Draco was sitting up in bed, propped up by the headboard with one of his mother's journals lying in his lap. His focus, however, was on the single vial of potion that remained on his bedside table. He had taken the penultimate vial only minutes earlier, and he had a decision to make.
Sighing, he grabbed the empty vial and twirled it around his fingers. Either he had to find someone who knew what potion he was taking, and could replicate it, or he had to go and see Hermione.
He hadn't seen her in months, and he felt a vague sense of nausea accompanied by excitement that made his stomach twist and clench. He wanted to continue taking his potion, and he wanted to see Hermione. She had made this potion for him and he didn't want to pay anyone else to make it for him. Ultimately, he just wanted to see her.
Tossing the empty vial to his opposite hand, Draco vaguely realized that there had never been another option—his reasoning began and ended with Hermione. He groaned and placed the empty vial back on the bedside table before falling back onto his pillow. Tomorrow—he would go tomorrow. He wanted to ensure that she had enough time to brew the potion without shirking any of her other duties—he did not want to be a burden to her.
Draco decided that he'd go later in the day, when the shop was not as busy. He would be friendly—he would not try to hug her or kiss her, and this time, he would pay her, upfront. He would ask her politely to brew more of that potion she had so thoughtfully made for him, because yes, it did help ease his anxiety, and yes, it did help him feel more emotionally stable. And no, he was not drunk. Then, he would thank her for her time, and get out of her hair.
Plan in mind, Draco attempted to return his attention to his mother's journal with very minimal success—his mind was simply too busy, running through every possible scenario he could encounter with Hermione. Maybe she would yell at him, or kick him out. What if he wasn't even allowed inside the wards, like the Weasel?
Draco's nerves flared and instantly, he wanted a drink so he could calm himself.
But that would undo all the progress he had made in the past several months, and he wanted to do that less than he wanted a drink.
He groaned and pressed his pillow over his face. Sometimes being sober was the worst.
A cup of tea, though, could help.
Draco headed towards the kitchen, where he made himself a cup of tea the Muggle way, content to do something with his hands. It was late, and the house was quiet, and this, coupled with the task of making tea, soothed him somewhat. As he waited for the water to boil, Draco surveyed the kitchen. He hadn't started any projects in this particular room yet, and as he glanced around, he immediately found several things he'd like to fix. The floor, first. The wood was dulled and scuffed in places and would probably be an easy fix. The counters, too, needed replacing. A fresh enchantment on the paint of the cabinets and the wall.
He sipped at his tea, surveying the rest of the room. Maybe this weekend he would start in here.
The tea helped his nerves slightly, and Draco decided that it was time for bed. He wanted to be well-rested for whatever tomorrow would bring.
That night, Draco dreamed of Hermione, and she smiled at him.
It was this dream that gave Draco some semblance of hope. Hope for what, he wasn't sure.
At 4 p.m. Draco apparated to Diagon Alley and walked to Elixir. The shop was the same as he remembered, with the purple sign swinging gently in the breeze. Bracing himself, Draco opened the door and let himself inside, the tinkling of the bell announcing his arrival. As he had predicted, the little shop was not busy at all, and Hermione was nowhere to be found.
He sat down on the purple couch, content to wait, and was struck with the straightest sense of déjà vu. He had been here before, perched on a purple couch, waiting for Hermione to appear. It had been different then—he hadn't wanted to be there, hadn't wanted her help, and his nerves frayed but muted by alcohol.
"I'm so sorry!" came Hermione's voice from somewhere in the back. "I'll be with you in just a minute!"
Draco turned on the couch, angling himself towards where Hermione's voice had come from. Several seconds later, she appeared, clearly in a rush and with her nose predictably buried in a book. Draco's breath caught in his throat when he saw her, and he couldn't help the feeling of adoration that washed over him. He smiled.
"Hi, what can I help you—?" Hermione began, cutting herself off when she saw who was inside her shop. "Hi," she said quietly.
"Hi," Draco replied, giving her a tentative smile.
Hermione seemed unsure of what to do and took several steps towards him before stopping completely. She closed the book and held it protectively to her chest. "Hi," she repeated, then flinched.
Draco stood, unable to take his eyes off of her. "Hey," he said.
Hermione swallowed audibly before speaking again: "What are you—?"
Draco answered before she had even finished her question, "I'm here purely for business purposes," he said, pulling the vial of pink potion out of the pocket of his trousers. "I was wondering if you could brew some more of this for me?"
Hermione stared at the potion in his hand before her eyes met his. "You've been taking them?" she asked quietly.
Draco nodded. "This is my last one, actually," he admitted.
For a moment, Hermione looked genuinely shocked before she nodded briskly and motioned towards the register. Draco followed her, placing the vial of potion on the counter as she pulled out a thick ledger, flipping through several pages. "I have everything to brew it, so it shouldn't take more than a week," she said, eyeing the vial of potion.
"That's fine," Draco replied. "I just took it last night so there's no rush." From his other pocket, he pulled several Galleons and pushed them across the desk towards Hermione, who merely stared at the coins. "Owl me when it's ready?"
Hermione shook her head. "Draco, that's way too much. I'm still trying to return that money to you—"
"I don't want it back, Hermione," Draco replied flatly. "Take the money," he continued, pushing the coins further towards her.
It was clear that Hermione wanted to refuse, but she relented, taking the Galleons and stashing them in the register. "I'll owl you when it's ready," she said quietly.
"Thank you," he said earnestly. "I'll get out of here." Draco turned away from the register, making to leave.
"Draco, wait!" Hermione called, somewhat desperately, as she took several steps away from the register and towards him. Draco paused and turned back to Hermione, who was now eyeing the floor and wringing her hands together nervously. "I've been thinking—" she began in a quieter tone, before she finally met his eyes. "I was wondering—if maybe we could talk? I wasn't—I wasn't ready last time."
This was not what Draco had been expecting at all. "Y—yeah—" he stuttered. "Yeah, we can talk."
Hermione wrung her hands together even more forcefully. "Tomorrow? At ou—my place? I could make us some dinner. 7?" she asked, offering him a tight smile.
Draco smiled back at her. "Yeah," he agreed. "That would be nice."
Her smile widened a bit. "Okay, I'll see you at 7."
"7," he agreed, feeling his own smile widen.
The next day passed by in a haze of nervous energy for Draco. He was unable to focus on either his mother's journals or his projects in the foyer—the room he was currently working on. To distract himself, he drank cup after cup of tea until his fingers were shaking. He paced, stopping at the front door before turning around and walking back to the opposite end of the house, over and over again, unable to force himself to sit. At 4, Draco's pacing was interrupted by an owl tapping on the window.
With trembling fingers, he opened the window and allowed the owl inside. Immediately, he knew the owl was from Andromeda—his mother's journals were conspicuously tied to its leg, along with a tin full of homemade biscuits. With an absent pat and a treat, he sent the owl on its way.
Anxious for something to do that didn't require much thinking, Draco headed back to his bedroom and returned the journals to the stack that was on his bedside table, careful to keep them in the order that his mother had intended. He looked at the clock—4:15. Why was time moving so slowly?
He wanted to see Hermione, now.
Sighing, Draco went to his closet, intent on picking out something to wear. After half an hour, he settled on a pair of gray trousers that he knew Hermione favored and a light blue button up. He was dressed and ready, and checking the clock again, he swore. It was only just 5.
Another two hours. He wondered if Hermione was fairing any better. She would have just closed up shop and would be heading home to prepare dinner for them. Was she as nervous as he was? He doubted it.
At some point, he headed outside to the gardens. Tired of pacing, tired of thinking, he merely stood in front of the fountain, eyes closed, listening to the trickle of running water. It eased him just enough that when he opened his eyes, he was immediately struck with an idea: flowers.
He would bring her flowers.
Draco spent nearly an hour picking out flowers—the best of every type he could find until he had a sizeable bouquet, which he tied together with a bit of twine.
Another glance at the clock. Just 6 now. Draco sighed.
At 6:45, he could wait no longer. He grabbed the bouquet and the tin of biscuits Andromeda had sent him, and apparated to Diagon Alley. With hurried steps, Draco made his way to the familiar flat he had once shared with Hermione. Once he was in front of the door, Draco closed his eyes, let out a heavy exhale, and then knocked on the door twice.
The door swung open almost immediately, and there stood Hermione, dressed in a floral blouse and navy blue skirt that flared out slightly at mid-thigh. "Hi," he said quietly. "I know I'm early. I'm sorry."
Hermione shook her head, offering him a small smile. "No, it's fine," she replied. "Please, come in." She motioned for him to step inside.
Draco stepped inside and Hermione closed the door behind him. Awkwardly, Draco held the bouquet of flowers out in front of him. "These—um—these are for you," he said, offering her the flowers.
Hermione stared at the flowers briefly, a flush creeping up her neck, before she reached out and took them from him. "Thank you," she said quietly. "They're beautiful."
"I also brought some biscuits," Draco continued nervously. "Courtesy of Andromeda." He offered her the tin.
"That was very nice of her," Hermione replied politely, taking the tin from him.
With no more gifts to give, Draco peered around the flat, which was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. "It looks good in here," he commented.
Hermione's flush deepened. "I did some redecorating," she admitted.
"I like the color," he said, even as the conversation felt stilted and strange. "It's very—you."
"Thank you," Hermione replied. Not knowing how to respond, Draco tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Hermione was still staring at the flowers. "No one's ever given me flowers before."
Draco shrugged. Truthfully, he'd never given anyone flowers before. "I wanted to bring you something nice."
"I'll just—I'll find a vase," she said, scurrying towards the kitchen.
Even after months apart, he still knew her. He knew was she horribly nervous. Perhaps she was as nervous as he was. The thought made him feel a bit more confident, so he followed her into the kitchen, watching as she searched for a vase. When she found one, she spent several minutes arranging the flowers before placing it in the middle of the counter. "There," she said, smiling up at him.
"What's for dinner?" he asked. He was here so they could talk. And he so desperately wanted to talk to her.
Hermione flushed again. "Well, I attempted to make pot roast," she said, looking away from him. "If it's awful, I can just order takeaway."
"I'm sure it will be great," Draco offered.
"I don't share your confidence," Hermione replied, wincing and checking on said pot roast. "Another 30 minutes, I think."
The awkwardness was killing him. "Hey," he said quietly. Hermione's gaze shot to him. "Come here." He opened his arms, beckoning for her. Hermione didn't even appear to think before she walked into his arms and wrapped her arms around his waist. Draco enveloped her, resting his chin on the top of her head and taking in the scent of her hair. "It's good to see you."
"You, too," she said softly.
Pulling away slightly, Draco peered down at Hermione, observing. She looked better than she had when he had seen her months ago—she was clean and her hair was shiny again—but there were still dark circles under her eyes, and she felt smaller than the last time he had touched her. She was shaking lightly. Wanting to comfort her, Draco offered the only solution he had: "Shall I make us some tea?" he asked, attempting to smile at her.
Hermione nodded, a bit too vigorously. "Yes," she replied brightly. "Tea would be lovely."
Still familiar with the layout of the kitchen, Draco set about making tea the way he had grown accustomed to. Neither of them spoke as he prepared the tea, but he could feel Hermione's eyes on him. Once the tea was ready, he poured them each a cup, liberally adding milk and sugar to Hermione's cup before handing it to her.
Hermione stared down at the steaming cup before a small smile tugged at her lips. "You remembered," she said quietly.
"There's not a lot I've forgotten about you, Hermione," Draco replied, wincing at the admission.
Hermione's cheeks flushed a brighter pink. "Yeah," she agreed thoughtfully. "Should we sit?" she asked, motioning to her little kitchen table that had been set for two. Draco nodded, following her and taking the seat opposite her. Hermione stared intensely down at the plate in front of her, as if she were attempting to memorize that small floral pattern that decorated its rim. Draco let out a small sigh, unsure of how to break the awkward silence. He only had to wait a few minutes before Hermione spoke again, in a small voice, "I'm sorry. I know I said I wanted to talk. I'm just—oh, gods," she swore, "—I'm just so nervous. There's so much that I want to say, and I don't even know where to start."
Draco completely understood her predicament and offered a nod. "I know."
Hermione sighed, and her eyes fluttered closed for a just a moment before she met his eye. "This is perhaps not the best place to start, but it's the only thing I can think of right now: I miss you."
"I miss you, too," Draco replied immediately.
Hermione flushed again, looking somewhat embarrassed. She looked away from him before she continued: "Things just got so messed up, and hard, and I don't know—I replay everything in my head, and there are a hundred things I would've—should've—done differently."
"Me, too, Hermione. Me, too. It wasn't just you," Draco insisted. "Do you know how many times a day I wish I'd never left you that night and gone to Astoria? How I wish I'd never left the next day?"
Tears were welling in Hermione's eyes. "I should've confronted you about your drinking. You were having such a hard time, and I was supposed to be your partner, and I wasn't. I just watched you fall apart. I could have helped."
"I wish I would've stayed, and we should've had the fight we needed to have," Draco added.
Hermione nodded. "We should have fought. It didn't take me long to realize that—that was the problem. I just—I didn't want to fight with you. Because it would feel like failure."
"It took me a while to realize it, too. I just wanted to drink away my problems," Draco replied.
Hermione gave a watery-sounding laugh. "Harry has told me that we're both idiots."
Draco's mouth twitched. "I think I've been told something similar."
Hesitantly, Hermione rested her hand on top of the table. "I know we both have stuff we have to work through," she continued, "but do you think it's possible we could do it together?"
Draco covered her hand with his. "I'm willing to try if you are," he replied. "But we actually have to try."
Hermione nodded vigorously, wiping at her eyes with the back of her other hand. "I know. Not like before."
"We have to talk to each other, Hermione."
Hermione nodded again. "I know—I actually—" Hermione broke off, sniffing. "Oh, no," she cried, rising and rushing into the kitchen. "I've burnt your pot roast," she lamented, looking devastated.
Draco found he didn't much care, and he told her as such, "I don't care about that, Hermione. What were you just saying?"
Hermione continued to stand, wrapping her arms around herself protectively, looking hesitant. "I've actually been seeing a Mind Healer," she said after a moment. "Harry's been trying to get me to see one for years. But after you—I realized I needed to be better at dealing with my emotions and telling people what it is that I really want."
"What is that you want, Hermione? Tell me, and I'll do everything in power to make sure you have it."
At this, Hermione burst into tears. "I want you," she sobbed.
"Come here," said Draco. She was in his lap in an instant, her arms thrown tightly around his neck and her face buried in his shoulder. He wrapped his own arms around her, holding her tightly to his chest. "You have me, Hermione. You have me—I promise." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Hey, can I tell you something?" he said into her ear, desperately wanting her to stop crying.
With tears streaming down her face, she nodded shortly. "Y-yeah."
"I did something rather dramatic a few months ago," he admitted. "You would have rolled your eyes at me, I think."
Hermione's cries subsided a bit, overtaken by her curiosity. "W-what did you do, Draco?"
"I set fire to a rather priceless collection of firewhiskey," he said. "I haven't had a drink since."
"How long?" she asked, wiping at her eyes.
"Nearly three months now," Draco replied, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
"Really?" Hermione asked breathlessly, staring up at him with shining eyes.
Draco nodded jerkily. "Yeah."
Hermione tightened her hold around his neck. "Oh, Draco, I'm so proud of you," she said into his neck, causing him to shiver. They sat in silence for several minutes, just clinging to each other, until Hermione spoke again, "I'm sorry about dinner."
"This is better," he replied, squeezing her waist. "Actually, since we no longer have dinner plans, I'd like to show you something, if you're up to it?"
Hermione pulled away from him slightly, peering into his eyes. "What is it?" she asked.
Draco shrugged, entwining her fingers with his. "Just something I want to show you," he replied. "We'd have to apparate."
Hermione stared down at their conjoined fingers momentarily before offering them a light squeeze and a smile. "Yeah, okay," Hermione agreed. Draco motioned for Hermione to stand, and still holding tightly to her right hand, apparated them to the hill that would lead them to Black Manor. Hermione looked around for a moment, confused. "Where are we, Draco?"
"Just trust me," he said quietly, pulling her forward by her hand.
Only a few steps later and Black Manor appeared. "Black Manor," Hermione said softly.
Draco nodded and squeezed her hand. "Welcome to my home," he replied, looking down at her and smiling.
Hermione smiled back, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Show me," she urged, her cheeks flushing pink. Draco smiled back, leading her down the hill. "Oh, Draco," Hermione exclaimed as they got closer to the Manor. "It looks so much better than it did last time."
Draco shrugged even as he felt himself flush. "I've been fixing it up, a bit at a time," he replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
"You?" she asked, wrapping her free arm around his forearm and effectively drawing herself closer to Draco's side.
"Well—mostly me," he relented. "It's mostly Jinxy in the gardens, though."
"The gardens? The last time I was here the gardens were—"
"Deplorable," Draco finished for her.
Hermione winced. "Well, I wasn't going to be that harsh." Holding fast to Hermione's hand, Draco led her into the gardens and towards the fountain, which was tinkling brightly. "I remember this fountain," she said quietly. "I thought it looked so sad at the time."
"It's my favorite place on the whole estate," Draco replied, taking a seat in front of the fountain and gesturing for Hermione, who took a seat directly next to him. "I used to play in this fountain as a child. I remember it distinctly."
Hermione replied after a moment, "You like it here, don't you?" she asked softly.
"Not at first," Draco admitted, pausing for several moments before he spoke again: "It's nice, you know—having something that truly belongs to me and isn't tarnished." Draco shook his head. "I suppose it is, in its own way. But not for me. Every corner of Malfoy Manor was tainted for me. And here—I don't know. I can breathe here."
When he looked back at Hermione, he found her studying him. When their eyes met, she smiled. "You seem different," she said. "Better."
"I suppose I am," Draco agreed, wrapping his arm around Hermione's shoulders and pulling her into him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "This actually isn't even what I wanted to show you," he admitted after several quiet minutes. "Let's go inside." Hermione nodded and allowed Draco to pull her up by her hands. He led her back through the gardens and through the back door, then to his bedroom. "My room," he said, gesturing around.
Hermione walked into his bedroom while Draco remained standing in the doorway. As Draco could have predicted, she immediately set her sights on the stack of books on his bedside table. She grabbed the top book and sat down on the bed. "What are all these?" she asked, studying the cover.
Hesitantly, Draco took a seat next to Hermione on the bed. "Open it," he said quietly.
She gave him a questioning look before obliging, gently opening the journal. "September 15, 1973," Hermione began to read aloud. "I am officially a married woman…." Hermione looked back to Draco. "Your mother's?" she asked.
"You can read it?" Draco asked, feeling relieved.
Hermione furrowed her brow at him in confusion. "Yes?" she replied. "Why wouldn't I be able to?"
"They're enchanted," he said quietly. "Not everyone can read them."
"Really?" she asked, looking impressed.
Draco nodded. "So far, it's only you, Andromeda, and I."
Hermione looked back down at the open journal. "Can I?" she asked.
"Yes. I think she'd want you to read them."
Hermione smiled before swinging her legs onto the bed, settling herself against the headboard. Draco watched her read for several minutes before he joined her on the bed, settling his head on her shoulder, scanning the pages as she read at a nearly impossible rate. "Draco," she said after finishing the first journal in what Draco imagined was a record speed. "You mother—"
Draco merely grabbed the next journal from his bedside table and pushed it into her hands. "Just keep reading," he said quietly, taking the first journal back from her. Draco watched as Hermione began to read the second journal. Gods, how he'd missed watching her read. With this thought in mind Draco gently took one of her hands, and bringing it to his lips, pressed a gentle kiss to each knuckle.
Hermione blushed furiously. "What?" she asked quietly, breaking her concentration.
Draco shrugged, kissing the center of her palm. "I just like looking at you."
Hermione went to swat him away, but seemed to think better of it, and entwined their fingers as she returned to her reading. She was halfway through the second journal when she looked down at Draco, who was contentedly watching her read. "She was a spy, wasn't she?" Hermione asked seriously.
"Yes," Draco replied.
Hermione nodded thoughtfully and went back to reading.
Draco's eyes grew heavy as he watched Hermione read. He was so warm and happy, and the soft sounds Hermione made as she read were so familiar and so comforting. He released Hermione's hand and slid down the bed, resting his head in her lap. Instantly, Hemione's hand was on his head, stroking absently at his hair. Draco shivered at the touch and sighed, allowing his eyes to shut.