Hermione froze where she stood, and Draco could see from his spot on the countertop that she was shaking faintly with rage. Abandoning his bowl of pasta, Draco cautiously made his way to Hermione. He placed a calming hand on her shoulder, and he could feel the crackle of magic surging through body. She was white hot with fury as she stared at Potter with narrowed eyes. "Are you sure?" she asked coldly.
Potter nodded tightly, the muscles in his neck straining, the vein there bulging. "Yes. He told me."
"He told you?" Hermione roared. "He tried to ruin Draco's life and he just fucking told you?"
Hermione had completely snapped. Waves of magic crackled off her, shocking Draco's fingertips. "Hermione," Draco murmured, in an attempt to calm her.
"No!" she shouted, pushing away his comfort.
"I asked him, and he admitted it," Potter replied, his eyes flashing to Draco.
Hermione rushed towards the Floo. "I'm going to kill him," she said.
"Hermione, wait—" Potter reached for Hermione in an effort to stop her, but magic rolled off her, sending him a painful zap. Potter flinched and pulled his hand away, looking desperately to Draco.
Draco rushed towards Hermione, who had just gathered a handful of Floo powder in her palm, when he reached her and pulled her away from the Floo, wrapping her tightly in his arms. Her magic sizzled against his skin, sending pops and zaps at random. Wincing, Draco did his best to ignore the burning sensation of her magical zaps, as painful as they were. "Hermione," he tried.
"Get off me!" she cried, resulting in a rather vicious crack of magic that landed squarely on Draco's chest.
"No," Draco said solemnly. "You have to calm down, Hermione—"
"No, I'm going—"
"You need to calm down. You're hurting me. You don't like me hurt, remember?" Draco said softly.
Hermione stilled in his arms and looked up at his face, just as another zap hit him and he winced. "Oh, gods," she cried, pulling away from him. "Let me go, I'm sorry!" Draco released her from his arms, and she took a step back, taking several deep breaths, calming herself. "I'm sorry," she repeated to Draco.
When it appeared that her magic had calmed, Draco drew her once more into his arms. "It's okay," he assured her.
"I specifically asked you if he had something on you, Malfoy, and you lied to me," Potter said in a hard voice. "What kind of shit are you into, Malfoy? What if Hermione gets hurt?"
"I didn't lie to you, Potter, because he doesn't have anything on me. I didn't do anything. And don't you dare imply that I'd do something to ever endanger Hermione—don't you dare," Draco replied coldly.
"Then what the fuck, Malfoy!" Potter cried, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefingers. "What the fuck?"
Draco sighed, returning Potter's exasperated facial expression. "On my 21st birthday, the Malfoy accounts and investments came into my name and became my responsibility. My father, he never taught me—he obviously wasn't expecting to go to prison, but that's beside the point—I don't understand a lot of the documents. I'd been slowly working through them for months when I found something that didn't quite add up. I'm not the best with math, so I had Hermione do the calculations for me. She confirmed they were short," Draco explained.
Potter's jaw was so tight it was twitching. "How short?"
"About 400,000 Galleons."
"Fuck, Malfoy," Potter exclaimed.
"I've been trying to figure out a way to fix it ever since, but I've come up with nothing, because I don't know what's wrong or how to fucking fix it."
"He hasn't done anything wrong, Harry," Hermione said softly.
"It was my father, Potter. Even from Azkaban he's finding ways to fuck up my life," he chuckled darkly.
Potter rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "You really had nothing to do with this?"
"Potter, I've only known about it a couple of months. I haven't done anything with the Malfoy holdings since they transferred to my name," Draco replied.
"I'm coming with you both to that meeting on Monday," Potter said.
Draco furrowed his brow in confusion. "Why?" he asked.
Potter sighed deeply. "Because despite my better judgement, I believe you, and what Ron did was wrong. He's not just hurting you, he's hurting her," he said, motioning to Hermione.
Draco looked down at Hermione, where she stood still in his arms. He rested his chin on her forehead. "Thank you, Potter," he said sincerely.
Potter nodded tightly once more. "I'll leave you two alone. Make sure you prepare for your meeting with Kingsley," he warned.
Draco nodded his head from where it rested atop Hermione's curls. Once Potter had disappeared in a flash of green light, Draco spoke softly to Hermione, "Hey, why don't we get some rest?"
Hermione looked up at him with a drawn expression. She looked completely exhausted. Draco wasn't sure how he'd missed it—there were dark purple circles under her eyes, and her eyelids were heavy from a clear lack of sleep. She was pale and seemed to have lost a bit of weight. Her curls were still unkempt and tangled. Draco was certain she hadn't spared a second for herself since the Aurors had knocked on her door. Hermione nodded at him weakly.
She'd spent so many days fighting for him, taking care of him, and she had completely let herself fall by the wayside in the process. Now, Draco reasoned, it was time for him to take care of her. He wasted no time in picking her up and clutching her protectively to his chest. "What are you doing?" she asked quietly.
"I'm taking care of you," Draco said simply. Hermione didn't argue, and instead nuzzled his neck, relaxing against him. He reached the bedroom and bent over the bed, gently depositing Hermione before sliding in next to her and pulling her in close.
"I'm sorry," she whispered into his neck, her breath tickling at his sensitive skin.
"Nonsense," Draco admonished, kissing her temple.
"Love you," she murmured, falling asleep quickly.
"I love you," Draco replied.
They slept for nearly 24 hours. Draco woke first, groggy and disoriented, his head feeling as if were full of cotton. Hermione was beside him, breathing evenly. She was clutching at Draco in her sleep—one arm thrown over his waist, her opposite hand tightly fisted in the fabric of his t-shirt. Draco sighed, running a light finger over the curve of her shoulder. She awakened with a start, hands reaching for him, her eyes wide. "Draco," she whispered.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he apologized.
Hermione squinted against the light streaming through the bedroom window. "How long have we been asleep?" she asked.
"At least a day," Draco replied.
She groaned faintly. "That explains why my head feels like this."
"You didn't sleep when I was gone?" Draco asked.
Her eyes flickered to his. "I couldn't. I tried, the first night. But when I closed my eyes, all I could see was you on the other side of that fucking table. The way they manhandled you."
Draco nodded. "I didn't sleep either."
She scooted closer to him on the bed, resting her head on his shoulder—the same position they always took when they talked in bed. "How bad was it?" she asked.
"Worse than anything you could probably imagine."
"Tell me?"
"It's so dirty and dark in there, Hermione. They lead you down this long dark tunnel, under the earth, I think. The last time you see the light, you're being processed. They take your picture and your fingerprints, then they make you strip and search you for weapons." Draco paused to shudder. "By the time they were done, I was glad to be out of the light. They took me to the cell, but not before all the other prisoners leered at me. There are now windows—no light—the only way to tell what time of day it is by meal delivery. Burnt toast for breakfast, overcooked rice for lunch, stale bread and soup for dinner. The cockroaches seemed to enjoy the food. The cot and blanket were filthy, so I stayed curled up in the corner most of the time."
Hermione was staring at him at abject horror, and Draco felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment, his eyes flickered away from her. "No," she said softly. "Look at me." He looked back at her, and she took his chin in her hand. "Don't hide from me. Don't ever hide yourself from me."
"I think I would've lost myself without you, Hermione," he whispered. "I just kept hearing you say I love you."
"Love fights Dark magic," she murmured.
"I love you," Draco said, tangling his fingers in her hair.
"I love you," she said back softly.
"Potter said we needed to prepare for the meeting with Shacklebolt, what exactly is expected of me?" Draco asked.
Hermione shrugged against him. "He'll want to see all of the documents, of course—and I'd like to run the numbers again, become more familiar with them so I can discuss that portion with him. Then, just tell the truth. Tell him you had nothing to do with it—that it was all your father."
"And you think he'll believe me? Do you think it will be enough?" he asked uncertainly.
"You'll have me and Harry there, and we carry a certain amount of trustworthiness," Hermione said, with a wrinkle of her nose. "And yes, I do think it will be enough. Kingsley is a reasonable man—and the law is archaic. He's not going to throw you in Azkaban because of what your father did. The notion is ridiculous."
"This is how it's been for a long time, Hermione," Draco said softly.
Hermione huffed against him. "It's still ridiculous, and I won't stand for it. Your father deserves his imprisonment, you do not."
"I know it's ridiculous," Draco replied, frustrated. "It's just how it is, okay?"
Hermione flinched against him. "Is it so bad to want things to be different?" she asked in a quiet voice.
"No, Hermione. No. I just—I don't want you getting your hopes up—"
"You aren't going back there," she said fiercely.
"Hermione—"
"No," she said coldly. "I will not let you go back. If this doesn't work out, I want you to run."
Draco looked over to her sharply. "What?"
"If there's even the slightest chance you will go back to Azkaban, I want you to run," she repeated.
"Hermione—" he began again.
"No," she said darkly. "I'm not stupid, Draco. I pored over the laws while you were in Azkaban—I know what's written there. I know. I remain optimistic about Kingsley, but I've always considered the possibility. Harry and I talked about it."
"About what?" he asked weakly.
"What we would do if things took a turn for the worse," she replied. "And I want you to run."
"What about you?" Draco asked softly.
Hermione nodded again. "Harry and I will make sure you aren't caught."
Draco stilled. "No. What about you?"
Her eyes flickered to his, dark and serious. "I'll keep you safe."
"Without you," Draco stated, his blood running cold.
"You'll die if you go back there, I know you will," she whispered.
"What about you, Hermione?" he asked desperately.
"I'd choose your life over us," Hermione replied. "Every time."
Draco stared at her for a long moment. "I don't want a life without you."
"And I want you alive," she argued.
"Why is Potter willing to help hide me, in the unlikely event I do run?" he asked suspiciously.
"The only person he loves more than me is Ginny. He's my brother. I asked for his help—he wasn't going to say no," she replied.
"My mother?" Draco asked.
"I would make sure she was taken care of," she assured.
Draco nodded. "I'm still not running. I'm not leaving you. I just got you, and I'd very much like to keep you."
Hermione smiled at him. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. But if it does—Draco, if you love me, you will run."
"No," he said forcefully. "Don't you dare, Hermione. Don't you dare. Don't treat my love for you like that. Don't you dare use it against me—to manipulate me."
"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she said quietly.
"Hermione—"
"Everything I do, I do out of love. I'm sure that you know that."
"Yes, I do know," he replied, kissing her temple. "We won't talk about it anymore. Let's talk about Monday," he offered.
Draco, Hermione, and Potter arrived at the Ministry of Magic, promptly at 8 a.m. on Monday morning. Draco was in his finest suit, Potter in his Auror robes, and Hermione in a fitted emerald green shift dress, which Draco could only chalk up to solidarity. Seeing the swarm of people in the hall of the Ministry, Draco immediately balked. It was too many people—too many faces—he didn't know the exits—
Hermione grasped his hand. "It's okay," she murmured.
Potter grumbled ahead of them, "What's the hold up? We're running late."
"Crowded places make him anxious—give him a second," Hermione said harshly. "We are perfectly on time."
Potter scowled but stilled.
Draco's breathing evened out and he squeezed Hermione's hand gratefully. "Ready?" she asked.
He was so nervous he couldn't speak, so he simply nodded.
Hermione and Potter were first-class company, so they were allowed to walk through the main doors of the Ministry, as opposed to the toilet-Floo system everyone else had to follow. Potter pulled the door of the defunct furniture store open and stepped inside. People were rushing back and forth, carrying briefcases and coffee—an early morning rush. Hermione's hand gripped his tightly.
One person saw, and then they all did. The whispers were deafening.
"That's Draco Malfoy?"
"—and Hermione Granger?"
"She's Imperiused, look at her!"
"That's Harry Potter!"
"Suppose he Imperiused them both?"
"Scum."
"Can't believe he'd show his face here."
"Do you think it's safe here? Should we leave?"
Hermione only gripped his hand harder. Her posture straightened proudly, and she looked straight ahead, ignoring everyone around her. She pulled him, and he followed. "Ignore them," she whispered.
Potter flanked Draco's other side, and when Draco looked at him questioningly, Potter replied, "They hate you. But as long as Hermione and I are here, you'll be fine."
"Great," Draco managed to reply, tightly.
They made it to the lift, and the single man riding it scurried out as soon as he saw Draco. Draco paled. "Ignore it," Hermione whispered to him again.
"Kind of hard to ignore, Hermione," he bit out. Her grip became like a vice on his hand. "You're hurting me."
Her grip loosened instantly. "Sorry," she said.
The lift stopped at level 1, and they all got off. Potter was the one to knock at Shacklebolt's door.
"Come in!" called a deep voice.
Potter turned the knob without hesitation, stepping inside Shacklebolt's office. "Hi, Kingsley. I've got Hermione and Malfoy with me."
"Ah, of course. Have a seat, all of you," said Shacklebolt. "Mr. Malfoy," he greeted.
Draco nodded his head in deference. "Minister Shacklebolt, sir."
"We are all here in the defense of Draco Lucius Malfoy, sir," Hermione began immediately. "He is innocent of the crimes he has been accused of."
"Fraud and embezzlement, was it?" Shacklebolt asked, as if he did not already know the answer.
"Yes, sir," Draco answered.
"How are you innocent, then?"
It was Hermione who answered: "Draco only came into possession of the accounts in June—by then the Galleons were already missing."
"Let him answer, Ms. Granger," Shacklebolt requested.
Hermione stilled, and her hand desperately found Draco's once again. Squeezing it gently, Draco replied, "Hermione is correct, sir. I've only had possession of the accounts since June. I've been reviewing them ever since, but I discovered that there were Galleons missing only a couple of months ago. I was uncertain, and I had Hermione look over the numbers for me."
Shacklebolt was staring at Draco and Hermione's clasped hands as he spoke, "You know the laws, yes?"
Draco nodded and paled.
"Kingsley, he didn't do anything wrong!" cried Hermione.
Shacklebolt sighed deeply. "I need your father, admitting it. In front of an Auror," Shacklebolt said, glancing towards Potter.
"I'll go," Potter offered.
Shacklebolt nodded. "Sufficient."
"For the record, I believe him, Kings. I don't know Malfoy very well, but I've seen how he treats Hermione. I don't think he'd put her in danger," Potter replied.
Hermione squeezed his hand.
"I wouldn't," Draco said tightly.
"That's what I just said, Malfoy," sneered Potter.
"Harry, Azkaban. I want Lucius on record saying he is responsible for this," Shacklebolt ordered.
Potter nodded. "Sir," he replied as he stood and made to leave.
Once Harry had left, Shacklebolt turned his attention to Draco and Hermione. "Unlikely," he mused.
"Sir?" Hermione asked.
"I've known you for a long time, Ms. Granger, and when you came to me requesting the release of Mr. Malfoy, I simply assumed it was one of your misguided missions—I certainly had no idea there was a romantic element," Shacklebolt replied.
"Would it have mattered, sir?" Hermione asked tightly.
Shacklebolt grinned at Hermione. "Certainly not. I am a reasonable man, after all."
"So what if Lucius denies it? What then?" Hermione pressed forward.
Shacklebolt drummed his fingers against the wood of desk. "I am uncertain," he finally answered.
"That's not good enough," Hermione said fiercely.
Draco turned his head sharply to look at her. He'd never seen her so determined, and it was all for him.
"The law as written is very clear," Shacklebolt said slowly.
"That law is ridiculous and archaic, Kingsley! You know it as well as I do!" She was fully yelling at the Minister for Magic now. Draco felt a sizzle of magic crackle at her fingertips where he held her hand.
"I do realize this, Ms. Granger. However, this is slightly unprecedented. The Malfoys have very few friends left in Britain—the public will want to see him punished."
"Damn what the public thinks! It isn't right!" Hermione shouted.
"Hermione," Shacklebolt warned, holding up a hand. "I understand your predicament, I really do. But this is a delicate situation."
Hermione's lips trembled in frustration, and Draco resisted the urge to run a finger over her lips, to smooth them, sooth her.
"If this were Harry or me, you'd make it all go away, and you know it," Hermione seethed.
"Your circumstances are vastly different," Shacklebolt argued.
"Why?" Hermione shot back. "Because we were on the winning side, and he was on the losing side? A side he was sold to, might I add!"
"Hermione," Draco said quietly, with a little shake of his head.
Hermione looked to him quickly, and taking in the expression on his face, relented. "Thank you for your time, Minister Shacklebolt," she said coldly, not looking the other man in the eye. Still gripping Draco's hand, she headed towards the door, effectively dragging him.
They didn't say a word as they rode the lift back to the Atrium, Hermione still seething beside him. He squeezed her fingers gently, trying to calm her.
Once they got to the Atrium, it was clear that word had gotten out that Draco Malfoy was at the Ministry of Magic with Hermione Granger, because the vast room was incredibly crowded, people milling about aimlessly. As soon as the door of the lift slid open, everyone's eyes shot to the door. It was then that mouths dropped, and the whispers started once more. Beside him, Hermione stood ramrod straight. She raised her head in defiance, her jaw tight, and her eyes flashed darkly at the people whispering in the Atrium. "Come on," she said forcefully, pulling him from the lift.
Draco wanted to dig in his heels and protest—preferring the safety and sanctity of the lift instead. He had no choice in the matter, however, as he followed Hermione from the lift. Besides the low din of whispers, the Atrium was absolutely silent. Draco lagged behind Hermione, and he lengthened his strides to catch up with her. He felt safer the closer he was to her—she was safer with him closer to her. The thought flashed through his head like a bolt of lightning: What if someone tries to hurt Hermione?
In an instant, Draco pushed away all of his anxiety and insecurity, and wrapped an arm around Hermione's narrow shoulders, pulling her into him closely. Mine, he said. Mine. People watched in curiosity and horror as they made their way through the Atrium. There was a flash of a camera, and Draco winced against the light, instinctively blocking Hermione.
They made their way out of the Ministry, and Hermione instantly apparated them to her flat. They came at each other instantly, a frenzy of lips and fingers and touch. "You shouting at Shacklebolt for me was a sight to behold, Hermione," Draco murmured against her lips.
"The last time I did something like that, you almost hexed me," she replied, kissing him again, her hands pushing the jacket of his suit from his shoulders.
"Mmm, I was a foolish man then. Because I found it highly erotic," he said, dropping his head so he could kiss at her neck.
Hermione gasped, her hands now fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
"You did the same," she said, groaning. "I could've—right there—when you wrapped your arm around me—"
"I was afraid someone would try to hurt you. And you're mine," Draco growled against her throat.
Hermione was pulling desperately at his belt buckle, and then the button of his trousers. "Want you," she muttered, kissing him again fiercely. She pushed them down, his boxers in tow, and Draco stepped out of them.
"Turn around," Draco ordered lowly. Hermione obeyed, and Draco slowly pulled down the zipper of her dress, revealing the smooth skin of her back. He pushed the dress from her shoulders, and it puddled on the floor. Hermione turned to face him, clad only in a green silk bra and knickers. Draco bit back a groan. "Is this new?" he asked softly, running a finger over the strap of her bra. Hermione's undergarments were mostly practical—cotton bras and knickers, and the occasional lacy thong—but he had never seen her in something so racy.
"Do you like it?" she asked shyly.
Draco smiled down at her. "I was just thinking earlier today how lovely you look in green," he murmured.
Hermione blushed lightly.
"Don't blush at me. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you'd been plotting to seduce me," Draco said with a chuckle.
"Is it working?" she asked with a smirk.
"I couldn't ever deny you," he replied, going back to her lips—desperate for another taste of her. "Want you, right now." His hands found her arse and he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist instantly as he pressed her up against the wall of her flat. Draco pulled her knickers to the side and slid into her in one smooth thrust, sighing in pleasure.
Hermione gasped as he entered her, and immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly. "Draco," she moaned.
He thrust into her steadily as she clung to him, her head resting against his shoulder as she licked and nipped at his neck. Draco shivered as she teased his sensitive flesh. Her legs wrapped tighter around him, pulling him deeper, and a loud groan escaped him.
The desperation that had immediately seized them both seemed to disappear, and Draco slowed his thrusts, rolling his hips deeply and sensually, and she met him, thrust for thrust, despite her awkward position against the wall. She was kissing at his shoulders, his chest—her hands ran over every inch of his bare skin—teasing him, exploring him.
With a particularly deep thrust, she moaned loudly, and once again dropped her head down to his shoulder, clinging to him as he thrust into her. Draco could tell she was getting close. "Look at me," he said hoarsely. She raised her head weakly to look at him, her eyes heavily lidded and dark with pleasure. Draco rested his forehead against hers as he continued to thrust. "I love you," he whispered to her fervently. She clenched around him at the words. "I love you," he repeated.
Hermione held onto him tighter, whimpering against him. A few more thrusts, and she was shaking and shuddering around him. She came quietly, clinging to him, her nails digging into his back.
Draco moaned lowly at the feeling of her clenching around him, and he thrust into her erratically. Hermione's eyes opened and she focused on his. Curling her fingers, she brushed them across his cheek. "Love you," she murmured, and Draco came undone, finding his release quickly, pressing her against the wall as he buried himself deep inside.
His breathing was hard as he held her against the wall, his arms trembling, his forehead still pressed to hers. He exhaled deeply, pressing a reverent kiss to her lips. Even as his arms ached, Draco refused to let her go. He pulled her away from the wall, wrapping his arms around her back to support her, and carried her into the bedroom, where he placed her on the bed before lying down beside her.
"Everyone knows now," she said quietly, after their breathing had finally evened out.
"I thought you wanted everyone to know?" Draco asked.
"I'm afraid someone will try to hurt you," she confided.
Draco reached out a hand, stroking the curve of her hip. "We'll protect each other."
Hermione nodded. "Yes."
You are mine and I am yours
"Why is Potter trying to help me?" he asked after a long moment.
"He likes you," she replied.
Draco scoffed. "Please."
"No," she insisted. "He does. He told me."
"What?"
"You make me happy," she said quietly.
"But I thought Weasley was his best friend?"
Hermione wrinkled her nose in thought. "He was—is. During the War, something happened. Ron left us. He came back, but I don't think Harry ever fully forgave him. Neither did I, actually. Things have been different ever since. They're still close—but it's different."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Draco asked.
"I'm his best friend."
"He's protective of you," Draco concluded.
"Very," she confirmed.
"And I've passed the test?" he asked.
"It seems so."
Draco sighed. "How odd. After all these years," he mused.
Hermione didn't respond, but simply ran a fingertip across his cheek.
"I wanted to be his friend, when we were young," Draco admitted.
"You had a funny way of going about it," Hermione replied with a small chuckle.
"Yes," Draco said, nipping lightly at her fingertips as they grazed his lips. "Well, he'll never have to worry about me."
Hermione looked to him with a puzzled look on her face.
"I'll never hurt you again, Hermine Granger," Draco promised.
She smiled widely at him before she was rolling over and straddling him. "Ready for round two, pretty boy?" she asked with a knowing smirk.
"Yes," Draco replied, gripping her hips. "With you, always."