DHRDRABBLES

The small sound from across the table made her look up in disbelief, still coughing lightly.

She must have looked menacingly because Malfoy’s hands quickly shot up in defence. His smile, to her surprise, remained. “Sorry. But the second you started downing that beer, I knew the choking was imminent.”

The next and final cough hid her surprise at his nonchalant small talk and Hermione was thankful for it. She looked up at Malfoy, who loomed over her even when seated. “And you didn’t think of warning me.”

“Granger.” Ah, the drawl. She only ever heard it when he joked with Harry and Terry, or anyone but herself. The tone that once made her shiver uncomfortably in the Hogwarts halls tickled a giddy curiosity in her these days. She itched to find out why he excluded her from it. “Why would I ever warn you when I could just sit here and enjoy watching you chug that beer – and fail?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t be angry with him. Not when he finally seemed at home in small talk territory. Not when the corners of his mouth were still pulled upward.

He finished his beer in an impressive performance of ‘elegant chugging’ which Hermione filed under yet another Malfoy-only specialty. Putting down his jug, he looked over at her, caution now dominating his features once more. Hermione looked at him questioningly for another second before he took a small breath and pointed at her beer. “Do you want another of these? Because I actually cannot stand the stuff and will order some good whiskey instead.” He paused for one second and then added, hurriedly, “If you want to stay. Feel free to leave.”

Now it was her turn to grin up at him. “It’s fine. I think I’ll stick to this one for now”, she pointed at her glass which was still half full.

At that, he seemed to relax visibly and got up to order.

Hermione’s gaze lazily followed him as he glided through the crowd. His bright, blond head towered over most of the other guests and was visible up until he stopped at the bar.

*

Two butterbeers and three whiskeys later, she returned from the bar with yet another butterbeer and a top-shelf whiskey for Malfoy, the snob, who had actually warmed up to her at long last over the past few drinks. She already thought about mentioning his behaviour another day, when they – hopefully – established some sort of routine with each other as she pushed his drink in front of him and dropped down on the seat across from him, head spinning slowly, in an unrushed pace.

She was just about to pick their conversation about the dominance of Veela traits in descendants back up when Malfoy’s gaze made lose track of her trail of thoughts. In her vision, only his grey eyes remained, as he intently stared at her from across the wooden table in the noisy Leaky.

The words were trapped somewhere in the same trachea where their evening had started. Hermione opened her mouth, instantly thought she must look like a goldfish and closed it again, now extremely self-conscious about her messy bun, the layer of sweat on her upper lip and her frantic gaze from Malfoy’s eyes to his frowning mouth.

For lack of a better word, he appeared sad to Hermione. She tried to pinpoint where they had left off the conversation, looking for a clue where she had said something stupid. Slowly, she opened her mouth again.

Malfoy averted his eyes, dropping on his whiskey.

He sighed. “Thank you.”

Hermione stammered a reply, still wondering what had happened while she was gone. Her insecurity seemed to irritate Malfoy even more, he rubbed his eyes with both of his hands in a slow-motion and groaned almost inaudibly. He leaned back in his chair, his long legs carefully draped next to hers under the table, never quite touching. On various occasions that night, Hermione had heard a soft bump and had always assumed it must’ve been his one of knees that hit the table every time he shifted.

When he removed his hands from his face, Malfoy looked as shattered as he had before. It seemed so wrong on this man, always the epitome of composure and elegance. Even in the field, as a trainee, he appeared in control of every situation. On Thursdays, at the regulars’ table, he dominated the round merely by being such a stark contrast to the rest of them, with his bright hair, light skin, and impeccably straight posture.

Malfoy never sagged, not even after numerous whiskeys. He could raise his voice without automatically shouting as Harry did. He could direct his attention to someone by merely nodding briefly at them. His speech was always impeccable, whether he was stressed or tipsy. He never lost composure.

Yes, Hermione had paid attention to the enigma that was Draco Malfoy’s behaviour towards herself, and she had never seen him lose composure.

Hence, her breath stopped before speeding up excessively when he shifted forward, his elbows now resting on the table, and hid most of his face against his hands again. He was so tall; the table support automatically led him to cower slightly before her. Still, she had to look up to watch his emotions unfold before her.

Hunched Malfoy seemed so at odds with every observation Hermione had made over the past years. She briefly noticed how awkwardly unproportionate he seemed in comparison to the small table and the bench he sat on, but then Malfoy finally raised his voice again. All the effortless command it usually carried via ductus and volume, supported by the sheer size of his torso, had disappeared.

“Granger, how can you stand just sharing a table with me all evening?”

The question startled her so much, she just blinked rapidly at him, her pulse quickening. “I –”

He sighed and rubbed over his face with his hands once more before carefully placing them in front of his torso. His long fingers fiddled with a napkin on the table. His cheeks were flushed, and the corners of his mouth were facing downwards. The image reminded her of their Hogwarts days, but all animosity between them was gone. What remained was a healthy dose of anxiety after what had started as a civil evening.

He sighed again, still hunched in his seat. His eyes never left her face and Hermione struggled to meet his gaze, its intensity almost overwhelming her. The melancholy never left him.

“You testified at my trial – why?”

His voice was levelled, but not its usual nonchalant self – too quiet. Again, Hermione stumbled over his question. She knew the answer, didn’t she? She knew every answer to every question, and this one was so clear to her too. He was just a boy, not even of age. His family – his mother, especially – was in danger. He was – bully or not – just her classmate. He had looked so ridiculously skinny and unhealthy back in their sixth year, crying in the presence of a ghost living in a bathroom. He had stalled when they were captured and brought to the manor. He had not fought during the final battle. He had shown her every day since he had joined the department that the testimony was worth it.

And yet, the question stunned her.

He still sought her eyes with his. “What I want to say, Granger, is this. Whatever your reasoning, your testimony sealed my fate. You made it possible for me to join the auror squad. And I’m thankful.”

She furrowed her brows. “With all due respect, Malfoy, I really appreciate it. But Harry also –”

He interrupted her with a faint smile, but the sadness remained. “Potter has my thanks as well, rest assured. But you – I couldn’t believe it when they said your name. With Potter, I had a ridiculous rivalry. You– you never harmed me, Granger”, his voice cracked. “I depreciated you whenever I could, just to make myself feel better.”

He finally tore his gaze away from her. He was obviously ashamed. Hermione couldn’t reply. Her face was hot, her eyes roaming from Malfoy’s face to his still fiddling hands. She watched as he drew another breath.

All the noise in the pub had numbed around her a long time ago.

“Granger – Hermione – I’m incredibly sorry for how I treated you throughout our years in school. You never gave me any reason to despise you, and yet I did, based on what I now know is a ridiculous notion.”

She watched in awe as he pressed his thin lips together, obviously struggling with the situation, the words, but most of all, with himself. “You are the most impressive person I know. And in retrospect, I knew it a long time ago, but I was so preoccupied with working towards all the wrong goals. Please forgive me. For all the pain I caused you.”

Hermione stared at Malfoy, who had sought her gaze once more at the last sentence but now turned it back to the table, intently staring at the woodwork.

Hermione blinked once, twice, and then the noise of the pub returned to her ears as she slowly rose to her feet.

Malfoy, the tall man across from her, shrunk in his seat. He expected her to leave.  

Instead, Hermione made her way to his side of the table and found an even stance in front of him. Despite being seated on a bench in a pub, Malfoy’s face was almost at the same height as hers, small as she was.

Without another word, she unceremoniously dropped next to him on the bench. He jumped slightly, but Hermione caught his long, lithe fingers in her own and pressed them slightly.

“I forgive you, Draco. I forgave you a long time ago.”

His shoulders sagged next to her. A small breath escaped him, and his lips finally curled upward in the most beautiful way once more. His chin trembled.

She sought his eyes – no longer the usual, composed grey now, but a softer, darker hue.

Her thumbs slowly, tentatively began to stroke the back of his hands in reassurance, but he didn’t move, his eyes still trained on her face so close to his own.

Hermione leaned in and kissed him.

---

As a result, Draco Malfoy didn’t enter a bustling courtroom, but stepped on the dais in an eerily silent, expectant surrounding.

If this surprised him, he didn’t let it on. Hermione watched his slender figure on the way from the door to his seat. He had always been lean – ‘pointy’, as Harry would always say – but the weeks in prison had not been kind to him. His features were sunken in, the malnourishment obvious and yet another motivator for Hermione to deliver a convincing testimony. Malfoy looked tired. He showed the obvious signs of insomnia, with hands shaking, skin bordering on an unhealthy tone of grey and bloodshot eyes. However, he also looked tired on another level. Just tired of this process.

Despite his physical degeneration, or because his slender frame stood in such a drastic contrast to it, Hermione couldn’t help but notice that he must have grown taller since they had been held captive at Malfoy Manor around Easter.

With his back to the crowd, the bulky security guard behind him seemed almost comically short, barely reaching up to Malfoy’s shoulders.

Similarly, as he sat down before the Wizengamot, Malfoy’s straight posture looked equally out of place and yet eerily fitting. His long legs seemed awkward in the small space he was given.

Malfoy didn’t speak during his trial, he just sat in his chair and stared in his lap as his legal defence attorney made one careful point after the other. The accusations – accessory to murder in at least thirty cases, terrorism, crimes against wizardry and humanity – washed over him and sparked little reaction.

He barely turned toward the witness stand, as Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini made statements, and he neither lifted his head during Professor McGonagall’s nor Harry’s testimonies.

Hermione heard Ginny hiss next to her when, after Harry’s empathetic and pleading statement, Malfoy still appeared to be unimpressed by the whole situation, his eyes trained on some point near his knees.

However, when taking a closer look, it was clear that it took Malfoy every fibre of his being to hold it together. His downcast gaze was not bored or aloof, he was staring down, probably occluding, hands constantly balled to fists with the knuckles standing out against his skin.

The next day was much of the same, with Professor Slughorn making a flimsy statement in the morning.

When her name was called out shortly after midday, Hermione took a deep breath before standing, Harry squeezing her right hand briefly. Her eyes were trained on the console where she was to testify, trying, and failing, to forget the stark contrast between bright, grey eyes and the bloodshot whites, trained on the floor.

Thus, she missed that the only time Malfoy briefly raised his head in surprise during his trial was when she walked past him.

Author’s notes: This took a while. Sorry for that! I was out visiting my sister and hiking, a relatively COVID-friendly holiday, you could say :) I plan for one more part of this before we’re back to usual drabble business! 

Bellatrix was shouting at her again, and then Father was addressing him.

He must’ve looked at the older version of himself with a blank expression, because Father snorted angrily, repeated himself and the next thing Draco realised was him walking down the stairs to the dungeons, with the faint memory of an order to fetch the goblin.

It was dark and Draco didn’t bother to light up the torches, instead, the cast a faint Lumos. The almost-darkness sharpened his other senses, which he cherished for a second after the previous numbness, before hearing another of Granger’s guttural screams. Down here, with no other sounds around him, it seemed even louder than it had in the parlour.

Draco stopped before the door, breathing heavily. Everything was spinning, but he mustn’t show weakness before the prisoners – before Potter. Briefly, he leaned against the door, before he spoke.

“Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!”

His voice was cracking, he didn’t believe himself for one instant. He hoped no one could hear the shaking in his voice.

Breathing in deeply one last time, he collected every last bit of confidence he could muster and pushed the door open much harder than necessary, striding as much as he could, and grabbing the goblin without looking at any of the other prisoners.

He had never imagined it like this.

Not turning his back on them, his wand raised, Draco retreated, pulling Griphook with him.

The second the door slammed shut, he started sprinting up the stairs with the goblin stumbling before him. He ignored the strange crack he heard from below.

Granger was not screaming anymore, and he wondered if things had gotten even worse.

The second he opened the door to the parlour, pushing Griphook through first, Granger started screaming even louder, and Draco couldn’t avert his eyes this time.

Bellatrix was bent over the girl, cackling constantly, chanting incoherent half-sentences about the Dark Lord. Her wand was in her left hand but seemed almost forgotten.

Frantically, Draco pushed the goblin towards his father as his eyes roamed Granger and his aunt. When he saw what Bellatrix was holding in her right, Draco’s stopped breathing.

Greedily grabbing the sobbing Granger, Bellatrix carved something in her left arm. After the initial scream, Granger had become eerily quiet, with irregular whimpers that shook her whole body. Bellatrix apparently to press her into the cold marble, the shudders seemed to erupt in Granger’s core, but they never reached her left side.

Draco faintly registered that Father was shouting something in his direction again, as he watched the madwoman he called his aunt carve cut after cut into Hermione Granger’s arm. He wanted nothing more than to look away, or even better, leave the room. Take her with him, even.

After what seemed like years, Bellatrix finally let go of Granger and turned towards the goblin. Draco still couldn’t tear his gaze away from Granger, now forgotten to the Death Eaters in the room; he barely registered his father pushing Griphook towards Bellatrix, the goblin shrinking with every step.

Hermione was still whimpering faintly, the blood from her arm and the crook of her neck pooling on the floor. Her face was tear-stained, but no new tears were running. She was staring into the ceiling.

For a second, Draco wondered if he would be able to convey his own pain and allyship to her if only she looked, but he quickly realised that there would be absolutely no way she would trust him and he was a fool for even thinking about it. He had just stood and watched her being tortured – empathy would be the same as outright mockery in this moment.

His chest had never felt tighter.

Then the only thing that could possibly distract him from Granger happened – his mark started to burn. He whirled towards Bellatrix who now pressed her spider-like fingers against her own mark, grinning manically again.

In panic, he realised that Bellatrix’s wide eyes roamed the room, landing on Granger once more.

“And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood,” she said, her grin rather lopsided. In these moments of absolute cruelty, Bellatrix’s former beauty sometimes shone through, Draco thought, his heartbeat at the absolute maximum. “Greyback, take her if you want her.”

No!

Again, Draco whirled in shock, looking for the werewolf he had almost forgotten until now. Greyback snarled greedily and approached Granger.

Draco’s hands frantically searched for his wand.

No, not her, not her!

And then everything went down in chaos as Potter and Weasley stormed into the parlour.

The next seconds were a mere blur to Draco; one second, he was collecting wands at Bellatrix’s order, the next he was tackled by Potter who stupefied Greyback.

Draco’s thoughts swirled and swirled while it happened, his gaze still mostly on Granger, his thoughts on how, for a second, he thought he could save her, but in the end, he was only a lackey of his relatives and a madman with a giant snake.

Draco felt lost.

And in the moment the three Gryffindors disappeared with the Malfoys’ old house elf, Draco realised that Hermione Granger, the small girl who survived the torture of one of the cruellest witches alive, who most probably lied to the mad witch in the process, was truly glorious.

She was larger than life.

AN: Thank you for reading! I have never attempted actual angst before. This is exciting. It also took much longer to write than I anticipated, but it’s also much longer than the first two parts (and probably longer than the two to follow).

To Draco, however, her most striking feature was her tiny torso. He, Blaise and Theo had spent hours in their dormitory, discussing bouncy, large breasts as if any of them had ever seen a pair in action at age fourteen. They had agreed that tits had to be firm but large, too large for their tiny, greedy hands to grasp. They had also agreed that all women had to have, in addition to large breasts, firm bellies, small waists and tight arses. It was only fit for the offspring of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. They had also agreed that Granger was – her unfit blood and ridiculous hair aside – too scrawny to even be considered by them in their very mature talks.

Pansy, her large chest having been discussed by the three boys at length, cleared her throat on his arm but Draco ignored her, mesmerised by Granger’s waist in its stark contrast to Krum’s torso next to her. He wondered if his hands could fit around her midriff almost completely and how it would feel to run his thumbs across the undersides of her breasts in the process. One quick look at Krum’s large hands told him that it was most likely possible for the Triwizard Champion and something inside him twitched. For the first time in his life, Draco suddenly became aware of just how small he was in comparison to others.

Draco snarled and looked away, focusing intently on Pansy’s low-cut décolleté as they went to the banquet.

Author’s notes:

I’m trying something new today - this is the first of five connected drabbles which I will then post on the AO3 (with maybe an additional drabble at the end, depending on my confidence in the story). 

But first, you may enjoy them here! :) 

Nothing.

He groaned and discarded it. Hermione was now singing whole songs, no longer mere snippets. Was she possessed?

A smart move by any potential adversary, to use earmuffs of all things, not only binding you, to them but also blocking one of your senses.

“Draco? What are you looking for?”

His head shot up.

“Hermione? Let go of these! How– how did you get rid of them?”

“What?” Hermione looked down at the earmuffs in her hands. Draco could faintly hear ‘Waterloo’ by ‘Baba’ from an unknown source.

“I think they’re hexed! You couldn’t hear me when I tried to speak to you, but you didn’t hear me and were acting as if imperiused!”

He rose to his feet, firmly took the earmuffs from her hands and placed them on the table. She blinked at him, looking down at the earmuffs. They seemed normal enough from a distance, but Draco would destroy them later, for good measure. For now, he was relieved.

A small grin formed in Hermione’s face, reaching her eyes, as he hugged her and pressed a kiss to her hair. At least she seemed free once the earmuffs were gone.

“Draco?”

“Yes, love?”, he murmured, taking in her scent. He was so glad to have her back.

“These are neither charmed nor hexed. I bought them in a muggle store yesterday evening.”

“Excuse me?”

She giggled now. “They’re called ‘headphones’. I connected them to my phone via, ah, some invisible waves and now they play music I select on my phone. It’s a really advanced technology, wasn’t around back when we were in Hogwarts.”

Now Draco blinked, several times. “Music?”

“Yes.” Suppressing a laugh was visibly difficult for Hermione as her arms closed around Draco’s waist.

He groaned.

Hermione looked at him sceptically and he attempted a smirk, but it was obvious he was too tired to fully invest. He was dirty – full of mud, blood, and soot from the Room of Requirement. He looked battered. But then, she assumed, she likely looked similar.

‘You’re still here.’

‘I am.’

She’d assumed the Malfoys had left the ground as soon as Voldemort fell, just like many of his followers had done. ‘Why?’

He didn’t answer at first and stared over the Forbidden Forest instead. Hermione’s gaze followed his and the view was more peaceful than it had any right to be – early morning mist rose from the treetops and the lake at the forest edge was undisturbed. It was, however, not as quiet as she had expected; the birds chirped noisily. It was beautiful.

‘My parents left for the Manor. They were panicking – wanted to get rid of any … remainders.’

‘And you? You could be arrested for that thing on your arm if you casually stay here.’

‘I’ll be arrested anyway. Might as well have a nice view for it.’

He sounded just as beaten as he looked, Hermione thought. She sighed and slowly sat down next to Malfoy on the stairs. No one else seemed to enter or leave the castle and it was just them for a moment, next to each other, breathing slowly, taking in the scenery and the morning air. Everything seemed to be on hold.

Malfoy shuffled and Hermione turned her head, only to see him move a little closer to her. His right arm followed his movement awkwardly, the burn from the Fiendfyre angrily splotching the skin of his wrist. Without thinking, she pulled the dittany Madam Pomfrey had given her for her own burn from the pocket of her jumper and gently applied it to Malfoy’s skin. He watched her careful movements and Hermione could feel the tension and pain leaving him as she spread the ointment on his pale wrist.

‘Do you have dittany at home?’

He scoffed and almost sounded like his usual self. ‘Of course we do. Do you reckon they have dittany in Azkaban though?’

‘I know I said it just now, but I don’t think you will be arrested today, Draco.’

He scoffed again and did sound like his usual self this time.

She gently patted his wrist and stuffed the small box back in her pocket, her gaze trailing over the castle grounds again. They were still alone, although the sun was rising steadily. If she stared at the forest intently, and only paid attention to the warm, lean body next to her, it almost felt like a regular morning in their sixth year.

Draco moved carefully again, and she did him the favour of not looking at his next move, assuming that he was extremely self-aware of his actions in relation to the previous motnhs. His breath was shallow when his arm gently came down on her shoulders.

Hermione leaned into the awkward hug, smiling softly.

‘I’m so glad you’re here, Draco.’

She knew her voice gave away all the hurt and confusion and loneliness she felt – to him. He understood the turmoil inside her, what she needed now, better than anyone. His arm tightened across her shoulders and Hermione turned her head towards him.

When he nuzzled into her hair, Hermione could feel the tension leave them both.

She lifted her chin and pressed her lips to his. It had been almost a year, but he felt familiar.

--- 

Draco saw her brunette mane fifteen minutes into the game and almost came to a complete halt.

A bludger spurred past his cheek and Inglebee followed shortly after, shouting at Draco.

Blinking, he set off again, looking for the snitch.

Draco lowered his broom – keeping his watch for the little gold ball. Yes, this was definitely Hermione Granger, gracing the ranks of the Quidditch pitch for the first time in five years. Her hair, usually a little tamer when at work, now fell without constraints. He wondered if he could see her cast the trademark blow on the infamous flick of hair that always found its way into her face.

A hissing noise distracted Draco and he dove to the left to dodge another bludger. A cursing Inglebee followed right after, he saw Bole laughing from a distance. Cursing himself now, Draco looked out for Potter and found him hovering at the other end of the pitch, looking rather confused.

‘Get it together’, Draco told himself, shaking his head.

So what if she was here? Everyone knew Granger was usually still at work when their games started and didn’t care much for Quidditch anyway. Everyone knew she didn’t really like crowded places, so she avoided coming to the Leaky afterwards as well.

Draco frowned. He half-heartedly followed Potter now, who circled above the other players. The snitch was nowhere near, however, and Draco dove down to look among the other players. It was pure coincidence that he came to a halt just below Granger’s seat. He only observed her Muggle summer dress for a few milliseconds, always one the lookout for the snitch or another –

‘Malfoy, what the fuck!’ Inglebee shouted, again beating the bludger away from Draco. He grimaced.

‘Sorry, thought I saw the snitch down there!’

‘You didn’t move shit, you smarmy flobberworm!’

Always one for words, Inglebee flew off, still swinging his bat angrily. Draco grimaced again, again looking out for a little gold something. Was that a gold necklace around Granger’s neck or –

Cheering interrupted Draco’s contemplation and he whirled around, seeing Potter with the snitch. He was barely ten feet away from Draco and – again – looked at him in confusion, before Weasley (the Elder) and Wood tackled him for a victory hug.

When Draco landed, Weasley (the Clown) patted him on the shoulder.

‘Got a little confused there, Malfoy? See something you like?’

‘What? No! Get lost, Weasley.’

George only laughed and congratulated his wife on the win. Angelina smiled at Draco but seemed almost as confused as Potter.

Avoiding his other teammates after this embarrassing performance, Draco strode straight to the bench where the players usually kept their belongings during games.

‘Accio water bottle’, he murmured, then gulped down some water first and poured the rest over his neck. It was hot today, even in the evening.

‘Frigidus’, a prim voice behind him called. The cooling charm was cast exceptionally, or it would have been useless on Draco at this point. His neck was burning and for once he was glad his cheeks turned red as tomatoes when playing Quidditch, otherwise they surely would have done so now.

Hermione Granger stood next to the bench and looked down blithely.

‘Harry keeps telling me you’re one of the best players on the pitch, Malfoy. Yet this was rather …’, she chuckled and Draco groaned in frustration. Was she here to mock him?

When he didn’t respond, Granger strolled to the other side of the bench and sat down beside him, her slender, tanned legs crossed. Draco was acutely aware of his post-Quidditch smell and squirmed a little. This was not how he had imagined –

‘I must say, however, the statistics are on your side. I’m willing to give you another chance to impress me next week.’

He couldn’t help it. ‘Are you sure it won’t be another five years until you find the time?’

Her eyebrow was raised as she looked at him. Before Draco had the chance to regret what he had said, she blew the infamous flick of hair out of her face. He was so done for.

‘It’s in my calendar, Malfoy. I keep my word. Make sure you don’t encounter any … confounding variables next week.’

‘Gryffindor pinkie promise’, he mumbled and she laughed. ‘Indeed. Here.’

Granger held out her pinkie to him and Draco smiled involuntarily. Her hand lingered on his and his heart rate shot up.

‘Are you coming to the Leaky tonight, then?’

She hesitated. Potter had once told him that Granger didn’t handle crowds well since the Battle of Hogwarts. Cursing inwardly, he added, ‘We can sit at the table all night if you want.’

Granger’s smile returned softly. ‘Sounds good.’

‘Really?’

She now laughed again. Draco kept scolding himself inwardly for sounding like an overly excited teenager. Another, much more agreeable teenager than he had been, granted, but also a much more cringeworthy one.

‘Sure’, she seemed to hide a smile as she stood and patted down her dress. ‘See you later, then.’

Draco couldn’t believe his luck. His eyes followed her slender frame surrounded by the most impossible hair out there as she walked towards Potter, who now stared at the two of them with suspicion. Halfway between them, Granger turned towards Draco again. ‘Can I bring a book?’

He groaned but couldn’t hide his amusement. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way, Granger!’

 Author’s notes:

‘But don’t you realise? This means, if we can just get the snake –’

She was interrupted by the noise of ugly fighting down the corridor. They all looked towards the noise and saw a number of death eaters – and telling red hair. Harry and Ron sprinted towards the other Weasleys without looking back.

Hermione couldn’t stop herself now.

She dropped beside Malfoy and hugged him.

‘You don’t have a wand.’

He hesitated for one moment, but then reciprocated her touch.

‘You’re injured, Draco. I’ll –’

‘No.’

His voice was surprisingly firm, and it startled her so much, she instantly retreated. He did look rather pathetic, hair singed from the Fiendfyre, still slumped against the wall, his unconscious lackey taking up a ridiculous amount of space next to Malfoy’s skinny figure. Still, he quickly shot his hand out to grasp hers.

‘I didn’t mean to – I meant –’

‘Granger’, it took Malfoy everything to keep his voice calm, Hermione could tell. His fingers were shaking despite the stability her own hand offered. Then he tentatively started stroking her hand, eliminating the shaking sensation. ‘I’ll be fine. Just make sure you’re safe.’

‘But I can stay –’

‘No you bloody can’t!’

His angry tone now shocked Hermione and she fought hard to hold back tears. He would not make her cry now.

‘You’re being stupid, Hermione. Go to your friends. I know you want to.’

He was right, she knew. Breathing hard, she stood up and faced the battle between the Weasleys, Harry, and the Death Eaters. She nodded and looked at Malfoy one last time before finally shooting up, her wand buzzing in her hand already.

She started sprinting towards them as she heard him once more.

‘Just the snake, you said?’

She nodded, knowing he only understood parts of their previous conversation. Nevertheless, he seemed to grasp the overall implication.

‘Be safe for me, Granger.’

It had never been harder for Hermione to turn her back on him.

---

Hermione didn’t even bother to phrase it as a question, so he didn’t reply at all.

She had had many plants before the pregnancy – but there had been a more or less weekly addition to the collection ever since they had found out about the baby. While Hermione was in good spirits most of the time, the pain of not being able to restore her parents’ memories had returned with her own immanent prospect of parenthood.

This had been the first wave of obsession for flora: Hermione felt she would be close to her parents, especially her mother and her green thumb, when owning plants and caring for them the way she had seen as a child. A beautifully green house and a happy Hermione had been the result.

With the pregnancy came an excessive amount of house plants and eventually the tears.

And yet…

‘I might have used a wandless wingardium on this one.’

Draco looked down into Hermione’s face, tears now dry on her reddened cheeks. She seemed caught in between pride and some strange embarrassment. Her skin looked so soft from above.

‘Are you joking? This is fantastic!’

‘Draco, you’re crushing me!’

She was laughing now, and so was Draco. He hugged her a little less tight but made sure she was still flush against his torso.

‘I also think we have enough plants.’

This time he didn’t reply. He just held Hermione firmly as she stared up to the monstera’s leaves and smiled.

Draco kissed her massive hair and Hermione sighed happily.

Author’s notes: 

A proper short drabble! Yay! Thanks for reading, everyone. 

Such thoughts plagued Hermione ‘the original overthinker’ Granger until she and Draco had an ‘official’ meeting with Astoria (her summery version) where Draco’s late wife proved to be everything he had made her to be. She was interested in Hermione’s career, but more so her well-being, she was witty and snorted at the right names when Hermione told stories straight out of the Wizengamot. Even her snort was charming. Glancing at Draco during their conversation, Hermione spotted a wistful look in his eyes and she had to admit then that even without knowing her much, she missed Astoria herself.

Hermione was all the more surprised – and irritated, if she was being honest with herself – when she walked past chrysanthemum-Astoria sometime later only to find the other woman rather irritable and tight-lipped again. In this moment, Hermione did not know how to react (or act – situation far from clear: Astoria had barely returned her own greeting) and so she stomped on, inwardly fuming. Was she mad at Astoria for putting on an act when Draco was around? Was Draco part of this scheme and did he care how this made her feel at all?

She was able hold back during dinner and focused instead on Draco’s recital of his new publication on the side effects of pepper-up potion. However, later, she couldn’t get herself to respond to his hands or mouth, made a half-hearted excuse and so they went to bed rather irritated on both sides. Hermione had a hard time feeling bad, even when Draco’s last words before finally falling asleep were “I don’t care if we have sex once a day or once a month, I’d just wish you’d be honest with me”.

When sleep wouldn’t come, Hermione finally made a decision. She slipped out from under the heavy blanket, made sure Draco was still fully covered and tip-toed out of the room.

Astoria looked ethereal in her white dress, sitting on a stone bench, surrounded by masses of snow and framed by little red specks – winterberries. This time, she full acknowledged Hermione but did not speak once again.

I must not be jealous of a dead woman, Hermione had told herself all over all evening and yet here she was, feeling both jealous and nervous in front of a painting.

“Good evening, Astoria.”

“Hello, Hermione. What brings you here?”

Astoria’s tone was levelled and Hermione was even more jealous that the woman in front of her seemed so capable of perfect containment when necessary. During her time in office, she had frequently been criticised for being too emotional. (Too emotional – hah. Hermione usually had gotten angry, linking this label to her femininity and lecturing an overwhelmed Ron about the relationship between emotions and gender. He had trouble understanding. Draco had been with her from the first second – he was now avidly reading de Beauvoir).

“I uhm–“, Hermione began, scolding herself for thinking about jealousy when walking to the portrait instead of coming up with a sensitive question.

“Do you want to know how to please Draco best? I have a few–“

“What? No!”

Hermione had been shouting and now listened carefully for Draco down the hallway, cursing herself mentally for being so clumsy. Nothing happened. Relieved, she looked back up at Astoria who now seemed rather amused.

“I … I’m sorry, this might come across as incredibly rude, but”, Hermione took a deep breath, “are you, by any chance, really unhappy that Draco is with me?”

Astoria’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“It’s just…”, again, Hermione had to breathe awkwardly before continuing, “I couldn’t help but notice that you were so lovely when we spoke with Draco, but every time I’m walking past you by myself, you seem … sulking?”

Hermione rolled her eyes inwardly at her own unelaborate phrasing. But before she could correct herself, Astoria had jumped up from her bench (did it look Ancient Greek?) and took a step towards Hermione.

“Hermione, what? I’m so sorry I came across this rude!”

What?

This was surely not what Hermione had expected.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry, truly. I should not have jumped to conclusions.”

Come again?

Hermione’s face must have mirrored her confusion because Astoria now awkwardly shuffled strands of long, dark, straight hair out of her face hectically.

“It’s just that –”

Astoria now seemed lost for words as she helplessly flapped her arms and looked around.

“You see”, she began cautiously, “I was never the biggest fan of flowers.”

Hermione’s eyes widened.

“Of course, they’re beautiful et cetera, but I had a ridiculous hay fever that could barely be treated with potions and my green thumb was non-existent. My relationship to flowers is rocky at best. You’re right, I’m sulking. I know Draco loved me dearly and he wanted the best for me, Scorpius, and himself after I passed. Of course, he wanted to have me portrayed as memorable as possible. But all this”, again, she helplessly moved her arms and Hermione now realised that she meant all four versions of herself, all the flowery beauty, the references to goddesses and eternal beauty and wisdom, “that is not the essence of who I was.”

Hermione had felt foolish already, but Astoria’s final statement was too much. “I’m a family person. I would have pictured myself with them, I guess. And I love Draco. I always will and this is why I will never complain to him. When he told me you were with him now, I was unbelievably happy for him. You do him justice, Hermione. You understand him – maybe even better than I ever did. And I let my guard down because I felt this was possible around you. You seemed to be the person I could trust with my exasperation. I just never mentioned it to you, which was very stupid on my part.”

Astoria now shook her head. Hermione was stunned.

“Flower girl, can you believe it?”

Astoria’s bone-dry tone drove Hermione over the edge. She started giggling. Astoria’s initial silence turned into a hearty laugh after a few moments as well and – to Hermione’s surprise and delight – Astoria let out tiny snorts.

“In all honesty though”, Hermione said when they had calmed down, holding her ribs from laughter. “I do see it. The melodrama and all.”

They kept laughing.

“Feel free to sulk”, Hermione added after a few seconds, luring a few snorts from Astoria.

Draco rolled his eyes and closed the door to his bedroom, going back to bed before Hermione realised his feet were cold when she eventually came back. He should have known these two women were a lethal combination.

*

Authors notes:

Hi again!

This one was a lot of fun to write, despite containing very little Draco. It’s been a headcanon of mine for a while that he would glorify Astoria after her death (in a universe where their marriage took place and all, that is) and that Astoria herself would feel some kind of way about it, bonding over it with Hermione. Hope you guys enjoyed it!

Also, the initial premise of this blog was once that I would also happilypublish drabbles written by other authors and that I would take prompts. Just so you know. :)

Finally: HELLO to all my new followers! This almost vacant account (revived after six years!) grew by ca. 25% after only one post last week (and this post also became the most successful one to date). Thank you all so much and what a pleasure to have you. I also have a multifandom-blog where I usually am which you can find under @ahoidraco if you’re interested. 

He didn’t respond. Hermione rang the bell. Malfoy’s fiddling increased before he fell completely still, and Hermione saw him straightening from the corner of her eye. It took some effort on her side to not scoff at his ridiculous behaviour. He was meeting his estranged aunt – appearing all arrogant and stiff was not going to help. And yet, she had learned to recognise this as his coping mechanism when things got uncomfortable. It was just the worst coping mechanism imaginable if one had good intentions.

Andromeda took ridiculously long to open the door and once it finally happened Hermione had to laugh. Little Teddy was standing there, looking up expectantly. His face fell when he saw Hermione and he turned around. “Granny, just Auntie Mione!”

Hermione wasn’t sure how to respond when she heard Andromeda’s laughter from somewhere in the flat. “Well yes, little one. I said your visitor was coming with Aunt Hermione, didn’t I?”

Teddy looked back at Hermione who in turn now looked at Draco expectantly. She hadn’t realised he had gone into hiding behind her. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to speak anytime soon, Hermione turned back to Teddy.

“Hi Teddy! Are you going to let us in?”

The toddler didn’t respond or move. Hermione sighed and picked him up.

“Ted, we’ll have to go over your manners again. Letting guests wait at the door is not polite”, she joked, expecting Teddy to squirm in her arms as he usually did when being picked up against his will. But he didn’t. When she looked at him, she saw him drooling on her shoulder while staring at Malfoy. A look behind her told Hermione that Malfoy was equally shell-shocked – he eyed the toddler and didn’t follow as Hermione entered the hallway.

Andromeda came out of the kitchen with a tray of biscuits in her hands. “Hermione! It’s good to see you. And…”

She trailed off when she saw Malfoy who was still firmly rooted outside. Andromeda smiled faintly. “You know, Draco, everyone always says you’re the spitting image of your father and here you are, reminding me so much of Cissy when she was young. Do come in!”

Hermione turned to look at Malfoy who finally came out of his stupor. He entered but seemed to be very uncomfortable despite his aunt’s welcoming words. It took him some seconds and a very intent focus on his shoes as he took them off until he acknowledged Andromeda.

“Aunt Andromeda. It’s my pleasure to meet you.”

Andromeda seemed unsure how to react now as well. Hermione suddenly felt like an intruder, the moment being quite intimate. Now that she eyed the two, it occurred to her that not only had Andromeda been without her family for decades – Draco also barely had any close relatives and even less that were still alive.

Teddy, however, picked this very moment to start wiggling and complaining noisily. Andromeda eyed him briefly and then turned to Malfoy. “I told him you were coming and he got very excited. I guess he assumed you were a bit younger when I explained you were my nephew, though.”

Malfoy’s lips slowly curled upward. “Sorry to disappoint, then. Hello, Teddy, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Play?”

Hermione had to laugh then. Malfoy’s lips curled further upward. “Sure, I’ll play with you. You’ll have to show me all the toys you have to offer so we can pick the best one.”

His reply surprised Hermione, and, by the looks of it, Andromeda as well. The older witch raised her eyebrows as Teddy hopped out of Hermione’s arms and grabbed Draco’s hand, pulling him towards his room. Draco excused himself as he followed, leaving Hermione and Andromeda in the hallway.

*

The week after, Hermione picked Teddy up at Andromeda’s and they met Malfoy at Teddy’s favourite playground.  

“Slide?”

Hermione was about to comply when Teddy let go of her hand and grabbed Malfoy’s instead, dragging him to the slide as effectively as a toddler could, his hair changing colours out of excitement. Malfoy seemed confused but followed, leaving Hermione a little lonely and lost in thoughts. It had never occurred to her that Malfoy could have been missing extended family up to the point where he went to a muggle playground of all things with his nephew. Yet, when she saw him with Teddy, she felt stupid for not considering it. Hermione watched Malfoy watching Teddy sliding and had to grin when he vehemently refused to slide himself. Teddy huffed and seemed to look for something, his eyes finally falling on her. “Mione, slide?”

“Slide, please. Or better yet, ‘Hermione, can we go on the slide together, please’”, she retorted, but walked towards them nonetheless.

“Please”, Teddy said, still struggling with the pronunciation of the word. Hermione quickly looked around to find that no muggles were close and levitated a giggling Teddy up the slide. She followed him up on the ladder and grabbed a still hovering Teddy into her lap. Another quick look around and she extended the slide before she pushed herself and the toddler down. Those small gurgles from his mouth were exactly why Hermione made sure all Saturdays were off and never hungover. She had to laugh herself as Teddy squeaked.

“Again!”

So they went again, Hermione being so immersed in playtime that she hardly noticed Malfoy’s gaze on them. After the fourth time down the slide Teddy trotted onwards and dove straight into the sandpit, where Hermione made sure he was surrounded by sandy animals and buildings that rebuilt once his chubby hands hit them.

“You’re really good with him, Granger.”

Hermione had been so focused on the sand elephants around Teddy, she had completely forgotten their new companion. As she turned around to face Malfoy, she found him a bit closer than usual.

“Harry and Teddy get along even better”, she replied. “But his auror training is quite demanding and he has to study on weekends until his exams next month, so I’m trying to fill in as much as I can.”

Malfoy chose not to comment on Harry. They fell silent again until Hermione changed Teddy’s sand friends into little ferrets to the boy’s delight. She heard Draco exhale sharply and turned to face him again, grinning. “Never gets old.”

“I’d say it does, witch.”

“I am just that, thank you very much.”

Draco’s mouth was open when Teddy squealed “Squirrels!”, his pronunciation going places this time, and Hermione had to laugh. “No, Teddy, they’re ferrets. Ferrets! See? They’re seem to look a bit weird, but they’re actually quite fun to play with.”

Teddy didn’t argue with her logic, having the ferrets running around him. Again, Hermione turned and found Malfoy’s hand on his forehead.

“Granger, you’re insufferable”, he murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

“You chose to come with me again this week.”

“Yes, for this fine young man here.”

“Of course. Any I’m glad you did.”

Falling awkwardly silent now, Hermione and Malfoy both looked at the ‘fine young man’ with his face full of sand and his hair all blue. He returned their gaze and suddenly stopped reaching for sand.

“Draco and Mione married?”

“What? Teddy, of course we’re not married! Why would you think that? We’re actually just colleagues and you’re relatives so it made sense to introduce you two and I’m glad you’re getting along so nicely! We’re further from being married that you could possibly imagine!”

Malfoy snorted.

The sound yanked Hermione out of her babbling and one look on Teddy’s blank face made her realise that she had just given a toddler the ‘just colleagues’ speech. She hid her face in her hands and groaned.

“Just colleagues, yes?”

“Of course, Malfoy! What else would we be?”

He was driving her insane. Hermione looked at Malfoy through her fingers and found he was still smirking. Some things would never change. At least Teddy was back at crushing ferrets – Hermione really, desperately wanted to join in at this point.

“What else, Malfoy?”

“Oh, I don’t know”, he replied, now joining her in her squat next to the sandpit. Hermione could feel his presence just next to her even without looking, her face still in her hands.

“In any case, I got all the ingredients for the ragout you talked about for our dinner tomorrow. Hope you picked a film.”

Hermione groaned again as Malfoy smirked even wider. So he had caught the implications of this whole situation the whole time. Her hands surely were not large enough for her to cover up every last inch of her burning hot face.

*

“In any case”, Malfoy said as they reached their apparation spot after dropping off Teddy for the week, “I can now see why you’re so invested in the Early Education Act.”

“You can? That’s brilliant! You see, I just think children need a social net that exceeds their biological families. It’s not about questioning all the traditions of early wizard education from home and I really don’t understand why Fawley keeps coming back to this argument, Malfoy. It’s just that this viewpoint remains elitist and I just find it completely unacceptable how such structural disadvantage remains embedded in wizarding law and not to mention what it is like for single parents and mothers in particular, so also from a feminist vantage point, I –”

“I get it, Granger, we’ve been over this at least twice this month”, Malfoy replied, smirking. “And I agree, as I did last time. I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner? Bring a film.”

Hermione nodded. Very obviously satisfied, Draco moved one hand to her chin. “By the way, I meant it. You’re impressive with my nephew.”

Hermione blushed again. This while situation now seemed a lot more intimate than it had before.

“And I haven’t really decided if you look ridiculous or very beautiful when you’re flushed. Will let you know tomorrow.”

Hermione had to close her eyes. She thus only heard Draco’s small laughter and jumped a little when she felt his lips on hers.

By the time she opened her eyes again, he had disapparated.

---

Author’s notes