"I want to start putting Galleons in your vault," Draco said hours later as they cuddled in bed, now fully divested of all their clothing.
Hermione looked up at him quickly. "What?" she asked sharply.
"For my mother—for her care," he explained. "And I want to make sure you're taken care of, too."
"Draco—"
"I won't run, Hermione. You know I won't. I refuse to be a coward again, and I refuse to leave you behind again."
"I want you alive," she whispered.
"I'll be alive," Draco promised, even though he secretly agreed with Hermione's theory about Azkaban. Every time he was there, he felt more and more weak—more drained.
Hermione clung to him even tighter. "Right," she agreed weakly. "I don't need your money, Draco."
"I know that," he agreed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "But if I'm ever—gone, I want to know you'll be set, that you'll be all right."
"I won't be all right if you're gone," Hermione whispered.
"It's all I have, Hermione—let me do this for you."
Hermione nodded against his chest. "Okay," she agreed reluctantly.
"But I'm not going anywhere, remember?" Draco said forcefully after a moment. "You won't let them take me."
"I won't," she agreed.
"Because I'm yours."
"Mine," she answered, draping a protective arm around his waist.
"I love you, Hermione," he said softly. Draco felt wetness on his shoulder—tears, he knew instantly—and he turned to her, nudging her head with his nose, so that she was facing him. "Please don't cry, love."
"I just want to keep you," Hermione cried.
"You'll keep me," he promised her, even as his hope dwindled.
In the other room, Hermione's Floo roared to life. Hermione instantly sat up, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. "That's probably Harry," she whispered.
"This habit of his—dropping by unannounced? I find it rather annoying," Draco replied.
Hermione frowned. "Get dressed," she ordered.
Draco found one of his discarded t-shirts and a pair of pajama bottoms, while Hermione pulled on the jumper he instantly recognized as her fathers, and another pair of Draco's pajama pants. "Coming, Harry!" she called.
They rushed from the bedroom, and Hermione allowed Potter entry into her Floo. The other man looked worn and tired; his eyes were tight, and he seemed drawn and pale. In one hand he carried The Prophet. "You two certainly made a splash today," he said immediately, throwing the paper down on Hermione's coffee table.
Draco looked down at The Prophet. He and Hermione were on the first page, under the headline, The Golden Girl and The Death Eater? Beneath the words was a well-timed photo featuring Draco throwing his arm around Hermione protectively and looking down at her with a fierceness he certainly hadn't felt in the moment.
Hermione watched the motion of the photograph for several moments before looking up at Potter with narrowed eyes. "Would you just have me deny him, Harry?"
Potter sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "No, Hermione. But, gods, could you have been more subtle?"
"No," Draco said coldly. "I was concerned for Hermione's safety."
Potter looked at him for a moment before exhaling deeply, reluctantly nodding. "You've just painted a target on your back, Malfoy. They're saying she's Imperiused. And that's not a rumor—it's stated as a fact in that article," Potter said, motioning down at the paper.
"It's not true, Harry, and you know it," replied Hermione.
"Yes, Hermione, I do know," Potter responded, frustrated. "They do not—and they don't care."
"What is your point, Harry? I don't care what they say about us. I know the truth—as do you. So what do I care about the lies The Prophet prints?" Hermione argued.
"They're going to eat him up, Hermione," Potter explained. "People hate the Malfoys—they're going to want to see him destroyed."
"My father?" Draco asked, interrupting.
Potter shrugged. "He admitted it pretty easily—after he baited me for a bit."
"He admitted it?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
Potter nodded solemnly. "It might not matter, Hermione," he said gently.
"What?"
"Kings can only do so much—the law—and the Wizengamot."
Draco reached for Hermione, taking her hand. This was what he had been expecting, after all.
"So it's the court of public opinion, then, is it?" she asked quietly, smiling faintly up at Draco, and then to Potter.
"What's on your mind, Hermione?" Draco asked.
"Hermione, no," warned Potter.
Hermione's smile widened even more. "I think I should pay a visit to Rita Skeeter."
Draco furrowed his brow in confusion. "Skeeter? I haven't seen her name in years. Why would you visit her?" he asked.
Hermione turned to him, her eyes bright and a smirk on her face. "Oh, Draco. I once kept Rita in a jar for a week."
"What?" Draco exclaimed.
"Hermione has a very dark side, just so you know, Malfoy," Potter said with a grimace.
"As you know, she's an unregistered Animagus," Hermione explained, her eyes glittering. "I was tired of her printing all of those lies, so I found her, and I trapped her in a jar. And I blackmailed her."
"Merlin, you are amazing," Draco mused, pulling Hermione in close.
Hermione looked to Potter. "Can you imagine? A comeback. A Rita Skeeter tell-all about me and Draco."
"Hermione—" Potter began.
"People believed everything she said, Harry. That rubbish about us, do you remember?" she asked.
"Wait? So you two didn't date during fourth year?" Draco asked.
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "See!?" she cried, looking to Potter.
"No, but really, I'm waiting for a real answer," said Draco.
Hermione met his eyes for a brief moment. "No, of course not," she said softly. "But you believed that?"
"Everyone did," Draco replied.
Hermione groaned. "Harry is my brother."
"So that's your plan, Hermione?" Potter asked. "Rita fucking Skeeter?"
"I won't let him go back to Azkaban, and he won't run, so what fucking choice do I have?" she replied heatedly.
Potter's eyes flashed to Draco's. "If it comes down to it, Malfoy, you will fucking run. Do you understand?" he asked.
"Concerned for my life, Potter?"
"Not in the least," Potter replied easily. "She cried the whole fucking time you were in Azkaban, and I'd rather not watch her wait for your death."
Draco flinched. She had cried the whole time? Of course she fucking had. Her face had been splotchy and her eyes red—of course she had been crying. He looked down at Hermione, who was watching him carefully. "Okay," he said forcefully.
Potter nodded, appeased. He looked back to Hermione and sighed deeply. "Rita Skeeter? Really?" he asked again, exhausted.
"The court of public opinion is a powerful thing, Harry," she insisted.
Potter pushed his glasses up to his forehead, rubbing at his red eyes with the heel of his hand. "Gin and I would be happy to help. I suppose it's better than nothing," he said slowly.
"Really?" Hermione asked excitedly.
"As unlikely as it seems, I don't want to see this git in prison," Potter replied.
"I'll set it up," Hermione said with a devious smile, hurrying to the Floo.
There was an awkward silence before Potter spoke quietly, "I understand why you don't want to run, Malfoy. But if you go to Azkaban and you die, she will always blame herself. You have to know that."
Draco hadn't even thought about that, and he flinched. "You'll take care of her?" he asked. "If I have to leave, you'll take care of her?"
"Yes," Potter confirmed. "I'll take care of her."
Draco nodded. "Good."
Hermione returned after several minutes, bearing a wide smile. "Guess who's coming out of retirement?"
Potter groaned. "Rita fucking Skeeter."
The next morning, Draco rose early, determined to see his mother. He hadn't seen her in over a week, and he was feeling extremely guilty—it wasn't his fault, he knew, as he had been imprisoned, but he felt guilty nonetheless. Hermione stirred beside him, and instantly reached for him. "Good morning," he murmured. "I'm going to take a shower and visit my mother. I won't be gone too long."
Hermione's eyes flashed open to meet his. "Okay," she said, reluctantly.
Draco leaned down to kiss her briefly on the lips. "I love you."
"Mmm," she replied, her eyes already closed once more as she drifted back to sleep.
Draco took a quick shower and then pulled on his most casual jumper and trousers. Satisfied with his appearance and the fact that Hermione still fast asleep in bed, Draco apparated directly in front of Purge and Dowse, Ltd. He entered swiftly, ignoring the witch who sat at the reception desk as he made his way to the lifts and to the fourth floor.
He reached his mother's room and turned the knob. She was sitting on the corner of her bed, wearing the same dress she had worn at his father's sentencing. Draco would recognize it anywhere. His nerves flared. "Mother?" he asked quietly.
She turned her head slowly, her face dreamy, and vacant. "Darling," she said softly.
Draco rushed to her. "Mother?" he repeated. "Are you all right?"
Narcissa smiled at him happily. "Of course, darling. You look so tired, my sweet boy," she said, her smile drooping slightly.
"It's been a bad week, Mother," he confessed, despite himself.
"Oh, Draco," his mother mused. "The peacock?"
Draco wanted to cry. He wanted his mother. "In Lyon, remember?"
Narcissa frowned. "No, not those peacocks," she said harshly. "Dreadful creatures, really."
"Mother?"
"The peacock," she repeated, unhelpfully, as she smiled at him.
"What about the peacock, Mother?" he asked gently.
She reached a hand out to gently touch his cheek. "The peacock will protect you, darling."
Draco shook his head. She wasn't making sense. He had never seen her like this—so detached from reality. "What will the peacock protect me from, Mother?" he asked.
"The forest," she whispered back, her eyes wide. "It is a dangerous place."
Draco's heart was beating too fast. Something was wrong. Absently, he patted her hand. "I'll be right back, Mother. All right?"
She nodded blankly. "The peacock," she whispered again.
Draco made his way out into the hall and to Healer Wilson's office. He did not knock, but simply barged inside. The man was alone, scribbling on a piece of parchment. At the intrusion, he looked up sharply. "Mr. Malfoy?" he asked with some confusion.
"My mother," Draco began, "what is wrong with my mother?"
Healer Wilson narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I was with her not an hour ago, and she seemed fine."
"She's not making any sense—I've never—I've never seen her so out of it."
The Healer rose in an instant, walking briskly out into the hall and towards Narcissa's room. He greeted Narcissa warmly and asked her a few questions to which she did not respond. Instead, she stared blanky at him. "The peacock," she muttered urgently.
The man turned to him. "Mr. Malfoy, I'm not sure. I'll have to do some tests—"
"Run them all," Draco said coldly. "Every single one."
Healer Wilson nodded in agreeance. "I will owl you this evening with an update."
"I'm not leaving," Draco replied. "I am staying with my mother."
"Mr. Malfoy—"
"No," he said forcefully.
Healer Wilson seemed ready to argue, before he thought better of it and nodded curtly.
The Healer ran his tests over several hours, and Draco sat staunchly on the uncomfortable bench near his mother's room. He was mostly avoided and ignored. After a few hours, however, someone sat down next to him. Shocked and confused, Draco's head snapped towards the intruder. It was Hermione, of course. "You never came back," she explained.
Draco nodded. "I'm sorry, I just—"
She instantly took his hand. "What's wrong?" she asked softly.
He shook his head. "I've never seen her so out of it, Hermione. The look on her face—and she kept talking about the damn peacocks. I am so sick of the peacocks."
Hermione leaned against him. "How long will the tests take?" she asked.
"I don't know. A while. He tried to make me leave, but I refused. I'm sorry, I should have owled," he apologized.
Hermione shrugged. "I knew where you were."
The tests took hours, and at some point, Draco had fallen asleep in Hermione's lap. It was her voice that was rousing him now. "Draco," she murmured. "Draco."
Draco groaned and lifted his head. "The Healer would like to talk to you."
Draco sat up immediately. "What?"
Healer Wilson stood before them. He smiled kindly at Draco. "I've run every test, Mr. Malfoy. She is fine and in excellent health. You visited her a bit earlier than usual, so she may have been disoriented. She is completely lucid now," he said.
"Can I see her?" Draco asked.
"I'm afraid she is asleep right now—it has been a long day," Healer Wilson replied.
"Come on, let's go home," Hermione urged. "We'll come back in the morning."
We
Draco nodded against her. "All right," he agreed.
They slid into bed fully clothed, and without words. While Draco was normally the one to pull her close, she turned to him, and pulled him into her. "She'll be okay, Draco."
Draco closed his eyes, nodding. "Yes," he agreed tightly.
"I've been thinking," she began quietly, after several moments.
"Yes?"
"Can you produce a Patronus?" Hermione asked.
"No. You know Death Eaters can't," Draco said sullenly.
"You're not truly a Death Eater, though. I'm thinking you could be an exception to the rule," she reasoned.
"Why would I be the exception?" he asked.
"You were sold."
Draco sighed. "What are you getting at, Hermione?"
"You're good at wandless magic—the best I've ever seen, at least since Dumbledore. If anyone could produce a Patronus without a wand, it would be you. If something happened—if they took you. It could protect you."
"So how do I produce one?" he asked, deciding to humor her.
"The spell is fairly simple. Probably the easiest spell there is. But you have to think of your happiest memory—concentrate on it—for it to actually be corporeal."
"What's your Patronus?"
"An otter," she said proudly. "If you ever—If I can't—It might help."
Draco nodded. "Teach me tomorrow?" he asked quietly.
"Tomorrow," she agreed.
The first thing next morning, Draco visited his mother. She was more lucid than the previous day, but she asked endlessly about Priscilla. "The forest, darling," she said quietly, as he was leaving.
Draco tensed. She was fine, though. Healer Wilson had tested her, and she was fine.
He had nothing to worry about it, he assured himself.
Returning to Hermione's flat, he found her dressed in denims and another t-shirt that belonged to him. "Ready?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied.
"Point your wand," she instructed.
Draco pointed.
"Think of the happiest memory you have."
Draco thought of the first time he kissed Hermione.
"And say Expecto Patronum."
Draco pointed his wand, thought of Hermione, and spoke, "Expecto Patronum." He felt his magic surge from him—a bright light from his wand. His Patronus was bright and distinctive—a peacock. Lazily, it cleaned its wings before it disappeared. Draco instantly fell to his knees, exhausted.
Hermione rushed to him. "Your first try?" she cried.
Draco gasped. I—I can't—"
"I've never seen anyone do it on their first try," she gaped.
He ignored her excitement. "My Patronus is a peacock. A fucking peacock."
"Are you surprised?" she asked. "You preen an awful lot."
Draco shook his head. "My mother is obsessed with those damnable peacocks, Hermione. It's all she talks about now."
"Here, let me get you some chocolate," Hermione replied, leaving his side for a few moments. She returned with bar of chocolate in hand, offering him a piece, which he took gratefully. "You are a peacock, you know."
Draco, munching on his chocolate, looked to Hermione suspiciously.
"You're expressive, intuitive, impulsive. You sparkle," she mused, "at least for me. You're cocky, and arrogant, and much too good-looking for your own good."
He didn't reply—he was much too exhausted.
"You did it on your first try," Hermione continued reverently. "I knew you were powerful, but I didn't know—"
"I was trained by Voldemort," Draco interrupted.
Hermione turned to him, her eyes wide. "What?" she asked quietly.
"I was a Death Eater, Hermione. Do you forget?" he asked harshly. He didn't know where any of this was coming from, he was just exhausted. "He trained me—before I took the Mark."
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You don't scare me, you know."
"I should," he said coldly. Wordlessly, she handed him another piece of chocolate, which he instantly popped into his mouth. After a moment, Draco sighed, and the exhaustion left his body. Hermione was staring at him intently, studying him. "What?" he asked.
"You were Malfoy for a minute," she replied.
He reached for her. "I'm sorry—it's easy—when I'm tired."
She nodded. "He really trained you?"
"Yes," he said slowly. "Before my father went to Azkaban. Back when I was promising. He taught me all of the Unforgivables. And darker spells—I know some truly horrid things, Hermione."
Hermione's hand rose to his cheek, stroking it affectionately. "You produced a corporeal Patronus on the first try, Draco. Whatever you know—it doesn't matter. That is one of the most difficult spells to perform—even for the most seasoned wizard. It is Light magic, and you did it perfectly, on the first try," she said proudly.
Everything he'd done. Everything he was. She saw past it, and only saw the good.
I see you
Rising to his feet, Draco gripped his wand tightly. "I want to try again," he said, determinedly.
"Do you have enough energy?" she asked, grabbing his hand.
"Doesn't matter," Draco replied shaking her off. "I want to try again." He needed to see it again.
Hermione took several steps back, giving him ample room. "Okay," she said softly.
"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted. Once more, a bright light shot from his wand. A large peacock, shining and bright white. It wasn't a female peacock—not Priscilla, certainly—but a male peacock, spreading his tail proudly, preening—showing off. Draco trembled, but held onto his magic. Across from him, Hermione watched in awe. The peacock shook himself, his brilliant tail shimmering with magic.
"Wow," Hermione mused.
Draco faltered briefly, but he concentrated his magic, forcing it—coercing it. It hummed through his wand and the peacock grew brighter, to the point that it was opaque. It stepped towards Hermione, tilting its head in curiosity. Her eyes wide, she reached out a hand, which it sniffed suspiciously. Satisfied, it butted her hand, eager for her touch. Draco felt all the energy drain from his body, and the peacock promptly vanished.
"I've never—" Hermione began. "I've never seen one that strong—even Dumbledore's—"
Draco collapsed once more.
She rushed to him an instant, chocolate bar in hand. "You foolish git," she muttered, handing him a large chunk. "You didn't have to use that much magic—you've exhausted yourself."
Draco chewed the chocolate slowly—his jaw ached—before replying, "I wanted to get it just right," he replied.
Hermione stroked his cheek. "You didn't have to exhaust yourself, Draco. You have some time to learn."
Draco shook his head. "Give everything, always. The maximum," he replied, like a mantra.
It was a mantra, he realized.
"Is that what He taught you?" Hermione asked softly.
After a moment, Draco nodded. "Yes. Magic is might," he said quietly. Draco sighed deeply. "I just—I wanted to see. She said the peacock would protect me—I was just hoping—"
"For an explanation," she finished.
"Yes," Draco confirmed.
"She's not in her right mind, Draco. You know that. And like you said, she's obsessed with the peacocks. That your Patronus is a peacock—purely coincidental. Or," she began to reason, "you've accidentally produced your Patronus before—you're so powerful, I wouldn't be all that surprised."
Draco sighed deeply before smiling up at Hermione. I'm handsome and powerful, then?" he asked, finally feeling the buoying effects of the chocolate.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Insufferable, you are," she replied. She stood and pulled him up with her. "Enough practice, I think—I don't want to drain you of your magic."
Draco nodded and wrapped his arms around her, clinging to her. "Thank you, Hermione," he said quietly. "For everything."
Hermione enveloped him in her arms, pulling him in close. "I love you," she said softly, as way of explanation.
"I don't know what I'd do without you," Draco admitted.
"Oh, you'd just be breaking furniture in some other witch's shop," she joked.
Draco pulled back to look her in the eye. "I'm serious, Hermione. I really don't know what I'd do without you. I'd still be rotting in Azkaban, no doubt—if I'd even lived long enough to be arrested."
Hermione stilled for a moment. "It was that bad?" she asked. "We never talk about it."
"Yes, it was that bad. I don't think I would have—because of my mother," Draco explained. "But the thought was always there, in the back of my mind."
"And you're better now?" Hermione asked seriously.
Draco smiled at her, reassuring her. "I'm better now," he affirmed.
"Good," she replied, pecking him on the lips. "I know it's been a bad week for you, but I'd like to have Harry and Ginny over for dinner tomorrow, is that all right?"
"It's your flat, Hermione, you don't need my permission to invite your friends over," Draco replied, his brow furrowed.
Hermione fiddled idly with the collar of his shirt. "Well, I know, but I want you to be here. You can say no if you want," she said softly.
Draco buried his face in her curls, breathing in deeply. "You know I won't say no to you. We'll have them over. But I want firewhiskey."
Hermione laughed softly. "I'll buy a bottle just for you."
It was to be a casual dinner, Hermione never being one for much fuss. Wearing leggings and an oversized jumper that used to belong to Draco, she prepared a simple Caesar salad with flank steak—per Draco's request—as he sat at the island in her kitchen, sipping idly at his firewhiskey. The Potters were due any minute.
"I wish I were a better cook," she lamented, dropping her utensils and heading to Draco. She perched herself in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Draco shrugged, taking another sip of his firewhiskey. "I always like what you cook."
Hermione affectionately pushed his hair from his forehead, kissing him on the temple. "You're biased. And I only make you three things."
"Well, I like those three things, then," Draco replied soundly.
Hermione chuckled before she dropped her lips to his, kissing him briefly. Instantly, the Floo sprang to life, and Potter and Ginny appeared in Hermione's living room.
"Oi! You have company!" called Potter, immediately shielding his eyes.
Ginny, next to him, merely laughed. "Hermione, Malfoy," she greeted pleasantly.
Draco greeted her with a tip of his glass.
"I brought wine," she said, mostly to Hermione. "I figured you'd have firewhiskey for the boys."
"Oh, thank goodness!" Hermione cried, rising from his lap to open the wine, pouring generous glasses for her and Ginny.
Potter sat down next to him, and Draco pushed the firewhiskey towards the other man. "Thanks, mate," he said, pouring himself a glass.
Draco stilled, looking at the other man. Mate?
Potter seemed not to have notice as he sipped at his firewhiskey, watching as Hermione and Ginny chattered excitedly across the kitchen.
"It's not much," Hermione said in apology, "but I wanted to have you two over—as a thank you for having Draco and I over, and Harry, for helping us." Her eyes shot instantly to Draco.
"Nonsense, Hermione," replied Ginny. "Whatever you've cooked up is bound to be good enough. Otherwise, we can just order takeaway."
Hermione shot a glare in Ginny's direction.
"Kidding," Ginny said in response, taking a sip of her wine. She looked to Draco then. "So, Malfoy. How are you doing?"
Draco looked up in shock, his eyes shooting to Hermione, who was watching him, smiling lightly. He took another sip of his firewhiskey before he looked to Ginny and began to speak, "I'm doing all right," he said slowly. "Azkaban is a—rough place for me, to say the least."
"But you're okay?" she asked sincerely.
Draco's gaze once more shot to Hermione. "I'm okay," he confirmed.
Hermione smiled at him before speaking, "Hungry?" she asked everyone. Ginny nodded vigorously and Hermione grabbed the large bowl full of Caesar salad, leading them all to the small kitchen table in the corner of the room. She spooned everyone a plate of the salad before fixing herself a plate.
They all ate in silence for a bit, before Ginny finally spoke, "What do you think about the interview with Rita Skeeter?" she asked.
Draco popped a bit of steak into his mouth and shrugged. "I haven't thought about it much, to be honest. I don't read The Prophet. Whatever Hermione wants to tell her, I'm fine with. Now that everyone knows, there's no use in lying."
"I'm sorry for my brother," Ginny said quietly.
Draco saw Potter instantly reach for her hand, and she gripped it tightly. "Don't worry about it, Weaslette."
"If it's any consolation," she continued, "Mum was irate. Sent him a Howler at work and everything."
"That is a consolation," Draco replied with a small chuckle.
After dinner, they all lounged in Hermione's living room—Draco and Hermione in their usual position on the couch, Potter and Ginny sharing the large armchair that sat near the corner of the room, tilted towards the couch. As was the usual, Hermione and Ginny were a bit intoxicated, and they giggled loudly at whatever was happening on the telewhat. Draco was barely paying attention, as Hermione's fingers were gently stroking his inner thigh and he was aching in his trousers.
Ginny giggled again. "What did he do the first you turned this on?"
Hermione's fingers left his thigh as she sat up, chuckling. "He thought it was going to explode—nearly tripped over himself to push me away from it."
"I did not nearly trip," Draco protested. "I am very graceful."
"But you did push her out of the way?" asked a giggling Ginny.
"Of course," Draco replied simply. "I didn't know what it was."
"He's very protective—it's really quite adorable," said Hermione.
"Hush now, we can't have them knowing my secrets," Draco responded, slightly intoxicated himself.
She smiled at him brightly. "Oh!" she said suddenly turning to Potter and Ginny. "Draco produced a corporeal Patronus on his first try yesterday!" she said proudly.
Potter sat up with some degree of interest. "He did?" he asked.
Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "Yes," she confirmed. "The first time! The second time, it was so strong—it was the strongest Patronus I've ever seen, Harry."
"How can he cast a Patronus? Death Eaters can't—" Potter cut himself off.
"Draco is Light magic, Harry," Hermione said with narrowed eyes.
"I didn't mean—" Potter began, looking to Draco. "Just—"
"Understood, Potter," Draco replied, soothing Hermione.
"What shape did it take?" Ginny asked excitedly. "Please tell me it was ferret."
"A peacock," replied Draco grimly.
"Drat," Ginny responded.
"I want to see it," said Potter urgently.
Draco looked to Hermione who shrugged. "Okay," he replied, rising to his feet and grabbing his wand. He settled himself in the middle of the room and closed his eyes briefly, conjuring a recent image of Hermione—her, in his lap as she pushed the hair from his forehead and kissed him gently—and then he spoke forcefully, "Expecto Patronum." It was less difficult this time, the magic flowing through him easily. The peacock appeared in Hermione's living room—bright white and preening, spreading his tail white as he spotted Hermione, as if his Patronus remembered her, and the peacock immediately went to her, cooing softly.
"I've never heard them make a noise before," mused Ginny as she stared at his Patronus, "other than wizarding messages."
The magic flowed through him, humming delightfully in his veins. This had been exhausting yesterday, but today it was easy. Draco smirked.
As if sensing his mood, the peacock shook his feathers, demanding attention, his bright white feathers shimmering in the low light of Hermione's flat.
"Wow," said Potter, seeming otherwise speechless.
"Draco?" came Hermione's voice, concerned.
At her tone, Draco immediately dropped the spell, and the brilliant peacock disappeared instantly. She stared at him, her expression one of pure pride. Potter and Ginny stared at him with slack jaws. "What?" he asked, confused, when he caught their expressions.
Ginny was the first to speak, "That was—"
"I've never seen a Patronus quite like that," Potter interrupted.
"Are you tired?" Hermione asked, reaching for him.
Draco flexed his wand hand, testing it. "No, I feel fine."
"You feel fine?" Potter exclaimed. "I'm exhausted just having watched that."
Draco shrugged. "Yes, I feel fine."
Seemingly unable to help herself, Hermione rose from the couch and made her way towards him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. "Handsome and powerful," she murmured, staring up at him.
"Again, you have guests," cried Potter.
"Shut up, Potter," replied Draco, not looking at the other man. "She's telling me how handsome she thinks I am."
Audibly, Potter groaned. "Gross."
"You can leave at any time, Potter," Draco replied absently.
"Gladly," Potter muttered. With a distant green flash, Potter and Ginny disappeared in the Floo.
"Are you going to ravish me, Ms. Granger?" Draco asked cheekily.
"I happen to be very attracted to beautiful magic," she replied.
"Oh?" he asked.
"And that was a lovely piece of magic."
"Have I won a prize, then?" he asked.
"I think you might have," she confirmed.
"Show me," Draco whispered, nipping at her earlobe.
With a smirk, Hermione gripped his hand and led him to the bedroom. "Come."