[draco x hermione] ▪️ summary: draco needs to clarify what they are, exactly. hermione enjoys watching him squirm. ▪️ warnings: college au.
He nosed her temple. She pretended not to notice. She tried to remember what they were watching. What was it? There were people in it, and something was certainly happening to them, but Hermione couldn't quite be sure what that was. His hand brushed against her knee, tickling a questioning trail up her thigh.
"Padma is still awake," she murmured.
"Argh." He huffed and his forehead fell to her shoulder. She shifted and put her back to him, allowing him to hook his leg behind her. Hermione leaned back against his chest with her favorite fleece blanket pulled up. Draco wrapped his arms around her waist. He sighed dramatically. "You know, most people invite their boyfriend over--"
She snickered. "Ooh, boyfriend, huh?"
"--to watch Netflix and then they... do things, and don't get me wrong, I like watching... this show about American politics, I do--"
"But you'd rather do... things," she said with a laugh, which was tinged ever-so-slightly with nervous energy.
"No, I... nevermind." He hugged her tighter and tucked his chin over her shoulder. "I guess I'd rather watch something that I'm more... interested in. So I stop thinking about what I'd like to do. To my girlfriend."
"I think what you want to do is talk about being my boyfriend." She rubbed his hand and turned her head, but he was squeezing her so tightly that she couldn't turn all the way. Instead, he was gripping her like she might float away if he let go.
"Um, yeah. So..." he cleared his throat. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately. And. I come over here every night, basically--"
"Yeah, about that--I think I'm going to start charging you rent--"
"And," he emphasized, tickling her waist and making her squirm. "I think we both enjoy being... not clothed together."
"Having sex, you mean."
"Yeah."
"Say it."
"Having... mutual orgasms, in the same bed--"
"I can't believe you can't say the word--"
"Sex! Fine! We have sex! A lot! I love having sex with you! Sex, sex, sex!"
Padma's door cracked open and Hermione paused the tv. "Hey Padma," Hermione said innocently. Draco tried to hide behind the explosive wall of Hermione's hair.
"Hey," Padma said, eyebrows raised. "Sounded like someone was doing a dramatic retelling of a PornHub plot out here. Thought I'd investigate in case someone was using my blanket as a prop." The exhausted pre-med student studied her roommate on the couch with an air of amusement, mostly at how mortified Draco was.
"No worries. It was just that episode of the West Wing where Sam Seaborn yells about sex."
"Right. The Sex Episode. I'm familiar." Padma snorted. "But really, give me back that blanket."
Hermione clutched the purple blanket to her chest. "This blanket is my best friend!
"I'm hurt!" Padma clutched her chest.
"You don't get to be hurt, you chose med school over me three years ago. Besides," Hermione said, thumbing over her shoulder at Draco, "I've replaced you with Sam Seaborn, here. Boyfriends trump best friends, so."
"Boyfriend, huh? Congrats. Since when?"
"Apparently it's recent. He just told me."
"Are you both quite finished?" Draco grumbled from beneath the curtain of Hermione's hair.
Padma grinned. "Goodnight, lovers. I'll be putting in my earplugs in roughly two minutes, so... have at it, I guess." The door to Padma's room shut and locked behind her.
Hermione wiggled out of Draco's grasp and sat up on her knees, turning to face him on the couch. He was red and looked quite sad, truth be told. "Hey," she said, touching his cheek. "I really, really like you. You know that, right?"
He smiled from only one corner of his mouth. "You do?"
"Yes, you idiot." She laughed. Then, she kissed him softly. "I'm happy to be your girlfriend."
"You are?"
Hermione groaned, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Sweet, sweet, sad boy. I call you if you're even two minutes later than I expect you. I changed my schedule so we could take European History together. I just... I'm not big on labeling things, but I see that you are, and I'd do it because I would do... anything for you." She sat back from him. He pushed his hair off his forehead.
"Would you... watch something less... chatty?"
She laughed. "Sure. What's your fancy?"
"I'm not sure. Something calming."
Hermione stood off the couch and held out her hands to him. "Let's just go lay down and watch something on my phone. It's getting late, anyway."
He took her hands and stood. Draco kissed her softly. "I have to say, I feel relieved."
"It's not called 'Netflix and Chill' for nothing." Hermione grinned, pulling him towards her room.
"'Mione... you know that's not what Netflix and Chill means, right?"
"...you take me way too seriously." She tugged him into her bedroom, which had somehow morphed in about six months' time into theirs, and shut the door. They didn't get around to watching much of anything.
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[draco x hermione] ▪️ summary: draco doesn’t want to sit with his grief. hermione is willing to help. ▪️ warnings: minor character death, hurt/comfort. hospital au.
It had begun as a sort of dare. Lean in. Feel something. How close can you get? Are you afraid to let me see it?
“You’re safe here,” she said finally.
“You grossly overestimate how much I care,” he said, shoving her away from him. But he shivered. She countered, leaning over him as unruly tendrils of her hair tickled his shoulder, placing her hands on his shoulders to comfort him.
Then, she knelt between his knees. Challenging him to give in to being comforted. She ghosted her palms up his arms. He whimpered.
“It’s okay to cry,” she whispered.
“I know that,” he spat. Contrary to his ire, he doubled over, accidentally butting his head into her shoulder. She cradled his head in the crook of her neck. He didn’t fight her. He wanted to--Merlin how he wanted to throw her away to a safe distance and run as far as his legs could take him. Instead, he smothered himself in her rose-scented blouse and wept.
For his mother, for the one who had fought to keep him alive.
For the life she could have had if only his father had loosened his grip.
For not being there with her as she fought for her life in St. Mungo’s, because he was on assignment overseas.
But someone had been there. He gripped her robe so tightly the seams strained. “Why did it have to be you?” His voice was muffled in her shoulder. She cupped his head, smoothing his hair. She said nothing, but her free arm snaked around his waist and embraced him fully. “I should have been here.”
“She wasn’t in any pain,” Hermione said. “She asked to be comfortable.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Every night before bed, Healer Lovegood read her the Prophet. Only the fluff pieces, of course, but she loved the gossip columns.” Hermione smiled against his hair. “One time you appeared in a brief footnote after going out with Blaise Zabini and she had me cut out the article so she could press it in her book.”
He pulled back and frowned at her. “I hate to think what it said.”
“Nothing terrible. She didn’t much care either way. Your name was in print, and she was proud.” Hermione sat back on her heels, but Draco’s hands shot out and grabbed her elbows for purchase. She compromised and gave him her hands to worry instead. He finally breathed in a ragged, conciliatory breath.
Draco shook his head once. “You’re probably dying to get back to your rounds. Away from all this… heaviness.” It wasn't an apology so much as an out.
“I’ve got you.” She touched his cheek.
Only then did he look up at her. She had caramel irises, which shone from unshed tears, rendering them closer to gold in the lamplight. Her long hair was unruly, yes, but it also cascaded over her shoulders in wild, winding curls, pulled back at the temples to keep her mane off her face. She wore her white healer robes, and a lovely black blouse, which he knew was silk from the slide of the fabric against his forehead. She was still kneeling at his feet. Just… looking at him. She had nowhere to be but there .
Draco grasped her shoulders. His face contorted--something about seeing her emotions safely contained made his feel inauthentic. “How do I... “ He sniffed. He shrugged. How would he take his next breath? Stand up from that chair? Eat his next meal… without his Mother.
“I know a place with great midnight pancakes,” Hermione said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ll eat,” she insisted. Hermione stood and he released her robes reluctantly. But she held out her hands to him and urged him to stand. “Come on.”
“I don’t know.”
“Doctor’s orders. Up, up.” Hermione grabbed his elbow and tugged. It took all of his energy to rise to his feet, but once he did, he towered over her. She straightened his coat, which had crawled up to his ears when he had collapsed into the chair beside his mother’s empty hospital bed.
Someday, I will kiss this woman, he thought, squaring his shoulders. Part of him wanted to do it now, but it felt cheap in the aftermath of grief.
Healer Granger led him through the hallway to the lifts, down two floors, and into the caf. The hospitals small restaurant served food at all hours, thanks to the dedicated house elves. They did indeed serve pancakes at… well, it was nearly twelve-thirty in the morning by the times they reached the buffet. She chose a table off in the corner for them to sit at and positioned the seats so his back was to the room. She said nothing. He just stared at his plate… until a deep groan sounded from his belly.
He picked up his fork, and… he took a bite.
Never again would he have to wonder what food would taste like without Narcissa Malfoy living on the planet… which sounded absurd in his head and still felt dire. But pancakes still tasted like… syrup and sugar, and butter. Somethings stay the same.
Hermione folded her hands together and braced her elbows on the table. Only then did he realize that she hadn’t gotten anything to eat.
“You should eat something,” he scoffed.
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“You’re knackered. It’s obvious.” Draco pushed his plate across the table to her; the porcelain still bore two pancakes, which he had drizzled in syrup. Part and parcel with drowning his sorrows.
“I am well,” she laughed softly, pushing the plate back to him. “But thank you for your concern.”
He sat back and fear crossed his face. “You’re… just. Here.”
She nodded.
“...Why?”
“Because I know that the hardest meal to eat after you lose a parent is the first one. The hardest… anything. And I had to do it alone. But you shouldn’t have to.” She sniffed and looked away, breaking the self-assured gaze down into a twisted grimace.
Draco leaned forward. He felt teasing words pushing at his lips, but he bit his tongue.
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[draco x hermione] ▪️ summary: hermione and draco’s attraction is obvious to everybody but them… harry and pansy have had enough. ▪️ warnings: none. :)
Hermione Granger nodded once. His head bend closer to her to speak softly; she raised an eyebrow, and a small smile reached her dimples. She turned and her cloak floated into his outstretched fingers, and then away again. Touching but not grasping. Magnetized. His fingers flexed from the electricity of her, unconsciously, as his posture curved around her. Draco Malfoy filled her negative space. She was a zephyr. He was a feather. And it was painfully clear to everyone but them.
“They’re so bloody oblivious,” Pansy whispered.
“I don’t know. I think one of them is bound to get wise, and soon.” Harry sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. His wife shrugged.
“Wherever one goes, the other is sure to follow. But that doesn’t mean either of those idiots will see what’s going on.” Pansy sipped her tea. “Draco’s always been dense as a rock.”
“Oh, no contest,” Harry chuckled. “But surely you don’t think she’s immune to his attention.”
“Immune?” Pansy shook her head, observing the couple once again. Hermione’s fingers clutched his sleeve, bracing to adjust a pinching buckle on her shoe. He dutifully held her up. His mouth curled in a teasing manner; he said something that made her redden. “No. She’s not. But she would do better to give him some… reassurance.”
“Maybe they’re comfortable pretending.”
“You really think that much sexual tension is comfortable?” Pansy reached across the table and took her husband’s hand. “Or are you admitting to being an uptight bastard that I had to wear down for three years--”
“We are not them, my love.” Harry patted her hand. “Hermione needs clarity. Solidarity.”
“Draco needs security, too,” Pansy countered. “And a woman who will fill the void left by Narcissa Malfoy, and trust me--that is not an easy task.”
“If there’s anybody who could rise to the occasion…” Harry trailed off, but he pointed to his dear friend, who was toeing off her heels.
Hermione’s feet were killing her, by the looks of it. The heels hung from her fingers and she wiggled her stocking toes. Draco flicked his wand and her shoes danced into the air at her side. He inclined his head.
Hermione padded out of the caf, followed dutifully by Draco and her levitating shoes. His hand hovered at her waist, not quite touching her back but curling around her protectively. She tilted her chin up and smiled at him. They turned the corner and were gone.
Pansy’s head swung back to Harry and she perched her head on her hand. “Am I right or am I right?”
“I’m not one to intervene, but…”
“I am begging you. Intervene. I can’t take any more of his heavy sighs when she’s away on assignment.” Pansy gripped his hands in a deathly squeeze.
Harry sat forward. “I think you’re secretly a romantic, Mrs. Potter.”
[draco x hermione] ▪️ summary: hermione is representing draco in a landmark case against his father, but she seems to have a conflict of interest. ▪️ warnings: mention of lucius malfoy’s past cruelty.
His testimony lasted for nearly an hour. He spoke clearly, and his words echoed up in the high-gabled ceiling of the courtroom. Most barristers make closing remarks on behalf of their clients, but no amount of flowery legal language could say what Draco felt in his heart. His statement wrapped up thusly:
When I was nine years old, my father became pledged to a man we have come to know as Voldemort—but their acquaintance stretched back much further. My father has been embroiled with the deeds of Tom Riddle since he framed Rubeus Hagrid. My mother was not aware of my father’s involvement back in those days, but it has come to light in this court that he has been an orchestrator of dark acts for almost four decades, at the behest of his master.
One of those acts was fathering a son.
I am the sole heir to the Malfoy line, which was built on the backs of muggle-born witches and wizards. My inheritance was written in blood. My father used my mother to secure the legacy of his bigotry, and used me to attack the children of people who opposed him. I have been a tool of his abuse, and a victim of it. But I am not without guilt.
I took the dark mark when I was old enough to know better. I was brainwashed, you can be sure, but I knew what it meant to bear the skull and serpent tattoo, and I will have to bear it until my body is one day cremated, as punishment for my actions.
I have killed no one. I have harmed many. I owe countless apologies to my peers. There is one person to whom I have done the most harm, and to whom this legacy of poison can never be explained or atoned for. Myself.
I have kept myself from knowing love. From developing friendships with people who would have cared for me. From pursuing an education which might have liberated me from my father’s influence. I have kept myself from my mother’s bedside as she lay dying, and kept myself from grieving her after she passed. All this because my father made me believe I could not give or receive affection without violence. The one thing I cannot do is sit by and allow my father, Lucius Malfoy, to continue existing on this planet.
Every meal he is afforded is a meal denied to a wizard he killed. While I believe I do not have it in me to take the life of anyone unless they threatened someone I love… I do not have a family to protect. Nobody loves me. So, I have to protect my legacy and my family name and prevent my bloodline from ever continuing. I will not father children. The Malfoy line ends with me. A fish rots from the head. He, my father, is the head. His death will bring peace to several generations of wizards, just as Voldemort’s death brought peace to mine.
I request he be killed swiftly, and his death not be prolonged by last meals or any bounty of mercy. If he is afforded any rights at all, let him make his confession to a Muggle priest, perhaps the only living soul who could believe there is good in him.
I can live with the death of my father. It will pain me, what he did to me, until my memory goes. I hope I live long enough to forget him.
Thank you.
There was a heady silence in the court as Draco sat down again, but she leaned over and squeezed his knee in reassurance. “You did well,” she whispered. He nodded curtly, patting her hand.
The court did not take long to deliberate and in the end, the sentence was passed.
Lucius Malfoy would hang by the neck until dead.
It was only right that a man who so hated the Muggle world should have a Muggle coward’s death. An old-fashioned death, the kind which was exacted on petty thieves back before prisons existed large enough to hold petty offenders. Except his crimes weren’t petty, and Azkaban was too luxurious for the likes of him.
Draco slumped down in his seat. Lucius Malfoy was taken away in chains by the Azkaban guards, and the crowd filtered out of the room, leaving only Draco, his council, and a handful of court reporters, who he had agreed to speak to after the trial had concluded. He stood behind the defense table and pressed his hands to the wood.
His council held up her hands to quiet the tiny throng. “Mister Malfoy will take one question apiece, so make them count.”
“Mister Malfoy!”
“Go ahead, Jameson,” his companion said.
The man in brilliant yellow robes stood with a notepad and Quick Quotes Quill poised. “The court ruled in your favor. How are you feeling?”
Draco cleared his throat. “Justice has been done, and I believe it will be a relief to many.”
“Why did you give the closing remarks instead of Ms. Granger?” another reporter asked, a woman named Marissa from a small gossip rag.
He glanced at Hermione Granger, who was standing pensively beside him, appearing strong and unbending as she had always done, since the day he came to her asking for help. “Would you like me to answer?” she asked. He shook his head.
“While Ms. Granger has always represented my interests above and beyond the call of duty, I felt it necessary for the court to understand that Lucius Malfoy’s crimes cannot be summarized on paper, nor can they be considered in any way inconsequential to my family’s legacy.” He shrugged. “No one is able to tell my story but Me. Even if they are as eloquent as Ms. Granger.”
Rita Skeeter held up a clawed hand. “Are you open to dating now that your trial is over, Mister Malfoy? And if so, may I tell my readers we have an eligible bachelor on our hands?”
He blushed. “That is one facet of my life to which you shall never be privy, Miss Skeeter.”
“So that’s a yes, then.” She winked and Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Any questions pertaining to the actual trial?” Hermione did roll her eyes, and he was greatly amused.
A man stood, this time wearing becoming tweed robes with a jaunty hat and a mustache to match. “My question is for Ms. Granger: why did you take on this case in particular?”
Draco felt her tense up. “Surely that is something your readers don’t care about,” Draco said.
“On the contrary. I feel my readers will want to know how a member of the golden trio came to represent a former Death Eater.” Giles Gibbons was known for his direct and honest questioning, which always flowed freely from him, as if his extemporaneous thoughts were tightly organized in his head—he was neither disrespectful nor coddling. Which is why Draco suddenly felt quite self-conscious that Hermione might be required to answer such a personal question. She wasn’t the one on trial. She was his council. An incredible barrister, to be sure, but she was not under sentencing. The fact he had bullied her up until third year and been a part of a murderous cult was not a factor in their working relationship… was it?
Hermione sighed. “Mister Gibbons, while I appreciate your frankness and fluidity, which is indeed an admirable quality in a fountain pen, I don’t believe it is my responsibility to answer why I, an experienced barrister and woman of integrity, would take on a worthy case. You may think you understand what those words mean—former Death-Eater. Golden Trio.—you did not live through the origins of them. For me to try to explain to you why Draco Malfoy is worthy of defending... He had a case, he came to me, I said yes. That’s all you need to know.”
Draco tried to pry his jaw off the floor. Yes, he was grateful to her for all she had done to help him, but he had figured she had done it out of some misplaced sense of duty… and not because she really believed his case worthy of defending. His heart leapt.
“That’s all the questions we’ll take for now.” Hermione took the blank look on Draco’s face to mean that any further questioning would prove fruitless. “If you have other questions you’d like for Mister Malfoy to speak to, you may send them to my office. Thank you.”
She gripped his elbow and tugged him away from the reporters, who murmured lowly amongst themselves. Draco strode to keep up with her but even in her stilettos, she wildly out-paced him. She stepped into the lifts well ahead of him and Draco had to dive through the doors to make it inside. Once they reached the main floor of the Ministry, she kept up the grueling pace until they were outside in the smoggy London air, and he could finally grab her elbow, yanking her out of the crosswalk and the path of a shiny black cab. She collided with his chest.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m a bit touchy.”
He released her, and she brushed her hands down the front of her robes. “Well.” He breathed out. “That’s over. I’m… relieved.”
“Good,” she peeped. She didn’t look at him, choosing instead to sit on the steps of a small monument to some inconsequential Muggle royal, which was a few blocks away from the secret entrance to the Ministry.
“Are you… alright?” Draco stood at the base of the steps.
Hermione curled up her fingers into her palms. “We… won. We won. And still Gibbons insinuates defending you makes me some kind of saint! As if—UGH! As if you’re less of a person, and nothing your father did matters because… I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I’m so mad. What a piece of shit.” She clearly wanted to scream or something. Draco reached for her shoulder before he could stop himself. He grasped it and squeezed. When she looked up at him, her eyes were shining with frustrated tears.
“Please don’t cry,” he said softly, sitting beside her. “I cannot bear it. I… do think you’re a saint. For taking my case on, for helping me write my remarks and gathering so much evidence against my father.” He laughed. “Hell, if it weren’t for you, we never would’ve found three-quarters of our witnesses. You’ve got dogged determination, and I could not have done any of this without you.” His hand slid down her arm to her elbow. “You’ve spent the last six months of dinners discussing this case over Chinese food and formatting theories—I’m sure you’re long past ready to have normal cases again.”
She leaned into his touch. “I’m not, Draco. I’m not ready.” Hermione took his hand. “This case has been everything to me.”
“I understand.” But he didn’t, really. Not in the same way.
She nudged him with her shoulder. “Fuck what Jameson asked. What are you really feeling?”
Draco looked away.
Well?
He felt... like he had a weight pulling from his sternum which would eventually cause him to hunch like an old man long before his body truly gave out on him.
Like everything he had worked for was finished, and so… now what?
Like his mother would be proud of him, and missing her so much that the thought of her sprung tears in his eyes--if only she could be there with him.
He felt feverish.
He felt sad.
He felt high on accomplishment.
He felt hungry.
He felt hot and desperate to be touched and fuck if he wasn’t ready to unbutton his collar and breathe again.
“Too much to properly articulate.” He touched his top button but did not undo it.
She nodded once. “May I say something, not as your barrister… but--” she stopped. She looked up at him. He raised an eyebrow, but she took that as permission to continue. “I can’t listen to you talk anymore about having nobody. I can’t listen to it because I’ve spent the last six months--what is that? A hundred and… eighty days, or so?--caring very much about what you need.” She grazed his cheek. “I’ve represented some real gems, which happens when you start out as a public defender, and I am proud of the work that I did. But I failed you, because… it is not your best interest I have had in mind. It’s mine.
“Draco… do you not see how much you matter? To me? Don’t you feel it? If you don’t, it’s fine, I can live with that, but… you can’t spend the rest of your life believing nobody cares about you or what happens to you.” She searched his eyes, but he was too stunned to react. All he could do was stare at her. Hermione touched his cheek again and smiled sadly. “Alright. Well. Now you know, and… I should go. I don’t remember what it’s like to have a night off,” she said with a light laugh, tinged in sadness.
They had truly spent nearly every single evening together working on his case… He had come to depend on the doorbell ringing at four pm, which signified she was waiting with takeout in one hand and an armful of files. She always had a determined smile on her face. She always forced him to peruse her latest finding before cracking open the reusable container with his food inside, and they marked the end of every evening with a glass of scotch. The next morning, her owl would appear with a scroll summarizing what they had discussed the night prior, and a promise she was looking into this thing or that, and she’d show him her findings that night--and did he want Chinese again, or would Indian do? The realization settled in him, and Draco did unbutton the collar of his shirt, then. He was sweating.
She was the part of his day he looked forward to the most. He would wait on a knife’s point for four o’clock to roll around, snapping at his assistant when she disturbed his anxious reverie, and the moment Hermione stepped inside his apartment, he would let out a breath that had been choking him all day long. He set his watch by her.
He dreamed about her.
He noticed when her hair was different, when she picked a new lipstick. He noticed when she shifted on her heels because her feet were aching because she had been standing beside him all day at the preliminary hearings. Everything about her was attuned in his mind.
“I think I love you,” he realized out loud, before the thought could bounce around in his brain long enough to decide if it was right to say. He stood abruptly and held out a hand to her. Her hand was shaking, but she took it, and Draco pulled her up. He walked down one step so she was eye-to-eye with him. “No… I know it. For certain.”
Hermione smiled softly. She touched the skin at his throat where his button used to sit, tracing the circular indent there. His Adam’s apple jumped. “You don’t have to say that.” She sounded desperately sad.
“I do. I can’t hide things from you, and I don’t want you to represent me anymore.”
Her eyes were teary again--why was she so sad? “Why not?” she sniffed.
“Conflict of interest.” He leaned down and kissed her. “I love you, Hermione.”
As the realization passed over her face that he was being honest, that he felt the weight of her words, she smiled brightly, and the tears streaming down her cheeks became happy ones. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw, and hugged her off her feet. She laughed as her shoes fell to the ground with a clatter, and he spun her around. When he set her on her feet again, she barely came up to his chest, so he bent down to kiss her again, which was all he really wanted to do.
“Why are you so short?” he teased. She wrinkled her nose.
“That’s rich coming from a behemoth.” She put her arms around his neck and linked her fingers. “Say it again?”
Draco straightened, forcing her to stand on her tip-toes on his shoes . He brushed her hair off her face, which he had dislodged in the spin of his declaration. “I lied to the court, but I did so unconsciously. There is one person for whom I would kill, and who I know, without her having to say it, because her actions have proven it--loves me. And it’s you. Please don’t leave me tonight, or any night hereafter.”
Hermione nodded. She inclined her head to kiss him, and smiled wryly. “So. What should we get for dinner?”
“Ms. Granger, for once, let me feed you.”
It was a lot, he had to admit, to contend with in one day. There was a heaviness in him, for the finality of his father’s life and the end of the trial, but one thing would remain constant in his life. It was more than he could ever have hoped for.
[draco x hermione] ▪️ summary: draco releases a boggart in the castle and hermione demands answers. ▪️ warnings: draco is lovesick and has one single brain cell.
“In my defense,” he panted, bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath, “the moon was full… and I was left unsupervised.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re not a werewolf.”
“No, but…” he gestured at the sky. “My moods are often tidal.”
“Aha. So, let me understand you.” Hermione pursed her lips and leaned against the cupboard door, which was currently shaking and vibrating. “You managed to let a boggart loose in the castle… because the moon is full.”
“It turned on me!”
“How am I supposed to convince thirty students to return to your Dark Arts class after you let the thing that mimics their fears escape?”
“Technically I didn’t let it escape--”
“I swear to Dumbledore’s ghost, Malfoy--”
“I didn’t! It turned on me and I--”
“And what, you got scared?”
“Listen, I’ll have you know that children aren’t the only ones with fears!”
“What’d you seen then? Big Spider?”
“No--”
“Huge clown? Any amount of responsibility? A snake with a top hat?”
“You! It looked… like, uh.” He scratched his head and looked away. “You.”
Hermione blinked. “Come again?”
Draco sighed and leaned against the wall, grabbing the stones for purchase. “Miss Weasley was frightened of her boggart, so I stepped in with riddikulus --except that when I stood in front of the girl… it turned into you. I sort of… froze up. You--it, the boggart I mean--were looking at me in just such a way.” He gestured to her now, face riddled with incredulity and arms crossed in utter annoyance. Her eyebrows raised and he blushed.
“Anyway, I couldn’t bring myself to say the banishing spell because I… have no desire to make you ridiculous. I couldn’t bring myself to laugh at your expense. Even if you’re a boggart. So.” Draco pushed off the wall. “I ushered the children outside the door and the boggart followed.”
Hermione nodded once and crossed to the doorway of his classroom, which she had slammed not five minutes earlier after containing the boggart for him. “Wait! I’m sorry, Hermion--Headmistress,” Draco said quickly. She paused at the door.
“You have a lot of nerve,” she murmured. “After all these years, after I sat for your trial, offered you a job… you still just… make a mockery of me.”
“I’m not… mocking you--”
She whirled on him. “You’re thoughtless. You don’t care how your words hurt--”
“I just said that I don’t get enjoyment from laughing at you!” He carded his hand through his hair. “I mean that. I’ll prove it.” Draco strode for the cupboard that Hermione had wrangled the boggart back into, and looked to her for permission.
“Fine. You have five minutes.”
“Stand over there so it doesn’t see you. If you please.” He pointed to the far side of the room.
Her heels rang against the stones; she did as he asked. Draco unwound the cord on the cupboard handles and drew his wand. He released the doors.
As the boggart emerged and honed in on its liberator, it shifted into a facsimile of Hermione--in full Headmistress regalia, but tinged by the way Draco viewed her… hair a bit more wild, eyes narrowed… deeply disapproving look on her face. But it advanced on him slowly and Draco froze up. He looked at the copy of her with such a pang of regret…
“There you have it.” His voice wavered.
“Do it,” she said quietly. Draco shook his head.
“I can’t.”
She brandished her wand. “ Riddikulus!” Immediately, the boggart shifted to how she looked as a first year student--big teeth, explosive curls, robes swallowing her up. But still, Draco didn’t laugh. He looked away. He sleeved his wand and shook his head, turning his back on the boggart.
Hermione flicked her wand at the boggart, which wheezed and curled back into the cupboard. She secured the doors with the cord and turned back to him. “Did you know that the boggart would take my form when it saw you in class?”
He shook his head. “An unfortunate occurrence which the students are sure to hold over my head forever.”
“I’m your greatest fear .” She sounded puzzled and… sad. “Why?”
His shoulders curved in as he sighed. “I don’t know. I would’ve put money on my father coming out of that cupboard. Imagine my mortification when it was you .”
“Hatred runs deep, I guess--”
“Stop. Please.” Draco put his hands on his hips and his head bent in resignation. “I don’t hate you. I feel… much differently. Hence my confusion, and frankly mortification that this has come to pass.”
“Can you explain it to me, then?” She asked.
He leveled his gaze with hers. “You’ll hear me out fully?”
She looked unbearably sad, but she nodded. “It’s my job to understand my professors, and I think it’s within your rights to explain yourself--”
“Just… pretend you’re not Headmistress. I don’t think you can hear me through that perspective--and not because you’re not a fair and just headmistress, but because that’s not why I… this happened.”
Hermione sat at one of the desks and nodded. “Very well.”
He took his cue from her and sat at the next desk over. His limbs were too long now, and he had to stretch his legs out to sit comfortably, but it was good neutral territory. Draco cleared his throat.
“Since my trial, things have been very… different. For me.” He rubbed his cheek. “My friends from that time have all disappeared into their grown-up lives, but still--none of them came to support me. But Potter did. And you did. Merlin knows why.”
“I believed you were innocent.”
“I know that,” he chuckled, despiste himself. “But you could’ve written testimony or sent an emissary on your behalf.”
“I didn’t feel like I could best represent myself unless I appeared in person.”
“And see, that-- that very thing has been occupying my mind for some time.” Draco glanced at her. “When you decide that something is worthwhile, you fight for it. Merlin knows why I deserved that distinction.”
Hermione reddened. “And that made you afraid of me?” Gone was her haughty Headmistress air… instead, she just looked distraught.
“Terrified. Hermione, you have infected me.” He sat up straighter. “I have a life and a purpose because you deigned to give it to me.”
“I didn’t do it out of pity.” She pulled her hair over one shoulder and tugged at a lock of it… almost nervously.
“I know. You don’t pity people. You give people chances.”
“You deserve to have a life you can be proud of.”
“It is utterly terrifying,” he said, “to have Hermione Granger expect things of you--expect you to be better and do better. I think about it every single day. I wake up worried that my students didn’t understand the lessons well enough. I have Potter go over my lesson plans before I start a new unit. Because I am terrified of proving you wrong.”
Hermione looked at him sideways, frowning. “You’ve already proven me right.”
Draco blanched. “I have?”
She sighed, closing her eyes. “You took the position when I offered it to you. If you weren’t worthy of it, you wouldn’t have accepted it.”
“I might have…”
“No, the Malfoy I knew when we were students would’ve thought teaching beneath him.” She smiled then. “Harry is impressed with you, though.”
Draco stood abruptly, running his hands over his face. “Gods!”
“What?” She touched his elbow. Draco stilled and looked down at her little hand on his arm. He slid his arm out of her grasp until her fingers met his.
“You have no idea what you’ve given me.” His eyes were shining. He squeezed her hand and released it. Slowly, Draco made for the classroom door.
“Draco, wait.” Hermione stood.
He looked back at her.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” she said, and it pained her to say it. “That’s not how I want you to think of me.”
“It’s not the whole of the emotion,” he said, smiling sadly.
Hermione moved to him and touched his shoulder, smoothing the wool at his lapel. “What can I do?”
His hands raised to cup her cheeks of their own volition and he shook his head. “I just… need to go think. For a while.”
“I could help.”
“Not tonight,” he said.
Hermione’s gaze flicked to his lips. She kissed him, just a soft press to feel how his lips felt with hers. When she pulled away, his eyes were shut in a stupor of surprise and… some other emotion. “Just… know that I have wanted to do that for a long time,” she whispered. “In case you wanted something else to dwell on.”
He peered at her in skepticism. “Is this the Headmistress talking, now?”
She laughed. “Every version of Hermione Granger is in agreement.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Still afraid of me.”
“Oh, it’s increased tenfold now,” he said. “But it’s a good scared. I think.”
[draco x hermione] ▪️ summary: hermione has cold feet. draco sends a note. ▪️ warnings: fluff!
“There’s a note for you, dear.” Molly set the envelope on her vanity. Hermione stared out the window but she nodded faintly. People milled about on the cobblestones below, moving flowers, plates of food, exchanging baskets and setting the stage for what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. She glanced at the clock. The hands seemed to freely float around the face.
She wanted to vomit.
This didn’t feel happy. It felt like a pageant for the things that their relationship had wrought. Capped with a massive cake and a mashed potato bar. A signature cocktail. A choreographed first dance. For what?
His parents hated her.
Hated. They had tried to get along, but all it took was one dinner eight years ago to know that they would never be her fan. It had hurt him. They way they rejected her outright… he had met with them privately several times afterwards, in fact. But they wouldn’t budge. Perhaps it was because she called Lucius a “facist nazi-sypathizing mer-man” after he insinuted that she was a man-hating slag. Draco took her side. He cut them out of his life. They cut him out of their will, and cut off his inheritance. He stuck by her. He was smart with his money, and she had her practice, so they were fine. They weren’t rich, but they didn’t hurt for basic comforts. The last week of the month they usually subsisted on a menu based entirely around ramen, but it didn’t matter. They had a tender thing.
When he had finally proposed, after eight years of dating and three trying to just talk to her about marriage, and Hermione staunchly insisting that nobody was crazy enough to bind themselves to her contractually for the rest of their lives, she had said “you’re bloody joking” and then burst into tears. It had taken about twenty minutes for him to calm her down enough to convince her that he wasn’t kidding, that he loved her, and that he thought she was beautiful with snot running down her face. And that ring. No diamonds. Just one emerald, and a silver band. Her fingertips worried the perfect ring.
Why did she feel like she was ruining his life?
In a white dress. In a veil. With two hundred guests waiting to watch him make the biggest mistake of his life. Saddling himself with a ball and chain with forty-one inch hips and an anxiety disorder. He loved her hips. He worshipped them. And, to his credit, he always cradled her when she had a panic.
Hermione gasped and bolted for the door. She had to stop this, call it off--run away. Convince him not to ruin himself with her. He was too good. Too dedicated. She reached for the doorknob… locked. She pounded on the door.
“...hello?” Molly answered from the other side. “Yes, dear?”
“Why is my door locked?” Hermione shouted, kicking at the base of the door.
“Read the note!”
“What?” Hermione huffed. The door wouldn’t budge. She had no tools. Normally she had her multi-tool, but it was packed away in her purse, in their suitcases for the honeymoon, which were at the hotel, where Draco was getting ready with his groomsmen. Couldn’t even pick the lock. Or take the door off its hinges.
“Read the letter, Hermione. It’s on your vanity.”
She snatched up the blue envelope, ripping the paper in desperation. There was a card inside, with two birds sitting on a wire printed on the front. One wore a top hat. She opened the card and huffed. His neat cursive filled the page.
Dearest,
Take a deep breath.
I love you.
I know you’re freaking out right now… you do that. I love that about you. You care so much about the way other people feel that you take it upon yourself to make their lives better, but today? Hermione, this party is for you. So no running, okay? You can’t change my mind. I’m in this for the long-haul. There’s nothing else for it. You have to marry me, or I won’t shut up about it.
You are the sun. Everything in my life revolves around the life I have built with you. You are midnight. You are the first rain of spring. Things happen because you give them purpose. You give me purpose. You are my family. And I know this because you still love me even when I’m a total arse. You don’t always like me, but you always give me a chance to explain myself. That’s what family does. What else could I want?
Which is why, you’re going to take another deep breath. You’re going to put your shoulders down. You’re going to knock on the door three times and then Mrs. Weasley will unlock it, take your arm, and lead you down the stairs. When you walk down the aisle, I’ll be waiting at the end of it. I’ll always wait for you, Hermione Granger.
Love,
Draco
Her hand raised slightly and paused, hovering over the white-stained birch. She knocked three even times. The lock slid back in the mechanism, and Molly opened the door. She smiled.
