Chapter 9
September 19, 2018
“Hi,” Hermione beamed, accepting Draco’s tight hug and kiss as she walked into his home.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” the man whispered into the kiss, refusing to let her go even though they were in his doorway. She couldn’t find it in herself to care about any of the implications of the wrong person walking by when his lips were on hers.
“Beep beep, this is a thoroughfare, please move!” Pansy said a moment later. Including the fact that Pansy was there; they were far past that at this point, what with the FaceTimes and Draco randomly popping over after he finished his long days.
Draco gave her a sharp look. “Your invitation can be revoked rather easily, Miss Parkinson.”
“As if Hermione would celebrate without me,” Pansy confidently retorted. “And you asked me to buy the wine, so… if I’m gone, you’re SOL.”
“She can stay,” Blaise shouted from somewhere further in the house.
“Did I mess up your nails?” Draco asked a moment later.
Hermione shook her head, smiling at his worry and wiggling her now maroon nails in his face. “They’re gel, you can’t mess them up.”
“Good,” Draco breathed.
“Thank you, by the way. That was far too kind,” Hermione replied before frowning. “Besides the whole getting me out of work part. How did you pull that anyways?”
Draco laughed, shaking his head at the memory. “That was all Pansy. She didn’t tell you?”
“She said it was your idea,” Hermione replied, eyes narrowing. “What did you two do?”
“I’ll let Pansy fill you in. I’m a congressman, sugar, I don’t take part in schemes of any kind. You know better than to think that.”
Pansy let out a cackle, walking further into the house where Luna had already joined Blaise on the couch.
“Let me set the scene... Draco invited James and Remus to our office for what he dubbed a ‘pre-election check-in meeting.’ Yours truly was seated at the front desk and Draco was, of course, unable to come out right away which gave me ample time to throw out a line. Like his son, your boss ate my shit right up. All it took was, ‘Oh! Hi sir, remember me? Pansy Parkinson?’ For his cheeks to turn bright red and his eyes to brighten with the hope of a man whose wife just wants adorable little grandchildren.”
“Then what?” Hermione prodded.
“Then I said… ‘Congressman, Mr. Lupin, pardon my impudence, but I was hoping to see if I could get Hermione off an hour early on her birthday tomorrow. She just works so hard, and I was hoping to celebrate with her! No worries if not… she’d never tell you it’s her birthday, anyways, sweet girl she is.’”
“You sound like an awful TV villain. And they know it’s my birthday; Penelope adds it to the calendar and we eat cake.”
“Point is, I succeeded. And you got out of cheapy factory-made sponge cake from Walmart. Now we’re here, having spent the afternoon getting our nails done while Theo manned the front desk.”
“Theo?” Luna asked, looking uncharacteristically concerned.
Pansy let out a laugh that echoed, smiling somewhat viciously down at her toenails that were now Barbie pink. Clearly, Pansy did not let the seasons dictate her color choices.
“We have no interns until next week, and our staff assistant is already back in the district for the campaign. Theo is the best option we had, which is a testament to the lack of rigor in Mr. M’s hiring processes.”
“Pansy!” Hermione and Luna admonished at the same time. They shared an approving look afterwards, making it clear that Hermione finally found an ally in Pansy-taming, or rather, as much as Pansy could be tamed.
Draco just shook his head, pulling Hermione closer to his side.
“Let the record show just how competent this one is to get away with making statements like this and not get the boot,” Blaise replied.
“It’s clear you all went through a lot to celebrate me today, so thank you,” Hermione smiled.
“We love you, Hermione,” Luna replied.
Hearing those words from someone she’d known less than a month would’ve been weird and off putting if it wasn’t Luna. The woman was lovely and had taken to texting Hermione random memes and articles like they’d known each other for years. Hermione honestly loved it; healthy, easy female friendships were a gift she’d rarely experienced.
“Dinner should be here soon,” Draco shared. “And no, I’m not telling you what it is.”
“I hate surprises,” Hermione huffed.
“And I am a master of secrets,” Draco replied in her ear, barely watching as Pansy picked up the remote and started fiddling with the buttons.
“That’s good for your job and general politicking, but I hate it when I’m involved.”
“That’s some rotten luck you have there, sugar,” Draco replied teasingly. “I picked well, I promise.”
“I’m sure you did, but this is already far too much.”
“You think I wasn’t going to celebrate you?” Draco asked, chin pressed against her shoulder and lips against her ear like their friends and his employees weren’t right there. Like it didn’t even matter if they were.
“I knew you were, I just wish I knew how.”
“You will soon, but my lips are sealed until dinner is here,” Draco replied.
Pansy had turned on season 1 of Schitt’s Creek after playfully harping at Blaise and Luna for being behind on the times.
Hermione was content to just play with Draco’s fingers while they watched, soaking in their limited time together before he headed back to North Carolina until after the election.
Draco hopped up when the doorbell rang, fiddling in his tight trousers for his wallet.
“Give me a minute to set up, I’ll call you when you can come in,” Draco instructed, but Luna took that as her cue to get up and follow him.
Pansy looked at Hermione knowingly after the newly 22-year-old could no longer follow the movements of Draco’s tight body. She had the decency to blush, getting a smirk in reply from Pansy. Thankfully Blaise was too wrapped up in the first episode of the Rose family’s misfortune to notice the blatant ogling of his boss’ body. But honestly… would he blame her?
“Come on in!” Luna’s voice called, echoing enough that Hermione knew she was in the kitchen.
“Happy birthday, Hermione.” Draco smiled, looking quite smug at her reaction to the ridiculously extravagant and overwhelming spread of food set across the counters.
“What is this?” she asked, eyes wide at the sheer volume of food.
“Lebanese Taverna Market in Arlington. The place you’d read about and wanted to visit, remember?” Draco said, guiding her over to what was clearly the start of their food line.
“Of course I remember! I’m just surprised that you do,” Hermione replied, a grin growing on her face.
“Of course he remembers,” Blaise snorted. “He’s cursed with ‘politician brain.’”
“What’s that even mean?” Hermione asked with a frown.
“It means that he can pull obscure details about random people out of his head in the nick of time, and that he knows enough about his enemies and colleagues to blackmail them if ever necessary. It’s a curse, honestly, remembering who got drunk and came onto you at last year’s arts festival or whose staffer spilt coffee all over a conference room table at a meeting,” Blaise explained.
“I thought that was just called a good memory.”
“No, Hermione, it’s so much more than a good memory,” Blaise insisted. “A good memory doesn’t give you the ability to smile as someone introduces themselves and as soon as they say their name, you remember that your staff assistant took a disturbing call from this very person because their goat died and they thought that the congressman should know. That is a politician brain.”
“That sounds singularly horrifying. Maybe you should try your hand at running for public office?” Hermione asked Blaise with a giggle, nudging Draco’s side. “But thank you, Draco. This is amazing.”
He pressed a kiss to her hair in reply, “Start with the dips and pita, then we have falafel, grape leaves, chicken shawarma, and lamb shawarma… oh, and a tabbouleh salad, because Pansy insisted on a well-rounded meal.”
“It smells so good, too.” Hermione sighed, piling up a plate with everything in front of her. “Did you whip out china for this, Draco?”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course I did. It’s a special occasion.”
“He’s not wrong,” Pansy agreed, gently stepping in front of her boss so that she would be second to grab food. The woman dropped all guise of professional respect once she’d stepped foot into a private space, and Draco was doing his best not to reprimand her. If only for Hermione’s sake, he thought. Otherwise… he’d have serious problems with the youngest Parkinson who was far more like her father than Draco knew she thought herself to be.
Dinner was just as delicious as Hermione had expected it would be when she found the restaurant and marketplace online a few weeks earlier.
Surprisingly, Draco looked to be enjoying the meal almost as much as she did, which pleased her immensely. The man never seemed too impressed by food, something she figured had to do with being raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and eating more fancy meals before middle school than most Americans would ever have in their life.
“We’ll go to the marketplace and pick up ingredients to make dinner for ourselves after the election. I saw online that they have meat spits right in the shopping center,” Draco said casually as he dipped pita into some bright white garlic spread.
Hermione smiled softly, before laughing. “Our breaths are going to be rancid.”
Draco smirked, leaning in to hold the pita up to her mouth. Her eyes flicked up to meet his as she accepted the bite.
“Hopefully I’m the only one you’ll be kissing tonight, then, sugar.”
After a quick glance to see if their friends were paying attention, which they weren’t, she sucked Draco’s garlic-covered thumb into her mouth in a moment of confidence. By the heated nature of his gaze, she figured that was answer enough.
Dessert ended up being a lovely peach cobbler made by Luna, with fruit that she promised was still perfectly juicy despite nearing the end of the season.
“Thank you all so much,” Hermione smiled as Blaise and Luna insisted on doing dishes. Pansy hadn’t even offered, not that anyone was surprised. “Today was perfect…”
“Open your gifts later and text me what you think, okay?” Luna asked.
“Oh! I can open them now,” Hermione replied, shocked to even hear that they’d bought her gifts.
“No no, you two enjoy your night,” Luna smiled, wiping her hands off on a towel. “Come visit soon, you hear?”
“Absolutely,” Hermione replied, not even feeling the need to look at Draco and see if he wanted her there. Was this the progression of a relationship? Yes… it was. “Thank you for coming up, Luna… you are amazing.”
“My pleasure,” Luna smiled, hugging Hermione and pulling back to pat her cheek in a way that weirdly did not feel patronizing. “Pansy, we’ll drop you off at home.”
“Hermione,” Blaise saluted. “Happy birthday, lil’ gal.”
“Thank you Blaise,” Hermione smiled back, grateful that there was no awkward attempt at a hug. They both knew their respective places in Draco’s life, and that’s all that mattered. No hugs were needed.
Pansy finally hopped up from the table and pulled Hermione into a hug. Her voice was quiet as she spoke, “Love you, sis. Text me if you need me.”
“Love you too, thanks Pans.” Hermione said back just as quietly.
Draco, ever the gentleman, waited until the door was locked and they could no longer hear their friends before picking her up in his arms and pressing a searing kiss to her lips.
This was a new move that Draco had first pulled before they left for her flight home from North Carolina… a hand on her bum, a hand in her hair, and her back against the wall. She was surprised she even made it on the plane.
Pansy, however terrifying her expansive sexual knowledge was to Hermione, had suggested Hermione wear a dress with a loose skirt on her birthday.
“It’ll give him access to what he’s been getting off thinking about,” Pansy had promised, rolling her eyes at Hermione’s own wide-eyed expression.
So Hermione did her best to go along with this plan, rolling her hips as much as one could with Draco’s strong hand on their bum.
“So pretty,” Draco murmured as he trailed hot kisses down her neck, like he couldn’t ever stop himself from telling her just how wonderful he thought she was.
It was a heady power to wield over a man like Draco, and for once, Hermione didn’t feel guilty over the prospect of subjecting someone to her will. Not when he made her just as weak. It was a potential path towards mutual destruction, but neither planned on pumping the brakes. And it was the first good birthday she’d had in years, really, so further thought and restraint could wait.
His dick was clearly hard through his expensive trousers, and Hermione felt a weird smugness at realizing not even expensive, bespoke pants could hide his arousal.
She could feel her panties getting soaked, in a way that not even the whipped cream incident had made them.
“I’ll take care of you,” Draco promised, lowering his hand that was in her hair ever so tentatively, so she knew exactly where it was going. She certainly did, and there was no way she’d stop him. Not when his palm was rubbing her panties, as if to confirm that this was real, that just a few kisses and a show of strength had her soaked. “Oh God, sweetheart, you’re so wet…”
Hermione let out a whimper, pushing her hips back against his lightly probing fingers. She’d always been a good student, and this was no different. She’d done the work; now it was time for Draco to do what he did best. Take confident action and solve problems.
His competence was sexy even with the most boring of topics, and she was more than ready to see how he applied himself when it came to her body. She was ready.
Draco shushed her as he started to walk, taking her into the living room and gently dropping her down on the couch. He was crouched over her on all fours, and she’d never expected that a show of male dominance could be so arousing.
“Is this okay?” Draco asked as he reached beneath her flowy dress once more. Hermione nodded immediately.
Draco’s large fingers hooked in her underwear, the nice ones that Pansy insisted on.
“I need you to tell me that this is okay, Hermione,” Draco replied, sounding far less desperate than she was.
“Yes… it’s okay. Take them off,” Hermione replied. Her chest was heaving. “Please.”
Draco smacked a kiss on her lips, clearly pleased as he dragged her underwear down.
It was a bit of an awkward move, and as much as one prepared themselves for the awkwardness of sex by reading and listening to friends, it didn’t take away the weird fumbling reality.
But Draco was Draco, gently kissing her as she raised her hips far too high for what the task of removing her underwear required, like she was doing a glute exercise at the barre classes Pansy frequented. He didn’t laugh; Hermione would be grateful for that kindness later.
The first touch of his fingers against her heated flesh was everything. She couldn’t even feel dramatic for thinking that she now understood the enticement of pre-marital sex. If the feeling of Draco’s digits sliding through her slick folds, like he was mapping her out and finding the best way to charm her into allowing him inside was indicative of everyone’s experience, she understood.
“Draco,” she whined. There was a weird uncertainty that this moment held; one of anticipation and a mind full of question marks. Was she the Winona Ryder math meme or Hermione Granger? She was Hermione Granger, trying to figure out what came next in this passionate equation.
She kept her hands clenched in the leather of the couch, too afraid to start unbuttoning Draco’s shirt and have him shut her down. For someone who thrived on praise and correct answers, her anxiety was completely taking her out of the moment.
He flipped her dress up so her trimmed patch of hair was visible, a satiny sheen of her arousal on the top part of her inner thighs. And that was only because she’d had her underwear on; if she’d been commando however, she was pretty certain her ankles would be covered in wetness by that point.
“Gorgeous,” Draco crooned, rocking back on his heels so he could look at her. She didn’t even have time to tell him to stop, not when the hunger in his eyes grew as they roved over her sex.
There was no time to think before Draco was on top of her, sliding his tongue against hers as he slipped a finger inside her. She let out a yip, biting his lip as she adjusted to the feeling. Before Draco could even ask if she was okay, she wiggled her hips off the couch experimentally. Unlike her own tentative explorations, his touch was solid and sure, stroking places inside her she wasn't aware existed, and Hermione was sure her own fingers would never again compare.
Draco groaned at her enthusiasm, as though she were doing something right by lifting her hips to meet the gentle thrust of his finger.
“More,” she insisted, and he was nothing if not indulgent. His thumb sought her clit, rubbing away the sting from the stretch of a second finger slipping into her.
She let out an unfettered moan as she arched her back, hoping he wouldn’t stop. How was it possible for something to feel so good?
Draco groaned into her mouth, and she felt the movement of his hips, his body moving instinctively against hers in time with the thrust of his fingers, and his clothed erection rubbing her thigh.
It was the lewd, wet sounds coming from the movement of his fingers inside her that made Hermione open her eyes, mortified at the squelching noise and the probable amount of liquid seeping onto his surely expensive leather cushion. She’d expected his eyes to be closed as well - isn’t that what one did in the throes of passion? But as she pulled back slightly from his kiss, she realized that his were open, pinned on her with a look of lust that overwhelmed her and made something inside of her flutter and clench around his fingers. She wasn’t sure she’d ever again kiss with her eyes closed, not when she knew that Draco could look at her like that.
He was handsome, and he was hers.
Her clothes suddenly felt too tight, too hot, and nothing mattered more than stripping them off. She wanted to bare herself to him, to feel his touch all over her body. Before she knew it, she was pushing him back from her to tug at the hem of her dress.
“Take it off,” she pleaded, feeling like a petulant child who had spent the day outside and was sticky and hot and needed to be undressed. Immediately.
“Sh, I’ve got you sweetheart,” Draco soothed, steady as always as he reached back to unzip Hermione’s dress and pull it over her head. Not one curl got snagged in the process. He deftly unclasped her bra and tossed it aside before laying her back onto the soft leather, and she breathed out a jagged sigh, relieved to be rid of the constraining garments.
She met his gaze again and blushed, aware of how exposed she was before him - and at how turned on she was being naked with a fully dressed Draco on above her. She shifted, rubbing her thigh on his, liking the way the expensive fabric felt on her skin. She felt a drop of wetness trickle down the crevice between her butt and thigh join a growing pool.
Was this a kink? If it was, she was fully invested.
“My perfect Hermione,” he crooned, hands floating from her cheek to her neck to her forearms to her nipples to her hips like he was overwhelmed by her. She couldn’t be embarrassed, she couldn’t close her eyes. Not when Draco looked at her like she was something to be honored in her most vulnerable state. It was a heady moment, knowing the word ‘perfect’ was being thrown around even after he saw the half moon of freckles under her left nipple and the way her hips were anything but a perfect hourglass.
If this tentative blossoming of confidence in her was only created through intimacy, she’d hop on the sex train so long as Draco was willing to pop on a little conductor hat.
She laughed lightly at the thought, drawing a grin from Draco. Unlike a lesser man, he didn’t look offended as though she were laughing at his actions.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Hermione shook her head before laughing again.
“That’s not nothing, sugar.”
“I was just… thinking that I’d like to hop on the intimacy train if you were willing to don a conductor’s hat.”
Draco joined her in laughter, a surprised, raw sound.
“I think I could commandeer this train a bit better if you’re still coherent enough to be thinkin’ big thoughts right now,” Draco promised.
Before she could react, he leaned in, silencing any retorts with a kiss that sent shivers down her spine. She tangled her fingers in his hair as he trailed his lips down her neck and over her collar bones, seeking out all the wonderful, sensitive spots he’d already discovered.
“You have no idea what it does to me,” he whispered near her ear as his fingers slipped between her legs once again, “seeing you undressed like this, knowing I’m the only one to ever touch you like this.”
His words made her whimper, and she rocked her hips in time with his movement.
He nipped at her ear lobe. “You’re so wet, and you feel so, so good. I can’t get enough of you.”
Hermione was unsure how she’d gone from nervous giggles to moans in what felt like a precious few seconds, but she was fairly sure Draco Malfoy had to be a wizard to coax such reactions from her body. To have her so relaxed and in the moment when she was normally unable to enjoy anything due to the curse of a constantly racing mind.
“Please,” she breathed out. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was asking for, but he seemed to know.
The sinful touch of his hand shifted, his thumb rubbing her clit harder as he pressed wet kisses over her chest. Her back arched up off the couch as his mouth closed around her right nipple.
Hermione was no stranger to her own body, and she’d sought pleasure at her own touch before, but what Draco was doing to her body felt like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She never wanted it to stop, and yet she was somehow also certain that she might die of pleasure if he continued.
“Want to feel you come on my fingers,” he groaned as he released her nipple with a soft pop. “Come for me, sweetheart.”
Her body reacted automatically to his voice, fluttering around his fingers as she whimpered and clutched at his shoulders. He hooked his fingers in a ‘come-hither’ motion inside of her, and Hermione cried out at the jolt of pleasure that shot through her as he moved. A string of incoherent noises tumbled from her mouth, a mix of moans and gasps and ‘please’ and ‘Draco.’
“Yes, that’s it, come on sugar.”
Her eyes fluttered closed and her body jerked, and when he sucked - hard - on her nipple, her world exploded in sensation as he coaxed her body through orgasm.
Any hope of ‘big thoughts’ was long-gone, and by the time she recovered enough from what had most definitely been the most incredible orgasm of her life, Hermione felt weightless and blissfully content.
She opened her eyes to see Draco gazing down at her.
“You are so perfect, so beautiful when you come,” he said as he dipped his head to press a gentle kiss to her swollen lips. His touch was soft, fingertips grazing her skin as he settled onto the couch beside her.
“You… that was…” She couldn’t find words.
Draco laughed. “What was that darlin’?”
“Mmmm…” she sighed in content as she rolled toward him, snuggling into his chest as his arms held her securely. He laughed again and kissed the top of her head. She was fairly certain he was amused by her, but she didn’t care.
She wasn’t sure how long they laid together like that on what she was fairly sure was a wet spot on his couch, but she became acutely aware of a very hard cock pressed against her belly. Hermione bit her lip, uncertainty creeping back into her mind. Was she expected to return the favor? She’d never given a hand job before, and while it didn’t seem complicated, she was sure her efforts would lack the same finesse Draco was used to.
Despite her worries, her fingertips trailed down his chest until they closed on his belt buckle. She steeled herself with Pinterest-worthy encouragement. You can do this. You want to make him feel as good as he made you feel.
Before she could begin to work the buttery soft leather through the silver buckle with uncertain hands, his steady one closed around hers.
“Not tonight,” he said softly.
She looked up at him in confusion.
“Are you sure? That seems… uncomfortable.”
He drew her hand up to his mouth and kissed her palm. His expression was soft and open and fond. “I’m sure. This was for you, birthday girl.”
xxx
October 5, 2018
“That’s a nice bag you got there, ma’am,” a familiar voice drawled.
Draco was hidden beneath sunglasses and a hat, looking like he’d just come from a Lululemon photoshoot.
“Thank you, I received it for my birthday.”
Draco rolled his eyes at the way she was grinning like a madwoman. She couldn’t even keep up with the charade enough to provide a retort, but she didn’t care.
“You have no poker face, sugar,” Draco informed her, lifting her off the ground in a hug.
“I missed you,” she said into his shoulder, loving the way Draco could so effortlessly hold her in the air.
“I missed you too. Ready to eat?”
“I told you not to wait!” Hermione reprimanded, tossing her bags off to Draco.
The Goyard tote that he’d given her for her birthday looked like it belonged on his shoulder, the effortlessly attractive, wealthy man who carried bags unashamedly for his wife. Only it was HER bag. She still felt a twinge of residual embarrassment as she thought back to opening her birthday presents.
“Draco, this bag is incredible! Thank you,” Hermione beamed. “Are you in the habit of giving yourself gifts for other people’s birthdays, though, or is this a special occasion?”
Draco didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. “Your bag has been ready to be tossed in the garbage for years, Hermione. Now you don’t need to worry about it ripping open and spilling the insane amount of items you insist on stuffing inside on your walk to work.”
She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, love. I really like it. Did you pick it out yourself?”
“I had some help. A friend who picked it up for me.” Draco shrugged.
“Will Pansy know the brand?” Hermione asked, looking inside to see that he’d purchased a cardholder as well. Draco was too indulgent, but she knew enough about rich people at this point to not turn down their presents.
“She will, sweetheart,” Draco replied, looking amused.
“What?” Hermione asked.
“Nothing,” Draco replied. “I’m just looking forward to seeing you use something I bought you.”
He was lying, averting his eyes and giving himself away.
“That’s not it,” Hermione shook her head and pulled out her phone. She typed for a second and squeaked. “Draco! This is like… more than Louis Vuitton costs!”
Draco scoffed, “I would never buy you Louis Vuitton, it’s for commoners.”
Hermione laughed incredulously. Was this man real?
“Draco! This brand can only be purchased at 29 boutiques in the entire world! They don’t even have an online store.”
“You can buy online if you email,” he shrugged. He was far too casual about dropping this amount of money and sending someone to buy the bag and wallet for her. “I really hate seeing your raggedy old bag that you yourself said is cheap and falling apart when I know I could buy you any bag you wanted. Please, sugar, just don’t complain. Okay?”
She dropped her phone on the duvet, crawling the short distance over to a now shirtless, sweatpants-wearing Draco. She’d run upstairs naked and hopped in the shower for a quick wash after their dalliance on the couch. She’d also had a momentary freakout that she’d ruined the leather, acting like she was participating in an Extreme Home Makeover reveal as she peeled her legs up off the fabric to see if her arousal had left behind an unforgiving stain. Draco laughed gently at that, telling her that even if she did, he’d keep the couch and think of her every time he saw it.
“Thank you,” she said, nuzzling her head under his chin like an annoying kitten.
Draco patted her butt in reply, which she added to the list of leveled-up, sexy moves she liked. 22 was already proving to be a year of self discovery.
“What would you like to eat, Hermione?” Draco asked again, pretending like she hadn’t spoken as they hopped in his truck.
“Well… I did a bit of research on what one needs to eat in North Carolina, and came across somewhere called Cookout.”
Draco burst into laughter.
“Cookout it is,” Draco agreed. “I can’t say I’ve been there in years.”
“No? Not a Malfoy family staple?”
“Absolutely not,” Draco shook his head. “Grandfather was the only one who liked fast food, and he preferred Mcdonald’s. I’d go with friends, but never family. Like I said… I don’t know if mother has had Mcdonald’s in her life.”
“I feel like that’s such an odd idea. That there are Americans who’ve never had pizza or Mcdonald’s before. I remember having shrimp for the first time,” she offered. “We didn’t eat it growing up, but a tailgate I was at had coconut shrimp and I’m pretty sure I devoured the whole platter.”
“And now you love it.”
Hermione smiled, “And now I love it. Is there anything you didn’t get to do or eat growing up that you wish you did?”
Draco looked thoughtful. “Well, all of our vacations had to be in North Carolina or the papers would run stories about how the Malfoys didn’t contribute to the state’s economy, which is tabloid garbage. I’ve always wanted to go to Universal Studios or Disney… a big theme park that takes a kid’s breath away, you know? Music festivals too. There’s only so much country a man can take.”
She did know.
“I’ve never been to Orlando or a music festival. Maybe we can take a secret trip? Blend in with the sweaty masses?”
Draco shot her a smile. “I like the sound of that.”
xxx
“Last night was a mistake,” Hermione moaned, face pressed into her pillow.
Draco laughed, a rough sound in the morning. “I’m a bit shocked, sweetheart. I’ve never seen you eat that much.”
“It’s your fault! You ordered the entire menu, it would’ve been wasteful if I didn’t.”
“I thought I lucked out because you don’t snore, but it turns out I spoke too soon. Your stomach gurgles like a boiling pot after a fried feast.”
Hermione let out a noise of affront.
“Draco!”
“I’m serious,” he replied, looking far too overjoyed at the intimate ribbing they were involved in. What a point they’d reached, being able to joke about bodily functions while laying in bed.
“I want salads for every meal until I leave.”
“That’s too bad, Columba about had my head when I told her we weren’t cooking tonight, so I had to compromise. She’s bringing dessert, and I know you’ll love whatever she makes..”
Hermione sobered up a bit at the mention of his sister.
“Don’t get nervous on me now,” Draco smiled softly, scooting over to pull Hermione into his body.
She’d felt a sense of admittedly juvenile relief at realizing Draco didn’t want to attempt the sleeping positions that she’d seen in movies, where it was clearly obvious to her that one person’s arm would fall asleep where it was perfectly draped behind the other’s shoulder.
No, Draco, the pragmatic man he was, slept a few inches away from her. It was another addition to the increasingly long ‘Draco Malfoy is my perfect man’ list. She also added it to a potentially distributable ‘Draco Malfoy is the perfect man’ list as well.
“I know, Draco. I’m trying not to get in my head. I just know how we look on paper. I want her to give me a chance before she writes us off.”
“There’s a reason you’re meeting Columba first. She’s sweet as apple pie and about as thoughtful as a Malfoy can get. It’ll be good for us to have some insight… our echo chamber has been quite cozy.”
The words stung a bit, but he wasn’t wrong. Nights holed up at Draco’s had become their new normal, and it was almost easier to exist without ever leaving the house. She’d selfishly wondered how long they’d be able to keep that up; was it possible for them to never go public?
Draco’s hand on her own snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts.
“Hermione,” his voice was laced with authority. It reminded her of the first time they’d talked in his office. “I need you to trust me. Everything is going to be fine. I will take care of you.”
If it were anyone else, she would’ve felt offended at the potentially patronizing words. But when Draco spoke like this, like an older man who knew exactly what he was doing, she felt both calm and aroused. What an intoxicating brew of feelings Draco inspired in her.
“Yes,” she whispered back, wide brown eyes locked on him.
“Good girl.”
The calm sigh that left her mouth was a knee jerk reaction more than anything else, really. She, the bold as brass girl who historically found herself in trouble for mouthing off and speaking her mind to authority figures, was often mowed into submission by Draco’s directives. How did he just switch personas? There was a leveled-up Draco that harnessed an authority that had her wanting to kneel at his feet and whimper an adoring, obedient ‘yes sir.’ She was pretty sure he could use that voice and get her to walk into the middle of the street if the circumstance was right.
Her urge to ask him about the voice was strong, but she exercised a restraint she didn’t know she was aware of in following his instructions and hopping in the shower. Later. She would get to the bottom of the two-Draco conundrum later.
xxx
“You are stunning,” Draco greeted as Hermione walked out of the bathroom.
“Thank you,” she smiled back, a blush on her face at his praise. The idea of someone liking more than just her brain or work was new. “Where’s your shirt?”
“I was waiting to see what color you wore… I want to match.”
Hermione laughed, “Yeah? Is that a thing?”
Draco nodded seriously, “It’s a Malfoy tradition. Father always matches mother… I think they took the concept from tacky to charming.”
“Then who are we not to match?” she asked, watching as Draco grabbed an emerald green polo out of his massive closet.
The emerald green dress she wore was borrowed from Pansy at her friend’s insistence that she look high-brow while meeting Malfoys. Hermione didn’t disagree, but panicked a bit at the reminder that her wardrobe was nowhere near Malfoy-level.
She’d need to figure out how to build an entirely new wardrobe that was classier than the clothes that she considered fashionable. ASOS and Topshop were not going to impress Narcissa Malfoy. Honestly, the Zara pant suit that Hermione wore when she wanted to look especially professional at work may even cause the woman a heart attack.
Draco clearly saw something in her expression, pulling her to himself and pressing a kiss on her carefully tamed curls.
“She’s going to love you,” he promised for what had to be the millionth time.
Deep down, Hermione knew that men loathed insecure women who needed to constantly be coddled and reassured. Now, though? Those fears were eating at her.
The telltale noise of an opening garage sounded while she was fiddling with the bottle of white wine. She was extremely annoyed that Draco had said they were ordering out, but she was unwilling to argue. This was a woman’s dick measuring competition, and she was losing before they’d even met. Hermione knew how to cook and do it well; Draco knew that, but his sister wouldn’t. Wasn’t ordering out for a first impression an unforgivable southern blasphemy?
She knew he was just as nervous as she was, even if he was better at keeping himself buttoned up and looking suave.
This was his family, after all; he was a 40-year-old man who’d held out on getting married and was now introducing her to them. He had every reason to be freaking out.
“Hi Hermione!” a light, young-sounding voice greeted, and Hermione turned around with a smile to greet Columba.
“Columba,” Hermione replied, internally fist pumping when she realized her voice didn’t shake. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“Truly!” the woman squealed, moving forward on the same espadrille wedges that Pansy owned. Hermione could tell you that they were $970, because when she was a poor, innocent intern, she asked Pansy if she picked them up at the Metro Center TJ Maxx.
Pansy, of course, had scoffed and loudly informed Hermione that last she knew, TJ Maxx did not sell Hermès or shoes that cost $970.00. Color Hermione suitably chastised and now unwilling to ask Pansy anything other than the name of the designer she was wearing.
Hermione was surprised by the warmth of the embrace she was tugged into despite Draco’s insistence that his sister would love her.
“Look at your sweet face! You really are younger than Draco,” Columba observed honestly before squeezing Hermione’s cheeks in her hands. “Sorry! Bad habit, I’m trying to break it.”
Draco let out a laugh, somewhere between amusement and relief.
Hermione knew the feeling well.
“Learning from Auntie Walburga?”
Columba shuddered at the unfamiliar name. “Never compare me to that witch, Draco Lucius!”
“Sorry, dove. The resemblance was too uncanny to ignore,” Draco smiled, carefully holding a covered dish in his hands.
“Put the pie in the oven, please, 200 degrees. Leave the foil on.”
“Yes ma’am,” Draco replied immediately before rolling his eyes as he realized his quick acquiescence. “You sound just like mother and gran these days… it’s terrifying.”
“Has he been giving you trouble?” Columba asked, turning her sea blue eyes on Hermione.
The woman had Draco’s pale skin and the typical Malfoy hair coloring, but her eyes were a sea blue that none of the Malfoy men boasted. She was surprisingly tall, with the same elegantly thin figure of models. Wearing a buttercup yellow dress that was covered in sunflowers and somehow looked more elegant than anything, Columba Malfoy-Scamander cut an intimidating and gorgeous figure.
“No,” Hermione laughed. “He is a good one, just a bit too honest for a politician.”
“That shows he’s got you in his greedy little claws,” Columba shared, lowering her voice as though Draco couldn’t hear. “He’s only honest with those he thinks won't turn tail and run.”
“He’s right on that assumption,” Hermione blushed when she realized what she’d said and attracted a somewhat surprised look from the other woman.
“What are we eating? Draco told me he wasn’t letting either of us step foot in the kitchen.”
“Yet you still made a pie, dove. I ordered from Dish. I thought Hermione would enjoy a taste of the south.”
Columba looked indignant. “Really? Dish? Country cooking? You could've at least chosen something that I couldn’t cook for us, brother…”
Draco shrugged, looking weirdly sheepish. “I just wanted us to enjoy the night, Columba. Could you allow that to happen?”
Her tense, motherly stance relaxed, hands dropping from her hips.
“Of course. Be a dear and grab the wine while Hermione and I set up outside.”
She didn’t wait for a reply before heading outside, and Hermione followed her to Draco’s expansive back patio. The inground pool was stunning, but the raised patio was the real gem of the rolling hills that comprised Draco’s backyard.
“How was your trip in?”
“Thankfully it’s an easy flight. I’m amazed at how quick the lines are at DCA every time I fly down on a Friday night.”
“Oh? Have you visited here often?” she asked, sounding more interested than catty.
Hermione didn’t know what to expect from Draco’s little sister who was still older than her by 11 years. She wouldn’t blame Columba if she were wary; the Malfoys had every reason to doubt her as a person, but they didn’t have the right to scrutinize the always-careful Draco for the first woman he’d brought home in seven years.
If there was a sword to fall on, she’d already made up her mind that she’d do so every time in this relationship. For now, though, she’d keep her commitment to martyrdom to herself.
“This is my fourth time,” Hermione replied.
“Leave it to men to bury all of the details! You two are serious. Not that he’d bring a random gal back home, but that aside… you two are serious. That’s a lot to process for me, Hermione...”
Hermione was inclined to agree with all of the sentiments above.
“The election has really thrown his schedule into a loop; I’m just happy that I could make it down here before the holiday season starts,” Hermione replied, not wanting to denigrate Draco in any way. This was a test of who she was and what her relationship to Draco was, even if Columba was sweet about it.
“Right? Election years never get easier! Where are you from?” Columba was just as receptive to a conversation aversion as Hermione could’ve hoped.
“Seattle,” Hermione smiled. “Born and raised.”
“Oh wow! I have always wanted to visit the northwest. My husband and I like to plan elaborate vacations that we never take, and one of our recently mapped out trips starts in Washington and ends with an Alaskan cruise.”
Hermione laughed, “I blame Pinterest. It’s brought out my worst, most idealistic tendencies when it comes to future homes and vacations. Seattle really is beautiful, though… I think you’d love it. Draco says you’re a vet? Do you get much time off?”
“Sorry to interrupt, ladies. Dinner is here,” Draco called from the house, clearly waiting for a lull in their conversation.
“We’re eating out here, Drake! Soak up the October summer,” Columba replied, receiving a sigh from Draco before he turned back inside to grab the food by himself. “90 degrees in October; can you believe it?”
“I thought I might get to break out my fall clothes, but no such luck.”
Columba groaned, “That’s the only bad part of my job, I’d say. Rain or shine, summer or winter, long pants and boots are a part of my uniform. Anything else is a safety hazard, though I’d reckon that passing out from heat stroke is as well.”
“I’m so interested in your work,” Hermione leaned forward, making eye contact with Columba. “What does a normal day look like? How many farms do you service?”
“Me again,” Draco interjected, getting twin eye rolls from the women. “I’m not even sure what’s here, honestly.”
His hands were full with stacked plastic takeout containers.
“Looks like a bit of everything based on the number of boxes and your Malfoy-male overindulgence.”
“Is that a shared trait?” Hermione asked, getting a vigorous nod.
“As Aunt Bella said, it’s like they’re trying to make up for something by overdoing other alpha male tendencies. Mama took fault with her insinuation, and of course this took place at Rolf’s first Thanksgiving with our family.”
Hermione let out a laugh and Draco shot a scowl at her.
“A bit of time with dove and you’re already conspiring against me. Mother is going to love that someone’s there to break family ties.”
“You countin’ Rolfie out?”
“Your husband would never hop into a fight that father is in the ring for.”
“You’re not wrong… he’s a smart man, he knows when to take a step back.”
“Or how to generally avoid father,” Draco muttered, getting a glare from Columba.
Hermione did her best not to look at him with confusion at his reply, not wanting the other woman to think she wasn’t fully apprised of Malfoy family dynamics. Stakes felt extremely high, and every move she made felt important. She wondered how she looked to Draco; was she acting as weird as she felt? Probably.
Dinner was more pleasant than Hermione could’ve ever dreamed. Columba was the coolest, most feminine farm veterinarian Hermione assumed she’d ever meet, and her son, Leo, seemed keen to follow right in both of his parent’s footsteps. Hermione tucked that away for later; would the Malfoy political dynasty end with Draco?
“Pardon my asking, but… when are you telling mother and father about your relationship?” Columba asked after daintily patting her lips rid of any lemon meringue pie remnants.
Her brother nodded, settling into professional Draco mode. Hermione hated that he felt he needed to armor himself for this conversation.
“We both know how father gets around elections, so I feel it prudent to wait until directly after. The first week the House and Senate are back in DC for votes we’ll have them over for dinner.”
Hermione could read the worry on Columba’s face and saw the way her eyes darted towards the newcomer, like she was unable to say what she truly felt in her presence.
“Why don’t you two chat while I clean up?” Hermione asked, throwing the woman a bone. She figured she’d be doing that a lot in the weeks and months ahead, so why not get settled into it now?
“Thank you, Hermione,” Columba replied, shutting Draco up before he could insist on Hermione staying at the table.
Columba was perfectly lovely as she left a long while later, just as she was throughout the entire meal. Despite her general demeanor of sunshines and rainbows, Hermione found herself wondering if Columba truly meant it when she said she looked forward to seeing her again soon.
Draco was smiling softly after shutting his garage, walking back in and pulling Hermione into one of his squeezy hugs she so adored.
“She didn’t like me?” Hermione asked quietly, despite herself. It was hard not to ask blunt questions like that, no matter how needy it made her seem. Not when Draco was always willing to tell her the truth.
“She loved you, sweetheart. Just like I promised she would.”
“So what’s your problem?”
“Just trying to toss my rational brain the reins so I don’t drag you over to my parents’ house right now and introduce you to them.”
Hermione let out an incredulous laugh. Incredulous? Delighted. Over the moon. Surprised. She was elated.
Draco’s sister had given him a clear confidence that they could make this work, but Hermione wouldn’t let him run himself into ruins over the process of making that evident to everyone else.
“We’re sticking to the plan.”
“They live a few houses down. We could even walk.”
“You’re drunk enough to need to walk?”
“No,” Draco scoffed. “I’m just saying… if you want to.”
“You’re supposed to be the voice of reason,” Hermione replied. “But I feel like I need to step into those shoes right now. We’re not going to your parents’ place when they’re already likely in their pajamas and ready for bed and wholly unprepared for this bomb drop.”
“Father doesn’t own pajamas,” Draco corrected.
She knocked her head against his chest. Insufferable man.
“You know what I mean, Draco! We’re going to put pajamas on because we own them, and we’re going to start season two of The Office.”
“Bossy,” Draco teased. “I never was an intern, but now I think I know how they felt.”
“No,” Hermione shook her head. “Interns are way more amenable than you are. You’d be fired in a week!”
“I’ll show you amenable!” Draco growled, tossing Hermione over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and bounding up the stairs. Hermione could confirm, after asking for a repeat performance of last night’s events, that he was definitely amenable to her requests.