"Hello, darling," Narcissa said cheerily. "Miss Granger."
"Hello, Mother," replied Draco. "This is my girlfriend, Hermione."
"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione greeted politely.
"It is such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger," Narcissa said, rising gracefully from her seat to get closer to Hermione. "Under better circumstances," she instantly corrected, before leaning forward to air kiss Hermione on both of her cheeks, and Hermione awkwardly attempting to reciprocate.
"Please, Mother, we are not in France," Draco said with a grin and an encouraging squeeze to Hermione's hand.
"Forgive me, Miss Granger," Narcissa said to Hermione. "Some habits die a very hard death."
"That's all right, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione replied with furious blush. "Please, call me Hermione."
"Oh, Hermione," she said. "Such a lovely name. Well, then you must simply call me Narcissa. Please, you two, come sit. I've had some tea and biscuits brought up from the kitchens. And, well, it's horribly bland, but beggars cannot be choosers, I suppose."
Hermione glanced to Draco for reassurance, and he smiled at her lightly. You're okay, he ached to tell her. Draco led her to the two chairs that sat across a small tea table that sat near the window of his mother's room.
With precision, Narcissa poured them all cups of steaming tea without spilling a drop. "Hermione, darling, how do you take your tea?" Narcissa asked her politely.
Hermione faltered for a moment. "Um—" she began.
"A splash of milk, Mother, and three sugars," Draco answered for her, resting his palm on her knee and offering a gentle squeeze.
Narcissa smiled and began to make Hermione's tea for her, before placing it on the saucer before her. "Now, Hermione, Draco tells me you have a potions shop?"
Hermione took a quick sip of tea and seemed to right herself. "Yes, I do. In Diagon Alley—it's called Elixir."
"And a Master's in Potioneering? That's a very difficult course of study—quite impressive," Narcissa continued.
Hermione nodded as she politely took a biscuit, nibbling it thoughtfully. "Yes, it was very difficult—quite possibly the most difficult bit of schooling I've ever done. But I have always adored potions. I consider them a bit of an art form, actually," Hermione answered a bit shyly.
"I'm certain you're aware, Mother, but Hermione is rather brilliant," Draco said fondly.
"I remember from your school days. You were always so frustrated that she made better marks than you," Narcissa said with a chuckle.
"I worked my arse off to best you," Draco admitted, looking to Hermione sheepishly.
"He did," Narcissa said, looking to Hermione with a slight gleam in her eye. "He'd study all of holiday break, just hoping to keep up with you."
"Now, Mother, that's just embarrassing," Draco admonished. "It wasn't all of break, I assure you."
"Certainly," Hermione replied teasingly.
"I was never much with Potions," Narcissa admitted, nibbling at her own biscuit. "I vastly preferred Charms—so elegant, don't you think?—even if it was never my best subject." At Hermione's curious expression, Narcissa continued. "Divination, unfortunately," she admitted. "A bit of Seer in my blood, apparently."
"Divination?" Hermione asked, her brows furrowed.
"Hermione is not a fan of Divination," Draco explained. "Only class I probably could have beat her in."
"Ah, well certainly not with Trelawney teaching it!" huffed Narcissa. "She's as batty as they come."
"I certainly won't argue with that," replied Hermione.
"No, Divination is not what Trelawney makes it out to be. No tea leaves or crystal balls—that's all nonsense. No—real Sight is much different than that. It's much more subtle," said Narcissa. "I used to have glimpses—flashes, really. When I was a child, I didn't realize what they were. But when I was 10, I had flash—me, with the Sorting Hat, getting sorted into Slytherin. And then it happened."
"So you can tell the future?" Hermione asked skeptically.
"No, no, darling. Nothing like that. I simply see glimpses of what the Sight wants me to see. My favorite one—Draco, darling, have you told her this? No? Well—Lucius and I tried to get pregnant for several years before Draco came along, to the point where we had given up hope. I saw several Healers and they all told me that it was unlikely. One day, I was sitting out in the garden with Priscilla, and I got the most beautiful flash—the most handsome little boy with white blonde hair," she said, glancing fondly to Draco. "A year later, my Draco was born."
"Wow," Hermione said, clearly intrigued. "That's incredible."
"It is a rare gift—true Sight. I don't pretend to possess it," said Narcissa. "If I had, I would have been able to See all the unpleasantness that was to come, wouldn't I?"
"I suppose," Hermione relented, her eyes fixed intently on Narcissa.
"On a serious note, Hermione," Narcissa began, "I would like to apologize to what happened to you in my home."
Beside him, Hermione's form went still. Gently, Draco squeezed her knee. "Oh," she said quietly.
"I am so deeply sorry, Hermione," Narcissa continued softly. "If I had known—at any rate, I should have stopped it—"
Hermione held up her hand, shaking her head. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Draco. There was nothing either one of you could do without endangering yourselves."
"I just would like you to know that I am sorry," Narcissa continued.
"I appreciate that," Hermione said kindly. "And I don't fault you for it, Narcissa. Just as I don't fault Draco."
Narcissa nodded, her eyes downcast. "You have to understand, Hermione, that I've made many mistakes in my life. Those years—that War, was by far the greatest."
"You have to do what you have to do to protect the things that matter the most to you," Hermione replied sagely.
"Yes," Narcissa agreed, hanging her head. "Unfortunately, I failed."
"Mother," admonished Draco.
"Will you keep him safe, Hermione?" Narcissa asked urgently.
Hermione, her eyes still transfixed on his mother, nodded vigorously. "I love your son, Narcissa," she said fiercely. "And I will do everything in my power to keep him safe."
Narcissa looked relieved. "Thank you," she said quietly.
Draco looked to his mother, and then to Hermione. Something important had clearly passed between the two women. His mother was now smiling brightly at Hermione—a smile that Hermione returned. It was going better than he had ever even hoped. After his conversation with his mother, Draco had known that there was no other outcome; his mother would certainly adore Hermione, just as he adored her. A swell of affection nearly overwhelmed him, and without thinking, Draco grabbed Hermione's hand, twining his fingers with hers. Hermione turned away from Narcissa to face him, smiling beatifically up at him.
He loved her. Gods, how he loved her. He loved her, more than he could express into words. More than the sun, the moon, and the stars. Certainly more than he loved himself. Without a word, Draco pulled her fingers to her lips, kissing the back of her hand gently.
When Draco turned back to his mother, her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. "You have quite the witch here, Draco," she said softly. "You better take care of her."
"I will," he vowed, both to his mother and to Hermione. "I will."
"He treats you right, my son?" Narcissa asked, turning back to Hermione.
Hermione instantly nodded. "He treats me like a queen, Narcissa, I assure you."
"Good. Very good. I always taught my son to treat ladies with the utmost respect, I'm glad to hear that some of it has taken," Narcissa mused.
"I have always been a gentleman," Draco sniffed in reply.
Next to him, Hermione scoffed. "Debatable," she replied with a roll of her eyes.
"You were a rather rude little boy," Narcissa agreed.
Draco sighed. "Yes, yes, I was a little git back at Hogwarts—you know, I hadn't really heard that before," Draco replied, rolling his eyes.
"Just teasing you," Hermione said with a chuckle and a squeeze of his hand.
"This has been just so lovely," said Narcissa with a smile, sitting up straight in her chair and delicately clasping her hands together in her lap, tea and biscuits abandoned. "I'm so glad you could join my son today, Hermione."
"It has been a pleasure," Hermione agreed, smiling brightly.
"Should I see if Potter's here?" Draco asked, mostly to Hermione.
Hermione nodded, not looking at him.
With a gentle squeeze to Hermione's shoulder, Draco rose and made his way outside of his mother's room, where he found Potter sitting on a nearby bench, fidgeting. "Potter," he greeted simply.
Potter's eyes darted to his nervously. "Hey, Malfoy," he replied.
Draco couldn't help but chuckle. "Merlin, you look even more nervous than Hermione did," he remarked.
Potter narrowed his eyes. "Where is 'Mione?" he asked.
Draco shrugged, taking a seat next to the other man. "She's in there with my mother."
"You left them alone?" Potter asked heatedly, turning to face Draco fully.
"Relax, Potter," Draco said, clapping the man on the shoulder. "They're getting on rather fabulously. Fairly certain my mother is half in love with her already."
"Really?" Potter asked in disbelief.
"Really," Draco confirmed, picking a piece of invisible lint from his trousers. "You ready?"
Potter let out a loud sigh before he stood. "Yeah, I suppose."
Draco, too, stood and led the way to his mother's room. Pushing open the door, he was met with Hermione, gesticulating wildly with her hands as Narcissa laughed and clapped her hands together in delight. He could not help the smile that crossed his face at the scene. "What are we laughing about?" he asked.
Hermione looked to him, still laughing. "I was telling your mother about the first time I turned on the telly," she replied.
"You love telling that story, don't you?" Draco asked with a shake of his head. "Mother, do you even know what a telly is?"
Narcissa waved her hands. "It's not a terribly difficult concept to understand, darling," she replied, chuckling. "My sister did marry a Muggle-born, after all."
"I didn't think you talked to Aunt Andromeda?" Draco asked, his brows furrowing.
Narcissa winked at him. "That's the official story, darling," she said conspiratorially. "What your father didn't know, certainly didn't hurt him."
Draco shook his head in disbelief. "Merlin," he said quietly. After a moment, Draco realized that Potter was still there, standing behind him awkwardly. "Oh, Mother! I'm sure you remember Potter."
Potter took a step forward, waving awkwardly. "Hello, hi," he said.
"Oh, Narcissa," said Hermione excitedly. "This is my best friend, Harry."
"Mr. Potter, certainly. I remember you," Narcissa said genially. "Please, come sit, join us."
Potter obeyed, walking further into the room before sitting down, inadvertently taking Draco's seat. Draco, however, was content to stand behind Hermione, his hands gently grasping her shoulders.
"Thank you for allowing me to visit you, Mrs. Malfoy," Potter said graciously.
"Nonsense, Mr. Potter, the pleasure is all mine," Narcissa replied with a wave of her hand.
"I just—" Potter began unceremoniously, "I just never got to thank you, is all," he finished dumbly.
Narcissa stilled, her face suddenly completely devoid of all expression. "Hermione, Draco," she said coolly. "Would you mind giving me and Mr. Potter a moment alone?"
Draco squeezed Hermione's shoulders, and she seemed to understand in an instant. "Of course," Hermione replied with a smile, standing and allowing Draco to steer her out of the room by her shoulders. As soon as the door closed behind them quietly, Hermione whirled to face him. Taking his chin in her hand, she pulled his face down towards her, before kissing him lightly on the lips. "She's wonderful, Draco," she said. "I see why you love her so much."
He sighed and dropped his forehead down to hers. "Thank you for coming with me," he said softly. "I'm glad you got to meet her—like this."
"Me, too," Hermione replied, closing her eyes.
"What do you think they're talking about?" Draco asked.
Hermione shrugged. "He just wanted to thank her, that's all. It's actually a very emotional thing for him—don't tell him I told you that," she added hastily.
"Never," he replied, chuckling. They stood like this for several minutes until Draco steered Hermione to the nearby bench he had found Potter on earlier. They sat, and Draco threw his arm around Hermione's shoulders, content to wait with her. Hermione rested her head against his shoulder, promptly closing her eyes and letting out a deep breath. "You woke up too early," he said quietly, gently kissing the top of her head.
Against him, she yawned. "I did," she agreed. "I was nervous."
"You were perfect," Draco mused.
"When we get home, can we take a nap?" Hermione asked, an odd request for her.
"A naked nap?" he asked lowly, into her ear.
He could tell she rolled her eyes without seeing it. "If we must," she said quietly, chuckling.
"Whatever you want, Sweetheart," Draco replied, his pet name for her falling unwittingly from his lips. He couldn't help it—his affection for her was too great in this moment.
Potter took such a long time with his mother, that Hermione eventually fell asleep against his shoulder, lightly snoring. Finally, Potter appeared, his face red and splotchy. He nodded briefly to Draco before disappearing down the hall. "Goodbye to you, too," he muttered, loudly enough to wake Hermione.
"Hmm," she said sleepily into his shoulder.
"Potter's gone," Draco said softly. "I'm certain visiting hours are almost over. Would you like to say goodbye to my mother?"
Hermione raised her head before stretching her limbs out. "Yes, let's say goodbye."
Lacing her fingers with his own, Draco led Hermione back to his mother's room, where they found her sitting pensively at the window. "Mother?" Draco called.
Narcissa immediately turned to them. "Draco, Hermione," she said, smiling softly. "You're still here."
"Of course," Draco replied. "Visiting hours are almost over, though—we just wanted to say goodbye."
Narcissa rose from her seat at the window and made her way first to Draco, pulling him into her arms fiercely. "My lovely, lovely son," she murmured. "I love you so dearly, Draco."
"I love you, too, Mother," he replied quietly.
"Goodbye, my darling," his mother said, pulling away before making her way to Hermione. Hermione was clearly surprised when his mother pulled her in just as fiercely as she had done Draco. For several seconds, his mother whispered rapidly into Hermione's ear, so lowly that Draco could not overhear. As she pulled away, his mother took Hermione's face into her hands, nodding at her seriously. Hermione bit her lip and nodded back, before her eyes shot to Draco.
"Goodbye, my dears," Narcissa said congenially, smiling at them before returning to her seat at the window.
"Goodbye, Mother," Draco replied, smiling back.
With that, Draco and Hermione left St. Mungo's.
Draco and Hermione awoke from their naked nap several hours later, Hermione's warm breath ghosting over the skin of his chest as she pressed a soft kiss to the very center of his abdomen, causing his skin to pebble and his cock to twitch. "Did you have a nice nap?" he asked, watching as she kissed her way up his abdomen, his chest, then along the curve of his neck before she finally reached his lips, pecking him lightly.
"I did," she confirmed.
"Good," Draco replied, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her down over his body.
"And you?" she asked, bringing her arms up to wrap behind his neck.
Draco nuzzled affectionately against her neck. "I feel most rested, Ms. Granger."
"What time do we have to be at Astoria's?" she asked, resting her cheek against his.
"Hmm, 7," Draco replied, closing his eyes again.
"Perfect. Plenty of time for this, then," she hummed, kissing his cheek before cuddling back into him.
Hermione wasn't typically the cuddling type—her mind typically moved far too quickly for that type of thing. She'd lean against him as they watched the telly, and they'd curl themselves around each other in the evening at bedtime, certainly, and she always allowed a few minutes after sex—no more than 10, he'd quickly found out—but during the day, cuddling rarely occurred. "You're feeling affectionate today," he mused.
"Yes," she confirmed, draping an arm across his abdomen.
"You don't usually let me cuddle you in the middle of the day," Draco said, pulling her into him tighter.
"You shared something very important with me today," she began softly. "And I just—"
"What?" he asked gently, stroking her spine.
"I know I'm lot," Hermione admitted. "I think too much. I can be overly analytical to the point where logic supersedes my feelings. I work too hard, and I read too much—this I know. I'm not always open with you when I should be."
"Hermione—" Draco began.
"I push my feelings down when they become too uncomfortable," she continued, ignoring him. "You've never done that with me. And today, your mother—" Hermione paused.
"Tell me," he urged.
"I don't think you know how vulnerable you are with me," she said.
"Is that bad?" he asked quietly, ceasing his ministrations on her spine.
"No, no!" Hermione replied, raising herself up on her forearms to look at him. "You don't push your feelings down when you're around me—you come to me when you need me. I wish I could do the same."
"You can," Draco said gently.
"I know I can. I just—" she sighed. "I've been pushing my feelings down for too long, I suppose. So, what I'm trying to say, really, is that perhaps I owe you a bit more cuddle time."
Draco stroked thoughtfully at her hair for a moment. "I will never complain about extra cuddle time with you," he began. "And I understand the whole bit about pushing down your emotions—I get it. But you can talk to me about anything, Hermione. I need you to know that."
"I know," she said quietly, her voice warbling slightly.
"Hermione?" Draco asked.
There was a long silence before Hermione spoke again, "I miss my mum," she said quietly. The dam broke, and she was sobbing into his chest fully. "I miss my mum so much, Draco."
It was impossible to pull her any closer, so he enveloped her body, wrapping himself around her as best he could—her head tucked beneath his chin, his calves pressing against the undersides of her feet. Draco had no words, so he said none. He simply held onto her as she cried. She seemed grateful for him and for his silence as she clutched at him, her fingernails digging despairingly into his chest. After a while, her cries began to quiet, and Draco finally felt like he needed to speak: "I love you," he said simply.
Hermione sniffed against him. "I've never said the words before," she admitted, tears still wetting his chest.
"Do you want to go see them?" Draco asked.
Hermione stilled next to him for a moment before nodding against. "Yes," she replied.
"We'll go then—next weekend."
"They don't know me," she whispered.
"But you know them," Draco reasoned. "We'll go see them."
"The last time I saw them," Hermione said quietly, "they were talking about getting a dog." She laughed. "I always wanted a dog growing up, but they never let me get one. They worked too much."
"Do you want a dog?" Draco asked.
Hermione laughed. "I'm perfectly happy with Crooks, because as it turns out, I work too much. Do you want a dog?"
Draco shrugged. "I was never allowed any pets as a child. I'm happy with Crooks—"
—Crookshanks, as if on cue, hopped onto the bed, settling himself on Draco's pillow, directly above his head—
"—but if you wanted a dog, we could get one."
"I think you're missing the point," Hermione said, frowning.
Draco sighed. "I'm not. I know what you're saying. I just want you happy—and I hate seeing you cry," he replied, scratching absently at a random spot on Crookshanks' body. Anyways, could you imagine Crooks with a dog?"
"He got along fairly well with an animagus dog," she replied, chuckling slightly.
"Naturally," Draco said, now scratching at Crookshanks' neck as the half-Kneazle shoved it forcefully into his hand.
"How would we get a Portkey for next weekend?" Hermione asked quietly.
"Darling," he teased, "you forget I'm friends with the renowned Harry Potter."
"Admitting it, finally, are you?" Hermione asked, jokingly.
"Yes," Draco replied with disdainful sniff.
"I knew it."
"Only because of you."
"Right."
"Your boundless optimism—"
"You both like each other—"
"He is tolerable at best—"
"You are so foolish—"
"Gods, I fucking adore you—"
She silenced him with a kiss. "Thank you," she said quietly, laying back down on his chest, directly over his heart.
"Of course," he replied, stroking her curls where they laid against his chest. "I'll ask him about acquiring one when he inevitably bursts through your Floo completely unannounced."
Against him, Hermione laughed. "I really should have a chat with him about that."
"One day you're going to forget the lock the Floo and he'll burst in on something he'll truly never be able to forget," Draco mused.
"Well, that would probably solve the problem permanently, don't you think?" Hermione replied thoughtfully.
"Mmm," Draco hummed. "It is within the realm of possibility, I suppose. On the other hand, I'm afraid that Potter's tenacity knows no bounds."
"Aww, you know him so well now," she teased.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Knew you'd be smug," he muttered.
"What's that now?" Hermione asked, still teasing.
"Nothing," Draco replied easily. "I'd never utter a bad word about you."
Lazily, Hermione threw an arm over his abdomen. "This is kind of nice, actually," she admitted quietly.
"I think so, too," Draco replied, kissing her curls gently. "Your mind's racing, though, isn't it?" he asked.
"It is," Hermione confirmed with a sigh.
"All good things must come to an end, I suppose," Draco lamented, relaxing his hold on her.
In an instant, Hermione rolled away from him and hopped off the bed. Within a few minutes, she had redressed in a pair of Muggle denims and a flannel shirt. "Sorry," she said apologetically, rolling up her sleeves. "But I've got a lot of work to do if I'm going to transform the second bedroom into a library in under 30 days."
"You weren't kidding about dating me for my library, were you?" he asked, smiling.
"Completely serious," Hermione replied, smirking. Pulling on a pair of thick socks, she sat down on the bed, kissing him affectionately on the cheek in the process.
"Need my help?" he asked, playing with the fingers of her right hand.
"No," she said. "I'm sure I can manage. I know how you like to lounge about."
"Hmm," he agreed, falling back against the pillows. "I'm still in desperate need of cuddles, I'll have you know. Come here, Crooks."
"If I'm not back by 5:30, come and get me," Hermione said grimly, almost as if she was headed into a battle. "You know how I get with books."
"I'm going to lose you to this library, aren't I?" he asked morosely.
"Maybe for a bit," she answered honestly. "But I'm certain you'll figure out a way to lure me back."
"Are you suggesting something untoward, Hermione?"
"I certainly am," Hermione said happily, pulling away from him. "5:30," she reminded him.
Draco did not need to have the Sight to know that he'd have to drag Hermione away from her future library. "5:30," he agreed, smiling.
5:30 came and went, but Draco found himself not wanting to disturb Hermione. She was excited, and happy, and already appropriately dressed for a night with loud-mouthed, flask-carrying Astoria. It wasn't until 6:30 that Draco felt he should interrupt his witch with a light rapping against the closed guest room door. She answered after a moment, her head popping out of the crack between the door and the wall. "Yes?" she asked, her eyes wide.
"It's 6:30," Draco said with a smirk.
Hermione gasped before opening the door fully, rushing out. "Draco!" she chastised. "I said 5:30!"
"Mmm," he agreed, "I know what you said. But you're already dressed. Remember, it's Astoria."
Hermione grumbled about having to change her shirt before she relented. "I suppose you're right. Her idea of dinner is probably cheap beer and mozzarella sticks."
"Astoria was raised in a very prominent household, I'll have you know," Draco sniffed. "Her idea of dinner is probably more like cheap beer and caviar."
Hermione laughed. "So I'm appropriate?" she asked, gesturing to her outfit.
"More than," Draco said with a grin. "Come here," he urged, suddenly wanting to hold her. Hermione obliged without question, and Draco pulled her into his arms, kissing her soundly. "I think you're lovely."
"If you had gotten me at 5:30 like I asked," Hermione began, "we would've had time for this. But now we don't."
"There's always later," Draco teased, kissing her jaw.
"Astoria will probably get me wasted," Hermione said, pulling away from him slightly.
"Tomorrow, then," he replied, kissing her neck. "Ready?"
Hermione sighed. "I suppose," she agreed.
In an instant, Draco had transported them directly in front of the Hawthorn Inn. The inn was a grand, massive structure, constructed of ancient stone and marble that glinted brightly in the sunlight as it loomed over them. It was an impressive structure, to be sure, having stood for more than a century-and-a-half; a cold, impassive structure that had long been the preferred lodging for traveling members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. For Draco, it brought memories of stuffy luncheons and mindless parties with his parents' very limited social group. "Welcome," Draco said to Hermione tonelessly.
"Posh," Hermione commented. "Doesn't seem like Astoria's kind of place, though, does it?"
"It really isn't," Draco replied. "Costs double what The Leaky does, too."
"You've stayed here before?" she asked, dropping his elbow and taking his fingers instead.
"No," he replied, leading Hermione up the spotless expanse of the marble staircase. "But I've been to a lot of events and such here—it's always been pretty popular among pureblood families."
"Can't imagine why," Hermione said dryly, eyeing a marble pillar suspiciously.
"We just love to spend our money," Draco replied as he opened the door for her and motioned for her to step inside. Ignoring the smiling witch at the front desk, Draco led Hermione to the gilded lifts, which took them quickly to the fourth floor. Still holding Hermione's hand, Draco rapped lightly at Astoria's door with his opposite fist.
She answered almost immediately, already holding a bottle of beer in her hand. "Hi!" she greeted enthusiastically. "Please, come in! I'll get you some beverages."
Draco and Hermione stepped inside, and almost instantly Astoria was pushing ice cold bottles of beer into each of their hands. "Thank you, Astoria," Hermione said kindly, taking a sip of beer.
"I'm so glad you guys are here," Astoria said brightly, ushering them to sit down in the living room. "I hope you guys are okay with pizza and beer for dinner—I'm a rubbish cook."
Draco chuckled lowly. "I stand corrected," he said to Hermione, who merely rolled her eyes.
"Sounds perfect," Hermione replied, smiling politely at Astoria.
"Great!" Astoria exclaimed, gesticulating wildly with her hands and spilling a large puddle of beer on the floor. "Damn," she muttered, before taking her own seat across from Hermione and Draco. "So, Granger, it's good to see you again."
Hermione nodded, taking another sip of beer. "You as well, Astoria. Draco and I were rather concerned for you."
Astoria took a large swig of beer, waving Hermione off. "Nonsense. I was quite all right—just had a bit of business to attend to in France. Nothing too serious."
Hermione furrowed her brow a bit. "Yes, well. Draco said you were out of range of owl post?" she questioned.
Another sip of beer, another wave of her hands. "I was just in the country, is all," Astoria answered. "It's a difficult journey for an owl to make."
Draco looked briefly to Hermione, wondering if she was thinking the same thing that he was—Noctua was an eagle owl, bred for his endurance and his ability to travel long distances with ease. Draco, having already been suspicious of Astoria's excuses, raised his eyebrows at Hermione, who only mirrored his expression. "Right," Hermione answered coolly.
An odd expression flitted over Astoria's face for just a moment before she drained her beer. "Another?" she asked brightly.
Draco and Hermione both shook their heads, their beers still mostly full. As Astoria disappeared from sight, Hermione turned to Draco. "She definitely got your owls," she muttered under her breath.
"Yep," Draco agreed, nodding. "Wonder why she's lying about it."
"Bloody bizarre indeed," Hermione said lowly.
"Told you," Draco replied, just as Astoria returned with another beer, which was already half empty.
Yes, bloody bizarre. "Astoria," Draco began, unsure. "Are you okay?"
"Perfect!" Astoria answered, just as a knock came at the door. "Dinner!" she cried, nearly tripping over herself to answer the door. Unceremoniously, she dropped the pizza boxes onto the counter. "Is served!"
Draco looked to Hermione, who shrugged at him, her wide eyes. "Let's just eat," she suggested quietly, rising from her seat and grabbing at his fingertips.
When they reached the kitchen, Astoria was already munching happily on a slice of pepperoni pizza, a fresh beer in her opposite hand. "This place is truly the best," she said as she swallowed. "A lot of people prefer the place in Diagon Alley—whatever the fuck it's called—"
"Del Vecchio's," Hermione supplied, selecting a piece of cheese piece for herself.
"—But no, no! Antonio's is the best, I say," Astoria continued, ignoring Hermione.
Draco selected his own slice of pizza, watching intently as Astoria guzzled another beer. Slamming the empty bottle down onto the counter, she opened her pantry and pulled out a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey. "Firewhiskey?" she suggested, even as she began to pour each of them a tumbler of the amber liquid.
"Astoria—" Hermione began, even as she accepted the tumbler of firewhiskey, taking a delicate sip.
Astoria waved her arms wildly, spilling firewhiskey all over the tiled floor. "I saw that article in The Prophet," she said, ignoring the mess she had made. "The one by Rita Skeeter?" Astoria nodded to herself. "People in France just love you."
Hermione shot a helpless look to Draco, and Draco didn't even need to Legilimency to read her mind: The Prophet, but not your letters? her face said. "Er, Astoria?" Draco asked. "How did you get The Prophet?"
Astoria paused, taking a long gulp of firewhiskey. "Found it," she answered vaguely.
"Right," Draco replied, looking back to Hermione. "Astoria, maybe you should slow down—"
Astoria glared at him, once more filling her tumbler with firewhiskey. "Draco, it's Saturday night. Let's let loose and have a little fun!" she said, once again gulping at her firewhiskey.
"Astoria," Hermione said gently. "It's barely 8:30."
"Stick in the mud," Astoria said under her breath.
"Hey," Draco warned darkly.
"Excuse me," Astoria said, setting her firewhiskey down on the counter. "Restroom."
Immediately, Hermione was standing in front of him. "What on earth is going on?" she asked quietly, staring up into his eyes, searching him.
"I don't know, Hermione. I really don't," Draco replied, running his hands up her upper arms before they came to rest on her shoulders.
"She's acting so weird," Hermione said quietly.
Astoria returned shortly, and Draco saw as her eyes shot to his hands where they sat on Hermione's shoulders, and a sudden, brief sadness came over her face. From afar, Draco watched as Astoria seemed to shake it away, and she returned to her tumbler, finishing the contents in one solid gulp.
She turned to them bleary-eyed. "Yes, they just love you in France," she repeated.
"Astoria," Hermione began, "are you all right?"
Astoria laughed bitterly, pouring another drink. "All right?" she muttered. "Are any of us all right, really?"
"Astoria?" Hermione asked.
Astoria shook her head, finally looking Hermione in the eye. "I know you're both my friends, but seeing you together is sometimes so fucking hard," she said coolly.
Hermione visibly flinched away from Astoria. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.
Astoria shook her head again. "No, don't be. I'm happy for you both, really, I am—" a pause, another swig of firewhiskey. "I had it once, you know."
"Had what?" Hermione asked, reaching a comforting hand out to the other witch.
"Someone who loved me," Astoria replied bitterly. "Until I fucked it all up." With this, Astoria chugged the rest of her firewhiskey in one gulp, before promptly vomiting all over Hermione's shoes.