Chapter 10
“That’s right, Cel, senior Republican sources have shared that conversations about the party’s nominee for president have already started to convalesce around Senate Majority Leader Lucius Malfoy, the senior senator from the State of North Carolina as their frontrunner. This comes as no surprise to many, as Senator Malfoy has never explicitly ruled out a 2020 run for the White House.”
“Thanks for that important new reporting from WWN’s Parvati Patil, live at the White House. I’m back with our panel of experts to discuss this and much more. Americans haven’t even voted in the 2018 midterms, yet we’re already seeing frontrunners in the 2020 presidential. Is Lucius Malfoy that sure of a thing for the Republicans to already float his name, Zeb?” asked Celestina Warbeck, host of WWN’s The Daily Deal with Cel.
“Absolutely, Cel. Lucius Malfoy has long been a kingmaker in the GOP. As someone who has worked with both Lucius and his father, Abraxas, I am almost certain that this is more than a floating of a name. This is a promise that if Americans get out and vote for a Republican-led House and Senate, not to mention state legislatures and local elections, they’ll have a much better chance of electing a president who can enact an America-first agenda in two years due to support in other branches of government,” replied former U.S. Senator Zebedee Wilkes (R-MO).
“That is so far off and convoluted, Zeb. More than anything, it shows me how scared the Republican Party is going into both 2018 and 2020. Democrats have built a strong battleground map, and voters are proud of all that has been accomplished under President Shacklebolt and Speaker Dumbledore, even with a stonewalling Senate that’s led by Senator Malfoy. I think on Tuesday, the GOP is going to discover that the name Malfoy certainly does resonate with voters, not as a beacon of hope, but as a cold, obstructionist man and a family, for that matter, that has ruled Washington for far too long,” retorted Hestia Jones, senior Democratic strategist.
November 4, 2018
It had taken one day on the campaign trail for Hermione to realize why Percy, straightlaced Percy Weasley, had laughed when she told him she was volunteering as Congressman Potter’s body person for the last two weeks of the 2018 election cycle.
There were strict rules outlining what employees of Members of Congress could help with for political campaigns; Hermione wasn’t even allowed to let someone calling Rep. Potter’s DC office know how to help out with his campaign or where to donate online. The people looking for yard signs were always the maddest when she couldn’t give them a straight answer.
All she could do was give them the number to the campaign office. She, like most employees, was terrified of crossing ethics lines and causing her boss a hailstorm in the media and the potential of having to pay ethics fines out of his own pocket. It was the one thing everyone on the Hill agreed on across party lines; leave campaign work at home.
So when Remus asked Hermione to join the congressman back in Seattle for the end of the campaign, he was very clear in his explanation.
She was helping out in a volunteer capacity; this was not her official work, she’d responded to an email from his gmail to hers saying as much. There would be no pay for her work, only experience and the fist pumping excitement that came with a job well done.
Only that was extremely untrue, because all Hermione was feeling three days before the election was annoyance, desperation and anger. She’d been a bit preemptive in feeling bad for Penelope, who had stayed in DC to man the office, answer calls and collect mail. Penelope was living the highlife.
The Potter brood’s schedule was nonstop, and Hermione was their faithful driver. That meant she got to hold Lily’s purse at events, take photos, hold onto the gifts and business cards that people tried to hand to Rep. Potter, and drive them. Everywhere.
Hermione was also expected to masquerade as the 5 foot nothing boogeyman, tasked with interrupting conversations to get James from event to event. The only thing worse than the scathing looks and muttered statements about how rude she was from strangers was when James held up a hand to her and said he wasn’t done talking to someone yet. Like she took pleasure from keeping him on time and stepping in while he was talking to billionaires and mothers crying over the loss of their children. But it was her job, and Hermione Granger always does her job correctly. Even if it wasn’t one she was getting paid for.
She liked driving, really, but that was very different from driving with a senior Member of Congress who was constantly receiving calls from crying candidates, curious reporters, and a spitting mad Speaker Albus Dumbledore who was receiving national poll numbers that clearly weren’t where he expected them to be. Even the most jovial of men, like James Potter, had their breaking point.
This afternoon seemed to be his; Hermione had taken the left turn instructed by her godsent Google Maps app on the way to the Seattle Democrats’ campaign HQ. That was, of course, the moment the bespectacled man looked up from his furious texting and screamed as though Hermione had run over his only son. Only he’d wanted her to take a right because it would’ve gotten them there faster - it wouldn’t have.
They’d arrived, two minutes earlier than if Hermione would’ve taken a right, and not even Remus, the lucky tagalong for the day, was stepping in on her behalf.
On top of it, they’d been to five events so far that day and none of them had open catering. So now she was sitting in James’ Ford Escape while he and Remus ate the ‘lovely sandwich spread’ the blonde woman who’d ushered them in had boasted. Remus told Hermione to go wait in the car, as though he didn’t know she wouldn’t have been allowed in.
So she sat in the car, stomach trying to eat itself while she debated whether or not she could make it back before the event ended if she sprinted to the 7-Eleven that was a block away to buy enough snacks to live through the day. And she cursed her lifelong desire to have a career in public service. This did not feel useful; this felt like being used.
The situation only got worse the next day, when the congressman came back to the car huffing that Lily wanted to attend the next event. After being commanded to drive to the Potter home at a breakneck speed, Hermione had to hide hysterical laughter when they’d rolled up as Lily texted that she needed ten more minutes to finish her makeup. It was like she was being Punk’d, really.
By the time she’d gotten back to her grandparents after yet another hotel fundraiser, it was 11pm and she had to be out the door in 7 hours to pick up her boss for a local TV interview.
All of that on top of the barrage of articles Pansy texted about sources claiming Lucius Malfoy was the top contender for the Republican’s 2020 presidential nominee.
So no, she wasn’t too happy when Draco texted her that he was calling the National Guard out if she didn’t call him before midnight.
It was a weird thing, that even after he’d seen her naked body multiple times, she still didn’t feel ready for location sharing. That was a different type of nakedness altogether, one that’d require a bit more time before sharing.
So she called him to get it over with.
“Sweetheart,” Draco greeted, sounding just as tired as her. “Are you still out? Why’d you call?”
“No,” Hermione sighed, pulling her hair back into a French braid with her phone resting on the bathroom counter. She stayed in her basement bedroom at her grandparents’ place, which made Draco’s voice blaring on speakerphone less of a concern. “I don’t want to FaceTime, I’m tired.”
“I miss that pretty face,” Draco replied easily. Why was he still in a teasing mood when she clearly wasn’t? “I can’t remember what your nose looks like.”
“We FaceTimed yesterday, Draco.”
“What’s wrong?” Draco asked. Hermione could tell he’d just barely left off the ‘with you’ from the question, which wouldn’t have been altogether out of line. She was feeling bitchy and with no one else to take it out on… Draco was the obvious target.
“I had the worst day and know I have two more equally, if not more, awful days ahead of me. Not to mention election night, which Remus just told me I’d be driving for. Why can’t they just take an Uber home?” she scoffed, frustrated tears burning in her eyes.
“There’s no one else who can drive? Why doesn’t Remus drive?”
“Because he needs access to his phone,” Hermione replied in a crude imitation of a male voice, repeating the same answer she’d received when she asked Lee the same question in a very innocent conversation at Potter election HQ last week.
“That’s not a real reason,” Draco replied, Hermione could tell he was shaking his head without even seeing him. “Even Blaise drives me. You need to ask them if someone else can hop in the car for a bit, Hermione… the next two days are going to be long, it isn’t up to you to drive straight to the finish line.”
Hermione laughed, the sound turning into a sob. There were the tears that’d been threatening to come every time she was directed to stand outside of a meeting when food was on the other side of the door or told they were adding one more event in place of the lunch hour their schedule had dictated.
“They don’t care enough to get me lunch, Draco, I hardly think they’ll care about me having election night off!”
“They’re not feeding you?” Draco asked, voice stony.
“I’m not getting into this right now,” Hermione replied, sniffling. Thankfully her one sob hadn’t turned into more; only pathetic sniffles that she definitely deserved to let out. Better now than tomorrow when Harry was campaigning with them.
“Sweetheart… you need to say something. This is a stressful time for everyone, but that doesn’t negate your right to food and bathroom breaks.”
“I don’t want to fight, Draco,” Hermione sighed, really really trying not to get frustrated at the knowing confidence in his voice. Normally she loved it, but now? Now it felt almost patronizing. “I’m not you; I am literally the lowest person on the totem pole for both our campaign office and official office. There’s no one else who can drive, I just need to make it through the next two days.”
“It’s not right,” Draco replied. Hermione knew he was running his hands through his hair, teeth grit together in frustration as he tried to find a way to fix this.
“Right now I just need you to tell me everything’s going to be okay, honestly,” she replied, sounding much more pitiful than she had planned to.
Draco shushed her, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Where are you right now?”
“I just got home, I’m getting ready for bed.”
“Good girl,” Draco praised.
Hermione felt her shoulders slump a bit at that; it felt nice, hearing someone say she was doing something right. The past two weeks had been full of sharp directives, none of the enthusiastic ‘atta girls’ or ‘great work, Hermione!’s’ that she was used to back in DC. That phrase, however, was one she only liked from Draco. It didn’t make her feel like a dog; it made her feel warm inside and want to curl on Draco and never move.
“Tell me when you’re in bed.”
“About to brush my teeth,” she replied. “How was your day?”
“Busy, but doable… Blaise and Luna were twenty minutes late to church, but still decided to walk up front and sit with my family. I thought mother was going to have a fit.”
Hermione laughed at that, foamy toothpaste dribbling down her chin. She knew the smug expression that would unfurl on Draco’s face at the knowledge that he made her laugh that hard if they were together, and it only made her more upset. She missed Draco.
“Then we had the farmer’s market, of course, and traveled to four different churches in the state for their services. Father is a big fan of rallying the base, and the Sunday before the election is the optimal time for that.”
“It’s really late, why are you up?” Hermione asked, calculating that it was past 2am his time.
“Take three guesses and the first two can’t be ‘my girl went radio silent and I know she’s had a rough few days.’”
Hermione wishes his quip didn’t make her smile. For that… she switched on FaceTime.
“Well hello there, pretty lady,” Draco smiled. He was in his bed, no chin rolls to be seen, of course, with a smile on his face. As though her makeupless face and red-rimmed eyes were deserving of such a breathtaking expression.
“Hi,” Hermione replied, unable to tamp down a smile of her own.
“Let’s get you in bed,” Draco directed. “Lights off, covers back, get all snuggled in. Then let me know if I’m still the master of tucking you in for bed after you do it.”
“Not as nice as when you do it,” she replied, sure he could hear the frown in her voice even though it was now pitch black on her end. She could see the soft, slightly sad smile on his.
“We’ll have to make up for that next week,” Draco promised. “So long as you let Pansy know I’ll be sneakin’ out of your place late.”
She laughed, “She’ll think it’s weird.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not tucking you in for Pansy’s approval, hm?”
“Right,” Hermione replied, letting out a sigh.
“What time do you work tomorrow?”
“James has an interview at 7:15am downtown, so I’m picking him up at 6:30. Lily and Harry are coming along for the day, so I know it’ll be awful.”
“Did you set your alarm?” Draco asked. Hermione made a noise; that was a good point. She was so close to sleep, that she wouldn’t be shocked if she slept straight through the night without the normal panic she faced on days she had to be somewhere early.
“Done,” she replied.
“Good job,” Draco’s voice was a soft croon, his face angelic even under the harsh light of a bedroom lamp. “Now, you’re going to plug your phone in and go to sleep while I tell you a little story.”
Hermione snuggled down into her bed, grateful for her six foot phone charger.
“Didn’t even hear what you’re doing tomorrow,” she protested, though her eyes were getting heavier with each passing moment.
Draco simply ignored her, starting his promised story. The last thing Hermione saw was his bright eyes, looking into the camera even though her screen was as dark as her room.
“Once upon a time, there was a little girl who played alone in the forest behind her house. One day, she came across a tree and saw juicy, bright red apples hanging off of the branches. Even though she was a tiny little thing, she was tall enough to reach the lowest branches. So she took an apple, enjoying the taste. She came back every day with a stepstool, even bringing friends and family, until she realized that the apples were gone. Her parents would go to the store and buy more apples, but…”
Hermione fell asleep to the sound of Draco’s voice, knowing that the next day would indeed be awful, but this was the homestretch. She had made it through hell before, and two days of driving her well-meaning, yet absent-minded boss wouldn’t bring her back there. She’d be just fine.
xxx
November 6, 2018
There was a weirdness to being on the west coast that she’d forgotten during her time in DC. She missed seeing TV shows before spoilers were posted online, and she missed actually being where the first election results were coming in so your own victories weren’t ruined or overshadowed by east coast returns.
No, by 7:05 pm in Seattle, the entirety of the Washington State Democratic Party’s election event was whispering furiously and entering in and out of the spacious hotel ballroom to take calls. Hermione was told to keep an eye on her phone for when James texted her that wanted to leave, and she was doing just that.
Thankfully, they’d already zipped in and out of his district’s watch party at a local brewery before the race had even been called. Not that there was a question of who had won after exit polls came back with 88 percent for the incumbent representative.
She’d taken photos for Rep. Potter, recorded his victory speech, gobbled down some lukewarm mozzarella sticks and half a turkey pita that were laid out for guests. The past two weeks had made her a pro of averting her eyes while piling up a plate of food at a place where she technically wasn’t supposed to be eating. She wished that she’d never have known enough to gain such a skill, honestly.
“What do you think, Mione?” Harry asked, causing her to jump. The boy knew everyone here, and was bounding around being doted on like a puppy. Which, honestly, he kind of was.
“If Arizona, Texas and New Mexico look anything like Florida, New York and South Carolina we’re screwed.”
Harry’s eyes were wide, looking as though this information was new to him. She knew it wasn’t; it was the only conversation happening anywhere around the room as people tried to crunch numbers.
“We won’t lose the House,” she replied certainly. “We’ll just have a razor thin margin.”
“Michael Scott lemonade stand explanation, please,” Harry replied.
She swallowed a sigh. “There are 435 voting members of the House of Representatives. Whichever party has 218 members secures the majority in the chamber; right now the Democrats have 251 members. It looks like we’re going to lose around 29 seats tonight.”
Harry was quiet, and Hermione could almost see a vein burst in his head as he attempted the mental math. She stayed silent, curious to see if he could solve the problem.
“That’s good, Hermione! We’ll still be on top.”
She did sigh loudly now. “If my estimate is right, we’ll only have the majority by four seats. We already have a strong Blue Dog Coalition, and it looks like most of them will keep their seats. They vote against the party on multiple issues, including fiscal policy. There’s a chance that a sizable chunk of the progressive agenda, including climate policies, expanded Kingsleycare, and lowering taxes, will have to be watered down to keep their votes. This is not good going into a presidential year where our candidate will have no major recent victories to tout.”
“That only matters if we win back the Senate, right?”
How was this clueless boy the son of a Member of Congress?
“Oh, Harry. Do you ever listen when your father gives interviews? We aren’t going to win the Senate, we already lost the two seats we thought we’d gain and it looks like we’ll lose a Dem seat in Maine. We’re now heading into a presidential election with a slim majority and losses in districts we couldn’t have imagined. This is the last thing the party needed.”
“You sound so pessimistic, Mione. Dad won! You still have a job… isn’t that a good thing?”
Hermione smiled back at him weakly. “That’s a very good thing; I’m proud to be a part of his team.”
But that doesn’t mean I can’t be worried about the shit show that the rest of the map turned out to be, she thought to herself.
“I’m going to go find Lisa Turpin, she texted me that she found a bar that’s serving Kahlúa and coffee. Want to come?”
“I’m on driving duty, and I don’t get phone service anywhere but this spot. Thanks for asking,” she smiled, feeling very much like a parent assuring their child everything was fine when the house was burning down. “Have fun and be safe!”
“Yes, Mione! See you soon,” he replied, waving like the boy he was before he bounced off to find whoever Lisa was.
There was a moment of loneliness that had her reaching for her phone, opening her messaging app and thinking of who could quell it. She knew there wasn’t a word for the instinct, but it was one everyone her age knew.
Only, she didn’t have a parent to text and had no desire to message her colleagues or democrat friends anything that could be screenshotted and used against her after her fear and anger at the results had passed. Friendship and professional relationships were murky waters, and she always chose to just stay on the beach, even if that meant suffering in silence when she just wanted to complain to someone. It was better than drowning.
Draco was at his own victory party, and Hermione was pleased to see that the race had been called almost as soon as the polls closed. WWN still hadn’t called Senator Malfoy’s race, but with his margin of victory, she knew it was only a matter of time. At least someone was having a nice night.
She made the decision to leave the ballroom and head outside of the hotel for fresh air; there was nothing for her in there. If nothing, jumping back into James’ car would give her better cell service as she wrestled with the reality of a relationship with Draco.
Her first instinct was to text him, but she stopped herself. This wasn’t the same as sharing an anecdote about a constituent who claimed that 5G wireless service was a plot by the government to kill people or complaints when her Starbucks mobile order wasn’t ready. No, this was her heartbreak and anxiety over her party bleeding most of their majority margin, and the culprit was the very political party he was drinking to at that very moment.
Pansy wasn’t even a viable option, either, not when the girl was working for a Republican that also happened to be Draco. The web was tangled.
She was rapidly approaching a headspace that Gina, her therapist, called ‘Hermione’s point of no return.’ If anyone were to walk by James’ car they would’ve probably been concerned by the girl sucking in deep breaths and banging on the steering wheel.
It was only when she was on her third round of breathing exercises that her phone rang. Torn between disappointment and excitement at who the call was from, she answered.
“Congratulations, love,” she smiled. That’s as far as she’d gotten in her mental gymnastics. She was happy for Draco’s victory, but every victory in his party outside of that…. Hard to swallow still. Now she’d see if Draco understood that.
“Thank you,” Draco replied, a smile in his voice. Hermione could hear voices that seemed far away if she scrunched her eyes and focused on listening. He’d clearly stepped away from his party. “I know it was expected, but it’s still relieving. How is it going over in afternoon land? It sounds far too quiet for a party that’s three hours behind mine.”
Hermione laughed, “It’s not afternoon anymore! I’m outside in James’ car.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice perking up in the concerned way it always did when he sensed something was off.
“Nothing,” she replied, not wanting to dampen the mood. This was part of a relationship, right? Compromise. She was compromising her anxiety to give him a great night, and she felt mature about it. “I have no service inside and I’m scared I won’t see Remus’ text when James wants to leave.”
Draco scoffed, “The least they could do was search you out in that case so that you can enjoy the party, sweetheart.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re enjoying your party,” she retorted. Deflection. The age old remedy.
“I’m outside, I wanted to talk to you before father’s results come in and we’re pulled in for joint interviews.”
“I’m happy to hear your voice.”
“Me too, sweetheart. I have good news… the meeting with Gringotts’ new board members was postponed, so I can fly down Friday.”
“Really?” she asked, a grin growing on her face. “I can’t wait to see you, Draco.”
“Same here, I see a lot of TV and pizza in this weekend’s forecast.”
“That’s all I want,” she sighed. “Have you given a speech yet?”
“I haven’t, I’ll give one when-” Hermione felt like a bucket of ice was chucked over her head as Draco muttered shit and hung up the call. The three minutes that it took for him to call back felt like hours.
“Are you okay?” she asked, left hand clenched tightly around the steering wheel.
“Yes, sorry for the scare, my mother popped out to see where I’d gone. Looks like some smaller polling firms are calling father’s race and she wants me inside. She asked who I was talking to.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“I am a political master of evasion, but unfortunately mother is immune to it. She said we’ll talk later.”
“Sorry,” Hermione whispered, though she wasn’t really certain what she was apologizing for. It was a reflex at this point.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, okay? Just take a few breaths… everything will be alright. Make it through tonight knowing there is a weekend of nothing but naps and Netflix in your future,” Draco’s smile was evident through the phone. “Be good, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight,” Hermione replied. “Have fun, I’m really proud of you.”
“Your sweetness will be the only thing that powers me through the next few hours,” Draco replied before the call went dead.
Hermione closed her eyes, hoping the next alert that rang out on her phone would be James ready to go home. She couldn’t wait for her first election season as a staffer to come to a close and prayed it would be her last as an unpaid chauffeur.
xxx
November 9, 2018
Hermione was annoyed, taking another large bite out of the slice of pizza in front of her. Draco had been on calls for most of the day, dashing hopes of a lazy day spent on the couch.
She’d waved him off after the third time he mouthed his apologies. There was clearly nothing he could do to change the course of the day at this point.
“You could’ve kept watching, Hermione,” Draco said, sounding very tired on a day that was supposed to be about relaxing.
“I’m the one who’s already watched the show, Draco. The point was to watch it together.”
“Easy,” Draco warned, hopping on the couch and pressing a kiss on her hair. “I want to be on calls even less than you want me to be on them.”
“What’s even happening?”
“Amelia Bones is announcing her run for president tomorrow at 12pm.”
“Isn’t it a bit early?” Hermione asked, scrunching her nose.
“For a progressive to get in front of every other Dem candidate by announcing their candidacy after an awful election showing? It is going to piss the establishment off and rile up the army.”
Hermione snorted, “The establishment and Dumbledore’s Army are the same thing. He’s literally Speaker of the House… any attempt to say that he isn’t just as ensconced in DC as other members of the party is a joke.”
Draco held his hands up, “Don’t come at me, I’m not the one who coined the term, blame Dumbledore.”
“He didn’t come up with it, did he? I thought someone came up with it after your dad called him a senile man who needs to be taken to pasture.”
“You think keyboard warriors all got together behind their screens and decided on Dumbledore’s Army that quickly? No, it was him. Otherwise they’d call themselves something far more clever and less aimed at inflating one pseudo-progressive’s ego.”
Hermione nuzzled her head on Draco’s shoulder. “Your love for Speaker Dumbledore is palpable. But that still doesn’t answer my question. Why are you taking so many calls?”
Draco just looked at her, as though he was waiting for her to figure something out.
Thankfully, her brain didn’t fail.
“Is your dad running? Like the reports are saying?”
Draco twisted his lips, “When a story in the Prophet quotes four senior sources, I think a good rule of thumb is to believe it.”
“Stop being coy, Draco. Is he running or not?”
Draco nodded. “He’ll share more over the Thanksgiving holiday, but it’s certainly looking that way.”
Hermione’s mind raced at the implications of President Lucius Malfoy. If this were a year ago and she had discovered that the man was running for president, she would’ve been on her knees in panic over the man wielding enough power to destroy the gains made under President Shacklebolt. Now, though, she only had thoughts for her relationship with Draco and her own career.
She let out a moan, crawling into Draco’s lap and wrapping herself around him like an unwelcome octopus.
“He’s going to kill us.”
“He’s not,” Draco replied, smoothing out Hermione’s hair and pulling it away from his mouth. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“You say that, and I would be keen to believe you if I didn’t know your father was running for President of the United States, Draco!”
“Kids are off limits in elections,” Draco replied.
Hermione laughed, thumping a fist softly into Draco’s bicep.
“Kids are 9 like Elijah Shacklebolt, not 40-year-old Members of Congress!”
“It was worth a try,” Draco replied, voice far too amused for this important of a conversation. She wanted to yell at him, shake him about and ask him to be serious, but the hand rubbing down her back had her relaxing. “Baby, you’re going to meet my parents, and they’re going to love you… eventually. They’ll have questions, but we’ll answer them and everything will be just fine. Okay?”
“Okay,” Hermione replied, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. What else was there to say? There was only ‘okay’ or ‘I’m done,’ and she was nowhere near fearful enough for the nuclear option. So she’d roll with the punches, and she was certain that meant confronting a spitting mad Lucius Malfoy in the very near future.
xxx
“Good evening, and welcome to a special Saturday night edition of How Rita Reads It. This afternoon, Democratic Congresswoman Amelia Bones of Florida became the first major party candidate to announce their bid for president. The speech took place in her hometown of Orlando, Florida. We’ve put together some clips of the speech that has many worried about Democrats’ prospects to keep the White House in the 2020 election as the party heads further left…”
“Growing up as the daughter of a secretary and a trolley driver in the 1970s, I witnessed the economic hardship that even the most hardworking Americans face. And when my dad had a stroke and was no longer able to work, the reality of poverty is one that I became all too familiar with. And here, in 2018, I stand dismayed that there has been no meaningful progress so that children and families don’t have to suffer the uncertainty that mine did.
“The powerful, the wealthy, the well-connected are seeing their fortunes increase while the middle-class dwindles into the lower-class and we’re left with the most disparate economic stratification that America has ever seen.
“Many of my colleagues in the House and Senate are sitting at home today wondering why there were so many seats lost in the House in the 2018 cycle. The Democratic Majority in the House lost 27 members on Tuesday, including many of my dear friends; I’m here to say that leaders in our party must listen to the message the American people so clearly sent on Tuesday.
“Far too many working Americans have asked themselves if either political party truly hears them. The Democratic Party has been so tainted by the influence of special interests and dark money that it has forgotten the working man and woman.
“As Chairwoman of the House Education and the Labor Committee, know that I hear you. Know that my staff shares your calls, emails and tweets with me daily. That when I hug you on the streets of Florida, I feel your pain. That when I tell you I know what you’re going through, I mean it. The little girl who walked six miles with her mama to a government office when our food stamps were cut in 1982 still remembers what it’s like to go without meals.
“In America, working hard means you should be able to put a roof over your head. In America, no one should spend 30 years paying off their student loans. In America, our veterans shouldn’t come home from war and end up on the streets. In America, no one should die because they couldn’t afford health care. In America, we fight back against bullies! In America, we believe that this is a land of opportunity for ALL people regardless of race, religion, gender identity, sexuality, disability or country of origin. In America, we have seen the victories that stem from fighting together as one united nation.
“The American people need to know that the next two years will be an uphill battle as we face a slim House majority and a hostile Senate led by obstructionist Lucius Malfoy. But there is no time to pause in fear or shrug our shoulders and say we can try again in two years.
“This is the battle for the soul of our nation, and it will take all of us coming together to reclaim our American identity for the values of opportunity, equality, inclusion and freedom. This is the time to fight back against all politicians and leaders, republican or democrat, that stand in the way of unleashing American potential and ingenuity for the good of all people, not just the wealthy and well-connected.
“Since the time I was a U.S. Senate page as a young woman, to having the honor of my life to serve as a U.S. Congresswoman, I’ve known that this is a fight I want to be a part of. And now, when so much is at stake, I feel confident in my ability to lead this fight. That’s why I’m standing here today to declare my candidacy for President of the United States.”
xxx
November 13, 2018
“It’s not too flashy?” Hermione asked, turning around to look at her butt in the full-length bathroom mirror. Did she look promiscuous?”
“You’re closer to a nun than a stripper right now, Hermione. You’re beautiful. Absolutely stunning.”
She just shook her head, unwilling to even be charmed by Draco right now.
“I need to go finish setting up,” Hermione replied, skirting by him and ignoring his puckered lips. Her lipstick had better places to be than his mouth.
By the time the doorbell rang, Hermione was close to a full blown meltdown.
“Calm down,” Draco said, his voice a mix of command and warning. It was what she needed from him. She took a deep breath and nodded.
Draco walked to the front door, his shoes clacking on the floor. Yes, he was wearing shoes. He insisted that his parents would keep theirs on as ‘shoes make an outfit.’ Despite feeling extremely out of her element, Hermione was wearing seasonally appropriate closed toe nude heels with the emerald green sweater dress that she’d bought at Nordstrom with Draco’s black card earlier that week.
Honestly, she didn’t even give a token protest, she’d kissed him and hopped in Pansy’s Range Rover. She couldn’t afford an outfit that was worthy of the Malfoys’ approval, so resistance was futile.
Voices drew closer, and Hermione took one last look at the charcuterie board she’d made for pre-dinner grazing and pretended to fiddle with the stacked china so she didn’t look like she was standing there awkwardly waiting for their arrival.
“Mother, father, I’d like you to meet Hermione Granger,” Draco introduced, looking far too calm.
Hermione may have been a bit socially unobservant, but even a goat could’ve deciphered Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy’s first impressions of her. Lucius? Disbelief, anger, a quick flick up and down her body, then more anger. Narcissa? She was the human version of the expression ‘clutching pearls.’
“It’s lovely to meet you, Senator and Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione smiled, a slight tremor in her voice as she repeated the phrase that her and Pansy had practiced for days on end.
Narcissa recovered first, stepping forward to clasp Hermione’s now proffered hand in both of her own like the southern lady she was.
“Hermione, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione replied, hoping her skin felt soft enough to the woman whose own hands felt like clouds.
“Miss Granger,” Senator Lucius Malfoy nodded reaching a hand towards her, still dressed in a bespoke suit from his day voting in the Senate.
“Senator,” she replied, taking the firm handshake for what it was. A warning. A threat, maybe. She didn’t let her smile waver; she was holding her ground.
“This looks lovely,” Narcissa said, her light, tinkling voice filling the extremely awkward air. “Where was dinner catered from, Draco?”
Catered? She even had high class terms for ordering takeout.
“Hermione cooked for us,” Draco replied. Hermione didn’t quite understand the glint of amusement she swears was in Lucius’ eye. “She made the cheeseboard herself, all I told her is that you both enjoy figs and goat cheese.”
Narcissa nodded, “Well, it’s so lovely I thought it was catered.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione replied graciously. “Would either of you like a drink?”
“This is Draco’s residence, I’m sure he is capable of serving us in his own home,” Senator Malfoy replied, and Hermione tamped down an apology. Draco made her promise she wouldn’t apologize to his father.
“Certainly, father. Hermione’s chosen a Far Niente chardonnay to go with dinner.”
Narcissa nodded, looking at her husband for only a millisecond before he pulled out a chair for her to sit in. They were set up in the dining room at Draco’s insistence, and Hermione wanted to throw up knowing Draco was two rooms over pouring wine.
“Draco has been uncharacteristically tight-lipped regarding your affiliation with one another, Hermione.” Narcissa shared.
There was no inflection in her words; it wasn’t a question.
Hermione swallowed, “Yes, we’ve kept our relationship rather close to the vest due to the nature of Draco’s job.”
“Relationship, you say?”
“Yes sir.”
What else did she have to add? Where was Draco?
“Lucius, make me a plate, please,” Narcissa instructed, and the normally uncowed man immediately stood up and put together a plate without any instructions. It was a clear testament to how long the couple had been together, to not even need help navigating the landmine that was a charcuterie platter.
“Here we are,” Draco smiled, finally walking back into the room. He poured his mother and Hermione drinks first, ever the gentleman.
She saw Lucius’ eyes on her and wondered if he was the type to make a comment on whether or not she was of legal age. Honestly, with the way he was looking at her like she was trash, she wouldn’t put it past him.
“So Hermione, my son shares you work at the Capitol,” Narcissa said. Again, not a question. Was this southern politeness or was this Narcissa Malfoy? She’d always heard the woman was kind, but that was the description given for most political spouses who weren’t total cows.
“Yes, Mrs. Malfoy. I work for Congressman James Potter,” she replied.
“A west coast Democrat?” Lucius asked.
“Yes, father. My bipartisan efforts with James are actually how Hermione and I met.”
“Oh?” Narcissa asked as she daintily stacked goat cheese and fig onto a cracker. Now, that was a question! They were getting somewhere.
“Yes, ma’am. I went to Draco’s office to receive a sign off on a bill that was being introduced when he walked into the front office… we spoke a bit about shared literary interests, and here we are a few months later.” Hermione smiled easily, again, like she hadn’t practiced these very answers with Pansy. God bless her best friend’s militant approach to this dinner; Hermione would’ve been floundering even more if she’d gone in blind.
“What is your legislative portfolio?” the senator asked.
Well shit. This was the one question that they knew they couldn’t skirt around.
“I’m the staff assistant, sir.”
Narcissa choked on her cracker. Lucius’ eyes almost fell out of his head.
Draco looked like he was going to kick his parents out of the house.
“You mean to say… just how old are you, Miss Gangel?”
Hermione followed Draco’s lead and did not correct the man’s clearly blatant use of the wrong last name.
“I’m 22-years-old, sir.”
“What were there no interns available, Draco?” Lucius spat, running a hand through his hair.
“Oh heavens,” Narcissa sighed.
“Father,” Draco snapped.
“No, really. Would you like a ride to Sidwell Friends? I’m sure there are some girls who’d love to take a Congressman to the fall dance.”
Draco didn’t reply, and Hermione couldn’t look at him. Not when she was trying not to turn into a blubbering mess or rip Lucius’ hair out.
She’d been through worse. So, so much worse. She wasn’t going to cry, not when Lucius Malfoy would only grow stronger with every tear.
“This board is well-balanced, dear,” Narcissa offered a moment later, almost as an apology.
“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. I enjoy hosting others,” she smiled back weakly, knowing she sounded like every wannabe trophy wife.
“Do you live in Virginia or Maryland, Miss Granger?” Narcissa asked, clearly thinking it was a polite question. More like a punch in the gut; did Hermione look unable to afford DC or was it that they now knew her job title and estimated how much she made? Or did she just look unlike someone who lived in DC, if that could even be considered a thing?
“I live in a rowhouse only two streets over, it’s quite convenient.”
“How many roommates do you have?” Lucius asked, as though he expected her to tell him she had nine people shoveled into a house that fit three. By this point, she expected that if she told him that she had an illegal living arrangement, he’d call the cops then and there with a gleeful snicker.
“One,” she replied, using her only potential trump card earlier than she wanted to. “I live with a friend I met during my internship, I believe you know her family. Pansy Parkinson.”
Lucius’ face went slightly white, and Hermione felt her own moment of vindictive glee. She knew it’d only last until their next question, but for now, she would revel in shocking the man.
“The Parkinsons are dear friends of the Malfoys! Lucius was just with Poseidon recently, weren’t you dear?”
The man looked like it pained him to know Hermione had anything in common with him other than being a living, breathing human.
“Indeed, darling. Miss Parkinson is a nice young woman, I’m pleased to know her talents are being utilized in Draco’s office.”
“She’s grateful for the opportunity to work for Draco,” Hermione smiled, knowing that Draco was probably rolling his eyes at the fact that his father thought Pansy an angel. “I know she finds the work challenging and rewarding, as any good job should be.”
Lucius nodded stiffly.
“If you’ll excuse me while I finish up plating dinner,” Hermione smiled, looking much more composed than she felt.
Draco stood up and pulled her chair back, and Hermione was grateful. She felt everything he couldn’t say in that gesture alone.
Hermione didn’t give herself a chance to falter as she grabbed the tinfoil covered dishes out of the oven and brought them into the dining room that was suspiciously silent as she walked in. Way to make a girl feel like she wasn’t being discussed.
“Do you need any help?” Narcissa asked politely.
“I’m all set, thank you,” Hermione smiled as she placed two oyster grey Le Creuset casserole dishes on the table. She could see the Malfoys trying not to peek at what she made for them while she was still there, like curiosity was a faux pas. Maybe it was; it wasn’t like Hermione would know. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”
She came back with the salad and au jus next, placing them down carefully and mentally high-fiving herself for not tripping.
“Let me grab the chicken, sweetheart,” Draco said, standing up from the table and walking out without even blushing at letting the nickname slip. Hermione followed him, not checking to see Lucius and Narcissa’s expressions at their son’s affection.
Draco pulled her in for a kiss once they’d stepped foot in the kitchen, carefully hugging her so he wouldn’t mess up her curls or makeup. Screw the lipstick, she needed Draco.
“Breathe,” Draco smiled. “You’re fine. My father is trying to scare you off; don’t let him.”
Hermione nodded, stepping away to carve the now rested chicken. Scaring off was an interesting substitution for being a total asshole.
“My brave girl. Your food looks delicious... they will love it.”
“I hope so,” she replied as Draco grabbed the perfectly cooked roast chicken. She’d made the very same meal twice already this week, subjecting Pansy to it once and Draco to it the second time. Everything needed to be perfect, and if that meant test cooking dinner, she was going to test cook dinner.
“Everything smells lovely,” Narcissa smiled tightly as Draco carefully placed the platter of carved meat in the middle of the dining room table. Voila. The Le Creuset serving ware all matched, everything was evenly spaced on the table, and the food was all cooked perfectly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy,” she replied graciously. “I’ve made a roast chicken, maple-ginger-roasted vegetables with pecans, mashed potatoes, and a mustard greens salad with an apple-dijon dressing. I hope you all enjoy it.”
Hermione was interested to see that Narcissa didn’t move from her seat, but Lucius did. The man filled a plate and placed it in front of his wife before going back for his own. It was a relationship flex that impressed Hermione.
Once the older pair was sat with food, Hermione and Draco stood up to make their plates.
Hermione didn’t touch her food, waiting for Lucius to pray. The man prayed quickly and managed to skirt past mentioning Hermione explicitly in the way only a seasoned politician could.
“Thank you,” she smiled after he prayed.
“Where do you attend church, Miss Granger?” Narcissa asked, clearly now trying to suss out if she was a Christian.
That, more than anything so far, pissed Hermione off. Did they really have that little faith in Draco to think he wouldn’t be dating a Christian?
“I’m a member at District Church in Columbia Heights,” she replied, grinning through the next round of incredulous looks. “How do you find Capitol Hill Baptist? Pastor Dever’s works are extremely useful in building Christian community, I’m sure his weekly services are wonderful.”
“Capitol Hill Baptist is the best church that one could hope to find in such a sin-filled city. Pastor Dever is a dear friend, and I’m grateful to benefit from his spiritual wisdom when in Washington,” Lucius replied, cutting a carrot cleanly in half.
“I’m sure,” she nodded. “My church in Seattle was far less scripture-based than those I’ve attended in DC, so I’m grateful to be in a city that has such diverse and theologically sound congregations.”
“Are you involved in your church, Hermione?” Narcissa asked.
“I am,” Hermione smiled. “I serve on our kids’ worship team as well as a prayer team member.”
“Oh? What does prayer team entail?” Narcissa asked before placing a piece of cauliflower in her mouth with more precision than Hermione had ever eaten anything in her life.
“Our prayer team stands to the side of the stage during communion in case anyone’s in need of prayer. We also are on standby for prayer requests that come up during the week.”
“That’s wonderful, dear. This city needs all the hands and feet of Christ that it can get,” Narcissa praised, and Hermione felt her spirits lift. “This food is delicious. What’s in your potatoes?”
“Oh, I added a bit of canned pumpkin. I hope it’s alright,” she blushed, looking down at her plate to cut some chicken.
“Impressive! I would’ve never thought to add such an ingredient, but it’s certainly apt for the fall. Lucius is a big fan of pumpkin, aren’t you?”
That was an olive branch if Hermione’d ever seen one.
“I don’t hate it, Miss Gangel.”
Gangel.
“Father, you know full well that it’s Granger. If you can’t respect my partner, I’m going to ask you to leave my house.”
Woof.
Lucius just continued eating like Draco had said nothing.
“You mentioned nothing of these rolls, Hermione.” Narcissa said, well-manicured fingers ripping one in half.
“Ah, yes, they’re called Parker House rolls. Are you familiar, Mrs. Malfoy?”
The woman shook her head.
“They’re quite simple to make, the trick is a decent amount of milk and punching the dough down so they end up shaped well. I can share the recipe, if you’d like.”
“Please do,” she replied with a genuine smile.
Hermione only wished that she’d ask for her to call her Narcissa. That’s all Hermione was now hoping for out of this dinner.
“What next?” Lucius asked.
Hermione was quite pleased that no matter how angry he was, he didn’t leave and he didn’t stop eating. Turns out those test runs were worth something.
“Hermione and I are in a relationship, and we’ll begin going out together publicly now that you’re aware.”
“You can’t possibly believe this to be smart, son.” Lucius replied.
“I’m unsure where your confusion lies, father. I wanted you to meet Hermione before we start dating publicly, but you have me regretting inviting you over.”
“Boys, can we not fight?” Narcissa asked tightly, before her face fell as she looked over to Hermione. “Dear, you’re a sweet girl, but you certainly understand our concerns?”
Draco interjected before Hermione could reply.
“Respectfully, I believe we’re past the point where your concerns about my romantic relationships are pivotal. I am a grown man. Hermione and I have been together for months inside of this house out of respect for father’s campaign. The election is over.”
“You think that we’re unable to do basic math? You could be her father,” Lucius replied, eyes ice cold as they stared into his son’s heated ones.
“And I thank God every day that I’m not; I am her partner. If you have legitimate concerns over our compatibility, those will be heard out. But you seem unwilling to even entertain getting to know Hermione, so that doesn’t seem like it will ever be an issue.”
“Your office, Draco.” Lucius replied, standing up and stalking out of the room. A moment later, Hermione was alone with Narcissa.
The silence was painful, but she figured conversation may be even worse.
“My Lucius is a bit… thick-headed, Hermione. He’s also extremely protective of those he loves.”
“I appreciate that, Mrs. Malfoy. It’s a quality any father should have, in my opinion. I apologize for my boldness, but I also wish for you to understand that I haven’t come here to hurt Draco.”
The woman looked sympathetic. “Dear, in our world, intentions are the least of our worries.”
Your son’s feelings also appear to be the least of your worries, Hermione kept to herself.
“I am, however, pleased to see that Draco’s Le Creuset is finally being pulled out of its boxes.”
Hermione cracked a grin at that. Olive branch two, maybe this one wouldn’t crumble. “I told him that I’d put them to good use the first time I came over.”
“Oh? Do you cook for him often?”
She nodded, “He doesn’t eat much at events, so I’ll have dinner ready for him once he’s back. It’s the least I could do.”
“I’m certain your schedule is almost as busy as his.”
Hermione shrugged, “I enjoy serving the people in my life, and if that’s making sure he eats dinner, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Hermione. I was much less anxious about his well being when we lived on Capitol Hill.”
“I didn’t know you used to live in the area. When did you move?”
“We moved in 2013 after the home that a young Lucius promised to purchase if it ever came on the market was on sale. Kalorama is a lovely area, just extremely inconvenient.”
“I’m sure it’s lovely,” Hermione replied, standing up and moving around the table to pour more wine into Narcissa’s almost empty glass. Heaven knows she needed it.
“Speaking of lovely, your dress looks very nice on you.”
“Oh, thank you!” Hermione replied, feeling like she was finally guzzling breath after her oxygen tank had run out the second the Malfoys had walked into the house. “That’s very kind.”
“Draco mentioned you spend much of your time in the house. What do you do together?”
Hermione smiled as she thought through everything they did together. “A lot of talking, certainly, we cook and bake, watch television, and over August recess we formed a book club. We’re currently reading through our third book together.”
Narcissa seemed unable to stop a smile from growing on her face. “What are you reading?”
“It’s a bit of a controversial pick, but we’re reading Love and Respect by Emerson Eggerichs.”
Narcissa laughed loudly, a beautiful and surprisingly boisterous sound. She sounded far more alive than Hermione ever expected someone like the blonde woman to be in the throes of joy. There were signs of human life after all.
“Oh, heavens, my girl. It’s like you want to be crushed under the weight of the male ego before you’re even married.”
“These are important conversations… faith, intellectual chemistry, just how heavy Draco’s male ego is… I want to know.”
“I was married at seventeen,” Narcissa smiled. “It wasn’t too out of the ordinary for women of my background at the time, but we certainly weren’t having these conversations.”
“That’s certainly understandable… it looks as though it worked out well, even without controversial marriage books.”
“Marriage is a constant struggle between compromise and desire, Hermione. Even more so when you’re married to a Malfoy man… it’s a gift, but it’s one that doesn’t come without strings.”
As though this was a movie and their conversation was one the director wanted to hold viewers in suspense over, the sound of footsteps sounded through the house.
“Hopefully they’ve made amends,” Narcissa said with a sigh that made her look like a movie ready damsel in distress.
The men sat back down as though nothing were amiss.
“All well?” Narcissa asked, a perfectly sculpted brow raised at her husband.
“Certainly,” Lucius replied. “Miss Granger, I apologize for any offense you may have taken at my words.”
That was not an apology, Hermione thought to herself.
“Certainly, sir. I hope we’re able to continue building a relationship so you can see I mean you and your family no harm.”
“Certainly,” Lucius repeated.
Well… it was a start.
The meal ended on as positive of a note as it could, with both Malfoys praising her apple pie and ingenuity in whipping up maple cinnamon whipped cream to go along with it in lieu of ice cream.
Hermione felt awkward as they wrapped up, wondering what the couple was going to say. They would’ve left if they were angry enough to ask Draco to end his relationship, right?
“This was… a lovely meal and a trying evening. I apologize for any hurt you may feel, Miss Granger, but ask that you sympathize with my husband and I. We care deeply about our son, and though we wish to see him married, this was never a path we saw that coming through,” Narcissa said quietly as Lucius and Draco cleaned up at her request.
“I can understand your reservations, ma’am. I just hope that as you ruminate over the night’s events, both you and your husband can keep in mind that your son is smart and worthy of your trust in all of his decisions. This isn’t about me, at the end of the day; it’s about having trust in Draco.”
Narcissa patted her cheek softly like an old timey movie actress. “I can tell you care about him, dear.”
That was it. The woman walked away, not even completing her thought with a placation or a warning. Lucius only nodded stiffly at her as he walked out, after Narcissa wrapped up her tall son in a hug that he stiffly returned.
Hermione let her tears fall when the door shut.
Draco walked towards her after locking the deadbolt, pulling her into a tight hug.
“What do you say to a bubble bath?” Draco asked.
“You have bubble bath?” she asked, voice sounding croaky as she continued to cry.
“I do,” Draco confirmed, bending his knees a bit to heft Hermione into his arms and heading up the stairs. “You stay right on the bed, and I’ll get the bath all set up.”
Hermione wasn’t going to object to his directions and curled up like a miserable fool on his bed. His white duvet that she was definitely getting mascara all over.
“Ready? I think this is kind of a fun surprise…” Draco smiled, leaning against the bathroom door.
“What?” she asked, sitting up.
“C’mere,” he beckoned. “I went to a store in Georgetown, it’s called Lush… the gal working there talked my ear off for a good 30 minutes after I told her about what you may like.”
Hermione giggled. “What did you say?”
“Oh, just that you have beautiful, big curls, the prettiest, milky pale skin that’s buttery soft and that you like all things peppermint and cinnamon and book scented.”
She laughed out loud at that before jolting at her expression. Mascara was everywhere, making her look like a terrifying Snapchat filter in human form.
“Let me clean my face first,” she sniffled, taking her face wash and wiping her skin clean. Honestly, she felt wasteful even using makeup to meet the Malfoys; it clearly hadn’t impressed them. “Okay, I’m good. Where’s the bubble bath?”
“You need to get in first,” Draco replied, shrugging.
“Draco!”
“Let me have a fun surprise,” he replied. “Now get undressed and in the bath.”
“Are you coming in?” she asked as she pulled her dress over her head.
“No, sweetheart, this is a bath for one.”
“You don’t want to?” she asked. She still hadn’t seen Draco fully naked, so the idea of a bath being the first time was a bit weird. How would water change the dynamics of foreplay, anyways? She made a mental note to Google that later.
Draco didn’t move from his position by the tub, but smiled softly. “Hermione… I am taking care of you, that means you are taking a bath.”
“Okay,” she replied as she stepped out of her underwear and folded everything up nicely to grab later.
“Careful,” Draco called as he grabbed her hand and helped her climb into the bath. “Feel good?”
“So warm,” she sighed, laying back despite knowing that bared her entire body to Draco. By this point, she felt as shameless as Eve before the forbidden fruit consumption. Draco was safe, and she couldn’t feel unconscious when he saw her body. It was weird, how quickly that confidence had taken root; it was yet another reminder of how feeble the human mind was.
“Now, this little guy is called a bath bomb. You throw it in the bath and it’ll make your skin soft and smell even better than it already does.”
“You sound like a serial killer when you talk about my skin so reverently,” she giggled.
“You won’t know I’m a serial killer until it’s too late,” Draco growled back. “Now, watch this…”
Draco dropped a chalky, bright green ball into the bath and it immediately started fizzing and turning the clear water a dark red.
“Pretty. Why’d she pick this one out?” Hermione asked, swishing her hand through the water to make sure the fizz ball made its way around the ridiculously sized tub.
“Well, it’s called Lord of Misrule and it’s a fall favorite…” Draco shot a glare at Hermione when she laughed at his detailed explanation. “It smells like patchouli and black pepper oils, and she said a lot of people who enjoy spicy aromas like cinnamon buy it. Was she wrong?”
“Draco!” Hermione called out, shaking her head against the back of the tub. “It smells really good… different, but really homey.”
“I’ll go back and give her a good review, then. Now, here’s the part she was very excited about… close your eyes.”
Hermione did, and jolted at the feeling of something cold on her face.
“Keep them closed… It's a face mask called Mask of Magnaminty. It’s a deep exfoliator… I may have tried it out earlier today.”
Hermione snorted, but kept her eyes closed. “It feels like there’s mint toothpaste on my face.”
“It’ll feel even better when you leave it on for a bit,” Draco replied.
“This is a full service salon,” Hermione replied, feeling extremely loved. “Do you… what did you and your dad talk about?”
Draco sighed. “I just want you to relax tonight, sweetheart…”
“I can relax and have this conversation at the same time.”
“Not sure that’s possible knowing you, Hermione.”
“Please, Draco,” she replied, voice soft in a way she hoped would bend him to her will.
“If you start to get upset we’re holding this until tomorrow,” Draco warned.
“Fine… just please tell me what he said.”
“Well, seems he had a conversation with Governor Macnair today and he received word on who’d be appointed to the senate seat if he became president.”
“Isn’t it really far down the line? Why are they having these… is it you? Draco?” Hermione asked, mind catching up to her words after a moment.
“Yes,” Draco replied, voice tight. Hermione cracked open an eye, minty mask be damned.
“Love, that’s amazing. You deserve it more than anyone I know, which feels weird to say about a hypothetical appointment regarding a hypothetical presidential election victory, but I mean it. You deserve it.”
“It’s a lot to parse through.”
“Meaning what? Us?” she asked, voice uncertain.
“No, baby. Not us, everything but us. I had a conversation with Yaxley this morning, and he said that he and other members of party leadership want me to run for Energy and Commerce Committee ranking member.”
“Draco! That’s exactly what you’ve wanted!” Hermione smiled, face cracking the mask as she sat up and splashed water against the high sides of the tub.
“You’re ruining my work,” Draco frowned, though his eyes showed just how pleased he was at Hermione’s excitement.
“Sorry, sorry. I just get excited.” she replied, lying back down and closing her eyes like this really was a spa.
“I appreciate it, sweetheart. There’s just a lot on my plate, but I’ll continue to have conversations and let you know where I land.”
“For which? The Senate or E&C?”
Draco huffed a laugh, “If I’m appointed for the Senate, no isn’t really an answer, and I don’t think father would let no be an answer. Energy and Commerce… it’s a lot of work, and I know a few names are still floating for chairman.”
“I wish I could say ‘or woman,’ but that’s not in the cards.”
“You could be, one day.”
Hermione shook her head rapidly. “I found out two days that you have to be bonkers to run for office. No way in hell.”
“I’ll be here thinking up campaign slogans in case you change your mind…”
“I appreciate your confidence in me, but no thank you. Now, back to it… what else did your father say?”
“Honestly, Hermione… you don’t need to worry about him. Mother liked you, she even patted your cheek. That was akin to smacking a kiss on your lips and asking you to brunch.”
Hermione cackled at the image. “Dinner was a funny way of showing she wants to go for bottomless mimosas, Draco.”
“I told you my parents were tough to crack… you can’t get discouraged. I’d ask you down to Charlotte for Thanksgiving if I knew my Aunt Bella wouldn’t be there.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“What isn’t wrong with her is a better question. She’s an NRA spokesperson, for one, and she’s just always been a bit off her rocker.”
“I thought you liked guns?”
“There’s a difference between believing in protecting one’s home and spending your day fear mongering about how to get more people to buy guns.”
“She’s going to love me,” Hermione replied with a small smile. If she couldn’t make jokes, she would be in worse shape than she was.
“She will get over herself by the grace of God and grandma’s boot in her backside.”
Hermione laughed. “What a way with words… what will your grandparents think?”
“They’ll all be elated, honestly. Grandfather Malfoy is a marshmallow in the shape of an elder statesman, and he’ll probably try to take you home and never let you leave. In a very paternal, not creepy way. Grandmother, his wife, is no nonsense, which is where I think dad adopted some of his sensibilities from, but at the end of the day, she’s a 75-year-old God-fearing woman from Mississippi. She wants more great-grandchildren, and that usurps basically any negative quality you could have.”
“Besides bad genes,” Hermione replied without thinking about the fact that she was joking about their children. Too soon. Abort mission.
“No overbite or weird gums to see,” Draco confirmed.
“Weird gums?”
“I’m sure there’s a scientific term, but… I’m not a fan of ugly mouths. If you smiled and I saw something off putting, I’m not sure your brain or pretty face could even save you.”
“That’s awful, Draco!”
“What? Do you want honesty or for me to tell you I’m attracted to every quality that women have?”
“I don’t think I’d like that, but still. You sounded cruel.”
“You have a beautiful mouth, so don’t worry.”
“Not worrying,” she replied drily. “About this at least. Everything else… that’s a lot. I can’t believe they brought up the Senate seat this early; it feels like putting the cart before the horse.”
“That’s how politics function, they have to jump twelve steps ahead to make sure everything works eleven steps behind.”
“So what now?”
“Now, we go to Eastern Market this weekend, buy some quesadillas from the food truck Blaise always talks about, and buy you some end-of-season apple cider from the apple stand you love.”
“Sounds perfect,” Hermione replied.
Because it did; and that’s the conundrum they found themselves facing. If they had a solid foundation, did it really matter what anyone else thought? As they stepped out together publicly for the first time that weekend, Hermione was pretty sure they’d find out.