.
"Miss Granger." Narcissa Malfoy nodded then said, "I did not know you were staying for dinner."
"Scorpius made the request and I am hopeless to refuse."
Dinner was nice. The bugs were minimal, the food was excellent, and the conversation was fine. Hermione felt odd to have both hired Narcissa Malfoy as a matchmaker, then internally acknowledge she had a massive crush on Narcissa's son. Draco's mother was intimidating, but she clearly cared for her family. Hermione respected that. She could see quite clearly how Narcissa and Penelope found their way to working together.
Watching Draco with Scorpius was rather heartwarming. It reminded Hermione how she felt the first moment she saw him, kneeling to be on his son's level for a hug. Trying to make even the smallest things as easy as possible for Scorpius. At the end of the meal, Narcissa observed,
"Miss Granger, it is rather late and your driver is not on the arrivals list."
"I'm staying the night as I drove myself. Colin has Friday and Saturday off."
Draco revealed, "Hermione is staying in the blue guestroom." He sipped from his water glass, trying not to reveal exactly how amused he was by the situation.
"She may be staying in the guestroom, but is she sleeping there?"
Draco sputtered as he choked on his water and Hermione felt her face go bright red. Draco coughed and Scorpius patted him on the back. Narcissa said,
"I only ask because you will be getting similar questions from others quite soon. Miss Clearwater sent me this an hour ago."
Narcissa placed her phone on the table and spun it toward Draco and Hermione. On the screen was a Daily Mail piece titled, "Billionaire for BBC Bint!"
Byline: Another week means a new man for BBC's leading female anchor, Hermione Granger, as she quickly works her way through the richest men in England.
Draco scrolled through, but Hermione was a quicker read. The article had photographs of her and Draco at the double-date after Cormac and Lavender departed, pictures of them again at Blaise's party, and then a side-by-side comparison of Draco wearing his blue sweater and Hermione in that same sweater at Broadcasting House. She asked,
"How did they get all this?"
Draco grumbled, "I don't know."
"I'm not famous enough to merit this sort of coverage."
"I am." Draco sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. "This is my fault, I should've been more careful."
Hermione reread the headline and pressed her hand to her chest because she laughed so hard. Draco frowned and asked,
"What, exactly, are you finding funny about this?"
"Seeing as I haven't slept with anyone in seven years, I find it hilarious that they are implying I'm sleeping my way through the one percent."
"Ah." Draco nodded to himself and conceded, "I see the irony."
Hermione looked toward Narcissa and said, "If you'll excuse me, I should call my publicist to determine how we should handle this. I deeply apologize for dragging you and your family into the news."
"No need," Narcissa teased, "you are far from the first to do so. My husband was quite good at doing so himself. Please give Miss Clearwater my best."
Hermione stood from her chair and walked toward Malfoy Manor. Past the fountain, obscured from the table by a large hedge, she pulled up the article and read the headline again. Did they really think so little of her?
"Hermione!"
She turned to see Draco jogging toward her. He stopped an arm's length away and asked,
"What do you plan to tell her?"
"My publicist?"
"Yes."
"That she should call the Daily Mail and let them know they've printed incorrect information."
"What if …" Draco shrugged. "What if it wasn't incorrect?"
"It is incorrect."
"Did we not spend an hour together as two far superior halves of a double-date?"
"Yes."
"Did you not wear my jumper to work?"
"I did."
"Do you know my friends, my family, my son?"
"Of course."
"Then perhaps it shouldn't be incorrect information." Draco took a half-step forward to ask, "Can I kiss you?"
"Yes," Hermione replied, desperately trying to keep her smile from going too wide. "Because you asked."
"Oh, because I asked?" Draco teased. "Is that all?"
He leaned in, gently placed his hand on the side of Hermione's neck, and she blurted out,
"Your breath smells amazing."
He whispered, "Popped a mint when you weren't looking."
Draco had been planning to do this? That made Hermione's stomach tie up in a delightful little bow. Maybe he wanted this as much as she did. Draco leaned in for a properly romantic moment. Nighttime, lit by the lights of the garden and the stars above … Hermione allowed herself to get lost in it. Draco's eyes were a bright grey with tiny flecks of darker grey that she could only see if they were nearly nose-to-nose. Just when Hermione thought Draco was about to go in for the kiss, he stopped partway there. For only the slightest moment, but it was enough to signal second thoughts. Hermione sighed and said,
"You hesitated."
Draco's breath was warm against Hermione's lips when he said,
"I was thinking that I haven't felt this way since I lost my wife, and that's not fair to you. I don't know how to stop comparing my feelings for you to my feelings for her."
Hermione's heart cracked cleanly down the middle. She glanced down at his lips, wishing he'd given her just another minute to pretend he felt as she did. Even one kiss, something to remember. Anything would've been better than this far too familiar place.
"Then we're done." Hermione took a step back and looked up to say, "I understand I'm not enough to get you to stop grieving. You made that quite clear today and every time we've met. Your heart will always belong one hundred percent to her. It's my fault; you told me the first day we met that you were unavailable and I let myself fall for you anyway. I apologize for putting you in this position."
"Hermione, that's not true. Don't apologize, I want to be in this position. And many, many more positions—"
"Don't say things like that!" She huffed, "You're rejecting me, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't—"
"I am not rejecting you …" Draco tossed his hands in the air. "I haven't been able to lay Tori to rest physically, Hermione. The past five-plus years I have tried to reconcile how Astoria and I loved each other as deeply as we did yet it's mostly been erased by her family. I've not got a place where I can see her name and feel her presence as I knew it. They stole it from me because they believe my son is the reason my wife is dead. The truth is that my wife is dead because the doctors looked at a healthy woman in her mid-twenties with everything at her fingertips and thought, 'This one won't have any problems.'"
Hermione nodded.
"I am man enough to admit I thought the same thing. That's why I didn't push her to go to hospital immediately. I think about it all the time, if I'd just stopped listening to her insist she was fine and taken her back a half hour earlier … Maybe Astoria would still be alive. I own that. Nobody thinks about the husbands who get left behind. The fathers, the guilt we live with. Her parents got all the love, the outpouring of support. They still hate me so much; they never told me where Astoria was buried."
Hermione asked, "Aren't most burials public record?"
"Yes, but her parents kept it private. We spent eighteen months calling, looking after Astoria Malfoy's resting place citing spousal privileges, but obviously nothing came of it."
"Oh."
"It wasn't until Bas thought to simply ask for 'Astoria' that we found the plot. Her parents don't know that I visit it with Scorpius. I am trying, as best I can, to keep Astoria's memory alive in some way whilst completely estranged from her family, running a massive corporation, then I end up watching Blaise be a better father to my son than I am."
"I disagree; you are a good father to him."
"You have only seen a month's worth of this life. The best month I've had since Tori died, and it is because of you. Because you came here a few weeks ago and made me see the world differently. I feel lighter when you're around, like the weight of Astoria's memory isn't quite so heavy and you put words to the grief so well …" Draco shook his head and looked at Hermione in awe. "The universe is showing me what I could've had if I opened myself up to this earlier. If I'd tried, if I'd met you years ago when I should have …"
"I can't be the reason you let her go." Hermione sighed and said, "If I am, you'll resent me for it later down the line."
"I need to move on for myself. You help me see that."
"And I need to find love for myself," replied Hermione. "You helped me to see that."
Draco's expression was pained when he said, "I'm just not where you are."
"That's fine." Hermione closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips against them. "I've had this conversation before."
"No, you haven't."
"When Viktor and I broke up, he said it was because I was leaving for Singapore, he was heading back to Bulgaria, and we weren't in the same place. When I got divorce papers from Ron, he said our lives were heading different places. Now, here you are, telling me we are in different places." Hermione looked up at Draco and felt the tears spill over. "Just like with my shoulder, isn't it? Right place at the wrong time."
"The timing is my fault."
He reached for Hermione like he was going to pull her into a hug, but she stepped back. Hermione shook her head and turned away. She heard him fall into step behind her and say,
"Hermione, I want to make my heart available again, I do, but—"
"That's what you don't get." Hermione stopped walking and turned around to say, "I know you loved her. She gave you your son, you should love her. Part of your heart will always be hers and I admire that about you. What you don't understand is I wasn't asking for your whole heart, I was only asking whether you could try to give me what's left."
"I can—"
"No, because it's always something. My education, my career, the mobility issues, my skin—God, it's always something. None of that seems to bother you, and yet …" Hermione shook her head. "I'm still not enough."
"It has nothing to do with you—"
"I need you to stop talking. I can't drive myself home in the dark, so I will go back to the guestroom and sleep."
Draco insisted, "I don't want you to feel as if you need to leave."
"I'm feeling a little humiliated and I would rather feel that way alone."
"I didn't—"
"Again with the talking." Hermione took a deep breath and insisted, "I will be fine. I always end up okay in the end, I only need some time to process this away from you. Romilda's got a date lined up for me, and she will find another one after that. I can keep looking now that I know nothing is going to happen," she gestured between the two of them, "here. So let me go up to the guestroom alone, please."
Draco's voice was barely more than a whisper when he said, "What if … What if you get lost?"
"Then I will find my way back alone."
"I don't want you to be alone."
"Well you made that choice for me." Hermione sniffled and added, "I'm sure my makeup looks like rubbish now anyway."
"Please tell me how to fix this."
Hermione shouted back, "Will you stop talking?! I swear if you say one more word I will find my car, drive home, and never speak to you again. We are friends, we can stay friends, but I am in your gardens in your home so now I have to go back to your guestroom and try not to be suffocated by the weight of your rejection. May I please walk back alone?"
Draco nodded. He crossed his arms and looked down at the ground, like he couldn't bear to look at Hermione. She kicked off her heels, picked them up in one hand, and set back toward Malfoy Manor. She listened for the sounds of Draco behind her, but he didn't follow. That was good, right? It was what she asked him to do. Hermione was the slightest bit disappointed Draco didn't come running up from behind, pull her into a kiss, and promise he'd make their relationship work. But it was the same as always.
Right place.
Wrong time.
Contrary to Draco's guess, Hermione did not get lost on her way back. She knew the location of all the important places: entrance, side entrance, library, and guestroom. As well as the nighttime staff. Hermione made her way to the guestroom, closed the door behind her, and tossed the shoes aside. She made for the bathroom, turned on the bathtub taps, and sat on the lip of the tub. As Hermione splashed her feet about, getting the manor dirt out from between her toes, she pulled up the same wedding photo she'd shown Draco the previous weekend. She and Ron were happy, and Hermione missed that feeling. It had been absent far too long a time. Hermione pulled up his contact information and tapped the call button before turning off the water. She crossed one leg over the other, put the call on speaker phone, and waited for Ron to answer.
"'Mione?"
He always answered. Hermione offered a soft,
"Hey."
"You sound a bit off."
"I feel a bit off."
"I've got some time to talk, if you need me."
"Yes, I do, and I can't call Harry for this."
"He's doing great. Said he might even go out for lunch with us sometime."
Hermione's heart did a triumphant flip.
"Really?!"
"Really."
"That's great news."
"It is. He keeps comparing himself to you, though. 'Hermione got blown up and she didn't have PTSD.' And, my favourite, 'Hermione went back on assignment in less than a year. It's been a year, so I need to get out.' He conveniently forgets that decision ruined our marriage. It wasn't like either of us was completely okay. I keep reminding him 'we don't compare trauma' and all the other shit the therapist told me to say. The more we keep going to him, the more he'll feel comfortable coming outside for us. Gin's a lot happier now, too, so I'm guessing they're having sex again. I'm not going to ask questions about that, but their marriage seems to be on solid ground."
"That's amazing news."
"It is, but it's not why you called."
Hermione sighed and admitted, "No, it's not."
"So … Why are you calling me?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
She admitted, "I can't help but wonder if you were the only person who will ever love me."
"No fucking way. You're a young, brilliant woman, and you didn't need me to find love the first time 'round. I was lucky we did."
"I chose my career over you and I'm sorry—"
"Don't be." Ron insisted, "I loved being married to you. It was nice for awhile, then you got yourself all fucked up on the left and it got harder than either of us ever expected. I don't care what anyone says, every time your wife goes into surgery there is a chance she won't come out. And you were in procedure after procedure for months and months …"
Hermione could nearly see Ron shaking his head through the phone.
"The anxiety of going through that, wondering whether I'd get my best friend back, was too much for me to handle. I blamed you for it a bit, which I shouldn't have, but we worked through it. Then the physical therapy shit happened and, forgive me for saying it, but I have never been as impressed by you as I was watching you do that. I'd always tell people my wife was a badass but then you started lifting shit with your left arm again and it blew my mind.
"When BBC sent you back to the Arab League? It was like watching you go through the surgery doors all over again, except I was in a waiting room a thousand miles away. I couldn't keep going through that. We split up because you chose your career over our marriage and that was the right thing for you to do."
"What if I stopped doing it?" Hermione asked, "What if I focused on domestic journalism and—"
"No."
"If I made this part of my life a priority?"
"You'd be miserable."
"I am miserable now, Ron. I'm miserable and I can't come home to cry in your arms anymore like I did during recovery. I don't have anyone to do that for me, so I have to handle the stress alone."
"You're not alone. I'm still here for you, you can still cry on my shoulder, Hermione, we're just not going to have sex afterward."
"I miss that part, too."
Ron let out a soft, "Oh."
"You can't help me with that. None of you can."
"I mean," Ron's voice was strained with awkward tension, "we've all got people who would like to, um, to do that with you. Probably. I, uh, I don't know how to approach this, Hermione, if I'm being honest."
"Nobody knows how to approach it anymore. I don't even know if I do. If a man touched me in the wrong place it could be a disaster for my arm or, God forbid, my neck. Most of the stuff we did in bed, I don't believe I could do now. Then McLaggen talked about my 'nun clothes' and I've been celibate for seven years, Ron, so I'm one step away from a bloody convent."
"Do you want me to come over? We can talk this through. I don't want you to be second-guessing the way things ended—"
"I'm not home." Hermione revealed, "I'm in Wiltshire."
"Why?"
"I, um," Hermione tugged on a curl and huffed, "I thought there was guy."
"A serious one?"
"I wanted him to be. I really wanted him to be because he didn't seem put off by my arm, and I like the way he talks to me. He challenges me the way all of you are afraid to. I like his son—"
"He has a kid?"
"Widowed. And, um, he just admitted he can't let go of his wife. I made you second to my job, and now I'm second to everyone else. I just," Hermione dabbed at her undereyes with the pads of her fingers, "I just wanted to talk to somebody who held me once. That's why I called."
"Hermione—"
"Don't. Don't make this weirder than it is."
"It's not weird, Hermione, I'm only worried for you. You call me when you want to talk to your friend, you've never called to talk to me as your ex-husband."
"I don't usually think of you that way. But I got rejected by BBC, I've just been rejected by Draco, and I don't think I can handle any more."
There was a long pause before Ron spoke again. When he did, his voice had dropped to a dangerously low tone.
"Where are you in Wiltshire?"
"It's none of your concern."
"Hermione."
"Ron, it's nothing to do with you—"
"His father got my dad fired twenty years ago, right when we needed money most. Draco Malfoy is a whore who builds things with his dad's money and wouldn't know an honest job if it punched him in the fucking face. And if you're sleeping with him, I will punch him in his stupid pointed fucking face."
"You don't know anything about him," snapped Hermione. "And even if you're right, even if he was that person, that's who rejected me. The bottom of your bloody barrel."
"No, Hermione, that's not—"
"Thank you, Ronald, for putting things in perspective."
"You're my best friend and I only—"
Hermione ended the call. Her phone vibrated immediately with another call from Ron, which she rejected. He called again, so she rejected the call again. Hermione stared at the wall of the guestroom and considered leaving. But where was her car? Where was the garage? Did Malfoy Manor have an underground compound where Draco and his mum kept their vehicles under armed guard?
Her phone buzzed with a call from Ginny. Then a call from Parvati. A call from Padma. Clearly they'd found the article and were sending it around. Hermione turned off her phone and turned on the taps. Their questions would wait.
.oOo.
Hermione woke to a knock on the guestroom door.
She glanced down at herself, having fallen asleep on top of the duvet. She'd tossed her trousers aside, put on a pyjama shirt, and flung herself on the bed the previous night. Her phone was still off, lying on the nightstand beside her. She threw a pillow toward the door and grumbled,
"I'm not in."
Draco's voice rang through the door.
"It's me, and I've brought food."
Hermione stared up at the ceiling and sighed. She could put on trousers to answer, but why bother? Draco wasn't interested. She rolled off the bed and did not bother covering up her thong when she answered the door. He smiled and said,
"I made you pancakes."
Hermione grabbed the plate and walked back to the bed. She sat cross-legged and asked,
"Is there something you need to say?"
She glanced over to see Draco was staring at her with more than a bit of desire in his eyes. He'd been staring at her bum? Served him right.
"You, um, have a nice … very nice … Fuck."
"That is what I was going for when I left my flat yesterday." Hermione added, "It has been a long time since I had the need for lingerie, but it doesn't stop me from shopping. I enjoy shopping, and when a man says I can stay the night, that used to mean sex. I was prepared."
"I want—"
"When a man takes off his wedding ring after seven years, wears trousers so tight his bum may burst the seams, and asks about my sex life, generally that means he wants to have sex."
"I know—"
"I packed my sexiest things in case you wanted what I wanted. You don't, so let's move forward."
"May I speak, now?"
"No," quipped Hermione. "I don't have any interest in what you have to say. I thought I'd feel better in the morning, but I don't. In fact, I feel worse, so if you'll kindly leave, I will pack my things and go."
"I'm not leaving."
"Well, I am." Hermione stuffed a forkful of pancakes into her mouth and paused. She swallowed then admitted, "These are actually quite good."
"These are my 'Sorry For Being an Ass' pancakes. I used to make them for Blaise, and they are the only thing he says I cook better than he does. Before you ask, yes, I also made them for my wife when we had disagreements. Now I am making them for you because I was an asshole."
Hermione took another bite of pancakes and grumbled, "You have two minutes, but only because I love blueberries."
"I know. You mentioned it to Lavender Brown on our double-date."
"You remembered that?"
"I care for you, Hermione, quite a lot. Truthfully, I am terrified of how much I have begun to care for you because the last woman I truly cared for …" Draco shrugged. "I lost her. Taking that risk again is too much for me to handle right now. You are correct that I did all those things because I am interested in you. I wanted to kiss you last night. I did not want you to wake up in this room."
"Oh."
"I hesitated because I was scared, and I don't know when that will change. I am sorry for humiliating you, but please do not be under the impression you misread the situation. I mishandled it."
Through another mouthful of pancakes, Hermione conceded, "Okay."
"I don't know where we go from here."
"I'm going home." Hermione sighed and said, "We can still be friends, and I will learn to be happy with that." She poked at the remnants of one pancake with the fork, knowing she'd never truly be content with Draco's friendship. Not when it could've been more. "But I need some distance from the heartache of last night."
"How many pancakes will it take for you to stay?"
Hermione laughed and looked up to see Draco was very much not laughing. He was serious. Hermione shook her head and insisted,
"I'm not staying."
"But—"
"Penelope issued a statement refuting the article, confirming we are not in a relationship."
Draco said, "I just need more time."
"Five-plus years wasn't enough, Draco. You don't get to keep me on the shelf until you're ready. As I said," Hermione handed him the plate, "we're done."
"Romilda is quite confident in date number two."
"Shouldn't you be getting a two and three as well?"
"If I can't give my heart to you, there's no one else."
"An honour, to be at the top of the pyramid of people you are incapable of loving."
That seemed to hit Draco somewhere deep. He made a noise like he'd been punched in the stomach, then looked down at the plate in his hands.
"Will you at least say goodbye to Scorpius before you leave?"
"Of course."
"I am sorry for having wasted your time."
"No," Hermione leapt off the bed and walked toward the door. She opened it and said, "You didn't waste my time, what you did was worse. I told you I wanted to fall in love with someone who made me feel safe and desirable and who is not intimidated by me. You nearly gave it to me then took it away at the last moment. It was rude."
"I understand. Can you find the dining room?"
"Yes."
He left and Hermione slammed the door closed behind him. She hadn't felt shame like this since she received divorce papers. It wasn't really Draco's fault, he had hardly so much as touched her. The shame stemmed from her own desperation for someone, anyone to make her feel loved the way she wanted. Hermione dressed in a long-sleeved button-down, jeans, and flats. No use in trying to impress anyone. She left her hair down in its usual mess, didn't bother with makeup, and haphazardly threw her things into the overnight bag. She made the bed, grabbed her bag and made to zip it closed, but stopped and stared at the blue sweater that prompted her to think Draco felt the same way.
.oOo.
Scorpius was half-finished with a plate of eggs by the time Hermione made her way to the dining room. He saw her bag and asked,
"Are you taking me back today?"
"Oh," Hermione frowned, "I'm so sorry, baby blond, I'm not taking you with me."
"Okay." Scorpius grinned and said, "Please tell Miss Luna I say hello."
Hermione grimaced and hummed, "Sure."
Draco appeared almost out of nowhere and sat in a chair, then gestured for Hermione to take the available seat between himself and his son. Hermione obliged, and Draco leaned over to say,
"I know you're upset with me."
"Less so." Hermione sighed and said, "I am sorry for slamming the door on you."
"Please, don't apologize."
"The pancakes were equally thoughtful and delicious."
"I know." Draco winked. "Speaking of thoughtful and delicious, Blaise texted me."
Draco handed Hermione the phone and she read through his texts with Blaise. Mostly from Blaise.
Dean does own decent trousers.
He ordered eel as an appetizer. I've fallen in love before the entrée.
He tried to grab the check.
Draco sent one text: That's adorable.
Should I ask him to come home with me?
He said yes.
Feed him, fuck him, love him, yes? Part 1 complete.
Draco sent another text: Best of luck with part 2.
Then, not five minutes earlier, Blaise had sent a final text that was nothing but two firework emojis. Hermione asked,
"What does that mean?"
Draco leaned closer, lowered his voice and whispered, "One per orgasm."
Hermione dropped the phone and it landed with a loud clunk on the table. Draco tried and failed to keep from laughing, so Hermione swatted his arm.
"Rude."
"Apologies."
"Does he mean one each, or …?"
"No, it means Blaise fell asleep happy and, it appears, woke up very happily."
The phone vibrated on the table with a call from three siren emojis. Draco frowned down at his phone and mumbled,
"Why is security calling? They usually text about arrivals." He answered, paused for two seconds, then stood up from the table. "You mean to tell me in five years no one blacklisted their entry code?!" He didn't wait for a reply. Draco hung up and turned to face Hermione. He looked terrified. "I don't want them to see my son."
"WHERE IS HE?!"
The shout rang out from the adjacent hall and all the colour left Draco's face. He stuffed the phone in his pocket and rushed out the door into the hall. Hermione couldn't be certain, but there were few people who could put that sort of fear in him. If she had to guess, Draco's in-laws must have made their reintroduction to Malfoy Manor. Hermione placed one hand on Scorpius's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.
"You and I are going to stay here and be very quiet."
Scorpius nodded and went back to eating his eggs. He had no idea what was happening, and Hermione intended to keep it that way. She listened to the conversation from the dining room, keeping a careful eye on Scorpius. If they needed to run, the adjacent sitting room had a lock on the door. That would buy them a few moments. She heard Draco ask,
"Graham? Jami? What are you doing here?"
A male voice answered, "Daphne told us you were seen with a new woman. We wanted to know for ourselves, and we want to see our grandson."
"You have no claim to my son."
"Our daughter—"
"Astoria would have wanted you in Scorpius's life, yes. But she would have wanted that six years ago, five years ago, four, three, perhaps, and I am done waiting. Scorpius has always had a strong family, which you chose not to be part of. I wanted your support, no, I needed your support when she died; you chose not to give it to me, and you chose not to support my son. You don't get to see him, and you don't get to speak to him. I don't want you anywhere near my child."
Astoria's father shot back, "Whether you like it or not, he is our grandson."
"No. You erased us from her life, so I erased you from his."
"Is my dad talking about me?"
Hermione had been too engrossed in the hallway conversation. At that moment, Scorpius bolted out of his chair and raced toward the doorway. Shit. Hermione stood quickly enough to topple the chair and only just beat Scorpius to the doorway. She stepped in front of him to obscure him from view and smiled her 'broadcast face.' The older man, presumably Draco's father-in-law, was practically frothing at the mouth he was so angry. He looked like the average middle-class newly-sixty man, his wife was beautiful and reserved, while Draco seemed to deflate entirely at Hermione's appearance. She said,
"Hello," stepping to the left to remain a barrier between their conversation and Scorpius, who had decided to make this into a very ill-timed game. She felt him move and stepped to the right to hide him again. She asked, "Would you like to join Draco and myself for breakfast?"
Mr. Greengrass pushed Draco aside and walked toward Hermione, who kept that forced smile on her face even as she did the math about a second before everything happened: Mr. Greengrass reached out with his right hand, intending to physically pull her into the conversation. She could either step away and completely expose Scorpius, or she could risk agitating any number of pain points. Mr. Greengrass grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her forward to shout,
"Who the hell is this?"
His thumb hit her in exactly the wrong place. Graham Greengrass pressed down with his thumb on Hermione's collarbone and the rest of his fingers pinched near the top of her shoulder, toward the back. Hermione felt the plate dig the slightest bit into her clavicle and her vision whited out for a moment as a searing pain tore through her arm. Hermione grimaced and wrenched herself from his grasp, pressing the heel of her hand against her clavicle to dull the pain. She immediately placed herself in front of Scorpius, praying for a moment to make a good enough exit.
Draco lost his mind. He pushed his father-in-law against the wall and braced his forearm at the base of Mr. Greengrass's neck.
"You can disagree with me, you can hurt me, but you do not get to put a hand on her!"
"Is that the bint you've replaced our daughter with?" he shouted back, fury in his eyes. "ANSWER ME!"
Draco's hands shook with rage, but he found enough of himself to step back. The fury in his eyes hadn't dulled, but some part of him recognized that strangling his father-in-law in front of Scorpius might have repercussions. Draco regained enough sense to reply,
"That is Hermione Granger."
Mr. Greengrass didn't seem to pick up on it, but Hermione watched his wife's face fall as she realized exactly what her husband had done. There were several seconds of silence in which none of them knew what to do and the ache around Hermione's shoulder continued to pulse. Shaking with rage, Draco insisted,
"No one will ever replace Astoria to me."
"That doesn't mean a thing."
But didn't it? Hermione's chest felt like it was cracking open, but that pain fell second to the heartache of hearing Draco reaffirm his first marriage would always remain a wall between them. Draco shouted,
"Whom I date is none of your business, and you have no right!"
"Just as you have no right to be in my house."
Draco turned to see his mother enter the room, eerily calm. Hermione was beyond grateful to see Narcissa Malfoy take control of the situation. She pushed Scorpius back, back into the dining room, and fell sideways into a chair. She pressed a finger to her lips and he nodded solemnly. Hermione wondered how much pain was evident on her face, given that Scorpius stayed quiet. Hermione grit her teeth against the ache and prayed they would leave soon. Narcissa continued,
"Yet, here you are. What are you doing, Jami?"
"We thought if Draco was expanding his family to include a new wife, we should have say in what happens with our grandson," she replied.
"What grandson?"
Mr. Greengrass spat back, "Our daughter's son, Narcissa."
Narcissa said, "Astoria Greengrass has no son here. You are trespassing on my property. We pay a great deal in taxes to Wiltshire so the police are very vested in keeping me happy."
"Your son is cavorting—"
"Whether Draco is dating Hermione Granger is none of your concern. If she decides to press charges for the assault you just committed, you will not be dealing with Draco, Graham, you will be forced to deal with the British Broadcasting Corporation."
"What—"
"Though the BBC is inclined to handle things through the legal system. That may be your preferred route as you know my methods are far more swift …" Narcissa paused for a moment before adding, "And permanent."
Mrs. Greengrass insisted, "We only wanted to see our grandson."
"That boy is not your grandchild. You don't even know his middle name."
The silence that followed landed like a dead weight. Draco shook his head and asked,
"How do you—"
"Did I say you could speak?" snapped Narcissa. "You will go tend to our guest, now."
Thank God.
Narcissa said, in a terrifying tone, "You will leave my house, now."
Draco walked into the dining area and slammed the door shut behind him. Hermione felt Scorpius jump in the chair next to her, startled by the noise. Hermione held him close with her right hand, but something in her face must not have sat well with Draco. He asked,
"Is it your shoulder?"
She didn't say anything, just tugged Scorpius a bit closer. The only thought consistently breaking through the pain was that Scorpius needed to stay far away from his grandfather. Narcissa's voice got louder as she summoned security to escort the Greengrasses out. Draco said,
"Why don't you go upstairs to your room, Scorp."
"Who are those people?" asked Scorpius.
"Not important."
"They hurt Hermione—"
Draco repeated, "To your room, now."
"But—"
"Hermione needs you to go to your room. If you have questions, remember them and I will answer later."
Scorpius gave her good arm a quick hug then hopped off the chair. He looked up at his father to say,
"Okay."
"Do not open the door for anyone except mémère Cissa."
"Okay."
Draco and Hermione watched Scorpius leave through the other door, into the back hallway. The moment the door closed behind him, Draco stood in front of Hermione, looked down at her, and asked,
"Did he hurt you?"
Hermione stared at the floor, eyes wide, and she bit down on her lip, afraid to speak for fear a scream would escape in lieu of words. Draco asked again,
"Did he hurt your shoulder?"
Her voice was little more than a strained whisper when she answered.
"He pressed on my collarbone. It's screwed in there pretty well, but he jostled something." Hermione let out a forceful rush of breath and asked, "How is the soundproof in these walls?"
Draco replied, "Scorpius shouldn't be able to hear you, if that's what you're—"
Hermione cried out in pain before he finished the sentence. She dug her fingernails into the edge of the table and squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to move anything else.
"God, it hurts, it hurts so badly …" Tears rolled down her face. "I held it in because I didn't want to scare your son, didn't want …" She grimaced and slammed her right fist against the table. "I didn't want him to see the pain."
Hermione tried to look up at Draco, then winced as pain shot through her arm. She was ashamed to be revealing her weakness because she'd hid it from him so well. Telling him about her limitations was one thing, but Draco seeing it was another.
"It'll pass." Hermione's chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to get her breaths under control. "It always goes away. It'll pass."
Hermione's knuckles went white where she gripped the edge of the table. She could feel very clearly where Mr. Greengrass's thumb had pressed against her bone, firm enough to bruise.
"Right, fuck that, I'm taking you to hospital."
Hermione gritted her teeth together and screamed low in her throat. She felt beads of sweat form along the sides of her face. She repeated,
"No, it will pass."
"Hermione, the last woman who was in pain and told me it would pass was my wife, and she died. So whether you do it for yourself or you do it for me, we are going to hospital and we are going now."
Hermione nodded and croaked out, "Okay."
"Community hospital is a twenty-minute drive, would you prefer an ambulance or—"
"Drive," huffed Hermione. "Let's just … Just drive."
"Of course."
Draco rushed to whomever was needed and requested Hermione's car be moved out front. When he came back into the dining room, Hermione hadn't moved. Motion was not yet in the cards. Draco grabbed Hermione's bag then asked,
"Can you walk?"
Hermione let out a curt, "No."
"Suppose we are limited on options, then."
Hermione nodded. She expected him to give her a minute to regain her balance. To let her do this at her own pace, maintain independence—
Draco placed one hand against her back and the other beneath her knees. Hermione stabilized her left arm with her right as Draco scooped her up into a bridal carry. She was embarrassed to feel so helpless, but Draco's impatience had nothing to do with her arm. It had everything to do with Astoria's death and the role he played, so Hermione chose not to internalize his actions. Besides, he was rather warm and not having to walk to her car was a proposition she was happy to accept. Careful not to jostle her shoulder, Draco began the walk toward the front door. Hermione relaxed the slightest bit into his arms and admitted,
"If I wasn't in a massive amount of pain, that would've been really sexy of you."
Draco turned to the side just the slightest bit to maneuver more easily through the sitting room door into an adjacent, Greengrass-free hallway. He said,
"You are a small person, Hermione. It's not a problem. The problem is my in-laws showing up because they believe we are dating, and believing that gives them claim to my son after all these years. Not due to his existence, but because I might finally have a woman in my life again. If you were a man, they wouldn't care."
The head of staff opened the front door and Draco nodded his thanks. As he slowly descended the stairs, Hermione replied,
"I prefer to keep my Michelin-starred tits."
Draco grinned and said, "Don't make me laugh or I'm liable to drop you." He quickly glanced downward as they approached her car and teased, "New angle, more coverage, still top marks."
Hermione, through all the pain, felt herself blush. The valet opened the car door and, with some shuffling, they placed Hermione in the passenger seat. She made to grab for the belt, but Draco said,
"Don't."
Buckling her in took a solid minute, and she groaned,
"How many staff do you have?"
Draco shrugged.
"Three in the kitchens, Romilda practically lives here, maid staff of five, eight on the grounds crew, a contracted security team, and Mark, here, is the valet who handles the cars—"
"How many cars do you have?"
"I have five, my mother has seven, and Scorp's bike has its own parking spot."
Draco closed the door and hopped into the driver's seat as quick as he could. He closed the door, connected his phone to the car speakers, and placed it in the holder on the dash. He said,
"You don't need to talk anymore, alright?"
"Thanks."
.oOo.
Hermione came into the waiting room three hours after Draco dropped her off. She tugged on the seam of sling around her left arm and Draco was out of his seat before she could take another step. He met Hermione halfway and asked,
"Diagnosis?"
She sighed and her whole body seemed to sink with it.
"Good news is he didn't dislodge the screws holding down my rotator cuff. The bad news is he pressed against the plate holding my clavicle together and that was primarily the source of the pain. The doctor gave me a painkiller, but I will need to be in the sling for a week. They said I could get the plate removed, but I don't know if I want that."
"No serious damage? Nothing permanent?"
Hermione shook her head and Draco gave her a relieved, one-armed hug around the waist. He asked,
"Can I drive you to your flat?"
"In my car?" asked Hermione. "How will you get back?"
Draco shrugged.
"I'll stay with Blaise tonight."
"Your son—"
"Scorpius will have plenty of fun with Romi and his grandmother. They dote on him like he's the only little boy in the world. May I please take you home?"
Hermione nodded. Draco walked her out, helped her into the passenger seat, and got into the driver's seat. It wasn't until he started the car that he thought to ask,
"Where do you live?"
Hermione didn't look at him as she asked, "Do you promise not to laugh?"
"No."
"I live in Battersea."
"Hermione Granger, award-winning journalist, lives in a tourist trap?"
"It's not entirely touristy!" insisted Hermione. "My flat is incredible; I get to read with loads of natural light."
Draco shook his head and made for London. The drive was quite pleasant, and the conversation moreso. Draco was easy to talk to and, though she'd felt rather embarrassed in front of him over the past day, Hermione found herself wishing the drive was a bit longer.
"I have a confession."
Hermione hummed, "How bad is it?"
"I've hired your publicist." Draco added, "For myself. Figured the Malfoy name could use a rebrand."
"If anyone can do it, Penelope is the right choice. I'm shocked, though, since she doesn't like you."
"Oh, she made that quite clear. Multiple times."
"Why did she agree, then?"
"I want to be your friend—"
Suddenly the drive couldn't end soon enough.
"—and according to Miss Clearwater, associating with me hurts your reputation. From her perspective, helping me preserves her most valuable asset: you."
"Oh." Hermione smiled and asked, "Did she say that?"
"I believe she said you were her most loyal client. Which I understand, given what you did today."
"I didn't do anything special." Hermione insisted, "You being seen with me is the only reason your son was in that position."
"Hermione."
Draco kept his eyes on the road ahead, but placed one hand on Hermione's right arm and squeezed the slightest bit.
"My son is the most important thing to me. More important than my name, my home, more important than my life. You wound up in hospital because you put yourself between my son and harm. I don't have words for how much that means to me."
"I thought you were going to punch your father-in-law, for a moment."
Draco tightened his fingers around the wheel and confessed, "I was going to do more than that, but my father would've approved. He would've done the same, so I didn't. But the moment he touched you," Draco shook his head, "I lost my head a bit. I allowed my mother to handle it because she is far scarier than I will ever be."
"Your mother did say something interesting."
"Oh?"
"What is your son's middle name?"
"Ah, yes, that was my mother proving the point about how little they know of Malfoy tradition. A double entendre that spoke volumes toward our legacy."
"I don't understand."
"We name our firstborn son as we choose, but their second name is always our given name. My son is Scorpius Draco Malfoy."
"I see. If they had paid attention to their daughter's married family, then they would have known the answer without knowing it, was the point."
"Exactly."
"But when I looked you up—"
"Ah," Draco teased with his eyebrows raised, "so you have Googled me."
"I did this week, and it said your name is Draco Black Malfoy."
"You didn't think I'd willingly keep my father's name, did you?" asked Draco. "After everything he did? To the country, and to me? Absolutely not. I replaced it with my mother's maiden name. If my son chooses to do the same, I would be delighted."
"How did you end up with Scorpius?" asked Hermione. "It seems a bit … Unique?"
"Black family tradition: everyone in my mother's family is named after a star or a constellation except for my mother. In that spirit, I asked Astoria if we could also name our son after a star and gave her free reign over which. I was rooting for something normal like 'Leo' or 'Ara.' Then I thought it would be hilarious to name him 'Cetus' so I could call the baby photo album 'Our Fetus: Cetus.'"
Hermione laughed so hard she instinctively grabbed hold of her shoulder. Draco asked,
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, I just …" Hermione shook her head fondly and said, "I haven't laughed so much in a long time, but these past few weeks I can't seem to stop."
"You flatter me," Draco replied with a soft smile.
"Not at all."
Hermione was happy to return to her building, more specifically to her books. Draco went through all the proper motions: put the car in the assigned space, helped Hermione out of the car and into the lift. They stood together outside Hermione's front door and it felt like an odd goodbye. Once he left, the idea of their relationship would leave with him. Date #2 would take his place. Hermione admitted,
"I hoped for a better goodbye than this."
"Me, too."
"I'd offer a hug, but …" Hermione gestured to the sling. "I'm a bit compromised."
Draco shook his head and insisted, "It should not have been a concern. My father-in-law did this to you, and he is the only one to blame."
"I'm so sorry I wasted our time together. I didn't get to say goodbye to Scorpius, and then you had to spend the whole day taking care of my shoulder."
"You were protecting my son, Hermione." He looked Hermione in the eyes to say, "There is nothing you could do that would mean more to me."
She offered a halfhearted, "That's what friends do."
"No." Draco tucked Hermione's hair behind one ear and said, "That's what family does."
"Is that what I am now?"
"Yes."
"Good. Good, then. So next time I see you I'll be wearing underwear that cover my bum."
"The world is worse off for it."
Hermione laughed just a bit. Draco hedged before admitting,
"I wish I could be ready for you."
"I saw firsthand what you are dealing with, and I understand better now. It is clear the Greengrasses want you to suffer. We are not a couple, no matter how much I wish we could be, but we are friends. I will keep putting words to your grief, as you say. You will keep talking me off the proverbial ledge. The best thing I can do for you is to help you find a way to lay your wife to rest in a way that suits you."
"And what is the best thing I can do for you?" asked Draco.
"Help me find the love you can't give me."