Work Text:
They’d never had breakfast.
Which wasn’t to say that they were having breakfast now, or that he particularly longed to have breakfast with her. It was just a thought that popped into his head around 2am, long after her breathing had settled into a slow rhythm that barely rustled the hair on his chest.
They’d never had breakfast because she’d never stayed this late, before. In the three months or so they’d been doing this, appearing on each other’s doorsteps late in the evening with a bottle of wine (usually) and lascivious intentions (always), they’d always tumbled into bed (or couch, or floor, or once, memorably, empty bathtub) immediately and left almost as quickly. She dozed a bit, usually, giving Draco a few minutes to enjoy the aftershocks running through his limbs and the feeling of a small, soft body beside (or under, or on top of) him before she stirred and one of them had to go find their pants again.
It was usually Granger who did the late-night scramble for clothes and slipped out into the night. Draco had only found the courage to show up unannounced at her flat three times, never quite confident in what would happen if Potter, or worse, Weasley, were already there sharing a bottle of Malbec. Potter was a friend now, strange as that seemed, the kind of friend who remembered birthdays and brought a six pack of lager for the Quidditch finals and stopped by his desk to invite him out to drinks. The kind of friend who’d invited Draco to a night out at the Leaky three months before. Draco had been surprised enough that he’d gone along. And there she was, Hermione Granger, a woman he had managed to avoid for nearly three years since she’d spoken so eloquently in his defense at his trial and he’d fallen fully and irrevocably in love with her.
And there she’d been, standing on his doorstep, flushed and brandishing a bottle of cheap Cab, less than an hour after he’d made his excuses and gone home.
It was usually Granger who came by. Gryffindor. Always ready to take what she wanted. And for some unfathomable reason, what she wanted was him.
It would be highly flattering, if she didn’t scurry out again as soon as they’d both come.
She must have had a hell of a day, he thought, to have stayed so long tonight. She’d fallen asleep almost immediately, sliding off of him and curling half into a ball with her head still on his chest. He’d taken the opportunity to thread an arm around her shoulders. That arm was fully asleep and had been for more than an hour, but he’d be damned if he was going to move it now. He ignored the pins and needles and focused all of his attention to the center of his chest, where her breathing was rustling his chest hair with soporific rhythm.
On his bedside table, his badge chimed. Damn. It was just out of reach, and he knew from long experience that it would not stop until he’d responded to the call — would, in fact, only get louder until it might reasonably have been mistaken for a banshee.
Granger stirred, turning her face into his chest with a groan. “What’s that?” Her voice was barely audible, slurred with sleep.
“Alarm. I’m being called in.” He eased her off his numb arm and leaned past her to grab the badge. “Malfoy,” he said into the DMLE insignia on the front. “What?”
“Apparent homicide in Cardiff, Malfoy. Middle of the street in a muggle neighborhood. Trainees are out taking statements and medical and memory squads are on the scene. Your investigation. Potter will meet you there. Sending the coordinates now.”
Draco sighed and rubbed his eyes. “En route, apparating in five.” The badge went silent. He looked down at Granger, looking up at him blearily. “Sorry to wake you. Work.”
She nodded through a yawn. “I heard.”
He was already sorting through the pile of clothes beside the bed. They’d been relatively restrained tonight; all of their clothes had ended up in the bedroom. On previous occasions he’d had to fish his shirt out of the empty fireplace, or dig under the sofa for his boxers. His bed creaked as Granger sat up, still yawning.
“Stay.” It was out of his mouth before he’d thought about it, but she’d heard and he couldn’t back down now. He continued pulling up his jeans. “It’s late, you’re exhausted, stay. I’d feel better knowing you weren’t apparating in this condition.”
She snorted. “I’ve apparated home in much worse ‘condition’, Malfoy.” But she was yawning again.
He reached out and gave her sternum a gentle push until she relented and allowed herself to be guided back into a horizontal position. “Stay. I’ll be back before you know it.”
She was asleep before he left the room to find his shoes.
—
The scene was, predictably, a nightmare. Two wizards dead; a third in critical condition. Four muggles in need of obliviation. One killer on the lam. Potter arrived a few minutes after he did, looking just as miserable as he felt. He handed the other man a to-go cup of tea he’d snagged on his way in, and they got to work.
It was almost dawn before he made it back to his own doorstep, the slightest hint of sunshine illuminating the lock as he turned the key. Granger’s shoes and socks were still neatly arranged beside the door. He removed his own and shoved them in the empty space next to them, trying very hard not to notice how pleasant it was to see her oxfords there waiting for him.
He didn’t turn on the light when he went through to the bedroom, just stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets feeling somewhat like a dog that’s finally caught his own tail and now must figure out what to do with it.
She was still lying on the far side of the bed, where he’d left her. She’d twisted in her sleep, one arm flung up to lie dramatically above her head, her head turned to face the door. Her eyes opened briefly, the dim light coming through the doorway reflecting brightly on her eyes. She smiled, her eyes sliding closed again, and reached out across the bed for him.
Shoving back the little tingle in his chest, he obliged, slipping out of his jeans and sliding across the bed to her, enjoying the sensation of her threading her arm around his shoulders as she shifted more onto her side to accommodate him. One leg twined with his, and she hissed when she felt his cold foot against her calf. “Sorry,” he murmured. She ignored him.
“Glad you’re back.”
“Glad you stayed,” he responded.
She hummed in reply, nestling herself more closely against him. “Case okay?”
Draco sighed. “Ongoing. Nothing to be done right now. Forensics will get back to us soon, and then Potter and I will dig in on Monday.”
Granger hummed again. “You don’t need to go back in tomorrow?”
“No, Forensics will need the day for their analysis. The rest of my weekend is mine to do what I please.”
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“What do you please? Or what pleases you, I suppose, grammatically that’s a nightmare.”
Draco laughed. Leave it to Granger to comment on his idioms when half asleep. “I was rather hoping to get some sleep tonight. Or this morning, now. And then I thought maybe we could get breakfast.”
“Breakfast?”
“The pub down the way does a passable fry, if you’re in the mood for a full English this morning. Otherwise there’s a cafe half a mile away with a decent bakery.”
“We’ve never done breakfast before.” She sounded wistful.
He tightened his grip around her waist. “No. I thought we could start.”
“I’d like that.” She paused. “I’d like a croissant.”
He bent to kiss the top of her head. Granger. Gryffindor. Always ready to take what she wanted. “Croissants, then.”
He felt her smile against his chest as he finally slipped into sleep.