Chapter Text
25 March 1999
“Are you going to start, or shall we sit here in silence all night?”
“I think you should start, actually.” She said, her voice oozing with false sweetness. “I’m sure you’ve got loads to say to me.”
“You’ve no idea—but I think this is your time to shine, darling. The stage is yours.”
Her lips pursed as she felt her ego deflate substantially.
“I didn’t slap you around, did I? Am I really supposed to start this when you broke us up and you assaulted me and berated me for not crawling back to you when you had the audacity to suggest a friendship?” He scowled. “Not bloody likely.”
She huffed through her nostrils, scowling back at him. “Why did you come, then?” she demanded. “What’s the point?”
“I came because I like to think I know when you’re serious about something.” He said acidly. “You gave me an ultimatum; I gave in. I’m here. Stop being a menacing little bitch and get on with it.”
She scoffed, her eyes widening incredulously. “That’s supposed to win me back, Draco? Calling me a bitch?”
“Am I here to win you back, or am I here to watch you grovel trying to convince me to take you back?”
She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to scream and send books flying at him in a way that made the birds she’d once sent after Ron look like child’s play.
“Why do you put up with me, then?” she hissed, teetering on the edge of her seat, feeling ready to throttle him. “If I’m such a bitch and I make you so miserable.”
He leaned back in his seat, smirked, and began tapping his fingernail on the wood between them, obviously enjoying how riled up she’d become.
He wanted her angry.
“You love me.” She reminded him icily instead, fighting the urge to smack his hand to get him to stop the incessant sound. “What? Did you change your mind?”
He cocked a mocking brow. “Well, that was a statement, not a question. I’m not obligated to respond.”
“If we’re going to sit here and debate semantics, I’m leaving.” She spat, then began to gather her things.
Draco’s hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asked sweetly. “You can moan and whinge to all your friends about how unfair I’ve been, yet you turn it back on me when I give you what you’ve asked for? You wanted me to listen to you—I’m listening. I’m giving you what you demanded when I haven’t yet demanded the same. For someone who claims to value fairness, you’re not being very fair to me now, are you?”
He tapped her foot with his under the table, his eyes deliberately playful yet menacing, letting her know he had her in his trap.
“How do you feel about me, Granger? While we’re on the subject of fairness, let’s discuss that. I was honest with you last month—were you? Do you sincerely hate me?”
She twisted her wrist to loosen his hold, and he released her but stayed close. “Not sincerely.” She muttered.
“‘Not sincerely.’ Care to elaborate?”
She leaned forward, folding her arms on the table as he had earlier. “I hate some parts of you, that’s true.”
“Such as?”
“You’re an immature arse.”
“That’s debatable.”
“You are pushy and demanding, yet distant and dismissive when you’re backed into a corner.”
He rolled his eyes. “Astute observation.”
“You make things far more difficult than they need to be.”
“I’m aware,” he agreed with a hard edge to his tone. “But you’re hardly one to talk, Granger. Pushy and demanding? You may as well be talking into a mirror.”
She had a rebuttal on her lips, right there and waiting to be unleashed, but the venom died on her tongue; the fire dashed away as if extinguished by a pail of water.
She couldn’t lie.
She couldn’t deny Draco’s accusation because it was alarmingly honest.
Oh, what the fuck have I done?
Hermione watched him for several minutes, willing herself to calm down, to think rationally even when every instinct she had was tingling, telling her that she was in danger.
“Draco,” she said finally, pleased that her voice sounded even. “That night—I was scared. I am scared. I’d been drinking—heavily, and we were moving really fast and it felt so right that I—panicked.”
“And?”
She swallowed. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that I hurt you to protect myself.”
She winced as the words left her mouth, but found an odd source of comfort in not having to overthink them or hold anything back.
“I think I got too comfortable with you too quickly.” She went on, her mouth becoming dry. “I thought I was simply clinging to you because you felt good.” She swallowed hard, then licked her lips, her eyes focusing on a knot in the wood of the table. “You felt so good that it was—so easy to forget how you treated me in the past.”
Her eyes began to water, and a tight lump formed in her throat. It was instant. An unnerving, mortifying, and instantaneous reaction to the weight of her words.
“We should have talked about it—before.”.
He nodded, running his fingernail over the knot that had held her attention. “Your mother mentioned that, when we spoke.”
At the mention of her mum an involuntary shudder passed through her. “What did she say?”
“She believed it would all catch up to us one day, and it would be ugly when it did.” He said with another quick nod. “She felt I should have apologised to you from the very beginning—verbally.”
“Why didn’t you?” she asked brokenly. “Why didn’t you apologise for any of it?”
“I thought my actions would mean more to you. I was afraid if I acknowledged our past, it would ruin everything we were trying to build.” He explained, though his expression was riddled with doubt. “We were different then—we weren’t the same people anymore.”
“No,” she agreed, sniffling. “We evolved—matured—but just because you were starting to change for the better, it didn’t mean you were suddenly absolved of the sixteen years before. You were still the person who unapologetically tormented me for years, Draco. We shouldn’t have ignored it.”
“And if we’d talked about it earlier, then what?” he asked curiously, though it sounded rhetorical. “Would it have made our living arrangement easier, or would it have become so awkward you would have left?”
She let her head roll back and expelled her breath toward the ceiling. She felt certain she would have left, if there’d been a serious discussion of their past. The summer she’d stayed with him—she’d hardly been in any position to be receptive to his apologies. She’d had far too many real world memories haunting her in wake and sleep that she wouldn’t have been able to handle acknowledging their very real and very complicated past.
“But before we got together,” she said, looking back down. “We could have discussed it before we got together.”
“Before you invited yourself into my bed and gave me another one of your ultimatums?” he asked dryly, and she flinched.
She hadn’t been aware of her pattern before, but it was so obvious then. The few times their past had come up, either he would change the subject or she would, slipping into teasing or discussing anything else.
She’d been no more willing to dredge up their unpleasant interactions than he.
“Alright,” she conceded stiffly. “There never was a right time, was there?”
He shook his head. “I can’t think of a time it would have helped. Valentine’s Day, perhaps, but neither of us was in a state to have that talk.”
“You were smashed, too?”
His lips twitched in a slight smirk, but he shook his head. “After meeting with my parents, I just—wanted you. You were the only thing I had to look forward to—that day. Every day. I was counting down the minutes until I could get back to you and take you away for the night.”
He sighed and slowly slid his hand across the table to touch hers, lightly dragging his fingertips across her knuckles. She chewed on her lip distractedly, her own still-unclear memories of that night warring with each other in her head.
“I think about that day a lot,” he said softly a minute later. “If I’d returned to school right after I met with them, would it have made a difference? Would an hour or two have changed things?”
She curled her fingers inward with a frown, letting his hand drop.
“There was a book in Knockturn Alley I’ve been drawn to for years—various runes and the like. I was never very interested in ancient alphabets, but that book always caught my attention when my father would bring me along with him. Perhaps he thought an early introduction to the Dark Arts would inspire me.”
He sighed bitterly and drew his hand back. “When I was little he had hoped to send me to Durmstrang, but I think he caught on early enough I didn’t have the commitment for it. A school like that—you have to want it. You have to go in with the intention of being alone—driven to succeed above all else, and I…wasn’t. Not that young, anyway—maybe not ever, now that I think about it.”
He smirked again, shaking his head as his eyes wandered around their corner of the library. “I was mostly all talk when I was younger. When you grow up with the kind of entitlement I had, it gets to your head. I wanted friends, sure, but I was raised to believe I was better than everyone else. When I showed no real interest—or talent—in the Dark Arts, my father resigned himself to sending me to Hogwarts. Another Malfoy in Slytherin, same as it’s been for a thousand years. He’d been hoping I would amount to more than that. His magical talents are mediocre at best, but he thought if his heir was proficient in curses and had an ego that rivalled his own, he could use me to gain more power and influence.”
He snorted a laugh. “You should have seen my father’s face after my wand was selected,” he said, looking down at his hands, running a fingertip over the long, horizontal lines of his palm. “I think that was the day his dreams officially died. Hawthorn wood can be used to harness either light or dark magic, but I never stood a chance with a unicorn hair core—and he knew it. He never acknowledged it when I was younger, but he knew I would never amount to anything he deemed ‘great’ or even acceptable by Malfoy standards.”
Hermione realised she’d been holding her breath as she listened, and she let it out in a long exhale. Draco’s eyes flicked to hers; they were tired.
“Your parents adore you, you know?” he went on. “They’re a bit terrified of you, perhaps, but your mother made it clear she would find a muggle way to track me down and kill me if I ever hurt you again.” He gave her slight smirk. “Should I avoid London for the foreseeable future?”
She shook her head after a long moment, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she struggled to process everything. “I haven’t told them,” she said quietly. “I haven’t been in contact with them since we returned to school.”
Hermione shifted in her seat. The wood creaked with her movement, so loud in the silence between them. Crookshanks was curled up like a snail into a giant ginger ball of fluff, only an inch or so from Draco’s arm.
She didn’t know what to say.
Even with the potion preventing her from telling lies, she had nothing meaningful to say. Nothing she could say without crying, that is. There was so much she wanted to say, but the dam that held her emotions in place was rapidly fracturing; the veins of the cracks in its foundation splintering up and up the wall, the water that raged behind threatening to burst through at any moment.
“So…Durmstrang.” She said shakily instead, trying to imagine it.
“What about it?”
She shook her head, her bottom lip between her teeth that she released a moment later. She gave him a small, baffled smile. “I just can’t picture you in red. Or living in such harsh conditions.”
“It might have been good for me.”
Hermione hesitated.
Viktor had been gentle, kind in a way she wouldn’t have expected from someone of his stature. It had been such a flattering surprise to have him take an interest in her for who she was. He had appreciated her values, had listened for hours as she philosophised the historical treatments of non-human magical creatures and Muggle-borns alike, taken an interest in S.P.E.W. when her friends had only humoured her, despite her sincerest efforts to get them to care. At his core, Viktor Krum had a good heart.
Draco’s wasn’t so obvious. One had to dig beneath several feet of sharp, angry, bitter defences to find the goodness in him.
But what Viktor lacked was Draco’s inherent brilliance.
Had Draco been sent to a school that praised Pure-bloodedness and ruthlessness above all else, an institute that would have nurtured his gift for charms into the Dark Arts and snuffed out the sparks of lightness within him, he would have been unstoppable.
He would have been the perfect tool to have at Voldemort’s disposal.
“It would have hardened you,” she said seriously. “I’m happy you were sent to Hogwarts.”
He promptly rolled his eyes, but a slight blush began to appear on his skin.
“Anyway, the book,” he said briskly, clearing his throat. “Ancient Runes has never been a particular skill of mine, but I thought you might find it interesting. It’s not technically a dark artefact since it’s a copy, but I bought it in your name should the Ministry come snooping. Legally speaking I’m not sure I’m allowed to have such a text in my possession—I didn’t think you’d mind since you were the intended recipient.”
“Do you have it with you?” she asked, unable to help herself. Despite the slightly worrisome mention of the Ministry, she was practically salivating at the thought of getting her hands on it.
“In my dorm.” He said, his eyes scanning her face, dipping briefly to her lips. “I was late to meet you on Valentine’s Day so I could purchase it.”
He huffed a laugh. “If I had any idea—fuck, if I had any idea what was waiting for me when I got back, I wouldn’t have ever gone for it. I would’ve saved myself the last month and a few thousand Galleons.”
Hermione choked. “Sorry—how much?”
“Three thousand.” He said with a dismissive shrug, as if it were an everyday transaction. “I had to have a goblin approve the withdrawal, which only ate up more time.”
She gaped at him.
While she had been drinking away any remaining common sense she’d had left, he’d been off buying her a book worth a small fortune.
“Oh, god,” she said miserably, resting her face in her hands.
“It was only a matter of time.” He reassured her bleakly, as if reading her thoughts.
She swallowed hard, rocking slightly in her seat as she braced herself for the final crack. He appeared calm when she looked back up at him, but his eyes were wary and untrusting, waiting for her to get it over with.
“Draco,” she started, her voice wavering. “I—care for you. More than anyone else.”
His gaze fell, seemingly unsurprised as his posture became a tad more rigid.
She blew out a quick breath, feeling heat rising to her face. “I’m scared about how much I care for you because it—because it feels like I’m losing a part of myself when I’m around you.”
Her hands were shaking, her right knee under the table bouncing. She folded her hands under her chin and rested her elbows on the table to steady herself.
“All I can think about is you. It’s never—not with anyone else. No one else.” She stammered, her eyes prickling. “I’ve never wanted to rely on anyone, but you made it so easy. When—when you said you loved me, I didn’t want to believe you. I didn’t see how you could possibly feel that way—have felt that way when you only ever showed how much you despised me.”
She gasped in a breath, letting her forehead fall into her hands for several seconds as she sucked in air and willed the tears to stay back. Draco had stilled completely, his hands folded neatly on the table, watching her through an oddly detached gaze.
She sniffed and righted herself, moving her hands to rest them in her lap, if only to hide their shaking from his unwavering attention.
“It bothered me,” she forced out. “What Ginny said—about you using me. Blackmailing me. I let it affect how I felt about you. I didn’t believe you could really be in love with me because we don’t—we don’t make sense.”
“Why not?” he asked sharply, coming back to himself so quickly it startled her. “Why do you do that? You twist things around in that fractured head of yours until they align with what you want to see. You don’t trust me and that’s—fine. I’ve given you no reason to trust me, have I? Well, here’s your chance to get the truth from me. Ask away.”
She wished she had held onto the emergency Calming Draught she’d gotten the day before. Anxiety flooded through her. Every sense she had to back out or change the subject or outright lie was physically blocked from passing her lips. The words were stuck in her throat while her mind screamed in panic from being unable to protect itself under the potion’s effects.
Total, unavoidable honesty.
Merlin, why was she so impulsive? Use of Veritaserum was to be strictly regulated by the Ministry, but had Professor Slughorn even bothered to remind them of that fact?
No, he had not.
He had instructed his students to brew a powerful truth-telling concoction and trusted them not to be careless with it.
Hermione knew better, and it drove her panic to new heights.
The illegal termination of her pregnancy. Lying to the Minister for Magic himself. A Dark Arts book purchased in her name. And now a blatant disregard for the law as she’d followed Draco’s lead in taking the potion, not wanting to be outdone. Not wanting to put this off any longer.
He was in no way good for her—but he was perfect for her all the same.
He hadn’t needed to coerce her into anything—he’d only given her the tools she needed to do what she’d already set her mind to, and with none of the shame or judgment she would have received from her friends.
I’m not good. I try my best to be…light. But not without fail sometimes.
She recalled her words to Draco many months before so clearly just then. She wasn’t a good person, but she wasn’t dark, either. She existed somewhere in the middle, living in pursuit of the light and taking advantage of the dark when needed. Draco seemed to be the reverse in many ways, striving for darkness, for the approval of his once-revered father, but finding himself unable to commit as the lightness, the deeply-hidden goodness of him, refused to let him slip completely.
“Do you hate me?”
“No.”
“Have you ever truly hated me?”
“Yes,” he said without missing a beat, and she flinched. “I used to. Not initially, but eventually I did. I was supposed to hate you, so I did.”
“Initially?”
He grimaced, eyes cast down on the table once more. “I was put off by your blood status, but you fascinated me as much as you annoyed me. I didn’t give you much consideration until the end of first year, when you were at the top of our class and Dumbledore had rewarded your stupidity with absurd bonus points that cost us the House Cup we rightly earned.” He said bitterly, his eyes watching Crookshanks’ now-twitching tail. “It wasn’t just you, I know, but it may as well have been, the way my father reacted when I returned home for the summer.”
Hermione could hardly imagine. Her own return home had been a blessing. A warm welcome at King’s Cross, tearful hugs, dinner and a visit to the West End for a show—surely nothing that Draco had experienced.
“My father was disappointed, to say the least. Found a way to blame me for losing the House Cup by claiming I hadn’t been focused enough—I wasn’t living up to my potential. Years of private tutors gone to waste when a Muggle-born could just wander in and snatch the place I had earned at birth. To him—to me—you had no right, yet you did it anyway. The more my father resented me, the more I began to resent you. It wasn’t fair, but you seemed to be the reason for my lacklustre performance—it was the only thing that made sense at the time. I resented you, and when I couldn’t stop thinking about you—obsessively thinking about you, all summer—what a fucking nightmare that was,” he blew out a breath, shaking his head and averting her gaze.
“It was like you were haunting me. My mother grew concerned my obsession with you was out of fondness, and perhaps it was—I can’t say for sure. I didn’t feel attracted to anyone then, but with you, it felt like—more. It wasn’t simply hatred for you, Granger, it was always something more that I couldn’t identify until—”
His voice broke, and when she caught a glimpse of his still down-cast eyes, she saw they were reddening.
“Attraction aside—which started around third year, as I’ve told you before—it wasn’t enough to stop me from hating you above all else until you—” he cut himself off to clear his throat, visibly uncomfortable to put the words out, and she surmised the memory was a difficult one.
“Do you know what you sound like when you scream?”
She frowned in confusion, but at the faraway look in his eyes, at the pain evident in his expression, she understood perfectly what he was referring to.
She had been the one to be tortured, but he had been forced to watch.
He blinked and righted himself once more, leaning closer to her across the table. “I couldn’t stop her, Hermione, I really couldn’t.” He swore, reaching for her hand. She let him take it, let him turn it over and run his fingertips across the touch-sensitive skin of her palm. “If I had tried to interfere, it would have sold you out. Or if Bella had had any indication of my…preference, it would have been so much worse for you. It was unlikely any of you were going to make it out, but she wouldn’t have stopped with the Cruciatus, believe me on that.”
“I do,” she mouthed, unable to speak as the images she tried so hard to keep at bay flitted through her mind.
Her eyes began to pool, and she gazed back at him with a forced calm, not wanting to cry about it anymore. She’d survived and Bellatrix was dead—there was no reason to cry over it.
“So I stood by and let it happen, and all the while Weasley’s bellowing for you from the cellar.” He shook his head in disgust, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “If I hadn’t deserved you before, I certainly didn’t deserve you after that.”
He skated his index finger over her palm to the tips of the fingers of her right hand, one by one, sending delicate little sparks through her at his touch. She bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep herself from blinking and her eyes from spilling over.
“When I saw you in Diagon Alley, I didn’t care what it was—I just wanted to help you. Your side won, but you looked so defeated. So fucking broken, and I couldn’t comfort you. Whatever it was, I had to fix it for you—you deserved that much, at least. After all the shit I’d put you through over the years.”
He was quiet for a long minute, trailing her skin as she willed her breath to return to normal. Her eyes still burned, but she could see through them.
“I didn’t think you would accept my help, but you did.” He went on, his hand stilling in hers. “I didn’t think I could convince you to stay, but you did. I spent months waiting for you to wake up and realise what you were doing with me, but it never happened. I wanted to tell you—so badly. I wanted to tell you everything, but—”
He huffed a tired breath and began his ascent up to her palm again. “It’s easier when you hate me, Granger. It’s something I can control.”
“I don’t hate you,” she objected, her voice raw. “I could never hate you—not after what you did for me. Not even really before.”
She chewed on her lip as she struggled to maintain her composure.
“I don’t know what I did wrong,” he said, sounding pained.
His eyes met hers pleadingly, and she felt the cracks expanding. Like pressure on chipped porcelain, splintering away, determined to be damaged beyond repair.
Even with magic, there would always be fine cracks in the surface. Forever marred by weight after weight, attack after attack, never to be whole and unflawed again.
“I know I should have apologised sooner. I know it, but I never allowed myself to think about it when I was around you. It only made me hate myself more for it. ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t sound good enough, Hermione—I had to show you. Would you have really believed me if I said it?”
“Yes.” She murmured, her tears reforming. “I would have believed you if you’d apologised. At any point in our relationship you could have said it, and I would have believed you. I never knew you to be repentant—it would have been odd enough that I would have taken your word for it.”
His eyes fell from hers and a wrinkle formed between his brows. “I’m so sorry.” He said in a low voice, absently shaking his head. He ran a hand through his hair a moment later and breathed out a long sigh. “I truly believed it was better for us to leave it all behind.”
Her jaw trembled as she opened her mouth to speak. She had to force the words out.
“You weren’t the one being called a Mudblood every day for six years, Draco.”
He flinched, the wrinkle between his brows deepening. “No, I wasn’t.”
“You hated me—for something I had no control over. Your father hated me for something I had no control over—and he poisoned you with it.”
Draco could only nod, his eyes shut, his hand gripping his hair as he leaned into the table for support.
“I know you’re sorry. You’ve proven to me that you’re sorry, but without you saying it, it felt like you believed what you put me through was insignificant. It wasn’t.”
Her voice cracked, and Draco’s eyes opened at the sound. His were glossy but carefully controlled, as though he had years of practice of holding back his emotions.
“It wasn’t insignificant, Hermione, I was ashamed.” His hand sought hers once more, and she let him take it. “When you started to become important to me, I didn’t want you to associate that part of myself with who I was trying to be. I thought if I could separate the two, it would help us both move on, but—that was a mistake, wasn’t it?”
She nodded.
“If you want me to apologise every day for the rest of my life for it, I will,” he said softly. “But if words aren’t enough, then I’ll have to keep showing you.”
Her fingers tightened around his, but she couldn’t speak.
“Granger…” he said, tilting her hand in his to get her to look at him. “What did I do when we were together to make you doubt me?”
His eyes were cloudy, wild with confusion as if he truly didn’t know.
“I thought everything was going well—you swore yourself to me, even when I gave you an out. What did I do before Valentine’s Day? Did I say something? Did I do something that made you uncomfortable? Just tell me so I can add it to the list of things I need to fix between us.”
A ragged gasp turned into a sob, and her hand left his to cover her mouth as the dam gave way and she squeezed her eyes shut. Rivulets of fat, sticky tears scalded her cold skin on the way down.
“Nothing,” she whispered behind her mouth as she curled in on herself. She moved her hands and gripped under her chair, her arms so tense they could snap. “You did nothing—you were perfect. We were perfect and I-I ruined everyth—” she choked, and her next breath came in a whimper as she shook her head despairingly. “Don’t make me do this, Draco.”
She got up from her seat and pushed back from the table, then tore off down the aisle between the bookshelves and the windows, no destination in mind but to be alone until the potion wore off.
Honesty was one thing, but the Veritaserum made her feel as though she were being eaten alive. It was a torture in its own right, all of her natural reactions thrashing against their restraints.
“Granger, wait,” he called, easily keeping up with her.
He caught her before she could flee between the shelves of Transfiguration texts and wrapped his hands around her arms. He steadied her against the end of the bookshelf and held her upright as she wailed until she felt sick with grief and agony.
She began to hyperventilate, and she brought one hand to her chest, the other to her throat as she fought to breathe between rasping sobs.
“Granger, breathe,” he pleaded, his hands leaving her arms to cradle her face. “You didn’t ruin anything. You didn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong—”
“Don’t!”
He breathed a low sigh and brought his lips to her forehead. Her hands went up to his chest to push him back, but he was unmoveable. He stayed holding her jaw, his lips against her skin, his weight pushing her back against the hard wood as he tried in vain to help ground her.
He waited several minutes for her to calm down, one hand leaving her cheek to run up and down her back. The hand that remained tilted her chin up as he kissed her temple, running his lips across her overheated skin to the dip below her jaw.
Her hands were wrapped tightly around the front of his robes, her knuckles white, the surrounding skin red as if she’d been clinging to them for dear life.
He kissed down her throat, his hand leaving her chin to sneak into her hair. Her hands slipped further down his robes as he straightened and pulled her close. She inhaled shakily, glancing up to meet his astonishingly grey eyes and seeing they only held warmth and adoration.
If there was ever a right moment to tell him she loved him, it should have been right then.
It would have been right then, if she could speak.
Draco swiped his thumb across her cheekbone and held her there as he bent to rest his forehead against hers, looking down into her eyes so there was no place for her to hide from him.
“I love you, Hermione.”
His voice was not affectionate or sweet or cajoling in any manner. He was stating a fact; an indisputable truth.
“I’m not telling you this to make you feel better or to make you even more confused than you already are—I love you.”
“Draco—”
“You irritating, beautiful, exhausting, glorious little swot that you are—I love you.”
He was practically glaring at her then, so deadly serious in his conviction it had her trembling for another reason entirely.
“If there is any part of you that wants this, I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you, however long it takes.”
“Stop.” She whispered, letting her eyes flutter shut. “Don’t say things you don’t really mean.”
He gave her shoulder a little shake, forcing her eyes open. “Even if I were capable of lying to you right now, I wouldn’t. I love you. Merlin, you have no idea how much. I’m sorry—I’m sorry for everything. Just tell me if you want this, too. Tell me if I need to let you go, and I will. I will be the one to grovel, if you need me to be. I’ll do whatever I can—you just have to tell me.”
She shook her head, her chest aching so fiercely she felt her lungs might collapse.
“Your parents—”
“What about them?” he asked, sounding desperate. “I’ve told them our plans—they’re not going to stand in the way, Granger.”
“But they only—was what Ginny said true? Did they only give their approval because I make them look better by association?”
“No,” he breathed, leaning back just enough to look at her fully. “Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?”
A guilty tear trickled down her left cheek, and he groaned and kissed her hair, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to hug her to him. She loosened his robes, opening them just enough to slip her arms around his waist as she pressed her face to his chest.
“Even if that were true, who cares?” He asked flippantly. “You were a brilliant fix to my family’s image—that’s true. But why can’t that be a good thing? Why can’t we look at this as them giving us a chance when they might not have otherwise?”
She looked up at him, her chin against his sternum, and his eyes flicked down to hers.
“I will not be a pawn, Draco.”
“You’re not. You never were and you never will be, I’ll make sure of it.”
He kissed her hair, her cheeks, her temples, along her jaw, the tip of her nose—but not her lips. He was holding back as he had once before, waiting for her to give him the right signals—to prove to him it was what she wanted.
To prove he was what she wanted.
She rested her forehead against his shoulder and sighed softly. “They’re alright with me, then? They’re fine with their only son being a blood traitor and defiling the Malfoy name?”
The hand in her hair tightened automatically.
“It’s really that simple?”
“No,” he confirmed, releasing her to take a step back. “The public perception they’re most concerned with is our physical relationship and living together before we’ve even announced an engagement—as I’ve told you. But as far as you being a Muggle-born, my mother is coming around to it. It’s a struggle for her, but I know she’s trying.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the floor, her back against the bookcase. “That doesn’t make me feel better.” She said quietly. “She shouldn’t have to make an effort to like me.”
His eyes were sympathetic as he stepped back to her, bringing his hands to her hips to guide her into the next aisle. The backs of her thighs caught on a table, and he eased her onto it, allowing himself to stand between her legs.
“Everyone has to make an effort to like you, Granger—you’re infuriating.” He teased in a low hum, tilting her chin up with his thumb. “The fact that I’m not being disowned and disinherited shows that she’s willing to change. I know it doesn’t seem like much to you, but she is trying. Do I have to remind you that I’m a spoiled only child and she has a habit of giving me everything I want?”
She snorted a laugh, and he kissed between her eyes.
“I won’t force you to be around her, if it makes you uncomfortable.”
She frowned, pulling back to look up at him. “That wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“And forcing you to sit with my mother when you don’t want to wouldn’t be fair to you.” He said earnestly. “I had no history with your mother when I spoke with her, but you have one with mine. It’s not the same—you don’t have to prove yourself to her.”
She shook her head. “No, that wouldn’t be right. She’s your mother—you love her. We’ll need to be around her at times, so I have to try, too.”
His relief was palpable, an invisible weight lifting from his shoulders as he relaxed and leaned close, resting his hands on the table on either side of her hips.
He kissed her temple, letting his lips linger for just a moment before he pulled back to meet her eye. “If she says or does something that’s offensive and I don’t realise it, tell me. I need to be aware of these things, alright?”
She hesitated a second too long, allowing for panic to flood into his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing,” she murmured unconvincingly, wrapping her hands around the edge of the table. “It’s just—it’s too easy, isn’t it? It really can’t be this simple.”
“Why not?” he asked, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Why does it have to be a struggle to seem real to you? You don’t have to keep fighting.”
She licked her lips and started to shake her head again, but Draco’s hands lifted to her neck and stilled her. He angled her head back to look her squarely in the eye, and she felt her stomach plummet at the sincerity she found there.
“Stop fighting.” He said firmly. “The war is over, Hermione. You’ve done your part—you’re done.”
“But—”
“You’re done. There’s nothing left for you to fight for. You are not obligated to anyone—you don’t have to justify anything or prove yourself to anyone who feels they have the right to an opinion on your life. Just let go, Granger.”
It’s not that simple, she wanted to say, but she physically couldn’t let the words form.
It didn’t feel like a lie, but if it were true she could have said so.
Maybe it was really that simple.
“Let go,” he repeated, his head bent, his lips only inches from hers. “I’m here. I’ll catch you.”
She kissed him.
Slowly, cautiously, she kissed him, bringing her hands up to wrap around his neck and letting her fingers twist in his hair. It took him a second to respond, but he did so gently, timid in his movements as though worried he would scare her off.
It should have been their first kiss, sweet and unhurried as if they were getting to know each other. She felt more this way: the lush softness of his lips, lightly swollen from brushing against hers; the smooth texture of his hair and skin beneath her fingertips; the sound of his breath as it came in quick, almost silent gasps when their lips parted before meeting again.
Hermione was the first to break away, trailing her lips down his jaw, ending at the pulse point of his neck. She pressed open-mouthed kisses to the skin there, delighting in his racing heartbeat under her tongue. His hips shifted forward in the space her thighs made as she sucked his neck and lazily raked her fingers through his hair.
The hand in her hair, on her hip, tensed as she let her teeth drag across the now-sensitive skin, and she rolled her hips forward, angling them so she could brush against the front of his trousers. He hummed a soft moan in her ear that had her arching into him, pressing her breasts to his chest as she abandoned his pulse point to kiss below his ear.
“What are you thinking about?” he demanded, his voice hoarse.
The tip of her tongue touched his ear lobe, teasing it for a moment before gently biting it, sinking her teeth into the yielding flesh until he let slip a soft, quick moan.
“How much I love you.”
She said it in a whisper, punctuated with another gentle nip.
“I love you,” she hummed in his ear. “I am in love with you. I always will be.”
He gently tugged her back with the hand in her hair. She peered up at him solemnly, nodding before he could try to deny it. She brought her hand to his cheek and leaned up to press another kiss to his lips.
“I’ve wanted to tell you for months, Draco. I love you.”
“Months?” he asked dubiously, lifting a brow.
“Months.” She repeated. “After the holidays—but I think I felt it before.”
“You think?”
She nodded and kissed him, practically drugged by the sensation and realisation she could just do that whenever she wanted.
“I was never certain, but I’ve always felt a—fondness for you. Even when I despised you, I cared about your well-being. I fancied you for a bit, actually,” she admitted, her eyes on his lips. “When I first saw you on the Hogwarts Express—I was looking for that stupid toad of Neville’s that he kept losing.” She smiled at the memory and glanced up. “I always had a bit of a thing for blondes, so don’t flatter yourself too much.”
He huffed a laugh and kissed her nose. She scrunched it and darted away, leaning back and draping her arms over his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said, meeting his eyes as her fingertips played with the shorter hairs on the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to be your friend, but I thought—I selfishly thought—if there was any way to keep you in my life, that might be the best way. I was sick about it, Draco—what I did. What I said. I still am, and I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
“It’s not like I didn’t deserve it.”
She gripped his hair firmly, making him wince. “You didn’t deserve it, just as I hadn’t. We were both horrible to each other, weren’t we? We’ve both fucked up?”
He sighed, his eyes falling from hers, but he managed a nod.
“And we’re both going to do better? Not just try, but actually commit to it?”
“I want to—do you?”
“I do,” she promised, biting back a smile. “I love you. I want to be with you. And one day, long from now when we have our lives sorted and we’ve travelled every corner of the world together, I want to have inhumanly beautiful blonde babies with you.”
Her eyes widened at her own admission, blushing while Draco paled.
“I hope that doesn’t scare you.” She added nervously.
He blinked, and his lips twitched in an odd smile. “Terrifies me, actually.”
She nodded. “Good. Then at least we’ll be on the same page.”
When their lips met it wasn’t sweet. She drank him in and clung to him, her nails raking down his neck and to the front of his robes, which she promptly shoved off his shoulders. His arms left her only long enough to cast his robes aside, and then they were back on her hips, her thighs, tracing up her back and tugging her shirt with them.
His hands were surprisingly warm on her skin as he skimmed her waist, her stomach, her abdominal muscles clenching and hollowing at the contact. He made quick work of unbuttoning her shirt as she fumbled with his belt.
He opened her shirt but left it on, exposing only her torso. He pulled back to study her, his eyes heavy, his pupils dilated as he watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Taking a cup in each hand, he jerked the material under her breasts, giving her an alluring lift and propping them up as if they were on display for him.
The admiration in his eyes at the sight of her nude form would never grow old to her.
Panting, she focused herself to relieve him of his own shirt, unknotting his tie and setting it down beside her, taking her time with each button before smoothing it down his shoulders, his arms, letting it cascade to the floor like his long-forgotten robes.
Draco took hold of her chin, angling her head back to meet his eyes one last time as his thumb brushed her lower lip. He kissed her deeply, holding her in place as his tongue played with hers. His free hand brushed across a peaked nipple and she moaned, arching into it.
His lips left hers abruptly, and he bent to take one into his mouth. Her head fell back, her hands resting on the table behind her for support. Her legs on either side of him were aching, but it was more with anticipation. His pelvis ground into her, bunching her skirt up, and she rocked into it, her breath growing heavy as he licked and sucked her nipple until it ached.
He kissed a line up between her breasts to her neck, then stepped back, his hands falling to her hips under the hem of her skirt.
“Have you taken your potion this month?”
She nodded, a dazed smile crossing her lips. “Before I came to study tonight.”
“Look at you, showing up prepared,” he teased, nipping her lip. “That’s worth about fifty points, I’d say.”
She laughed into the next kiss, her eyes dimmed, and she saw only a quick flick of his wand before she was falling backwards, landing on a low, leather-wrapped sofa with a surprised gasp. Draco slid against her with ease, nestled between her still-parted legs.
He kissed her hard and long until she was keening, her thighs squeezing around his hips, his hot skin against her breasts. His hand slid between them, finding the seam of her underwear and shoving it aside. She whimpered at the sudden rush of cold air against her, Draco’s fingers sliding through the slickened space and parting her. Her hips bucked when he skimmed two fingers upwards on either side of her clit, applying just enough indirect pressure to have her writhing.
“Are you fond of these knickers?”
“Not particularly.” She said breathlessly.
They vanished in an instant, her now-bare backside flat on the cool leather, and it was such a delicious contrast she almost didn’t realise he’d begun teasing her again. She was so wet there was hardly any friction—she needed more.
“Draco, I want you,” she whimpered, shifting up the sofa to rest her head on the armrest. “I want you.”
He didn’t follow immediately, but he rose to his knees, his eyes fixed between her legs as he unfastened his trousers. The black trousers remained, hanging loosely on his hips but low enough to free himself from the confines. She openly admired him, smiling appreciatively at the reaction she’d given him, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as he gave himself a few strokes to the sight of her.
She repeated her demand softly, and he shifted forward over her once more, using his hand to guide his cock to her slit. He coated the head in her arousal, then pressed against her entrance.
“Will you tell me again?” he asked, his eyes only inches above hers. “Please?”
“I love you, Draco.”
She moaned in relief as he pushed inside, her head lolling on the armrest. His hands positioned her thighs around his waist, holding the left one up higher to angle himself in easier. She whimpered and he hissed a moan as he bottomed out. She rolled her hips, whispering pleas for him to keep going despite the brief, unexpected twinge.
Her skirt rode up, gathering at her waist as he pumped into her. She briefly considered removing it but felt a bit of security wearing it should someone wander into the library.
She looked up at the dimmed lamps above their heads, realising with a shock they were having sex in the library.
“What’s wrong?” He asked quickly.
“We’re in the library.”
He stilled his movements inside of her as he glanced around. She reached an arm up and pulled a book from its slot for emphasis.
“This isn’t a kink of yours?” he asked innocently, and she snapped the book back into place, beaming up at him. “Colour me surprised.”
She laughed, angling up to kiss him. Her hands went to his shoulders, holding him steady as he lowered back down and resumed his thrusts.
She lost track of who came first, suspended in the state of lust as she was.
Draco relaxed on top of her, lying limp and remaining inside of her as she stroked his hair and pressed kisses along his temple and forehead as he liked to do for her. His arms wound around her tightly, securely, and her stomach fluttered at the action.
“Apparently we’re soulmates,” she murmured minutes later, stroking the cooling skin of his upper back and shoulders.
Draco’s head was nestled in the crook of her neck, his fingers busy playing with the loose, tangled curls falling across her collarbone.
“Are we?” he asked wryly, kissing the hollow of her throat.
“Yeah,” she said on an exaggerated sigh. “If you believe in all that divination, tarot card, hocus pocus like Parvati and Lavender.”
“Which you don’t.”
“Never will.”
“Stubborn as anything.”
“I believe you mean, ‘right as always, Granger.’” She quipped, raising her hand to run her finger over his features. The sharp angle of his cheekbone, the right corner of his mouth, his perfectly arched eyebrow.
He was so beautiful to her it almost hurt.
“Yes, Merlin forbid anyone else be right about something.”
She snorted. “People can be right all the time, but Trelawney’s a fraud.” She insisted. “She said a man would contact me on the twenty-ninth. It’s only just now the twenty-sixth,” she added, looking at the time on her watch. “She can’t even get the date right of something so important.”
“Maybe she wasn’t talking about me.” He mused. “You do leave quite the impression—any idea the whereabouts of McLaggen?”
She dug her nails into his shoulder hard, making him jump, and laughed as he apologised and kissed her throat.
“So.”
“So.”
“You’re in love with me?”
She smiled but let out a wistful-sounding sigh, lying her head back on the armrest to gaze up at the dim, moonlit ceiling.
“I’m so in love with you,” she whispered, playing with the ends of his hair. “I may even consider changing my name for you one day—if that’s what you wanted.”
If your parents wouldn’t mind a Muggle-born bearing their name.
“That depends.”
“On?”
He kissed her throat again before lifting himself up, his palms on the sofa on either side of her ribcage. She tilted her chin down to meet his eyes, her hand lifting to brush his fallen hair back from his face.
“Would you really want to be called Hermione Malfoy?”
Hearing their names together gave her an unexpected jolt of pleasure.
“It does sound nice, doesn’t it?”
He looked unconvinced, even as he nodded. “You don’t have to decide right away, you know. There’s still time to remember what you hate about me.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t hate you.”
“Do you really want to marry me one day? I won’t be offended, Granger, just tell me so I can manage my expectations.”
Hermione sat up with her elbows, bringing their faces close, letting her lips brush against his. She kissed him lightly and pulled back to look at him properly, staring hard into his eyes.
“Yes.”
He relaxed only a fraction, his eyes still wary as he nodded and kissed her. “I can still call you ‘Granger?’”
“I expect no less at this point.” She said, sinking back down.
He smiled and kissed her shoulder. “One day, right? Not anytime soon?”
“Honestly, I would marry you right now on this sofa if you asked me to.”
Her response seemed to snap the last thread of his hesitancy. He laughed against her, his shoulders shaking, and she basked in the reaction.
“I’ll have to brew more on the next new moon—I like honest Hermione.”
She kissed his cheek and lingered there, smiling widely against his skin as his hands began to roam over her once more.
“Granger?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you, but I don’t want to think about marriage until everything’s sorted with you.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He kissed her collarbone and lifted himself up enough to look down at her. “We still have a lot to work through on our own and together.” He said seriously. “I don’t want to go through this again—I assume you don’t either. So…if it takes months, or years, then we wait. Is that—are you alright with that?”
It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but she supposed she was glad he was being the voice of reason. Diving in with just enough caution to save themselves in the future should they need it. She couldn’t blame him for that, and she knew when the effects of the potion wore off and their guards try to come back up, she would be grateful for it.
“I understand.” She said with a nod. “Any more conditions?”
“Just one.”
His free hand took hers from around his neck and held it between them. She burst into laughter when he twisted his pinkie finger around hers.
“Granger, this is serious.”
“Yes,” she said, sniggering. “I’m listening.”
He waited for her laughs to die down before continuing. “If you have any more doubts, talk to me about them, alright? If a Weasley never interferes again, it will be too soon.”
She took in the seriousness of his expression, feeling her chest tighten as emotion gripped her.
“I will.” She said, locking her pinkie with his. “I promise.”