Chapter 18
May 4, 2019
Hermione had attended many campaign events when she was back in Seattle with James before the election, but a Lucius Malfoy fundraiser was decidedly… different.
She kept it to herself, but it was clear what the difference was. Republicans like Lucius weren’t trying to hide their wealth. He was anything but an average guy, and there was no use trying to pretend like he was. Iced towers of Alaskan king crab, oysters, and shrimp were wholly fitting.
Malfoy for America, the uninspiring name of his campaign, had rented a large room at a prominent DC steakhouse, and instead of the normal seated dinner and a speech that took place at most large fundraisers, Lucius had instituted a ‘mix and mingle’ to acquaint everyone who was supporting his campaign.
Hermione suspected that the format of the event was also designed to see if anyone made comments to her or Draco about their relationship. Or, Harry had suggested on a call earlier that week, to see if a jilted former lover of Draco’s poured their drink on Hermione’s head and caused a scene. As implausible as Harry’s thought had first seemed, now, being stared at by extremely well-dressed couples… well, she was grateful her dress was navy and not easily stained.
She felt a bit better as she experienced the protective, loving way that Draco engaged her in conversation, never allowing anyone to treat her with anything less than forced kindness. That wasn’t often, of course; most people were so interested in learning about his girlfriend that conversation never came close to Lucius and his aspirations. Not until Draco shifted it there, at least.
Draco had left to grab fresh drinks while Hermione was happily engaged in a conversation with Bathilda Bagshot, a revered historian who was toying with the idea of writing a book about the Malfoys. She hadn’t paid to get in, and that in itself would’ve been reason for Hermione to stick with the old, underdressed woman all night. Bathilda was as close to a kindred spirit as Hermione could find in the room.
But no, Hermione was extremely grateful to listen to the 70-something-year-old blather on about how Albus Dumbledore’s brother had cut all ties from his family and lived in rural South Dakota running a bed and breakfast on the route to Mount Rushmore.
While she was content to hear the woman’s colorful history lesson, Draco seemed less enthused. Whether that was because he didn’t want a book written about his family or he simply didn’t want to hear her talk, Hermione had no idea. She was slightly annoyed when he gently pulled her away with the least believable apology ever given. Bathilda looked unbothered, clearly used to dealing with tetchy politicos.
“Draco,” she admonished quietly, trying to keep a smile on her lips so people didn’t think she was mad. Anything close to a lover’s spat would grace the next day’s morning newsletters or, worse, Twitter.
“What?” he asked with a grin of his own, pressing a glass of white wine into her hand. She took a sip, trying to discern how a bottle that cost hundreds of dollars tasted exactly the same as the four dollar bottles of Barefoot from CVS she purchased before Pansy came crashing into her life.
“I was enjoying my conversation with Bathilda!”
Draco let out a small chuckle and a sigh, “Of course you would. What’s that place from the Christmas movie we watched with Leo? The island of misfit toys?”
“Stop!” Hermione replied, trying not to smile. “She’s kind... if a bit eccentric.”
“A bit,” Draco agreed sarcastically. “I was pulling you away because I saw someone walking in…”
“Who?” Hermione turned to follow his eyeline and immediately let out a soft noise of approval. Or maybe it was relief.
Abraxas Malfoy found himself mobbed by a desperate calvary of rich men and women the moment he and Livana walked in, but was clearly happy to shove them all aside in order to greet Hermione and Draco. She couldn’t lie… it had her feeling a bit more confident in a crowd of people she was diametrically opposed to, in everything from socioeconomic status to political beliefs. The most powerful man in the room paid attention to her; who was everyone else to find her unworthy?
“How are you doing, my girl?” Abraxas asked while Draco linked arms with his grandmother and walked her over to the bar, cutting the crowd surrounding it without apology. It was a Malfoy move that she was almost certain he had picked up from his father.
“I’m well,” Hermione smiled. “How are you?”
“Much better now that we’re out of the traffic jam from hell. Thought we’d die behind a minivan with a cracked window and the Phantom of the Opera blaring from the crummy speakers.”
She let out a small laugh, “I’m not sure this is any better.”
“Dying of boredom in the company of others is a sensation you’ll become intimately familiar with over your lifetime, dear. Come with me while I get a drink, will you?”
Hermione nodded, following the man over to the bar where he shamelessly moved in front of the swathe of people waiting. Like father, like son, like grandson.
“Oh, Senator Malfoy!” a woman with the curly hair of a poodle greeted.
Hermione stiffened immediately, thinking that Lucius was looming behind her. She was only slightly relieved to see that Rita Skeeter, dolled up with a bleach blonde perm and appalling magenta dress was instead addressing Abraxas.
“Miss Skeeter,” the man replied with a tight smile and cold eyes, turning back to the bartender now that he knew who was vying for his attention.
Interesting… Hermione tucked it away to mull over later.
“And you must be Hermione,” the woman tried again, undeterred.
“She is,” Abraxas replied before Hermione could. “And now we’ll be off. Nothing for you, greedy gremlin.”
Hermione’s eyes were wide, savoring the affronted noise the right-wing reporter made as they walked away.
“Never talk to that woman if you know what’s good for you. She’ll spin hay into the Cuban Missile Crisis. You hear?”
She nodded, slightly embarrassed as she squeaked out a ‘yessir.’ The man’s tone hadn’t allowed for argument, not that she would fight him on anything. Especially in a crowd full of bloodthirsty sharks.
“Grandfather,” Draco smiled, rejoining them with Livana at his side.
“How long do we have to stay?” Abraxas asked quietly, blue eyes searching the crowd quickly.
“Father will give a speech at eight… I’m sure you can feign needing sleep after that. You’re finally old enough to make that excuse believable.”
Abraxas pinched Draco’s side, clucking his tongue. “The cheek of you, boy!”
“What?” Draco shrugged innocently, drawing peals of laughter from both Hermione and Livana.
Entranced in the exchange, Hermione barely noticed the click of a professional camera going off.
“Where’s Lucie?” Livana asked after a few more minutes of conversation, taking a look around the crowded room.
“He and mother were holding court near the step and repeat,” Draco answered.
Both Abraxas and Livana nodded at that, and Hermione felt confused.
“What’s a step and repeat?” she asked Draco quietly, not sure if this was something she should already know.
“See the navy photo backdrop set up over there?” Draco nodded towards a large plasticky cloth hung up in the opposite corner of the room. She nodded. “It’s just a backdrop that allows people holding meet and greets to stay where they are and have people step in and out then repeat it quickly.”
“That makes sense, thank you.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Draco smiled fondly, leaning in towards her before he pulled back. Clearly, he’d forgotten where he was for a moment, and she felt a bit powerful having that effect on him.
“Senator Malfoy? Congressman?” a young woman dressed in a black dress asked. Her red hair was pulled back from her face with a clip and streamed down her back.
“Yes ma’am?” Abraxas replied, reactivating his warm politician’s drawl.
“My name is Tracey, sir, I work for the campaign. Senator Malfoy is hoping you all can take a photo with him and Mrs. Malfoy.”
“You lead the way, Miss Tracey,” Abraxas said, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist.
Draco’s free hand went into the crook of her elbow, something that Hermione assumed was a more respectable hold for an unmarried couple in the eyes of the affluent.
Once more, Abraxas waved off everyone who tried to pull him into conversation. It was hard not to feel sick as they got closer to Lucius, and all she could do was hope that his mood was jubilant enough that he’d ignore her. She hadn’t seen the man since they arrived, which suited her quite well.
“There you are!” Narcissa smiled as they walked up. Hermione was surprised to receive the second hug, following her embrace with Livana. It wasn’t a competition, of course, but it felt good regardless. By the way Draco smiled at her, she knew her expression read of how pleased she was.
“You look lovely, darling,” Narcissa commented once Draco and Abraxas were beckoned over to join Lucius in conversation with two ancient looking men. “Pearls and a navy dress are the perfect choice for an event like this… Beautiful, but understated enough for the attention to remain on Draco.”
What? Was the point of her outfit really to let people focus on Draco? It’s not like she’d wear a getup reminiscent of Lady Gaga on the red carpet to a fancy fundraiser.
No, she was wearing the only navy cocktail dress she could find that didn’t look like it doubled as a high school choir teacher’s fanciest outfit. Pansy’s pearls completed the outfit, making her look like the age-appropriate significant other of a rich, handsome man.
“Thank you,” she smiled wanly, assuming that was the correct response.
“But,” Narcissa held up a perfectly french manicured finger. “I wish Draco would’ve told you that the step and repeat was navy! We want you to blend in, dear, but not that much.”
“She looks just darling, Cissy,” Livana soothed. “If she stands in front of Draco, she won’t blend in.”
“Fabulous idea!” the blonde woman commended. “Let me grab the boys…”
Hermione had to hide a smile at the way she addressed the men as boys; only a Malfoy wife could get away with such a flagrant term of address.
The trio of Malfoy men joined them behind the step and repeat, giving them the first moment of privacy since they’d stepped into the room.
“Draco Lucius Malfoy! Did you not tell Hermione that the photo background was navy like your father asked?” Narcissa admonished, arms held across her cream silk covered chest.
To his credit, Draco just looked confused. “Ma, father didn’t tell me what color the step and repeat was.”
Both Narcissa and Livana’s sharp gazes cut to Lucius, who looked far too calm. Even if they didn’t say it, everyone knew that Lucius’ omission was calculated. And for what? Did he think she was going to run and hide because she wore the color blue to an event? Not likely.
“It must’ve slipped my mind, precious,” Lucius said in lieu of an apology, looking to Hermione with no sign of regret in his eyes. “She will have plenty of time to be photographed with our family going forward.”
There was no missing the man’s emphasis on our family, which only annoyed Hermione. Was he going to be hot and cold for the rest of their lives? One day he liked her, and the next he didn’t. It’d be nice to know where he stood for more than an hour.
“No, Lucius,” Narcissa replied in a firm, exasperated voice. She was clearly aware of the crowd just behind the thin background, but unwilling to let this slide. Hermione appreciated the backup. “We’ll take one as a family, Draco will stand behind Hermione and block the background.”
“Like it’s a prom? Is that the image these two need to put into the world right now, dear?” Lucius asked, lips pinched together.
“If someone would’ve shared the suggested color palette with their son, we wouldn’t have to be thinking up alternate ideas.”
“I’m not sure, Narcissa…”
“I think it’s a swell idea,” Abraxas cut in. “Let’s just get this over with, hm?”
“Thanks for your enthusiasm, father.”
“Oh, cheer up, Luc. There are plenty of brown nosers out there who will be more than happy to tell you what you want to hear.”
“Settle down now,” Livana chided. “Let’s take a nice photograph, smile and clap when Lucie gives his speech, and enjoy the night. Yes?”
“Yes ma’am,” the three Malfoy men dutifully replied. Narcissa smirked, winking at Hermione. These men were kept in line by strong women, no matter what anyone outside of their close circle thought.
It was a bit jarring to Hermione, watching the family have a spat over something as ridiculous as the color of her dress and the composition of a photograph. Draco looked as relaxed as ever, shooting an easy grin over to Hermione like everything was fine. To be fair, though… maybe it was for him?
She felt wholly relieved by the time the cameraman told them that they were all set, more than happy to step out of the frame with Livana and Abraxas so that the trio of younger Malfoys could take a picture together. It only gave her a moment to breathe, but it was still a moment without a camera flashing and the eyes of interested attendees roving over her as though they could figure her out with just one look.
It was only later that night, when she was getting into bed with Draco that she realized that photos were being taken all night long. She’d been more interested in how Draco seemed close to no one there; it’d hit her earlier in the week, when she’d begged Pansy not to have her father pay her entry fee. Mr. Parkinson had contemplated flying up for the fundraiser after Pansy asked him to take her, but Hermione insisted her friend not attend the event. It was her first foray into the world of the Malfoys, and spending it with a bulldog named Pansy at her side wasn’t the way to do it. She needed to look strong, not like the underpaid, poor 20-something she was. Hopefully she’d done that well.
But Draco having no friends there? No one he smiled at with anything close to authenticity? That was weird. It was something she wanted to ask about, but she had no idea the proper way to ask a 40-year-old man if he had friends. Once she was home the next day she’d consult Google. What would she even ask?
How many friends should older men have?
How to ask your boyfriend why he has no close friendships
Is it hard for men to have strong relationships?
“That was a quick turnaround,” Hermione murmured into Draco’s shoulder, cheek resting on his bare skin as they went through the high quality photos that one of Lucius’ campaign staffers had sent to his email.
Draco let out a small laugh, “It’s someone’s job to take photos at events, father wouldn’t hire someone who wasn’t good at it. Especially with the amount of content you need to post in a primary… A quick turnaround is a must.”
“We look nice,” she observed, realizing that the only pictures they had together until that point were poorly taken selfies, reporter photos from Easter and now these. As nice as it was to have professional photos… she’d take the selfies any day. Trying not to be a wistful sap, she only allowed herself one moment to think about the photos they could have jamming their Facebook feeds from barbeques, the farmers market, family birthday parties and vacations if they were different people. If this world was different… but no, this was what they were given. There was no use wishing and wanting for something that would never be possible.
“We do, sweetheart,” Draco agreed, turning his head to press a kiss to her lips. “How do you feel about posting photos of us together?”
“In what capacity?” she asked, brow furrowed.
Draco stiffened slightly, something she only noticed because she was draped over his shoulder, cheek jolting up at the move.
“I mean… the normal ways people post about their relationships? Facebook, Instagram, Twitter…” Draco replied somewhat sheepishly.
“I didn’t say that I was against it,” Hermione tried to soothe him. “I just didn’t know if you were asking permission for me to be included in campaign materials, which is slightly different than you posting a photo of us on Instagram. Of course you can post photos… I thought you might not want to. I noticed the way that you kept people away from us all night.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to be fawned over by the hangers on. Tonight was about making sure you’re comfortable. For as much ground as we’ve covered, it’s a bit funny to think that a question as big as ‘are you ashamed to post photos with me publicly?’ feels off limits,” the blond mused.
She shrugged, “I mean... It’s no different than wondering if you should be FBO.”
“FBO?”
Ah, she sighed internally. Yet another millennialism she’d need to bring Draco up to speed on.
“Facebook official. It makes dating real, in a lot of ways. All of your baby boomer relatives will see that you have a significant other and have the ability to stalk their profile. Most people my age use that as the true mark of a serious relationship.”
Draco dropped his phone on his chest, barely missing her head as he covered his face with large hands and guffawed.
Who knew the put together man could make such a sound?
“That’s the most childish thing I’ve ever heard. Posting online is the mark of a serious relationship? Not, I don’t know, talking about marriage, becoming intimate or meeting one another’s families?”
“I didn’t make it up!” Hermione replied, slightly mesmerized by the sight of Draco laughing so freely. “But I get it. Tough discussions are hard, and the awkwardness of deciding whether or not you’re serious enough to post about your relationship online is a good start!”
“Oh, my sweet love,” Draco pulled Hermione down onto his chest with one well-muscled arm, her cheek landing on his right pec with a thud.
“You’re a bully.”
“And your youth is endearing,” he sighed, patting her Tar Heels t-shirt-covered butt with a ridiculously big hand. “I love you.”
“I love you too, despite your jadedness.”
His phone started vibrating on his stomach, and Hermione rolled off of him so he could grab it.
“My mother,” Draco twisted his lips as he answered. “Mother? Yes. No, why would I-”
He scoffed, and Hermione wished she had super hearing. Draco had far too many phone conversations that she wanted to listen into, and he never put them on speaker, claiming the sound quality was too poor when he did.
“Okay, it’s fine. Hermione already knew that was a possibility… Love you too. Goodnight.”
Draco didn’t speak once he hung up, instead turning to type something in on his phone.
“Yes?” she drawled, pulling his hand out so she could see what he was doing on his phone.
“Patience,” Draco growled, slapping her ass and leaving her reeling. And slightly wet. That was… new. “Grandfather tweeted a photo of us and father thought I put him up to it.”
Instead of starting a long overdue conversation that began with ‘your father has serious issues,’ Hermione instead chose to squint her eyes in the darkness of the room and peer at the tweet that’d sent Lucius and his minions into such a tizzy.
@AbraxasMalfoy: I’ll only suffer through DC traffic if alcohol or my grandkids are on the other side of it. Thankfully tonight brought me both.
The photo was the same one she’d seen only minutes before, only now projected to the 4.3 million followers that Abraxas had on Twitter. The man had become even more snarky and vocal after leaving office, and his Twitter account often made its way into the news when Congress was debating hot topics. Or when he rated restaurants in the honest way that only an old man could. Whatever it was, the snark or the honesty, people loved it.
Her stomach warmed, and she turned to smile up at Draco, trying not to think of how many chins she had from his vantage point.
“He’s sweet.”
“He’s a shit stirrer, pardon my language,” Draco muttered gruffly, as though she’d never heard the word ‘shit’ in her life. His chivalry was too cute by half sometimes.
While she wondered whether or not it was worth asking what the replies looked like, Draco made that choice for her and scrolled down to the replies.
@PeteHatesPolitics: Pandering old man.
@LisaB012934: So sweet, Mr. Senator! God bless your beautiful family...
@GanjaGina: Soulless old Republican taking the wind out of the ‘Draco is single’ sail. Typical. #Letusdream
@g1vemePIZZA: Whyyyyy can’t she be ugly? cc @Birdyb33
“At least they don’t think I’m ugly?” Hermione replied, pressing a kiss to Draco’s sparse chest hair.
“Anyone who says you are is a liar.”
“You’re funny,” she replied with a small smile, closing her eyes. Unbidden images of giggling little girls calling her buck-toothed and horse faced filled her head. At least Draco seemed unaware of how cruel any young girl’s upbringing was. Tonight wasn’t the night to dispel that.
“Hey! What’s that tone?”
“No tone,” her yawn closed off any further discussion. “Goodnight.”
Draco didn’t push it, only pulling Hermione closer to him before following her into sleep.
xxx
May 15, 2019
Growing up without many friends meant that Hermione was somewhat accustomed to a slow and uneventful life. It suited her, and honestly, was something she attributed to how she’d graduated first in her high school class and on the Dean’s List at the University of Washington. There were no distractions, only studying and proving to herself that she could make something out of her piteous adolescence.
So now, having to deal with the emotional toll of having a dramatic best friend and a much-older, often-stressed boyfriend… she was out of her depths. It was then, answering an angry call from a constituent while their new summer interns took the obligatory Capitol tour training for all interns and lower-level staff, that she realized she needed to go back to therapy. Or find a life coach. Someone to tell her that she couldn’t possibly do everything and help her knock a few things off her ever-growing list of worries.
The most frustrating thing at the moment was that there was no time to even internally decompress after holding her second successful small group with her mentees the night before.
Not when the reintroduction of Draco and James’ bill to lower prescription drug costs was the center of focus at work and at home. Even though health care wasn’t in her portfolio, she had all eyes on her, both from her colleagues and James’ staff on the Energy and Commerce Committee as they traversed in and out of the office. No one cared about the fact that Hermione had three girls who had opened up about their lives and goals; it was all about what her reaction to Draco working with James was. As though she’d let people she barely knew into her life; she wasn’t keen to do that before she was with Draco, and she wouldn’t now.
If it was three months ago, she would’ve humbly gushed to her colleagues when they asked how she was doing. But now? She couldn’t help but think that every uttered ‘how are you’ was less about caring how Hermione Granger was doing and more about hearing her talk about Draco. It was stupid, really.
“So what you’re saying is... you don’t want to come to the press conference and take photos?” Tonks’ voice was teasing, and though she considered herself a pacifist… Hermione could punch the woman.
“No,” she shook her head.
“Well, lucky for you, it’s going to air on C-SPAN 3! Tune in,” Tonks replied. As fun as Tonks was, she was singularly annoying sometimes. She never knew when to stop.
“C-SPAN 3? That’s amazing!” Colin shouted loudly from the front office, clapping his hands together as though they’d won the lottery and not airtime on the least-watched of C-SPAN’s channels.
“I’m glad someone shares my excitement,” the newly redheaded Tonks scowled pointedly at Hermione, clopping out of the office on bright blue velvet heels.
“You okay?” Penelope asked, swiveling around in her chair so she could see Hermione. They were the only two in the back office, but Hermione was grateful the other woman lowered her voice enough so that Colin couldn’t hear.
“I’m fine,” Hermione reassured the scheduler, not wanting to let her frustration show. It was a weird line to straddle, trying to remind herself that her colleagues were just that… colleagues. Anything she said could be used against her, now or later, so she had to do her best to keep her complaints to herself.
Unloading on Penelope would feel good in the moment, but would lead to her waking in a cold sweat as she thought through everything the girl could take from the conversation. It was better to suffer in silence, however much it sucked.
“You sure?” Penelope pushed.
Hermione nodded, feeling much older than she was as she smiled reassuringly at the normally aloof woman.
“If you say so… Fine if I turn on the TV?” she asked, clicking on C-SPAN 3 when Hermione nodded.
It only took a few minutes for the replay of yesterday’s debate on the House Floor to cut out and James and Draco to appear on screen. Due to the unpredictability of the spring weather, they’d decided to hold their press conference inside at one of the Capitol’s recording galleries.
The volume was off and Penelope had hopped on a call almost immediately after turning on the TV, but Hermione would die before getting up and plucking the remote off of the other woman’s desk. She knew what Draco and James were going to say, anyway; this press conference wasn’t for her, as important as it was.
Draco was wearing a dark grey suit and ice blue tie, and she was captivated even without volume. The large hands that’d cupped her breasts and brought her to orgasm just that morning were now pointing at beautifully designed poster boards, surely hammering home whatever point he was making. Her phone vibrated a second later, causing her to jump in the air.
Thankfully, Penelope didn’t notice. She needed to maintain at least one shred of dignity.
Cho: Hiii! Are you at this presser?!
Hermione: Nope. Watching from the office - why?
Cho: Just bored and nosy. Can you grab dinner this week?
Hermione: Next Monday?
Cho: Yes ma’am! Will text you on Sunday. Xo
Hermione smiled a bit, surprised and pleased that Cho had reached out. Their conversations had been less frequent now that Mandy had decided she didn’t want to be in Hermione’s life. And as someone who over thought every conversation she had with other women, Hermione figured that Cho felt uncomfortable with Hermione outside of group settings. It wouldn’t surprise her, honestly. There were plenty of people she liked perfectly fine when they were at parties or in large groups, but would never text out of the blue.
Despite her firm conviction that she was in the right, it was impossible not to be hurt after her blowout with Mandy. Draco had been angry when she told him what’d happened, walking around and muttering about how Republicans in Congress didn’t even push anti-LGBTQ legislation. She’d been far too tired to fight him on the fact that it was the principle of the thing, because… it was. She didn’t blame Mandy, not really. She’d been spitting mad at first, and only Pansy was able to talk her off of the ledge of a full-on text war with her former friend.
It took a few days to come to terms with the knowledge that everyone had the right to their own opinion and choices, but she still wanted to shake the spunky girl and tell her just how wrong she was to judge Hermione for finding love. Not that she’d ever use something so trite as love to keep a friend in her life.
She sighed, turning back to her computer. There were emails to answer. So. many. Emails.
xx
“Draco?” Hermione asked, fork loaded up with penne and asparagus and almost to her mouth. She put it down, deciding her question was more important than the summer pasta she’d whipped up.
“Yes?” he drawled, raising an eyebrow.
She was never one for delicacy, and didn’t have much time to formulate the question that was on her mind. So she went for it.
“Do you have friends?”
He laughed, fork clinking against the edge of his pasta bowl in a quick cadence.
“Blaise.”
Oh no. Now she just felt bad for him.
“Draco… He’s on your staff.”
The man’s face tightened just a bit. Had she hit a nerve? She had never been known for her tact, but she was trying.
“He was my friend first. It makes sense to have someone I trust completely on my team.”
Memories of the few tense times she’d heard Draco remind Blaise that he was his boss flooded her mind, but she knew it was stupid to push him further on this.
“That does make sense,” she agreed lightly. “Is there anyone else?”
“You’d know if I saw people regularly,” he rubbed his slightly stubbled chin. “I grab beers with my friends Greg and Cassius every few weeks. They’re the ones I went to the Hamilton with last month…”
“I remember that,” she smiled, feeling slightly relieved that he wasn’t being defensive and entertaining the conversation. She recalled being surprised at Draco telling her about his plans to visit the trendy restaurant and the way he’d shrugged and said it was his friend’s choice. The dots were connecting in her mind, but it still left the question… Why hadn’t she met his friends and why did he never talk about them?
“Why?”
Feeling slightly silly, she shrugged. “I’m not sure… I just wonder who you go to when you need to decompress. I know how weird male friendships can be.”
“What does that mean?”
“If you and I broke up, who would you call?”
The blond looked aghast that she’d even bring it up. It was good to see him sweat a bit. As confident as she was in their relationship, it felt good to see him look just as panicked as she was about breaking up.
“Most likely no one. What good would it do?”
“That’s exactly it! Men are so deeply entrenched in the stoicism that society pushes on them that they never engage in emotional relationships. It’s dangerous, Draco!”
“That right, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone on just the right side of amused and a touch closer to patronizing than she would’ve expected. Or… maybe she should have expected it of him. He was his father’s son, after all.
“Yes.”
“What do you propose I do with this information?”
“Try to tell your friends how you feel? Start more in-depth conversations with them and ask how they’re doing? I’m not sure… I just want you to have outlets other than me.”
“As much as I love you, I’ve gotten by just fine without you,” he said in as gentle a voice as those words could be said.
However logical that statement was, it still hurt.
“I get that,” she swallowed, drumming fingers on the kitchen table. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t need people to talk to. Especially if I do something that you want to vent about. You deserve to be able to do that.”
“I’ll work on it, baby. It’s a bit hard to teach an old dog new tricks, though,” he stood up from the table, grabbing both of their now-empty plates and effectively ending the conversation.
“You’re not old,” she called with a smile, turning to look at both of her phones. She’d completely turned off Instagram notifications, which made life a bit easier. Especially after Abraxas’ viral tweet that had sent even more people her way. His following was rather varied, from politics-loving keyboard warriors to North Carolinians to old people trying to figure out how to use the internet, and that meant that everyone who missed out on the fact that Draco was seeing someone was now informed.
“No? Go to the bedroom and strip. I’ll show you just how young I am.”
If it were any other time, she’d laugh at the cheesy statement, but now? Hermione was glad no one was there to see her tripping over her clothes as she ran up the stairs.
xx
May 21, 2019
The glow of another mentoring group gone well only lasted until Hermione checked her phone and found thirty seven texts and twelve missed calls. There was only one text from Draco, so that’s what she clicked on. This was why she didn’t have text preview on, she thought with a sigh.
Draco: I’m coming to pick you up. Call me when you’re done, sweetheart.
Once the last girl, Faith, was picked up by her older brother, Hermione started to pack up her things. The group had been meeting at a coffee shop that was open late, wanting to ensure that the girls’ guardians were comfortable with her before she moved the meetings to her house.
Hermione reluctantly called Draco once she’d finished wiping up the hot chocolate stains from the table, the girls insisting on the sweet drink despite the warm weather.
“I’m outside, sweetheart,” Draco said immediately, picking up before the phone had even rang once.
“Okay,” she said slowly, wanting to call him out on the excessive use of sweetheart. What was going on?
“Take your time,” he said before hanging up.
Weird. And his words had had the opposite effect; she didn’t want to take her time when something was obviously amiss. She shoved things in her bag, vowing to reorganize it later, before busting outside of the coffee shop. Draco was already there, an eyebrow raised at her harried movements.
The man was still in a full suit, waiting outside of the passenger door like her own personal chauffeur. Only he was the most beautiful person she’d seen, not old and subservient like drivers were made out to be in the movies.
Aware of the many people taking walks and eating outside of the restaurants that lined the block, Draco pressed only a quick kiss to her lips before opening the door and helping her into the car.
The anticipation of it all had her drumming her fingers on her jeans-covered thighs, wanting to know what was going on.
“What happened, Draco?”
The man buckled his seatbelt before checking to make sure she was strapped in. He was quiet as he pulled away from the curb and into the blissfully empty street.
“Your boss is an idiot.”
Now she was scared.
“What did he say?” her voice was weaker than she would’ve hoped for, but the man was a Potter. She didn’t trust Potters to always think before speaking.
“Let’s wait until we’re home, then we can watch the video.”
Irritation spiked through her immediately, and she turned to look at Draco with a frown. He wasn’t looking back, jaw tight as he kept his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel, though one would have normally migrated to her thigh.
“I have it in my texts,” she muttered, obstinately going to open her phone. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell if Draco had ever thought twice about commanding everyone he came across like he was the king of the world.
“Hermione,” Draco’s voice was commanding. It always made her fall into a more calm headspace, something he knew well. “You’ll wait.”
“I’ll wait,” she agreed quietly. That tone did something to her, however loathe she was to admit it. As annoyed as she got when he talked to her like she was a bumbling intern, he normally treated her with respect.
Whatever this was… it must have been serious. That only set her off even more. What was normally a short trip home felt like hours, every click of Draco’s turn signal felt like another stab of fear straight into her heart.
At her acquiescence, he gripped her thigh as though it was a gift for her reluctance. She couldn’t feel more pleased at that, sinking into the seat of the car and allowing the silence to act as a salve to the anxiety that threatened to overtake her. Draco was there, he would protect her. He would keep them both safe, whatever they needed safety from. She just hoped it wasn’t that bad.
Draco didn’t even give her his signature eye roll when she let herself out of the car, far too focused on walking to the front door and jiggling it open. By the time she’d made it inside, he had his jacket up and sleeves rolled up as messily as she’d ever seen them.
“What?” she asked, unable to remain patient any longer. She felt like the naggy housewife from a sitcom, all too aware of her crossed arms, pursed lips and tapping toe.
Draco pulled something up on his phone, long fingers tapping decisively while his other hand beckoned her closer to him. Normally, she’d be overwhelmed by his distinct cinnamon and clove scent, but a paused video of James was all she could focus on. There was a TMZ watermark in the bottom corner of the video, something that confused her greatly. What was TMZ doing in DC?
“Congressman, good work on your drug bill. Think it’s going to pass the Senate?”
James was walking with Frank outside of the Capitol, clearly heading back to the office after votes that evening.
“Who are you with?” James asked with an eyebrow raised under his glasses.
“Mike with TMZ DC. So, what do you think? Gonna pass the Senate?”
James barked out a laugh, hand going up to run through his messy salt and pepper locks.
“TMZ in DC? What do you think you’re going to find?”
The camera moved, and Hermione assumed the man, Mike, had shrugged.
“Not sure, man. Would be great if you could answer my question.”
“I think it’ll pass the Senate, it’s a great bill and we have a Senate full of new members who have committed to lowering drug costs for their constituents. They’d be hypocrites if they voted no.”
“Good point, congressman. Do you think Lucius Malfoy will bring it up on the floor now that you have an in?”
Frank looked a bit nervous at the man’s goading, his hand going to James’ back in a motion that all staff members knew meant ‘move along, boss.’
Only James took the bait.
Of course he took the bait - he was a Potter, after all. Act first, think later.
“I don’t have shit with Lucius Malfoy.”
The TMZ reporter laughed goodnaturedly, clearly not deterred by the errant expletive.
Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if he was one of the paparazzi who drove Kanye West to fits on his driveway.
“The little girl in your office is dating his son. You’ve been awfully quiet on that.”
“Sorry sir, the Congressman has to go,” Frank cut in at that, voice far firmer than Hermione had ever heard from him.
“It’s fine, Frank. I’m sick of the incessant questions about this entire situation,” James replied. “She’s not a little girl, she’s a grown woman. A woman who doesn’t have anything to do with anything you’re asking me.”
“So you’re not worried that she’s dating a Malfoy?”
James stopped walking at that, whipping around and wholly uncaring of the evening joggers and tourists who were slowing down to watch the interaction. Frank looked like he wanted to die. Hermione didn’t blame him.
“No, I’m not. I may not like Lucius Malfoy, hell, I may think the Malfoys have made their name on the blood and bodies of others, but that’s not what this is about. Hermione is not being held against her will in some lush cellar only to be brought out as a prop for campaign events. She’s in a consensual relationship that’s none of your business. And for the record, she’s also not a Republican spy who was sent to join my office and turnover secrets to the Malfoy campaign. Whatever crackpot theories you have… stuff ‘em.”
James stalked off at that, looking more like a frat boy after a bar fight than the esteemed chairman of one of the most influential committees in Congress.
“Have a good night, man!” the reporter called back, still cheery.
Draco’s expression was curiously blank as the video ended and he tossed his phone on the kitchen counter, eyes intently focused on her face. They roved over her entire face infinitesimally, as though whatever her expression held could give him the answers to the universe.
“He just... lost it,” Hermione found herself saying. She felt a bit silly for the way she was so lightheaded, swaying on her feet a bit.
Draco picked up on it immediately, dragging out a chair from the kitchen table and ushering her into it.
She closed her eyes, just needing a moment. More than a moment. Every time she’d felt like she was settling into the new normal, something came up to stress her out. It was hard, for someone who’d grown used to the sweetness of obscurity.
“Sweetheart?” Draco asked quietly, and she opened her eyes at the worry in his tone. He was kneeling on the unforgiving floor, his knees were surely killing him.
“I just don’t get why he had to say something,” she said after a few moments.
Draco’s laugh was a dry, huffed noise, and she could tell he agreed with her by the way he shook his head.
“He doesn’t know when to stop… but allowing his irritation to get the best of him was selfish.”
“What are people saying?” she said quietly. “I assume they are saying things.”
It was a naive hope, but she still was disappointed when Draco gripped her hand in his own. The people of Twitter were too involved in politics to let this die, especially during an election year.
“I know what face you’re making,” Hermione smiled slightly. “You can’t hide this from me… just tell me. Or I’ll go look myself.”
The blond frowned, and not even the forlorn expression could make him anything other than breathtakingly attractive.
“It’s a bit of a mixed bag, really. Republicans are angry that James would insinuate that my family’s engaged in sex trafficking or kidnapping, and the socialists are still angry that he kept you on staff. Nothing unexpected.”
She knew that Draco was feeding her the facts, but she still wished that she could tell where he stood. Was this becoming too much for him? And if it was… did he wish to drop her from his life or, like her, dream of dropping everything else and running away? Her preferred option was silly and impossible, but it would provide some peace of mind to know that Draco was just as fed up with the situation they found themselves in as she was.
The hopelessness of it all threatened to overwhelm her, and she shook her head as though it was possible to eschew reality to the deepest depths of her mind. It was worth a try.
“Hermione?”
Draco’s voice shook her out of the well of despair she’d found herself swimming in, and it was tough not to feel better at the sight of his earnest expression.
“Just give me a minute.”
The man didn’t speak as he got up and filled glasses with ice water, sliding them onto the table without even placing down the coasters that he was militant about using. He was patient, giving her the time that she asked for without even twitching or making huffing noises to break her from her reverie.
“What do we do? Just… put out little fires every few days? It’s impossible to pretend that nothing’s wrong when everything is shoved right in our faces.”
There was a mixture of pity and nervousness in Draco’s expression, a combination she didn’t necessarily understand.
“The only way out is through. If this were a normal election cycle, no one would care by this point. But that’s not the case.”
It was Draco’s bluntness, his unwillingness to sugar coat things for her that made it clear. She was facing the first real ‘crisis’ of their relationship since going public and she could be in or get the hell out. It was the push come to shove that she’d been dreading. There was no longer room for her to claim that love and optimism for their future were enough to keep them going.
“Do I sound crazy if I tell you I know I want us to be together but don’t know if I’m going to survive everything that’s ahead of us?”
“Not crazy at all,” Draco shook his head. Reaching a hand towards her on the table, as though he were giving her the opportunity to take it or leave it. Without thinking, she took it and intertwined his fingers with her own. “There isn’t an easy answer, Hermione. This is going to suck.”
“It already sucks,” she chimed in, too forlorn to even appreciate Draco’s use of a word he’d once considered pedestrian.
“I need you close,” Draco groaned, using his strength to pull Hermione off the chair. She took the next steps herself, curling into his lap. His nose wiggled into her curls, a task that was completed with a chaste kiss pressed to her scalp.
“So what now? You have no advice?” she asked sardonically.
“Not a bit,” he shrugged, jostling her body in his arms. “Nothing that’s helpful or new. I’m here to love you and defend you and protect you as best as I can. That’s literally all I can promise you. You’ll just have to decide if that’s enough.”
“I don’t want to have to rethink our life together every time something happens. But I have no idea whether or not that’s possible.”
“I can’t decide that for you,” Draco whispered into her hair. “This was the life that was decided for me before I was even born… It’s all I know. Do I feel selfish bringing you into it? Every single day. Do I regret any minute I’ve spent with you? No. And I won’t apologize for doing what I want, not when it’s brought you into my life.”
As earnest as his words were, as sweet as the face she wasn’t staring at was, Hermione laughed. Tucked her face into the dip heteeej Draco’s firm, broad shoulder and neck and laughed.
“Sweetheart?” Draco asked when she was finally quiet.
“Your non-apology sounded exactly like something your father would say.”
“Nice.”
“You’re welcome.” His pouty face was too cute not to kiss, and Draco couldn’t keep up his feigned anger for even a second as he melted into the motion.
He only pulled away when she was breathless, his hands having traveled down her back to tuck into the pockets of her jeans.
“Do you want me to drive you home?” he asked, ever the responsible one. It was a bit jarring, no longer being the only responsible person in the room.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Draco shook his head once, running a thumb along her cheek. Her skin felt sticky and dirty in the way that it always did after a long, warm day spent in liquid foundation. Nothing sounded better than washing her face and getting into pajamas.
“I don’t want you to stay if you need room to think.”
“I’m good,” she promised. “I’ll call Pansy after I wash my face.”
“Sounds like a plan, sweetheart. Go upstairs and I’ll clean up down here.”
By the time she was in bed, having just hung up with a rather worried Pansy, the only thing on her mind was sleep. Pansy was the last person who would be able to assure Hermione that it was normal to reach a point in a relationship that sleep and comfortability were more important than sex sometimes, but she had a gut-feeling that it was true.
“Comfy?” Draco asked, voice garbled with toothpaste and his ridiculously expensive electric toothbrush.
She could just nod, feeling more like a cat than a woman as she shut her eyes and burrowed into the airy warmth of Draco’s summer comforter. Some things could wait until the morning.
The slight movement of Draco getting into bed woke her up from the near-sleep she’d fallen into, eyes cracking open to ask the question she just remembered.
“Draco?” her voice was little more than a croak, which felt a bit ridiculous considering the fact that she had only gotten into bed minutes before.
“Yes, baby?” he asked, contorting her limbs so that she was draped over him like a human pillow.
“Why is TMZ reporting from DC?”
“I have absolutely no idea. No idea at all,” he pressed a kiss to her hair. “Go to sleep, Hermione…”
“Trying to,” she sighed into his left pec, running a hand over his toned stomach. The flash of drowsiness all but disappeared as reality set in again. What was tomorrow going to look like? Was James going to lie awake that night and realize that the best path forward was to fire her? She wouldn’t blame him for cutting his losses, honestly. She was a liability, and it was hardly fair to her colleagues to interrupt their work and potentially jeopardize their safety just to keep her on staff.
“Hm… Why don’t I pick back up on my bedtime story?”
It took Hermione a moment to place what he meant, unable to stop herself from blushing at the reminder of the moody, overtired mess she’d been back before the election. They’d come so far since then, yet it didn’t feel like long ago at all.
“Go on,” she prodded, patting his boxer brief covered hip.
“As you wish,” Draco’s voice melted into a syrupy tone as he started to tell the story, and she was torn between giving into the urge to sleep and hear what he has to say. She’d kicked herself for falling asleep back in the fall, but had been too embarrassed to ask how long it took him to realize she’d fallen asleep.
“Let’s see… Our little girl was sad that no apples were left on her beloved tree after she’d brought her family and friends over to see it, but the tree was still good for swinging on branches. She would do that by herself, though, since no one else saw visiting the tree as worthwhile after the precious apples were gone. By the next summer, though, the apples had grown back. The little girl faced a difficult choice: share the apples or keep them to herself? Being the sweet gal she was, she shared the apples again. This time, her friends and family gave away the secret location of the tree, and she barely got any apples of her own. It was a fun few weeks of summer as the girl laughed and had fun with those she loved, eating apples and laying in the sun.
“She grew sad when the apples were gone, though. No one, not even her ma and daddy wanted to spend time together anymore. Without the apples, they weren’t interested. So the little girl spent the rest of her summer hanging on the tree’s branches and reading in the cool shade of the tree.”
“That’s sad,” Hermione was mortified by the way her voice cracked at the soft exclamation, but she finally got where Draco was going with the story. She had wracked her mind months ago, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. But now, it was clear.
“It is,” Draco agreed, rubbing a hand up and down her t-shirt covered back. “But things get better for the little girl…”
“Go on!”
“You will have to wait for the ending,” he replied, laughing at her muffled groan. “It’s looking like a happy ending, but you can never be too certain.”
She groaned. “Okay.”
A happy ending was all she could hope for right now.