"They've decided?" Hermione asked nervously.
Potter nodded. "Yes."
"Well?" Draco and Hermione and asked in unison.
Potter's face broke out in a smile. "They've accepted it."
Hermione exhaled audibly. "They did?" she asked in disbelief.
"They did," Potter confirmed, still smiling.
In an instant, Hermione had her arms wrapped around Potter. "Oh, Harry, thank you. Thank you, Harry!" she cried into his shoulder.
Potter hugged her back quickly before his eyes flashed to Draco. "You're welcome, 'Mione, but I'm afraid your boyfriend might hex me."
In truth, Draco wasn't jealous. Not of Potter—not anymore. He'd seen enough of their relationship to know that it was—and always had been—purely platonic. But in that moment, Draco was grateful for Potter. He needed her, in his arms, right now.
"Oh!" Hermione cried, rushing back to Draco and wrapping her arms around his neck. "I love you," she said, loud enough for Potter to hear.
"Love you," he murmured back, quieter, as he pulled her into his arms, holding her.
"You're to meet with Kingsley on Monday, to discuss the terms," Potter continued, mostly ignoring the display in front of him, his eyes focused on the wall.
"Monday?" Hermione asked loudly. "I can't—"
"You're not coming to this one, Hermione," Draco immediately interrupted.
"But—"
"No. You've already missed too many days of work on my account," Draco countered. "No more."
"Draco—"
"I'll go with him, 'Mione," Potter offered.
Hermione looked conflicted for a moment, her eyes searching Draco's. "You'll make sure he's okay?" Hermione asked, nervously.
"Yes," Potter confirmed.
"I'm right here," Draco said heatedly.
"You get so anxious sometimes you can hardly breathe, forgive me for—" Hermione began fiercely.
"I know," he interrupted, stroking her cheek. "I know. So Potter and I will see Shacklebolt on Monday, and everything is going to be okay."
"Yes," she agreed.
Potter sighed deeply from where he sat on the couch. "I'd love a spot of firewhiskey, if anyone's offering," he said loudly.
Hermione pulled away from Draco with a small chuckle. "Firewhiskies coming right up. Oh, Harry, are you hungry? I could make you—" she cut off with a thoughtful frown. "Eggs. We have eggs." She looked to Draco then. "We have not been eating right."
Potter laughed throatily. "Again, I could not be less interested in a plate of eggs."
"I'm pretty sure those eggs belong in the rubbish by now, Hermione," Draco added thoughtfully.
Hermione grimaced. "I made some for Crooks yesterday morning."
"I thought he looked particularly surly today," Potter noted, amused.
"Oh, hush, Harry, you know he doesn't like anyone but me—and now Draco," Hermione admonished.
"He liked Sirius!" Potter argued.
Hermione thought for a moment. "No, they were merely in cahoots."
As if on cue, Crookshanks wound his way through Draco's legs, purring aggressively. Draco bent down and easily took the massive orange cat in his arms, holding him to his chest like a baby. "Crookshanks and I are the best of pals, isn't that right, Crooks?" Draco asked the cat, whose eyes had closed in pleasure.
"Bizarre," Potter remarked. "Firewhiskey?" he prompted once more.
"Oh, right!" Hermione said, rushing towards the kitchen.
Potter sighed once more. "They're going to want everything, you know," he said, offhandedly.
Draco nodded. "I want all my belongings and my mother's—they can have everything else. I'll be taking Hermione there again for more books—anything she doesn't want is theirs."
"That's—that's rather reasonable, Malfoy," Potter remarked, seemingly surprised.
"I don't want the house, Potter," Draco said simply.
Hermione returned promptly with three tumblers of firewhiskey. "I figured now we could celebrate," she explained.
Draco placed Crookshanks on the couch, where he instantly curled up and fell asleep, as pleased as he was. Gratefully, Draco took the firewhiskey from Hermione and took a big gulp. "Cheers to this almost being fucking over," he muttered.
"Thank Merlin," Hermione said, clinking her glass with his as she perched on his lap.
"Cheers," Potter agreed, clinking his glass with each of theirs. "How was your trip to Malfoy Manor?"
Hermione took a sip of her firewhiskey, instantly flushing with the heat of the alcohol. She answered excitedly, "Wonderful, Harry. You should see the library—three floors! Of course, I barely even got through one today. I found all these rare potion books I'm ever so excited to read—"
"Hermione and her books," Potter said fondly, a light smile playing at his lips. "I can't tell you the number of times her love of books saved my life."
Hermione smiled at Potter. "At least ten, I should think."
Potter laughed again, taking another gulp of his firewhiskey. "At least ten," he agreed.
"If you'd like," Draco said quietly, to Hermione, "I'll take you back before the Ministry shows up to take everything."
Hermione's smile widened. "We won't have enough room in this flat for all the books," she said with a laugh.
"Don't let her fool you, Malfoy. That purple bag of hers? She put an undetectable Extension Charm on it years ago. Merlin only knows what's in there," said Potter mischievously.
"The one hanging on the doorknob of the closet?" Draco asked.
Hermione nodded. "I never know when I might need it," she defended.
"Hermione Granger, breaking the law," Draco mused. "Who would have thought?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I did keepRita Skeeter in a jar, remember?"
"She's not as innocent as she seems, Malfoy," said Potter. "I think we may have corrupted her over the years."
Draco's smile drooped a bit at the insinuation, and Hermione's hold on him tightened. "Yes, quite," he said simply.
"Have you heard from Ronald?" Hermione asked casually, broaching the subject.
Potter shook his head. "No," he replied. "A few days after Malfoy was released from Azkaban, he sent me an owl—taking some time off, he said, visiting Charlie in Romania."
Hermione nodded. "Good," she said simply.
Meanwhile, Draco was feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the mention of Weasley—the man who had threatened him, fractured his cheekbone, and had him thrown in Azkaban. His fingers began to twitch where they rested at Hermione's waist and he withdrew them hastily, taking a large gulp of firewhiskey with his free hand. He felt very suddenly as if he didn't belong.
The three of them had spent half their lives attached at the hip—almost every second together, fending off evil and saving the wizarding world as they knew it today. And Draco? Draco had been the villain of that story. I don't belong here, he thought. I've never belonged here. He took another swallow of firewhiskey, and then another, hastily emptying his glass. "Another, Potter?" Draco asked, already rising from the couch. Hermione frowned as he shifted her from his lap.
"Sure," Potter replied congenially.
Draco nodded and swiftly made his way into the kitchen, where he exhaled deeply before taking a swig of firewhiskey directly from the bottle. He didn't see that Hermione had followed him into the kitchen, her brow furrowed. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, approaching him.
Startled by her presence, Draco jumped, spilling a bit of firewhiskey. "Fine," he said quietly.
"Don't lie to me," Hermione said, wrapping her arms around his abdomen and pressing her head into his shoulder blades comfortingly. "You practically dropped me on the couch."
Draco let out a heavy sigh. "I just didn't like talking about Weasley," he admitted, pouring another glass of firewhiskey for himself and for Potter.
"So you came in here to get drunk?" she asked, tightening her hold on him.
"I—" he began, before cutting himself off, thinking about what he wanted to say to her. "I just needed to get out of there, Hermione."
"Come on," she encouraged. "We won't talk about him anymore."
"Okay," he agreed quietly, taking a glass of firewhiskey in each of his hands.
Following Hermione, Draco made his way back into the living room where he handed one of the glasses of firewhiskey to Potter, who thanked him with a slight tilt of his head.
Draco settled himself back on the couch and beckoned to Hermione apologetically. She obliged, sitting sideways on the couch and draping her legs over his lap, as if attempting to keep him in place. Feeling slightly guilty, Draco leaned forward and placed his tumbler of firewhiskey on the coffee table so he could massage Hermione's legging-clad calves. She looked to him appreciatively, a small smile on her face.
Across from them, Potter visibly grimaced as he took a swig of firewhiskey. "I'm still not used to this," he admitted.
"What's that, Potter?" Draco asked distractedly, kneading gently at knot he had found in Hermione's calf.
"You guys," Potter responded vaguely with a wave of his hand.
Hermione chuckled before taking her own swig of firewhiskey. "You are in our house, Harry."
"So it's settled, then?" Potter asked. "He'll be moving in with you?"
Hermione shrugged. "You said it yourself, Harry. He practically lives here already."
"Well, I'm happy for you two," Potter said sincerely, draining his glass of firewhiskey. "But I should get going, Gin'll be wondering where I am. I'll tell her the good news. I'll Floo here on Monday, Malfoy, about 8 a.m."
"Thanks, Potter," Draco replied, continuing his ministrations on Hermione's leg.
"Bye, Harry," Hermione said fondly.
Potter disappeared through the fireplace in a flash of green light.
Hermione sat up, pulling her legs away from him. "I didn't even think—" she began. "It was thoughtless of me to bring him up in front of you."
"It's fine, Hermione," he said quietly, even as he was feeling that it very much was not fine.
Hermione sighed, clearly not believing him. She gently smoothed his hair, peering deeply into his eyes, attempting to read him. Seemingly satisfied that he was all right, she pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I think I'm going to head to bed and start reading some of the books," she said quietly.
Draco nodded. "Okay. I think I'd like to watch a bit of the telly-whats-it before I head to bed, is that okay?"
Hermione smiled at him softly. "Yes. Don't stay up too long, though. I might start to miss you," she replied fondly.
"I won't," Draco promised, reaching for the remote, the telly roaring to life.
Hermione kissed his temple before she rose and walked quietly to the bedroom. Draco distinctly heard the rustling of clothes and then the bedsheets as Hermione audibly slid into bed. Satisfied that Hermione was cozy in bed, Draco reached for the glass of firewhiskey where it remained perched on the coffee table and drained it in one greedy gulp.
Truthfully, Draco could not have been less interested in the telly tonight, but anxiety and self-loathing were coursing through him. He just needed a few glasses of firewhiskey to steady himself, then he could comfortably join Hermione in bed. He didn't want to worry her, after all.
Quietly, Draco made his way to the kitchen, where he poured himself another glass of firewhiskey and gulped it down in three large swallows. Draco exhaled deeply as he felt the warmth of the liquor flood him, his fraying nerves calming slightly as the alcohol coursed through his blood.
One more glass, he reasoned, pouring another serving of the amber liquid, which he drank more slowly. When he finished, Draco was feeling loose and limber and much more content. Turning off the telewhat, he made his way to the bedroom where he found Hermione propped up against the pillows, wearing a t-shirt that belonged to Draco and a thick volume in her lap. Quietly, Draco undressed down to his boxers, slipping soundly into the bed next to Hermione.
Seeing him, Hermione closed her book and set it on the nightstand next to her before sliding down the bed so that she was face to face with him. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, a gentle hand passing over his cheek.
Draco found that he very much did not want to talk. Instead, he pressed his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. Hermione gasped against his lips, but responded, kissing him back. Draco pushed himself into her mouth, desperate for a taste of her, and Hermione threw her arms around him, pulling him closer and granting him entrance. With a growl, Draco ripped the t-shirt from her body, tossing it soundly across the room.
Hermione pulled away from him for just a moment. "Don't think for one second that I don't know what you're doing, Draco Malfoy," she whispered heatedly.
"Shh," he replied gently, kissing at the delicate curve of her neck. "No more talking." He sucked gently at the sensitive flesh of her throat, teasing it with his teeth, desperate to mark her—mark her as his, show that she belonged to no one but him. He sucked and nibbled at the elegant expanse of her neck as she sighed below him, clearly enjoying his ministrations as her fingers found purchase at the strands of hair at the nape of his neck, encouraging him.
As her marked her, his fingers found the hem of knickers, which he pushed down forcefully, desperate for more of her, for more of her touch. As he divested her of her knickers, Hermione's own fingers found his boxers, which she pushed down. Draco struggled to free himself, kicking his legs out before his boxers fell from his legs and down to the floor at the end of the bed.
Hermione eyed him, studying him, even as her eyes darkened with pleasure. Draco leaned forward, kissing her once more before he slid into her smoothly, groaning. He developed a languid pace, continuing to lick and kiss and bite at Hermione's throat. "Tell me you're mine," he murmured desperately against her throat. "Tell me," he begged.
Seeming to understand his desperation, Hermione took his face in her hands, pulling him to face her. "I'm yours," she said fiercely. "Yours," she promised. At this, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, pulling him in closer as he continued to thrust into her.
He did not last long in his desperation, and within minutes he was shuddering against Hermione before he collapsed on her chest. Absently, Hermione stroked at the sweaty locks of hair that had fallen into his face, pushing them back from his forehead. Finally, he spoke, "I'm okay now."
She was his. No one else's—certainly not Weasley's. It didn't matter that he wasn't part of the Golden Trio, it did not matter that they hadn't been friends as children. All that mattered was that she was his.
"Okay," she replied, wrapping her arms around his sweaty back, holding him close.
Draco made no attempt to move from her, and Hermione seemed content to let him lay there, wrapped in her arms. Draco pressed a gentle kiss to her chest, grateful for her. "Thank you," he said, knowing she'd understand him.
Draco awoke in a similar position the next morning, Hermione's arms wrapped protectively around him, and his head on her chest. Smiling lightly, Draco kissed her cheek softly, not wanting to wake her. Gently, he removed himself from her embrace.
Pulling on his boxers, he made his way to the kitchen where he looked around and indeed, he found only eggs and a loaf of moldy bread. Draco's stomach growled and he promptly frowned. A loud meow sounded behind him, and Draco turned to find Crookshanks looking very irritated. "I know, boy. I'm hungry, too," he told the cat, scratching a spot behind his ears.
Thinking quickly, Draco called for Jinxy, who appeared with a pop. "Master Draco, sirs!" Jinxy cried happily, wrapping her arms around his bare legs.
"Hi, Jinxy," Draco said pleasantly. "Do you think you could do me a favor?"
"Of course, sirs!" Jinxy replied excitedly.
"Could you fix us a spot of breakfast?" Draco asked. "We've been rubbish at shopping lately." He wrinkled his nose.
"Sirs, yes, sirs!" Jinxy cried happily. "Full English! Jinxy has everythings at home, sirs! Will bring it here!"
Draco smiled down at the little elf. "Thank you, Jinxy."
It was not long before Jinxy returned with two steaming plates, piled high with food. As per usual, Jinxy had outdone herself. Thanking Jinxy once more, Draco took the plates from Jinxy and headed back towards the bedroom, where Hermione was still sleeping soundly. Placing the plates on the nightstand next to her, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Wake up," he said softly.
"Mmm," Hermione murmured back, not opening her eyes.
"I have breakfast," he offered, chuckling.
"Eggs?" she muttered in distaste.
"Eggs," he confirmed. "And toast, and sausage, beans, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms," he then continued.
Hermione's eyes snapped open. "Where did all of this come from?" she asked as she sat up.
"Jinxy," Draco replied with a smirk, quickly handing her one of the plates, which she took gratefully. "Thought we could celebrate with a huge breakfast in bed."
"We really need to go grocery shopping," Hermione said as she took a large bite of toast.
"Send Jinxy," Draco replied, nibbling at a bit of bacon.
Hermione paused, looking to him quickly. "She wouldn't mind?" she asked slowly.
Draco shook his head. "Of course not. She thinks you're just lovely," he said with a smirk.
"I am lovely," she argued, even as a bit of egg yolk stuck to the corner of her mouth.
With a laugh, Draco leaned forward to take her lips with his, ensuring that the offending egg yolk disappeared. "You are," he agreed. "Just make her a list, she'll happily get whatever you want."
Hermione furrowed her brow. "It feels odd," she admitted.
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Hermione. This was precisely what you wanted, remember? House elves freed and working for fair wages?" Draco asked.
"I suppose you're right," she replied, nodding. "As long as she doesn't mind," Hermione added hastily.
"Ask her, she'll be thrilled," Draco said, smirking.
"I will!" Hermione said, laughing and eating a piece of sausage with her fingers.
"Maybe put on a shirt first," Draco said thoughtfully. "I have a tendency towards jealousy."
Laughing, she chucked a large mushroom at his head. "Foolish," she said.
Draco reflexively caught the mushroom as it sailed past his ear and tucked it into his mouth. "You'll pay for that," he said darkly.
"Oh?" she asked suggestively.
"Mmm," he agreed, kissing her soundly.
"You're in a better mood," she mused after a moment, quietly.
Draco nodded, choosing his words carefully. "It was a lot—last night. But it's good news."
"I'm sorry—" she began.
Draco silenced her with a kiss. "No," he said quietly. "You had a life, before me. I have to remember that."
Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes," she said softly.
"So, I was thinking," Draco began, deftly changing the subject, "If you'd like, we could revisit the Manor today. I'm not certain what Shacklebolt's terms will entail, but I want you to have all the books you want."
"Can we go to the second floor today?" she asked shyly.
"Yes," Draco said immediately. "Of course."
Hermione beamed at him, before hurriedly eating the rest of her breakfast and dressing quickly. "I'm ready," she said excitedly.
Draco laughed, having just swallowed a bite of bacon. "Give me a few minutes! Go see Jinxy, make a list for her," he offered, motioning towards the kitchen.
Hermione huffed at him impatiently before she headed towards the kitchen.
Not wanting to keep his witch waiting any longer, Draco finished his breakfast hurriedly before changing into the first clean set of clothes he could find and heading to the kitchen where Hermione was just finishing up her list. Seeing him, she smiled again. "Add whatever you want," she said, motioning to the scrap of parchment.
Draco scanned her list, thinking it was very comprehensive—and what else would he expect from Hermione Granger? Only one thing was missing, he thought. At the very bottom, he scribbled Ogden's, 2 bottles. Straightening, Draco headed towards Hermione. "Ready?" he asked.
"Yes," Hermione replied hurriedly.
Draco was still chuckling as he apparated them away, directly into the library of Malfoy Manor. Instantly, Hermione made her towards the spiraling set of stairs on the far side of the room. "Hey," Draco said quietly, grabbing her elbow. "Remember what I said?"
Hermione bit her lip. "I got excited," she said, apologetically.
"I know," he said with a small smile. "But I can't let you run free up there."
Hermione held out her hand. "Come with me?" she asked.
Gladly, Draco twined his fingers with hers. "Of course," he agreed. Hand in hand, he led her up the winding staircase. Reaching the landing, he held onto her fingers tighter. "There's some dark shit in here," he began. "But like I said, none of it will ever hurt me, and if you're with me, it can't hurt you. I promise you."
Hermione smiled at him. "I know you'd never let anything hurt me, Draco," she said softly.
"Good," he said, squeezing her fingers for a moment before pushing the door open.
Draco stepped inside, pulling Hermione. The second floor was much smaller than the first, and much darker. There were fewer tables, and no comfortable armchairs. The sparse furniture was old-fashioned and elegant, and entirely uncomfortable. "Creepy," Hermione remarked, hesitating.
"A bit," Draco agreed. "Come on—there's nothing too terrible here."
"Maybe we should stick with downstairs—" she began.
"Watch," he interrupted. Her hand not leaving his, Draco walked towards a nearby shelf and picked up a text he knew to be particularly volatile. Opening it with his free hand, the book began to hiss and growl at him. After a moment, the book quieted, and began to whimper. "See?"
"What was that book supposed to do?" she asked quietly.
Draco shrugged. "Not entirely sure. Snapped someone's neck once, a hundred or so years ago. Another time it pushed someone clear out the window. That one survived, but he was a bit banged up."
Hermione looked horrified.
"Relax, Hermione," he said, putting the book back. "Look, let's head to the potions section. If you're still uncomfortable, we'll go back downstairs."
Hermione's curiosity clearly got the better of her. "Okay," she agreed, her fingers tight around his own, her palm sweating.
Draco led her towards the back, where the majority of the potion books were located. This was among the least volatile sections of the library, but he found himself unwilling to let go of her hand, just in case.
She perused the titles quietly, looking to him for permission each time she wanted to touch a book. Most were innocent, and he nodded, encouraging her to take them. Others, he was unsure of, deigning to pull the book from the shelf himself, canceling curses, hexes, and jinxes whenever he could so that she could safely read them.
After the fifth book he had successfully made safe for her, she murmured a quiet, "I love you."
Draco smiled. "I love you," he said, seeking her lips with his own.
Most of the books she chose were about memory, he noticed. Gathering his courage, he finally asked the question that had plagued his mind for many months now. "Their memories," he asked softly. "Did you try to restore them?"
"Yes," she confirmed.
"And it didn't work?" Draco asked dumbly.
"No," Hermione said dully.
Draco sighed. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"There's always another book—another technique," she replied.
"There is," he agreed.
"Maybe one day it will work," Hermione said weakly.
Draco could see Hermione quickly unraveling. "How many times have you tried?" he asked.
"Three," she said quietly.
Draco exhaled deeply as he saw her eyes shine wet with tears. Dropping her hand, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. Against him, she let out a choked sob. Hermione said nothing, crying freely against his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said tearily, apologizing for her display of emotion.
"What did I tell you?" Draco said gently. "You get to be sad about it, Hermione. You get to cry about it if you want to."
"I'm soaking your shirt," she cried weakly, a strangled sob escaping.
Draco chuckled. "I don't care about a silly thing like that," he replied, gently stroking the length of her spine.
Hermione laughed, even as she cried. Pulling away slightly, she rubbed furiously at her eyes, pushing away the remaining tears. "It's easy, when I keep it to books, to research," she explained quietly.
Draco nodded, pushing her hands away, clearing the tears for her with the pads of his fingers.
"Sometimes I forget the purpose—until, of course, I'm reminded."
She huffed a deep breath, seeming to gather herself. "Okay," she said determinedly, turning back to the books.
"Hey," he said softly, pulling her back. "Don't push it down for my benefit. Let me be strong for you for once."
Hermione shook her head, even as she threaded her fingers with his. "There's no point in me standing around and crying about it—it's not productive. I'd rather keep searching, trying. That's the only thing that will make feel better."
"Ever the pragmatist," Draco mused, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
Hermione stilled, and her eyes flitted away from his, before she spoke softly, "Next time I go to Australia, will you come with me?"
Draco smiled. "Of course I will, Hermione," he replied. "Of course I will.