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Remember that little farm in muggle Hampshire that had ripe watermelons?
Draco somehow barrel rolled out of the way of the Killing Curse. He saw the flash of green behind his eyelids.
Hermione likened the effect to an “atomic bomb.” The flash would be there when you closed your eyes for a long time or at least until you were dead, she said.
Draco regretted asking what an atomic bomb was.
Draco’s hex hit the wizard that was casting to kill. Before he found his bearings he heard Weasley yelling, “Move, Malfoy. Bloody fucking move!” and felt a tight grip on his bicep urging him up.
Weasley’s calf was hit with a slicing hex as they were running toward the portkey. Draco stumbled under the sudden dead weight of his fellow Auror. They both fell.
Draco threw himself over Weasley and cast Protego. Then he cast it again. And again.
“Malfoy, leave me,” Weasley hissed.
Stupid fucking Gryffindor. He always was surrounded by stupid fucking Gryffindors but he had no one to blame but himself.
“Aerofortis Repulso!” Draco cast when the 5 or 6 of this shite hate group were almost upon them. There was a powerful gust of wind and they were pushed back, some against walls, two through a window.
It was a defensive spell created by Weasley and Draco.
Harry is dealing with a newborn. ‘Mione is so swamped with whatever she does, always out of the country. I–I think I have the theory down but my magic isn’t— It isn’t precise enough.
It took them two years to perfect it.
Draco cast a levitation spell on Weasley, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him toward the portkey.
They landed with a thud in an Auror safehouse.
“Fuck, Malfoy,” Weasley rasped, probably about to die from blood loss. “Bloody well done.”
Draco set to work on healing Weasley.
There was no way he was going to be home in time for dinner. He couldn’t send a Patronus from the safehouse. They just had to wait to be found. Hermione wasn’t going to be happy. He told Weasley as much.
“Hermione will be alright, mate.”
“I don’t think I can keep doing this,” Draco murmured while casting diagnostic spells on Weasley, just in case there was something he’d missed. “I have to be there, be more present.”
“No one would blame you, Malfoy.”
Draco scoffed, levitating Weasley to the tiny, frankly decrepit cot in the corner of the safehouse. He’d offered his money to personally renovate all the dozens of safehouses but was told his money would be better spent elsewhere. The safehouses always had what they needed
Besides, knowing you, you’d make them incredibly ostentatious and hire a house elf for each one. It defeats the purpose which is anonymity.
Draco had scoffed and sputtered but couldn’t deny it.
He removed a handkerchief from one of the pockets of his trousers and transfigured it into a very plush pillow, gently lifting Weasley’s head and sliding it underneath him. He wasn’t looking so pale now.
Draco sighed leaning against the wall next to the cot and sliding down it, sitting with his elbows on his bent knees.
“I’d blame me, I think,” Draco said.
“I think you’ve repaid your debt to society,” Weasley mumbled.
“Have I?”
Weasley chuckled. “You got ‘Mione to fall in love with you and marry you. She wouldn’t have done that if you were still an evil arse.”
Draco laughed quietly. “True. Fuck, Weasley, I have to get home.”
“Soon. Knowing Harry, it’ll be less than an hour.”
—-
It ended up being 45 minutes. Draco managed to argue and whinge himself and Weasley out of a long debriefing.
I have places to be, Potter and so does Weasley. Just wait until Monday.
Potter sighed but didn’t argue.
Draco didn’t go home at first. He apparated to Hampshire. It was 7pm but the sun hadn’t set yet and he was relieved the little produce stand was still there and operating. He was relieved he always carried muggle cash on him because his wife always said, “You never know.”
And his wife was always right, though he’d never tell her that.
He apparated again to the apparition point not far from home. When they decided to move in together, he’d wanted to buy a large property. Not the size of the manor, of course, but close. He equated a successful life to a large, grand home. Hermione disagreed. She’d found them a quaint farm house just outside of Wiltshire.
It was a testament to his love and obsession with Hermione Granger-Malfoy that he agreed to this.
She bought chickens and goats. Draco was scandalized. Now, walking up the drive, he said hello to Nana and Maybel. They baa’d in greeting. He could hear the hens settling into their henhouse for the evening and was grateful, because Robert the Rooster usually tried to charge Draco any time he crossed the yard.
It was all so domestic and plebeian.
He entered their home and found his wife waddling back and forth in the kitchen.
When she spotted him in the doorway, she flushed, her eyes narrowed.
“Easy, Granger. Let’s talk about it later. I brought you a present.”
He took the watermelons out of his pocket, placed them on the counter, and waved his wand to unshrink them.
Draco turned to look at her, feeling very pleased with himself.
Hermione inhaled and exhaled through her nose, slowly. “Accio, butcher knife,”
Their sharpest knife from the block flew into her outstretched hand. This was done with wandless magic, which Hermione was quite good at, especially when she was angry.
Draco didn’t feel pleased anymore.
“Accio, chopping board.”
She shouldered past him and got to work on one of the watermelons.
“Hermione, I know. I’m sure you already know what happened today. Because you always know. Weasley and I are fine.”
“Mmm,” she murmured, cutting the watermelon into eighths. “People like to cut off the rind, but that’s the part I’m craving. The pale green and white you get to after the sweet part. It’s tart. I’ve always loved it. I’d eat it right to the skin.”
Hermione handed him a wedge of watermelon and then bit into her own piece.
Watermelon juice dripped down her chin. After she swallowed the first bite, she wrapped her lips around the next bit and sucked audibly.
Draco swallowed.
Well now, this certainly wasn’t fair. She knew it, too. Hermione was such a fucking tease.
“My parents thought it was funny. That I would work to get to what people deemed as the least appetizing part.”
She took another bite and chewed and swallowed. “We’ve put a lot of work into this relationship, Draco. I would really love it if you didn’t die. I’d love it if I didn’t have to worry about you dying.”
Draco took a bite of his watermelon. He accidentally started chewing on a seed and swallowed and choked, spitting the chewed fruit out along with the seed. Right on to the kitchen floor in between them.
Silence. Draco flushed and regretted every moment in his life that led to this point. Except, not really.
Hermione laughed. Really hard. When she finally slowed down, an occasional giggle, she met his eyes. She took another bite of her watermelon. She was to the rind, now.
Draco cast scourgify. “I’m afraid. Being an Auror– it’s been penitence for a long time, but I know that isn’t the right reason to keep at it.”
Hermione bit into the rind and hummed happily.
“I have a feeling you’ll have the incentive you need to stop punishing yourself and move on soon,” she said after she was finished gnawing on the rind like an animal.
She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“Do you want another piece? I can eat the fruit so you can get to the good part,” Draco said.
“No, the rest will be something to look forward to.”