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Draco checked his reflection in the mirror for the sixth time.
“Is the collar too stiff?” he muttered, adjusting it again. “Or too... formal?”
Hermione, lying on the couch with a cup of tea and zero concern, didn’t even look up from her book. “You look perfect.”
“I look like I’m about to defend a thesis to a room full of Unspeakables.”
“That’s about the right energy.”
He turned to her, wide-eyed. “You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”
She finally glanced over, amused. “Draco. They’re my parents. Not a Wizengamot tribunal.”
He stared. “Your mum’s a dentist, Hermione. She has tools. Sharp ones.”
Hermione laughed—warm, fond. She set her tea down and stood, crossing the room to adjust his collar gently. “You’ll be fine. They’re curious, not cruel. And I already warned them not to mention ferrets.”
He groaned. “This was a mistake.”
She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “It’s not. You’re mine. They should get to know the person I love.”
That shut him up.
------------------------------------------
They arrived at the Grangers’ home just past six. Cozy. Well-kept. The smell of roasted garlic and something herbaceous drifted out the moment the door opened.
Draco barely had time to register the warmth before a woman stepped forward and pulled Hermione into a hug.
Jean Granger was sharp-eyed and elegant, hair pulled back neatly, sleeves rolled up like she ran the entire world from her kitchen.
“You must be Draco,” she said, turning to him with a smile that was polite—but very much assessing.
Draco extended a hand. “Yes, ma’am. It’s... a pleasure.”
She shook it firmly. “Let’s hope so.”
He nearly choked.
Hermione shot him a look that said told you they don’t bite—but also maybe a little.
Her father, Richard, joined them in the living room. Tall, kind-looking, and quieter than Jean—but no less observant. The type who watched carefully before speaking.
They made small talk over drinks—mostly about travel and work, and Draco stuck to safe, respectful answers. He even made Jean laugh once, which felt like unlocking a secret achievement.
But things shifted over dinner.
Jean asked, “So what exactly do you do, Draco?”
Hermione jumped in to explain—gently painting a picture of his work restoring cursed objects and researching magical history. It wasn’t flashy, but it was meaningful.
Jean tilted her head. “It sounds like very careful work. A long way from... what we heard about you, back when.”
Silence. Heavy. Delicate.
Draco didn’t flinch. He looked Jean right in the eye.
“It is,” he said quietly. “It’s not the life I expected. But it’s the one I chose. I wanted something I could be proud of.”
Jean studied him. Richard just nodded once.
Hermione reached under the table and laced her fingers through Draco’s.
He held on like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
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Later, after dessert and an impressive amount of polite grilling, Jean walked him to the door while Hermione lingered inside with her dad.
“Draco,” Jean said, voice softer now. “You know who she is. How fiercely she protects the people she loves.”
“I do,” he said. “And I hope to be worthy of that.”
Jean’s expression warmed—just slightly. “You already are. She wouldn't have brought you here if you weren’t.”
Draco’s eyes widened, caught completely off-guard.
“She’s always known her mind,” Jean added. “And I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time.”
Hermione appeared in the doorway behind them, coat in hand. “Are you two plotting without me?”
“Just assessing damage,” Jean said dryly. “You’ve chosen well.”
Hermione smiled, sliding her hand into Draco’s again. “I know.”
They walked to the Apparition point in the dark, leaves crunching beneath their feet, her arm wrapped around his.
“That wasn’t... awful,” he murmured.
“You were brilliant.”
He exhaled, almost laughing. “They like me?”
“They will.”
He glanced sideways at her. “And you?”
Hermione stopped walking. Turned to face him.
“I’ve never liked anyone the way I like you,” she said simply. “And I’ve never brought someone home before.”
His heart skipped.
“You’re not just someone I love, Draco. You’re someone I see in my future.”
He didn’t respond—not with words.
He kissed her instead.
And she kissed him back like the only approval that ever really mattered was hers.