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Draco Malfoy sipped his firewhisky, agitating what was left of the amber liquid with a quick shake. Was this his third or fourth?
He glanced around the Slytherin common room, past Potter and Theo engaging in a rather disgusting display of public affection, and drained the last of the glass. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to the fact that his former enemy had so easily seduced his best friend. Finally, his eyes lit on the bar cart. Loony Lovegood leaned over it, handing a Ravenclaw boy a neon yellow drink, but when she pulled back, the bottle of firewhisky was plain to see. And it still had enough for one more glass.
Draco brushed past the velvet settee where Theo now laid on top of Potter — just who had seduced who? — and a trio of rowdy Hufflepuffs. They wore giant black and yellow banded scarves even though it was nearly May. Maybe he’d just become accustomed to the damp air of the dungeons, although he supposed the amount of alcohol he’d imbibed tonight was the more likely reason he felt warm and unburdened.
He went bold tonight. The sleeves of his oxford were rolled past his forearms, revealing the spot where the Dark Mark used to be, now scarred over and faded. Hardly anyone spared it a glance anymore. It was just another scar to him now, albeit one of the only visible ones. Draco learned from a young age to distract, to cast others’ suspicions elsewhere. And no one cared to know what cut him to the bone as long as he played his part and stayed in the shadows, forgotten.
Isn’t that what they were all doing tonight? Forgetting? Trying to ignore that in two days’ time, it will have been a year since they last saw so many people they loved? He and his fellow eighth years would either drink themselves into a stupor or shag each other senseless, and since no one would even so much as snog a former Death Eater, Draco did his best to smother his memories with booze.
As he reached for the bottle, another hand grabbed the other side at the same time. It was soft, but ink-stained, and the nails were bitten to the quick. He’d know that hand anywhere.
“Granger,” he said without looking at her. He ground her name out like a warning.
“Malfoy.”
She’d been a massive thorn in his side since their return to Hogwarts. When Professor McGonagall announced Hermione Granger would be Head Girl, no one batted an eye. But when she followed it up with her choice for Head Boy — Draco Malfoy — the Weasel King stormed out and decided to go running back to his mummy and daddy. Rumour had it he took some dead-end desk job with one of his older brothers. Unfortunately, Potter stayed on and robbed Draco of his best friend and Potions partner, but one nuisance was better than two.
Until Granger proved to be even more annoying.
“I believe I was here first.”
“Oh come on , Malfoy.”
“You’re really going to deprive me of my only distraction this evening?” He didn’t loosen his grip on the bottle.
“What happened to those Pureblood manners? Ladies first?”
Ladies first. Granger used that excuse all the time. She took her showers first in their shared bathroom, leaving long, curly strands of hair on the white tile. She made her Muggle tea in the kettle and always brewed too much so he had to dump it down the drain. And worst of all, she studied not in the library, but in their shared living space, filling the room with the scent of crisp green apples.
It’d almost put him off his favourite fruit.
Crookshanks wasn’t so bad. In fact, the half-kneazle usually slept with him. Draco bribed the orange beast to keep his nighttime comings and goings a secret with a steady supply of minced chicken.
Granger didn’t need to know everything he got up to.
“Ladies first is a Muggle thing. We’ve always done eldest first and you know it.”
“I’m older than you, too,” Granger mused, her deep brown eyes sparkling in the torchlight. “But I’m feeling generous tonight. I’ll split it with you.”
Draco knew better than to agree right away. Granger always had a game. “What’ll it cost me?”
“A little conversation, that’s all,” she shrugged.
He looked around. One of the bundled up Hufflepuffs put on a synth-heavy song and turned the volume up with a swish of her wand. Pansy swayed to the beat, her mouth stained red by the cherries Daphne fed her as they moved across the makeshift dance floor. Theo and Potter were nowhere to be seen and Goyle seemed to be developing a strategy with Goldstein to approach Loony Lovegood and the Bones girl.
Everyone was pairing off, which Draco supposed was only natural. It’s what he’d be doing now if the Greengrasses hadn’t deemed him unfit for Astoria. His mother’s strained smile told him all he needed to know: He was persona non grata. The last Malfoy.
Salazar, he’d die a virgin.
But Granger probably would, too. He hadn’t seen her with anyone, and after a screaming match with the Weasel King in Hogsmeade over Halloween weekend, he was fairly certain their romance — and maybe their friendship — was finished for good. And unless Draco’s skills of observation failed him, Granger had certainly never had sex, because he’d seen her recent job application on their coffee table. She intended to serve at Vesta’s temple in Rome after Hogwarts. An odd choice, indeed, and he’d found himself wondering why the Golden Girl would run off and devote her life to a forgotten goddess.
“Alright,” Draco agreed, shouting over the music. “But not here, I’m getting a headache.”
Granger raised an eyebrow and leaned in closer. “Modern music too much for your delicate sensibilities? Or are you just trying to get me alone?”
“We spend most of our time alone together, Granger, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“I have,” she smiled, a weird sort of twist to her lips. “Come on.”
She tugged the bottle out from under his hand and he followed her up the stairs, the sway of her hips alternating with every step. The Head Dorm wasn’t far, and the castle was quiet at this hour. After Granger gave their portrait the password (“mermish”), they were alone. Together. Again.
Draco eyed the firewhisky as Granger set it on the coffee table. ”I’ll grab us some glasses,” she said, making for the tiny kitchen they shared. Crookshanks hopped onto the table without a sound, sniffed the bottle, and finding that it was not, in fact, for him, turned tail and sauntered into Draco’s room in search of his food dish.
Granger came back with two glasses, the ones they’d received at the start of the term. Cut from crystal, they were engraved Head Boy 1998-1999 and Head Girl 1998-1999, respectively.
“I’ve never seen you use yours,” Granger said as she set the glasses down in front of them. Draco uncorked the firewhisky and poured, dividing it into two perfect portions.
“Personalised memorabilia really isn’t my bag.”
“What is your bag, exactly? Moping? Wearing only all-black, non-synthetic fibres?”
He ignored her jab. “Cheers, Granger,” he said, holding his glass in the air and nodding towards her.
“What are we toasting?”
Draco rolled his eyes. His buzz was wearing off. “Whatever you like. To Potter, even.”
“To us,” she said, and before he could wipe the surprise from his face, she’d swallowed the whole thing in one go. She coughed, flushing a deep pink.
He tossed his back as well. “I suppose we’ve survived the entire year without killing one another.”
Granger hummed and coughed again. “There’s still another few weeks.”
Draco leaned back in the plush armchair, fiddling with the Head Boy glass. “So what do you want to talk about?”
“It’s fine,” she said, rubbing her arm. “We already drank.”
She stood and held her hand out for his glass.
“Come on. Do I really look the sort to drink and dash? I’ve promised a conversation and I intend to keep my word.” That was true, but he also didn’t want to go to bed just yet. The nightmares always found him, but when he drank, one specific nightmare plagued him. A girl, hunched on the drawing room floor, reflected thousands of times in the crystals of a chandelier. Looking at him through tears before the next Crucio hit, hoping for salvation. He always turned his back on that girl.
The same girl who looked at him now, unease in her honey-coloured eyes — as it should be.
Granger waited a moment longer before resettling in the chair next to his. “Did you have fun tonight?”
“Loads,” Draco said with all the sarcasm he possessed. “You?”
“It wasn’t bad, as far as distractions go. Did you see what Ginny brought in?”
Phials of party potions. Illegal, of questionable provenance, and definitely cause for expulsion. The youngest Weasley kept a close watch on everyone who partook, and it seemed to help Blaise and the others relax. Draco might be Head Boy, but who was he to judge, really?
“Yes, and like you, I chose to look the other way.”
“Thanks,” she said, setting her glass down, and he followed suit.
The conversation faltered as Granger focused on plucking at a rebellious thread at the edge of her sleeve. She seemed to be waiting for something. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he figured now was as good a time as any to ask her the question that had burned in the back of his brain the past few weeks.
“Are you really going to become a Vestal Virgin?”
“Why do you care?” she laughed. It sounded hollow.
“I didn’t say I cared, it’s just a question. You’re touchy tonight, even for you.” Draco pulled out his wand and touched it to the side of the armchair, his brain searching for an incantation that would transform it into something more comfortable. Finally he remembered the right spell, muttered it, and with a creak of wood and stretch of fabric, he achieved a serviceable chaise lounge.
“What are you saying, then?”
“That was a spell, don’t know if you’re familiar. Bit of bastardised Latin, a little swish of this wooden stick here, and voila .”
“Sod off.”
He stretched his legs out over the newly transfigured furniture. “You’re just awfully sensitive, Granger. Everything is fine. The world’s been saved but you act like the Dark Lord’s going to walk through the door any minute now, wand at the ready.”
“You’re one to talk, Malfoy.” She rose from her seat as if she meant to leave, but Draco knew Granger, and she never ran from a fight.
“Me? Please. You’re just trying to distract me because I’m getting too close. I know you hate me, but it’s only because I’m the only one who knows how to get under your skin.”
Granger scoffed and pushed at his legs until he made room for her to sit on the end of the chaise. His eyes followed the hem of her skirt, sitting dangerously high on her bare thighs. “That’s ridiculous. I’m the only one who sees you .”
“Really? Tell me, O Wise Granger, what do you see besides a posh Pureblood prince ready to make a triumphant return to the countryside, find a wife, and spend his days happily churning out the next generation of little blonde Slytherins?” He leaned forward, as if to give her a better view. “I’ve got a life of luxury waiting for me as soon as I leave this decrepit shithole. I can hardly wait. Now, you, on the other hand — I can see why you’re worried. Potter’s besotted and has no time for his old pal, you ran off the only man who could see past that hair of yours, most people are still bigoted, and you’ve no money or connections. A dire situation indeed. Better to fuck off to Rome and leave all this behind.”
“I’m not running away,” she replied quickly.
“Oh?”
“I have my reasons for seeking out Vesta. If you ever opened a book, you’d know why; her followers dedicate themselves to healing and they discover new treatments all the time. I couldn’t do that if I took the traditional route. If the goddess requires virginity, it’s a small price to pay for what I could gain. And it’s only for five years,” she shrugged, avoiding his eyes.
“Just make sure you’re in it for the long haul, Granger. I heard they bury you alive if they catch you moaning and shuddering under some local boy. If you break the rules, and I think you will, because you never think they apply to swotty Muggleborns, at least choose someone who can get you off. Imagine dying without ever reaching orgasm.”
Draco lay back and put both hands behind his head, satisfied with Granger’s red cheeks. She was so innocent, it was almost too easy. But there was none of the typical loathing in her gaze. Instead she looked like she should be the smug one. His smile slid from his face.
She leaned in so close he could smell the firewhisky on her breath. “You don’t scare me, Draco Malfoy. I’ve lived with you for eight months now. I see you… And you do the exact same thing I do when I walk in a room. You check the wards, you scout out the exit routes.”
“Oh, forgive me for trying to make you feel safe.”
Fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
Granger backed off, as if she was surprised he’d admitted it. She smoothed her skirt and spoke again. “You’re the only person who cares enough to do it. You talk a big game, pushing me away at every turn. You mock my planner, my friends, and my appearance at every opportunity,” she counted his sins on her fingertips.
“It’s a hideous planner. I don’t care if it has sentimental value. Just because you’ve used it since our first year — ”
“When I’m old one day I can take it out and relive my days here. It’s like a time capsule.”
“It ought to be buried like one and put out of its misery.”
She wriggled in her seat, the black skirt riding up again. “Regardless of my planner’s current emotional state, you haven’t called me a Mudblood in almost a year. You clean up after me in the kitchen, play with Crookshanks when you think I’m not looking, and I’m pretty sure you do know where my blue scarf is — in fact, if I walked in your room right now I think I’d find it tucked away in your top drawer. And maybe that’s why I wanted to talk to you tonight, deep down. Because all I really want to know is… Why?”
“Well, he’s not bad as far as half-kneazles go.”
Granger threw up her hands. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!”
“It’s a shame. All that brilliance and yet you don’t know any better. Don’t waste your time talking to the likes of me, Granger.”
“This is stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking,” she pushed off the chaise. “I’m going to bed.”
Draco’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist before he thought better of it. “Hermione, wait.”
Though his heart thundered in his chest, he couldn’t help but make small circles on the tender flesh of her palm with his thumb. So soft.
“What are you doing?”
“Come here,” he whispered. If she didn’t hear it, he could pretend he never said it.
She fell back onto the chaise lounge and Draco decided to stop thinking. He sat up and cradled her face in his hands, his rings winking in the low light. Granger’s breath hitched, and he made his move.
Her lips were warm and soft, and he groaned as she kissed him back. His hands migrated south, skimming the sides of her neck and gently brushing over her generous breasts before resting on her hips. Every part of Granger had filled out since the start of the year, no longer waifish from her time on the run, and he’d appreciated her metamorphosis from afar. But now she was in his arms, and she was no fragile butterfly.
Draco flexed as she conducted her own assessment of his shoulders and chest, chiselled by hours on his broom. He wanted to ask her what she thought of him, if she really wanted to be doing this or if it was the alcohol and a way to stave off tomorrow. He wanted to ask her to dip her ink-stained fingers underneath his collar, unbutton his shirt, and trace his scars. He wanted to ask her if she’d fantasised about him, too.
When she slipped her tongue into his mouth, he broke the kiss in surprise.
“I’ve had an orgasm, by the way,” she smirked at him with laughter in her eyes.
He trailed his fingers down her spine. There were far too many layers between them. “I’m sure you’ve made efficient work of yourself, but has anyone ever taken their time with you? Given you what you need without being handed a map and compass to find your clit?”
Draco’s cock twitched at the way she looked down at her lap and then back at him before shaking her head. No.
“I didn’t think so.”
Granger rocked back from him, her bum resting on her heels. The damnable skirt that’d taunted him all year barely covered anything at all.
“No one’s been able to… you know. I think I get in my head and I can’t let go.”
He swallowed. “I know what you mean,” Draco laughed as she looked at him quizzically. “Well, not exactly. It’s been awhile but I’ve got no problem with that. I can’t quiet my mind enough to fall asleep easily. Too much going on.”
“You have regrets,” she said softly.
“I do. Let’s not make you regret anything, Granger. Off to bed with you,” he waved his hand, shooing her away. He’d regret this, but he’d regret it less than if he coerced her into doing something she didn’t want to do, at least not with him.
“That’s it, then?”
“What do you mean? We’re drunk. We need to sleep it off.” Draco dug his fingers into his trousers to keep himself from dragging her back to him.
She crossed her arms. “I’m not drunk. Maybe a little tipsy. And I still… want.”
While he had to admit they’d both sobered up, Granger was testing every bit of his resolve. “You’ve got a wand. You’ll figure it out, or aren’t you the brightest witch of your age?”
“You could just apologise, Draco.”
Draco. From her lips, it sounded like a bell. A summons.
He’d apologised at the beginning of the year. Practically glad handed everyone on the damned Hogwarts Express like he was running for office. It was amazing how little it took in the end. A few words, sincerely spoken, and most people moved on.
But when it’d come to Granger, he’d barely been able to form the words.
He owed her the most, and nothing would ever suffice.
So Draco apologised in little ways.
He put stasis charms over the meals she made with every intention of eating, but would’ve been long cold by the time she pulled her nose out of her ratty copy of Hogwarts, A History. She was terribly forgetful about replying to correspondence, so he made it a point to ask if she’d heard from Krum or the older Weasley with the dragons. He restocked her quills, and her shampoo that smelled like the tropics — although that was partially because he dipped into it every now and again. Once he even tossed a throw around her shoulders when she fell asleep at the table studying, her brown curls forming a halo around her weary face.
Of course, she was right about her scarf. It was stowed away in his top drawer. In his defence, she didn’t wear that one as often and when she’d left it slung over the back of one of their chairs, the temptation had been too great to resist.
“I’ve been trying to,” he said, gripping the side of the chaise as he leaned closer to her. Her green apple scent washed over him and he took a steadying breath. Now or never.
“I think I’ll always be apologising to you. I’m sorry I’m not better at apologies, or conversation. I’m sorry I’m Head Boy and you have to spend so much time with someone who ruined Hogwarts for you and everyone else,” He couldn’t tear his gaze away. She had to know he meant every word.
“I’m sorry I can’t change the past, because if I had a Time Turner the first thing I’d do is kill the Dark Lord before he ever went down that road so that you didn’t have to fight him and you wouldn’t have to check the wards every night. I’m sorry, Granger, I am.”
His chest heaved with the effort of the confession, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
Granger’s arms were around him in an instant, and Draco tucked his nose into the fragrant place where her neck met her shoulder, inhaling deeply. Everything about her soothed him. Her predictable mannerisms, the gentle way she sparred with him when he couldn’t find the energy to perform basic self-care — every cup of tea, every offer to walk to class was an olive branch.
“That was a very good apology, Draco Malfoy,” she said, not releasing him from her warm embrace. “I accept.”
“Good,” he sniffed. “I’m sure I’ll muck it all up tomorrow and have to apologise to you all over again.”
“Probably. I hear it gets easier with practise, though.” She shifted her thighs, rubbing them together, and Draco pulled away.
“Well,” he said, grasping for words after pouring his heart out. “We should go to bed.”
Granger tilted her head at him.
“I mean, we should go to our own beds,” he stammered. “Separately. You in yours, me in mine. Crookshanks probably in mine, too, sorry to tell you.”
“Oh, I know what that little traitor’s been up to,” Crookshanks chose that moment to reappear, curling his tail around Draco’s door frame. “But maybe Crooks should sleep alone tonight.”
“Granger, you can’t leave him out here. It’s inhumane. I thought you cared about the well-being of magical creatures.”
“I mean you should come be with me. In my bed,” she said, a flush blossoming across her features.
Oh.
Oh.
“Okay. I mean, yes, please, I’d — ”
Granger pulled him by the collar and kissed him deeply, and eventually his body got the message because he snaked an arm across her lower back and pulled her flush against him. Draco lifted her into his lap, wrapping her long legs around his waist, and made a show of standing up and carrying her to her bedroom.
He laid her on her perfectly-made bed, and she set to work on removing her shoes. He followed suit, albeit much slower, because in what world was Hermione Granger taking him to bed?
“Before we do anything, you should know,” she swallowed as she took off her jumper, revealing a soft cotton bra. “I have to keep my virginity. The reason I’ve applied to serve Vesta is that she might have the answers to help heal my parents.”
Ah. Granger had mentioned that she’d Obliviated her parents before seventh year in order to spare them from the war, and she hadn’t been able to restore their memories. They were in Australia somewhere, living an entirely different life. A happy life, but not their own.
He’d do anything for his mother. And of course Granger, selfless witch that she was, would do anything for her parents. It occurred to him, not for the first time, how very much they had in common.
“There are plenty of ways we can be… together… without,” he gestured awkwardly.
“Good,” she confirmed, unclasping her bra. She tugged at his trousers, pulling him on top of her. “Show me.”
***
Five (interminably long) years later
“Draco!” Hermione Granger bounced down the temple steps, a flower crown nested in her curls. She wore a long white dress with lace-capped sleeves, a gift from Vesta. Dusk approached, the summer air heavy and sweet, and she looked over her shoulder for one final goodbye before launching herself at him.
Draco scooped her up in his arms and kissed her thoroughly, as if he hadn’t had his lips on hers mere hours ago before her commencement. She gripped him by the lapel of his suit jacket, avoiding bruising the white rose in his buttonhole.
“Congratulations, love.”
“Thank you,” she laughed as she kissed him again. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He’d waited years for this moment. Five, to be exact.
It all started that night after the party. They’d explored each other’s bodies, forgoing sleep, as if their ardour would sustain them. As lavender-hued dawn peeked through the window over her four-poster, Hermione asked him if he would wait.
He was eighteen, foolish, and totally smitten, so of course, he said yes.
She’d been accepted as a Vestal Virgin, and after a last-minute application and much twisting of Slughorn’s arm, Draco obtained a Potioneering apprenticeship in Prague. No one there judged him for his past transgressions.
Hermione had weekends off, and at first he visited once a month. They toured the ancient city, shared carafes of good wine, ate takeaway tiramisu and watched sunsets from the Castel Sant’Angelo. One afternoon over decadent gelato al melone , Draco cautiously asked if he should relocate to Rome after his apprenticeship. Hermione threw her arms around his neck and kissed her answer into his lips.
They’d become extremely creative in the bedroom. Only one thing was off limits. And as much as Draco wanted her to be his in every way, most of the time he found he didn’t mind the stipulation.
Soon he found a position in the city under a Master of Potions. After his first few pay cheques cleared, he bought a diamond. Cushion cut, two carats. Perfect clarity. Not a flaw to be found. Draco wanted her to have something new that represented their break from backwards Pureblood traditions. He made the gold ring and his matching band himself, adding runes for protection, wisdom, and devotion.
He waited still.
In the third year of her service, Hermione found a potential cure for her parents. Draco paced the floors of his appartamento until her owl arrived from Australia with the good news.
It worked, she wrote. It’s all been worth it. We’re coming home.
He proposed as soon as she returned. Well, he’d tried to, at least. One look at him and Hermione knew his intention, just as she’d always known him, down to his very core. Draco only managed a few choked words before she said yes.
Her parents thought they were a little young for marriage, but they came around. And right now they were waiting to see their daughter and her fiance.
“Everyone’s at the rehearsal dinner. My mother’s had far too much prosecco. Potter is dredging up old Quidditch stories and his husband is fussing with the floral arrangements.”
“Still?” Hermione asked, twining her fingers with his as they walked. She looked back at the temple, eyes watery.
“You alright, love?” He knit his brow. He knew cold feet were typical the night before one’s wedding, but that wasn’t like Hermione.
“It’s just a lot of change all at once. We’ve waited for so long, and now…”
Draco stopped and turned towards her, running his hands soothingly down her arms. “I can wait longer. I’d wait forever, Hermione.”
He surprised himself with how much he meant it. He loved her without reservation.
“No, it’s just that I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m grateful for everything Vesta granted me, but it’s time to step fully into this new chapter of my life. Our life.”
Draco kissed her forehead. “I can’t wait to be your husband, Hermione Jean Granger.”
Hermione looked at him with mischief in her honey-coloured eyes. “Then let’s not wait another second. We can still have the ceremony tomorrow — I don’t want to disappoint Theo and your mother — but we can have our own ceremony now. That cathedral you love, the one with the stained glass Pieta, is right around the corner. I’m in a white dress, and I’m sure the priest is in.”
He laughed. All the planning and preparation that she’d put into this event and she expected him to believe she’d rather just pop into a church and have it over and done with in a matter of minutes?
A slight frown on his bride’s face told him she wasn’t joking.
“I love you, and I love this idea, but are you sure?”
“Marry me tonight. Make me yours tonight . In every way,” she placed her palm on his chest and looked up at him from underneath her lashes, and his stomach swooped.
Draco offered Hermione his arm, and she took it, her face beaming up at his.
After all, what were they waiting for?