Chapter Text
It was Saturday afternoon and Draco was sitting at Hermione’s kitchen island, sipping an Earl Grey and watching his two closest female friends interact. A year ago, it would have been a surreal sight but as he watched Pansy hold out her Muggle mobile phone to Hermione, he simply sipped his tea and waited for the judgment.
“Eh.” Hermione sounded unimpressed.
Not that one then.
“Hmm I agree.” Pansy took her phone back, swiping right to go back and then scrolling up.
They were trying to find a rental house for their upcoming friends trip, something they’d decided rather spontaneously during their last gathering and then had handed off to the two most particular of their group to plan.
“Oh this one is stunning.” Pansy’s thumb swiped rapidly, presumably looking through the photo gallery. “Ugh, but of course it only has four bedrooms, and all queen beds.”
“Well there are eight of us, so the math works fine. We can just double up,” said Hermione, going over to stand beside Pansy to look over her shoulder when she hadn’t been presented the phone. Pansy, instantly annoyed by the hovering, passed her phone to Hermione.
“It’s not as easy as just division,” she said, leaning against the counter. “Harry and Theo will share, obviously, but then we run into issues. I refuse to share with a boy, so it’ll be Ginny or you in with me and then the other four are stuck. And I don’t expect the Weasley siblings would be willing to share.”
Hermione screwed up her nose. “Not unless you want to hear screaming all night.”
Draco choked on his tea and Pansy said, “Excuse me!?” rather shrilly.
“Oh my god, obviously I didn’t mean it like that,” Hermione shuddered theatrically. “I meant that they’re both absolutely horrendous blanket hogs. They’d be fighting all night. Get your heads out of the gutter.”
Draco disliked the subtle reminder that Hermione had shared a bed with both Weasleys at various points in her life — one a bit less platonically than the other.
“Alright,” said Pansy. “Then we’re still stuck. How do we divide three rooms between three girls and three boys?”
“You share with Ginny. Blaise shares with Ron. And then Draco and I can share,” said Hermione easily, scrolling through the phone at the rest of the property images.
Pansy’s attention snapped to Draco so fast, he almost jolted at the impact of it.
“Oh?” She said with pointed interest.
Draco shook his head minutely at her and her brows shot up. She turned back to Hermione. “Why you and Draco, Hermione?”
“Well it’s such a lovely house, it’d be a shame to pass it up just because of sleeping arrangements.” She glanced up, perhaps sensing the underlying emphasis in Pansy’s question, and met his eyes. “You don’t mind, do you Draco? Or I could share with Ron if you’d rather be with Blaise?”
“Don’t mind a bit.” He sipped his tea, the picture of nonchalance.
Hermione nodded, eyes back on Pansy. “There you go. Sorted. Now, let’s book this before it gets swooped up.”
For her part, Pansy simply went with it, holding her hand out for her phone and then beginning to tap through the app to secure their reservation.
But when she swiped to the next page and waited for it to load, her eyes met his and he knew that she was simply biding her time until she had him alone.
They left Hermione’s a few hours later after another round of teas and a slice each of the apple pie she’d baked that morning. Befriending Hermione had benefited him in a myriad of ways but her skill with patisserie was one of the most delicious.
He had an unquellable sweet tooth and she was conscious of her sugar consumption, the threat of dental decay drilled into her by her parents to a degree that she couldn’t overcome. So, she got to enjoy baking without the guilt of it spoiling before she slowly consumed it, and he got to enjoy homemade treats on the regular.
That she was also delightful company, witty and wise and clever, was just an added bonus.
Pansy seemed equally taken with the curly-haired witch, though it had taken a few attempts at reconciliation to get there. Hermione was fiercely loyal and rather stubborn, and though Pansy was aggressive and outspoken, she was also cunning and a realist.
So, at Draco’s insistence and after a glass of wine, she had apologized for the antagonistic behavior of her school years, which Hermione had accepted with grace. And after the ice had cracked, it had swiftly melted and the two were now a force to be reckoned with. Not that Pansy needed any help with that.
“So,” she said crisply as soon as they were alone on the street. “Shall I interrogate you right here or do you want to come round to mine?”
Draco had long given up resisting, especially now that he’d selected for himself another strong female friend, so just held out his arm for Pansy to take.
“Yours is fine.”
She curled her hand around his elbow and Disapparated them to her flat. She shrugged off her coat upon arrival and went straight to the wine fridge. Draco hung his own jacket and got down two glasses, placing them upright on the counter where Pansy was uncorking a bottle of red with her wand.
She poured them each a measure and then propped her hip against the counter, taking a sip.
Draco snorted, picking up his own glass. “You’re not even going to ask a question? I’m just supposed to guess what you want to pester me about?”
She arched a slender eyebrow. “Claiming ignorance?”
“Exerting what little self-preservation I have left,” he countered with a smirk.
She laughed. “Fine. You and Hermione.”
He waited. “I’m not hearing a question.”
“Well, that alone is very telling. There’s nothing to question about it, hm? It’s self evident?”
“Nice try.”
She flicked her hair, the only sign that he’d finally won. Although in this case, his victory was also his loss. She fixed him with a frank expression.
“Alright, Draco. You and Hermione — sharing beds now, are you?”
He sipped his wine, swirled the glass. “Apparently.”
“Gods you’re aggravating.” She breathed in deeply through her nose. “Stop being a Slytherin for five fucking seconds and just answer me plainly. Are you into her?”
What a question.
It was the very one that had been swirling through his mind ever since Hermione had first hugged him, a proper, tight thing that had left him breathless both because of the ferocity of it and what it could’ve meant. But she’d been so nonchalant about it afterward and he’d soon learned that was just how she was. She was generous with her physical contact, and with more than just him.
He hadn’t had much personal experience with physical affection so it had taken a minute for him to acclimate. But once he had, he found he actually rather liked it. Particularly from her, of course, but not exclusively. He returned Theo’s hugs with a touch more enjoyment now, and hadn’t felt an immediate urge to shrug off Ron’s arm the first time he’d slung it over his shoulder in a moment of camaraderie in the pub.
But Pansy knew him best.
He’d have to have been extremely naïve to think she’d miss the subtly different way he touched Hermione over everyone else.
“This is not to be disclosed,” he warned her and she flicked a dismissive hand.
“Of course not. I’m an excellent secret keeper.”
He hesitated for breath then capitulated. “I’m into her.”
For her part, Pansy accepted this revelation with minimal fanfare. “And she you?”
“I…don’t know.”
“You haven’t discussed it?”
“No.” Salazar no.
“Never…attempted anything?”
He frowned. “How do you mean?”
“Well, is this a friends with benefits situation? And you’ve just gotten attached?”
He scoffed. “No. It's not sexual.”
She nodded. “But you’d like it to be.”
He sighed. “I’d like it to be everything.”
Pansy’s mouth twitched in a rare show of emotion, quickly washed away by a sip of wine. “Why, Draco. I do believe you’re a closet romantic.”
He didn’t have a response to that beyond a wry smile and a hearty swallow from his own glass. Pansy observed him silently for several painful seconds.
“What do you intend to do about it?” She finally asked, expression unreadable.
“My current plan is to be her friend the best I know how and hope that if she’s interested, she lets me know.”
Pansy absorbed this, and then barked a laugh. “You’re going to rely on her Gryffindor traits? That she’ll be the brave one? What if it takes her a decade to figure it out?”
“I’m not in a rush,” he said coolly. “I’m content to wait as long as she needs.”
“Salazar.” Pansy was wide-eyed. “You don’t just like her, do you?”
“No.” There was no point in denying it.
“So it’s…?”
“It is.”
Pansy reached for the bottle and topped up his glass and then her own. He raised his to her in a facsimile of a toast though neither of them had offered one. She tilted hers ever so slightly toward him in reply, looking rather grim.
He didn’t take it personally.
He knew her grip on the concept of love was as tremulous as his own. Neither of them had many positive role models for how a loving relationship was supposed to be. Certainly he knew his parents cared for one another but the war had driven a wedge between them, with him as the nexus. His father had endangered their family and Draco’s life specifically, and his mother hadn’t found it in herself to completely forgive that breach in trust.
And he wasn’t sure Pansy’s parents even had that.
But while his expectations were practically on the floor, he hadn’t quite managed to snuff out the little Hermione-shaped kernel of hope within his chest.