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Hermione burst through the Floo flames, irritated and jumpy. Work had been horrid for reasons she couldn’t even begin to get into, lest she die of heart palpitations. The only thing that had been getting her through the day, and this was something she was loath to admit, was her plans with Malfoy. Well she wasn’t sure they could even really be classified as plans, in the traditional sense at least. She was going to see Malfoy and he was going to fuck her with his tongue and then his cock so thoroughly that she would forget that she even had a job, let alone how shit the one she had was.
God, even the anticipation of it had her rubbing her thighs together.
With every intention of pouncing on him as soon as the flames cleared, she froze just outside the hearth when she first laid eyes on him standing in the middle of the room. He looked nervous, which in turn made Hermione’s stomach drop.
“What’s wrong?” she asked carefully.
“I’ve been accepted as a potions apprentice under Marceau de Montmorency.”
Hermione’s mouth hung open at what was just about the last thing she had expected him to say. Marceau de Montmorency was the grandson of Laverne de Montmorency, a famous witch potioneer who had been known for love potions. The family was well-renowned in the potions industry, but were notorious for being incredibly discerning when it came to taking on apprentices. The fact that Draco had been chosen to learn from him was incredible, unheard of!
“Oh, my God! That’s amazing!” Without thinking about it, she ran up to him and wrapped him in a tight hug. “I didn’t even know you were interested in pursuing a potions mastery, let alone that you were applying anywhere.”
If she had stopped to think for a moment, she might have realised that while she was someone that frequently hugged her friends, it wasn’t something she and Malfoy had ever done. She wasn’t sure if they were even really friends, rather just two people who fit together physically really, really well. To his credit, although he stiffened, he did not push her away.
“This is huge! I’m so proud of you!” His arms, that had been resting ever so lightly around her, like he wasn’t quite sure if he should hug her back, tightened around her for a moment. She squeezed him once more then pulled back to look at his face. “We should— you need to do something! You need to celebrate, are you doing anything with your friends?”
His face flushed lightly as his fingers fiddled absentmindedly with the hem of her shirt where his hands now lay loosely on her hips. “You’re the only person I’ve told," he mumbled. "No one else knows.”
He had chosen to tell her first? The confession did something to her that had her feeling strangely giddy, though she was sure she shouldn’t read too much into it. He had probably just received the owl right before she arrived, so he didn’t have time to contact anyone else. Still, it made her feel…special. He didn’t have to tell her at all, but he did.
A wicked smile grew on her face while her fingers inched towards the front of his trousers. “Then you and I will have to celebrate.”
Hermione sunk down to her knees and congratulated him properly.
“Those French girls will be falling all over themselves for you.”
Hermione stood in front of the bookcase in Draco's bedroom, running her fingers lightly over the spines. He was beginning preparations for the move to France and while the elves would do the majority of the work, he insisted on personally handling some of his more precious items.
“I have no interest in French girls,” he replied distractedly, his voice muffled as he flipped through the various dress robes he had hanging in his dressing room.
“Bit close-minded of you, don't you think?” she sighed. “Well, I'm sure there are plenty of expats as well."
His voice grew louder as he carried a few dress robes back into the main part of his room and laid them on the bed, “Green’s such a pretty colour on you, Granger.”
She wasn’t jealous.
“Get over yourself, Malfoy. I’m just stating facts. Besides, you act as if your mother isn’t going to set you up with some recent Beauxbatons grad as soon as you step foot in the country.”
She wasn’t sure what was causing her to pick this fight right now, nor what she was hoping the outcome would be, she must have just been in the mood to bicker. Since he told her about the apprenticeship a month ago, things had been so…something between the two of them. Calm, maybe?
Perfect.
But that peace had come from ignoring the fact that he was leaving. She felt like he was enjoying this time with her, only to disappear without a second look back. It made her feel icky. Used and discarded.
“I’m going to France to study, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“You’ll have to take breaks at some point.”
She hadn’t realised it was possible for a person to scoff so loudly. “Wining and dining some vapid, French socialite is hardly my idea of a break.”
Hermione felt him come up behind her before he gently took the book she had been pretending to flip through and pushed it back onto its space on the shelf. His body was pressed up against hers until there was not a smidge of space between them.
Goose pimples rippled on her skin as his lips nuzzled against the shell of her ear. His breath tickled her when he spoke, “I much prefer bothering English swots.”
Draco was distracting her, she knew it. It was what he always did when he wanted her to forget whatever she was trying to argue about. Normally she would lean back and press her arse against his hips, or turn around and let him swallow the words that had been trapped on her tongue. But today she tilted her head a little to allow his mouth to explore her neck and melted back into his embrace. Not escalating his advances, but not pushing him away, either.
She couldn’t forget about the conversation this time, it might be her last chance to have it.
Mouth having gone dry, she had to swallow before she whispered, “Will you write?”
“Daily.”
“Don’t lie, Draco."
His arms tightened around her and lips softly dragged up and down her skin.
“I will. I swear it.”
“Will you visit?”
“Whenever I can.”
He even sounded sincere, she was impressed.
“…Will you miss me?”
She had hesitated before she spoke, he did not.
“Every second of every day.”
They were sweet words, empty promises. The kind wizards told witches to keep them mollified and happy. She didn’t believe him.
He was always saying nice things like that just to rile her up, verbal foreplay. If she had looked into his eyes, she would have been met with a benign indifference. They didn’t mean anything to each other. That’s not what this was. She was just a convenient shag.
They were just words.
But she pretended he meant every single one.
The distant sound of Floo flames and the rushed patter of feet down his hall had roused him gently from sleep, but he did not worry. There was only one person who had the ability to enter his flat as she pleased, though she had never exercised that right before. His eyes remained closed until the bed dipped beside him, but the sight he was greeted with had his heart racing and his brow furrowing.
“Hermione, what is it?” Draco rasped, voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
Her hair was wild as if she, too, had just woken, jumping from her bed into his. Her eyes were red and glassy, the surrounding skin tight and wet.
She whimpered, her voice breaking on each word, “I had a nightmare.”
Draco’s heart broke as he reached out to tuck a damp strand of hair away from where it had been stuck to her forehead.
“Are you all right?”
Her head shook tightly.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.
Another small shake in response.
“Tell me what you need.”
He watched her eyes dart between his, like she was looking for the answer to her request before she had asked it. He hated how her shoulders rounded and her chest pulled in, how nervous she looked.
Did she not realise he would give her anything she wanted?
“Can I sleep with you?”
He almost laughed at the simplicity of the request, and at how unbelievably eager he was to fulfill it – it was one of his favourite things to do after all – but instead he smiled and pressed a light, chaste kiss against her lips.
“Of course.” Draco wrapped his hand around the back of her head and pulled her towards him, situating her beneath his raised chin, tucking her in tightly against him. His arms snaked around her and he covered her with his body, shielding her.
“Go back to sleep, darling," he murmured. "I’ll keep all the demons away.”
There were a few sniffles as she burrowed her face against his chest. He watched over her, stroking her hair, rubbing her back and kissing her forehead as she clung to him until her breathing evened out and her hold on him loosened and she slept.
A few hours later, as daylight began to creep in, Draco felt the bed shift before he opened his eyes. There was something about the way she was moving, too careful in an attempt not to wake him up, that made him sure she was trying to leave.
He felt her body jerk against his leg as she startled when he murmured, “Come back to bed, Granger.”
“I should go,” she whispered and he opened his eyes to see her swing her legs over the edge of his bed. “You have to get ready for today.”
“Try not to sound too excited,” he teased.
Her reaction to his move had gotten continuously worse as his departure grew closer and it had not gone unnoticed by him.
“No, I’m happy for you.”
It was the saddest, most pitiful excuse of a lie he had ever heard.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I am! I swear it! And I’m so proud of you.” His heart warmed and swelled in his chest. There was something so sacred about being on the receiving end of her praise. Though the feeling was dampened when she whispered, chin tucked to her chest, “But, why do you have to go so far away?”
“France really isn’t that far,” Draco reminded her.
“You can’t even take the Floo, you need a Portkey!”
“So? I could take a Portkey back to England every night if I wanted.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She wasn’t completely wrong. “And wasteful.” Debatable. “And that much Portkey travel can’t be good for you.” Maybe. “Besides, you need to focus on your studies."
“Fine,” he sighed and rolled his eyes, pushing up to lean on his side propped up on his elbow, “then not every day. But often.”
That should have been enough to placate her, he thought. He was sincere about wanting to come visit her, it had always been his plan.
“I don’t want you to meet the French socialites.”
What the fuck?
“I already told you—”
“I don’t want you to sleep with other people anymore. I realise my timing is shit and it’s not exactly reasonable to ask for exclusivity right before you move countries but—”
“What on earth are you going on about?” he groaned, flopping onto his back as he ran his hands down his face. It was too early in the morning for this.
Hermione nibbled on her lip and took a deep breath, steadying herself before she continued, “Or I guess if you do still want to sleep with other witches then, well…then we have to end things between us.”
She wanted to end things? He had been spending pretty much the entire time from acceptance of his apprenticeship until now trying to figure out how to keep things going while she had been contemplating ending things?
Then his brain snagged on something she said.
“You’ve been sleeping with other people?”
“No! But… well…we never said we were exclusive…and I see the way all those other women look at you and flirt with you. And we're not dating, so I’m not so naive as to assume you were only shagging me— what are you doing?"
After heaving an internal sigh of relief, Draco had wrapped his arms around Hermione’s waist and yanked her back down so she was once again lying with him in the bed.
“Go back to sleep, Granger,” he mumbled, eyes already closed again. “It’s too early for your nonsense.”
She sputtered and fought against his hold, but he only held tighter. “My— my nonsense? How dare you! I’m trying to—”
He opened his eyes again and looked at her, her face barely an inch from his. “Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time? That I’ve been shagging other witches?”
She only shrugged her shoulders and his heart broke a little. He would have to prove himself with a language he knew she spoke: logic.
“How many times did we meet last week?”
“I-I’m not sure exactly…”
“Five. Out of seven days. You know what I did those two days? Rested! Rehydrated! Have you met you? You’re ravenous, Granger! Gluttonous, really. Do you think I inject Pepper-up into my veins? Where would I find the time, or the energy, to meet other witches?”
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, clearly offended, but he didn't allow her to speak. Not until he made sure she understood how serious he was.
“There’s no one else. There has never been anyone else, ever since that first night at the Ministry Gala. Are you kidding me? Why would I want anyone else but you?”
He could see her trying to work everything out, frustrated with her inability to reconcile what she had believed to be the truth with what he had just told her. Hermione asked exasperated, “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
That was a good question. Why hadn't he said anything? He never in a million years thought she would be worried he had turned his attention elsewhere. How could he, when she was always on his mind?
“I was happy with whatever you were willing to give me. You never brought it up, so neither did I. And I've never really been interested in dating multiple women at once. It didn't occur to me you might think otherwise.”
“Oh…”
“And I didn’t feel comfortable asking you to wait for me while I did my potions mastery. It didn’t seem right.” Draco reached up and dragged the tip of his finger down the bridge of her nose, then traced it across her brows and down the sides of her face.
“But I don’t want anyone else but you, either,” she confessed.
It was the most beautiful sentence she’d ever uttered to him, but he was worried she didn’t know what it actually meant.
“Two years is a long time. I don’t want you to agree to something you’re going to regret.”
“I won’t. I’m not. I want this." He watched her inflate with certainty, her chin held high. "I don’t want us to see other people. France isn’t so far away…and there’s always Portkeys.”
A laugh slipped out. “Now you agree with me?”
“But I’ll go to you! I want you focused on your studies.”
“Ever the swot. Now that’s settled, can we go back to sleep?” he asked, already closing his eyes again.
Hermione, it seemed, had other ideas. She hooked her leg over his hip and pressed her lips beneath his jaw.
“Or we could celebrate the start of our new relationship.”
“New relation- we’ve been together for 6 months!” He couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh, earning him a sharp glare from his witch. “It’s not my fault you were slow on the uptake." He leaned over and nipped the tip of her nose. "I thought you were supposed to be clever."
“You arse! Learn to communicate better!” she grumbled.
The big, beaming smile on his face couldn't be contained as he swiftly rolled on top of her and nestled between her legs. “Yes, Hermione.”
They had spent a few beautiful hours together before Hermione finally peeled herself away from him, insisting he had to finish packing and that she had something she needed to take care of at her flat, assuring him she would meet him at the Portkey Office to see him off.
Of course she’d accidentally spent too long picking out the perfect outfit and applying her makeup. Then the Floo network had been undergoing maintenance which caused a delay in getting back to the Portkey Office. She’d pushed through more than a couple of disgruntled travelers and burst into room 3, where Draco was scheduled to depart from, but was met with an empty room.
Her heart sank while she watched the magical time banner in the back of the room tick past his scheduled departure. Fifteen seconds – that was how long she had missed him by. She never should have changed clothes. He wouldn’t have cared if she showed up in the pyjamas she was wearing when she left him that morning—
“You know, they made me pay a hefty fine for missing my Portkey. It was daylight robbery to get it delayed by five minutes.”
Hermione whipped around at the sound of his voice.
“I’m sorry,” she replied as a giant, relieved smile stretched across her face.
“Are you?” he asked skeptically. “You don’t look it.”
“I thought you left.”
Draco wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close so he could rest his forehead against hers. “Without seeing you? Never.”
“I have something for you,” she said quietly, suddenly feeling self conscious about the lumpy gift nestled in her arms. “Maybe you could consider it like a housewarming present for your new flat. I made it. I taught myself how to weave spells into it. So it’s extra warm and it’s weighted…So I thought it would be…good. I thought maybe— you don’t have to use it, obviously. It’s nothing, it’s just…for fun.”
She thrust it into his hands, face bright red as she debated running away before she could see his reaction.
Draco opened up the bag slowly and pulled out the blanket she had spent months knitting, running his fingers across it and turning it over and around.
“You made this?” he asked quietly.
“I know it’s not very good. I just…I like to knit. I used to do it with my mum when I was younger and erm…it was…”
“No one's ever made anything for me before,” he interrupted, voice tinged with awe. "I love it."
“You do?”
He kissed her then, pulling her tight against his body as one arm banded around her waist, pressing the blanket in his hand against her back as the other hand grasped at the back of her head, and she sighed into it allowing herself to melt against him.
She knew he was going to be so brilliant in France.
She didn’t want him to go.
Her attention caught once again on the banner over his shoulder as she hugged him, watching the seconds tick higher, closer to his new departure time.
Draco took the old whistle off the table to his right and held it tight as she stepped out of his arms, eyes still trained on the numbers.
Ten seconds left.
She pulled him in for one more quick peck and flashed him the brightest smile she could muster amidst the torrent of feelings running through her.
Pride in all he was about to achieve. Selfish devastation that he was leaving and would no longer just be a Floo trip away. Nervousness tangled with excitement at what the future could hold for them. And an emotion that she had refused to examine too closely, or perhaps had been afraid to put a name to. One that had been slowly blossoming longer than she cared to admit, but that was now coursing through her with a screaming certainty.
Three seconds left. Three words.
Something that was probably ridiculous to feel, let alone actually tell him, but the realisation had hit her with such a stunning clarity that morning that she felt it would be doing both of them a disservice to hold it in any longer.
She said it softly, strongly, sincerely, “I love you.”
Hermione held her breath, expecting him to be snatched out of existence, but he just…stared at her. Eyes once again darting to the clock, she panicked. She had timed it perfectly, his new Portkey should have left at 3:05 on the dot, but the seconds kept flashing further and further away from that time.
Even more horrifying, Draco didn’t acknowledge what she had said. He glanced back at the banner, then to her and rolled the whistle over in his hands.
“What are your plans for today?”
Her breath left her in a whoosh, not sure whether to feel disappointed or grateful that he was ignoring her untimely confession. As for plans? Scarfing down a tub of Carte D’Or while crying in her pyjamas.
As embarrassing as it was, she told him a version of that truth, “Nothing, really, just staying home—”
“Here can you hold this for me?” he interrupted her, shoving the whistle into her hand, though his finger remained looped in the ring at the end.
“O-oh, erm, ok,” she stuttered, not sure exactly what was going on but then her head jerked up and she gasped. “Wait—”
The feeling of a hook curled around her waist jerked her through time and space while she clutched the whistle, worried she’d lose her grip. The trip was quick, but dizzying since she hadn’t been prepared for it. Expecting to get her bearings as soon as their feet touched the ground, instead Draco smashed her against him as tightly as he could and Disapparated them from the French Portkey Office.
They landed in a heap on the floor of what was likely his flat in Baugé. Hermione threw herself from his arms and promptly vomited all over the luxurious, oak parquet floors.
“Oh my God, what the fuck, Draco! I think I’m dying,” she choked out between heaves. “I’ve been internally Splinched, I’m sure of it!”
Hermione somehow managed to calm down enough to notice her vomit was luckily not black, which meant she probably wasn’t actually suffering from internal bleeding. Maybe the Splinching had occurred in her brain, if the way her head felt as if it’d cracked open was any indication.
“Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry,” he groaned, crawling across the floor in an attempt to reach her. The journey having clearly affected him as well.
He took out his wand and cast an Evanesco in the general direction of the pile of sick that surrounded her, but his cast had been sloppy and he missed, vanishing one of his trunks instead.
“Fuck,” he mumbled. His second Evanesco hit the mark. “Accio Dizzy Potion.”
The vial shot through the air and smacked him in the head.
Clutching his forehead, where a lump was already forming, he offered the Dizzy Potion to Hermione first. He only had the one so she took half and forced him to drink the rest, though he tried to reject it. She would rather they both had the edge taken off. They could pick up more potions after a rest.
“That was pretty cowardly,” he finally managed to speak as both of them still lay sprawled breathless on the floor, "to say something like that seconds before I was about to move to another country.”
“Yeah…I guess it was,” she reluctantly agreed. “I was afraid you might not feel the same way, but I wanted to tell you before you left.”
“This morning you thought I was sleeping with other witches.”
“It could be argued that I was particularly upset about that because of my feelings for you. The mind is the guest, the heart is the host – or whatever."
She couldn't say she'd necessarily been thinking straight, too blinded by her emotions.
“I wish we'd had this conversation earlier, instead of right before I left." Draco reached his hand out and linked his fingers with hers. "Will you say it again?”
She watched him for a moment, searching his face to see if he was trying to tease her. But, his expression was open and hopeful.
So once again she confessed, “I love you.”
And he eagerly replied, “I love you, too.”
Not even the gut-churning lightheaded-ness she was feeling could have tampered down her giddiness.
Draco leaned in, lips pursed but she laughed and shoved him back.
“I’ve just been sick!”
“I don’t care. But if you insist, I’ll cast a breath freshening charm.”
He lifted his wand but she smacked it out of his hand. She had just seen him mess up his last two spells, and didn’t feel like rolling the dice with her teeth. “Don’t point your wand at me!”
She giggled as he rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand instead.
“Don’t you have to start your mastery today?”
“Not until tomorrow morning, but it starts quite early so I wanted to get in the day before.”
“Flat’s a little small, don’t you think?” Hermione asked sarcastically, finally managing to roll her head around, looking at the frankly ridiculous flat they found themselves in.
“More places to shag you.”
He once again leaned in towards her, like he'd already forgotten why he shouldn't kiss her in the first place, but she placed her hand against his chest, holding him back.
“As much as I would like to prove my love to you right now, I’m not sure I can. Can we take a kip first?” Draco moved as if to get up, but she stopped him. “No, on the floor. I can’t move.”
“I’ll carry you,” he offered valliantly. Though he grabbed his head as soon as he sat up and instead lay back down next to her. “Never mind. The floor sounds good. Accio pillow.” A fluffy white pillow soared through the air and slammed against his face.
Hermione laughed as he put the pillow beneath her head and pulled the blanket she’d made him over both of them.
His lips rested against her forehead as he mumbled, “After we wake up I’m going to shag you silly.”
A couple snuggly minutes passed before she asked him hesitantly, “Did you mean it? Or did you just say it because I said it?”
Draco looked at her, brow furrowed, though his eyes were soft. “I wouldn’t do that."
"Are we completely mad?"
They must be, the two of them – them! Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy – dating! And a long distance relationship, at that. Were they setting themselves up for failure? Could they do this and come out of it stronger, or would it destroy them?
He spoke clearly, and with total confidence, "No." But he must have seen something in her face, because he added, "Why? Do you regret it already?"
"No! Of course not. I just don't want to mess this up..."
Draco smiled, holding her fingertips against his lips with one hand and caressing her cheek with the other. "You couldn't mess this up if you tried. I’m all yours, didn’t you notice? And you've agreed to be mine. You can't take it back now, I won't let you go."
"It sounds like you're holding me hostage, when you say it like that," Hermione quipped with a laugh.
His hand slid to the back of her head and he pulled her tighter against him, not exactly disproving her point, but also not bothering her in the slightest. She didn't want him to let go. "Not hostage, no, but I'll fight to keep you. You're worth fighting for."
He told her he loved her again and kissed her on the forehead. They took a kip and then he shagged her silly, just like he'd promised – though not before she brushed her teeth.
She wasn't sure exactly how they ended up here – it was all a bit unconventional, and perhaps a little messy, but it was beautiful and theirs. And as Hermione lay in Draco's arms, she found herself eager for what lay ahead.