Hermione made her way back into the living room a little more than an hour-and-a-half later, her curls still wet and tousled, dressed in a pair of Draco's boxers and one of his t-shirts.
Draco sat on the floor in front of her coffee table. "Come here," he said with a motion.
"What are you doing, Draco?" she asked, as he poured her a glass of Champagne.
"Our first date," he replied, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I'm afraid I'm rather late."
"We've had a lot going on—" she began to argue.
"Yes," he agreed. "But I promised you this."
Jinxy strode from the kitchen, levitating two massive, white plates. "Ribeyes, sirs. The mashed potatoes and green beans are behind Jinxys, sirs."
"Thank you, Jinxy," Draco replied.
The elf set the bowl of mashed potatoes and the bowl of green beans down on the coffee table before them, before offering a little bow and leaving them.
"What is prompting this?" she asked, cutting a bit of her steak and popping it into her mouth.
Draco cut his own piece of steak, thinking. After chewing, he spoke, "Where do you see us in a year?"
Hermione looked to him quickly. "Together," she replied assuredly.
"Two years from now?" he asked quietly.
"Together," Hermione said softly.
"Really?" he asked.
"What is going on?" Hermione asked, dropping her fork and laying her full attention on him.
"Potter asked me earlier where I saw it going with you. And I didn't—I hadn't even thought about it," admitted.
"You've never thought about it?" she asked in disbelief.
"There's been so much, Hermione. I've never even allowed myself to hope—now, though. Maybe now I can hope."
Hermione grinned at him before scooting closer and resting her head against his shoulder. "In a year, Draco Malfoy, I see myself with you. In two years, I see myself with you. I know we moved rather quickly—are moving rather quickly—but I just—I love you."
Draco pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I love you. Is it true that Ginny moved in with Potter a week after the War was over?" he asked.
Against him, Hermione nodded. "Yes," she replied. "They got married after only a year."
"They're happy, yeah?"
"Very," she said, chuckling.
"You and Weasley," Draco broached. "How long?"
Hermione sighed. "We'd been flitting around something for years. Finally, at the Final Battle, we kissed—and it just—it felt so right. We never even talked about us. We just were, you know? And we rushed it. He was my first love," she admitted. "And I still love him—I always will—"
Draco bristled.
"But I never loved him the way I love you," Hermione continued. "He was my first, but he wasn't the one I was meant to be with."
"You love me more than Weasley?" Draco asked weakly.
"That day at my shop—the day you yelled at me. I couldn't stop thinking about you. I wanted to know you. I knew you were different. I'd always known you hadn't taken that Mark willingly. You were a mess sixth year—everyone could see it. The more I thought about it, the more enraged I became. Dumbledore knew—Dumbledore knew everything—and he didn't even help you," she said hotly.
Draco pressed another kiss to her forehead, waiting patiently for her to continue.
"He fed Harry half-truths from the time he was 11 years old. Dumbledore knew every piece of the puzzle from the time we were children, and he could never could just come out and say it. Harry was a Horcrux, you know. Dumbledore knew. The only bit he ever got wrong was that Harry had to die to destroy it. He raised Harry—my best friend—to be slaughtered." Hermione shook her head then. "Harry loves the man to this day and I'll never understand it. And after that day at the shop, I realized he had to have known about you. And it just made me so angry. And that's when I knew."
"Knew what?" he asked softly.
"That I cared," she replied. "More than just a little bit. And every time you came by after that, you stayed with me a little bit longer, until I couldn't go a moment without thinking about you. I was glad when Ron broke up with me."
"You seemed so sad," Draco said in surprise.
"Of course I was sad. It was the end of my first relationship. But I wanted you so badly it hurt," Hermione admitted, blushing.
"Mmm, you wanted me," Draco replied with a chuckle.
"I couldn't stop looking at your lips," Hermione said, laughing, too.
"Me neither."
Hermione nuzzled against his neck. "So yes, I love you more."
Draco took a gulp of his Champagne, feeling the buzzing effects of the alcohol. "Well, I certainly love you more than I ever loved Pansy," he replied.
Hermione chuckled. "She was such a horrible girl—I can't imagine you with her at all."
"Oh, she wasn't so bad," Draco replied. "She had her moments, though."
"She was your first?" she asked softly.
Draco took another sip of Champagne, nodding. "Yes."
"But you didn't love her."
"No. I thought I did, at the time. I was devastated when she broke up with me. But when I look back at it now—no, I didn't love her. Also, apparently, she was into Astoria at some point."
"Oh, Astoria," Hermione lamented with a small smile. "Have you heard from her?"
"Not since before Azkaban. I've owled her a few times. I'm not sure where she is,"
Draco replied.
Hermione frowned. "I hope she's okay."
"I'll owl her again," Draco promised. "After we finish."
Hermione nodded before turning back to her ribeye with enthusiasm.
They ate quietly before polishing off the bottle of Champagne. Hermione grinned at him, her lids heavy, and her eyes gleaming. "Now, Draco Malfoy, I'll have you know I'm not one to normally put out on the first date," she began.
"I would never have presumed as such," Draco replied solemnly, the beginning of a smirk playing at his lips.
"But," she continued, straddling him. "you may have earned it."
"I confess, I am dying to see what knickers you are wearing beneath my shorts," Draco confessed.
She learned forward, her lips just grazing his ear. "I'll give you a hint," she whispered, causing a shiver to roll through his body. "I'm not wearing any."
They made love on the floor, slowly, lazily, before Hermione collapsed atop him, her limbs loose and heavy with alcohol and orgasm, her body covered in sweat. "Love you," she murmured against his neck.
He wrapped his arms around her lazily, looping them over the small of her back. "I rather like when you wear my clothes," he said huskily.
"They smell like you," she murmured back, a confession.
"You'll have unlimited access to my clothes if I move in here," he said, jokingly.
"I don't want you to have to give up the Manor—give up everything," Hermione whispered.
Draco shrugged awkwardly from where he laid on the floor. "It's not much, Hermione, really. If Shacklebolt does offer me the deal, I'll make sure it doesn't include my possessions or my mother's. The shit that the Ministry wants—all that would belong to my father."
She sighed. "Seems a pity, though. I'm fairly certain your home is worth much more than 400,000 Galleons."
"Undoubtedly," Draco agreed. "The Manor has been in my family for several generations. The art, the antiques, the library."
"The library," Hermione said wistfully.
"I wish I could keep it for you," Draco admitted. "But I'll take you there. You can take whatever you like before the Ministry swoops in and takes it all for themselves."
"Really?" she asked softly.
"Of course."
Hermione began to trail a light finger across his naked chest. "I'd like to see it," she said, thoughtfully. "The place where you grew up."
"Then let's go," he suggested. "This weekend."
"Okay," she replied, smiling brightly.
Unable to help himself, Draco leaned forward and kissed her smile. "The drawing room's gone, you know," he said after a minute. "My mother had it destroyed after the War ended."
Hermione shuddered against him. "Good," she said tonelessly.
"I'd never take you there, even if it hadn't been," he offered, kissing delicately at the scar on her arm, causing her to shiver.
"The word never much bothered me to be honest—it was more of the meaning behind it that stung. It's a word that holds no power over me," Hermione reasoned.
"Good," Draco replied soundly. "Good."
"Is Jinxy going to come back and find us like this?" Hermione asked, deftly changing the subject.
"Jinxy is probably far too busy reorganizing your kitchen based on color," he replied with a chuckle. "Bowls, plates, spices, all of it."
With a laugh, Hermione pulled herself off of him and stood up, quickly pulling Draco's boxers back up her hips. Leaning forward, Hermione offered him her hand to help him stand. "Get dressed, you foolish man."
"On the contrary, Hermione, I think we should actually spend more time naked," he replied with a smirk.
Hermione rolled her eyes, fisting his t-shirt into his abdomen. "Your house elf is in my kitchen right now, Draco."
"She's seen me naked before—she helped raise me, remember?" he teased.
"Be that as it may," she replied in a huff, "I assume she's never seen you—" Hermione cut off.
"What?" Draco asked, his smirk broadening.
"Post-coitus," she said primly.
Draco chuckled before dropping his head low, his lips finding the shell of her ear. "I think what you mean to say," he murmured, "is that she's never seen me right after I've fucked you." Draco nipped lightly at her earlobe.
Hermione blushed furiously.
"And you said I'm the prude," he laughed.
"Yes, well," she said just as primly, even as her blush flushed her cheeks even further.
Draco obeyed, however, wordlessly pulling on his t-shirt before cupping her cheek in his hand. "I love making you blush," he said with a light smile.
Hermione smiled back, seemingly unable to help herself. "Well, you say such naughty things."
Draco played delicately with one of her mussed curls. "I am insatiable for you, my love."
Hermione's smile widened and she lazily looped her arms around his neck, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I've never been one for pet names, but they sound rather lovely coming from you."
"Neither have I, to be honest. They just slip out sometimes, with you," he admitted.
"Oh!" Jinxy's surprised gasp interrupted. "Apologies, Master Draco, Mistress Hermione."
Immediately, Hermione pulled away from him with a startled jump. Draco merely laughed. "No apologies necessary, Jinxy," he replied, wrapping an arm around Hermione's waist. "Nothing untoward."
Jinxy smiled happily up at Draco. "Much better," she mused. "Oh, Masters! Mistress! Jinxy has reorganized the kitchen for Mistress!"
Draco bumped his hip into Hermione's. "What did I tell you?"
It appeared that Ginny Weasley was celebrating something that Friday night, opening bottle after bottle of Champagne, serving them in courses: Charcuterie first, as they all talked and drank in the parlor. Later on, there was pasta, served with fresh seafood and a white wine cream sauce—for dessert there was the most delightful treacle tart, served with rich clotted cream.
Afterwards, Draco sagged against Hermione's shoulder, uncomfortably full. "Merlin, Weaslette. Are you trying to kill me?" he groaned.
Ginny laughed, taking another sip of Champagne. "I wanted us to celebrate you not going to Azkaban. And Hermione not causing mass chaos."
"And here I would've thought you'd be celebrating me going to Azkaban," Draco replied, taking a sip of firewhiskey. He and Potter had switched to Ogden's a few glasses ago.
"I'll admit you've grown on me, Ferret," Ginny said, chuckling. "Hermione's my best friend, you know, and you make her happy, so how could I possibly wish you to be in Azkaban?"
"She's my best friend," Potter replied harshly.
"This is a reoccurring argument," Hermione whispered conspiratorially into his ear.
"—No, she's mine—"
Draco laughed. "You can argue about who Hermione's best friend is all you want, but I, alone reign supreme!"
Hermione giggled.
Potter rolled his eyes. "I'm leaving if you guys get gross."
"Hermione loves me the most," Draco said confidently. "I win."
"—Harry Potter, this is our house—"
"—If they have sex here, we are moving—"
"Oi! I said I'm the one she loves the most, not the one she fucks the most." Draco furrowed his brow. "But I do hope they're mutually exclusive."
"Darling, I've been meaning to tell you—"
"—Dammit, I knew there was someone else."
"I'm afraid that I'm very much in love with him—"
"I seriously don't get you guys," Potter said with a shake of his head.
"There's this thing you can do, with your tongue—" Hermione began.
Potter groaned. "I'm going to turn my wand on myself, sincerely."
"You will do no such thing, Harry," Ginny chastised, irritably. "How," she began, loudly, "how can you not see it, Harry Potter? They teased each other since they were 11, you can't expect them to just stop—"
"That is my sister, Ginny—"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "They love each other. They have sex. Just—get over it."
"Thank you, Weaslette," Draco sniffed.
"Ferret," she acknowledged.
"Thank you for dinner—it really was lovely," he said sincerely.
"Told you that you'd like Ginny," Hermione loudly whispered.
Ginny grinned widely. "You like me, Ferret?"
"I like everyone in this room. Except Potter—he's a right arse," Draco replied.
"The feeling's mutual, Malfoy."
Draco raised his glass of firewhiskey. "Cheers to that, Potter," he said, the two men clanking their glasses together.
"They're friends," Ginny audibly whispered to Hermione.
"I know," Hermione replied excitedly.
"Fuck, they know," said Draco.
"Hermione will be smug," Potter said knowingly.
Ginny giggled. "Plans for the weekend?" she asked congenially.
"Draco and I are going to visit Malfoy Manor—" she began.
"What?" Potter interrupted.
"I want her to see the library," Draco replied. "I want her to take whatever she wants before—if they take it—"
"You know—" Potter began.
"That she was tortured there? I know. That room no longer exists, and if it did, I wouldn't take her to it."
"I want to go, Harry," Hermione said softly. "You know he'd never let anything hurt me."
"Nothing can hurt her as long as I'm there, Potter. There are objects, rooms, even, that will hurt Muggle-borns. But they will never hurt a Malfoy. She's safe with me, Potter. I'll always keep her safe," Draco confirmed, wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulders.
Potter grumbled. "I suppose if that's the case."
"Any word from Shacklebolt?" Draco asked after a moment.
Potter shrugged. "I've asked him about it, but he said he had to pass it onto the Wizengamot. They seem to be—uh, dragging their heels."
Hermione huffed. "The way the Ministry works is simply appalling. Kingsley only gave him 60 days, and I wouldn't put it past the Wizengamot to stretch this out for all 60 days, and then what? He goes to Azkaban because of some bureaucratic red tape?" she asked fiercely.
"Kingsley won't let that happen, Hermione, you know that."
"I don't know that," countered Hermione.
"Okay, well I'll make sure it doesn't happen," responded Potter.
"Do I need to have to go directly to the Wizengamot myself?" she asked hotly.
Draco placed a comforting hand on the small of Hermione's back. "Hey," he murmured softly. "There's nothing we can do at this very moment."
"I know that! I just—"
Draco kissed her cheek. "Even if this doesn't work out, I'll figure something out," he assured her. "I promise."
Hermione sighed, but relented, relaxing into him. "Okay," she said softly, taking a small sip of her Champagne.
"Yeah, we'll figure something out, Hermione," Potter said assuredly.
"See?" Draco said with a light smile.
Across from them, Ginny yawned loudly.
Draco smirked before speaking, "It's getting late, we should get going."
Ginny yawned again, waving her hands at him.
Saying their goodbyes to Potter and Ginny, Draco led a very quiet Hermione to the Floo, arriving home shortly thereafter. As soon as they were standing in the living room of the flat, Hermione looked up to him with forlorn eyes. "What will you do if they don't accept the Manor as repayment?" she asked quietly.
"Hermione, I promise you I will figure something out," he said forcefully.
"Yes, but what?" she argued.
"I don't know, Hermione. I'll sell some stuff—even if the Wizengamot doesn't accept this as payment, I could certainly find some very valuable artifacts in the Manor, I'll sell them or something."
"Well, you're running out of time!"
"I'll go see my father, then. We may not be on the best of terms, but I guarantee he will do anything to make sure his son doesn't wind up next to him in Azkaban," Draco reasoned.
"It's his fault you're in this mess!" Hermione cried.
"Hermione, you're being unreasonable," Draco said calmly.
"And you're being entirely too nonchalant!"
Draco sighed, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on the top of her curls. "I know you're scared," he murmured. "I know you're scared that I'm going to end up back in Azkaban. But Shacklebolt offered me this deal, and I will do anything to make sure I meet the terms, Hermione." Draco was surprised by how confident he sounded, when inside he felt anything but. But Hermione was scared, and the urge to comfort her overwhelmed him.
After a minute, Hermione nodded below him, resting her hands delicately against his chest.
"I'm going to take care of it, Hermione. And then I'm going to take care of you," he vowed.
"I think I'm going to go take a shower," she said quietly.
"Okay," he said, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
She quietly padded down the hallway, and once Draco heard the water turn on in the bathroom, he let out a heavy exhale and made his way to the kitchen. Pulling the bottle of firewhiskey down from the cabinet, Draco poured several fingers of the amber liquid, which he gobbled down greedily, hoping to numb the anxiety he felt bubbling in his belly.
Several glasses of firewhiskey later, Draco stumbled to bed, where Hermione was already asleep, curled up with her head resting partway on his pillow. As quietly as he could, he laid down in bed beside her, throwing an arm over her waist.
"I missed you," she said quietly, very much awake. "I can't sleep when you're not here."
Draco sighed. "I'm sorry, I just—I needed to think for a bit," he lied.
Hermione nodded, shifting slightly so that her head was resting against his shoulder, her nose nuzzling into the hollow of his throat. "I don't mean to fight with you, Draco," she admitted. "But there's a countdown in my head, and every day that we don't hear back from Kingsley or the Wizengamot—that's another day gone. How can I relax with that in my head? And I've been trying to hide it from you, because I know you don't need something else on your plate—but Ginny was celebrating tonight, but you aren't even really truly free."
"Do you trust me, Hermione?" he asked softly.
"Of course I do," she answered back.
"Please trust me on this."
"Okay," she said quietly.
Draco wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into him. "I'm here now, Sweetheart. Let's go to sleep."
Against him, Hermione was already asleep.
Saturday was gloomy and overcast, but Draco was determined to make his witch smile despite the weather and the other lingering circumstances. Her curls wild with sleep—the way he loved them—she dressed simply in leggings and an oversized Gryffindor t-shirt. "To incense the portraits, of course," she explained with a small smile.
"Of course," Draco agreed.
"Will they be nasty to me?" she asked hesitantly.
"Some of them," he admitted. "But if they utter one negative word about you, I will have them burned."
"You are so utterly dramatic," Hermione scoffed.
"I will not have you slurred at in my house," he said fiercely.
"It's a portrait, Draco."
"I don't care."
"Okay," she relented, grinning.
Draco apparated them at the end the long winding walk, the Manor looming over them. "I wanted to show you the gardens," he offered softly, "but I'm afraid they're not much to look at now."
Hermione smiled sadly. "That's okay—you know what I'm what most interested in."
Draco chuckled lightly, grabbing her hand and lazily twining her fingers with his. "Come on in," he said softly, pulling her gently up the staircase that led to the grand doors of the Manor. With a wordless spell, the heavy doors swung open, granting them access.
Wordlessly, Hermione stepped through the doors and into the grand foyer. "I'd forgotten just how big it was," she mused.
"To the right there is the parlor where my mother liked to sit," Draco said, motioning towards the abandoned parlor. "But let's go to the library first."
Hermione nodded vigorously. "Yes, please," she replied eagerly.
Pulling once more on her hand, Draco led Hermione down the long hallway that ended at the heavy wooden door of the library. This corridor was heavily lined with portraits, and Hermione momentarily balked until Draco stepped forward, still holding her hand and spoke to the line of portraits. "If any of you insults her—you will be thrown onto a pyre and destroyed. I will not hesitate to set each and every one of you on fire, I assure you." The portrait nearest to him, the one of his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, looked momentarily like he wanted to speak, but seemed to think better of it before slightly tipping his head in understanding. "Good."
Hermione, seemingly reassured, walked quickly next to Draco, positively vibrating with her excitement.
They reached the door and Hermione stopped, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Go on," he encouraged, motioning to the door.
Needing no other encouragement, Hermione quickly the pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing her eyes and breathing in the scent of books. "Oh, it's lovely, Draco," she said, her eyes still closed.
"Open your eyes," Draco murmured into the shell of her ear.
Instantly, Hermione's lids flew open, and she took in the enormous library around her, her eyes glittering brightly. She made her way to the nearest shelf, her fingers dusting reverently across the spines of the books. With a bright smile, Hermione turned back to Draco. "I can read any of these?" she asked shyly.
Draco nodded. "Take whatever you want. It's all yours. Everything on this floor is perfectly safe, but if you want to see anything on the second or third floor, I'll have to be with you."
"Second or third floor?" Hermione asked in disbelief.
"The books get darker as the floors rise," he explained.
"The potion books here alone—" she began, her excitement growing.
Draco chuckled before pulling her into his arms, holding her close. "Whatever you want," he repeated, "it's yours. Go, explore. I'll be here."
Hermione kissed him soundly, smiling against his lips. "Thank you," she murmured.
"Go!" Draco ordered playfully, smacking her lightly on the arse.
She gave him a cheeky little grin before she sauntered away from him.
Draco picked a book from one of the shelves at random and took a seat in one of the opulent armchairs that littered the library, content to wait for Hermione. He didn't have to wait long, as she called for him somewhere deep in the library. "Draco!" she called again.
"Where are you?" he called back, worried.
"In the back! Where all the potion books are!"
Draco quickly made his way to the back section of the library, where he knew the potion books were located. He found her walking shakily, her arms full of books, stacked so high he couldn't see her face. "Hermione," he said quietly, laughing.
"Little—help—"
Draco took the majority of the books from her, tucking them beneath his arm. "Here, let's sit," he said, motioning to a nearby desk. Hermione instantly sat, pulling the first book to her and quickly flicking it open and skimming the pages. With a little "hmph" Hermione closed the book, and seemingly unsatisfied, placed the book to her right. He watched as she read, enraptured with every little tilt of her head, every time her tongue peeked out to wet her lips, every time she pushed her hands through her wild curls to get them out of her face.
After she finished the stack of books, she leaned back in her chair and stretched. Her eyes flickered to his face. "Has it been long?" she asked quietly.
Draco shrugged. "You've only got about ten books there—go get some more."
Hermione seemed to fight with herself for a moment, clearly torn between the prospect of more books and him. Ultimately, she chose him. "Maybe later," Hermione said, coming to perch herself on his lap, looping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "Show me more?"
"I want to show you my room," he said quietly.
Hermione nodded eagerly. "Okay," she agreed.
Draco led her down the twisting halls of Malfoy Manor, her hand firmly clasped in his own. He glared threateningly at any portrait that dared sneer at her. Hermione seemed in awe, admiring that artwork that wasn't rude to her, asking questions about the rooms they passed, the architecture, the history. When they reached Draco's bedroom, he held the door open for her and ushered her inside.
"Green, of course," she said with a smile, motioning to his bed. Unceremoniously, she plopped down on his bed as she studied his room. "Simpler than I would have thought. I half expected it to be draped entirely in silk."
"All of the sheets are silk," Draco sniffed.
Hermione laughed, laying back against the sheets of his bed. "They're very nice. You should bring them; we can put them on our bed."
Our
"You'd allow Slytherin green sheets in our bedroom?" he asked.
Our
"You did say that I look rather good in green," Hermione replied with a salacious smile.
Draco chuckled, making his way to the bed, where he laid down next to her. "I did say that," he agreed as Hermione moved to him, resting her head against his shoulder.
"What was your childhood like?" she asked softly. "Were you happy here?"
"I was," Draco confirmed. "I had a wonderful childhood here."
"Good," Hermione replied, seemingly relieved.
"It wasn't all bad, you know," Draco continued.
"I know."
"Before—before everything, I had the best life."
Hermione stroked absently at his abdomen. "I'm sorry you were robbed of that."
Draco shrugged. "I've got you now, and I wouldn't trade that for anything."
Hermione sighed. "I just wish you could have everything—you deserve everything."
Draco squeezed her shoulders. "I have enough." They were quiet for a long moment before Draco spoke again, "Can I really bring these sheets? I am rather fond of them."
Hermione chuckled into his chest. "Yes. I'm fond of them, too. They're rather soft, and I'm afraid I've never owned sheets as nice as these."
"They won't match your bedroom," he said with a light frown. "I suppose we could charm them—"
Hermione shrugged. "We're the only ones who see it, who cares? They're part of you—I want them to stay green."
"I can't wait to ravish you on a bed of green silk," Draco murmured seductively into her ear.
She laughed, blushing lightly. "But first, back to the library."
They stayed until well after dark, reading and exploring and talking. Feeling content, Draco apparated them back to Hermione's flat, green silk sheets and stacks of shrunken books in tow. His contented feeling disappeared when they found Potter perched on the couch looking impatient and irritated. Before him sat Crookshanks, who was watching Potter unblinkingly.
"Harry?" Hermione gasped in surprise. "How did you get in?"
"Crookshanks let me in, I suppose," he replied with a shake of his head. "Bloody cat." Crookshanks hissed at Potter, who merely scowled.
"Okay," she replied, her brow furrowed. "Well, why are you here?"
Potter met her eyes. "I heard from Kingsley. The Wizengamot—they've decided."