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A wayward knot of yarn flew past Draco’s head with a whoosh before gently careening into the wall behind him. His eyes widened.
“Darling,” he called into the semi-open door. From within he could hear all sorts of chaos that couldn’t be explained. What on earth would rattling china, the cursing of his wife, a distinct smell of burnt biscuits, and— now— a ball of yarn have been doing to Hermione to elicit such a ruckus?
Timidly, he peeked round the door and spied his wild-haired witch with a dusting of flour across her nose and an adorable rage just oozing from her very aura.
“Are you quite alright?” he called, fighting a laugh as he rounded the corner. She looked as though the entire kitchen had seen fit to attack her all at once. Like that silly Disney movie she’d made him watch with the Muggle who had an animal fetish.
“Yes,” Hermione bit out, crossing her arms tightly across her jumper. “Quite alright.” Her eyes were locked on a tray of burnt biscuits.
Draco placed himself beside her, gently resting his hand on her lower back. She’d quit her job a few months back and she’d not been the same since. But not in a bad way… not at all. Even if she was a bit messier and emotional from time to time.
Hermione Granger had spent all of her life caring for everyone around her. Even after she’d cut the cord with the nitwits, the government had still paraded her around as a hero and watched her every move. She built her business off the back of her fame to further the causes of Elfish Wellfare and partnered with Pansy to create the first true fashion line for Elves, leading to a country-wide abolition of slavery.
And in doing all of that… she’d somehow found it in her heart to not only forgive the poor sod, but actually fall in love and then marry him, too. But she burned out, as all unstoppable forces of nature eventually do and she sold it all. Walked away from our space in history as London’s greatest power couple and decided to “
try something else
”.
Draco, having already learned that denying his witch was not only futile but also fruitless, followed her back to Wiltshire and into their ancestral home even though he’d once sworn he’d burn it down first. Over the months, they’d brought life back into the space. She devoted her time to the perfect paint colors and restoring the long-forgotten art.
It wasn’t until a few months ago when the worried brow snuck back into her brow that he realized
she’d done it again
. She’d found a project to give all of herself too.
He'd laughed under his breath and over the lip of his teacup said, "Do you ever do anything for fun?"
His question was received with curious silence. Then two days later she’d stormed into his office, a long piece of parchment unfurled at her side, and a wild, yet excited, glint in her dark eyes.
“You’re right!” she announced proudly. “I never do things for fun!”
Draco sat back with a happy smile as he watched in his wife all her glory.
“I was going to try to prove you wrong...but I realized that I don’t really do anything for fun!”
This much has always been obvious to anyone who knows Hermione Granger, of course. But he considers it polite to let her believe that it’s an epiphany.
“All my life it’s been school, work, war, house… I’ve never…” she paused, gnawing on her lip as a tear welled in the corner of her eyes. “I’ve never done anything just for me. Isn’t that sad?”
Draco regarded her for a moment before rising to his feet and wrapping his arms around her. “It sounds like you have a new project, Granger.”
Her dainty brows pulled together in annoyance as she stared up at him. Merlin, she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Even after all these years. After all these playful little scowls… It was still her. It would always be her.
“It’s not a project, Draco! It’s a problem! But don’t worry, I’ve already started a list of all the things I’ve ever wanted to learn but always put on hold because I needed to learn something else to, oh, I don’t know save my life.” She signed indignantly at her own remark and then continued on, “I’ve always wanted to truly try to write a memoir, you know. And painting, knitting—”
Hermione continued on and even began to reference ideas from her list after exhausting the ones in her memory. Draco had scarcely gotten a word in before she’d snagged the Gringott’s notes and scurried towards the Floo and ultimately Diagon Alley.
Two months and dozens of ideas later, Draco has now found his wife in the kitchen with a frustrated scowl and a tray of burnt biscuits.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
“I got distracted, unfortunately.”
Draco nodded when she didn’t explain further. “Was that the reason for the—”
“The Yarn? Yes.”
Stifling a giggle, Draco brought out his wand and vanished the evidence of the burned biscuits. “Would you like company? I’ve never made biscuits but,” he paused and summoned another apron, “I’m happy to brave the oven with you, my love.”
Hermione chuckled and leaned into him. “I think we can safely scratch ‘baking’ off possible hobbies for now. It’s rather boring. I just kept wishing I'd thought to bring a book.”
“What’s next then?”
After a moment, Hermione said, “maybe gardening. I'll find it though. Something just for fun."