Draco was awakened the next morning by the sound of Hermione packing. With a groan, he rolled over to check the time, and found it was much later than he had anticipated. Hermione had already gone and returned from St. Mungo's. "Why didn't you wake me before you left for St. Mungo's?" he asked, sitting up in bed and watching as she packed several last-minute items.
Hermione shrugged, latching her suitcase. "You tossed and turned all night—I wanted to let you sleep."
Draco frowned. His head felt fuzzy, and his eyelids were heavy. No, he hadn't slept well at all. "I can sleep later," he argued, reaching out for her hand, which he caught. "I could've had more time with you."
Hermione allowed him to pull her back onto the bed, and she sat down, her eyebrows raised. "You would have kept me in bed indefinitely, Draco. I probably would have missed my Portkey all together."
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him, until he was able to rest his head in her lap. Draco stared up at her, grinning. "No, I would've let you go eventually," he reasoned.
"Oh, okay," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes even as a smile tugged at the corner of her lips and she ran her fingers through his hair.
"You're going to leave me today," Draco said quietly.
"Just for a little bit," she affirmed, still stroking his hair.
Draco closed his eyes at her ministrations. "Have I told you yet that I'll miss you fiercely?" he asked.
"Hmm, once or twice," Hermione replied with a chuckle.
"Do you have everything?" Draco asked.
"I think so," she answered softly.
"Are you sure you don't need me at the shop today?"
"I'm only going to be there for a few hours, Draco," she replied. "I don't anticipate it being busy."
Draco nodded against her thighs. "All right," he said.
Hermione bent forward and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. "The weekend will fly by."
"I know," Draco agreed.
Hermione sighed and turned towards the clock. "I should go," she said reluctantly.
"Okay," he said quietly, removing his head from her lap.
Hermione stood, and Draco followed suit, stretching as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. "Here," he offered, catching sight of her suitcase. "I'll shrink that for you."
"Thank you," she said as he performed a wordless spell to shrink her luggage.
Draco stepped towards her until he was close enough to cup her face in his hands. Hermione stared at him with wide eyes. "You'll Floo call me as soon as you get to the hotel?" he asked.
"As soon as, Draco," she confirmed.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close enough to feel the thrumming of her heart. "I love you," he said against her shoulder.
"I love you," Hermione replied firmly.
Pulling away, Draco softly kissed her lips. "Okay," he said with a sigh. "Go."
Hermione beamed at him before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. "Okay," she agreed, tucking her shrunken luggage into the pockets of her denims. She grabbed his hand, leading him into the living room, before she wrapped her arms around him. "I'll see you soon, okay?"
Draco nodded. "Soon," he agreed.
With that, Hermione stepped into the fireplace and disappeared.
Draco stared at the fireplace for a long time, his heart aching for Hermione. He only looked down when he felt Crookshanks rubbing up against his legs. The cat sat down and looked up at Draco expectantly. "It's just us this weekend, bud," Draco told the cat. "Hermione's gone to see her parents in Australia. Did you know them?"
Crookshanks blinked slowly and began to purr.
"I bet they liked you," Draco commented, bending down to look at the cat. "Because you take care of her."
Crookshanks meowed loudly at Draco before he took a step towards the fireplace, pawing desperately at the ashes. Draco sighed and wrapped his arms around the cat's belly, pulling him back into his lap. Draco leaned against the coffee table, holding Crookshanks in his arms. "I miss her, too, Crooks."
The cat stared disdainfully at Draco for a moment before settling into his lap, still staring at the fireplace, as if he expected Hermione to reappear at any moment. Draco absently stroked the cat until Crookshanks unwittingly fell asleep in his lap, purring lightly. Draco's stomach began to rumble and with a sigh, he rose, placing the snoozing Crookshanks on the couch before heading towards the kitchen, determined to make himself some eggs. He'd watched Hermione do it hundreds of times—it couldn't be that difficult.
It proved to be much more difficult that he could have possibly imagined, even with the use of magic. Every time Draco cracked an egg, shattered pieces of shell fell into the pan, ruining his breakfast before he even had a chance to cook anything. His first two attempts at eggs ended with Draco throwing them directly into the rubbish pail, and on the third attempt, he burned the eggs so badly they refused to budge from the pan at all. Draco huffed and abandoned the pan of burned egg on the counter with a clatter, frustrated with himself and already missing Hermione fiercely.
Unwittingly, Draco's eyes flickered to the pantry where the bottle of Ogden's was hiding. Internally, he swore at himself. Hermione hadn't even been gone two hours and he could already feel himself slipping. How the fuck was he going to make it a whole weekend without her?
Stepping away from the countertop, Draco sucked in a deep breath. He could do this. Of course he could do this. He had gone months without burying himself deep inside the bottom of a bottle, he reminded himself—
You had Hermione then, his subconscious unhelpfully reminded him.
"And I still have Hermione," Draco said out loud, annoyed. He felt the need to be out of the kitchen, lest the desire to reach for the bottle of firewhiskey proved to be too much for his resolve.
With a sigh, Draco returned to the living room and sat next to Crookshanks, who was now using the remote to the telly as a pillow. "Give it here, Crooks," he said to the cat, whose only response was the flickering of his ears.
Draco tried to lose himself in the telly, but he remained restless, flitting between reading, then back to the telly, then back to reading. The afternoon passed slowly, and Draco found himself very much wishing that Hermione had needed his help at the shop today. Knowing where she was, but not being able to see her, and knowing she was going to leave the country in just a matter of hours gnawed at him.
He was certain—with just a few sips of firewhiskey, he could—
No.
By the time 2 o'clock came around, Draco's fingers were shaking slightly, thrumming with anxiety. He hadn't managed to eat anything all day, and his stomach clenched painfully even at the mere thought of food. Draco had returned to attempting to read, even though he couldn't focus his eyes on the page. Sighing, he looked back at the clock. 2:10. Potter would be coming for her soon.
Draco had to see her. He was too restless, too anxious—he needed her to calm him down, to reassure him. Without another thought, Draco was apparating directly into Elixir. Hermione was at the counter, ringing up the lone customer in the store. At the crack of apparition, her eyes shot up immediately, and when they landed on him, she furrowed her brow in confusion.
"What are you doing here?" she asked as the customer left the shop.
Draco didn't answer right away, and he simply pulled her into his arms, breathing her in. He already felt more centered. "I just—" he began. "I needed to see you," he finished lamely.
"Draco," she said quietly, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his jumper. "Are you okay?"
He nodded against her shoulder. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"You miss me already?" Hermione asked, her lips grazing his jaw.
"Yeah," he admitted.
Hermione pulled away from him, taking his face in her hands and searching his eyes for something.
"I'm not used to being without you," he said quietly. "I just got a little overwhelmed."
She smiled lightly. "Well," she said softly. "I'm glad you came by."
"Really?" Draco asked.
Hermione nodded. "I regretted not asking you to come," she admitted. "Turns out that I already miss you, too."
Draco smiled. "Good thing I came by, then, huh?" he asked, pulling her back into his arms.
"Yes," she agreed.
"This is better," he said, resting his chin on top of her curls.
"Lock the door," Hermione said quietly.
Draco didn't need to be told twice. With a wordless spell, Draco quickly locked the door of the shop, and in another instant, his lips descended on Hermione's, kissing her hungrily. Hermione immediately responded, looping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, desperate to get one more taste of her—the taste that he had been deprived of this morning. "You should've woken me up this morning," he said between kisses. "I could have said goodbye to your properly."
"I thought you did that last night," Hermione replied with a groan.
"So did I," Draco said, kissing along the hollow of her throat, causing her to whimper. "How much time do we have?"
"Not enough," she said lowly, stifling a moan.
"Fuck," he cursed, slipping his hand beneath Hermione's jumper, desperate to feel the warmth of her skin one more time. His fingers gently toyed with the button of her denims, wanting so badly to pull it free and slip his hand further—
The Floo roared to life, and Draco hastily withdrew his hand.
"Seriously?" came Potter's voice.
Hermione blushed furiously, taking several steps away from Potter. "Hi, Harry," she greeted, smoothing her jumper.
Potter scowled as he came into view, holding tightly to Ginny's hand. "You knew what time we were coming, and still—"
"Oh, hush, Harry," Ginny chastised. "Hey, Hermione," she greeted. "Malfoy."
"Hey, Gin," Hermione replied, still blushing furiously. "Are you ready?"
"Are you?" Ginny asked, her eyebrows raised. Her eyes flickered briefly to Draco.
"He was just saying goodbye," Hermione defended, reaching for Draco's hand.
"Sure," Potter replied sullenly.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm ready." She turned to Draco. "You'll be all right?" she asked.
Draco, feeling much better now that he had seen Hermione, nodded. "I'll be all right," he confirmed, smiling down at her.
Hermione threw her arms around him, pulling him close. "I love you," she murmured against his neck. "Stay here with Harry, I'll call here as soon as we get to the hotel."
"I love you," Draco replied, kissing her forehead. "Go. You'll miss your Portkey."
Ginny was waiting for Hermione in front of the fireplace, holding a small metal spatula in front of her. "Ready, Hermione?" Ginny asked again, gesturing for Hermione to take hold of the spatula.
Hermione planted one more kiss on Draco's lips before she turned and joined Ginny, clutching the handle of the spatula. "Ready," she confirmed.
"One minute," said Potter, glancing at the clock hanging over the fireplace of the shop.
Hermione's eyes were locked on Draco, and he stared back at her, hoping that she'd hear him repeating I love you, I love you, I love you over and over again in his head.
"30 seconds."
Her lips twitched just a fraction of an inch to give him a small smile right before she was yanked up and away, disappearing from sight.
She was gone. Draco sighed. For the second time that day, Hermione was gone.
Draco was pulled out of his thoughts by Potter clapping him on the shoulder. "She'll be all right, mate," he said.
Draco nodded. "I know she will be. We've just—we've never really been apart. Aside from Azkaban," he admitted.
"Come on—let's go get something to eat. It is Friday, after all," Potter reasoned.
"Maybe in a bit. Hermione said she'd Floo call me here once they got to the hotel."
"All right," replied Potter, sitting down in front of the fireplace.
Draco joined him, pulling his knees up into his chest, content to wait for Hermione. They didn't have to wait long—suddenly the Floo glowed a bright green, and Hermione's head popped through the fireplace. "Draco?" she called.
"I'm here," he replied, moving closer to the fireplace. "You're there? You're okay?"
Hermione's head smiled in the fireplace. "We're here. A bit nauseous from the Portkey, but all right."
"Good," Draco replied. "Good."
"Hey, Malfoy!" Ginny's head appeared next to Hermione's in the fireplace. "This is officially a girls' weekend—I'm stealing your girlfriend. Goodbye!"
In an instant, the Floo went dark, and Hermione disappeared. Draco frowned. "Bye," he muttered to the empty fireplace.
"See, she's fine," Potter said, standing. "Let's go get some food."
Draco sighed, not feeling particularly hungry. But at least if he was with Potter he wouldn't be alone in the flat. "Fine," he said quietly, rising to stand next to the other man.
"Are you going to be surly again?" Potter asked congenially.
"No," Draco replied shortly.
"So yes," Potter said, nodding.
Draco shook his head. "Maybe a bit," he admitted with a scowl.
"Come on," urged Potter. "I could use some chips."
They walked silently to the nearest pub, which was almost entirely empty due to the hour of the day and resulted in very few people staring at Draco, for which he was grateful—Draco wasn't sure how much more he could handle.
Potter ordered two firewhiskies as soon as they sat, and Draco almost took a sip before flinching at the smell and pushing it towards Potter. "All yours," he said.
Potter's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really?"
Draco nodded, slightly uncomfortable. "It's a bit early for me," he lied.
Potter shrugged, taking the glass in his hand. "More for me, then," he reasoned.
"Yeah," Draco replied absently. Potter sipped thoughtfully at his firewhiskey, and Draco could feel the other man's eyes on him. "What?" Draco snipped after a few moments.
"I remember the first time Ginny left," Potter replied, swirling his firewhiskey around in his glass.
Draco sipped at the glass of water in front of him in disinterest. "Oh?" he asked.
Potter sighed. "Come on, Malfoy. We're friends. Stop acting like an arse."
"It's been a long week, Potter. I'm not feeling particularly friendly," Draco replied icily.
With one long gulp, Potter drained one of the glasses of firewhiskey. Grimacing, he shook his head as he swallowed. "You are such a fucking pain to be around sometimes."
"Great. Are we done now?" Draco asked, pushing his water away.
"No," Potter replied easily. "We're not done. As I was saying, I remember the first time Ginny left."
"I'm not deaf, Potter, I heard what you said the first time," Draco sneered.
In response, Potter only rolled his eyes. "What Hermione sees in you I'll never know. Anyways, it was right after I started Auror training, and all the Weasleys went to visit Bill in Russia—something with Gringott's, I don't know—and I couldn't go with them, obviously, because of work."
Draco eyed Potter dispassionately.
"She was gone for 10 days," Potter continued, clearly not needing a response from Draco. "I was a mess. The only thing I can compare it to is losing your wand, or like being without a limb."
Inadvertently, Draco felt himself nod. Indeed, being without Hermione did feel a bit like missing a limb. Absently, he checked his trousers for his wand.
Potter downed the other glass of firewhiskey, wincing as he did so. "We love strong women, Malfoy. We are always going to need them more than they need us," he concluded.
"Is this your idea of a pep-talk, Potter?" Draco asked, his eyebrows raised.
Potter furrowed his brow and placed the empty glass down on the table with a clatter. "It was," he replied slowly. "I appear to have gotten lost along the way."
Draco couldn't help but laugh. "I'll say," he commented, sipping idly at his glass of water.
"Anyways, she'll be back before you know it," Potter added unhelpfully.
Draco sighed, feeling slightly better despite Potter's horrible pep-talk. "I know," he replied. "It's just all around been a horrible week."
"She told me about your mother. I'm really sorry, Malfoy," Potter said quietly.
Draco nodded, unable to look the other man in the eye. "Thanks," he offered lamely. Potter's apology was unneeded, and truthfully, entirely unhelpful. He sipped his water once more, pretending that it was firewhiskey.
"How is she?" Potter asked, clearly oblivious to Draco's desire to not talk about his mother.
Draco merely shrugged in response. "About the same. Hermione goes to see her in the morning before opening the shop. I can't figure out why—I'm fairly certain my mother is horrible to her."
Potter nodded distractedly, his face darkening. "Does she—does she call her—?"
"Yeah," Draco admitted sullenly.
Potter's mouth formed a straight grim line. "I don't understand. How can she just change so drastically—I just talked to her," he reasoned, "and she seemed to be one of the most genuine people I've ever met. Kind, too."
Draco shook his head. "It's not real. None of it is." Potter cocked his head in confusion and Draco sighed. "When her memories first came back—she told me it was all an act. She never wanted to follow The Dark Lord." Involuntarily, he flinched.
"She did tell me that part," Potter offered weakly.
"The good news, Potter, is that word doesn't actually bother Hermione," Draco added.
Potter nodded thoughtfully, his eyes glazing over slightly, as if he were deep in thought.
Their waitress returned, and Potter ordered a third glass of firewhiskey and a basket of chips. Draco, desperate to drink something that wasn't water, ordered a large pumpkin juice with a pinch of cinnamon—hoping he could trick his tastebuds into thinking he was drinking firewhiskey. When their beverages arrived, Draco took several large gulps of his pumpkin juice, and the light trembling that had begun in the tips of his fingers immediately began to still. Draco exhaled, calming himself. "Anyways," Draco continued. "I've been avoiding visiting her—but since Hermione's in Australia, that appears to no longer be an option."
"Was it bad?" Potter asked quietly, chewing thoughtfully on one the chips that had just arrived at their table.
"It was bad," Draco confirmed, stealing one of the chips for himself. His stomach had managed to unclench itself while he sat at the table with Potter, and now it was growling, begging for food.
"Oi, you should have ordered your own food," protested Potter, pulling the basket of chips closer to him.
Draco shrugged. "I wasn't hungry then."
Potter scowled at him. "You're a right git, you know that?" he asked.
Draco only smirked. "Yes," he agreed.
After Potter had reluctantly shared his basket of chips with Draco and they had bade each other farewell, Draco decided that the best way to pass that evening would be by being productive. He was certain that if he returned to the empty flat in Diagon Alley he would remain restless, and the call of the bottle of firewhiskey would prove too loud for him to ignore.
With this thought in mind, Draco apparated to the front steps of Malfoy Manor. There was still much work to be done, and Draco reasoned that it would be easier to be alone here, rather than alone at the flat. Draco was used to being alone here—he was used to the isolation, the deafening quiet, the coldness. As he stepped through the Manor door, Draco couldn't help but compare his former home to the flat where he now lived with Hermione. Despite being filled with highly expensive antique furniture, the Manor no longer displayed the warmth of a family home—it was just cold, devoid of light and love, and of any personality.
The flat, by comparison, was warm. He couldn't be anything but warm when he was enveloping himself around Hermione as they were tangled in the sheets of their bed. There was light there, too—Hermione always had the lights on, bright as they could be. She often kept all of the lights on—she didn't like being in the dark, she had admitted one night as she laid against his chest, because of the War. Even in the dark, however, there was always a light—and that light was Hermione.
She had always told him that for her, he sparkled.
He supposed that she sparkled for him, too.
Draco grinned to himself as he headed to his bedroom. He quickly purveyed the room, which was dim and beginning to gather a light layer of dust. Draco pulled the silk drapes open, allowing the remaining light of the day to stream through the large windows.
His bedroom had always been sparsely decorated—neither him nor his parents cared much for clutter, and as such, very few personal belongings were scattered about the room. There were a few pictures sitting on his dresser; one with Theo Nott, one with Pansy Parkinson, and another with his parents. He was unsmiling in every single one of them. On the wall opposite of his bed hung a Slytherin house crest, and an antique chess set on his bedside table. There were very few personal items remaining in his bedroom, his clothes and most other important items had already been moved to the flat. With the flick of his wand, Draco shrunk the pictures and the chess set, tucking them into his pocket.
Leaving his bedroom behind, he decided to tackle the much more complicated, and more delicate, task of gathering his mother's belongings. Draco could bear to leave certain aspects of his life at the Manor behind, but he was unwilling to leave any of his Mother's belongings behind. One day, maybe soon, she could come out of her fugue, and Draco wanted to be able to give her anything she could possibly ask for.
Throwing the door to his mother's room open, Draco was struck with the memory of the last time he had been in here, his head on his mother's lap as she stroked his hair lovingly. Draco sighed at the memory, feeling as if had happened years ago, and not mere months. Shaking himself, Draco headed to the closest piece of furniture—the dresser—and began to shrink down all of his mother's belongings. There would be time later to go through everything and organize it later, he reasoned, thinking that perhaps Hermione could help him with the daunting task. The dresser cleared, he repeated his actions with her bedside table and her dressing table.
Draco headed for the closet next, and he was greeted by rows upon row of the finest clothes money could buy. His mother's clothes on the right, his father's hanging abandoned to the left. Towards the back of the closet, Draco found several boxes stacked haphazardly, partially covered by a fur throw. He furrowed his brow in confusion. What had his mother been packing up? Her bedroom and the closet seemed entirely in order. Were any of his father's things missing? He didn't think so.
His curiosity peaked, Draco stepped towards the boxes, running a hand over them. He counted five boxes in total, varying in size and shape. All of them were tightly sealed—clearly his mother didn't want anyone looking into these boxes. Draco frowned, desperately wanting to open them and see what his mother was hiding, but also not wanting to encroach on her privacy. Mentally, he wrestled with himself for several moments, but he was snapped out of his thoughts by a loud crack just outside the closet.
"Sirs!" came Jinxy's high-pitched voice.
"In here, Jinxy!" Draco called, still frowning at the boxes.
"Sirs! You is having a Floo call!" Jinxy told him as soon as she found him inside the closet.
"What? Where—?" he began to ask, before his mind was back on the boxes. "Jinxy, do you know what's in these boxes?"
Jinxy shook her head. "No, sirs. I is not knowing. Sirs! You is having Floo call!"
Draco shook his head. "No, Jinxy. All of the Floos here are locked."
"Sirs!" she protested. "You is having Floo call at home! Is Mistress Granger calling for Master Draco, sirs!"
"How do you know that—you know what, never mind," Draco replied. Instantly, he forgot about the boxes, quickly shrinking them down and tossing them into the box with his Mother's other belongings before he apparated back to the flat in Diagon Alley. Hermione's disembodied head was waiting for him in the fireplace.
"Hi!" she greeted breathlessly, a smile blooming on her face as soon as she caught sight of him.
"Hey," Draco replied, smiling back at her. He wanted to reach for her, wanted to kiss her.
"Where were you?" she asked, biting her lip.
"I was at the Manor," Draco said. "Packing up my mother's room."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "You're okay?" she asked.
"I'm okay," he confirmed. "I miss you terribly, though. Also, I think Jinxy was in the flat. I'm not sure why yet, but I'm certain I'll find something interesting. Perhaps she's organized our closet."
Hermione laughed wholeheartedly. "I wouldn't have any objection to that," she replied.
"How was your day?" Draco asked softly.
"It was good," she replied. "We did a bit of sightseeing—Ginny's never been to Australia—and we took a nap, and then had dinner. We'll be checking on my parents tomorrow," Hermione added in a softer tone.
"Call me?" he asked gently. "Tell me how they are?"
Hermione's head nodded. "I will." Then she rolled her eyes. "Ginny's here—she may have had a bit of wine with dinner—or is it breakfast now? I don't know—she says 'hello.'"
Draco grinned. "Hello, Weaslette. I hope you're taking care of my girlfriend."
"I am!" came a voice that sounded far away.
"I just wanted to call and say goodnight. I know it's late there," said Hermione hesitantly.
Draco looked towards the clock—truthfully, he didn't know what time it was. He shook his head. "I'll probably have a hard time sleeping tonight. Hopefully Crooks is around for some cuddles," he replied wryly.
"Haha," Hermione replied with an amused roll of her eyes.
"I love you," Draco said seriously.
"I love you, too," Hermione replied, her voice softening.
"Harry was right—you guys are gross," came Ginny's faraway voice.
"In case you've forgotten, I have walked in on my fair amount of disgusting shit, Ginny!" Hermione yelled back before turning back to Draco. "You're sure you're all right?" she repeated.
"I'm all right," Draco replied, nodding.
"I could come home—" she began.
"Hermione, I'm all right," Draco said firmly. "Wait—you miss me, too, don't you?" he asked with a grin.
"Yes," she admitted, her eyes dropping downwards.
"Potter gave me the—just the worst—pep-talk today. He assured me you were coming back, and this weekend would be over before I knew it," Draco replied with a smirk.
Hermione scoffed. "Darling, didn't I tell you? There's someone else. I'm never coming back," she said with mock scorn.
Draco chuckled before he spoke again, "Don't joke. I may take it seriously."
"Hermione!"
"I have to go," Hermione said apologetically.
"Okay," Draco agreed. "I love you, Hermione. I love you."
Hermione smiled. "And I love you. Goodnight!"
In a flash, she was gone.