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Heart-Shaped Box

Summary:

What is love if not an all-consuming addiction?

After 11 years in Azkaban prison, Draco Malfoy unexpectedly finds himself a free man at last. What does he decide to do with this freedom? Develop a soul-crushing obsession with Hermione Granger-Weasley, of course.

Upon reentering the world, determined to lock himself away for the rest of his days, he is forced immediately into joining a long-standing ritual of Friday night drinks. He sees that the life he imagined for Hermione is not at all the one she is living, she seems to be miserable - exhausted, overworked, and trapped in a loveless marriage.

For Draco, this simply will not do. He will use any means necessary to have her for his own, including but not limited to: stalking, lying, shapeshifting, gaslighting, violence, and murder.

🖤 Complete as of April 10th 2024 🖤

Notes:

Prompt:

 

Heart-Shaped Box - Nirvana

Chapter 1: Forever in Debt

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

An unthinkable cold, absolutely unimaginable to anyone who had never been within the walls of Azkaban Prison, roused Draco Malfoy from an unsettled sleep in the early morning hours. There was rarely any natural light to be had within his cell, no matter the time of day; so the harsh surroundings of his room were illuminated by a borderline useless light, fixed to the ceiling. 

It was early enough in the morning (or late enough at night depending on an individual’s perception), that the usual sounds of incoherent screaming from other prisoners were overtaken by the roaring of wind outside. The building was surveilled at all hours by countless dementors and coupled with a constant dampness, that allowed the cells to possess an oppressive atmosphere which penetrated Draco’s bones. Over the past 11 years of his stay at Azkaban, he often wondered if he would ever feel warm again. Despite what a younger version of himself may have contended, during his sentence, he had settled in his conviction that an unpleasant, inhospitable cell in Azkaban, was what he had earned.

Draco had made what peace he could with how his life turned out. He held to his daily routine as a way of trying to retain any modicum of sanity over the past decade. He had always been an early riser, due to a lifetime of being a light sleeper and being plagued by nightmares for as long as he could remember. Back when he lived a charmed life in a lavish manor, he was afforded the luxury of tossing and turning the early morning hours away in a plush four-poster bed. However, he had learned that in prison, once he was awake there was no use in trying to chase down any additional hours of sleep; rest in this place was as elusive to Draco as a demiguise in hiding.

Each day was as predictable as the one before it. He had come to appreciate this in the later years of his sentence, as an interesting day in Azkaban was not something Draco ever wished for. Previous days that could be considered as interesting to others had been some of the worst of his life. Draco loved being bored more than he ever thought imaginable.

Upon waking, he would do his best to work out. In his first few weeks, it was simply a means of trying to generate warmth when he awoke frozen to the bone. However, in the years since, it had grown into one of his many compulsions to exercise what little control was available to him. The version of himself that was remanded to Azkaban immediately following the end of the Wizarding War, would cower in the sight of the man who now bore his name. He was almost unrecognizable as the child formerly known as Draco Malfoy. As would be expected with the time that had passed, he had filled out his lengthy frame to suit his proportions, but due to his regimental physical activity, he grew to be larger than anyone might have suspected of him. He had become a mountain of muscles that rippled like the ocean waves slamming against the prison walls. If the useless ceiling fixture could produce enough illumination, he would cast a shadow stretching the entirety of the tiny cell he occupied. All that remained of his former self was the unmistakable Malfoy platinum blonde hair and striking ice-blue eyes. Despite being obscenely muscular and now covered in intricate, black-ink tattoos; these two defining features branded him for life. 

After his usual routine of working out, the next predictable portion of his day was a delivery of flavourless nutrition that Draco refused to dignify with the title of “food”. Every meal was the same colourless, unappetizing slop accompanied by a piece of bread that would serve better as a projectile weapon than something meant to be consumed. He sat awkwardly on his bunk, entirely too small for his large frame, and waited for one of the gruff, standoffish guards to deliver a questionably clean tray with the morning’s meal.

Instead of the predictable, it seemed that today was to be an interesting day inside Azkaban prison. Because instead of an auror who had badly mishandled regular duties enough to be relegated to a station in the North Sea, Draco’s solicitor appeared at the door to his cell. 

“Good Morning, Mr. Malfoy”, began the stout man as he tried to readjust his blazer to obscure the fact that it did not fit him properly.

“Mr. McDowell?” Draco questioned, climbing out of the bunk and approaching the door. “What are you doing here? I don’t have a session with the Wizengamot, do I?”

“Quite the opposite, young man. You’re being released,” McDowell informed as the guard who was trailing behind him waved his wand to unlock the cell door, allowing the solicitor to step through the frame and hand Draco a small scroll of parchment.

“Released? I have 18 months left on my sentence.” He was dumbfounded, rarely did anyone ever actually make it to the end date of their stay at Azkaban without losing their minds, let alone did anyone receive early release.

“It seems I was able to convince the Wizengamot that not only are you unlikely to re-offend, but that you should be released at once.”

Draco fixed the man with a confused look, “I- what?”

McDowell let out a deep chuckle, entirely too merry for someone who had to pass by at least a hundred dementors outside. “Draco, my boy, are you seriously going to argue with me? I must say, this is hardly the joyous reaction I was expecting.”

This made Draco shake his head to try and fit the information inside it. Release, freedom, leaving prison? None of these were ideas that he ever allowed himself to fixate on for too long, all seemed to be completely removed from a reality he would ever experience. He had long abandoned any hope that there would be an after Azkaban, and never dared a passing daydream of what he would do if he ever did find himself back in the world.

All he knew of the outside world was what little information McDowell was able to provide him, which was not much. Immediately following all three Malfoys being convicted in front of the Wizengamot and sentenced to varying terms in Azkaban, the Ministry ceased possession of the Manor. Partially for payment of restitution and partially to clear the place out of any remaining dark artifacts that ought not to fall into the wrong hands. Draco himself could hardly argue with that decision, even if he wished to return to the wider world outside of the prison, he never had a desire to resume residence in that horrid place. Malfoy Manor was the only home he had ever known, besides Hogwarts of course, but it did not retain a sense of welcoming warmth that he imagined most people’s childhood homes did. The place held nothing but nightmares and he was so ashamed of his family name that he didn’t harbour even an infinitesimal yearning to ever step foot in it again. Any wish he may have had as a younger man to rehabilitate the name or the Manor, died with his mother five years prior.

Other than matters regarding his own family, Draco had no idea what to expect once he returned to society. Prisoners within the walls of Azkaban were not permitted to have any reading material as part of their penance; no books, no letters, and absolutely no newspapers . The letters were of no consequence to Draco, the only person he imagined would ever write to him was Narcissa and she had been imprisoned as well, but the books and newspapers bothered him deeply. He had been a voracious reader his entire life up until the war and the prospect of serving time in the infamous institution hadn’t seemed so bad until he was informed that he would not be allowed to hold a book between his hands until the end, possibly ever again. That was the day that Draco let go of his belief in any sort of after , for without any reading material he knew it would only be a matter of time before he went completely mad and his brain began to liquify and make its way out his ears.

Sensing that his client had gone into shock, McDowell stepped closer to 

Draco and patted him on the back, “Come on, lad. Let's go pick up your wand.”

That was enough to snap Draco back into reality, it had been 11 years since he had used magic. After the first few years in prison of his magical core fighting against the protective enchantments, preventing the use of wandless magic, it was almost as if he felt it whither and die inside him. The prospect of having his wand back in his hands was almost too much to bear, but the magic that still obviously lived deep within his body seemed to reignite at the mention.

McDowell ushered him out of the cell and through a dingy corridor to a small windowless office and instructed him to sit on the metal chair and wait for him to return. Alone in the empty room, Draco began to grow both excited and uneasy. The walls of the office had nothing to distract him, so he tried to summon any kind of wherewithal to plan some sort of next steps. Too many things could change in the span of 11 years to ever have expectations of what he was about to walk into or who might still offer their friendship to him. Only then did it truly dawn on Draco that he no longer had a home to return to.

Before he could disappear into this fixation, McDowell reentered the room with a small plastic bag containing the belongings that had been confiscated upon his arrival; these were: a handsome black suit that would be comically small on him currently, smart dragon-hide shoes that still shined as the day they were last polished, and his precious hawthorn wood wand. He looked tentatively at the heavy-set man and awaited confirmation that he was allowed to touch the items which were once his.

“Go on then, son. I can’t imagine you want to keep wearing those tattered old things.” McDowell said, speaking of the ghastly uniform he had donned each day for the past decade.

Draco arose from the chair and gently took the bag from him, placing the contents onto the empty table sitting in the middle of the room. It was hard for him to remember a time when he had been small enough to fit the suit laid out before him. It was like facing a time capsule filled with the belongings of a stranger. However, there was one item that did not feel foreign to Draco. The moment the tips of his fingers brushed against the smooth wood of his wand, an overwhelming feeling of magic coursed through his body, almost bringing him to his knees on the cold cement floor. 

McDowell stepped over and steadied him, “Sorry, I should have warned you about that. Best to just grab ahold of it and get reacquainted for a moment, have a seat.” He slid the chair over with his foot and positioned it behind Draco’s knees.

He let the momentum of the chair take him the rest of the way down before seeking out the wand in earnest and gripping it tightly. His head swam and his breathing grew ragged, as the white-hot burn of magic seared through his veins. It was all Draco could do not to shoot straight up and out of the chair, but he fought the urge - aiming to appear in control of the situation. As the crackling electricity settled into a smouldering hum throughout his body, his breathing calmed and he reopened his eyes. His gaze flickered between McDowell and the clothes on the table, silently seeking approval to transfigure them to his current size. Receiving a nod, Draco slowly raised his wand with a slow flourish aimed at the black suit laid on the table and it instantly grew in size before them.

“I’ll leave you for a moment to get changed,” McDowell offered before slipping into the hall.

Draco cast a quick cleaning charm over himself, though he felt that no matter how many times he scourgified himself, he would never feel truly cleansed of that cell. He made quick work of changing; a habit thanks to his experiences over the last 11 years. He softly placed the black loafers onto the floor and almost released a sigh of pleasure as his calloused, bare feet sunk into the soles of the shoes. He had long forgotten how it felt not just to wear shoes, but to feel the comfort of an expertly cast cushioning charm. He took a few hesitant steps away from the table, slowly opening the door to where McDowell was waiting in the hall.

“Right then, Mr. Malfoy. You are, from this moment, a free man. I will walk with you to the apparition point. Usually, I would say I wish not to hear from you again and while I hope you never require my services in the future, it has been a pleasure to represent you. So, should you need anything…” McDowell trailed off at the end of his sentence, the portly man smiled sheepishly up at Draco.

“Actually, Mr. McDowell I-,” Draco began, but he was wholly uncertain of how to even begin asking the myriad of questions swirling around in his mind.

“You will have immediate access to your family vaults at Gringotts. I know the Ministry has taken their fill and probably then some, and that the Manor is no longer your property, but you should have more than enough to get yourself set up,” McDowell reassured, having anticipated one of Draco’s many questions.

“Thank you. I honestly haven’t allowed myself to imagine that this day would come, I’m not quite sure what to do… I’m afraid I don’t have anywhere to go.” Draco admitted, with a twinge of shame in his voice.

“Ah, no matter. My brother-in-law took over ownership of a rather nice pub in Diagon Alley a few years back, there is a small flat upstairs that I’m sure he would be happy to set you up in if you’d like.”

Draco blinked at him, “He’d be willing to have a Death Eater as a tenant?”

McDowell gave him a disapproving look with a tilt of his head, “Now Draco, you know how I feel about that kind of thinking. You have served your sentence for your involvement in a scheme you were roped into as a minor, today you’re no more a Death Eater than anyone else. My brother-in-law would be more than happy to have a quiet, respectable, young man, who needs to get back on his feet as a tenant.”

He found he didn’t have much of an argument against that. McDowell had always been this way; unfailingly optimistic about Draco’s future. If it wasn’t so endearing and earnest, he would absolutely despise the man. However, after 11 years of unwavering idealism aimed squarely in Draco’s direction, he had grown rather fond of him. 

He gave a short nod and gestured for McDowell to lead the way out. The portly solicitor nodded in return and led him further down the unsightly corridors until Draco could see a grey daylight peeking through the door at the far end as they approached. A fleeting comment passed through his mind that any other prisoner could see this light and make a great comparison, ‘the light at the end of the tunnel’. But Draco no longer had the capacity for such foolish thoughts. 

 

🖤

 

Upon being left to his own devices in his new home above The Crossed Wands pub, Draco came to realize he had no frame of reference for a flat . While it was a far cry from the Manor, it was certainly nicer than his previous residence. The space was warm and almost threatened to be welcoming, from the smooth, well-worn wood floors, to the nondescript paintings of the English countryside hung haphazardly on the walls. The bed was actually large enough to fit his ample frame and the presence of real bed linens was a welcome luxury. No haunted moans or wails forced their way through the cracks in the walls, instead Draco observed there was a delightful hum of conversation floating up from patrons in the pub below and the street reflecting a busy Friday evening on Diagon Alley. These would be normal comforts to the average person, however all they did was set his teeth on edge. It was too much. Too much warmth, too much activity, too much space ; the whole place was an unwarranted luxury. 

The one facet Draco did appreciate, however, was the large window on the far side of his bed which looked out over the street. He had for years longed to glimpse the outside, though admittedly at Azkaban there wasn’t much to look at besides choppy ocean water and a grey sky dotted with the ghoulish, cloaked figures of dementors. The view from his new window was decidedly more interesting; a direct sightline into the bustling storefronts on a lively Friday night in Diagon Alley. While the exuberant noise from the patrons might have been a bit much for Draco to take in, he couldn’t help but feel the slightest tickle of excitement at having a vantage point to observe society without having to interact with it in earnest. He sat on the edge of his bed and leaned forward to peer through a crack in the drab blue curtains, and watched.

He observed families with small children popping in and out of the various stores, leaving with small parcels of owl treats, robes, or inkpots. He wondered if things had been different in his life, if he could be one of the many fathers carrying toddlers around as they clutched their stuffed hippogriffs. As the early evening passed and the alley grew darker with the setting sun, the families all marched away to apparition points or floo connections, and were replaced with a crowd closer to Draco’s own age. There were certainly a few restaurants and pubs on the alley that hadn’t existed on his last visit, when the only establishment to speak of had been the Leaky Cauldron, because the entire place was swarming with groups of young adults making their way to various spots along the street to celebrate the end of another week. He tried to see if he recognized any of the patrons approaching The Crossed Wands, but time had removed many faces from his memory and even his oldest friends might have now resembled strangers.

After he was satisfied that he had not recognized anyone who might be seated at tables in the pub below, and the street provided enough darkness to hide in, Draco slowly approached the door to his flat, slipping quietly downstairs. His room did not have direct access to the street, meaning he had to make his way through the bustling pub to have a smoke in the small alley between buildings. Thankfully, all of the patrons were clearly too involved in their own drinks and conversation, because no one seemed to take note of him as he passed through.

The cold nighttime air was refreshing as it touched his face and he ducked quickly to the side of the building, leaning against the corner so he could continue his peripheral interaction with the crowds while he smoked. It was a filthy habit that Draco loathed to have picked up during his time in Azkaban, but it was a soothing compulsion compared to others he could have taken part of instead. He plucked a small metal cigarette case out of his shirt pocket and lit one up, the first drag burning the entire way down to his lungs, leaving him with a pleasant headrush but a rather unpleasant taste in his mouth. He found himself grateful for his freedom and the ability to buy as many peppermints as he could eat. As he smoked, he continued to assess the small groups of witches and wizards as they passed by without noticing him. He couldn’t place a single one of them, leading him to wonder if he had been deposited in an alternate reality instead of the one he left behind. Before that thought came fully to fruition, a petite witch locked eyes with him as she walked up to The Crossed Wands.

“Draco?” Asked the witch with wide eyes as she averted her path in favour of walking directly towards the large, unknown man residing in the shadows.

When she got close enough for Draco to make out her facial features in the low light, he knew her immediately. “Pansy?”

“Oh my god!” She laughed, her voice was light like a pixie. “When the hell did they let you out? I thought you were dead!”

He shrugged, “This morning. And no, to my own continued surprise, I am very much alive.”

Pansy stepped closer and hugged him. It was startling, to say the least, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had been this close to him without the intention of causing him bodily harm. She must have felt him tense instinctively, as she stepped back and gave him a pitying look, her smooth black hair falling out from behind her ear as she tilted her head.

Pity transformed into intrigue on her face the longer she stared, “Gods, you’re almost unrecognizable.”

Her assessment gave him a curiosity of his own. “But you recognized me?” He asked between drags of his cigarette.

“It’s the hair,” she said, raising a small hand to gesture up at the top of his head. “And the brooding.”

Draco rolled his eyes at her, at least some things never changed. He could always count on Pansy Parkinson to cut right to the chase.

She stepped closer again and squinted at the cigarette in his hand, “Is that… a tattoo?”

“Oh, uh… yeah, I’ve got quite a few.” He admitted, holding the cigarette between his lips as he rolled up his sleeve to reveal the tail of a dragon that wrapped around his entire right arm. The dragon itself curled up onto his shoulder and back and remained concealed under his shirt, along with the rest of his tattoos.

“So this is what you were doing for 11 years while ignoring my letters?”

Draco squinted at her in confusion, “Letters?”

The witch matched his questioning look, “Yes Draco, the letters I sent you every week for the last decade that you never once took the time to reply to?”

He just shook his head in disbelief, not because Azkaban withheld his letters, but that someone cared about him enough to write for 10 years, never once receiving a response back. “I’m sorry, Parks”, falling effortlessly back into his former nickname for the girl he once knew. “They didn’t allow any of us to have contact with the outside… you really kept writing even when I didn’t reply?”

She returned to her former pitying glance at him and tried to smile softly, though Draco imagined it was not something she often did since it looked like it was painful for her. “I wanted to make sure you knew that someone out here still gave a shit what happened to you, even if you didn’t want to talk to me.”

He stared at her for questionably too long without a reply. If he retained any capacity to feel touched emotionally by someone’s actions, he knew he would’ve in that moment. 

“You’ll have to forgive me, I seem to have forgotten how to conduct a normal conversation.” He admitted clinically, glancing nervously at the ground and stamping out his cigarette butt.

Pansy waved him off, “Are you here drinking?”

“Uh, no… I live here, well upstairs. They took the manor and I needed somewhere to stay, it’s not much but it’s better than nothing.”

She gave him a cat-like grin, “Well then, you’re coming in and joining us for a drink!”

Us ?”

“Right, you have no idea what’s happened in the last 10 years. Might just be easier to show you, come on.” She gestured for Draco to follow her back inside the pub, which he did against his better judgement.

The pub had grown more crowded since he slipped outside, the pair of them now weaving through a large group of people congregating near the bar, and making their way to a table secluded in the back corner. He couldn’t remember if he saw anyone sitting here when he exited earlier, but as soon as his mind registered who was sitting around it and staring up at him, there was no way he would’ve missed them.

Draco stood dumbfounded at the end of the table as Pansy slid into the booth with two-thirds of the Golden fucking Trio. 

Harry Potter smiled up at him, he looked exactly the same as the last time Draco remembered seeing him, he sat with an arm slung casually over the shoulder of the Weasley girl whose name escaped him. On his other side, the Weasel glowered up at him; clearly time had not softened whatever hatred the ginger harboured for him. He looked much the same, but it didn’t escape Draco’s assessment Ron had put on a considerable amount of weight, time didn't look good on him. His eyes flickered between the Gryffindor’s faces and Pansy's, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“Hey Malfoy,” Harry spoke softly and held onto his friendly smile. “It’s really nice to see you.”

The Weasley girl smiled and nodded in agreement, her brother however, maintained his choleric glare. Draco locked eyes with Pansy and raised an eyebrow.

“Come sit down, Draco. It’s okay, they don’t bite, we’ve been friends for years now.”

He hesitantly squeezed himself into the rounded booth beside Pansy as she shuffled closer to the Weasel. Sensing his need for a deeper explanation of how on earth Pansy Parkinson found herself woven into the fabric of this group, she spoke again.

“In the least words possible, I used my father’s money to start a charitable organization after the war and we reconnected when I put up the funding for research on a centaur self-determination bill that Hermione was working on.” Her gaze moved away from Draco at the end of her sentence, he tracked her eyes only to find them locked on her as she returned from the bar hands full with butterbeers.

Hermione Granger.

She was a vision of beauty unlike anything he could remember of her, time had been kind to her - generous even. Her hair remained a lion’s mane with a spirit all its own as it moved with her. Her figure had become significantly more womanly in the time that had passed, her previously wiry frame smoothed with gentle curves. Her skin was a flawless ivory that pinkened slightly as she found Draco’s gaze assessing her and as she approached the table. She carried herself with a confidence he always imagined she would have after the respect earned for her role in winning the war. Suddenly, her entire face illuminated with an eager smile when she placed the butterbeer on the table, and beheld the blonde boy she once knew, who was now a man.

“Malfoy? Is that you?” Asked Hermione with a small tilt of her head and a hint of wonder in her voice as she took in Draco.

“Granger.” He said in a low voice with a nod in her direction, “Here, let me get out of your seat.”

Draco tried to move out of her way but Pansy grabbed him by the arm, “Nonsense, we’ll all fit!”

With that, Hermione gracefully moved into place in the booth, pressing next to him, “it’s so nice to see you!”

She smiled at him unreservedly and Draco realized he had no reason to believe  she was being anything but genuine. As he gazed into her soft eyes, he saw all the golden light he believed lived within her reflected back in his direction. Here was the heroine of the wizarding world, a woman he imagined became the role model to every single muggle-born child attending Hogwarts. The true golden girl, whose happiness being in the presence of a convicted Death Eater should be an act. He thought he could see something flicker behind her eyes, something almost foreign to his recollection of who he believed her to be. However, the woman sitting next to him was no longer the same girl he recalled so often in his mind these past 11 years, she had grown up. Hermione Granger had been a frequent visitor in Draco’s troubled mind while he served his sentence at Azkaban, but she placed herself there all on her own violation by testifying on his behalf before the Winzengamot.

Draco still had absolutely no idea what possessed Harry and Hermione to come of their own accord to present testimony at his and his mother’s trials in early 1999. He remembered vividly the heavy oak doors to his courtroom opening to permit their entrance together. He also remembered how his heart sank, assuming they were about to present an argument that he should be remanded for life in Azkaban. Hermione had been wearing a well-tailored grey business suit with a light blue top, something befitting a much older woman. However, it was clear to him, even then, that she was trying to present herself as someone to be taken seriously. He had a passing thought that her outfit more closely resembled a librarian at work, than that of a young woman who had saved the world. 

Harry had testified first, he seemed comfortable enough speaking before the court that Draco imagined he had been present at many of the trials higher profile than his. He didn’t refer to his notes much, seeming to either have committed them to memory, or was speaking from the top of his head, imploring the court to see that Draco had not been given a fair chance. That he was a kid, unable to make any choices of his own that could have maneuvered him away from the path forced upon him by his father. Harry maintained that Draco had been a minor when most of the crimes he was accused of were committed and should not be handed down a punishment as severe as someone who had willingly joined the Dark Lord’s army. He spoke in a calm tone of voice for a few brief moments and appeared very self-assured while doing so, before giving Draco a firm nod and stepping down from the podium. 

His place was taken up by a very timid Hermione, clutching her notes with white knuckles and seemed to be vibrating with nervous energy as she began to address the court. Her testimony was significantly longer than Harry’s and she stared down at her papers while she spoke. Draco imagined she was too afraid to look up at any of the members of the Wizengamot or himself as she fixated on the words she had written for herself. She related an impassioned story of a young boy who was never given any chance for self-determination, and though he knew she was speaking about him, Draco barely recognized it as his own life story. There were moments he remembered, having spent the better part of their childhood bullying her for her blood status, but the tenderhearted Hermione explained his behaviour away as proof of his life-long indoctrination. She spoke of a boy who was cast out of the wider group of students because of his upbringing and no adults seemed willing to bring him into the fold and show him that there was another way to live. She seemed to see something in him that he had never observed himself, something that made him worthy of redemption in her eyes. Hermione asserted that she understood the law had been broken, but that she didn’t believe Draco had done it with full awareness of the illegality of his actions, due to a gross act of negligence by the adults responsible for him. After addressing the room for a solid 15 minutes without pause, Hermione asked the court to consider any course of treatment and rehabilitation available opposed to sending him to prison. When she was finished, she thanked the members of the Wizengamot for their time and stepped down from the podium all without looking at Draco even once.

For 11 years Draco sat alone in his cell at Azkaban and wished she had looked at him, even just for a second. He wanted to see it in her eyes that she believed the words she was saying and to desperately thank her for trying. He understood Potter’s motivations, he was probably trying to repay the favour Narcissa had given him in saving his life at the end of the war; that and Harry had made it sort of a habit to try and save Draco’s life. But Hermione was an enigma, he had never been anything but vile to her in the 7 years they knew each other, and her attempt to deliver him from evil left him completely mystified. 

Her voice snapped him back to the present as she spoke again, “I didn’t see in the paper that you were being released, have you been out long?”

Draco was left speechless, still deep within his own mind trying to piece together his memories of her and Pansy jumped in to speak for him. 

“They sprung him today, he’s living in the flat upstairs.”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, delight apparent in her voice. “Well, we meet here every Friday evening for drinks, you’re more than welcome to join us any time you like.”

The table joined in a chorus of agreement, nodding and insisting he must join them the following Friday. All parties except one, Ron Weasley.

The Weasel gave a grunt and muttered something under his breath that Draco couldn’t make out over the hum of surrounding conversations, but it earned him a derisive glare from his sister.

“Nip it, Ron.”

“Oh please, Ginny! We’re really going to invite a Death Eater to sit at our table with us?” Ron barked at her.

The less realistic people at the table all gasped and seemed to be genuinely offended on his behalf, but Draco surprisingly could see where the Weasel was coming from for once.

Ginny, as he now knew her to be called, looked at Draco with an apologetic face and frowned. But he just shook his head to wave off the concern, “It’s okay.”

“It most certainly is not okay!” Hermione argued, defensively placing her left arm out in front of Draco as if to shield him from being slighted further from across the table.

He glanced down at her and saw a deep wrinkle settled in the middle of her eyebrows where they had knit together in her frustration at the Weasel. His eyes grazed further down her face and neck, along the arm outstretched in front of him until they abruptly stopped, catching on a thin gold wedding band. He had always assumed she might marry Harry, but judging by the way he was cozied up with Ginny that clearly wasn’t what happened while he was away. 

“Come off it, Hermione. Not this again,” Ron spat in her direction, the indignation rising off him in plumes.

Draco began to wonder further at what had gone on in the last 11 years that would have everyone so worked up and rushing to his defence against a founding member of the friend group. Clearly, something unspoken hung heavily over the table concerning his continued existence, and he decided that it was probably time to take his leave before things could escalate any further.

He gingerly patted Hermione’s arm which remained protectively between his body and the rest of the group, “Right, well… It was really great to see you all but it’s been a rather long day so I think I’ll head up to bed. Thanks again for being so, er, welcoming.”

Hermione glanced up at him and her eyebrows softened as the corners of her lips twitched down into a small frown before she sighed and stood up from the table, allowing him to make his escape. He nodded at the group as he turned to take his leave, walking as casually as he could manage over to the staircase. Draco altered his pace, striding up them two at a time once he was out of sight.

Securely locked behind the door of his flat, he made his way over to the window. He wandlessly turned off all the lights in the room, so he could look outside without being seen by anyone on the street. Diagon Alley had quieted down as most of the groups that previously milled about had found places to pass their evening. He decided to keep watch and see when his former classmates would depart and return back to their homes. But mostly, he wanted to see who left with whom.

As he waited, Draco fell back into his mind. Having no access to letters or newspapers during his prison sentence he was left to imagine what had become of the Golden Trio and any of his former schoolmates.  He daydreamed of the futures they were living while he remained in stasis, returning most often to the incredible life he knew Hermione Granger to be pursuing. After spending the majority of his life seething with inherited hatred for her due to her non-magical parentage, Draco honestly hadn’t known much about Hermione aside from her blood status and infamous swottiness. Never did he have reason to look any further than what she exuded to the world around her, but when she had spoken so ardently in his defence at the trial his entire opinion of her was altered forever.

Between workout sessions, while smoking cigarettes, or while waiting for his meal delivery, Draco occupied his spare time with grandiose imaginings of the life of the Golden Girl. In his mind, she was a woman who knew herself more than anyone he had ever encountered, and if she set herself a task it would be undoubtedly completed with the highest degree of excellence. He pictured her working towards a mastery in one of their shared school subjects and returning to Hogwarts as a professor, which seemed like a fitting aspiration for a girl he witnessed having such interest in learning. Other times, he imagined she would set her sights on becoming the first muggle-born Minister of Magic, which certainly sounded like something she would be more than capable of achieving. The sun would rise and set outside the walls of Azkaban prison without his awareness and Draco would be ruminating on what Hermione might be up to at that very moment. He held close the belief that whatever it was she was doing was all in accordance with the ultimate end goal of changing the world to be a better place. The world, certainly his at least, was exceptionally better due to her presence within it. 

Pondering often about her life was one of the only things that fixed him within his own body for many years, while he listened to other convicts in the surrounding cells slowly losing their minds; his remained intact due thoughts of Hermione Granger he continued to orbit around. Draco saw her with a beautiful home filled with everything his own childhood home lacked; warm light, happiness, laughter, and most obviously, love. He really did believe she would end up marrying Potter, the two always seemed inseparable at school. So, in his mind, they had a very respectable amount of children who were equal parts soft and intelligent like Hermione, but favoured by happenstance like Harry had been all their lives. If everything he dreamed was wrong, all he ever wished to be true was that she was living a beautiful life full of happiness and boundless potential. However, having witnessed the interaction in the pub, his imagination had been proven wrong. Harry was obviously with the Weasley girl and Hermione was married, but Draco had no inkling of who it could be if not Potter. As he stared out his darkened window onto the street, he got his answer.

Pansy exited first and quickly disappeared into another pub, no doubt continuing her night of drinking, quickly followed by Ginny and Harry walking hand-in-hand up the alley to an apparition point. The street remained quiet for a moment before Hermione walked out on her own, but not far on her tail was the great stumbling oaf they call Ron Weasley. Draco wished more than anything in this moment that his window could be opened and he could eavesdrop on their conversation. But even without it, their body language indicated more than enough to understand the nature of their relationship.

Hermione walked quickly and her body stiff - something Draco recalled she would do in school when something had made her enraged (usually him). Ron stumbled out behind her and seemed to be slurring a variety of incoherent words in her direction, the content obviously angering her further as she stopped in the middle of the street to turn back and face him. Her hands curled into fists, and her arms shot straight down either side of her body as she exacted her rage onto him. Draco wished he could read lips to know what exactly was being said but it was clear the conversation was the least bit pleasant. He squinted to get a better view in the low light as the Weasel stepped too close to her for Draco’s liking and tried to run his bloated hands up her body, settling his ham-like fist around her wrist and squeezing it to keep her in place. Her body tensed and in the same moment Draco’s blood ran ice cold, his jaw clenching so hard he might have chipped a tooth. 

Before he could make the split-second decision to race down the stairs and onto the street to defend her honour the way she had so willfully done for him not an hour prior, impregnable as ever, Hermione batted away his advances and sent him reeling. Draco kept a sharp eye trained on the Weasel’s doughy form as it staggered away from her to a floo connection. Once he was certain she was safe from unwanted attention, he returned his gaze to the street below his window to find her lingering in front of an empty storefront, cradling the arm the Weasel had grabbed onto. She placed her other hand lightly on the glass to peek inside for a moment, before he saw her shoulders move in a way to indicate that she had given a deep sigh and stepped away from the window. Hermione paused in the street herself, turning back to look at the pub and Draco could have sworn she looked directly into the window he was occupying, as if she could see who was lurking behind the dark pane.

He stepped back from the window stricken as if he had been caught, and when he had the courage to return, she was walking slowly away towards the apparition point at the high end of the alley. While he was certain there was no way she could have seen him standing and watching her, he was slightly unsettled for the rest of the night by the entire interaction. 

He replayed it in his mind until the connections clicked into place and he pieced together the glaring truth: Hermione Granger married the fucking Weasel. A beer-bellied sorry excuse for a husband to the actual Golden Girl, and she was miserable. The thought plagued him, enraged him, and made whatever remained of the heart inside his chest shatter into a million pieces on her behalf. This was not the life he envisioned for her and he imagined that she must feel exactly the same way. The Weasel did not deserve something nearly as incredible as the affection of Hermione, Draco was more than certain he had never once in his waste of a life done anything to earn it from her. What the hell could the penniless slob Ron Weasley provide for her? Surely he did not appreciate the glorious light he was privileged enough to sleep next to every night. There was no doubt in his mind that the Weasel could not worship her the way she deserved, the way he could. The Hermione he thought he knew would never be satisfied so long as she was settling for a life that was so far below her caliber. Draco in that moment decided he was going to get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing he did in his life. The least he could do for the woman who may have saved him, was deliver the life she had earned but was too polite to seek for herself.

Peeling himself away from the window to finally sleep in a bed that was large enough to fit his formidable body, he found himself instinctively placing his hand over the tattoo on the left side of his chest. To anyone other than Draco, the small tattoo was just one of many he collected over his time in Azkaban. It was very commonplace for the prisoners to give each other tattoos the one day a month they were granted in a common room, as there was very little else to do to occupy one’s time. Draco had barely left any portion of his body untouched by ink in the decade he spent in prison, but he saved the tattoo he placed his right palm over affectionately to later in his stay so he could practice his own skill on less important images. This tattoo was one of the few he felt genuine attachment to and he would not let anyone else ink it into his skin. It depicted a small book laid open flat as if the page was about to turn. If someone was to see the tattoo, Draco could easily explain it away as being symbolic of his love of reading, but it was much more significant than that. For it was a permanent reminder of Hermione Granger trying to turn over a new page for him. 

He settled into his bed, right hand lightly caressing over the inked pages, and fell asleep dreaming of all the ways to give her the life she was owed.

Notes:

All my love to @Swift_Knight and @Maple_Unicorn for their tireless support in listening to me scream the entire time I was writing this and genuine excitement to see where I was going to take this.

Chapter 2: Angel's Hair and Baby's Breath

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The week passed in a dragging agony; not once did he catch sight of Hermoine. Draco lingered in the corner booth every evening in hopes she might drop by after work for a drink, but every evening he left disappointed, returning back upstairs to his flat having not been graced with even a glimpse.

During the day, Draco would sit on the edge of his bed and watch the world through the window. Society moved forward while he remained frozen, and although he was no longer physically captive, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being a prisoner. Witches and wizards milled about Diagon Alley at all hours, shopping or chatting, socializing with each other in a way he wasn’t sure he could remember how to do himself; Merlin knows he wasn’t particularly skilled at it before, either. He had spent the entire week waiting, hoping to catch her dropping by a shop on her lunch break or maybe heading to her vault at Gringotts, but she never appeared. Thoughts of her plagued him constantly. 

 

Who is she? 

 

What is her life like? 

 

What is going on with her and the Weasel? 

 

He couldn't get their altercation from the previous Friday out of his head, the interaction playing over and over. Ron had been drunk and she had been angry, he grabbed her arm and she yelled at him, he stumbled away and she lingered alone in the street. It was a stark contrast to the life Draco had pictured for her from his daydreams in prison. Hermione was sunshine incarnate; astonishingly brilliant, unimaginably kind, and a force to be reckoned with. He always assumed that while he was locked away Hermione had been changing the world, not settling for the likes of Ron Weasley. It would have been less surprising for him to be released and to learn that Hermione Granger was now Minister of Magic, opposed to the deep sadness she harboured behind her eyes. Draco thought everyone close to her must be imbeciles for failing to notice what the Golden Girl was desperately trying to conceal. 

Even though he had spent the entire week trying to work out in his own mind what had gone wrong in Hermione’s life, he found himself unable to produce any  concrete explanations. He was desperate for Friday to arrive so he could see her again. The anticipation had grown to such a fever pitch that somehow in spite of himself, Draco found himself wandering up Diagon Alley Friday morning to purchase a new shirt for the evening ahead. 

Draco stepped into a small shop just across the alley from his flat. The small shopkeeper looked up with a welcoming smile to greet her customer, and he watched as realization hit her. The witch’s face transformed to sheer terror as she beheld his stark blonde hair, the last Malfoy patronizing her quaint store. He tried to smile and greet the witch, hoping to put her at ease; but she remained frozen in fear behind the counter. Draco took the hint and slowly backed out the door and onto the street again. He had been so fixated on his nerves surrounding Hermoine, he had temporarily forgotten the fear the wizarding community held for him. Sighing, he tucked himself into the narrow alley beside the shop, and pondered his next moves away from prying eyes. 

There remained one secret Draco was able to keep mainly to himself from his years in Azkaban: the dormant metamorphmagus trait from the Black family bloodline had presented itself during his time away. The first time it happened was traumatic to say the least, leaving him completely lost in his understanding of who he was as a person as well as a wizard. He vaguely recalled his estranged cousin Nymphadora had been one, though he wasn't familiar with her in the slightest. Besides her, he knew of no one else in his family who had been a presented metamorphmagi, leaving Draco to come to the conclusion it must run in the Black family bloodline. 

It was like an instance of accidental magic; something that happened to him when he was scared or angry as a child, before receiving his wand and heading to Hogwarts. For the first few years in Azkaban, Draco laid low to stay out of trouble and out of the way of the other, much larger and more terrifying prisoners. If the day was exceptionally boring, he considered it a good day. On this particular day,  he was being led by Mr. McDowell to an appearance before the Winzengamot, trailing a familiar path through the prison that Draco knew took him past the cell his mother was being kept in. Ever the bleeding heart, McDowell typically walked slower than necessary to allow Draco to have a moment with Narcissa as they passed. However, instead of their usual brief hello and a frantic grasping of her hand, Draco arrived at the locked door of his mother’s prison cell just in time to witness her being stabbed to death by a guard. 

Draco awoke back in his cell’s uncomfortable cot with McDowell watching over him like a deranged medi-witch. According to the solicitor, Draco had blacked out and completely altered his physical appearance. Not a small adjustment of hair colour or body type, this was a drastic change - every physical aspect of himself became unrecognizable. McDowell had said that if he didn’t witness the change first hand, he would have been concerned that Draco had escaped and left another prisoner in his place. His solicitor, gratefully, labelled the incident  solicitor-client privilege, and promised not to disclose his ability to anyone else.

Due to the anti-magic wards in the prison, Draco was unable to deduce if  it was something he was able to control, or a freak accident in response to severe distress. He hadn’t had the opportunity to read much about it or practice wielding it. But standing ashamed in that narrow alley off Diagon Alley, he decided there was nothing to lose anymore. He could control normal magic; even if it  had been a while; how to sense it, feel it, cast it silently and wandlessly, but this felt different. His body locked as his magic burst outward from the core of his being, his lightly tousled blonde hair spontaneously grew several inches into dark shaggy strands.. Draco slammed his eyelids shut and when he observed his reflection in a small window a few seconds later, his signature Malfoy ice-grey eyes had transformed into a golden brown, so similar to those of Hermione. As if they were the only pair he knew well enough to conjure.

His face remained the same, however a combo of time plus his strict workout regimen had worn on him enough that a perfect stranger would be none the wiser. So, mustering all the bravado he had left, he stalked out of the alleyway and confidently strode further up the street and into a new store. Tentatively opening the door, he stepped in and immediately received a warm greeting from a man positioned behind the counter.

“Good morning, sir! Shopping for anything in particular this morning?” The lanky man posed as he rounded the corner to approach Draco.

Draco looked around awkwardly before deciding since he was already lying about his appearance, he might as well lie about the motivations for his visit. 

“Good morning, I’m looking for a few new suits for work, and perhaps something more casual, for after-work drinks? I’ve just started a new job, and need to make the right impression, if you know what I mean.”

“Ah! Yes of course sir, please, right this way.” The man gestured for Draco to follow him onto a small pedestal near the dressing rooms where a bewitched tape measure awaited to take his measurements. 

This interaction was familiar to him in a way that was strangely comforting, nostalgia striking him for the times he had been forcefully poked and prodded as a kid. His parents needed to have the right clothes made for whatever function or gala he would also be forced to attend. It was a time before the war, before dark marks and suicide missions, a time where he was allowed to be a bratty, spoiled kid. The corners of his mouth twitched as the memory brought a slight curl to his lips, hardly catching the shop attendant prattle on about the most expensive options in the shop. 

An hour later, Draco emerged with a large paper bag containing a few new pieces, and a custom order to be picked up next week for one Gregory Black. He had panicked when asked and provided the first attempt at an alias he could think of, making a mental note to be better prepared for the inevitability next time. He couldn’t bite back his self-satisfied grin returning to his flat, hanging up his new wardrobe and shifting back into his natural appearance. Draco had taken great care to ensure the pieces he chose spanned from common-looking to rather expensive. If he was going to allow people to think he was penniless, he couldn’t very well stride downstairs for Friday night drinks in a suit likely costing more than the Weasel’s monthly wage, no matter how much satisfaction it would give him.

The clock on the wall combined with the golden sunlight drafting through his window told him he would see her in a matter of a few hours. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat like a schoolboy, brimming with excitement to see a specific witch at a common room party. He decided to embrace the feeling and attempt to mimic the way his teenage self would shamelessly worship himself in the bathroom mirror for hours in preparation. It felt strange, he hadn’t had the opportunity or  reason to put any effort into his appearance for over a decade, but the longer he stood in his new vanity mirror making sure his hair was meticulously coiffed and that his new shirt sat perfectly on his toned chest, the more Draco began to feel like himself again.

Before long, enough time had passed and it would soon be time for her to walk into the pub downstairs. Draco didn’t want to appear as eager as he really was, so he turned the lights off in his room and took up his perch in the window. Not long after, Pansy and Hermione appeared at the north end of the alley, walking toward him arm in arm. He couldn’t remember if he had really ever seen Pansy being so chummy with another person the way it looked she had grown to be with Hermione, it was a nice look for her. Hermione, on the other hand, was wearing a warm smile as the girls chatted and giggled on their approach. The change in her demeanor from this moment to the last Draco saw of her was drastic, when she had been holding her arm in pain from the Weasel’s grip the week prior. Though he wanted to sprint down the stairs and greet them, he tried his best to remain casual and count to 500 before slowly making his way down to their table.

Harry and Ginny had yet to arrive when Draco made his appearance in the pub, Pansy and Hermione were already seated at what he imagined was the group’s usual booth in the back corner. 

“Evening, ladies.” Draco crooned, feeling much more like the charming and presentable version of himself as he slid into the booth next to Pansy.

“Draco!” She chimed when he sat, “how are you?”

The Potters appeared, saving Draco from answering with some variety of a lie to convince them he hadn't waited the entire week for this moment. The question went forgotten as Harry launched into a story about one of the cases he was working on, making Draco realize that he must be an Auror. It made complete sense of course, the Chosen One would have transitioned immediately following the trials into a role with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Despite his own sordid history with the office, Draco found that he harboured no ill-will towards his childhood enemy for this choice, especially since Harry seemed genuinely pleased to see his face amongst those of the Friday night crew.

The group engaged in idle conversation for the better part of an hour while Draco sat quietly, just happy to be included despite having relatively nothing to add to the discussion. Suddenly, Draco found himself with a burning question that he needed answered, and took his opportunity during a small lull.  

“Granger, where is the Weas…uh” Draco feigned a cough, “Weasley this evening?” He asked, looking at her with what he hoped was a warm smile.

He watched as the expression of delight she had sported all evening turned sour, rolling her eyes. “Down in Bournemouth at some bloody quidditch game”, not bothering to hide the disdain in her voice. 

Draco sensed her aversion to the topic and so he just nodded, quickly changing the subject to ask the table exactly what their jobs were these days. He pretended to listen, largely tuning out their answers instead studying Hermione and wondering about the details of her relationship with the Weasel. He was stunned by the information that Weasley was a quidditch player, as he certainly didn’t possess the physique of any professional player he had ever seen before. Perhaps the game had evolved while Draco had been away. It was a piece of information he decided to file away until he had time to explore the topic further later on. He rejoined the conversation just in time as Hermione launched into the explanation of her work.

“Well I’ve been with the department since just after graduation, actually.” She began. Draco looked into her eyes and found that the hint of sadness he thought he detected last week was still very much present. “I started as a simple intern but I’ve managed to work my way up to a leadership position. It's completely different to the days where I used to work with creature advocacy groups to get their proposals before the Minister, but I still feel like my work is meaningful, just in a different way.”

The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, he admitted, was a perfect fit for Hermione. He had a foggy memory of her plight to free the Hogwarts house elves when they were children. But the contrast in tone with which she described her work and personal life, set off alarm bells in his head. She seemed to beam with joy as she spoke of her early days in the department, yet there had been no trace of that same enthusiasm earlier. The Hermione he went to school with had been such an insufferable swot that it seemed curious to him that she wasn’t rubbing it in his face, as she was likely the youngest member of the leadership team in the history of the Ministry. Draco was left with a burning desire to uncover the profound sadness she was attempting to smother and make sure all who had contributed would pay.

The focus moved next to Pansy, who regaled the group with story after story of her bustling interior design business. Draco once again tuned-out the conversation in favour of watching Hermione nursing her butterbeer. Her eyes glinted in the warm light of the pub with her gaze trained dutifully on Pansy. It appeared she was much happier when the attention was placed elsewhere, and to his untrained eye it felt genuine. He watched as her throat bobbed with each sip of her drink, her dainty hand holding a loose grasp on it while the condensation from the cold glass dripped down the fingers of her other hand. The longer he stared at her hands, the more difficult it became to restrain himself from placing her fingers in his mouth and licking them clean for her. 

Swallowing hard and giving his head an almost imperceptible shake to free himself from the fantasy, he returned his focus to her face. She smiled unreservedly and giggled at Pansy’s story about a particularly difficult client that Draco didn’t care to listen to. All that mattered to him in that moment was how breathtaking Hermione looked with a genuine smile lighting up her face. He wondered at length if the change in her demeanor from the other night was due to the curious absence of the Weasel, and he decided this to be true unless he was proved otherwise.

The evening passed agreeably with very little effort on Draco’s part. It seemed his new companions were under the assumption that he would not enjoy being prodded with questions, so they invited him into their conversations by making eye contact to show he was included, but not forcing him to speak if he didn’t wish. Draco appreciated this, as of course the saviours of the wizarding world and Pansy (a development that hadn’t ceased to bewilder him), would be sensitive to his inability to socialize in earnest just yet. They allowed him to observe their interactions and attempt to analyze the nature of each relationship seated at the table.

Harry and Ginny seemed to be certifiably mad for one another, they never stopped touching unless one got up from the table to get more drinks. Each looked at the other like they held the key to the universe in their eyes and it almost shocked Draco; it was such a stark contrast to any love he had witnessed in his own life. Hermione and the Potters had such a familiarity with each other that they finished the other's sentences and laughed before a joke was even finished, as if they already knew the ending and couldn’t help it. It was nice to see her capable of enjoying herself, even if it was dependent upon her husband's absence. While he expected Pansy to seem as much of an outsider from the other three as Draco himself, she was just as integral to the group as any other member. Many of the anecdotes recalled by the other three included Pansy as if she had always been a part of their friend group, and it seemed to him that her and Hermione had grown to be quite close over the years. 

He did truly try his best to remain present at the table, nodding along or laughing when appropriate. But it took all he had not to lose himself completely in Hermione, she looked so breathtakingly beautiful with that damn smile . It left him with an unfamiliar warm feeling in his chest seeing her enjoy herself, and this only served to anger him further about the altercation he had witnessed the previous Friday. While he never deigned to believe that the Weasel was a decent person, Draco had no idea he was capable of being sinister, rather than just a ginger pain in his ass. 

As the evening drew to a close, many of the other patrons in the pub began to filter out into the street, including Harry and Ginny who insisted they needed to get home to relieve their babysitter for the night. Hermione drained her third butterbeer before indicating it was also time for her to head home. Draco was torn between sitting upstairs in his window and watching her leave alone, or  letting the old highborn pureblood family sensibilities take charge and walk her to the floo himself. Before he could decide which would be less inappropriate, Pansy rose from the table and the two of them bid him goodnight.

Draco watched the two witches exit the pub before standing from the table and running upstairs to his flat, but as he slid out from behind the booth he realized Hermione had forgotten her cardigan. He debated chasing after them to return it, but then he would miss his golden opportunity to observe from his window. So, slinging it over his arm he took the stairs two at a time, catching the girls swaying up the road in a fit of giggles.

When they were out of sight, he realized he was clutching her sweater in his hands, obliviously rubbing the soft cashmere between his fingers. He stared down at it, a tiny little thing, a lavender shade with a dozen pearl glass buttons lining the front. His body worked faster than his brain as he brought it up to his face and deeply inhaled her scent. A pleasant warm spice filled his nose, a hint of florals with a light woody note. It was intoxicating, and Draco absentmindedly stepped back until the mattress hit the backs of his knees and he sank down into the bed, taking long deep breaths through his nose.. She is absolutely fucking mouthwatering . He didn’t stop until he was light in the head and practically drooling into the fabric.

It left him wondering how much stronger the smell would be if it had been her next to him in bed, and not a forgotten cardigan. He couldn’t seem to put it down, being away from the smell of her for even a second became too much. Draco kicked off his shoes and crawled under the covers of his bed, draping the cardigan over his face as his head hit the pillow. He replayed the evening in his mind, she had been so different without the oppressive presence of the Weasel at their table and Draco needed to know why more than he needed air in his lungs. Understanding Hermione had quickly become the only thought he was capable of holding in his mind and as he drifted to sleep, an elaborate plan began to form in his mind. 

 

🖤

 

Draco didn’t leave his flat for any reason other than to smoke or pick up food from the kitchen downstairs for the entire weekend. He spent the better part of Saturday and Sunday standing in his bathroom mirror trying to get a handle on his metamorphmagus abilities, willing himself to change into as many different, unrecognizable combinations as he could manage. His scheme had been half-cooked at best, but by Sunday evening, Draco knew his plans down to the minute.

Monday morning, Draco slipped into the alley beside The Crossed Wands and shifted his appearance to a perfectly ordinary looking man. Mid-thirties, average build, brown hair and brown eyes - absolutely nothing that anyone could recognize as distinctly Malfoy. He checked his appearance in the reflection of his cigarette case before striding as confidently as possible up Diagon Alley to the Daily Prophet headquarters.

The large office building was similar in stature to that of the Ministry from what he could remember of it, high ceilings swarming with small paper airplanes zooming between offices and windows from the various floors looking out over a sprawling lobby area. The atrium was buzzing with people as he walked through, approaching the reception desk. Draco was accustomed to people giving him deference as he walked through crowds, but now in his completely ordinary appearance  the other people in the lobby didn’t even look up from their morning conversations, as he weaved his way up to the large desk with a young witch sitting behind it.

“Good morning,” she greeted him with a polite smile. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I, erm-” Draco coughed as he attempted to conceal his normal speaking voice. “No miss, no appointment. I was hoping to put in a request for copies of certain editions of the paper, if that’s something you do?”

Her smile grew wider and her eyebrows shot up as she gave an over enthusiastic nod of her head, her hair bobbing up and down with the movement. “Oh! Yes absolutely, what are you looking for?”

He had prepared for this question until he was blue in the face, “I’m hoping to write a book about how the world has changed since the end of the war, so anything you can give me about the Golden Trio would be really helpful, miss…?” 

“Emmiline Clarke, at your service, sir!” The young woman proclaimed with delight, though Draco assumed it was a facade she put on for the general public, she was quite good at it. “I would be happy to help, fill out this form and I’ll see what I can find to send you home with today.”

She shoved a piece of paper into Draco’s waiting hand and gestured to the side of the counter where a quill was waiting for him. He filled out the required information quickly and pretended to read over his answers as his eyes scanned the crowd. It seemed to be a busy morning at the Prophet and this was easily the most crowded place he had been since the final battle of the war. He was still uneasy when Emmiline returned with a small stack of newspapers in her arms.

The form exchanged hands as she floated the papers over the counter for him to take. “Right then, Mr….” She looked down at the form to find his name, “Mr. Hayden. Well, you can take these from the year 1998 and I’ll have more for you in a few days, if that’s alright?”

“Yes, Miss Clarke, thank you so much for all your help this morning, I’ll see you on Wednesday?” Draco thought it best to charm and ingratiate himself to the witch seeing as she was likely the only thing standing between him and a wealth of information involving Hermione.

The young woman nodded, the peaks of her cheekbones blushing slightly. Draco fought to suppress an eyeroll at how easily won over she was. With a tight lipped smile, he bent at the waist picking up the stack of newspapers and stalked out of the building. It took conscious effort to maintain appropriate pacing, as opposed to sprinting home as fast as he could. 

The task hadn’t needed nearly as much time or effort as he had planned for and it was barely midday when Draco found himself back in his own skin, kneeling on his floor skimming through the newspapers. The front desk witch had said all the papers were from 1998, much to his dismay. He wasn’t in Azkaban until the end of May 1998 so he imagined most of the papers contained within this stack wouldn't contain new information, however he was determined to make use of what materials he had until later in the week.

The first article he came across was a front page spread declaring the end of the war. He thought he might have actually read this when it was published, but he skimmed it anyway. Hermione was barely mentioned other than as a footnote to the heroics of Harry Potter; the entire article spanned an abridged history of the “good” side of the war and she had been boiled down to the role of a mere sidekick to the Chosen One. He cast the paper aside and resisted the urge to set it on fire for good measure as he moved onto the next in the stack.

The next mention of her came from a July 1998 profile written by Rita Skeeter. He had always despised the woman, as she was a sorry excuse for a journalist, how on earth she managed to write with no allegiance to any ideology other than getting herself published, Draco never understood. The profile was complete with a full page photo of Hermione, looking sheepish as the camera flashed in her face but fixing immediately to a confident smile. She was alone in the frame, which was rare, as from his memory, she had always been depicted with Harry and the Weasel. She was wearing an outfit not dissimilar to the one she had to his trial, smart and sophisticated yet entirely out of place on such a young and vibrant woman. The profile delved superficially into her background, noting that Skeeter seemed to focus too much on her blood status for someone who had helped save the entire world. There was very little real or useful information in the article other than apparently Hermione has a penchant for baked goods. Every other piece of information was something Draco himself could have concluded from his albeit limited, interactions with her during school. She loves reading and learning, prefers coffee over tea, cares deeply for her friends and magical creatures. 

While the article gave him nothing in terms of understanding who she might be outside of her relationships with Potter and Weasley, Draco felt compelled to keep it. He pulled his wand out of his jacket with a small flourish, cut out the article and photo, and placed it on the top of his small bedside table. 

The third article seemed promising as Draco flipped through a paper from August 1998 to find a piece titled What’s Next for the Golden Trio .

 

What’s Next for the Golden Trio? By Medford Hill

Three months following the end of the great wizarding war, the whole of society has their eyes trained exclusively on our famed heroes to see what greatness they will achieve next. The heroes, of course, being the affectionately named “Golden Trio” of Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and of course, Harry Potter. I was fortunate enough to sit down with each of them over tea at Hogwarts while writing last month about the rebuilding efforts following the final battle.

Ronald Weasley was the first to offer up his future plans, seemingly the most excited to share with the world what his intentions were for the next few years of his life. The penultimate child of seven, Mr. Weasley has some very successful elder siblings to follow into the world. Readers will all remember of course that one of his older brothers was lost during the Battle of Hogwarts back in May, but Ronald himself seemed to be bearing it well, striding confidently into the room with a big toothy smile to chat with me, stopping to speak only when helping himself to the jam thumbprint cookies. He was proud to announce that it has always been his biggest dream to play professional Quidditch, and now that the war has been won that is exactly what he will be doing! His childhood favourite team, The Chudley Cannons, were more than pleased to offer him the chance to try out with them in the coming months. 

“Mum always said that we could do anything we put our minds to, and all it took was me mentioning in an interview that I want to play for the Cannons and I got an owl from them the next morning! Can you imagine?” Said Mr. Weasley.

Hermione Granger was a little more tight lipped when asked about her aspirations. She sat politely across from me, asked me several questions about myself - seemingly very interested in the person interviewing her. This rarely happens so I made note to mention it, ever the kind young woman Miss Granger.  Known to all who I have asked as a dedicated student, it should be no surprise to hear that Miss Granger plans to attend Hogwarts for her final year when the reconstruction efforts have been realized. When pressed further, Granger asserted that she feels she has missed out on a lot of her learning opportunities due to the war and is very much looking forward to focusing on nothing but school for the next year. When asked if she had any wedding bells in her future, Miss Granger declined to comment and promptly ended the interview, so take note any interested gentlemen to tread lighter than this interviewer.

Finally, the person you’re all looking forward to hearing from, the one and only Mr. Harry James Potter. Mr. Potter greeted me affectionately with an impressive handshake and was measured in his answers, having obviously gotten used to all the media attention since we first started following his story many years ago. Just a few weeks after his 18th birthday, Potter was the image of a serious and matured man as we shared in our fondness for all things Quidditch before launching into my questions. Much like with Miss Granger, it should not come as a shock to learn that Mr. Potter has already accepted a position within the Ministry’s auror training programme. 

“Seems like the right next step for me, I have always had aspirations to become an auror. I would like to think that my father might have been in the department with me if things had turned out differently, but I have been fortunate enough to know many excellent aurors in my life and I look forward to making them proud.” Said Potter.

A very fitting and on-brand next step from Potter indeed. We look forward to seeing all the great and wonderful things that come in the next few years from these gifted young people.

 

Draco cut this article out with his wand as well and added it to the pile with Hermione’s profile, making sure to keep her photo on the top of the stack. None of the information in the article caused any shocking revelations for him, of course she would have gone back to Hogwarts. He did chuckle to read that she stormed out of the interview when asked about her romantic prospects, knowing she would have hated to be reduced to nothing more than an accessory for some wizard who wished to marry her. He noticed that the interviewer did not ask the other two about their relationship statuses, which only fueled his rage on her behalf. 

The rest of the stack of papers proved to be completely useless in his search, no mentions of Hermione in any of them other than a small excerpt in September wishing her a happy 19th birthday. At this point he knew her birthday as if it were his own, but he cut out the snippet and put it in the pile nonetheless.

After one final skim through all the newspapers, he was satisfied he didn’t overlook anything that might have mentioned her. He was left feeling slightly disappointed, but remained optimistic about the next collection. 

After nipping downstairs for a plate of food, Draco climbed into his bed and floated the photo from Skeeter’s profile in front of his face. Her posture was strong, shoulders held delicately back as she grasped a book to her chest as a prop. Her smile, whilst hesitant, still reached her eyes, appearing to be not completely disingenuous. It was plain to see the image of the Golden Girl they were trying to force feed to their readership, but he knew her to be so much more than just a girl who loves books. He tried to place the young girl in the photograph somewhere within the image of the woman he met again a little over a week ago. Hermione’s smiles rarely reached her eyes anymore. She smiled, sure, but it lacked a sense of authenticity that the smile in the photo held. 

What happened to her in the years between the photo and now, that caused her spirit to dim? The girl in the photo had just spent a year of her life on the run from a crazed madman and his followers who believed she deserved to die for something as trivial as magical parentage. Yet Draco could still feel the warmth of that smile floating off the page, travelling 11 years into the future to meet him. He pulled Hermione’s cardigan out from where he stashed it under his pillow and cradled it affectionately, falling asleep with a renewed commitment to restore that marvelous smile to her face. 

Notes:

Here comes our Draco being a bit... well deranged I think. And it only escalates from here.

Thanks for reading, see you next week!

All my love as always to @Swift_Knight and @Maple_Unicorn for their beta reading abilities and for encouraging me to make this man worse with every chapter.

Chapter 3: I Got A New Complaint

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Tuesday passed by outside the window of Draco’s flat without so much as a single interesting sight to behold. He exercised, showered, snuck into the alley for a smoke, and returned to leaning against the glass panes to observe the world existing around him. Throughout the day, he kept returning to the photo of young Hermione he had cut out of the newspaper the evening before. Her bright eyes bore into his mind as he gazed over her repeatedly;  begging the photo to just tell him what he needed to know to get the elder version of herself to smile like that again. But young Hermione’s face held no answers for him, he wasted the hours wishing the girl on the small piece of paper between his fingers would burst into life before him and hand over a comprehensive guide to Hermione Granger.

Early the next morning, under the cover of darkness beside The Crossed Wands, Draco promptly dressed in his average-looking man costume and changed his appearance before striding up towards the Daily Prophet offices as Mr. Hayden once again. The lobby of the building was not bustling quite like it had on Monday; Draco assumed that many of the people employed there were off working on their assignments and wouldn’t have had any need to come into the office midweek. As he lazily made his way through the open space, he wondered idly what life must be like for people who had ordinary upbringings, ordinary jobs, and ordinary lives. These were not imaginings he often permitted from himself, Draco knew that his entire existence from birth was extraordinary. Perhaps not in the same way as he believed Hermione to be exceptional, but not one single soul could ever accuse him of being unremarkable.

When he arrived at the reception desk, he was pleased to find the same shrill young woman he spoke to earlier in the week. He cleared his throat to alert her to his presence. “Good morning, Miss Clarke.”

Her head shot up and she fixed a businesslike grin on her face. “Oh! Good morning, Mr…uh, Hayden was it?” she said, rifling through papers on the desk in front of her as if to confirm the name she couldn’t remember.

“Yes, that’s me. I’m back for more copies of the paper if you have them?” he asked politely, gesturing to a stack behind her similar in size to the one she had sent him home with on their first meeting.

“Right!” she exclaimed, jumping up to summon over the string-tied pile of newspapers for him. “These are through to the end of 2000, everything from 2001 onward is in another storage facility so I’ve sent away for copies for you. They should be delivered tomorrow evening, so I’m afraid you’ll have to return on Friday.”

“No trouble at all, Miss Clarke. Once again, I appreciate all your help. Perhaps I shall have to thank you in the acknowledgments of my novel when it’s finished.” Draco hooked his finger through the string and picked up the stack off the counter, he watched the witch blush again from his half-hearted attempt at flattery. That ought to teach her to forget his name, he thought.

Draco gave the woman a nod before she could say anything stupid and turned on his heel to leave, only to spot the glowing ginger head of The Weasel pop out of a floo connection on the left side of the atrium. He reigned in his reaction, though if anyone saw him spot Weasley they likely would just assume him to be slightly starstruck by the famed member of the Golden Trio. Draco was not in the business of deviating from his plans, but as he walked back down Diagon Alley to his flat he wondered what business the Weasel could possibly have at the Prophet.

Once securely behind his door and looking like himself again, Draco began to repeat his process of skimming through each of the papers for any information about Hermione. Naturally, the first mention he was able to find of her was from February 1999 when she testified at his trial before the Wizengamot. He poured over the article to confirm that she really had attempted to implore the court not to send him to prison; he had recalled the memory so frequently while he was in Azkaban that he wasn’t certain he hadn’t hallucinated it. The words on the paper confirmed his memory of her to be completely accurate but there was one piece of fact in the snippet that blew him away. Apparently, Draco’s trial was the only one that Hermione had appeared to testify for. This brought him both immense happiness and more confusion than ever before. 

Happy, of course, because she really had been there speaking passionately about how she believed him to be worth a chance at redemption rather than pure punishment. Happy because Hermione had deemed him the only person apparently worth her time, and emotional labour, to come to the Ministry and speak for. Happy because maybe that meant as much to her as it did to Draco. 

Nonetheless, he was deeply confused as to why she hadn’t spoken at any other trials. Perhaps she felt it wasn’t worth her pain to dredge up any of her memories from the war. It certainly wasn’t in her character to attempt to inflict more suffering on those accused who were undoubtedly headed for life in Azkaban even without her testimony. Confused because her words had carried so much weight for both Draco himself and the court. McDowell had informed him after the fact that they hadn’t considered anything less than a life sentence before her impassioned plea on his behalf. He had never given her any reason to care what became of him and yet, she changed the course of his life. 

Draco cut out the article and silently stared at the wall of his room for several minutes before adding it to the rapidly growing pile of paper on his nightstand. The next mention of Hermione was mid-May 1999, announcing that she had graduated at the top of her class from her final year at Hogwarts. There was no statement from her, and they reused the photo from her post-war profile, but Draco trimmed it out with a quick swish of his wand and moved on. He almost missed the next mention as it was a small announcement in the back of an edition from July of the same year. It was a release from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures stating that they were pleased to be welcoming the Golden Girl onto their staff at an entry level position. 

It was odd, envisioning his girl as a lowly intern, being forced to be an errand girl for men who were far below her. She could have waltzed into any office in the entire Ministry of Magic, held up one of numerous articles from before or after the war declaring her the brightest witch of her age, and easily landed an associate minister’s position with her name recognition alone. Draco was baffled by the mere idea of Hermione ever being anyone’s intern . The word alone sent him into a blind rage to think of her making coffee for senior members of the department who did not have half the mind or experiences as she brought with her. It was already too much for her to have to deal with the dismal behaviour of her husband, but it was something else entirely for her to then have to spend her day at work being the subject of what Draco imagined to be an endless onslaught of cheap harassment due to her gender, age, and blood status. The more he thought about what she must have endured during her early years in the ministry, the more enraged he became. Draco didn’t notice just how much it was affecting him until he realized he had crumpled the photo of her he was holding. 

He calmed his breathing and shook his head at himself, the anger he held on her behalf would prove itself useful at the proper moment. Draco smoothed out the crumpled clipping and put it up with the rest of them.

Once he calmed down, his mind wandered back to young Hermione’s motives. Draco presumed that she would have wanted to work from the bottom to earn her place. He found this to be a deeply admirable quality about her, of course she would never accept something she did not feel she had earned on her own merit. This set her apart in his mind to anyone else he had ever met, most glaringly to the Weasel who self-declared as a professional quidditch player immediately following the war and hadn’t had the commitment to even keep in shape to do his job for the past 11 years.

The next article that caught his eye immediately made his blood boil, from of course, the one and only Rita Skeeter.



A Golden Romance - By Rita Skeeter

 

Joyous news, Dear Readers! While this author had always anticipated that the Golden Girl, Hermione Granger, had her sights set on the formidable Harry Potter - it seems she had us all fooled. 

Potter clearly was not interested in the Golden Girl, having been spotted earlier this month getting cozy with Miss Ginevra Weasley in Hogsmeade. You’ll recall, Dear Reader, how shocked we all were to learn that the Chosen One had chosen his best friend’s little sister. Well, prepare to be gobsmacked because you’ll never guess who I saw Miss Granger canoodling with at the 1999 Quidditch World Cup finals last week.

None other than Ronald Weasley! Fresh off the back of another round of failed try-outs for his beloved Chudley Cannons for the upcoming season, Weasley was spotted seeking comfort in a plush box at the stadium with Miss Granger. Now, Dear Reader, I wanted to be certain that this was not just a one off occasion, but after a week’s worth of investigative reporting I am able to confirm that the two are most certainly an item! They were spotted out with friends on Diagon Alley, returning home from the pub together on Friday evening.

You may find yourself asking why she has settled for second best in the loss of her beloved Harry Potter, and I too wondered the same. You’ll no doubt recall that Miss Granger shared a brief fling with Bulgarian Bonbon Viktor Krum a few years back. I was unable to determine if they had the chance to rekindle in the year since the end of the war, but I will continue on the search for the truth. 

It seems that Miss Granger certainly has a taste for a Quidditch loving man, but don’t hang up your hats yet gentlemen. As they say, it’s not over until Weasley gets down on one knee and we all know that our Golden Girl just can’t seem to keep a man locked down. Keep your eyes trained on this column for any new developments in their love affair!

 

Draco grimaced down at the paper in his hands. Skeeter made his stomach churn, bile rose in his throat at the content of the article, and the attached photo of Hermione and the Weasel sharing a private moment at a quidditch game over 10 years ago also made him fucking sick. 

It wasn’t enough to report on her private affairs to the entire country, but for the witch to insinuate that Hermione would not be able to “keep” Weasley was nothing short of vile. If that wasn’t enough, he was deeply offended on her behalf at the accusation that she had settled for “second best.” Despite absolutely agreeing with his entire being, the audacity of Skeeter to publish that garbage seemed low, even for her. He scanned the rest of the papers for the month, searching for a retraction, correction, or apology but came up with nothing.

The rest of the collection of newspapers didn’t offer much else, safe from a large photo of the trio at the Ministry Christmas gala together at the end of 1999. Hermione was wearing a beautiful light blue gown as she beamed with pride between her two best friends. He cut out the photo and left the Weasel’s face with a nice scorch mark over it for good measure before adding it to the pile on his nightstand. The final article he took note of was not on the topic of Hermione but did prove to be interesting.

In an edition from early 2000, Draco discovered a small column in the back half of the paper written by none other than the Weasel himself. Draco was surprised; he would have been less shocked to find out that the misshapen idiot was illiterate than he was to discover that the Prophet had given him his own weekly Quidditch column. He read over it quickly, it was of higher quality than he could have ever expected from Weasley, but he did note the name of his editor was at the bottom of the article. The most likely scenario in his mind was that some poor woman named Sarah MacDonald was doing all the heavy lifting and the ginger got to slap his name on it to claim her words as his own. 

 

🖤

 

Friday arrived again, and Draco decided to return to the Prophet offices a little later in the morning than usual while disguised as Mr. Hayden in hopes of catching the Weasel coming in. Perhaps Draco could find something that would prove he wasn’t writing his own column—if he did in fact still have one. He was antsy and agitated to have to divert from his routine of the previous visits in order to achieve this end, so by the time he met with Emmiline Clarke at the reception desk, he was in no mood for flattery or frivolity. 

He approached the counter and grunted in replacement for a greeting that any reasonable person would offer a person providing them a service in a place of business. Emmiline startled and looked up at him before recognizing his imposterous face and fixing her usual synthetic smile in place.

“Oh, good morning Mr. Hayden! How is the book coming along?” she babbled, batting her eyelashes with a gusto that curdled Draco’s breakfast.

“Fine. I trust you have the rest of the papers for me?” 

She seemed only slightly put off by his change in demeanour but took it in stride, Draco assumed she spent most of her days dealing with less than civil customers. “Yes, Mr. Hayden, everything else from the archives until the end of last year mentioning the Golden Trio, here you are.”

He nodded at her as she moved to pull over the collection of papers bound again in a small white piece of twine, he looked away to scan the building for a rather noticeable head of ginger hair. It didn’t take him long to spot the Weasel, facing away from the counter and leaning casually against a wall near the top of one of the innumerable corridors of the office building. Draco could hardly make out the figure that Weasel was speaking to as his dumpy body was in the way. The Weasel laughed raucously at something that Draco was certain could not be that funny. 

Curiosity piqued, Draco hooked his finger through the bundle of newspapers and walked as though he was going to leave the building as he usually did. Instead, he ducked behind a large column and disillusioned himself to be able to sneak closely to the Weasel without being noticed. He had forgone his usual gratuitous spray of cologne this morning for this exact purpose; Draco had grown up surrounded by subterfuge long enough to know how to avoid the obvious stupid mistakes people ordinarily made. He would not be caught by the Weasel, getting close enough to overhear anything that might help Draco be rid of the bloated nuisance was of paramount importance to him.

“Come on then, Sarah. Don’t you want to come with me?” The Weasel leered at her with a raised eyebrow.

The woman on the other side of him was a sinuous, willowy woman who looked like she might blow away in the wind at any moment. She was staring up at Weasley, who dwarfed her easily in both height and general bodyweight, with great sparkly doe eyes. Draco knew flirting when he saw it, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that there was something untoward going on between the two of them. Sarah, he imagined, must be Sarah MacDonald - the woman he noted as Weasley’s editor of his column in the paper the night before.

“To the quidditch finals? Aren’t you bringing Hermione?” the tiny woman asked, tilting her head inquisitively.

“Eh, she hates quidditch, doesn't she? She’ll just complain the entire match, I’d much rather have your company.”

Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A devious smirk curled the edges of his lips as he moved closer; he was both outraged and delighted to have caught some of the interaction between them. Draco’s hands twitched to choke the bastard out right there in the middle of the hallway but an unshakeable calm washed over him as he knew he needed to get more ammunition if he wanted to use this to his benefit of getting Hermione away from the Weasel.

Before they could delve any further into their inappropriate conversation in the middle of the corridor, a very sleek man in expensive robes rounded the corner behind the woman, causing Weasley to straighten his posture and step slightly back. She seemed to have caught on to his almost imperceptible shift.

“Why don’t you come into my office, Mr. Weasley? We can go over my edits for this week’s column,” Sarah said.

The Weasel nodded and they walked a very respectable distance apart from one another into a small office at the end of the hall. Draco would not lose the opportunity to gain some insight to be used as a weapon against the Weasel. Draco was hot on his heels, slipping into the office behind them just before the door clicked shut, the miniature witch hitting it with a locking and silencing charm.

Before Draco could even process what was unfolding in front of him, the bravest woman in Britain was on her knees in front of the Weasel and fumbling to get the waistband of his pants out from under his gut. Draco’s eyes slammed shut just a moment too late to miss her unzipping his ill-fitting trousers to set loose Weasley’s limp and unimpressive cock.

He tried to drown out the sounds of her saliva and entirely too eager moans and think of an escape plan that wouldn’t completely reveal his position. Nothing came to mind. Draco wished he was dead or was, at the very least, quite literally anywhere else. A life sentence in Azkaban seemed like a merciful punishment in comparison to being locked in an office to witness this crime against humanity.

“Oh fuck Sarah!” Weasley grunted.

Draco heard a sound he recognized from similar encounters in his youth of a woman faking a gag while she took all of him into her mouth. He had to begrudgingly give credit to the witch where it was due, though he was not risking a glance at the pair of them, he could from the cacophony hitting his ears that she was giving it everything she had. 

“Mmm..” She moaned from deep in her throat before he heard her lips come off Weasley with a pop and the sound of someone spitting.

Against his better judgment, Draco cracked an eye open to see what was going on in hopes of assessing how much longer it might be until he could liberate himself from this torture. The sight of the small woman working Weasley’s meagre cock between both hands made his stomach churn, though a sinister comment wormed into his brain that she absolutely did not need to be using both hands. The Weasel was more red in the face than usual and his breaths were coming in laboured puffs. Draco stilled his own body as it attempted something between a gag and a laugh before closing his eyes again and wishing he was still locked in a prison in the middle of the North Sea.

“I- fuck Sarah!” the Weasel shouted, startling both Draco and the woman performing community service between his thighs as she gave a small gasp.

She seemed to take it in stride however, “Yeah? Are you gonna come for me, Chosen One?”

Draco had to place his hand over his mouth to keep himself from bursting out laughing, it could not have possibly been more on brand for Weasley to want this poor woman to refer to him as the Chosen One

“Open your mouth, I’m gonna give you all of my life seed.” 

With that, Draco decided that he would have to risk being caught sneaking out of the office to avoid seeing anything that would follow this despairingly quick blowjob. He would have taken a dementor’s kiss any day overhearing the Weasel refer to his cum as life seed . Draco could not imagine a less erotic way to speak to a woman than what he had witnessed in the past few minutes. Not only did Hermione deserve sainthood for putting up with this, Draco wanted to commission a bronze statue commemorating the bravery of the woman on her knees in her office.

The Weasel grunted a few times and an overzealous gulp sounded from poor Sarah before Draco peeked through his fingers to see Weasley stuffing himself back into his trousers. He watched as the witch helped herself up off her knees and eye him to see if he might repay the favour, Draco prayed to Merlin that he wouldn’t.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’ve gotta get to the pitch to cover practice. I’ll get you back next time, alright?” he cajoled as he wiped a bead of sweat off his swollen neck and thundered toward the door.

As soon as it opened, Draco barreled out into the corridor behind him, sparing a pitying glance over his shoulder at the unfulfilled young woman leaning on her desk. He reasoned that she would only be more disappointed with the Weasel if he had continued, based on what Draco deemed to be the shameful performance he just witnessed.

The only objective in his mind was to get as far away from that office as possible, so much so that he was already huffing for air halfway back down Diagon Alley to his flat before he truly came to the realization of exactly what he had just witnessed. His bewilderment shifted to blind rage and he came to a dead stop in the middle of the street - the fucking Weasel was actively cheating on Hermione. Draco spun around in place to face back towards the Prophet offices and half considered going back to track down Weasley and castrate him with his bare hands.

A cold voice emerged from the depths of his mind, telling him not to act on his instinctive rage for Hermione. If he could lay in wait long enough to lunge at the perfect moment, this was information he could use to his benefit. Reluctantly, Draco stomped the rest of the way back to his flat with the heap of newspapers still slung from the crook of his finger.

 

🖤

 

By the time Draco had calmed down enough to even look at the newspapers, it was late afternoon. He had completely abandoned his original desire not to smoke inside the apartment and spent the better part of midday pacing back and forth in front of the window and smoking cigarette after cigarette until rational thought returned to his body. When he eventually sat on the floor to dig through the final bundle of newspapers, he was almost indifferent to what they could possibly tell him that might help.

He wondered if Hermione knew, or had any inkling, and if that was why she was hiding a secret sadness from her friends. Though, the girl he remembered from their years in school would have sooner hexed Weasley clear across London than allow herself to be treated so poorly by someone who was supposed to worship her. But if what Draco witnessed this morning was any indication, there was absolutely no worship happening in the Granger-Weasley household.

Draco did his best to push the thoughts out of his mind, as with them came deeply unsettling mental imagery, and began to work through the papers spread on the floor in front of him. The first one he came across was accompanied by a photo of a slightly older Hermione looking absolutely stunning in another light blue dress at what the caption told him was Harry and Ginny’s wedding in September 2002. The couple looked smitten, Draco couldn’t help but feel a little happy at the sight of them since they had both been nothing but kind to him since his return. He used his wand again to cut out Hermione’s nubile body from the photo and place it with his other collected works on the nightstand.

Curiously, the next thing he came across were the photos from Hermione’s wedding in May of the following year. The shock of seeing a large photo of her in a white gown sent him digging back through other papers to see if he missed an engagement announcement but couldn’t seem to find one. He raised up on his shins to grab the photo he had just cut out, Hermione did not have an engagement ring on her finger at Potter’s wedding. This left him wondering if perhaps one had pressured the other into getting married soon after Harry and Ginny, not to be outdone. Obviously, the Weasel was angry with Hermione for letting his little sister and best friend get married without having a ring on his own finger. Draco studied the photo and found that her smile could barely be classified as happy, 

 Hermione made a breathtaking bride, he wished to see her wear white more often as it was such a flattering shade against her skin. With a deep sigh, he cut the photo out but again just the part that included her - leaving the Weasel attached to the greater bulk of the paper to be incinerated later.

He went through the next several years worth of papers, only to find that most of the mentions were of Harry’s work with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and not of Hermione. Save from every single December edition where he found a photo of the trio at the annual Christmas Gala. He cut out all nine of the photos and lined them up side by side to see if he could pinpoint what year things fell apart between her and the Weasel, but in every single one she stood with a wide, joyous smile on her face as the men stood on either side of her for the photograph. Her smile reached her eyes in each one and she looked magnificent every single time. He collected them up and added them to the stack on his bedside table that was now nearly toppling over from how many clippings were kept there.

The only full-length article that spoke of Hermione was from May 2008, celebrating the ten-year anniversary of the end of the Wizarding War.



Where Are They Now? The Golden Trio Ten Years Post-War - By Medford Hill

 

It has been a peaceful ten years for the wizarding community since the Battle of Hogwarts in May 1998. Our wounds have healed, our dead have been remembered, our divisions have been closed - largely due to the bravery and sacrifices of the Golden Trio. I have been covering the trio for many years, and I am proud to be able to call them my friends after all this time. But for those of you who don’t know them quite like I do, you must be wondering what they have been up to these past ten years.

If you read my very first article on them a decade ago, you’ll recall that Ron Weasley shared with us his dreams of becoming a professional quidditch player. We sat down for tea right before he was set to go off to tryouts for his beloved Chudley Cannons. Well, ten years into the future that young man has changed his aspirations quite significantly.

“I realized that it wasn’t playing quidditch that I truly loved so much as just the atmosphere of being at a game.” Said Weasley when we met for lunch at the Prophet HQ last week. “I couldn’t be happier to have my weekly column in the Prophet where I get to discuss the games and practices I’ve attended, sharing my love for the game is the most important thing to me in the world.”

His other love, one Miss Hermione Granger-Weasley, has taken her desire to change the world to the next level by devoting her time and energy to various worthy causes during her time with the Ministry of Magic. Most notably, taking up a high-profile centaur self-determination bill a few years ago. She has used her name recognition and love of hard work to further the rights and protections afforded under the law to countless species of magical creatures during her tenure. She’s a terribly busy witch, and did not have time to sit down with me for this article but she did provide the following short statement for me via owl.

“It's hard for me to believe that ten years have passed since the end of the war, it seems so much has changed and yet many things have remained the same. I cannot thank those who made the ultimate sacrifice enough for giving their lives in the pursuit of what is right. We shall never forget them, nor the cause they laid down their lives for. As for me, I’m just doing my very best to move the needle on the causes that are most important to my heart.”

Finally, the famed auror Harry Potter has been the subject of many of my articles over the past ten years. He is no stranger to interviews with myself or any of my colleagues due to all of the great work he has done for our community with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. As for Potter himself, he remains as humble as ever and always makes time for this old reporter.

“Well, Medford, it’s been a challenging but rewarding decade. The work I do as an auror, along with all of my colleagues in the DMLE, is fulfilling, but nothing is as inspiring as my role of ‘Dad.’ Being a husband and father is the reason I do what I do, my wife and children are the reason I get up in the morning and work hard to secure a safe future for them.”

It should be no surprise to anyone that Potter is such a devoted father after having grown up without one himself, I couldn’t be more proud to see how far all the members of our favourite trio have come since our first meeting in 1998. I wish I could report to you that Potter would be receiving the promotion to Uncle Harry from the Granger-Weasley household, but sadly that is still not the case after all this time.

In closing, I would like to express my deepest sympathies to anyone mourning those we lost all those years ago. There will be a ceremony of remembrance open to all at the Hogwarts quidditch pitch this Friday, 2 May 2008 at 7pm.

 

The article pieced a few things together for Draco, namely that Hermione clearly wanted nothing to do with the media meanwhile her husband quite literally worked for the establishment that had allowed slanderous information to be printed about her in the past. He was so angry that the paper would speculate and even shame Hermione for being a busy woman with more important things to do than procreate with that ginger monstrosity. He clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times trying to rein himself in, but the indignation remained. Draco re-read the final passage to make sure that he wasn’t reading into the tone before finally deciding to retain his anger on her behalf for such statements being made in the news.

In the end, he did settle for cutting out the article and when he floated it behind him to the collection of clippings on the table, they became unbalanced and started sliding off onto the floor. With a grunt, Draco crawled over and picked them all up, resolving that he needed a better solution than just stacking up the loose papers. 

He held his wand firmly in his large hand and set his attention on the discarded stack of newspapers, pacing slowly back and forth in front of them trying to decide what he should transfigure them into for storage of his rapidly growing Hermione Granger collection. Before long, he could visualize in his mind the most perfect little container to store her in. 

He worked tirelessly for almost half an hour on the transfiguration spells, he needed this to be perfect and exactly like he could see it in his head. When he was finished, he looked down with a satisfied smirk at the small heart-shaped box in his hands. No bigger than an average book, but spelled with an extension charm so he could put as many things in it as he needed without ever running out of space. It was blacker than the night sky, it almost seemed to suck the light into its orbit as he admired his handiwork. Despite being brand new, it looked like a centuries-old antique; exquisitely carved, brocade patterned floral on all sides, with a tight metal-like chain worked through the motif. He completed it with shining gold hardware and a tiny heart-shaped lock for good measure. 

 

With light hands, he meticulously folded his articles and placed them inside the box before locking it shut with his wand and slipping it under the bottom corner of his bed frame to be kept out of sight. Draco considered retrieving Hermione’s cardigan from under his pillow but decided that it could find its home in the box when it no longer carried her scent.

He stayed on the floor for a few moments, tidying and vanishing rogue papers with his wand before finally taking stock of his surroundings. It was dark outside, and he sprung to his feet to race to the window. His pulse was thrumming in his ears, the alley out front of the pub was completely quiet other than for a few couples making their way to the floo connection. Draco’s stomach lurched, he had started his day too late, got held up at the Prophet by being accosted by Weasley’s limp dick, spent too long on his research and then laboured over his demented art project. He missed the entirety of pub night. He missed Hermione.

“Fuck!” he shouted to himself as he kicked the radiator below the window. 

He pressed his forehead to the glass just in time to see Hermione exiting alone through the short walkway from the front door of the pub. Draco waited for a moment to see if the Weasel was in tow, but no one appeared behind her. Having already thrown any remaining morals to the wind when he decided to disillusion himself and accidentally become a voyeur that morning, he felt absolutely no remorse in continuing the activity into the evening.

Disillusionment in place, he chased after Hermione in the street. Assuming she might be headed to a floo connection or apparition point, he would only have a few moments with her before he couldn’t follow any further without knowing the destination. Instead, she trailed through the Leaky Cauldron and out onto the streets of Muggle London.

Draco hadn’t been to many non-magical towns other than Paris once as a child, so he was surprised to find that it was completely indistinguishable from any magical location other than the large metal death traps the muggles were speeding through the streets. Cars both fascinated and terrified him, he prayed to himself that she wasn’t going to get into one, he didn’t fancy climbing onto the roof for the journey. Instead, to his relief, she just continued to walk a short distance through the dimly lit streets until they came to a quiet-seeming residential area.

She slowly made her way up the small staircase of an average-looking townhouse and unlocked the door with a key of all things. Draco knew she favoured doing some things the muggle way, but not warding or locking her front door magically only seemed foolish to him. He stood on the sidewalk in front of her home and waited for her to lock the door behind her; he intended to leave once he knew she had made the journey safely but he remained in place, mesmerized at his ability to watch her without her knowledge. 

Draco could easily follow her path as she turned on every light in the house as she went. The place was dark when she arrived, which had Draco wondering if that meant Weasel wasn’t home. She disappeared for a few moments, and assuming she must have gone to bed, Draco turned to leave. However, a light illuminated the front room and caused him to face the house again. He walked a bit closer as he saw her head appear through a window in what must have been her sitting room. She had changed clothes into an oversized t-shirt and her hair had been gathered to the top of her head. Draco watched as she flopped herself over onto a sofa and was out of sight from his vantage point.

He vowed to remain hidden from sight until he could no longer fight off sleep, resolving that if the newspapers wouldn’t tell him what secret unlocked the ability to deliver her the life she was owed, perhaps a new hobby might.

Notes:

Sorry about making you endure the Weasel's cock before Draco's, but it had to be done I fear. I hope I made up for it by drawing you the box.

Thanks and all my love to my lifelong Betas @Swift_Knight for encouraging me to write that damn blowjob and @Maple_Unicorn for making sure I know how to spell.

Chapter 4: Priceless Advice

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The days of the two weeks that followed Draco’s choice to trail Hermione out into the streets of muggle London seemed to all bleed together. He felt quite satisfied to have settled into a daily routine that focused entirely on observing Hermione from place to place, and it was rather easy to do so because she, too, was a creature of habit.

Each morning, Draco would rise before the sun to complete his usual pattern of working out, showering, and slipping into the alleyway beside the Crossed Wands for a smoke. As the sun broke over the horizon, he would morph his appearance into an arbitrary innocuous man so he could walk to a coffee shop just up the street from Hermione’s home where she stopped each day for breakfast. He took great care never to stand too close to her or to speak to her, he just wanted to be a faceless ordinary person to go completely unnoticed by her. He would arrive a few minutes before he could expect her to walk in, order a coffee that he absolutely despised the taste of and sit at a table with his eyes trained on the door. Like clockwork, the ever-predictable Hermione would stride in everyday at 7:05 dressed for work with a heavy bag slung over her shoulder, order a flat white and an almond croissant and make polite conversation with the barista before making her way to the Ministry.

Draco had originally planned to stop the routine when she was at the office, not wanting to be discovered as someone who had no business traipsing around the Ministry of Magic, but he couldn’t keep away from her. The first day he followed her into the lifts, he had disillusioned himself and squeezed tight to the back wall so no one would accidentally walk into the invisible man in the corner. Not fifteen seconds into the journey, Cormac McLaggen bumbled into the lift and stood on Draco’s foot. Following that first day, he decided to just amend his appearance again following the cafe so he could be a simple lowly employee of any of the various departments in the building.

When Hermione would journey downstairs for her lunch break on the lift, Draco was truly able to see the depths of her unhappiness. When she was surrounded by other employees, she would politely smile or make small talk, though he did notice that she very actively tried to avoid riding in any lift with McLaggen if she could help it. Draco had ridden through the Ministry with the pair of them more than enough times in the two weeks to begin to wonder if McLaggen had any actual occupation besides wantonly hitting on a married woman in the lift. 

In a more empty lift, sometimes she would politely greet Draco before remaining silent for the entire trip, often hanging her head or heaving a great sigh before having to fix her face when she walked out into an atrium full of people expecting her to be the glittering Golden Girl. He always imagined that she would love her work, throwing herself fully into any pursuit that was remotely intellectually stimulating for her, but each day it looked like her work bag seemed heavier on her shoulder than the day before. This gave Draco cause to be concerned, especially with the information he was carrying about the Weasel. It would have been easier for him to rationalize away all his desires for her if he knew she was fulfilled in her life outside of her broken marriage, however every single time he had to watch her shoulders rise and fall in a steadying breath before exiting the lift to her office, his heart ached for her.

Another thing Draco made note of was just how much time she spent outside of the house; leaving earlier than necessary for work and staying in her office until rather late in the evenings. It didn’t take him long to work out that the days she would work through dinner or take the floo to Diagon Alley always lined up with nights that the Weasel would be home instead of at a Quidditch game or practice. Games usually occurred Thursday through Saturday, so the early days of the week found Hermione stopping into bookshops or clothing stores in the Alley to look through items casually without ever buying anything.

The most concerning thing he noticed in all the time he spent as her shadow was just how much she isolated herself from her friends. In the two weeks since his first visit to her lounge window, he had only seen her with Pansy twice. This made him even more anxious to use the information he collected to ingratiate himself with her so she would have someone to confide in about the agony she carried with her to extremes. Which is how he found himself on Friday evenings trying to get her to speak with him about literally anything at all; her portfolio at work, recommendations for restaurants she liked that he should try, books she was reading. The general energy that hung over the table at pub nights had improved tenfold since it was the height of quidditch season and the Weasel was noticeably absent. On the second Friday after he began following her, Pansy was the first to arrive at their table. 

“Harry and Ginny are in Romania until Monday, they took the boys to visit their uncle Charlie and his dragons, so it’ll just be us two and Hermione tonight,” she announced casually as she slid gracefully into the booth with a butterbeer for each of them. 

Draco saw this as a perfect opportunity to try and press Hermione further for information about her life. Pansy seemed to be the only person she ever took time to see during the week and perhaps might be classified as her best friend, surely after a few drinks they would be able to get into a beneficial conversation.

Before he could plant a seed for the topic with Pansy, Hermione arrived to join them. She was dressed in the same work clothes he had seen her in at lunch, but her curls had transformed from the earlier tamed plait into a voluminous waterfall cascading around her face and shoulders. The exhaustion was evident on her face as she dropped her things onto the ground under the table and took her seat next to Pansy in the booth.

“Rough day, Granger?” Draco asked, forcing an empathetic tone in his voice.

She huffed and helped herself to the untouched glass of butterbeer sat in front of him, downing every last drop. He raised his eyebrows at her and watched as she licked the foam off her top lip in a way he wished he could have done for her with his tongue. He shared a momentary concerned glance with Pansy before turning his attention back to Hermione.

“Shall I get you another?” he said while already in motion to get up from his seat and up to the bar.

When he returned to the table, he handed her the butterbeer intentionally with his large hand wrapped around the glass so their skin would have to brush when she took it from him.

Pansy made polite conversation with Draco while Hermione sat silently, nursing the second drink for half an hour before speaking when she finally reached the bottom of the glass.

“Ugh, sorry for putting a damper on things.” Hermione groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers.

“No need to apologize, Granger. Tell us, what did Weasley do to piss you off today?” Draco joked.

Her eyes shot wide and her nostrils flared, clearly he had unintentionally struck a raw nerve. “I actually don’t think that’s any of your business, Malfoy,” Hermione snipped at him.

Draco took a breath to smooth the waters but she was already in motion, snatching her things from the ground and storming towards the exit. He sat shell-shocked, mouth slightly agape, too frozen in his surprise to follow after her.

“Well done you,” Pansy jeered over her own drink. “I wouldn’t be too worried, you were probably right, she just doesn’t like to talk about it.”

He turned his whole body in the booth to face her. “Talk about what? The Weasel?”

She made a face that declared she agreed with the use of the nickname. “Honestly Malfoy, I don’t even know where to start. She’s my best friend but I cannot stand that man.”

“What’s he done?” Draco tried to hide his enthusiasm with a solemn tone, hoping Pansy would give him what the papers couldn’t.

“Other than being a miserable slob? He thinks that little column of his is real journalism and doesn’t care to get an actual job to contribute, Hermione works herself to the bone while he galivants all over the country spending her money,” she hissed between sips of her drink.

“He- what?” Draco knew about the column, likely more intimately than Pansy could imagine, having been an accidental third party to a meeting with him and his editor. 

“Yeah, and you know what? She doesn’t even want that ministry job, she’s wanted to quit and open a bookstore for ages but Ron keeps putting her off it. Last she spoke to me about it, he told her that she could only quit her job if she had children, which she doesn’t want,” Pansy lamented, shaking her head and draining her glass.

Draco clenched his fists below the table, she had no idea the supplementary truth that he was carrying about the Weasel but in addition to that behaviour, he was more certain than ever that Weasley needed to be done away with. Hermione Granger was the most formidable witch he had ever had the pleasure of speaking with, not to mention the kindness she so freely offered to those around her. Her beauty was truly beyond any worldly comparison and yet there she was, dreadfully unhappy and being mistreated by her husband. Draco’s mind ran through a million different ways he could give her a life of satisfaction and bliss that the Weasel couldn’t even imagine. 

A long-forgotten cunningness spread through his body like ice, extinguishing the fiery rage burning in his stomach; he was a Slytherin after all, and there was absolutely nothing he couldn’t accomplish with some well-placed cleverness and resourcefulness. 

He returned his focus to Pansy. “I ought to send her an owl, apologize for my crass behaviour. Do you think she’d agree to let me take her for lunch by way of making it up to her?”

“You can take the boy out of high society, but you can’t take the high society out of the boy, can you?” Pansy smiled, “I think she would be amenable, just tread lightly okay? And for Merlin’s sake don’t tell her I told you all of her business, she’ll have my head.”

“Thanks, Parks. Your secret is safe with me, I’ll go up and send her a note now. I don’t want her to think we kept having a great time after upsetting her. I’ll see you next week,” Draco said, affectionately patting her on the hand as he stood from the booth.

Once he was back in his flat, the grief and regret of having upset Hermione crashed down around him. He wanted nothing more than to see her smile and show her how much better he could be than the Weasel, and he fucked it up. His breath was short and his chest ached as his shrivelled heart pumped the black tar of shame through his body. He loathed himself more than even Weasley for ever doing something to hurt her feelings and as he sat on his bed to pen her a letter, he wondered if he would even be able to recover what vulnerable friendship he had built with her.



Hermione,

I wish to express my sincerest apologies for my gross misstep this evening, I hope you know it was never my intention to offend or upset you. I see that my poor attempt at a joke struck quite a nerve with you, and for that I am deeply sorry. 

I hope you will indulge me by permitting me to take you for lunch one day this week while you’re working, in an attempt to make amends for my terrible manners. If you don’t want to see me, I will understand. Otherwise, you need only tell me when and where, my treat. I shall be on my best behaviour, I promise. 

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

 

🖤

 

By Monday when she hadn’t replied, Draco was ready to send himself to the gallows. He feared for the worst and he was too preoccupied in his remorse for his actions to seek her out over the weekend, but when he woke in the morning he was more anxious than ever to follow her through the day. Draco had sat at the coffee shop for an hour longer than he normally would, drinking coffee and pretending to read the muggle newspaper. When she waltzed casually into the shop, he could feel his heartbeat throbbing throughout his entire body. She looked exactly as she always did; she got her usual order, made her habitually polite chit-chat with the morning staff, and made her way back out into the street towards the Ministry.

She smiled and offered him a pleasant ‘good morning’ upon his entrance to the lift and he wondered if she would do the same if she knew it was really Draco she was speaking to instead of a nameless ministry nobody. Just when he was about to attempt to have a conversation with her, Cormac McLaggen arrived early for his shift of creeping on innocent women in the elevator.

“Morning, Granger,” he drawled as he slid in, doors closing behind him. “Good weekend?”

Hermione’s shoulders tensed at his presence. “Good morning, McLaggen. It was fine, thank you.”

“Is Weasley still away at that quidditch tournament in Ireland?” he asked, stepping closer to her and causing Draco to clench his jaw at the invasion of her personal space.

“Yes, he should be home on Wednesday evening,” she answered, stepping slightly away from him.

“What I’m hearing is you’re free for dinner this evening?”

“I most certainly am not, even if I weren’t spending the night with Harry and Ginny I would not be having dinner with the likes of you,” Hermione scolded him just as the lift doors opened on the floor he should be getting off at. Draco tried to hide his smirk at how proud he felt of her shutting McLaggen down so expeditiously.

McLaggen, as if he wasn’t fazed in the slightest by her rejection, gave her a small bow on his way out of the elevator, Draco rolled his eyes at the existence of such a fucking nuisance of a wizard.

As the doors closed again, she turned slightly to face Draco. “I’m ever so sorry you had to see that.”

Draco cleared his throat in preparation for disguising his voice. “Not at all, you’re not the first married woman I’ve seen him try that on this month alone, someone ought to do something about him.”

She gave Draco an apologetic smile and turned back around, finishing the ride in silence before she stepped out onto her floor. He made his way back down to the atrium and into the streets of London while he considered the information he just gathered. Had she not responded to his lunch request out of respect for her husband? She certainly had no problem rejecting McLaggen’s advances, so why hadn’t she set the boundary with him yet? 

Draco had been aching to get into Hermione’s townhouse to have a look around, he had hoped that he might secure a friendly invitation there with the rest of the group as their relationship continued to blossom. He assumed that his actions on Friday evening undoubtedly dashed any such hope. If she was truly going to be at Potter’s house tonight, Draco knew exactly what he would be spending his evening doing instead. Too excited by the prospect to even follow his routine of seeing her on her lunch break, he instead elected to pass the time by sitting on the floor of his flat going through the articles in the box under his bed. He knew that throwing himself into analyzing her face and body language in the photos over the years would keep him occupied enough to not spontaneously combust from the anxious energy coursing through his body. 

Draco had learned that on days when the Weasel was away at quidditch games, Hermione left her office at a reasonable time and used the floo connection from the Ministry into her front room. He stood disillusioned on the sidewalk from 4:30 that afternoon to wait for the large window to glow with a faint green hue indicating her arrival. He didn’t have to wait long before she emerged from her fireplace and he could hear her stomping around the house; for a woman who usually carried herself with such grace, he had come to appreciate that she was rather heavy-footed when she thought no one could see her. 

He listened to her make her way through the rooms of the house for a few minutes before he heard her call out for the floo to take her to the Potters’ house. Draco watched the room illuminate in green and the house settle back into quiet. He took the extra precaution of waiting a few minutes longer than he would have liked, just in case she had to come back for having forgotten something. When he was satisfied she would be gone for good, he walked up the few steps and let himself into her home with a simple Alohomora

Upon closing the door behind him, he removed the disillusion, thinking that if he was going to be in her house, he wanted to do it as himself and not disguised or hidden. He knew from what he could see on the street that her house was exactly what he always expected from her, but to stand within its walls was something else entirely. It was warm, all cream-coloured furniture decorated with plush throws and pillows, and not a single item out of place. It almost looked as though no one lived there, though Draco reasoned she spent enough time away from the place that she could barely say she lived there as it was. He walked slowly from room to room, taking in the layout so he could at least imagine where she was or what she was doing when he could hear her shuffling loudly from his place on the sidewalk. 

Draco didn’t understand why he felt he needed to intrude in her home like this, other than a deep compulsion to find something, anything that might help him on his quest to rid her of the Weasel once and for all. However, there was very little trace of him in the house aside from a few photos here or there, some shoes in a pile, and a threadbare jacket that reeked of poverty hanging by the door. He took the stairs up two at a time to explore further. On the second-floor landing, he was met by a rather cozy reading area with the same style of furniture she had in the sitting room below. The rest of the floor was dark, other than a light coming from the end of the hallway that beckoned him forward like it was calling from the heavens above.

When he reached the door, he paused in the frame for a moment. 

Her bedroom

In for a knut in for a galleon, was it really trespassing if she never knew he was there?

The bedroom was pristine, a massive bed sat in the middle of the room bracketed on either side by large side tables. The bed looked so inviting and much comfier than his own at his apartment, his body moved forward before his mind could stop him, caressing the plush duvet with the back of his hand. 

Which side did she sleep on?

He stepped to one of the side tables and lightly tugged at the drawer and was met with the horrors of a yellowing quidditch jockstrap and a half-eaten Honeydukes chocolate bar. He slammed the door shut with a gag and moved over to Hermione’s side of the bed, running his fingertips over the pillow where she laid her head each night. She deserved someone who kept a photo of her on his bedside table, rather than the off-putting contents of the Weasel’s drawer. Sweet, kind, incredible Hermione. 

Draco bent at the waist to touch the tip of his nose to her pillow, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her deep into his lungs. His Hermione. He sat gently on the bed and pushed his face deeper into the pillow until he was lightheaded, after taking his fill for the moment he decided to see what she kept in her drawer next to the bed.

The drawer contained all manner of muggle bottles and tubes, he started pulling them out to read what they were for. It seemed they were all meant to go on one’s face; hydrating serum, anti-aging eye cream, and two small pots that looked completely identical other than saying one was for day and one was for night. Draco couldn’t imagine why the muggles would need to distinguish between items for day and night, or why Hermione wouldn’t just use something from their world. He opened the night cream and gave it a sniff, it smelled heavenly so he dipped a finger into it and decided to put some on his face. He had seen his mother applying her various magical beauty products enough times to know to rub it all into his skin, it burned slightly before settling into a delightful tingle. He put the products back exactly where he found them, assuming she was the type who would notice if something was out of place. 

He stood from the bed and saw that at the back of the drawer, there was a curious looking light purple object he couldn’t identify. He retrieved it from the drawer and held it up in front of his face, turning it over in his hand a few times. There were no words written on it or any other identifying features to give him a clue as to what it could be used for, just a small button on what he assumed was the handle to the object below a smooth rounded top. He shrugged and pressed the button with a small click and the thing started shaking aggressively in his hand, he dropped it onto the top of the table and jumped back in fright. The strange purple thing bounced and careened wildly on the tabletop from its vibration. Draco steeled his nerves and approached it again. He assumed from its inclusion with her beauty products that it was some muggle contraption meant to work her various creams into the skin, so he picked it back up and rubbed it over the spot on his face where he had applied some of her night cream. It was a strange feeling that he wasn’t sure he liked, so he found the button once again and tucked it back into the drawer where he found it.

He turned towards a small dressing table on the opposite side of the room, it was far more organized than the one he remembered seeing in his mother’s room as a child. Everything seemed to have a perfect place to be kept, other than a hastily thrown hairbrush in the middle of the table. Draco imagined she must have run it through her hair quickly before tossing it back and dashing to the floo for dinner. He observed a small amount of her lustrous curls left behind in the bristles, Draco had always admired her hair and wondered how on earth she managed to make it behave in such a way. He decided she likely would never notice her discarded strands of hair missing from the brush, and pulled the hair loose with his fingers to tuck affectionately in the inside pocket of his jacket.

He was getting off track from his original intention for being there, but he couldn’t help himself from walking towards the slightly open door leading into her walk-in closet. He ran his fingers across the hanging clothes, he recognized many of them from her rotation of daily wearing to work. He spotted one of the suits he hated to see her in and contemplated taking it so she would never wear it again, but he thought she would definitely notice if an entire outfit went missing from her closet. He moved his gaze up to the high shelves that ran the entire length of the small room and he was immediately intrigued by a small black box tucked away in the furthest corner from the door. 

Draco summoned it down with his wand and lifted the top back, he almost dropped the box in surprise when he saw the contents. It was mostly empty but for two objects that made him salivate with fascination, a dainty pair of silver handcuffs and a small booklet entitled “A Beginner’s Guide to BDSM.” With a gaping mouth, he opened the front cover of the book to reveal an even more interesting inscription.

Your secret is safe with me, Granger. Best of luck - Pansy xx

He laughed at the meddlesome nature of his old friend, poor Hermione had probably only mentioned a casual interest in adding some excitement to her marriage and Pansy clearly took that and ran with it. Draco rifled through the pages and found that squeaky-clean Hermione had spent a great deal of time with the little booklet, having annotated quite a few things she wished to explore. If Draco wasn’t so interested in exploring those things with her himself, the mere mental image of her ghastly husband attempting some of the things she highlighted would have made him vomit on her light beige carpet.

There were two different coloured inks in the margins but both in her handwriting. As he read through her annotations he realized that the first colour was clearly from before she had attempted to discuss this with the Weasel, and the second, in red ink, was from after. A few things had originally noted that she was interested in were marked with a small ‘no’ in red next to her initial inscriptions; light bondage, pussy worship, and verbal praise. Draco's eyes blew wide the further he read in the book, some of her notes in black ink were small private jabs at Weasley: orgasm control - he would never last long enough, teasing - too impatient, breeding - might give him the wrong idea.

By the time he reached the back cover of the book, there was a bead of sweat forming on his forehead and his long-neglected cock was coming back to life against the zipper of his trousers. She had unknowingly given him the exact recipe for how to please her, and having decided he had long overstayed his welcome, he put the box and its contents back where he found them. He was about to leave when he tripped over a white wicker basket on the floor, he looked down to see that the basket seemed to be full of discarded clothing. He recognized the suit she had worn to work that morning and was confused beyond measure. He knew she would never have kept elves to look after any of their needs and he was shocked that she wouldn’t just do her laundry the easy way with her wand but what he imagined was the muggle way. He crouched beside the basket to inspect it closer and when he pushed the morning’s suit to the side, he was met with a simple, light blue pair of Hermione’s underwear. There was nothing salacious about them, much like the rest of her clothing, but he wanted them in his possession more than anything he had collected of hers thus far. He held them delicately between his index finger and his thumb, rolling the fabric between his fingers with a grin before stuffing them into his pocket.

Satisfied with the two new items for the heart-shaped box under his bed, he was ready to head for home. He stepped one foot out of the closet and heard the fireplace roar to life in the sitting room below. He froze in panic for a moment too long to make a clean escape without being discovered, so he settled for disillusioning himself to hide in the closet until it was safe for him to sneak away. Heavy feet stomped up the staircase and he realized that she might actually have to come into the walk-in to change her clothes. The tiny room was too small for him to be able to avoid any accidental contact with her. He acted in instinct and moved as quickly and quietly as possible to crouch beside the bed on the Weasel’s side just in time for Hermione to appear in her bedroom, blissfully unaware that she wasn’t alone. 

She drew the blinds down with a quick wave of her wand and paced leisurely into her closet, Draco craned his neck from his position on the floor just enough to catch a glimpse of her completely nude, dimly lit frame. His eyes went wide again, he knew he shouldn’t be looking but he could not tear his gaze away from her delectable curves on full display. When she emerged she was wearing the oversized t-shirt he had seen her in around the house many times prior, but he had never imagined she wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.

Hermione flopped herself onto the bed and rolled onto her side, facing away from Draco. He hoped she was reaching to turn out the lamp on her bedside table, indicating she might be immediately going to sleep and he could make his escape back into the streets of London before getting caught. She did turn the light out, but instead of settling in for bed, when she rolled back over she was holding the light purple face contraption in her hands. He narrowed his eyes as she pressed the button and lowered the vibrating object into place between her legs. 

Oh.

Draco’s body reacted before his mind could stop him, shooting up to his feet at the sight of her like this. He paced quietly to the end of the bed, eyes trained on her the whole time, he didn’t even dare blink in case he missed even a moment of this blessing. He watched, fighting desperately against the urge to palm himself over his trousers, as Hermione slowly rocked her hips and pushed the round top of the device flush to her skin. She slid her free hand up under the large shirt and began squeezing desperately at her breasts and moving her opposite hand in small, rhythmic circles in time with the motion of her hips.

She continued this for a few minutes, all while Draco was practically hovering half a foot off the floor at the end of her bed trying to get the perfect angle to take in every single part of her that he could see. He was just about to step around to her side of the bed when her breath started coming in sharp, quick, gasps. Draco was torn between watching her face or staring intently at her throbbing cunt on full display. She drove her head back into the pillow and let out a small guttural moan, legs trembling slightly as she rode through the aftershocks of her orgasm, he kept a hand over his mouth to suppress the sounds of his heaving breath. Hermione then pulled the object out from between her legs, licked off her juices, and stowed it back in the drawer where it lived.

Draco was almost too light-headed to remember that he was not in a dream, but was in fact disillusioned and standing in Hermione’s house at the end of her bed.. When she seemed like she was about to get out of bed, rational thought returned to his body and he backed out of the room. He quietly made his way down the stairs and out the front door, locking it behind him with his wand. Knowing he was entirely too intoxicated on his drug of choice, the most beautiful woman in the world, he opted to walk home rather than risk splinching himself.

🖤

 

By the time Draco arrived home on Monday evening from a very long walk in the summer air to clear his mind, there was a petite owl perched outside the pub holding a small envelope with his name on it. Hermione had simply replied with instructions to meet her the following day at noon near the Diagon Alley floo connection, which is how he found himself pacing back and forth in his bedroom at 11 on Tuesday morning. He was too anxious to follow his meticulous routine of spending the day hiding in plain sight at the Ministry of Magic, and even more anxious to be missing it. He was not keen on leaving Hermione to ride the lifts alone, especially if McLaggen could be found lingering in the back corner of the lift and licking his lips at her as though she were a glazed ham. When he had walked over the same spot on the floor enough times to get a small fear of burning a hole through the rug, he knew he needed a new distraction.

When he made it back to his flat the night before, he had carefully placed the hair and underwear safely in the box under the bed, and they had remained there, untouched. The compulsion to remove the underwear had grown too strong to ignore any longer, and Draco stooped to pick up the box, creaked open the lid and gently pulled them out by the tiny blue bow on the front. He held them up in front of his face and shoved his nose so far into the fabric that he risked going right through, drinking in the smell of her divine cunt. He couldn’t believe that he was so lucky as to have seen her get herself off, he was desperate to touch her, taste her, make her repeat the orgasm she had ten times over on his tongue, fingers, and cock, for as many hours as she could handle. But, if that could never happen, having a piece of fabric that spent its entire day touching the most intimate part of her in his hands might just be enough. He hadn’t even been granted a taste but he was already starving for more. 

Draco Malfoy found himself uncomfortably stuffed into the pair of Hermione’s underwear, hidden the best he could manage under a baggier pair of trousers, shifting uncomfortably in front of the floo connection at the high end of Diagon Alley. The very dependable Hermione emerged in a puff of green smoke and flames at precisely noon. Draco watched as she dusted the soot off her clothing before he hesitantly approached her. He felt much less cavalier than he had hoped, electing to treat her more like a cornered Hippogriff than the brightest witch of her age.

“Hello, thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” he began with a soft grin, trying his very best to keep a small distance between them in hopes that she wouldn’t notice that he had a painfully hard cock driving into the waistband of his trousers, in the middle of the street, in broad daylight. “You look lovely today, is that a new suit?”

Draco knew it wasn’t a new suit, he had seen her wear it half a dozen times since they first reconnected upon his release, but he was attempting to show how different he could be from the way he had been a few days prior. He also didn’t truly think she looked as lovely as he was letting on, the suit itself was one of many in her collection that made her look like a dumpy secretary at least fifteen years her elder.

“What? Oh, no not at all, but uh… thank you for saying so.” She forced a smile, Draco could see a light hint of blush high in her cheeks, clearly embarrassed by the attention to her appearance.

This was curious to him but not necessarily surprising. Of course the Weasel wouldn’t lavish her with the praise she was owed. As much as he wanted to tell her that he would much prefer to rip that god-awful suit off her and set it on fire so she would never wear it, or anything else, again, he knew he had to play his hand very cautiously.

“Anytime, Granger.” He assented with another smile. “You didn’t say in your letter where you’d like me to take you for lunch.”

She fidgeted with the button on her blazer. “Would you be opposed to a muggle restaurant?”

“Not at all! Lead the way,” he answered immediately, gesturing with his hand for her to walk towards the exit that would lead them out into the streets of muggle London and tried not to read too much into the suggestion. 

Naturally, she must have assumed that he would be uneasy around muggles and didn’t have much, if any, experience in the muggle world. Draco also imagined that she would not necessarily want to be seen with him dining anywhere that The Daily Prophet could photograph them together. She took them on a short walk in what Draco knew was the direction to her home, arriving at a small bistro that was reasonably busy with a lunchtime crowd of other business-looking people. 

In her drab clothing, she blended in seamlessly with the other workers on their lunch breaks but Draco, looming quite a bit larger than everyone else in the restaurant, stuck out like a sore thumb. Hermione spoke politely to the young woman leading them to a small table but Draco heard none of it as he was trying to adjust himself in his trousers without anyone noticing.

Hermione looked at him with genuine concern as he sat down opposite her, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you would be this uncomfortable around muggles, we can go somewhere else.”

“Oh, no no it’s not that at all!” he consoled, while he thought of a lie. “It’s just large crowds, I guess I still haven’t quite adjusted to being out yet.”

“Oh, dear. I didn’t even consider that, I’m so sorry.” She maintained a look of genuine concern. “How have you been since your release?”

He certainly couldn’t tell her the real answer to her question, but he wanted to give her something since she seemed to genuinely cared to know the answer. 

“Honestly? I’m so grateful to be out but I feel like a complete waste, I feel like I should be doing something. Instead, I mostly sit around reading and waiting for Friday nights so I can see you.” He sighed, “and everyone else,” he added quickly.

“Well, what would you like to be doing?” She seemed truly interested, only breaking her eye contact to order for the both of them when the server arrived at the table, assuming Draco would have difficulty ordering for himself.

Again, he couldn’t give her the true answer.. “Working I suppose, but no one wants to let a convicted Death Eater into their business to shop, let alone hire one.”

“You’re not a Death Eater anymore, Draco.” She reached gently across the table to place her hand on top of his. “You are not your past, none of us are. The only difference is you served a sentence you didn’t deserve.”

Draco’s eyes momentarily closed at the brush of her soft skin against the back of his hand, swallowing deeply and trying to will his mind to think of things that would lessen the tightness of his trousers.

“I’ve been meaning to thank you for your part in my trial, if I had been allowed to send letters I would have written you one the moment they sent me back from that courtroom,” he maintained, giving her a sincere smile.

“Oh, well, it’s nothing really, I was just trying to do what I thought was right. No need to thank me.” Ever the humble and gracious Hermione, though she had no idea that Draco knew she hadn’t appeared at any trial other than his.

“There is every need to thank you, Hermione, truly. Which makes this whole situation even more difficult, I’m afraid.”

She tilted her head to the side in inquiry, a lively curl springing loose from behind her ear and landing on her cheek. “Situation?” 

“I want to truly, really, apologize for my behaviour the other night. I had no right to pry into your personal life, I hate that I made you upset.” He wasn’t necessarily sorry for overstepping, he wanted her to share her life with him even if he had to force it out of her. He was, however, borderline suicidal that she was upset with him.

“Thank you, Draco.” She returned his genuine smile. “Apology accepted, I shouldn’t have overreacted like I did. It was just a sore spot, any other night I probably would have laughed and agreed with you.”

“Well I won’t pry anymore, I’m very sorry.” He was going to apologize more eloquently again but the server returned with water for them.

“You’re welcome to pry, we’re friends now, remember?”

“Are we?” Draco tried to contain his excitement but he imagined anyone in the entire bistro would know from one look at his face that he had been given the best news.

“I would like to think so if that’s alright with you.”

“It’s more than alright, Hermione.” His face was warm and his heart was racing in his chest at the development, he took a moment to compose himself before trying a new tactic. “Then, as your friend of course, would you like to talk about whatever has you so upset.”

“Who says I’m still upset?” she asked, not offended but more curious as to how he could possibly know that she was still carrying something with her.

“I can see it in your eyes.”

And he could, he had seen it hiding in her eyes from the moment they met in the pub. He tried desperately to trace that sadness back through time in the photos from the newspaper but he was never able to pinpoint exactly when it took up residence inside her.

She sighed. “If you must know, Ron and I had fought earlier that day so it was just a bit too fresh to be poked at.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Another effortless lie for her benefit. Draco wasn’t the least bit sorry to hear that they were fighting. They should be fighting, Hermione should wage a full-on war against the Weasel for what he had been doing behind her back.

“I imagine Pansy and her big mouth must have shared some of it but allow me to fill in any blanks.” She laughed. “I never dreamed of a life in an office, all I want is to open a bookstore in Diagon Alley and help the next generation get their school books or fall in love with reading the way I did. But Ron has never been in support of that dream.”

“When have you ever let the opinions of anyone else influence what you do? That certainly doesn’t sound like the Hermione I remember.” Draco felt it right to push a little on the subject, surely the infamous swot she used to be would rise to the challenge of overcoming someone’s doubt in her abilities.

“We’re married and I wouldn’t feel right making that kind of decision without his support. And besides, even if he did want to help, everything is so expensive now that we couldn’t afford it.” She didn’t make any attempt to hide her disappointment.

“If the Ministry hadn’t had their way with my family vaults, I would empty them to get you that bookstore, Hermione, truly. It’s the least I could do.” Draco knew he had more than enough money in his vaults to pay for this entire endeavour and then some for her, but a tiny voice in the back of his mind told him she would never let him do that, so his lies grew much like the erection he kept trying to shift in his seat to conceal.

“I couldn’t possibly accept it even if you did.” She shook her head and looked sympathetic to his false troubles. “Did they take everything?”

“Just about, I have enough to pay my rent in that wretched little flat for about 6 months and then…” He trailed off to add dramatic effect to the story he was weaving, he could buy the entirety of Diagon Alley if he wanted to, but masquerading as poor seemed to be doing the trick with Hermione so far. “I wish you would open that shop, you’re likely the only person in the country who would give me work.”

Draco hoped that would plant the seed with her that if she were to open a bookstore, it would be able to change someone’s life. The smile she returned to him at the comment solidified the idea in his mind that he would spend the next several days coming up with a plan to secretly pay for everything Hermione needed to get her into the empty storefront across from The Crossed Wands.

The rest of their lunch proceeded in a relatively uneventful fashion, other than his covert attempts at palming at himself under the table. Draco lightly encouraged her a few more times to follow her heart no matter what anyone had to say about it, including her husband. At the end, he had to fight her to pay for their bill. 

When Hermione excused herself to the restroom, Draco reached across the table and snatched her napkin off the table to slip it into his jacket pocket. When she didn’t immediately return, he used the time alone to adjust the waistband of her knickers through the fabric of his trousers. 

They walked the short distance back to the Leaky Cauldron and when they passed the pub he insisted that he walk her the rest of the way to the floo, which she accepted graciously. After wishing Hermione a good rest of her work day, he walked as fast as his legs would carry him back to the Crossed Wands and up into his flat. 

The door was barely locked behind him before he was unzipping his trousers and shoving his hand into them. There were already a few beads of precum dripping out of his swollen head as he circled his thumb over the top and began to stroke himself slowly. It had been so long since he dared touch himself that he knew he wouldn’t last very long, especially after having spent the last hour stretching the delicate fabric of Hermione’s stolen knickers to their very limit against himself. Before long he was thrusting his hips erratically against his hand and had no choice but to increase the speed to a punishing pace, his breath quickly becoming ragged. He came aggressively; seeing stars and knees buckling out from under him, sending him onto the floor and thrusting his hips a few times as a small grunt escaped from his lips in the form of a word.

Hermione .”

Notes:

My love to @Swift_Knight and @Maple_Unicorn as always for talking me into this insanity 🖤

Chapter 5: I'm Left Black

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco had spent the majority of the week either getting himself off with the help of some stolen knickers or ruminating on a scheme to get Hermione that bookstore. When he wasn’t plotting a long series of intricate, benevolent lies, he was entertaining a plot to rid her of Ron Weasley once and for all. The bookstore had to come first, a source of happiness had to be within her grasp before he could move against the Weasel. He spent the better part of Friday morning in front of the bathroom mirror attempting to perfect a morphed imitation of his solicitor, Mr. McDowell. 

He could get the body right but he was struggling with the face, the man seemed to carry a certain jolly quality that Draco failed to emanate. This was step one of the plan he had decided on for Hermione to have her dreams come true; he was going to set up a meeting with her and his solicitor under the guise that another one of his clients was looking for a worthy investment to make in complete anonymity. Hermione would potentially remember McDowell from Draco’s trial, or at least would be able to confirm that he is a real solicitor, which would lend some validity to the scheme.

Draco planned on dropping the idea in front of everyone at the pub tonight. Hermione might be able to decline the offer if they were alone but Draco knew that he had a higher chance of success if she were in the company of friends who would encourage her to at least take the meeting. Anxious for the night ahead, he didn’t feel the need to lurk in the window and wait for Hermione to arrive before heading down to their usual booth. He instead went downstairs and ordered the first round of drinks for the table.

Harry and Ginny arrived first, immediately launching into a recounting of their time in Romania with Charlie and the dragons. Draco held a faint hope that perhaps someday he might be close enough with them to be invited along. Despite being named for them, he had never seen one in its natural habitat. There had been many days in Azkaban that he didn’t think he would live long enough to see the sky again, but in the weeks since his release, he allowed himself to daydream about things far more fantastical than a friendly trip to a dragon sanctuary.

Somewhere in the middle of a story about how one of Harry’s children asked their uncle Charlie if he ever rides the dragons “like dad did”, Pansy arrived. Draco was too preoccupied watching the door to ask when the hell Harry Potter had ridden a dragon, and watched as Hermione walked into the pub with the goddamn Weasel in tow. He failed to hide a dramatic eye roll at his presence. Draco wouldn’t stop the plan of mentioning the mystery investor of course, but he loathed for Weasley to be there anyway.

Hermione had taken to sitting to the left of Draco every single Friday evening since his first appearance, so she took up her spot as usual. Draco was forced to shuffle closer to the middle of the rounded booth to allow room for the Weasel, who levied a wrathful glare in Draco’s direction as he sat down. Hermione’s body language told a completely different story to the past few pub nights without her husband in attendance; she was noticeably quiet rather than her usual chatty and gleeful persona, and she seemed to be practically caving in on herself to make room for Weasley’s ego. Draco fought against a bubbling rage in the pit of his stomach for the pudgy ginger, both at being in such physical proximity to her all the while getting mediocre head from his editor, and for making Hermione feel like she had to make herself small.

He vowed right then that should he ever be so lucky to succeed in his conspiracies in the aim of his Hermione, he would sooner let himself hang than have her walk about the world without knowing exactly how precious she is. 

Ron Weasley sat at the table as if he owned the place, barking loudly over the conversation and helping himself to a gratuitous amount of space on the bench. He had hoped to wait until later in the night to broach the subject of taking a meeting with his solicitor but the Weasel needed to be knocked down several pegs sooner rather than later.

When there was a blissful break in the conversation, Draco turned slightly to face Hermione. “Listen, I mentioned your bookstore idea to my solicitor and he thinks he has a client who may be interested in looking at a business proposal from you.”

For the first time that evening, she perked up and Draco was blessed enough to be treated to a glimpse of the gold in her eyes. “You what?”

“I knew you’d never seek out funding for yourself, so I asked if he might know anyone looking to invest in your future. The way I understand it, the benefactor wishes to remain anonymous but McDowell would act as his agent in all your dealings. I can set a meeting with him for you if you like?”

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips and Draco felt his heart roar to life. “Draco! You didn’t!”

“I hope I didn’t overstep,” he said sheepishly.

“You most certainly did overstep, Malfoy.” Weasley glowered from the opposite side of her.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Weasley,” Draco bit back at him before returning his attention to Hermione. “Think it over, I think it's at least worth meeting with him.”

Hermione stared into his eyes and mouthed a silent thank you just for him, but the moment was cut short by her buffoon of a husband.  “Listen here, Malfoy. I don’t know who you think you are butting into our lives like this but it’s absolutely none of your bloody business.”

Hermione deflated almost instantly at his words, causing Draco to clench his fists under the table. Before he could come to Hermione’s defense, the other side of the table erupted on her behalf.

“Ron!” Ginny shouted, “What is your problem?”

“Isn’t your big argument that you guys can’t afford to put up the money to get the shop running? This might solve that problem,” Pansy added.

“I don’t want his dirty Death Eater money!” Ron bellowed, stunning everyone at the table to silence.

“Now, see here Weasel ,” Draco began, doing away with previous false pleasantries on Hermione’s behalf, “you may enjoy that little column of yours that your editor seems to beg on her knees for each week… before writing the entire thing for you, but since Hermione does the lion’s share of the work in your household, I think it’s probably up to her to decide.”

With that, and much to Draco’s delight, Ron stood from the table and stomped towards the door. Hermione turned to follow him, but Draco gently placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, go after him if you must, but please give my offer some thought, okay?” he whispered cautiously to her. She smiled in response before slowly slipping out of the booth and following Weasley into the street. Draco turned back to face the table with an apologetic grimace.

“Someone had to say it, never thought it would be you but…” Pansy smirked with a small raise of her drink in Draco’s direction. The Potters both shrugged and nodded in agreement with her statement.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Harry lamented.

Draco knew exactly what had gotten into the Weasel, or rather, who the Weasel had gotten into. 

Though that information would need to be shared at a later date, the comment he made was veiled enough for the rest of the group to not catch the true meaning. Judging by Weasley’s reaction, he miraculously picked up on the double entendre despite having the IQ of a garden gnome. Draco wondered if the Weasel would trip up in trying to defend himself to Hermione when she caught up to him, but even that idiot wouldn’t be thick enough to admit to something without a direct accusation thrown at him. Draco did have a very specific plan in mind for the Weasel that would keep until the time was just right for action.

 

🖤

 

Over the weekend, Hermione had sent Draco an owl to apologize for leaving so abruptly and say that she would be interested in meeting with McDowell. Draco offered to meet her for lunch on Monday at the bistro to go over her business plan before she met with his solicitor.

He met Hermione at the Diagon Alley floo connection at noon and they walked in companionable silence to the bistro. Draco didn’t mind that she wasn’t her usual chatty self as the silence wasn’t awkward or heavy, he was merely enjoying her company on their short stroll through the streets of London. When they were seated at the bistro, which was considerably emptier than their last visit, Hermione pulled out a massive folder full of paper and placed it on the table between them. 

“Oh you absolute swot, what is this?” Draco teased with a laugh as he started to flip through the collection of graphs and jotted down ideas.

“Hey!” She laughed, “Every time I had an idea for the past few years I just kept them all in one place.”

Over lunch, they went through every single idea in Hermione’s folder. She attempted to snatch a few pieces of paper out of his hands, demanding they were terrible ideas and shouldn’t see the light of day, but Draco remained encouraging throughout. He was determined to have his voice stand out in stark contrast to the words of her neckless husband. Draco had resolved to love her knowing that she would never be his. But the longer they sat at that table and worked together, dreaming of a future that he hoped he might have a small part in, his fantasies seemed just close enough to reach out and touch.

Hermione took a long lunch break and they walked back to the Ministry’s street entrance several blocks away, still talking through her plans for the upcoming meeting with McDowell. When they said their goodbyes, Draco slipped around the corner and morphed his appearance. He slipped out of his jacket and vanished it back to his flat, hoping that was enough of a difference that Hermione wouldn’t notice that the random ministry worker in the lift was wearing the same outfit as Draco.He walked as fast as he thought still looked casual through the crowd to catch the same lift up as her. As expected, close behind was none other than McLaggen. Draco tucked himself away in the corner to keep an eye on the giant idiot leaning against the wall of the elevator next to Hermione. 

“Afternoon, Granger. Late lunch today?” he drawled, noticeably licking his lips in her general direction.

“I had a meeting,” she replied curtly, instinctively moving closer to the anonymous man she had no idea was Draco to defend herself from the menace.

“A lunch meeting? Not interviewing for a new job I hope, I would hate to see you leave before you’ve given me what I’m owed after you blew me off in school,” he crooned, enclosing on her personal space and placing a wholly unwelcome hand low on her hip. He wondered if Cormac chose to specifically haunt the lifts so his victims couldn’t escape.

Hermione’s breath stuttered as she stepped away. “If you must know, I was meeting with Draco Malfoy. He’s helping me put a business proposal together.” Clearly, she was trying to deflect to get him away from her. Draco hated that he had to stand there and witness her so obviously uneasy at being trapped with him in the lift.

McLaggen looked as shocked as Draco felt for her to be freely admitting to seeing him. “Malfoy? Do they serve a nice lunch at Azkaban prison?” 

Draco clenched his jaw but tried to remain visually impartial to the conversation. 

Hermione looked rightly uncomfortable with Cormac’s acrid presence filling the air between them, and Draco expected her to hit back with some comment on McLaggen’s bad behaviour. To the untrained eye, she was handling the situation with familiar Gryffindor bravery, but Draco was a certified expert when it came to his Hermione.  A tiny bead of panicked sweat formed at the nape of her neck, and he clenched his jaw tighter knowing he couldn’t make a move against Cormac while she remained with them.

“He’s been out for almost a month. He’s a good friend of mine and should never have served time in that ghastly place. I won’t hear another word against him from you.” She glowered and fixed her vision squarely on the lift doors as if she were willing them to open as soon as possible so she could abscond herself. 

Draco couldn’t conceal the look of pure shock on his face as he listened to Hermione defend him against Cormac. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she let the joke lay without speaking a word in favour of him. Draco knew she felt strongly about his time in prison, but he never imagined she would actually say something to justify his existence in her circle. His perfect, kind, and mighty Hermione, defending the downtrodden rather than herself from McLaggen’s repulsive advances.

He hoped McLaggen would let it go, but just as they were arriving on Hermione’s floor, he stepped towards her again and grabbed her loosely by the waist from behind. “So let me get this straight, you’ll gladly dine with a Death Eater, but you won’t let me take you out?”

Hermione hopped out of the lift and turned back to face him. “Some people are worth a second look, maybe reflect on what that says about you instead of me, hmm?”

The doors closed and the lift pulled backwards from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Draco gripped his wand in his pocket and hoped that he had strong enough abilities to overpower the magic cast on the lift system, even if only for a few minutes. The lift froze mid-air and Cormac looked around confused, locking eyes with Draco as he transformed back into his original form. 

Now looming much larger than his usual disguise, Draco made his threat. “You know, McLaggen, if I were you I would be careful who you slag off in lifts, you never know who is listening.” 

“M-Malfoy? What the hell are you doing here?” Mclaggen stammered, backing himself as close to the wall as he could.

Draco stepped closer, speaking through clenched teeth, “Just looking out for Hermione, a pity for you really.” 

“What do you mean?” McLaggen’s eyes were wide in panic and Draco was close enough to feel the hot air of his erratic breaths on his face.

He smirked and let the rage consume him. “You could have kept your mouth shut, you could have respected her the many times she’s shut down your advances, you could have cracked on with any of the hundred other witches who work in this building. Hell, you could have even stayed at your desk for longer than fifteen minutes in an entire day. But you didn’t, you’re always here. Just buzzing around the lifts like a gnat waiting for her.” 

Draco then leaned forward to accentuate just how much larger he was, he wanted to see the fear in McLaggen’s face when he realized there was no escaping. “Pity for you because now you won’t get to ever make her uncomfortable ever again.”

“If you think–” Cormac began to speak but was cut short by Draco’s massive hands gripping him around the throat, completely restricting his airway.

“If I think what? That my threats will make you change your behaviour? If you’ll recall, McLaggen, Hermione may have been at the top of our class but guess who was second? I’m no fool, I know you’ll never change your ways. When I say your days of chatting up innocent women in the lifts are at an end, I mean that in the most sincere way possible.” He over-enunciated each syllable until saliva was speckling the whole of McLaggen’s face. 

In a swift movement, he wrapped his arm around Cormac’s upper body and used his opposite hand to snap the man’s neck as though it were a sugar quill. His whole body slumped against Draco, who let it fall to the ground with a thud. He stepped towards the iron bars of the door and pried them apart just enough to kick McLaggen’s body out into the shaft.

“Fucking nuisance.”

Draco resumed the lift service and walked back out the entrance of the Ministry without even a look over his shoulder. He had absolutely no remorse for the act he had just committed, in fact, he thought they should probably give him his own Order of Merlin for services to the wider wizarding community for ridding them of McLaggen. He enjoyed a leisurely walk through London back to the Crossed Wands, going back over the remainder of his plans in his mind. If only the Weasel would be so easy to get rid of, but Draco knew that murder was a non-option. Even if Weasley was betraying Hermione in the worst possible way, his death would likely destroy her. No, Draco would never have a chance to win her for his own if she spent the rest of her life mourning her dead husband. 

 

🖤

 

The evening before Hermione’s meeting, Draco was satisfied with his ability to mimic Mr. McDowell. The forgery might even have been good enough to fool someone who actually knew the man, so it certainly was enough for Hermione. Draco had set up the conversation to take place at the cafe she frequented before work each day, seemingly by pure happenstance in her view. It was humorous to hear how anxious she was about making a good enough impression to get the funding from the anonymous benefactor. Seeing as it would be Draco in disguise, and he didn’t give a Doxy’s nip what she said, she would be leaving with every last knut she needed to realize her dreams. 

He arrived early to the cafe so he could select the table he typically occupied on weekday mornings for their conversation. Her usual drink and two almond croissants sat on a plate in front of him as he waited for her to arrive. Precisely on time, as usual, a very business-formal Hermione stepped through the door to the cafe and spotted him immediately, recognizing him from her appearance at Draco’s trial.

“Good morning Mr. McDowell! Lovely to see you again.” She beamed as she shook his hand and took her seat opposite him.

“Good morning, Miss. Granger.”

“I so appreciate you meeting with me this morning.” Her nerves were evident in her voice, he couldn't help but smile at how serious she was.

“The pleasure is all mine, really, Draco has given me a brief overview of your idea but I’m very interested in seeing your plans.” He offered a warm smile, hoping it would ease her worries.

“Am I allowed to ask who this investor is? I would hate to think I was asking for money from someone I could never thank properly.”

“They very much wish to remain anonymous, let’s just say they are looking for a worthy cause. I have been given full authority to give you access to any funding you may need if your proposal is satisfactory, but I must say your reputation precedes you so I’m sure it will be beyond measure,” Draco praised, feeling like he could freely do so since he was not himself.

“Right.” She smiled and slid a small packet of papers across to him. “This is just a very high-level overview of my ideas.”

“I’m sure they’re all great ideas, Miss Granger. I suppose what I’m truly after this morning is just to hear from you .” He closed the pamphlet and directed his gaze at her.

“From.. me?” She turned slightly pink and fidgeted with the edges of her folder.

“Yes, tell me ‘The Why’ that I imagine isn’t included in all of these graphs of profit analysis.” 

“Well, I’ve always loved reading–” she took a sip of her coffee for something to do with her hands— “books were my only friends for the first several years of my life and I’ve had the idea of a second hand bookshop for many many years. Giving old books a new chance at life. That’s really where this all came together, I want to call it Second Chance Books because while it is a second chance for an old book, it’s also one for me.” 

“For you?” Draco probed further, already knowing the answer but wanting to see if she could freely admit it.

“Well, Mr. McDowell, I haven’t been happy at the Ministry in quite some time. I would have likely managed through my unhappiness and stayed there without ever doing anything about it unless Draco fell into my life after his release.” She paused to drink her coffee again, “Honestly, when you approached me a few months ago to testify again for his early release I was happy to. My opinion has not changed that he was coerced into his actions when we were children. I thought if he got out that would be it, I would never see him again but at least he would get a chance at life.”

Draco did his best to hide his shock that the real McDowell had procured a statement from her in his efforts to get him released. The solicitor had mentioned that he would be petitioning the Wizengamot for early release from custody but he had done that multiple times throughout his sentence, so Draco hadn’t taken particular interest in it. He had tried and been unsuccessful so many times that Draco wouldn’t allow himself to have hope for it anymore, perhaps he should have.”

“But you did see him again.” Shocked once again at Hermione’s selflessness toward him, Draco was unable to think of a more coherent response. 

“Not only did I see him again, but he has become a friend to me in the weeks since his release. He’s the one who encouraged me to give this a real shot, he has changed so much from the boy I remember being so brainwashed to hate me that he didn’t even try not to.” She paused for a moment, clearly deep in thought. “Who am I to stand on that witness stand in court and demand that he be given a second chance, and then actually give him one when we met again, but not give myself the same benefit?”

While she spoke, Draco watched intently as the light from within her returned with each word. She looked once again like the young girl whose photo he fell asleep holding each night, the last time he had seen that level of conviction from her was when she testified on his behalf at trial. It was gratifying to know she thought so highly of him. In addition to that, if he had even the smallest part in making her believe she was worth more than being relegated to a life of profound sadness, he could die a happy man. He loathed the thought of bringing up the Weasel when she had unknowingly gushed about Draco to his face, but it needed to be done.

“So, a second chance for all, then. Will it be a family affair? I’m only thinking of the best way to help you market this to the wider public.” 

“Oh, erm… no. Ronald will not be a part of the business. This is my dream. I do have another, let’s say less conventional idea to set the shop apart though.” She smiled, reaching across to find the page for him that indicated her vision. “I would like to set up some sort of program for former prisoners to work part-time at the store, help them get back on their feet and reintegrate into society. I’m sure you think it’s completely mad, but seeing how hard it’s been for Draco to get back into the swing of things just made me want to do something to help if I could.”

Draco’s heart soared for his generous, kind, perfect Hermione. 

Once he had peeled away the blood-purist nonsense clouding his childhood memories of her, that was the girl he knew. The girl who defended helpless creatures, the girl who fought a war for the light, the girl who loved her friends dearly and yearned to ease the suffering of everyone around her. His Hermione wanted to set up an entire benevolent initiative to help former Azkaban inmates because of him, he beamed back at her across the table. The happiness lent itself well to his impersonation of McDowell, as it was completely foreign to the man underneath.

“Miss Granger, I think that is a wonderful idea. You are a remarkable young witch and I would be more than happy to fund this endeavour in full for you. On behalf of the benefactor, of course.” His cheeks were rosy and his eyes creased at the corners from how hard he was grinning.

“Really? You don’t have any other questions? You don’t need to take the proposal away?” Her eyes were wide and her smile spread the whole width of her beautiful face as she radiated her light in his direction.

“I will take this copy with me,” he tapped lightly at the packet on the table in front of him. “But you can leave this meeting with a proverbial blank cheque as it were. I know you don’t do anything by halves, so I have no concerns about your abilities to see this to fruition. Congratulations, Miss Granger, I so look forward to seeing what you accomplish with your second chance.” 

Draco rose from the table and extended his hand in offer to her, she took it in a firm handshake. Her gorgeous brown eyes slowly welled with tears, and he excused himself to allow her a moment to take in the news. He explained he would be in touch with her by owl in the afternoon to settle the terms. In truth, having spent weeks watching her carry around the heavy burden of her misery, he could barely manage to see her so happy. Too many things came to light during that meeting for him to stay seated any longer; she was giving him far too much credit for an idea that was entirely her own, but she gave it freely without knowing that the real Draco would ever hear that she felt brave enough to take the leap because of him. He made a vow to himself that he would go to the greatest lengths possible to keep that smile etched permanently on her face; though what he had planned next would undoubtedly cause her a significant amount of pain, he knew he would be there to clean up the mess that the Weasel was about to make.

 

🖤

 

Draco anticipated that Friday’s after-work drinks would be one to remember; willing the time to pass quickly, he took to the streets early in the morning to continue his usual routine of tracking her throughout her commute. She seemed extra cheerful with the baristas at the cafe, even getting herself an extra almond croissant and holding the door for an elderly man on her way out. She carried herself with a noticeable renewed vigor in her step as she walked through London toward the employees’ entrance to the ministry, greeting several people she usually didn’t speak to as she made her way into the lifts. Draco decided to let her ride on her own this morning, knowing she was safe from the likes of McLaggen, and instead headed back towards Diagon Alley to find himself another new shirt for the evening ahead.

Hermione hadn’t been in touch to tell him the good news yet, so he believed she would tell the entire group at once when they were all together. He tried on several different new outfits for the evening, but on a whim, he ended up selecting a very muggle-looking pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. It both felt entirely out of character for the person he once was, yet exactly like who he was becoming. Draco knew that wearing those suits or even just more formal shirts when everyone else was dressed casually was a remnant of his father’s indoctrination, and while the dirigible plum didn’t just float away from the bush, he no longer felt like he needed to display his past so physically. Especially when that would win him no points with Hermione.

Feeling eerily comfortable in his new wardrobe, he perched himself eagerly at the booth and waited for the group to arrive, but not before a silent prayer to Merlin that the Weasel would not make an appearance to spoil her evening of celebration. Hermione arrived first, all by herself thank Salazar, and the joy was practically pouring off her. She was buzzing before a sip of butterbeer even crossed her lips, excitedly discarding her bag under the table and sliding in next to him.

“Good day at work, Granger?” Draco asked, successfully able to hide his comprehension of what was to come for the night.

“I wish you’d call me Hermione, but yes I suppose you could say that. I’ll wait for everyone to get in before I tell.”

“Good news, I hope?” 

Hermione beamed. “The best. Just the best.” 

He didn’t have to wait very long, far be it for Pansy to ever turn down an opportunity to drink, and the Potters were not far behind. Hermione insisted that everyone have a drink in hand before she revealed her good news to the table. Draco gripped his glass firmly, mentally practicing what he would say to act surprised when she shared the announcement. He wanted to ask where Weasley had gotten to this evening, if for no other reason than to point out that he was absent for the festivities; as long as he wasn’t there, Draco could not have cared less where he was, preferably falling off the back of a broomstick over an active volcano.

“Okay, so now that we’re all here…” Hermione began, practically vibrating with enthusiasm in the booth next to him. “I’ve handed in my notice at the Ministry today!”

Pansy and both Potters looked shocked from the other side of the table, but Draco grinned down at her. “So the meeting with McDowell went well?” 

“He’s given funding for the whole thing!” She was glowing with pride and could hardly contain herself.

“What meeting? For the bookshop?” Pansy quizzed.

“Yes, for the bookshop! Second Chance Books will officially be in business by the end of the month. I have some vacation from the Ministry that I’m taking effective today that will eat up my entire two-week notice, so I can get started on the preparations on Monday.”

“Oh Hermione!” Harry gushed from his seat, “Congratulations!”

“Yes, congratulations Hermione, this is such great news. Oh, I’m so happy for you!” Ginny joined in raving about the announcement.

Draco’s eyes were trained exclusively on Hermione’s face, taking in every single moment of delight she was feeling because of his actions. Though she would never know the truth, it was better this way. She was hardly the type to take charity, but he didn’t see it as such. He felt that his family’s money ought to be used for exactly this, penance for the pain they had caused not only to Hermione specifically, but the wider society as a whole. She would never have taken it if he offered it to her plainly, the lies and subterfuge were purely for her benefit.

As if she could feel him watching her, she turned slightly to look up at him. The joy in her eyes was abounding, and delight wafted off her body and warmed Draco through to his bones. “Well done, Grang- Hermione. I’m so happy for you.”

“Actually, I did have something I wanted to ask you.” She spoke quietly, as though just for him to hear.

Draco sucked in a breath, panicking slightly that he had been found out in his scheming. He nodded slowly, trying to hide the fact that his mind whirred through the events of the past few days to make sure he hadn’t accidentally let something slip that would give him away.

“I was hoping you were serious when you said that you would come work for me at the bookstore.” She prompted, grinning ear to ear.

“Huh?” 

“If you’re still looking for work, I would love to have you come work for me at the store. Really, I would never have done this without you, it’s the least I can offer.” She smiled again and touched him lightly on the arm. “Please?”

“Yes, Hermione. Yes, of course, thank you.” He hadn’t prepared a reaction to the question because he wasn’t sure she would truly ask, or if it was just lip service for the solicitor. But naturally, Hermione was incapable of any sort of deception and everything she had said in that meeting was the purest of truths in her mind, and who was he to deny her? His perfect, kind, powerful Hermione.

 

🖤

 

The pair met early the next morning, more than slightly hungover, to break proverbial ground at the empty storefront across from Draco’s bedroom window. He half considered staying up in his room and waiting until he saw her arrive before heading out to meet her, but he was too anxious to be alone with her again that he was awake before the sun and traipsing through the streets of London for coffee and as many almond croissants as he could conceivably carry. Hermione liked doing things the muggle way, so Draco learned about dusting and cleaning without the use of spells, and they spent the vast majority of the first day clearing out everything that had been left over by the previous occupants. Hermione seemed to get a laugh out of his complete unawareness of this way of doing things and he learned he was not above playing up his incompetence at cleaning to earn a giggle from her.

“Draco Malfoy you cannot be this bad at cleaning, I know you grew up with house elves but I find it hard to believe that someone as particular as you doesn’t know how to dust properly!” She jabbed playfully as a cloud of dust rained down into Draco’s eyes from the top of a shelf.

“Sorry, boss, it seems I’m a hopeless case.” Draco shrugged as he swiped with the cloth to cause some dust to fall into her curls, causing her to jump back and laugh heartily.

“Malfoy!” she shouted through her laughter, swatting at the air above her head to dispel the rest of the dust. “You did that on purpose!”

“I did not!” He held his hands up in surrender, “Suppose I just really am that awful at cleaning?”

“We’ll sort you out in no time,” she declared. “I’ll just have to keep teaching you the proper way to do things.”

“I’m sure I could teach you a thing or two,” he insinuated in a low voice, eyebrow raised in her direction.

“Draco Malfoy, are you flirting with me?” She laughed again, it was shameless of him but he couldn’t help himself. He was mostly grateful she picked up on it and didn’t seem to be offended by his insolence.

“Hey now, you’re a married woman, where’s the harm in a little impudent flirting with the boss?” he chimed, causing her to blush and turn back to scrubbing off the shelf she was standing in front of.

Draco smirked to himself and continued to clear the dust off the shelves she couldn’t easily reach, being in such close proximity to her was making him perhaps a bit too bold, but he couldn’t have concocted a better scenario to make use of all the tiny pieces of information he had collected about her that were taking up space in his heart-shaped box tucked away under the bed across the street. 

 

🖤

 

Spending so much time alone with Hermione had completely distracted Draco from the greater problem at hand, the Weasel. Namely, getting him as far away from Hermione as humanly possible. He had hoped for an appearance or two during the weeks they spent preparing the shop for opening day, but the ginger nuisance never arrived. This told Draco that he still was vehemently against her opening the business, but she was carrying it much easier than he anticipated. 

Each morning for two weeks, Draco arrived for work in his soft denim jeans and a t-shirt, mirroring that which Hermione had been wearing everyday. He would have been awake for hours by the time they actually started on any of the tasks at hand for the day, leading him to learn to love the coffee he was picking up for them before the start of the shift. A few days into preparations, Hermione caught him exiting the cafe on her walk to work, she scolded him for spending his money on coffee and croissants for her benefit, but still happily agreed to meet him there so they could walk back to Diagon Alley together ahead of their long day of work.

Preparations had been exhausting, but it had also been the best two weeks of Draco’s life. He found that he readily enjoyed performing tedious tasks the muggle way, both because he felt like he was earning his keep and because Hermione would meticulously explain every step of the way. He loved listening to her, and she seemed to enjoy teaching him. This did not stop him from flirting mercilessly with her, after the first week she had come to expect it, and by the end of the second week, she was hitting back with her own inappropriate remarks. He always tried to one-up her until she blushed and was forced to stop, but it was getting harder to do. Regrettably, Draco had no idea what it meant, but he was waiting for her to take it a step further or tell him to stop, neither of which she did.

Two Fridays after her announcement to the table, Second Chance Books held a family and friends soft opening event. Draco was nervous to be faced with a gaggle of Gryffindors that might not be as welcoming to him as Harry and Ginny, but he had neither friends nor family to invite. The store had come together beautifully, and as they approached the end of the second week Draco had been successful in persuading Hermione to use magic to meet their deadlines. The shop was a perfect blend of muggle and magical items old and new. Hermione’s touch was all over every aspect. It was strange to know that his fingerprints were also left on the fixtures he built or the books he repaired before shelving. He lingered in one of the stacks a little too long, preparing for the coming onslaught of people, when Hermione found him.

“Hey, you alright?” she asked softly, in an attempt to not startle him.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to meet her gaze. “Are you absolutely certain you want me here tonight? Won’t I make people uncomfortable?”

Draco didn’t truly care if his presence made anyone uncomfortable in the bookstore. In truth, he had hoped to make one patron in particular as miserable as possible by working the event. 

“You helped me build this place, you’re the reason I even got the money for it in the first place. This store is just as much yours as it is mine, if there is anyone coming tonight that doesn’t feel you have a place here, well they are no longer befitting of the title of ‘friend’ in my books,” she assured him rather confidently before strutting away to make sure everything was perfect for their opening night.

Draco took the liberty of unlocking the door and welcoming Hermione’s friends in for the event, he was not surprised to see a rather large crowd milling about outside the front of the store when he did so. Of course, even without having placed an advert in The Daily Prophet , almost their entire year of Hogwarts had shown up in support of the Golden Girl’s venture. He recognized a few faces, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and curiously, his old friend Blaise Zabini all walked in together, arm in arm in arm. He quirked an eyebrow at Blaise who mouthed that he would explain later, which caused Draco to grow even more interested. Harry and Ginny entered with a smile for him and made a direct line to Hermione, who was already excitedly showing her friends around the store. Pansy made a grand entrance with a shrill giggle at the sight of Draco holding open the door for his former adversaries.

“Nice apron, Malfoy.” She jabbed with a wink, “Does it come with a French maid’s costume?”

Pansy’s joke almost made Draco joke on his tongue, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Parks,” he sniped back, biting back a laugh.

“You’re in a good mood,” she assessed suggestively.

“Just happy for Hermione, it’s a big night for her,” he admitted with a proud smile before removing himself from the conversation to avoid saying more than he should. Pansy Parkinson could keep a secret, but perhaps not one as large as what Draco was carrying around.

The first hour of the night went as well as they could have hoped, some of her friends brought her a few small gifts in the form of decor for her tiny office at the back of the shop. Draco felt a bit ashamed for not thinking ahead to get her a gift for the soft opening, but he would have time to get her something special before they opened for real on Monday. She wouldn’t be expecting a gift after this evening, so it would be more meaningful on their actual opening date to receive something from him.

Draco slowly made his way around the perimeter of the room, keeping an eye on the store as a whole as he went, but mostly looking to ensure the Weasel hadn’t managed to slip past without being seen. On his third lap around the room, he was certain that Weasley was not there. While this gave him a sense of sadistic enthusiasm for what husband in their right mind would be absent on a night of such importance for his wife, it also enraged him on Hermione’s behalf. She seemed to pretend not to notice or care that he was missing from her big opening event, but Draco knew that deep down she felt betrayal of the highest order. If Draco had his way, that betrayal would only grow in the coming weeks, but tonight was supposed to be all about her happiness. As if he could feel his ears burning from Draco’s thoughts, Ronald Weasley, already three sheets to the wind at 7 pm, stumbled into the store. 

“Steady on, mate!” bellowed a familiar-looking wizard, who Draco thought was called Seamus, as he caught the Weasel mid-fall after tripping on the step up from the door into the wider shop.

Draco, having a keen sense for trouble, was already at the oaf’s side by the time he was completely vertical again. Now was not the night to cause a scene. Hermione wouldn’t thank him for it and he had no desire to ruin her special night. Despite his rage, he metered his tone and tried to offer an arm to steady the Weasel, “Come on, Weasley, why don’t you take a seat? I’ll get you some water, yeah?”

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Weasley scoffed while clumsily batting Draco’s arm away.

He paused and looked at him slack-jawed while he waited for the Weasel to catch on to the navy blue apron obviously embroidered with ‘Second Chance Books’ on the front. Eventually, through half-lidded eyes he seemed to notice, the red in his cheeks that had been from whatever he imbibed earlier in the evening visibly shifted to a deeper tone of rage. 

“You work here?” he spat, unwelcome beads of saliva smacking Draco in the face before he tried to turn his attention to find her. “‘Mione! Hermione Jean!” 

“Ron, come on man, don’t do this. Not now” Draco tried to shush the crazed ginger to no avail, as he located Hermione and was heading directly her way. 

“You hired him? Him ?” He slurred through his words as he continued his assault on both Draco’s character and his perfectly hand-polished wood floors. “Of all people, Hermione, seriously? Draco fucking Malfoy?” 

Draco couldn’t hide his surprise that she hadn’t told her husband who she was spending all her time with while preparing the store for opening. He had to admit he was a little impressed with her for keeping such a secret, it made him feel a bit less guilty for all his lewd behaviour over the previous weeks. Intrigue was evident on his face as he stepped closer to hopefully hear her half of the conversation through hushed tones. 

“Ron, please, not now,” she begged in a quiet voice, hoping that he would mirror her tone. Naturally, he did not.

“No, I think now is the perfect time!” he shouted as he finally was within arms reach of her, “Our friends deserve to know why you’ve gone and hired a Death Eater to work in our store.”

Our

The words hit Draco’s ears as the vilest and most distasteful sound he had ever heard, worse than a Crucio sent his way from the Dark Lord, worse than the sounds of the other prisoners losing their minds in Azkaban, worse even than his memories of insulting his Hermione for her blood status. Nothing about the store belonged to the Weasel; he hadn’t helped plan or pay for a thing, in fact, he fought her the entire way. He hadn’t been the one to get splinters cleaning and polishing every bit of wood in the building, he wasn’t there before the sun rose and long after it set making things exactly the way Hermione envisioned them, he hadn’t exuded a single drop of sweat for the store to come to fruition. Every inch of the place reflected Hermione and her dreams, as executed by Draco. If there were ever to be an us or our involved in Second Chance Books, it would be Draco and Hermione, not the Weasel. Before he could even move to swat him down, preferably back to the obscurity from whence he came, Hermione flew off the rails for the both of them.

“Our? OUR ! Surely you cannot be serious Ronald!” she hollered, handing her drink to Ginny who was standing beside her visibly appalled by her brother’s behaviour. “You haven’t even set foot in this place until tonight, so don’t go calling this place your own when you never once believed I could do this, with or without you.”

The Weasel’s body tensed enough that it was noticeable from where Draco was standing, he stepped forward just in time to stop him from moving too close to Hermione for Draco’s comfort. He placed his rugged hand on the back of the Weasel’s neck and gave it a light squeeze, a warning. “I think it’s time to go.”

“Get your hands off me, Malfoy!” he hissed, but Draco remained firm, unmoving, and unyielding to his demands.

“I said—” he lowered his face down right beside Weasley’s ear— “time to go, before you embarrass yourself anymore, Weasel.”

Draco’s hand flexed slightly on the last word, causing Weasley’s eyelids to finally open fully. Before he could speak another word against the heavenly woman he did not deserve to sleep next to at night, Draco pulled him by the scruff of his neck towards the front door, effectively tossing him out into the Alley like last night’s rubbish.

When he returned, the ever-gracious crowd of Hermione’s friends had, in stereotypically British fashion, politely resumed the former low-hum of their side conversations. When he found Hermione, he was further offended on her behalf to see that she was standing alone, forced to process the interaction without a friend by her side. Draco quickly looked around the store to see if he could summon Pansy or Ginny, but neither could be spotted.

He approached Hermione like a timid creature, afraid to spook her in case she was as upset as she had the right to be. “Are you alright, do you want me to clear everyone out?” he offered in a delicate whisper.

“Hmm?” She seemed deeply pensive like Draco had interrupted her in the middle of a profound thought. “No no, it’s alright.”

“Don’t let this ruin your night, Hermione. You earned this, okay?” he soothed, feeling curiously soft towards her as compared to everyone else in the world, but that had become his usual state in his dealings with her.

She nodded solemnly before taking a deep breath with closed eyes, seemingly to set herself right and rejoining her party. Draco stayed in place, in awe of her as usual. He had hoped to ingratiate himself with her a little further during the first few weeks of the store being open before demolishing her marriage, but after the Weasel’s little performance in front of everyone Hermione knew, he couldn’t bear to wait any longer. Her present from him for their real opening day on Monday wouldn’t be another useless knick-knack for her desk, but instead the catalyst to get her to leave her rotten, cheating, no-good sack of a husband behind.

Notes:

To my forever betas, @Swift_Knight and @Maple_Unicorn I love you both.

Chapter 6: Crawl Right Back

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Saturday afternoon found Draco staring at his freshly altered reflection in the bathroom vanity. He thought to himself that it was certainly better than his imitation of McDowell, but that might be because he wasn’t as familiar with the particular person staring back at him. The perfect plan had fully worked itself out overnight, the more he ruminated over how much he hated how the Weasel made Hermione feel about herself, her abilities, and her accomplishments, the more the desire to ruin him grew to fill Draco’s every waking moment. 

The reflection in Draco’s mirror was not of McDowell or of any of his regular generic Ministry employee disguises, quite the opposite. Draco had rather successfully morphed himself into a convincing copy of none other than poor Sarah MacDonald. Ron’s editor, the unfortunate woman he had witnessed give an award-winning performance on her knees in her office a few weeks prior. Draco assessed his imitation of her and found it to be more than satisfactory from what he could recall of the woman; it might not convince the witch’s mother but judging from the Weasel’s complete disregard for her after he got what he wanted, he was unlikely to notice anything amiss. 

He ran his newly minuscule hands over the tiniest body he had ever occupied, equipped in a light summery dress he had picked up first thing that morning, and shook his head at his reflection. Of all the things he had done in pursuit of Hermione’s best life, this was by far the most devoted, even more so than snapping McLaggen’s neck and shoving him down the shaft of the Ministry of Magic lift. 

Saturday evening was to be the finals for the quidditch season, and the great Weasel himself would undoubtedly be in attendance, as would the majority of the British magical press corps. This was the main purpose of Draco’s transformation into the Weasel’s mistress; he would show up unexpectedly and, regrettably, seduce him in clear view of a camera. Draco shuddered at the thought and watched the wiry little woman in the mirror shudder back at him, he did not relish the thought of having to snog the Weasel in a few hours but he reminded himself repeatedly that this would be the best thing for Hermione’s long-term happiness. He batted his eyelashes a few times at himself in the mirror and decided that he was overall satisfied with the impression, no matter how heinous he knew he would feel by the end of the night.

Draco made good use of his adept transfiguration skills to create himself a believable-looking all-access pass like the ones he remembered having possession of for previous finals games in his youth, slung it around his neck, and set off for the floo connection at the top of Diagon Alley. Based on the information he was able to eavesdrop on, the jarringly long floo trip would take him to the stadium in Bournemouth for the match between the Montrose Magpies and the Wimbourne Wasps. It was extra satisfying for Draco that the Weasel’s beloved Cannons hadn’t made it to the championship match and he intended to use this to his advantage.

When he was deposited in a grate at the other end of his floo journey, he tumbled to the ground with a barely audible thud. Draco was unsteady on his feet from the dramatic change in his body weight and centre of gravity in this slight woman’s frame. A gaggle of wizards rushed to help him up, and he chuckled to himself at the thought of them not knowing exactly who they were offering their chivalry to. As he walked confidently to the entrance to the executive suites, he thanked Merlin that this tiny woman did not have Hermione’s build or he would still be admiring himself in his bathroom vanity. Distractions aside, he flashed his all-access badge at the security wizard standing near the entrance, but thankfully he was too distracted trying to chat up a group of younger witches to even hazard a glance at it. 

Weasley was not hard to find once he did make his way up all the steps to the boxes, the sun hadn’t even set yet and he was already drunkenly moaning to a group of uninterested women that the Cannons should have been at this final game. Draco smirked to himself as he approached, he thought Weasley might be drinking this evening, but him being drunk before the game even began would just make the task ahead so much easier. He took one final steadying breath, promising to scourgify himself within an inch of his life the moment the deed was done, and flounced as girlishly as he could towards his victim.

“Ronnnn!” he chimed. He realized he didn’t listen to her speak long enough to know how she would go about the conversation so he just summoned the spirit of a teenage Pansy Parkinson to steer the proverbial bus before he careened it off a cliff.

“Sarah?” he slurred slightly, confusion evident on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Me? Oh well we had a few extra passes, I thought I might come watch the game with you!” Draco batted Sarah’s eyelashes the best he knew how and sauntered closer to the Weasel, placing a small hand delicately on his forearm.

Weasley took no time accepting the bait, swinging a meaty arm around his trim waist and leading him down to some seats at the front of the box, thankfully the ginger was drunk enough not to notice Draco swallowing hard to choke back the bile in his throat from the physical contact. He internally willed himself to get it together, as there was much more to come before he could return to his flat and set himself on fire.

As they sat, Draco crossed his bony legs at the knee and leaned his body towards the Weasel’s seat. “Where’s Hermione?”

“Merlin, Sarah. How many times do I have to tell you not to bring her up?” he barked angrily in reply.

Draco felt a bit out of his depth, he thought he should have tried to get more information on the nature of the relationship between the editor and the Weasel, time just was not in his favour. He was curious as to what stories Weasley must have told the young witch about Hermione, so he decided to test his luck.

“I know, I’m sorry Ron. I only thought she might finally be willing to join you for a game.” He punctuated the sardonic tone with a tilt of his head in Weasely’s direction, Sarah’s thin hair falling slightly onto his shoulder.

Weasley huffed and placed a sweaty hand on Draco’s bare knee. “You know she won’t come, she doesn’t like quidditch. She’s not like you.” 

He forced a smile that felt more wry than he intended, but the Weasel wasn’t even looking. Draco couldn’t help but feel slightly sorry for the editor for how little care Weasley showed her; if she wasn’t party to the Weasel’s extramarital affair and actively abetting Hermione’s unhappiness, he might even feel remorseful for borrowing her appearance to have her face splashed on every newspaper in the country by Monday morning.

Draco could hardly focus on anything other than the fact that the Weasel’s bare skin was still making contact with his own, he decided it was time to get on with it so he could remove himself and promptly drown himself in the ocean. He lowered his tone of voice to a whisper so only Weasley could hear him, “Oh, Chosen One ?”

That certainly got his attention, Weasley’s half-hooded eyes snapped open and darted to meet Draco’s. He gestured with a nod of his head towards the corridor, Draco knew from his previous attendance at these games that there was always a few camera’s about trying to snap photos of the more notable guests, all that would be separating them in that corridor was a thin sheet of nylon from the tenting. The Weasel nodded slightly, so Draco rose from the seat and quietly strutted out of the executive box, waiting for his victim to shuffle in behind him.

He took one more fortifying breath while his back was still to Weasley, and before he could talk himself out of it, turned to grab the repulsive man by the face and snog him like his life depended on it. He tried to push his own consciousness to a far corner of his mind as he shoved his tongue deep into Weasley’s mouth, eliciting an involuntary moan from the ginger. Assuming he was rightfully distracted by their present activity, Draco slowly stepped back to pull them through a small gap in the tent, presenting the pair of them to a sea of flashbulbs as the gathered press got exactly what he intended for them.

The lights startled Weasley and he broke the kiss, staring at Draco wide-eyed in fear. He gave a youthful giggle and pulled the Weasel back into the corridor by his bloated arm. “Oops!”

“Fuck it,” The Weasel rebuked, trying to close the space between them to resume their previous positions.

“What?” Draco was more than surprised that Weasley wouldn’t be angry or spiraling out of control about getting caught.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m just with her so she isn’t alone, she doesn’t have anyone else. She’s nothing like you, I don’t want her,” he implored, almost begging.

Draco’s vision blurred at the edges and he watched as the Weasel’s face went from lustful to horrified as Draco returned to his original self. Rage filled his entire being, his muscles rippled under the strain of his entire body tensing, and before he knew what he was doing, his fist made direct contact with Weasley’s grotesque face. He wailed on the Weasel, each punch vibrated through the bones in Draco’s forearm but he would not let up. 

“How. Fucking. Dare. You.” Each word emphasized with another slamming of Draco’s tightly balled-up fist with Weasley’s face.

He finally paused when the Weasel slumped to the ground, still conscious but barely so. Draco stooped to grab him by the shirt and bring his wasted body to eye-level. “How dare you speak about her like that? You’re a fucking disgrace, Weasley. You’re lucky she ever dared to grace you with a moment of her time. You ungrateful excuse of a wizard.”

From this angle, Draco took the opportunity to toss Weasley about, thrashing him into the cement pillars holding up the stands above them, each contact creating a distinctive cracking noise that he could only hope was the idiot’s skull. Eventually, from this treatment, Weasley succumbed to the trauma and passed out. This would not do, Draco did not feel that he had gotten what he was owed for his comments about sweet, perfect, beautiful Hermione. He released the Weasel and dropped his body to the ground with a thud.

Rennervate ,” he muttered towards his slumped-over body and waited for Weasley to return to consciousness. Slowly, his eyes fluttered back open and he frantically looked around for his attacker. 

“Looking for me?” Draco drawled from above before resuming his siege, this time taking to kicking him in the abdomen repeatedly as hard as he could until the Weasel started coughing up blood onto the floor. Satisfied, he spat down into Weasley’s face and forced himself back into his morph of Sarah to escape back to the floo and return home.

Before he turned to leave, he had the brilliant thought to cast a series memory modifying charms to remove his recollection of Draco appearing before him and implant the memory that it was in fact Sarah who had beaten him up so severely. He believed that Weasley would be unlikely to tell the truth if he had been attacked by a woman, especially this one, as it would force him to admit the truth about their relationship. Once satisfied with his spellwork, Draco left towards the floo connection, very much looking forward to a long shower.

 

🖤

 

Sunday passed agonizingly slowly, he kept waiting for aurors to arrive at the Crossed Wands to deliver him back to Azkaban for his attack on Weasley, but none ever arrived. By Monday morning, he was thrilled to believe that his spells had taken hold and no one would ever be the wiser to his brief appearance at the quidditch finals. However, Monday brought with it a whole host of new problems to be solved, but nothing would be accomplished without coffees and almond croissants for himself and his Hermione.

Today was the actual grand opening of Second Chance Books, with any luck, Hermione would have made her way to the store in the wee hours of the morning to make sure everything was perfect before they unlocked the doors, missing the delivery of the Daily Prophet entirely. Draco stopped on his way back through the Leaky to check the paper for mentions of Ron’s infidelity, there in full colour above the fold on the front page was a massive photo of the Weasel and his editor committing the ‘crime of all crimes’ as aptly described by Rita Skeeter.

 

A Golden Betrayal by Rita Skeeter

 

Dearest reader, it brings me no pleasure to share this news with you, but I feel it is your right to be dutifully informed at the earliest occasion. 

Spotted this Saturday at the quidditch championship match was none other than our beloved Ronald Weasley curiously unaccompanied by his wife, Hermione Granger-Weasley. In fact, upon scouring through my notes on this famed couple, the two have hardly been spotted at any event together outside of the annual Ministry of Magic Christmas gala in ages. However, that does little to dull the shock I received when I was able to photograph Mr. Weasley committing the crime of all crimes in locking in a passionate embrace with Miss Sarah McDonald, the long-time editor of his column here at the Daily Prophet. 

It appears there is no love lost between Mr. Weasley and his potentially estranged wife, my sources tell me that he and Miss McDonald have been carrying on this affair for several years within the very walls of the Daily Prophet offices. By all accounts, Weasley and his wife still share a townhome together in Central London but this latest blow to their union comes off the back of a rather heated argument between the couple on Friday evening at a grand opening event for Granger-Weasley’s new bookshop. 

Avid readers of my column should know that I carry no fondness for Miss Granger-Weasley, the two of us have been at odds since the witch was a mere child, but even I bear some sympathy for the Golden Girl off the back of this betrayal of the highest order. To her I say: there is no use clinging to a mistake because you spent such a long time making it, for it is always better to be alone with one’s self-respect. 

No word yet on how the brightest witch of her age is dealing with her husband’s adultery and neither Weasley or McDonald could be reached for comment prior to printing. But fear not, dear reader, for I shall stay on the story and update you at the earliest opportunity. 

 

Draco tucked the paper under his arm and bounded up the Alley towards Second Chance, praying to Merlin that she hadn’t seen the paper yet that morning. He thought that the story would catch on, but he did not consider that it would merit the front page. If Hermione read the paper that morning, Monday was already on track to be the worst day of her life. He arrived to find the door already unlocked despite the store not being open to the public for another hour.

“Hermione?” he called out, slight panic colouring his tone as he searched the store for her. “Hermione, where are you?”

Over his own breath, he could hear the faint sound of her sobbing from somewhere in the direction of her office. He rounded the corner of the counter and immediately spotted her on the floor behind the front desk, curled into a ball and crying into her own lap.

“Oh, Hermione,” Draco soothed as he lowered himself to the floor in front of her. He knew that his actions with the Weasel would cause her pain, he rationalized it as a necessary evil to free her from her loveless marriage, but seeing the agony rattle through her with each sob made it too real.

She kept crying, desperately gasping for air as her shoulders convulsed. Draco wasn’t entirely certain what he should be doing to be a place of solace for the distraught woman in front of him, but he mirrored the contorted shape of her body as he sat in front of her, sliding a foot between hers. The physical contact seemed to stir her out of her fugue state, as she lifted her head slightly to peer at him through her fingers.

“Draco?” she mumbled, sniffing back some tears.

“I came as soon as I saw the paper, I brought breakfast though I suspect that doesn’t matter much now,” he said in a soft voice. Something about her in this state brought out a side of himself that he didn’t recognize. “What can I do?”

She shook her head as if to indicate there was absolutely nothing he could do to ameliorate the situation, but Draco would not accept this. He knew this would happen when he decided to ruin the Weasel, but that did little to remedy the guilt that was eroding his heart to see her this way, so he rose to his feet before speaking again.

“I’m serious, Granger. I’ll kill him, you say the word.” His tone was firm, but she obviously thought he was joking as it did earn him a slight giggle that was muffled by her hands. 

She sniffled again before sticking her hand out for him to help her up, he obliged immediately. He watched her wipe the tears off her face, Draco wished for a brief moment that he still abided by the old customs drilled into him by his father as he would have had a silk handkerchief to offer her. When she finally met his gaze, the redness around her usually soft eyes cut him to his soul. 

She reached around him to take her coffee, after a long fortifying glug, she attempted a smile. “Don’t go getting yourself shot back in Azkaban on my account, Malfoy.”

“I would do it a thousand times for you, Granger.” He leaned into trying to get her to smile again, but he couldn’t help himself from sneering down at the article on the cover of the Daily Prophet. “That fucking Weasel, you say the word and I’ll avada him on sight.”

“How could I be so stupid ?” Hermione lamented, shaking her head at herself as tears filled her eyes once more.

“None of that,” Draco commanded, his hands shooting out to lightly grasp her hands before they could cover her face again. “He didn’t even deserve you when we were young and he certainly does not deserve you to be crying over him right now. Don’t let him ruin this for you, opening day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life. He’s already taken so much from you, don’t let him take this too.”

His words clearly struck a profound truth inside her, she took them in and her posture straightened significantly. “No, you’re right. What the fuck ?”

Draco quirked his eyebrows in appreciation of her boldness; that was certainly one way to approach the situation. “What the fuck indeed, Granger.”

She huffed and tore into the bag containing the two almond croissants, shoving half of one into her mouth and drying the rest of her tears. “You know,” she began, mouth still full of pastry. “He probably did this on purpose, getting caught right before our opening day.”

There was that ‘ our ’ again, while he wanted it to very much be theirs together, she needed to hear that it was hers and her’s alone. “This is your special day and it’s a day he never wanted you to have. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling but please try not to let him ruin this, hmm?” 

She finished her croissant, feeling fortified by the baked goods that allowed her Gryffindor spirit to take charge, she nodded confidently. “Right, spite is quite the motivator.”

Draco lightly tapped her chin with the side of his finger. “Chin up, Granger. I refuse to live in a reality where the most brilliant woman alive sets herself on fire to warm someone that doesn’t value her.”

Hermione looked up to meet his eyes once more, the line in between her eyebrows finally softened and she flung her arms around his middle. From their height difference, the top of her head was perfectly positioned below his nose and he was consumed by the scent of her, so much more powerful coming directly from the source than he was able to get off of her cardigan or her pillow. The warmth of her body pressed against his was enough to sweep away any chill that may have lingered in his bones from years in Azkaban, her arms felt like a home he never knew he would find again. The most incredible woman on earth had graced him with a hug, and he would walk barefoot through a river of fire to protect her because of it.

“Thank you, Draco,” she mumbled into his shirt.

He was speechless for once in his life, completely overwhelmed by her. But the moment was cut short by a knocking on the front door. Draco motioned for her to stay put while he unlocked the shop. He was wary of everyone who ventured into the store that day, scanning every face to see if he could determine if their motives for visiting were really to support the business or to attempt to get a glimpse of the jilted Golden Girl. In typical British manner, most people were quietly sympathetic or pretended not to know that anything had come to pass at all. Draco remained on edge through the morning rush, anticipating an attempt at reconciliation from the Weasel, but he did not arrive.

By mid-afternoon, both of them had let their guards down against the slow trickle of patrons through the door of Second Chance Books, as no one had said anything edgewise about the story in the Prophet. Until an hour before close when the front door flung open and in stepped a rather large man with a camera and Rita Skeeter hot on his heels. Draco and Hermione were both standing behind the counter, he couldn’t get a hang of the muggle cash register system that she had insisted on installing. The sound of the door followed by a light clacking of Skeeter’s lime green sling-back heels startled the pair of them, Draco instinctively swinging an arm out and shoving Hermione behind himself.

Skeeter’s eyes widened like a Niffler in a bank vault at the sight of Draco. “My my my, Mr. Malfoy.” She gestured for the photographer to start taking pictures. “Tell me, does your presence here have anything to do with Mr. Weasley’s activities on Saturday afternoon?”

Her voice was sickly sweet as it always had been, but venomous all the same. Draco flexed his hand where it was around Hermione’s forearm, gripping her tightly to keep her in place and out of sight. “You’re grasping at billywigs, Rita, we both know it. Now, get lost before I remove you myself,” he growled at her.

“Now now, who says I’m not here to purchase…” She grabbed a book off the shelf and held it between two fingers as if it smelled of flobberworm mucus, “a book?”

“Do you often bring your photographer and quick quotes quill with you on your shopping trips?” Draco sniped back, he could feel Hermione’s hot breath through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Rita rolled her eyes and haphazardly tossed the book back on the nearest shelf before stepping toward the counter. “Miss Granger, I know you’re back there. Care to comment on your curious employment of a convicted Death Eater?”

The use of the term caused Draco to swallow hard, but he refused to look away from the hateful woman. He felt Hermione stirring behind him as if she wanted to move out from behind him to speak, but he wouldn’t allow Skeeter the satisfaction of getting a photo of her against her wishes. “Don’t you dare speak to her, unless you’re here to cover the very successful first day sales of Second Chance Books I’m going to have to insist that you remove yourself from the premises.”

Draco sent her a lurid glare that she clearly received the intention of, Skeeter’s eyes shot wide and she slowly backed towards the door. Once she and her photographer were back in the street, he wandlessly locked the door and turned to face Hermione. 

“I’m so sorry I shoved you, are you alright?” he asked as softly as he could, staring at the place on her arm where he imagined his grip probably left a bruise.

“I-I can’t believe you did that,” she admitted, sounding slightly bewildered.

“Oh, Hermione. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that, I’m serious are you okay? I overreacted, I know you’re more than capable of looking after yourself,” he pleaded with her, hoping he hadn’t done irreparable damage to their new friendship.

She laughed lightly. “No, Draco. Gods, I mean I can’t believe you stuck up for me like that.”

“Oh, well… yeah, obviously,” he said matter-of-factly, as if there was no question that he would defend her. 

“I couldn’t even tell you the last time someone stood up for me like that, I don’t know if anyone ever has,” she confessed.

“You’re not upset at me for… that reaction?” Draco meant to say for treating her like his property, or being overbearing, possessive, deranged even, but he didn’t have the words for it.

Hermione smiled at him, a smile that filled her face and creased her eyes, a true and genuine smile like he had seen only sparingly from her. “Not in the slightest, actually I.. kind of liked it.” 

Both of them blushed at the acknowledgement and stepped away from one another, Hermione into her office and Draco out onto the floor to tidy up to close for the night. After he was satisfied that everything was properly dusted as he had been taught and all the books were in their correct homes, he approached the door to her office and cleared his throat.

“Uh, I’m all done out here boss. You almost finished?” he asked hesitantly.

She let out a long sigh. “No, apparently there is a lot of paperwork involved in owning a business. You can go, I’ll lock up myself when I leave for the night.”

“I don’t like the idea of you in here by yourself, Hermione,” Draco insisted, stepping into the office uninvited.

She smiled at him. “I’ll be okay, I won’t be long. I promise I’ll leave before it gets dark, alright?”

Draco looked down at her desk, it was a complete mess of papers, forms, stacks of orders to be fulfilled, and a small pile of letters. He gestured towards the letters. “Fan mail?”

“Hardly,” she scoffed, picking up the stack and tossing it closer to him. “Ronald.”

His nostrils flared and he grumbled to himself as he bent to pick them up. He flicked through the collection of letters, beginning with a poorly scrawled attempt at a heartfelt apology and growing increasingly frantic and threatening with each page.

“I haven’t replied, but they keep coming.” She shrugged and continued working through the file she was writing in.

“I don’t like this Hermione, I don’t like this at all. He’s making some pretty concerning threats against your safety, what if he shows up here?” Draco’s tone grew louder as his level of worry for her increased.

Hermione looked up at him sardonically. “You do know I fought in a war, right?”

He laughed and held his hands up in surrender, though he was far from dissuaded. “I’m right across the street, okay? If he shows up here, just send me a patronus or something and I’ll jump out my bedroom window if I have to.”

Though he said it in a light tone, he intended to make good on that promise if necessary. She laughed heartily. “Okay okay, goodnight Malfoy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After being shooed away, Draco took himself across to his flat and immediately fixed himself in the window. Barely blinking, he watched the storefront for any sign of movement just in case the Weasel did arrive. He fought off tired eyes for many hours, waiting for Hermione to leave the store and walk up to the floo connection. But she never appeared. The sun had long since set and Draco worried that maybe something was wrong. 

He bounded back down the stairs and made his way across to the shop and peered through the window, finding no sign of light anywhere within. He easily disarmed Hermione’s wards and let himself in quietly. He assumed she must still be there, but there was barely any sign of her, he tiptoed quietly towards her office door and peeked around it.

Hermione was there, safe and sound much to his delight, but she had transfigured her office ottoman into a tiny mattress and she was fast asleep on the floor. Of course she wouldn’t have wanted to go home, Draco should have known she would do something like this. He didn’t have the heart to wake her, so he settled into her desk chair to watch over her while she slept for a few hours. As long as he knew she was safe, he was fine to lose some of his own rest in favour of standing vigil over her.

 

🖤

 

The remainder of the first week went on much the same. Hermione and Draco spent the day enjoying pleasant conversation with each other and their new customers, and Draco would pretend he had no idea Hermione was sleeping in her office while simultaneously slipping back over in the middle of the night to watch her breathe. He was growing more and more convinced that the Weasel would stay away after almost five consecutive days without a sighting. That was, of course, until late on Saturday evening when Draco was just about to lock the door and in strode a drunken Weasley.

Hermione was lost in the stacks somewhere and she didn’t hear the door, but Draco was standing at the counter placing an order on the shelf behind him to be picked up the next morning. 

With his back to the door, he called over his shoulder. “Evening! We’re just about closed for the night, is there anything I can help you find?”

“My wife for starters,” he barked, causing Draco to spin around with such speed he almost lost his balance.

“Weasel, I thought I made it very clear you weren’t welcome here,” Draco growled, quickly moving around the counter to make his way towards Weasley.

“Ron?” Hermione called as she moved out from behind a bookshelf, “What are you doing here?”

The Weasel followed the sound of her voice, stepping forward to back her into a corner of shelves. “You’re coming home to your husband, where you belong.” He grabbed her by the arm the same way Draco had witnessed that very first pub night through his window. 

“Back off, if you’d like to keep your hand, Weasel,” Draco sniped at him.

“Ron, let go of me,” Hermione commanded.

“No, you’re mine. Just because some Death Eater got in your head doesn’t change the fact that you’re married to me,” he sneered, tugging Hermione forward by his grasp on her arm.

Draco balled up his fist and swung as hard as he could, making contact with the side of the Weasel’s head and creating a deafening crack of bone on bone. Hermione gasped but the action caused Ron to release his hold on her and turn to face Draco instead.

“Now you listen to me, Weasel. If you have any remaining brain cells in that unsightly head of yours, I suggest you rub them together and choose your next words very carefully ,” Draco threatened, stepping forward to close the space between the two of them.

“Keep making empty threats all you like, Malfoy. You can punch me again, nothing could compare to the pain of putting up with her for years,” he called over his shoulder to Hermione, not even turning to face her properly. “Come on, ‘Mione, you know no one else will want your frigid cunt if you don’t take me back.”

Hermione gasped again. Over Weasley’s head, Draco caught sight of the hurt on her face from hearing the man who had once promised to honour and cherish her speak about her with such disregard. He once thought he had heard men speak about women in callous and disgusting ways, having been raised with a father who viewed his mother as a piece of meat, but even Draco was gobsmacked by the way the Weasel could speak about Hermione as if she wasn’t the single most incredible being on earth.

He had had enough; enough of people treating Hermione as less than the gift to the universe she was, enough of the Weasel thinking he was entitled to her mind or body, and more than enough of holding himself back from her. Draco balled up his fists and redoubled his efforts from the previous weekend, punching Weasley in the face so hard he thought he certainly broke his own hand from the bare knuckle contact to the ginger’s teeth. 

That didn’t deter him, he kept swinging through the sounds of Hermione yelling at him to stop. He used the momentum to push Weasley back towards the door and out into the Alley; instead of stopping once he was clear of the shop, Draco pulled him by the collar of his shirt up to the floo connection, threw him into the grate and sent him swiftly on his way back to the townhouse. 

Draco trudged back to the store to find Hermione standing in the doorway, looking on with a face that told him she disapproved of his behaviour. He hung his head and prepared for the incoming tongue lashing from her as he walked back in. 

Instead, she just tutted at him. “Let me see your hand, is it broken?”

“What?” he sputtered as she reached out to gently take his right hand into her own for an examination. “Oh, no I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she concluded as she cast a simple diagnostic on his hand.

Draco watched her study the faint lights that glowed above his throbbing hand, she had a comfortingly light touch as she cast a few easy healing spells. “Is there anything you can’t do, Hermione?”

“I’ve had to be more resourceful than most.”

“I-I feel like I need to say sorry for uh… that.” Draco began, “I’m sorry — I feel like all I do is apologize to you for my behaviour.”

Hermione tutted again. “No more apologies, Draco. Yes, I probably could have handled that myself but I’m glad for once that I didn’t have to. You don’t need to apologize for trying to care for me.”

“You do know I’d never… be like that towards you, right?” he attempted, “I know I shoved you behind me to get you away from Skeeter but I won’t ever touch you like that again, I don’t want you to think I would hurt you like him.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Draco. It’s alright, really.”

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight? I’ll sleep in the chair but I don’t want you to be alone if he decides to come back.” Draco offered, accidentally revealing that he had been aware of her sleeping in the store.

“How long have you known?” she asked, no hint of surprise in her voice.

“All week,” he admitted sheepishly, “I assumed if you wanted to talk about it, you would.”

Hermione permitted him to stay but only after insisting that she transfigure her desk chair into something large enough to comfortably fit his body. He wanted to offer her his own bed across the hall, but felt that would be much too soon after such an altercation with the Weasel. After they both calmed down and she stopped fussing over Draco’s very much not broken hand, he left her alone for a few minutes to go across the Alley to pick up some food from the Crossed Wands for both of them. When he returned, Hermione was tucked into her tiny little mattress on the floor and fast asleep. Draco picked at his dinner and watched her chest rise and fall with her slumbered breaths for an hour before finally allowing himself a long overdue night’s rest. Before he closed his eyes, he thought longingly about the heart shaped box collecting dust under his bed that was much more comfortable than the misshapen chair he was lounging in. However, he would not have traded it for the world; to be permitted to be alone with her, welcomed even, was better than any high he could get himself from going through articles or huffing the smell of her off her clothing.

The shop was set to be closed the following morning, but they still planned on getting some work done. Draco found that he liked stocking the shelves very much, it was his favourite of the tasks Hermione had assigned to him. Since the books were pre-owned, every single text he plucked out of a box was a surprise and a mystery to him. She took to gently scolding him for how long it took to get through the boxes he needed to shelve because he paused to read the synopsis on the back of every single book he pulled out. 

They worked through the day without incident. Hermione tried to show him how to use her mobile phone while they took a break for lunch, but of all the muggle technology she attempted to share with him, the strange device was the most mind boggling and he declared his undying devotion to the use of owls. When the Weasel didn’t attempt to return at all during the day, Draco felt like she might be safe to be on her own once more. After finishing up the entire list Hermione had made him for the day, he made his way to find her in her office.

She was focused intently on some variety of paperwork in front of her, so Draco knocked lightly on the doorframe to not startle her. “Hey boss, I’m all finished up. Anything else you need? Can I fetch you some dinner?”

“No, thank you. I have a meeting actually, I’ll walk out with you just give me a moment,” she said, standing from the desk and collecting her things.

“A meeting?”

Hermione followed Draco towards the exit to the store. “Yes, Pansy recommended a solicitor that specializes in divorce, I’m meeting with her for dinner.”

Draco’s eyes went wide. “You’re actually divorcing him?”

“I heard what you said the other day,” she nodded. “I won’t set myself on fire to keep him warm anymore.”

Satisfaction filled Draco’s entire body, he was overcome with it and before he could stop himself, he wrapped his muscular arms around her and scooped her easily into a hug. She giggled and hugged him back, he lost control of himself even further and planted a kiss on her soft lips. He had wanted his lips on hers for months, even years at this point, but this was all wrong, he didn’t want it to be this way, he wanted it to be perfect and exactly how he imagined - not in a moment of weakness, not following the announcement of her divorce, and not because he forced it upon her.

He set her back on her own two feet. “Oh my gods, I’m so sorry Hermione.”

“Draco, it’s okay I-” 

“I’m so sorry. I’ll, er, I’ll see you tomorrow, good luck with your meeting!” He called back at her as he practically sprinted away from her towards his flat. 

Once safely inside, he let the truth of his misstep crash down around him. Everything he had done for months had been a calculated move, like a champion Wizard’s Chess player, all aiming towards the goal of freeing Hermione from the life that was making her miserable. He had been successful until that moment; she left her terrible job, she was living her dream of owning a bookstore, she was about to file for divorce from a man that never once acted like he was worthy of her attention. Instead of celebrating her successes and her devotion to her self worth, in hopes that some day when the moment was just right, she would kiss him , Draco had behaved like some common goblin. He was contrite as he flung himself down on the bed to imagine a punishment befitting the crime.

Once again in his life, the world passed by his window without him. He stared up at the ceiling, watching the warm light of the sun slowly drag itself away to be replaced by the cold glow of the full moon. Surely she wouldn’t want him to come into work again tomorrow after overstepping so egregiously, and he thought that perhaps it was time to leave Britain for good as she was the only person who ever thought him to be worth more than the life he was given as a child. He resolved to apologize profusely first thing in the morning and give his notice that he would be leaving the store to avoid her having to fire him. But sleep would not take him, he was wide awake no matter what he did. It made him think of times in his 6th year at Hogwarts when he would listen to all his roommates snoring the night away under the green glow from the moon filtering through the black lake and into the windows of his dormitory. On those nights, he would reluctantly peel himself from the mattress and go for a walk to clear his mind.

So shortly thereafter, he found himself fully dressed again, lit cigarette in hand, pacing back and forth outside Second Chance Books. He intended to go for an actual walk, perhaps into muggle London to get lost for a while; but knowing that she was likely laying on her transfigured mattress in the back office fretting about how to politely ask him to never speak to her again, Draco was pulled towards her. 

“Fuck it.” He muttered to himself, before unlocking the door with his wand and entering the store.

“I wondered how long it would take for you to show up,” Hermione chimed from a large armchair in the middle of the store with a slight laugh.

“I only came to apologize again, really.” 

“What did I say about apologizing to me? No more,” she rebuked, standing to come and meet him.

Draco began to babble. “I shouldn’t have done that, well I mean I wanted to, but I wanted to under better circumstances, and I wanted to ask your permission and-”

“I wanted to kiss you the day you rescued me from Skeeter, but I thought it would be inappropriate, me being your boss and all.” Hermione confessed, looking up at him through her eyelashes as she stepped closer.

His nerve snapped back into place from the proximity to her, she was close enough to reach out and touch and the scent of her filled his head with delusional ideas. He stepped forward to meet her, completely closing any remaining distance between them. 

Draco slowly lifted one arm, letting his fingers trail lightly up her hip before resting firmly on her waist. Her dark eyes bore into his, he heard her breath catch in her throat as his other hand gently made its way up the back of her neck, grabbing a fist full of her soft hair. 

He lowered his face down to her ear as he tugged at her hair to angle her head back. “I’ll gladly quit my job if you don’t want to be my boss anymore,” he purred, breath hot on her skin.

She gave no verbal response, instead giving into her own desire and turning to crash her lips into his. It wasn’t a soft kiss like their first, but aggressive, desperate, and overflowing with need. Draco’s pulse was racing in his ears while he matched her pace, kissing her back passionately. He gave a harder yank to the hair at the back of her neck to better his access to her mouth. She let out an involuntary moan and Draco used the opening of her lips as an opportunity to slip his tongue in to explore.

He devoured her like a starved man, tongue and breath mixing until he could no longer tell where he ended and she began. When she finally had to pull away for air, Draco peppered wet kisses to the flushed skin of her jaw and trailed down her neck, until she let out a delicious little sound at the contact of his lips to her pulse point. His eyes darkened, setting out to get her to make that noise for him again, sucking and biting softly at her silky skin. To his delight, she responded in kind, letting out a slightly louder groan directly into his ear.

From his hunched position, he released his grip on the nape of her neck and scooped her easily up with both hands as he stood back straight. She wrapped her legs quickly around his waist, lining herself up perfectly to feel him growing hard under his trousers. She tangled her own hands into his hair, pulling him back to meet her lips like she couldn’t get enough of them. He held her up with two hands quite happily pressed into the soft flesh of her arse, and her kisses became more frantic as she took his bottom lip between her teeth. He responded by flexing his fingers to press into her hard enough to leave a small bruise, she released his lip to let her head drop back to enjoy the sensation.

He kissed what little skin of her collarbone he had access to from her shirt as he walked her backwards to the large armchair she had previously occupied, he spun quickly and dropped himself to sit in the chair and slowly maneuvered her legs so she straddled one of his enormous thighs. Once seated, she keened into the contact and found her way back to his lips, redoubling her efforts of trying to get as much of him as possible. Draco gripped onto her hips firmly, pressing down to encourage her to seek friction from this position as he continued to consume her. 

He could feel the heat of her core through the fabric of his pants, she slowly began to move her hips of her own volition against him and he could barely focus on kissing her for how much he wanted to watch her chase this. 

He broke the kiss to nibble at her neck again, his breath hot on her skin. “Tell me to stop, Hermione.”

“Don’t you dare stop,” she demanded, placing her own hands on top of his where they sat on her hip bones.

“Tell me to stop, Hermione,” he commanded once more, biting down on her pulse point harder.

“P-please,” she moaned, “Gods, please don’t stop.”

Everything he had done in the weeks since his release had led him to this moment, and for once in his life he felt adequately prepared for the task at hand. She had, after all, unknowingly gave him a checklist of her most carnal desires. Draco did not need to think too hard to recall them, her handwriting in the margins of that secret little book was burned into the front of his mind.

“Fucking hell, gods, you’re so perfect,” he muttered into her neck.

She let out a ragged breath at the praise, and Draco was delighted to continue. He slowly ran his hands up from their spot on her hips and under the hem of her shirt. “Keep moving your hips for me,” he commanded and she obliged. “But don’t you dare come, I want to do that myself.”

He locked eyes with her as he gently caressed at her delicate skin under her shirt, waiting for any indication on her face that he shouldn’t continue. But as his hands found the underside of her breasts and moved up to slowly knead at them over the thin fabric of her bra, she dropped her head backwards and pushed her torso further into his grasp.

He continued his efforts until he felt the peak of her hardening nipple press into his palm, he took it between his thumb and index finger and squeezed it lightly, rolling them back and forth when he heard her breath catch again. The pace of her hips against his thigh picked up, he watched a light sheen begin to form on her neck and she was growing more pink in the face with each passing second.

“Oh, gods, ” she breathed.

“What did I say, Hermione? You are not allowed to finish without my help, are you going to stop on your own or do I need to stop you?” Draco wasn’t sure where his words were coming from, but judging by how blown wide her pupils were when she snapped her head back up to look at him, he was fulfilling the brief.

She slowed her pace as Draco gently released his grasp on her breasts and traced his hands back down her sides to memorize the shape of her. Hermione whimpered at the loss of contact.

“Good girl,” he praised, “arms up for me.”

She raised her hands above her, allowing Draco to slowly pull her shirt over her head to reveal a sheer black bra overflowing with the most delectable skin he could imagine. He discarded her shirt onto the floor and leaned back to look at her. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Hermione.” He groaned, allowing himself a moment to take in the sight before returning to her skin like a moth to a flame.

He took full advantage of his access to previously unexplored flesh, kissing down her neck and collarbones until he could lightly suckle at a pert nipple threatening to break through the thin cotton holding it back. He devoted the attention of his hands to her other breast and feeling the gentle rocking of her hips with his palm flat on her lower back.

“I-I don’t know how much longer I can-'' Hermione panted.

Draco chuckled and deftly lifted her up from straddling his leg. He stood and placed her in his spot on the chair. Kneelingbetween her legs, he resumed his attention to her bykissing between her breasts and slowly down her stomach. When he reached the waistband of her jeans, he looked up to find her watching him intently. 

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the button closure.

She nodded vigorously, causing Draco to chuckle again.

“I require enthusiastic, verbal consent, Hermione.”

“Yes!” she blurted out before laughing herself, “I mean, yes please for Merlin’s sake Draco, I think I might die if you don’t take them off me immediately.”

“Well done, thank you,” he asserted, opening the button and leaning forward to pull the zipper open with his teeth. He massaged his way up her thighs until he reached the waistband. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.”

She obliged, and Draco peeled the tight denim off her body, tossing them aside with her shirt. He leaned back to sit on his heels and admire her; gods, she was the most incredible creature Draco had ever laid eyes on in his life. Short of breath, gazing desperately into his eyes, glowing in the low light coming in through the shop window.

“You are… fucking breathtaking ,” he whispered, leaning forward to return to worshiping her breasts. He kneaded at them more roughly this time, his own need for her growing beyond his control. He kissed at the skin on her chest for a moment before snaking his hands around behind her to undo the clasp of her bra, gently guiding her arms out of it and stuffing it into his pocket. If he was to be allowed this kind of access to her, he certainly would be taking something home for the box under his bed. 

He groaned as he took in her bare chest, immediately diving back down to lick and suck at her nipple, teasing the other with his fingers. 

She moaned from deep in her throat and grabbed a fist full of his hair. “P-please, I need… I-”

Draco released his mouth from her skin and leaned his cheek onto her chest, gazing up at her to see she was practically falling apart with need before he had even touched her. “Begging for me already, sweetheart?”

She whimpered and tried to wiggle her hips in search of some kind of friction where she needed it the most. Draco smirked and began kissing his way down her torso and stomach until he came to the drenched fabric of her knickers. He moved slightly back from her, bringing his hands down to spread her knees as far as he could and held them there.

He turned his head and kissed from her knee up to the tender skin where her thigh met her body, close but not close enough, causing her to attempt to writhe towards his mouth. He laughed into her leg, turning to repeat the same motions on the other side. Hermione reached down and ran her fingers through his hair, attempting to guide him back to her middle. He stalled his progress completely, causing her to cry out in desperation. 

“Are you going to keep your hands to yourself?” He asked in a lightly scolding tone.

“Y-yes.”

“Yes… what?” He looked up at her from his place between her legs.

“Yes, sir. I will behave.” she replied immediately.

“Good girl, Hermione,” Draco declared, resuming his progression towards her middle again.

When he arrived at the soaking wet fabric of her knickers, he kissed her lightly over top of them, erupting a desperate moan from Hermione’s mouth. He pulled away to look at her, and apparently having forgotten her promise, she attempted to bring her fingers down to take matters into her own hands once more.

“Ah ah, I see you’re not going to behave yourself after all,” Draco teased. “No matter...”

He rose from his knees and removed his tie, beckoning with one finger for her to give him her wrists. He loosely wrapped the silk around her arms and wandlessly used a sticking charm to keep them in place above her head.

“You know the spell to get out if you need to, yes?” he confirmed, to which she nodded but he let her get away with it, too interested to lower himself back onto his knees before her.

He teased her softly with his lips over her knickers for as long as he could possibly stand it before hooking his fingers under the waist band, she lifted her hips for him without instruction and he pulled them quickly down her legs and stowed them in his pocket with her bra. 

Once again, he leaned back to look at her, mouth slightly agape and watering. She stirred uncomfortably under his gaze, trying to bring her knees together to cover herself.

“Absolutely not,” Draco declared, gently taking each leg and draping them over the arms of the chair. “Let me look at you, fucking hell you’re incredible.”

“I-what?” she sputtered.

“You just walk around looking like this? Fuck Hermione, what you do to me.” He licked his lips and began to gently trace small circles over her clit with two fingers. “Now, I want you to listen carefully. I am going to take my sweet time, I want to taste you, and you are not allowed to come until I say so, understand?”

“Mmm,” she moaned and tried to meet the motion of his fingers with her hips, “y-yes, sir. I understand.”

“Such a good girl for me,” Draco murmured as he removed his fingers and dipped his head to ghost a kiss over her throbbing clit.

He ran his tongue through her wetness, savouring the salty sweet taste of her arousal. “ Fuck ,” he groaned into her cunt, “You’re delicious, my girl.”

He cast his sight up to watch her face as he worked at her clit with his tongue, slowly deciphering a rhythm until he found one that elicited another satisfying noise from deep within her. He continued lavishing her cunt with careful, deliberate strokes of his tongue, not taking his eyes away from her for even a moment. He could feel her blood rushing through her with each touch of his lips, she writhed beneath his attentions as she became close to overstimulated.

“I have been waiting a lifetime to have you like this, you beautiful creature.”

He slowly traced one hand up her body to find his way to her mouth, sticking in two of his fingers for her to wet with her own saliva.

When he brought them back down he slowly pushed into her, beginning a punishingly languid pace of pumping in and out of her, all the while continuing to devour her with his mouth. Each time her moans became more erratic and he could feel her start to clench around his fingers, he would withdraw them and lick himself clean. Hermione kept writhing and whimpering, and Draco would kiss the soft skin around her aching cunt until she stilled enough to begin again.

“Please, please Draco. Please!” she begged. 

Draco kept up the routine until he saw tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes.“Just a little longer, that’s my good girl. You just taste so good, I’m not ready for you to finish yet,” he praised, going back in for more.

The fourth time he felt her approaching the crest of her orgasm, he pressed his free hand down on her lower abdomen and picked up the rhythm of his fingers inside of her, slightly curling them upwards on the way down. He suckled ruthlessly at her oversensitive clit until she was bucking her hips and fighting against the pressure he was applying to her stomach.

“Good girl, let go. Come for me, come all over my fingers, Hermione,” he purred.

She shrieked, finally being allowed to fall apart and chase her release over the cliff after being denied so many times. Draco slowly coaxed her through it with the delicate touch of his fingers as she pulsated around him. The sounds she made would stay with him for the rest of his days, as would the memory of being the one to make her elicit such behaviours.

“That’s my girl, good girl Hermione, thank you sweetheart.” He crooned as she came down from her high.

“T-thank thank you, thank you,” she panted.

“Don’t thank me, I’m not done with you yet.” Draco licked his fingers clean and raised up to find her lips again, kissing her much more gently than before, the mingling of the taste of her arousal and her mouth was euphoric on his tongue. He silently dispelled the sticking charm and carefully removed the tie from around her arms.

Hermione wasted no time getting her hands on him, flinging her upper body towards him as quickly as she could, frantically grasping at his jacket and trying to wrench it off him. He tilted his head at her teasingly and removed her hands, placing them in her own lap.

He appraised her for a moment, she was the loveliest shade of pink all over and watching him hungrily with darkened eyes. This time, she did not shy away from his gaze, instead darting her tongue out to moisten her swollen lips. Draco chuckled darkly, taking out his wand to quickly cast the contraception charm before doing away with his jacket, tossing it aside with her discarded clothes.

He returned to her, barely able to withstand even a moment without his lips on her body in some fashion. He allowed her to fidget with the buttons of his shirt to open it while he kissed his way along her jaw to nibble on her ear lobe. Once she had enough of trying to get his shirt off him, he heard her mutter a spell under her breath that turned his rather expensive dress shirt into a tiny ferret that scuttled away from the pair of them.

Draco laughed heartily and she giggled in response. “Impatient, are we?” he teased.

Hermione couldn’t form words to reply to his jab, she was too busy gaping at the sight of his bare chest. Light hands gently came to meet his skin, tracing old scars from a life he barely remembered living. She ran her flat palms up his torso, around his broad shoulders, and down his defined arms. The tips of her fingers lingered momentarily as they dragged over each of his tattoos. She seemed to be completely in awe of him. Draco had no words to say to her, he knew he looked different than he once had but he never considered that it would have such an effect on her.

“Are you… real?” She finally whispered.

“I’m not sure…” He smirked. “Can you feel this?”

Draco bent down and kissed at her pulse point once more, causing her to moan directly in his ear. 

“And what about this?” he growled as he latched his mouth over her nipple again, sucking and biting at her glistening skin.

“Uh huh,” she gasped.

“And this?” he asked again, barely releasing her nipple from his teeth as he began to trace circles over her clit with his fingers once more.

Fuck, ” she muttered, letting her head fall back at the contact.

Draco laughed and released her from his grasp. “Then I suppose I must be real.”

Hermione whimpered impatiently, trying to get her hands on the waist of his trousers, but he stopped her advances causing her to grumble in frustration. “Can’t you let me return the favour?”

“Favour?” Draco scoffed, “That was not a favour, that was a fucking delicacy. If you ever hear me describe the divine blessing of your cunt on my tongue as a favour you have my permission to hex me through the wall.”

She stared up at him with wide eyes, he knew from what he had inadvertently witnessed in that damned office at the Daily Prophet that she was not used to this kind of treatment. But that only made him want to give it to her more. In the moment, he almost lost track of his intentions and her little wishlist.

He dipped his fingers back down to her clit, teasing at her slowly while he returned his mouth to twirl his tongue lightly over her pert nipples in a way he knew would make her squirm again.

The longer he continued, the faster her breath became, panting in short quick puffs. He watched her eyes glaze over as she approached another release, so he took his fingers away.

“Nooo, Dracoo please, please ,” she moaned.

He ghosted the tips of his fingers over her swollen clit, causing her to shudder. “No my girl, the next time you come it’s going to be all over my cock. I need you to hold on for me.”

“Please, Draco. I can’t take it anymore, please fuck me . I need you inside of me,” Hermione begged, she sounded drunk on the pleasure he was providing her and he was so hard for it he thought he might actually rip the seam of his trousers.

“Okay, okay darling,” Draco soothed, starting to remove his trousers. The release of pressure from the tight fabric allowed even more blood to rush to the head of his cock. Hermione seemed to have had her fill of waiting because as he moved his hands to push his clothes down, she leapt forward and pulled both his trousers and pants down in one swift movement.

As his achingly hard cock sprang free, Hermione’s eyes bulged. Her mouth slowly dropped open at seeing the sheer size of him, and she was unable to catch a tiny bead of drool as it fell from her lips. 

“Be a good girl and sit back for me,” Draco suggested, to which her body responded immediately. 

As her back found the chair once more, Draco moved towards her as he palmed at himself. He dipped his fingers inside of her to gather some of her wetness and spread it down his length, causing him to groan involuntarily. He bent down closer, taking his cock in one hand and rubbing it over her clit and teasing at her entrance.

Please , I’m going to combust Draco, I can’t wait anymore,” Hermione begged as he taunted her aching core.

“Since you asked so nicely, my girl.” He gently took her right leg and slowly raised it up so her calf was resting on his shoulder. “Is that alright?”

“Yes, please. Please Draco, I need you.” 

Draco was happy to oblige, in truth he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this act up for her when all he wanted in the entire world was to bury himself inside her. Ever so slowly, he began to push into her, watching intently for any sign of discomfort on her face. 

“More, more .” Hermione pushed herself closer to him in an attempt for Draco to fill her with his entire length.

He continued at a slow pace until he was sheathed to the hilt, as his swollen head hit the top of her and he watched intently as she streched to admit him, he saw stars. The warmth and wetness of her perfect pussy clenching around him was enough to send him over the edge before a single pump. But he knew he had a job to do, he needed to feel her come with his cock inside of her more than he needed oxygen in his lungs. Draco tried to steady his breath and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself on task.

He had clearly been in his own mind for too long while she adjusted to receive him because she started trying to set a pace for herself from beneath him. As he felt Hermione wriggle, he snapped back to his consciousness and began a slow rhythm of his hips, pushing in and out of her with his entire cock. Her arousal coated him entirely, already beginning to drip down her inner thighs. He couldn’t help himself from dipping his fingers to find her clit once more to resume his efforts.

“You’re taking it so well, so perfect for me Hermione,” he crooned between intervals of his hips and with his own ragged breath.

On each repetitive motion, Hermione let out a small moan from deep within her. As Draco picked up his pace, truly pumping into her in earnest, her sounds became increasingly carnal in nature. 

“Fuck, gods, oh gods Draco I’m so, I’m so-” she panted, but Draco already knew she was walking on the razor’s edge of her release, he could feel her body pulsing around him and pulling him deeper inside.

“Go ahead, my girl. Let go, I’ve got you. Come for me Hermione, come on my cock,” he granted, and she lost no time once being given the permission to lose herself.

It was all Draco could do not to spill himself inside her as he felt her walls gripping him harder then he knew possible, Hermione writhed and moaned as he continued fucking her through the wave of ecstasy ripping through her body.

“Fuck, Hermione. You’re so beautiful, look at you dripping all over my cock,” he praised once more, remembering the last item on her list.

He picked up his movements, snapping his hips at a punishing pace to thrust himself as far into her as she would allow. Her breath was desperate through her whines as she came back down and approached the point of overstimulation, the leg by his ear was trembling uncontrollably. 

“Just hold on a little longer, that’s a good girl.” Draco purred, “You want me to claim you, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, yes please.” Hermione slurred her words, too lost in the all consuming wave of her own pleasure.

“You want me to fill you up like the little cumslut you are?” Draco rasped, thrusting into her as fast and deep as his body would move him.

At his words, Hermione’s eyes rolled back in her head and he felt her walls flutter around him again as a desperate scream ripped from the back of her throat, sending her flying at another orgasm in quick succession. Draco found his own release, spilling himself inside of her with a few more short snaps of his hips. Her body responded, continuing to clench rhythmically around his cock and milk him for all he was worth. 

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Such a good girl, Hermione. So perfect,” he panted as he came down from his high. 

Hermione was still breathing heavily and completely tongue tied, causing Draco to chuckle and press a soft kiss to her forehead. He lowered her leg from his shoulder slowly, kissing her on the ankle on its way past his lips. Draco cast his eyes downward and watched intently as he slowly pulled his softening cock out of her, not wanting to miss the sight of his cum dripping from the most glorious cunt he had ever witnessed in his life.

Draco waited for her to return to her body before finding his wand with one hand and easily scooped her up with the other, he kissed her on the temple and apparated them across the street to his bed. He placed her gently down on the mattress and pulled the covers up over her body, she positively glowed in the low light of the room from the streetlamps outside. 

“My Hermione,” Draco murmured as he lowered himself into the bed beside her, remembering fondly the small heart-shaped box nestled securely below them.

Notes:

Well, I hope it was worth it. I had a whale of a time writing this chapter, and I am SO excited to see what everyone thinks about it.

See you next week for the epilogue ☺️

Chapter 7: Epilogue

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Six Months Later

Since being with Hermione, Draco had experienced a great many challenging and strange muggle things, but none so terrifying as her driving. 

“Would you slow down!” He shouted, grasping for anything to hold on to as she careened wildly through the streets.”You do know we can apparate quite literally anywhere on earth, right?”

Hermione giggled at him, “Draco, we’re not even going the speed limit yet!”

“We’re meant to go faster?”

She laughed again and sped the car up while Draco slammed his eyes shut and prayed to Merlin he would make it to their new shared flat alive. After spending almost every single night since their first time together in his bed above The Crossed Wands, Hermione had finally persuaded him to give up the room and move into a proper flat with her. Blissfully, her divorce from the Weasel was just about finalized and they had sold the townhouse, so now Draco was being carted off in Hermione’s car filled with boxes of her things to their new home.

The flat was a far cry from the manor once again, but it was far more suitable to a grown man than living in a single bedroom above a pub. A short drive away from the townhouse but still within walking distance to their favourite cafe for almond croissants. Draco was excited to live with his Hermione, he could admit he was slightly wary of living in Muggle London but they settled on a very quiet area that he was comfortable in. He was learning to love blending his magical upbringing with her muggle way of doing things, it brought her obvious happiness so he was pleased to do it.

In the six months they had been together, Draco had done everything in his power to set himself in stark contrast to Weasley at every turn. He was calm and patient with her when she was stressed from a long day at the bookstore, he always made sure she took time for meals and often carried her up the stairs from her sitting room to her bed when she passed out on the sofa. Doting on her every need was Draco’s greatest joy in life.

He had not needed to morph his appearance in months, he no longer had any need to follow her about from place to place because he was now welcome company. Draco’s fixation with plotting and scheming had died down as well since she found her rightful place in his arms, they had not heard from Weasley after she officially filed for divorce so they settled into a very domestic routine together with no protest from anyone. 

Friday evenings, instead of watching out the window for her to arrive for drinks with their friends, he now walked across from Second Chance Books with his arm around her waist. In place of the grumpy ginger at their table, they expanded to include Luna, Neville, and Blaise who easily beat out Draco and Hermione for being the most sickeningly in love of the whole group. Their booth in the corner of the pub was always alive with laughter and he spent most evenings feeling the glow of sunshine emanating from the perfect witch at his side.

 

🖤

 

When they arrived outside their new flat, Draco practically threw himself out of Hermione’s car and kissed the sidewalk. She lit up in a fit of giggles and opened the boot to start unloading boxes.

“You’re going to make me carry these up the stairs without magic, aren’t you?” Draco joked as he came to meet her and pulled out some of the heavier boxes.

“Yes I am.” She announced proudly.

“Anything for you.”

Draco bent slightly to kiss the top of her head before gesturing with his chin for her to lead the way into the building. After half an hour and no shortage of moaning from him about doing things the muggle way, the car was placed in the back parking lot and they were unpacking together in the kitchen. He was hopeless at knowing where any of the strange muggle cooking objects should go, he had barely mastered making himself a piece of toast without almost burning the building down, but Hermione was endlessly patient with him and still found him to be charming nonetheless.

“How about I get out of your way and I’ll go unpack your clothes for you?” He offered, trying to be helpful but having an ulterior motive in mind.

“Concurrent activity sounds very productive.” She agreed over her shoulder while reaching up to put some plates in the cupboard.

Draco stepped behind her and placed his hands gently on her hips and deposited a kiss to his favourite place where her neck met her shoulder. “Love you.”

“I love you more,” she mused, leaning into his body.

“Impossible.” He concluded, quickly pecking her on the cheek and turning to walk to their bedroom.

Once they had finally said it after about three months, Draco couldn’t stop saying it. Hermione had tried to tell him first, but she barely got one word out before he cut her off to beat her to confessing. Any time he left a room, he was compelled to repeat it. Draco wasn’t entirely sure what love was in any traditional sense but the feeling in his chest of wanting to rip out his beating heart and present it to her told him all he needed to know.

In the bedroom, Draco located the particular box of clothes he was looking for and vanished the tape with his wand. He pulled out a few of her oversized t-shirts he had folded on the top of the box, bringing the small stack up to his face to take a deep inhale of her scent. While mixed with the clean smell of her laundry detergent, the unmistakable aroma of his Hermione was very much present. He filled his lungs with her until a headrush set in from his favourite high and he set the pile aside. Digging elbow deep into the box to find a dark purple jumper wrapped around his heart shaped box, he pulled the package out and sat on the edge of the bed with it.

He hadn’t had much need to revisit the contents of the box since the true object of his obsession spent every night in his bed for months, but he would never part with it. He did add new things to it from time to time; articles from The Daily Prophet about her bookshop and the photo from the story about her divorce, a stray hairpin she left in his bathroom, her knickers from that first night. Draco was careful about his collection because she remained blissfully unaware of his involvement in the events of her life since his release from Azkaban, and he intended to keep it that way.

He unwrapped it and sent her jumper back over to the wardrobe wandlessly, he knelt down beside the bed and paused for a moment to admire his intricate transfiguration work on the heart-shaped box. He could feel the magic woven throughout it humming in his hands, all of his devotion to her manifested physically in his grasp. Draco bent further to tuck the box under the bed and out of sight, casting a complicated notice-me-not charm on it just in case.

 

🖤

Draco made quick work of unpacking the rest of the heavy boxes he had carried up all the stairs by hand, happily electing to use his wand to get everything stowed away in the wardrobe. No matter how much time he spent with Hermione and was learning to love the way she did things without magic, he still was not keen on manual labour. He vanished the empty cardboard boxes and sat on the edge of their bed, taking a moment to himself to allow his new reality to sink in. A mere few months prior, Draco had been staring at the same four walls of his cell in Azkaban without a single spark of hope remaining that he might one day walk the streets as a free man once again, even his active imagination could not have conjured up a daydream of a life in tandem with the indomitable Hermione Granger. 

As if she could feel him thinking about her, Draco heard Hermione’s heavy footsteps approaching from down the hall. He smiled at the empty door frame and waited for her to occupy it, and she did, leaning against the white painted wood with her head tilted in examination of him.

“Knut for your thoughts?” 

Draco outstretched his arms and beckoned for her to walk into them, when she stood between his thighs, he wrapped her up tightly and pressed his ear to her abdomen. “Just thinking about how lucky I am. Lucky to be here, lucky to be sharing this life with you.”

Hermione ran a hand through his hair, her fingernails brushing against his scalp, soothing him after a hard day's work. He hummed quietly in contentment, relaxed simply by her gentle touch. She meant the world to him, there was no doubt in his mind of the things he would do for her to keep her looking at him with that golden light in her eyes. 

“I don’t think you’ll ever understand the lengths to which I have gone in this life to have you. There is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Hermione.”

She looked at him, clearly puzzled and trying to work out what he could possibly be referring to. Not wanting to allow her brilliant mind to run the risk of coming up with one of the many plausible scenarios of things he actually had done for her, Draco decided that it was time to come halfway clean. 

“I’m the anonymous donor.” He said simply, letting the statement hang in the air for her to come to terms with.

“You— what? Draco!” She sputtered and smacked him on the arm lightly. “What do you mean you are the anonymous donor?”

“I knew you wouldn’t accept my help if I offered it, so I set up that meeting with McDowell and gave him what was left in the Malfoy vaults after the ministry had their way. I wanted to help and it was the only way I knew how.” He looked away from her gaze, hardly able to bear if she were to become angry with him. “I’m sorry I lied, please don’t be upset with me I just really wanted to see you happy and I—”

Hermione cut off his ramblings by placing her hands on either side of his face and gently turning it to look into her eyes once more, she bowed her head and gave him a soft kiss. “I’m not angry with you, Draco.”

“You’re not?”

She giggled lightly and shook her head, “No. I don’t like that you lied but I understand why, I absolutely would have refused your money. Although, I’ll admit I did have my suspicions.”

Now Draco was the one looking confused, he furrowed his brow and waited for her to continue.

“Come on, Draco, you know I’m not stupid.” She levied him with a knowing stare,  “You become aware that I need galleons beyond my means to make something happen and suddenly there is a mysterious, anonymous investor, that happens to be a client of your solicitor, that is miraculously happy to fork over half my annual salary based on my name alone? I immediately thought it was you, I actually assumed you would have gloated about it ages ago. When you didn’t mention it, I let the suspicion go.”

“I didn’t want to gloat, I just wanted to see you smile again. I would do it again without question, it was worth every single sickle.” He thought he was finished with the conversation but a question invaded his mind that he needed to know the answer to. “If you thought it was me, how come you never asked me about it?”

“I assumed you had things you wanted to keep to yourself, you’ve not been allowed a secret of your own in years. I knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.” She said with a bit of a shrug.

“What’s this got to do with horses?” 

Hermione giggled and sighed in the way she always seemed to when Draco didn’t understand one of her muggle sayings, “I mean to say, if it was something you had arranged, I wasn’t going to pry into it for fear of seeming ungrateful. I will never ask you to what extent you were involved in making my dreams come true, because I know you did it for my benefit.”

The vice grip in Draco’s chest that he had been living with for months that she might have suspected him of orchestrating the series of events that led to their present living situation loosened slightly. He wouldn’t ask what she suspected, and in turn she wouldn’t inquire into what he had done. Draco could feel from her that she knew there was more to be said about his involvement but there was a calmness in the air around him that assured him she was being truthful. She would never ask, and he would never tell.

She took him by the hand and they finished unpacking their new home together, deciding on inane things like which drawer the knives should go in or who got which shelf in the bathroom cabinet. Draco was learning to feel normal for the first time in his life since he got ahold of her, it was an odd sensation but one that he was more than happy to lean into. When they went to sleep that night, together, in a bed they assembled the muggle way, Draco held her close and said a silent thank you to the photo of the young girl in the box under the bed who had helped lead him to this life. Draco knew without a single doubt in his mind that life with her by his side was something worth living, reconnecting with his old Slytherin friends and finding new ones in his childhood enemies, working in Hermione’s bookshop, and learning what it really is like to have love in his heart.

Notes:

Well! That’s all folks, thanks for coming on this wild ride with me and my stalker Draco. This was the most fun project to work on, thanks for being as excited about it as I am, your comments and time spend reading my words mean everything to me.

As always, my greatest thanks and love to @Swift_Knight and @Maple_Unicorn for their support as my forever betas 🖤🖤

If you want to keep up with me for future works you can find me on TikTok, tumblr, and instagram all as MadameIndemnity xo 🖤