Chapter 20
June 21, 2019
Going from a wallflower to the subject of seemingly everyone’s attention was the worst part of it all. That’s why Hermione was reveling in the ‘life before Draco’ feel of the afternoon.
The air conditioning on Rayburn House Office Building’s first floor had been broken for two days and counting, but instead of being irritated, the mood was light in Rep. Potter’s office. Downright jolly, Hermione would say, even with sweat streaking down her face and pooling on her collar bone.
She only hesitated for a moment before joining her colleagues in removing their tights that morning; it was an archaic requirement anyways, wasn’t it? Her legs were always shaved, so she said to hell with the lifesucking confines that were her cheap tights from the women’s section at TJ Maxx. Not that anyone who mattered would say anything about her bare legs; her bosses were both male, and that was a lawsuit waiting to happen.
In a shocking turn of events, James and Draco’s prescription drug bill had passed the House and Senate and made its way to the president’s desk in less than two weeks. It wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t expected. Not when Lucius ‘Grim Reaper’ Malfoy was in charge of what bills came to the Senate Floor for a vote. It all felt a little fishy to Hermione, but she wasn’t going to ruin the mood with her conspiracy theories.
Draco had promised that his father had no ulterior motives in bringing the bill up for a vote on the Senate Floor, but Hermione found that far too good to be true. Lucius Malfoy? Bringing up a bill to lower prescription drug costs? It was ludicrous on its nose. But even more than that, the general election was over a year away. Why make a big move now? The American public had the memory of goldfish, doing something for the common good now would barely make an impact by the time voters stepped into the poll booth.
Sure, primaries were closer, but there were still no real Republicans running against him. He had the nomination on lock at this point, so all Hermione could think was that he put the bill up to look at least slightly bipartisan.
It must’ve killed President Shacklebolt to have to hold a full court bill signing at the White House with both Malfoy men by his side, on an issue that Democrats had long had the corner on, no less. But that was politics, baby.
Tonks let out a groan as the president walked out and two light-haired men stood up to applaud in the front row with the other esteemed guests.
“Malfoy must be laughing himself to the bank right now. Can’t fucking believe he moved that bill,” Tonks took a sip of the Mike’s Hard lemonade in her hand before scrunching her face up unattractively. “This is disgusting.”
“The drink or the ceremony?” Dorcas asked.
“Both! But mostly the drink.”
“You’re the one who saw them in the hallway and made me lug them back to the office!” Colin yelp, causing Dorcas to groan.
“You’re such a bottom feeder, Tonks!” the woman said, taking a sip from her ever-present Diet Coke can.
“They were just sitting there waiting to be thrown out! Flavored pool water or not, it shouldn’t go to waste.”
They all turned back to the screen as the WWN anchors quieted their chatter, awaiting the ceremony to start.
The president had finished chatting with different officials, walking up to the podium set out in the Rose Garden. It was a beautiful day, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile as she thought about how much Draco deserved this.
She blushed too, thinking about how he’d been sucking on her clit like it was candy as the call from his Legislative Director, Adrian, came in. All he did was tap her thigh, too, as though she could check the caller ID while her hands were tied to the bedpost.
That’d been something new, a birthday gift for himself, he’d called it. She’d agreed after reading the countless articles he’d sent over at her behest, intrigued by the way that the simmering of their bedroom dynamic had come to a full-on boil in the span of a few conversations.
There was no hesitation on her end, though; yes was the only answer that she could think of. Draco was something of a wizard, she was certain, until she realized the truth of the matter.
It wasn’t that he knew exactly what she liked and made sure to say the right things and do the right things… They were just ridiculously compatible. As much as she liked him directing her in the bedroom, he enjoyed giving her commands. The same for the way he’d bundle her up against himself and make her feel like the smallest, most beloved person on earth. He liked spoiling her as much as she reveled in his coddling.
They just worked well together, not that she could lead with their sexual compatibility when her friends and colleagues asked why she liked him. But it was true; he was as hard as she was wet most days, and she’d take it for the gift it was.
Draco had only kissed up her stomach after making her come twice, though his phone had insistently buzzed for however long that took.
“Aw, hell,” he muttered after grabbing his iPhone with a still-wet hand. Hermione would have to remember to take a Lysol wipe to the device later, cringing internally at the thought of anyone else touching the device.
“Hm?” she remembers asking, still floating after two rapid-fire orgasms. Draco had pressed a kiss to her forehead before shushing her, something that would’ve incensed her if she had a fully working brain. Draco had let out a joyous noise, talking for a few moments before hanging up and sharing that the House was moving the prescription drug bill. They knew it’d pass, too, with all Democrats obviously voting in favor of the legislation and Draco using his powers of persuasion to convince some of his less-conservative colleagues to join them in the effort.
She was only slightly wet at the memory of that day, but her sheer pride overwhelmed the horniness the memory elicited.
“You look like a proud mom, Hermione,” Penelope laughed as President Shacklebolt called up Draco, James, Lucius, and Senator Minority Leader Elphias Doge to stand with him while he signed the bill.
Draco forgot himself for a moment in his excitement, holding up the pen that the president handed him like it was a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Only a sharp, fleeting look by Lucius had him pulling his hands back down to his side, a neutral expression on his face once more. If Hermione were a betting woman, she guessed that Lucius would’ve elbowed his son in the side if there weren’t countless cameras on them.
“More like a WAG,” Colin said back, spinning in the chair he’d co-opted from an intern he had sent to manage the front desk. Everyone turned to give him a look. “What? Mione’s a political WAG now!”
“More like someone who’s happy to see lower drug prices,” she shrugged. “And happy for James and Draco - who thought we’d get this done right before a presidential election?”
“Not me,” Dorcas replied with a rapid shake of her head. “Certainly not Frank, Alice told me he fell right off the back of their treadmill when he got the call.”
Hermione smiled at the thought of the gentle older man’s expression when he discovered that his prized legislation was going to be signed into law. James had had two guest tickets for the event and brought Remus and Frank, something that softened Hermione’s heart for her boss even more. He was a good man who treated his staff with the respect they deserved.
“So what now? Are we going to be able to pass gun control or, I don’t know, the Equality Act now that Republicans are working with us?” Colin asked with genuinely hopeful eyes.
Hermione couldn’t help it, and clearly her seasoned colleagues couldn’t either. They laughed.
It was election season, and warm waters only meant one thing… sharks were coming soon.
xxx
July 4, 2019
“These are for you, Miss Herninny!”
Well, that was one of the closest attempts she’d heard today.
Grabbing the red, white and blue bouquet that was thrust at her by a tiny, redheaded duo, Hermione bent down as gracefully as one could. She ignored the clicks of cameras to the best of her ability, putting all of her attention on the girls.
“Thank you so much! These are beautiful,” she beamed, feeling embarrassingly teary-eyed at the gesture.
“You’re pretty too!” the slightly taller girl replied, a butterfly painted on her face. “Mama said you deserved something nice cuz people are so mean!”
“I agree,” Draco replied, causing Hermione to rock back on her heels and almost topple over. She was in a flowy red dress that reached her ankles, something she was thankful for with all of the bending down she was doing. Her modest summer wear made quick movements hard, but it also ensured that no unsavory bits popped out as she spoke to kids. She’d quickly decided after a recounting of previous celebrity outfit fails that rivulets of sweat dripping down her inner thighs beat a crotch shot ending up online any day.
The fact that she looked like every other political spouse that had ever been in the public eye did not escape her; she felt like a regular Stepford wife with all of the cooing and smiling she’d done at children, no matter how much she loved them. All she could hope was that her hair didn’t look like a mess.
Columba had picked her up at the airport the day before, clearly overjoyed to finally have a female companion who wasn’t her mother at a holiday event. They’d gone back to the same hairstylist she’d seen over Christmas, the miracle worker of a woman having agreed to stay open with one of her colleagues to get the pair ready.
Even Columba wasn’t exempt from attending a day full of Fourth of July events, something that the always-chipper blonde had cursed all night. Rolf had apparently weaseled his way out of attending, saying something about needing to be on call for the animals of the greater-Charlotte area. Hermione took mental note to start compiling her excuses for why she couldn’t attend events.
So armed with sleek, freshly cut and styled curls, Hermione felt closer to being publicly worthy as Draco’s partner than ever.
They were at their third event of the day, a celebration in front of BB&T Ballpark where the Charlotte Knights, a minor league baseball team, had just finished their annual Independence Day home game. This was the first event that Lucius was joining them for, as it was a celebration of Charlotte veterans and active duty military members. No Malfoy would ever miss a chance to take photos with men and women in uniform and veterans hats and give them theatrically solemn thanks. It was the pinnacle of conservative antics.
The Malfoy clan had made quick work of the sizable crowd, splitting up and entertaining attendees. Hermione was as shocked as anyone that people knew who she was; but then again, the Malfoys were royalty here.
And why wouldn’t they care? It was clear how beloved the family was, women in frayed bermuda shorts and Old Navy’s finest red, white and blue wear were running up to Narcissa and pulling her into a hug like they were the closest of friends. From what Hermione could see, the proper woman took it in stride, smiling back and greeting the others like she knew exactly who they were. Hermione did her best to mimic the regal, yet down-to-earth persona of Draco’s mother.
But it was a gift, one that she had not yet acquired, fumbling over praise and nosy questions. Which was why she was handling children. There was no question: she was the benchwarmer on this team, but like any good wannabe player, she used it as a humbling opportunity to learn and improve.
It was difficult not to bristle as she hugged yet another group of children, listening to their mothers crow about how great she was with kids with ridiculous winks and cawing laughter. The implication was clear, and it wasn’t one that she necessarily appreciated. Whatever or whoever these women were thinking she was… she wasn’t.
Hermione Granger was the girl who’d used 3-in-1 shampoo on her curls because her parents didn’t leave her money to buy groceries, resulting in strands literally breaking off before her freshman year finals in high school as she worriedly twisted her hair. She was the girl who was wearing a training bra as she undressed for ninth grade gym class, with word spreading so quickly that boys had time to draw up an ‘Itty Bitty Titty Committee’ membership for her on an index card and slide it to her before seventh hour geometry. She looked better than she had, but that wasn’t anything she’d done. That was Pansy and Columba and Draco’s influence, as painful as it was to admit.
Her brain was the star, not her body or her face or her clothes. And under the veneer of a pretty little girlfriend, she was the same girl who was desperate for the approval of others and a seeming inability of how to receive it.
Draco seemed oblivious to her inner turmoil, not that that was a shock. He was off in his own world, slapping backs and shaking hands while laughing at his father’s jokes with a boisterousness that was certainly not deserved. The day that Lucius Malfoy brought the house down with humor was the day hell froze over.
A quick peek showed her that both Narcissa and Columba were oohing and ahhing over children getting their faces painted as though it was akin to curing a terminal illness. It was a charade that Hermione saw right through, but by the faces of smiling parents and furiously clicking cameras of journalists… they were hitting all of the right notes.
It was shockingly easy to get into the glazed, half-zombie headspace that Hermione often found her boss in… Shake a sweaty hand, smile softly as someone tells her how much the Malfoys mean, repeat the name of the screaming, sticky children in front of her in her brain while speaking so that she doesn’t forget them.
It was an art, one that Hermione needed to perfect sometime soon. She’d hate it the entire time, knowing what she looked like and how she sounded, but… Draco was worth it.
She knew he was worth it, but had to remind herself of that with every sticky finger that gripped her forearm and every overly intrusive question about when they planned to get married and have children.
What felt like hours later, but was probably thirty minutes, Lucius and Draco finally made their way over to the trio of women. Narcissa had called Hermione over to meet one of the oldest ladies she’d ever seen, who she came to find out had been Narcissa, Lucius, Columba and Draco’s Sunday school teacher. The math on that one was mind boggling.
Draco and his father wore similar grins as they walked over, leaving a path of awe-filled men in their wake. They were exhilarated by the fawning masses, Hermione realized. It was hard to wrap her head around, the way that someone like Draco could find such joy in the company of sweaty, intrusive strangers. But then again, all politicians seemed energized by this very scenario; maybe she was the one missing something here.
“Sweetheart,” Draco smiled as he walked up to her, pressing a chaste kiss to her sweat-soaked temple as he wrapped an arm around her waist. His hand rested far higher than it normally did, but his thumb still swiped along the expensive dress she was wearing as it always did. I’m here, the gesture promised.
She smiled genuinely up at him at the feeling, wondering if maybe he needed the comfort of someone who loved him for what was under the mask as well. The thought had her festering annoyance lessen with every stroke along her hip.
“Hi,” she grinned back just as sunnily, aware that people were unashamedly taking photos of the quintet. Like they were a zoo attraction, trading votes for access.
“Ready to go?”
She nodded, trying not to look too eager, but it was a close thing.
“I’ll ride with mama and daddy,” Columba sighed as they walked out of the crowd, linking arms with Hermione as Draco and their parents were pulled by people they put on expressions of faux-delight for.
“Are you sure?” Hermione asked.
Columba rolled her eyes, her cherubic face unaffected by the sweat that rolled down Hermione’s. “Of course, silly. Y’all get some alone time before tonight. It’s going to be a long one.”
Hermione exhaled in place of a groan. Eyes were everywhere, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time.
“Thank you, Columba,” Hermione rested her head on the taller woman’s arm fondly, receiving a smooching sound in reply that was barely heard above the din of the crowd.
“Just get it out of your system as best you can by tonight, okay?” Columba lowered her voice. “Rolf’s first holiday with our family was Independence Day too… He had the same look you did.”
“You fought?”
The blonde let out a laugh, “You bet. He didn’t come to the night’s events, I thought he was never going to call me again. There’s a difference between living this life and talking about living it.”
Didn’t she know.
“But,” Columba continued in a sing-songy tone. “It gets better once the shock wears off and it becomes routine.”
“I don’t know if I can imagine this becoming a routine,” Hermione frowned, eyes on her sunshine yellow toenails as they traversed the lot and headed closer to the pair of trucks they’d arrived in.
“As Nana Malfoy says… suck it up, buttercup!”
Hermione glowered at the older woman. Tough love was never something she enjoyed receiving, despite the way that she had constantly given it out as a know-it-all student.
“Thank you for that,” she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms before immediately uncrossing them and relooping an elbow with Columba. She’d be coined an angry woman before she knew it if a photo was taken in that position.
“Love ya, darling. You’re going to be fine. Just text me whenever you’re feeling annoyed, and I’ll commiserate with you.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
Columba winked, “I appreciate it, honestly. Gives me a chance to know what drama’s goin’ on before mama calls and spills.”
“I live to serve,” Hermione smiled.
“What’s that?” Draco asked from behind them, causing Hermione to jump a bit as she whirled around.
He was still smiling, a small stretch of his pink lips.
Lucius and Narcissa walked up, clasped hands swinging between them in a way Hermione assumed they’d find undignified.
“Okay, children?” Narcissa asked quietly, a small smudge of mascara under her right eye. It was the only sign of wear on her person, which was impressive in the oppressive heat.
“All’s well,” Columba smiled. “Drive me home? I’d love a snooze before tonight.”
“That sounds amazing,” Hermione agreed.
“Nap it is,” Draco smiled down at her, both ignoring the clench of Lucius’ jaw at the mention of them staying together.
It took every inch of restraint Hermione had to not ask the man if he truly thought his son was a 40-year-old virgin. Some things were better left unasked.
“We’ll see you tonight,” Narcissa smiled, sliding a fond hand over Draco’s forearm and then Hermione’s. The woman’s fingers were sweaty, but Hermione appreciated the gesture all the same. The Malfoys were trying, truly, and that’s all that Hermione could ask for.
“You were lovely, dear,” Narcissa praised quietly, eyes held approvingly on Hermione’s face. “All of the ladies were saying how sweet you were. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, Narcissa,” Hermione choked out in what she hoped was a grateful voice. It was a weird thing to be praised for, like she was a show dog or something. Not that the sick part of her that craved any and all approval from authority figures cared about that; her stomach fluttered with joy.
“Of course; you’ll be the talk of church on Sunday. Now go rest, we’ll see you soon.”
“See you,” Hermione smiled, accepting Draco’s hand as he helped her step up into the cab of his truck.
Taking a deep breath while the blond walked around the car was a mistake; the heat was stifling in the black car, and sucking in hot air only made her more anxious.
Draco whistled as he opened his door, shoving the keys into the ignition.
“Sorry sweetheart, I should’ve turned the car on first.”
“It’s fine, I’m already sweating to death,” she replied, frowning as he turned up the air conditioning only for stagnant hot air to blast out of her vents.
“Welcome to summer in North Carolina,” he sighed, moving his right arm to grip her seat rest while he reversed out of the spot.
She melted a bit at that, and Draco noticed her dopey expression.
“What?”
“You’re just… doing the thing that the hot guy always does in a movie.”
“Reversing a car without crashing?”
Smartass.
“Putting your arm behind my seat while you reverse. It’s a thing.”
“If you say so… How has today felt?”
She tangled her fingers together on her lap for a moment, weighing her words.
“Weird. Like I’m a circus attraction that has no feelings or value other than taking photos and acting gracious.”
“That’s about it most of the time,” Draco replied easily. “Events like this, you’re only around people long enough that you need to smile and ask how they’re doing in order to make their day.”
“It’s hard for me to believe that people find a short interaction like that to be indicative of who you are in your private life.”
“You’re thinking a lot harder about it than they are. We’re the closest most people ‘round here come to meeting a celebrity. Having a positive interaction colors what they think of us, and that’s as far as it goes. They tell their friends and family how nice we are… and the cycle continues. Legislating’s important, but having constituents that trust me and find me enjoyable? That’s what gets me votes at the end of the day. No one around here remembers that I sponsored H.R. 5729 when they go to vote, but they will remember me taking a photo with their little ones.”
“At what cost to you, though?” she asked, knowing she was being somewhat petulant.
Draco kept his eyes on the road, making an inquiring noise.
“It’s pretty hard to be smiley and thankful when people I don’t know tell me how fantastic I am with kids and ask when we’re having our own.”
She bristled when Draco laughed at that, recoiling like a snake ready to strike.
“If I had a dollar for every time those women have tried to set me up with their daughters and granddaughters… If mother had a dollar every time she had been asked if they were having more children over the years…”
“Just because you all face intrusive questions from people you’ve never met doesn’t make it okay!”
“You’re right,” he agreed calmly. She almost wished he’d get annoyed and commiserate with her. How was she always the one who was out of sorts? “But that doesn’t change anything. People have a few moments with us, and most of the time they just say what they think we want to hear or ask what they’re curious about. You can’t take it seriously or you’ll go crazy.”
“I can’t turn off and on what I feel, Draco,” she swallowed, pulling down the car mirror to look at her face. She looked better than she thought, actually. All hail the makeup finishing spray that Pansy had forced her to pack.
He took her hand at that, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles in the same smoothing cadence as earlier.
“It’s overwhelming, I know. There’s no getting away from it, whether you’re a Malfoy or a Potter or, hell, if you’re an Umbridge. People react the same way to public officials. I was thirteen when a woman addressed me as ‘your eminence.’”
Hermione let out a watery laugh at that, which she knew he was looking for.
“We just have to laugh about it after, okay? Put on a good face for events, go home to complain and laugh at the ridiculous things people say.”
“You said you love your constituents,” Hermione accused lightly.
“I do, but that doesn’t mean they don’t say stupid things. A Vietnam vet just told me that he thinks Democrats are setting us up for a civil war. Am I grateful for his service? Certainly. Do I think he’s a bit of a kook? Absolutely.”
“That’s… a lot to unpack. I just wish people wanted to hear about more than when we’re getting married and if I’m pregnant yet.”
“Now, any southern lady worth her salt knows better than to think you’d be pregnant before we got married.”
Hermione straightened minutely in the leather seat before quipping back.
“Yeah? I’ve never heard of that rule.”
She tried not to let her jaw drop when Draco’s cheeks turned light pink. He was blushing.
“You’re embarrassed… or turned on?”
Draco squeezed her hand, turning brighter pink. She felt powerful; the man was never thrown off-kilter, and she was going to milk the moment for all it was worth.
“You never have a problem talking about our kids, but you clam up every time someone mentions pregnancy. What’s going on?”
“It feels too good to be true sometimes. It’s ridiculous… but I just stopped believing I’d ever have the life my parents did. A loving marriage, kids, happiness…”
Draco trailed off, lost enough in thought that Hermione almost warned him to focus on driving. Instead, she lifted their hands to her lips, pressing a kiss to Draco’s still warm skin.
“I love you,” she didn’t have many words, but she had this. Her assurance, her commitment came through in those three words. She wasn’t leaving him; she shared his anxiety over whether or not this was good to be true. He wasn’t alone, and if she had it her way, he never would be.
“I love you more,” Draco replied, letting out a sigh as they pulled closer to his house. “Are we really napping?”
The resigned look on his face said he already knew the answer.
“Of course we’re napping! If I have to suffer through more patriotic chants and sweating people, I’m going to be well-rested while doing it.”
“Whatever you need, sweetheart. Whatever you need.”
xxx
July 11, 2019
If anyone walked by Hermione in the halls of the Capitol without knowing who she was before, that was a thing of the past now. No, she wasn’t Facebook official with Draco, but she was Instagram official with Lucius Malfoy and his 2.3 million followers.
Hermione was certain she joined people all over the country in shock at the fact that one of the photos Lucius chose to feature on his campaign Instagram from the week’s festivities was one of her and Draco talking to a little girl in a red, white and blue bedazzled wheelchair.
While Hermione railed against the fact that he was playing into the tokenism that so many politicians did to diversify their social media feeds, she was inordinately pleased. Lucius had approved a photo of her; he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
Days later, she was still on a bit of a high despite the awful weather. It was one of those weeks where the swampy heat of DC had made way for pouring rain, and Hermione found herself unable to focus. The drowsiness of the day almost demanded a movie on the couch, yet the unfairness of life had her grinding at work.
They’d just finished a week of voting on a series of bills centered on children’s welfare, which had her breathing a sigh of relief. She was always overjoyed when James was working on issues that were in her meager portfolio, but the anxiety of having his attention on her was daunting. The man, despite his quirks, truly cared about the work he was doing and had countless questions about the legislation he’d vote on. Hermione was lucky to have another policy wonk in bed with her each night and had Draco go over the bills with her like she was studying for an exam.
Draco, to his credit, engaged her with a small smile, clearly remembering the verbal back-and-forths that were the seed to their relationship. She’d been able to answer James without hesitation, something that had clearly impressed both Remus and Dorcas. They’d started the week by hovering over her and James while they conversed, but by Thursday, they didn’t follow Hermione into James’ office when she was beckoned. It was a good feeling.
“Hermione!” a male voice called, and she let out a small shriek as her whiteboard marker slid right across the center of the to-do list she was painstakingly writing out for the next week.
“Sorry, sir!” she breathed, spinning around in her chair and capping the marker as James walked up. “You scared me.”
“Clearly,” he snorted fondly. “You need to get out of here, kid. It’s a session week, but it’s summer too. Don’t you have happy hours to attend?”
Hermione made a show of looking at the clock on her computer. “It’s nearly seven, sir. Happy hour is over.”
“All the more reason to leave!” he rolled his eyes, making a shooing motion with his hands. “Good job this week, Hermione. You stepped up, and I’m really impressed by your work.”
A chorus of angels started singing in her mind.
“Thank you so much, that means the world… I won’t let you down.”
She blushed a bit at the last part of her gushing sentence. That was not meant to be said out loud.
“I know you won’t,” he agreed easily, letting out a sigh when his phone rang. “I’ve got dinner with Harry tonight, he wanted to go to this new place in Navy Yard so I told him I’d wait here. He told me he saw you last night.”
“That’ll be fun,” she smiled. “Yes, it was nice seeing him. He’s been traveling so much that it’s hard to keep tabs on him.”
“Add him to your bank account and you’ll know exactly where he is.”
Woof.
“No thanks,” Hermione laughed, checking her own phone for a text as she started gathering her things.
“Doing anything fun tonight?”
She nodded, “Late dinner with a friend, just trying to get everything situated since I’m out tomorrow.”
“You and Draco enjoy your trip, hm?”
“We’ll try. Have a nice night, sir! Tell Harry I said hi.”
“Will do,” he replied, walking back into his office.
Cho was waiting outside of Hermione’s office, making her jump.
“Oh! I didn’t realize you were done.”
“You’re fine, I was just texting you,” Cho replied, not looking up from her phone. Her fingers were flying furiously over the keyboard like she was communicating something life or death.
“Everything okay?
“Yeah, I’m fine… Mandy’s telling me about their office’s lowkey homophobe intern they fired today.”
Her stomach sank a bit at that, not knowing how to address the topic of her former friend.
“That’s just awful… I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she’s doing well,” Hermione tried.
“She’s great, besides this,” Cho said, starting to walk.
“Where did you want to go?” Hermione asked, stomach rumbling quietly at the thought of food. She’d scarfed down an early lunch, but had cleared out her snack stash yesterday with the stress eating the week had caused.
“Do you mind if we sit in the courtyard outside of Longworth, actually?” Cho asked. “I actually have to run home to talk to my landlord, but want to talk to you first.”
That was weird.
“Sure,” Hermione agreed slowly. “Is everything okay?”
She left ‘you’re acting weird’ off of the sentence, but both knew the sentiment was implied.
“Yeah, I just have some things I need to get off my chest.”
“Of course,” Hermione breathed.
Cho didn’t speak again until they were seated in the now empty courtyard, the normally peaceful sound of the waterfall the only break in the awkward silence.
“Ugh, this is hard for me. Promise to just let me speak without interrupting?” Cho asked, her brown eyes harder than normal.
Hermione nodded.
“When we met, I was so excited. It had been hard for me to meet friends on the Hill, especially since I didn’t intern here in college. But from the time Lee introduced us, you were welcoming and kind and had great advice… you were the kind of friend I needed.”
Cho ran a hand through her silky black hair, a nervous gesture if there had ever been one.
“I trust you. I think I speak for both of us when I say that we don’t have time for many close, emotionally-driven friendships, but we make it work. That’s why… That’s why I was shocked when you started seeing Congr- Draco. We all were... Mandy, Lee, everyone. And you didn’t tell any of us, which I get. I really do Hermione, but what I don’t understand is how you’re still with someone who is everything that you say you stand against.”
Keeping her promise not to chime in was almost impossible, she dug her still-manicured nails into her thigh to stop herself.
“We all thought it was a fling at first, right? He’s a hot, rich, powerful guy, it’s fun. You’re young. But it’s clearly a serious relationship, and that just… it makes things different.
“I told Mandy she was wrong to stop talking to you just for dating him, I went to bat for you. The way she came to conclusions about you for just hooking up with someone was wrong, but as the months go on, I can’t ignore it anymore.”
Hermione physically braced herself for what was coming, unsure of how it’d be delivered. Cho was usually so soft spoken and level headed, so for her to full on rant at Hermione? She had no idea what to expect next.
“That Mother Jones article? The fact that his family owned slaves and then continued to profit off of the work of imprisoned laborers for years after the thirteenth amendment? You’ve said nothing. You’ve done nothing but go to his district and preen in photos with babies and hang off of his arm like you don’t have a brain in your head.
“It’s a slap in the face to see this from a white friend who says she holds progressive values and then does nothing to uphold them.
“Cho-”
The incensed woman flung her hand up in a stop motion.
“No! You said you’d let me finish. I couldn’t keep this to myself, Hermione. I just couldn’t. I’ve spent my entire life living around white people who say one thing and do another, and here in Washington, when I’m friends with someone who works for one of the most progressive members of Congress, I expect more. I don’t expect you to live like every white girl on Tumblr who says they’re an ally until they actually need to be one? It’s shitty… Just really really shitty.”
Don’t cry. Don’t scream. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Clench your jaw, dig your nails into your thigh, hold your head up straight, keep eye contact. Don’t cry.
Cho wasn’t done yet, which worked for Hermione since she didn’t know if speaking without sobbing pathetically was a possibility at the moment.
“Voting for a Democrat doesn’t mean you truly believe in liberal values. Working for Rep. Potter doesn’t mean you will fight for what he believes in. It seems like no one has told you that, and as always, it’s the non-white person who’s forced to do so. You really need to look in the mirror and decide what you want, Hermione. You can stay with Draco, sure, but you might want to end the charade of being a staunch liberal if you do.”
That one hurt.
“I’m not sure what you’d even have to say to this, really. You don’t have to say anything. This is hard for me. I feel like I’m back in middle school explaining to my teachers that, yes, boys pulling on their eyes and using exaggerated accents is racist. It’s not up to anyone to explain why what you’re doing is toxic, but I wanted to before I pulled back a bit. I need time and I need space.”
The fountain and chirping birds were a cruel irony on what had turned into a beautiful night after a day of rain.
Hermione’s voice was little more than a warbling whisper, barely heard over the water. Her first reaction when being called out was often anger, but today? She was just sad.
“You never have to explain yourself to me… I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Cho shrugged with a gleam of tears in her own eyes. That made the attack feel slightly better, knowing that Cho was also affected by the breakdown of what had been a good friendship.
“My parents always told me that it’s easier to just suck it up because people will never understand what they’re doing wrong. There are always excuses to be made for people’s behavior, but I matter too, don’t I?”
“You do matter. You… you know that you matter to me. But you shouldn’t have to hide the fact that things that hurt you or expect people will react poorly when you bring them up. I can’t say I fully understand what I’ve done besides dating Draco, but I won’t force you to be my friend. You deserve better than that.”
Her usual eloquence was gone, panic forcing the words to bubble up in her throat. She didn’t know if she’d ever talk to Cho again, and she needed to make sure she knew that she mattered. That her friendship was important to Hermione. That she loved her. It was another in a string of failed friendships; how was it that someone could be so intelligent yet so awful at keeping friends around? It was a marvel, something that no book could ever help Hermione understand or solve.
“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Cho’s smile was like that of a mother tending to a kid with a burnt finger despite having been told that touching a hot stove would only cause them hurt. “It’s not like you’ve stood up and actively campaigned for Senator Malfoy’s presidential campaign, but standing by silently is just as complicit. You don’t have to be with Draco; he’s not your brother or your father. It’s a choice you’re making. And it’s clear that you intend to stick with him for the long run, which means standing beside his dad, which tells me everything I need to know.
“Lucius Malfoy is a bad fucking guy, a honest-to-God psychopath. And you can choose to stand by him, but I can also choose to not stand by you while you do it.”
It was a punch to the gut that she maybe should’ve expected, but never did. She felt like she’d been completely thrown off, tossed to the sand by an unexpectedly rough wave and unable to get up by the time the next one crashed onto the shore.
“Okay,” she replied, nodding rapidly as she tried to assure herself that everything was going to be fine. She wrapped her arms around herself, thinking that maybe she could physically hold her fraying edges together long enough to get through this conversation. “That’s okay. I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say,” Cho frowned, like she felt sorry for Hermione. Like they were discussing something so high-level she would never understand it. “Your actions… they’re enough. Good luck with everything.”
The lump in her throat had swelled to a point where she couldn’t reply, so she just watched with wet eyes as Cho walked away from her and the friendship Hermione had once counted as close. The joke was on her, wasn’t it? She’d never had close enough friendships to know when one was strong enough to ride the waves of dissent. Maybe she was doomed to be friendless her entire life.
She shook that gloomy thought out of her head. She wasn’t friendless, she had two friends. Maybe three, if Draco’s sister counted. Four if Harry counted. But if Columba didn’t count, then maybe Luna didn’t either?
And there was the truth: Pansy was all she had by way of friendship, family and comfort. It was a sad thought, that all she wanted was to be someone who had a concerned, comforting mother to FaceTime as soon as Cho was out of listening range and sob. Sometimes all a girl needed was for an older woman to ask what was wrong, to assure them that everything wasn’t going to be okay. In her distress, she’d settle for a soft smile and declaration of love across the phone screen if a hug was impossible.
So she called Pansy, voice breaking as she asked her friend to pick her up, sounding much like a homesick child at their first sleepover.
“I’ll be there in five, hold tight,” Pansy promised. “You have to get out-”
Pansy hung up, and Hermione could only guess who her friend had over. The girl rolled up with a screech and all it took was an uncharacteristically concerned look her way before the tears fell.
“Sis… what’s wrong?” Pansy asked, running a hand along Hermione’s cheek.
She just shook her head, unable to reply. It took another thirty minutes for her to be able to speak without breaking down into gross, snotty sobs. She had accepted Pansy’s help without embarrassment as she was tossed a t-shirt and granny panties to change into, allowing her friend to scrub her face free of the makeup that hadn’t been cried off.
Her legs had half moon indents from the digging of her nails, something that Draco would certainly notice when they were at the beach tomorrow.
Draco…
“Cho ended our friendship,” Hermione started, fingering the faux fur blanket that Pansy draped over her lap. The other girl paused The Office, turning and scoffing.
“For what reason?”
Hermione stopped herself from shrugging; she knew why Cho was upset with her, and putting the other woman’s reservations off as ridiculous was a slippery slope. She wouldn’t even entertain climbing it. If she did… she’d be the person that Cho accused her of being.
“She thinks that I’m complicit in the Malfoys’ politics if I stay with Draco.”
“To start,” Pansy flicked a hand towards the middle of the room. “Stop saying ‘if I stay with Draco.’ Fuck what others think; you’re staying with him. You don’t need to act coy to assuage others. Hell, he’s probably going to propose this weekend.”
Pansy received a disbelieving look for her last comment.
“I’m serious. Just because people can’t accept your decisions doesn’t mean you need to mince your words. Who gives a shit, Hermione. It’s your life, not hers.”
“She had fair points, but I also feel like it’s always going to be a lose-lose situation.”
“What is?”
“Being a white liberal,” she sighed, turning to lay horizontally on the couch, digging her feet under Pansy’s slim thighs. “I’m never going to be able to be a true ally, to do enough to make a difference in the lives of others, but now? Now I am just an obvious enemy to the cause.”
“To what cause?” Pansy asked with wide eyes. “Is there a handbook floating around that I don’t know about? Honestly, I guess I just don’t know what progressives want from you. You’re a poor white woman with druggie parents, you’re not Thaddeus effing Nott paying workers a shit salary for backbreaking factory labor. If they’re really that pissed at you for marrying a Republican then maybe they’re just as big of a problem as they think you are.”
“That’s not a fair assessment, Pans,” Hermione replied. They tried their best not to talk about politics, but this was the only way she could sort through her emotions. “I’m a poor white woman, but Cho has dealt with racism her entire life. I can’t even begin to understand what she has experienced. It’s also not like I haven’t said awful things about the Malfoys. I’m still not on board with a lot of what they stand for.”
Pansy raised a hand and cut in, “But what Draco and his family do has nothing to do with you.”
“That’s not really true, and we both know it.”
“And what of it? I just don’t think you can spend your life apologizing for your actions. Even if you married a run of the mill white dude, people would still find fault with your commitment to progressivism.”
“I’m not going to apologize forever, Pans. But it also sucks to realize that people I love are so vehemently opposed to my decisions.”
“Then don’t love them!”
Ah, Pansy. Her understanding of the world was so rigid, so clear-cut, Hermione only wished she had the same mental fortitude. Everything would be so much easier.
“I’m not you, it’s not that easy for me. Am I being a hypocrite, though? What else can I do?”
“You can’t do anything. Love the people who love you and ignore the ones who don’t. It’s as simple as that.”
All Hermione wanted to do was debate the merits of whether or not she was a hypocrite, but doing so with Pansy would get nowhere.
“I love you,” Pansy flopped on top of Hermione, nuzzing her cheek into the juncture between the other girl’s neck and shoulder. “You’ve got me and don’t need anyone else.”
Hermione just smiled, content to soak in the affection of the one person who didn’t want to let her go.
“Oh!” Hermione jolted. “Who were you yelling at when I called?”
Pansy bit down on Hermione’s shoulder like the feral cat she was.
“That’s not an answer,” Hermione warned.
“Theo came home with me,” Pansy said in what she’d hoped was an unaffected voice. Hermione knew her too well to believe it.
“Oh? How was that?”
“It was fine, he said he wants me to meet his parents in a few weeks. He’ll be at Hilton Head the same time my family will.”
“Haven’t you met his family?”
“Of course, but not in the context of potentially getting married.”
Hermione paused. “Going from sleeping together to wife seems like a jump.”
“We’re sleeping together exclusively, that’s as good as a wedding vow for someone like him,” Pansy scoffed.
“And someone like you who was with Harry before his trip out west… when was that, two weeks ago?”
Pansy knocked her forehead against Hermione’s in admonishment. “Hey! I was drunk and Theo wasn’t picking up. It was the last time I’m going to see him.”
Hermione raised her eyebrow even though Pansy couldn’t see her. She thought it was far from likely that Pansy was exclusive with Theo while Harry was around.
“And anyways, I’m not as bad as Theo is. I’m sure he has girls who he calls the moment I leave him on read.”
“If you say so.”
“I do,” Pansy asserted. “Let’s go check your suitcase again, I think I want to switch out the shoes I packed for you to wear with the red dress…”
Hermione sighed. Maybe she didn’t need other friendships after all.
xx
Draco picked her up later that night since they had an early flight. He’d knocked at the door, looking absolutely exhausted after a donor dinner.
“Hi,” she said, trying to smile. Draco’s exhaustion made way for concern.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking up and down her body like he’d find a cast or bandage. “Did Cho do something?”
Her eyes filled with tears at his quick guess. It was like he knew something was going to happen, and she accepted the hug that he pulled her into. She heard Pansy on the stairs behind her and could only guess what sort of look they shared while she couldn’t see.
“I’m fine,” she warbled into his chest, glad that her mascara was scrubbed off when his dress shirt cost more than her life.
“That right, sweetheart?” he asked, smoothing a hand down her curls. “Let’s go sit down.”
“I’ll finish packing,” Pansy replied, walking back up the stairs into Hermione’s room.
It only took one coaxing request for Hermione to spill everything that had happened, far less tears this time than when she’d explained to Pansy.
Only, Draco’s reply was one of possessive anger.
“That’s just ridiculous, Hermione,” he fumed, continuing his gentle strokes along Hermione’s side. She was curled up sideways on his lap, happy to keep her head in the curve of his neck so she didn’t have to make eye contact. “I swear to God, liberals are going to cannibalize their entire party with accusations of other voters not being liberal enough.”
“That’s not fair,” Hermione started.
“It is fair, it’s the truth! So now you have to marry a staunch progressive in order to work for James and call yourself a liberal? The invisible bar will continue to get raised and soon enough Cho won’t meet the standards someone else sets.”
Hermione took a deep breath. She knew what Draco’s reaction would be, which is why she told Pansy she’d keep what had happened to herself. It obviously wasn’t a realistic option, but starting out their trip with him getting pissed was the last thing she wanted.
Well, the second to last thing. Discussing the rabidity of liberalism with Draco beat it out.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say. I understand why Cho is hurt, but I also will never understand. Same with you. We’re white, so we need to trust that what she takes time to share with us is true.”
She gently covered Draco’s mouth with her hand.
“I know what you’re going to say; don’t say it. Blaise is his own person; he is not Cho. Every person of color has the right to be a liberal or conservative or moderate or none of the above. We can’t paint people with a broad brush.”
“Very aware of that, Hermione, but Cho’s experience doesn’t negate Blaise’s. You deserve better than friends who’ll leave you because you’re with someone they don’t agree with politically. I know you hate the phrase, but that really is a snowflake move.”
“You sound like a 70-year-old man when you call people snowflakes, Draco.”
“She is a snowflake. She isn’t long for DC if she can’t handle dissenting opinions in her life.”
“It’s more than just an opinion; policy impacts people’s entire lives. The bills that you support and vote for do say something about you.”
“My politics say nothing about you, though,” he emphasized. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, sweetheart. You deserve better than fair weather friends.”
“Damn right,” Pansy called, suitcase slamming down the wood steps as she dragged it instead of picking it up.
“I know I do, but that doesn’t make this hurt less. And I understand where she’s coming from… I do.”
You’re a better person than any of us deserve,” he pressed a kiss to her hair, pulling her tighter against him like he wanted to meld their bodies together permanently.
“I’m not sure if that’s true. Can we just forget about it and enjoy the weekend? I don’t want this weighing on us.”
“Feel like that’s easier said than done, but yes. Just let me know if you need to talk about it, okay? I don’t want you hiding your hurt for my sake.”
This was the Draco she loved; fierce in his loyalty and beliefs, but willing to sacrifice his comfort for her to feel better.
“Thank you,” she smiled, finally turning her head to make eye contact and press a kiss to his lips. “Let’s get out of here.”
“And leave me all alone,” Pansy groaned.
“I wouldn’t complain, Pansy,” Draco warned. “I believe you’re the same person who is taking two and a half weeks off in August even though you have no vacation days left?”
True to form, Pansy did not back off. “Don’t even start! You’re the one who’s always making me work overtime! I’m sure Marietta would love her job back.”
Draco was silent, and Pansy smiled, victorious. She’d won that round, fair and square.
xxx
July 20, 2019
“They do know my birthday was over a month ago, right?” Draco asked with a smirk, spooning a heaping bite of tiramisu into Hermione’s month.
She shifted a bit in her seat, looking down at her navy and white dress to avoid Draco’s knowing eyes as she hummed around the spoon. The creamy dessert was perfectly fluffy and flavorful, but knowing that Draco was certainly getting hard under the white tablecloth while she sucked on the spoon was even more delicious.
“Not sure,” Hermione replied once she’d finished chewing, reluctantly letting the piece of silverware go. “You deserve to be celebrated.”
“I told you to stop feeling guilty, sweetheart. You don’t plan district work periods, I had a perfectly fine birthday.”
“Spent at a sewage town hall!” she interjected.
“Spent at a sewage town hall, followed up with a perfectly nice dinner with my family that had no brown or yellow foods.”
Hermione laughed loudly, covering her mouth when she realized that people were turning to look at them despite their secluded table in the corner of the restaurant’s deck. They didn’t look annoyed, though; both men and women were giving them soft smiles, whispering to each other as though Hermione and Draco didn’t have eyes and ears.
“They all think you’re beautiful,” Draco observed quietly, only raising an eyebrow at Hermione’s objectionable headshake. “They do. The men are lying to their wives and saying they think we’re a sweet couple, but they’re all jealous of me. Wondering if you’d want to spend the night with a man even older than me.”
“Draco,” she meant to admonish, but her voice came out breathily. Draco only held out another spoonful of tiramisu, something that wasn’t on the menu of the casual seafood restaurant Narcissa swore was his lifelong favorite. The chef had made it special for him after hearing that he was celebrating his birthday at Holden Beach, something that shouldn’t have shocked her as much as it did. The owner and chef of the restaurant had welcomed them in, sharing that he’d made the perfect dessert for Draco, remembering the way he ate it when it was still on the menu in his childhood. Hermione enjoyed the interaction; hearing stories about young Draco always melted her heart.
He didn’t speak again until her mouth was full of ladyfingers and whipped mascarpone.
“They all want to catch you by the bathroom, pretending that they weren’t waiting outside of the women’s room for you to walk out. These dirty men think they’d get lucky, sweetheart.”
She started to object.
Draco’s voice was sharp as steel, “Suck on the spoon and finish your dessert... Good girl. You wouldn’t go home with them, would you, sweetheart?”
She shook her head, eyes glazed over as he continued murmuring. Could anyone else hear him? And if they could… were they just as affected as she was?
“That’s right, you’d only go home with me. They don’t know that kisses behind your ear while I pinch your little clit get you soaking wet, do they? Do you think those old men have abs for you to rub your sweet pussy on while you swallow my cock?”
“Draco,” she moaned far louder than was decent, which only made Draco’s described scenario more likely. She’d never been wetter than this very moment.
“Finish your dessert, sweetheart.” Draco ordered, scooping half a spoonful into his mouth before moving the rest to hers.
She needed to leave before she begged him to fuck her on the table, to hell with everyone else. If Draco was right, they would probably enjoy watching anyways.
Walking back to the Malfoy’s beach house was an exercise in self control like she’d never experienced. Draco’s hand around her waist, closer to her ass than anything, was the only thing keeping her on her feet. Men in Hawaiian shirts and women in floppy hats stopped them to talk, addressing the pair with a familiarity that made it clear they’d spent a lifetime of summer with the Malfoy family.
Draco had barely shut the door when Hermione pounced, leaping into his arms and squeezing her legs around his waist.
“Touch me,” she whimpered, trailing wet kisses down his jaw to the collar of his short sleeve button up shirt.
He was strong enough to hold her up without steadying her, instead using his hands to squeeze her ass in warning.
“Go upstairs and get naked while I lock up.”
“Yeah,” she nodded, biting her lip as she turned around and practically bolted up the stairs.
“I want one finger rubbing your pussy. Just one.”
She could do that. They had had two drinks each, but Hermione knew that the lightheadedness she felt was not alcohol-induced. It was all Draco.
Her dress and Pansy-picked lingerie were off and thrown onto the large dresser in the corner of the room; there was no time to fold them, not when all she wanted to do was crawl on the bed and follow Draco’s command.
The first swipe along her folds had her moaning and raising her hips towards the ceiling. She used her right index finger, circling her clit and squeezing her thighs together to mimic the pressure she craved.
It wasn’t enough, not when she knew what Draco’s dick felt like. Straining to listen and hearing nothing, she reached a second finger down and plunged them both into her core. What Draco didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Only he did know.
“That sure looks like two fingers,” Draco remarked.
Hermione let out a yelp as she shoved her fingers up in surprise, ashamedly removing the digits and the sticky trail of slick that came with them.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she apologized, hoping she sounded properly trite. If he didn’t touch her soon… she was going to explode.
“Oh? Is my girl being extra sweet now that she broke the rules?”
“Sorry,” she whined, feeling like a different person, someone who was good at having sex and turning men on. “I’m sorry… I need you.”
“You do need me,” he agreed, footsteps clear as he walked over in his navy Sperry’s. Even out of a suit, there was no denying his power. “I know what you need, which is why I asked you to use one finger.”
She shook her head, eyes beseeching as she stared up at the unaffected man. If only she would’ve looked closer, she would’ve seen his cock straining against his khaki shorts. But she couldn’t, not when she was burning up in anticipation of his touch.
“It wasn’t enough.”
“Your fingers are never going to be enough, baby. Not when you’ve felt my cock.”
He was right, wasn’t he? His cock was the first one she’d ever had, but she still knew with certainty that it was the best one she’d ever have.
She came back to attention when Draco snapped in her face, jaw clenched in annoyance.
“You aren’t doing a great job at convincing me to give you my cock, sweetheart. Heck, I’d say you’re not being very nice to me. Isn’t this supposed to be my birthday celebration?”
Well, that was a punch to her quivering gut.
“I’ll be good, promise… Let me suck you?”
“You think you deserve it?”
“You deserve it,” she replied, using her clean hand to help her sit up. Her nipples were straining in the breezy room and it took everything she had not to clench her thighs together once more. All she wanted was to be good for Draco, and focusing on her own needs was the opposite of that.
“I do deserve it,” Draco agreed, undoing his belt easily. “On your knees.”
She was eager to obey, but the toes of her left foot got caught in the gauzy comforter when she tried to worm her way off the bed. Draco caught her before she ate it on the ground, knight in shining armor that he was.
The single mindedness that the thought of Draco’s cock caused had her kneeling immediately despite almost cracking her skull open.
“Hermione?” he asked, bending down in front of her. His belt was open, the metal buckle clanking against his thigh. “Are you okay?”
Despite her lusty haze, she heard the switch in Draco’s voice back to concerned boyfriend.
“Yes,” she replied, trying not to sound like a petulant brat. “Why?”
“You almost bashed your head into the ground,” he replied slowly.
“I’m fine!” she insisted, feeling only slightly self conscious at her nakedness. “Let me suck your cock, please?”
He stood up immediately, running a big hand over the top of her hair and using the other to flick open the button on his shorts.
That was the Draco she was looking for.
She licked her lips at the staccato sound of his zipper.
She was only slightly smug that he reached his climax in what she guesstimated was under two minutes, most of her mind focused on the thrill that came when Draco literally yanked her off the ground to push down onto the bed.
“So gorgeous, my good girl,” he groaned, stretching her left leg back towards her shoulder as he slotted his cock against her entrance. He pushed in easily, the slickness of her thighs a clear indicator of how ready she was for him.
She let out a whimper as he squeezed her thigh, slightly surprised at how far back her leg was pressing. It’d probably hurt tomorrow… Maybe she should’ve taken Pansy up on barre class.
“More,” she encouraged, clenching around him. That was all it took for him to piston into her, the mattress sliding back with the strong movement. Falling off the bed wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, not when Draco was hitting her g-spot with every thrust, his lips connecting with her own in a feat of contortion she didn’t think possible. It was a new position, one borne from the desperation of two extremely horny people.
It was his fault treating her to such dirty verbal foreplay at the restaurant, she’d insist tomorrow when Draco woke up with a sore back and tight hamstrings.
“I love you,” she promised against his lips, fingers gripping his hair. “I love you so much.”
“My good girl,” Draco bit her lip before soothing it with his tongue. “My best girl.”
“Your only girl,” she insisted with fluttering eyelashes, which got her a flicking finger against her clit. It was all that she needed, her core starting to squeeze around Draco. “Gonna come.”
“Come for me, sweetheart,” Draco crooned, a thick finger rubbing her clit insistently as his hand moved from her thigh.
She was impressed that they came at the same time, twin moans filling the room as they reached their release. Hermione felt the boneless contentment that came with a good orgasm, the bliss only heightened when Draco laid down and pulled her on top of him.
“I love you,” he murmured, soppy as ever after sex. A hand reached down between her legs and she could only moan as thick fingers started to finger her again, pushing his come back up inside of her. “You can give me one more, can’t you?”
“Yessir,” she slurred, tongue tracing his collarbone as she spread her legs over his hips to better accommodate his hand.
“I know you can,” he agreed. “I think about doing this at work, one hand inside my girl and the other taking notes while I’m on a call. That would make my days slightly more fun, wouldn’t it? Would you do that for me?”
“Blaise,” she choked out.
Draco growled. Honest to God growled, something she’d reflect on later when her body was more than just jello.
“Blaise won’t come near the door. No one else can see you like this; no one ever will see you like this.”
That sounded nice, and Draco chuckled when she let him know as much.
She climaxed just seconds later, the thought of having sex in Draco’s office enough to take her over the edge again. It was something she’d thought about, of course, but never had the guts to mention. She knew how seriously the Malfoys took their public service and had worried that Draco would see her sex daydreams as a desecration of the nation he loved.
But now that she knew Draco was interested… Maybe a starter makeout session in his office was in the cards. They’d done little more than peck in the Capitol complex, so a little daring would make a fair bit of progress.
“That was amazing, darlin’,” Draco smiled into her neck, patting her ass with the hand he’d just removed from inside of her.
“You always surprise me,” she admitted with a sigh.
“You liked everything?”
“Everything,” she agreed. “Besides feeling gross right now.”
Draco sprung into action at that, flipping them over so that she was laying on her back as he hopped off the bed and came back with a towel.
She hissed as the cold microfiber ran between her legs, unable to see Draco’s soft look as she scrunched her eyes closed and waited for it to be over.
“Shower?” he asked.
“I can’t,” she groaned. “We’re going to the beach in the morning anyways.”
“My neatfreak wife going to bed without a shower?” he quipped quickly, clearly not realizing what he’d said.
She waited until he came back to bed after shutting the lights off to reply.
“Wife?” she asked, crawling over to him once he’d pulled the covers back.
“Slip of the tongue,” the room was dark except for his phone’s flashlight, but he didn’t look embarrassed. No, he looked pleased.
And why would he be embarrassed? He was a grown man, one that she was certainly going to marry. Calling her wife now wasn’t a blunder as much as an inevitability.
“It’s a good slip of the tongue to make.”
“Oh yeah?” Draco drawled in askance, a crooked grin overtaking his stupidly handsome face. “You wanna be my wife?”
“I do,” she agreed easily, the endorphins rushing through her erasing any hesitancy she normally had to being vulnerable.
“You will be soon.”
“I sure hope so,” she rolled her eyes. “Your mother has made it clear that she’s watching us like a hawk until we are.”
“I’m a grown man-”
Hermione cut him off, “Grown or not, your mom is still the boss.”
Draco didn’t agree or disagree, shutting down the conversation. That was answer enough.
“Sleep, sweetheart… sleep.”
She did.
xxx
July 21, 2019
“Can we stay?” Hermione asked, swiping her hair off of her neck so that Draco could spray his fancy sunscreen all over her.
“I wish,” Draco sighed, using a thumb to wipe in a glob of sunscreen that didn’t aerate properly on her left shoulder. “We can go to the beach for your birthday if you’d like.”
“I didn’t think the water would still be warm in mid-September…”
“We’ll celebrate early,” he replied easily. “August?”
“You’d take time off from recess to go on a trip? I feel like Blaise may have a heart attack if you change the schedule again.”
August recess was the only time where Members of Congress were back in their districts for six weeks, and while it was a veritable hell for district-based employees, Hermione would be showing up to work in jeans at 10am with every other Hill staffer. It was also the time when Remus encouraged the team to take week-long vacations; there was practically nothing to do for the month outside of preparing for the legislative session ahead, but even that work couldn’t take up enough time to keep them busy.
“Blaise gets paid very well to accommodate my needs,” Draco soothed, and wasn’t that true. The government may cap salaries their employees can make, but she knew that Blaise made a ridiculous amount of money from his work on Draco’s campaign. Unlike her, Blaise made money from both Draco’s campaign and official offices, meaning that he made absolute bank. She was jealous, honestly, as she thought about how she worked for James’ campaign for free out of the goodness of her own heart. Next time, she’d at least demand to get free meals out of the deal.
“Okay,” she smiled. “That would be nice.”
“Another trip to the ocean it is.”
“You’d rather do the ocean than Orlando?”
Draco pursed his lips in thought before nodding. “When we go we’ll need to take at least a week… I can only take four days at most or Blaise really will have a heart attack. Father or grandfather can fill in at events when we go, but anything more than that is pushing it. We’ll celebrate on your actual birthday weekend to make up for it, of course.”
“There’s nothing to make up for, Draco.” The man had a guilt complex the size of the universe when it came to feeling like he wasn’t providing for Hermione properly. Which was absolutely ridiculous, as she often told him, considering the care that her loved ones had provided her throughout her life.
He just gave her a cute little shoulder shrug, “Sue me if I want to celebrate you every day.”
“You’re ridiculous, but I appreciate it. Thank you for making me feel special,” she smiled. They laid out on the towel-covered lounge chairs a teenager had set up on the beach for them. Draco was under a large umbrella despite the sunscreen he wore, but Hermione was soaking in as much sun as she could. The man may enjoy remaining pale, but Hermione? She wanted a sunny glow that only a cloudless day on the beach could provide.
“My parents always said they regretted not being able to go on vacation alone before having me, so I want to go on trips while we can.”
Ah. One of the two topics Hermione had wanted to discuss.
“Your mom pulled me aside to talk about this,” she started, keeping her eyes towards the water. The Malfoy’s beach home was surrounded by similarly gargantuan houses, which was a clear barrier to entry for most vacationers. The stretch of ocean they were on was quiet, despite the families sprinkled along the expanse of soft sand. A mother holding her sandy son above the water caught her attention, the boy’s squeals echoing every time she dropped him enough so that his feet skimmed the cool water.
“Yeah?” Draco asked, putting the Charlotte Observer down on his lap and looking out to the pair as well. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, looking back to Hermione.
Hermione swallowed, realizing that she was an adult and adults could discuss adult topics without withering away.
“She wanted to make sure we’d discussed our living situation… I’m not sure why she’s suddenly concerned about us moving in together, but she is.”
Draco looked frustrated. “I’ve told her that you’re not moving in until we’re married at least fifty times.”
“I think she might overestimate your family’s popularity. It’s like she thinks paparazzi are waiting outside of your house at all hours of the day.”
“I hope you didn’t tell her that,” Draco warned tightly.
He looked actually stressed out by this, something that worried Hermione. What were his parents discussing with him when she wasn’t around?
“Of course not! I reassured her that I wouldn’t move in with a man I’m not married to, and she was pleased. But she did take the moment to remind me that the quicker you propose, the quicker we can move in together.”
“I’m sure she did. I received a similar speech about grandkids.”
A flight of butterflies took off in her stomach at that.
“What did you say?”
At this turn of conversation, she had to look at Draco. He was already looking her way, eyes as soft as his smile.
“I told her that I’m far too old for her to be squirreling her way into my business. She, of course, didn’t stop until I told her we were having kids.”
“Then?”
“Then she asked me what our timeline was.”
“And?”
Draco huffed a laugh.
“I told her that we want to make it through the election first, to which she reminded me that you could have a four-month-old by election night if we moved quickly.”
Hermione laughed loudly at the audacity of her soon-to-be mother-in-law.
“It’s weird how she talks about the future like it’s a sure thing.”
“That’s Southern Baptists for you, sweetheart. There’s no reason to date without the intent of marriage, so surprise engagements or waiting six years to even discuss marriage are not topics that my family is familiar with.”
“I remember a girl from college had been dating someone for five years and they hadn’t even discussed marriage. Yet people would be shocked to find out we’ve planned out our timeline from engagement to wedding to kids.”
“But they wouldn’t… I’m old, sweetheart. My clock is ticking.”
“You are not old! Stop saying that,” she scowled.
“My parents had a college graduate by the time they were my age… In their books, I’m ancient.”
“Just because they raised you doesn’t mean you need to follow the exact same timeline that they did. We’re going to enjoy every moment and not let them stress us out, right? You only get married once… I don’t want outside influences ruining the fun for us.”
Draco sat up, reaching a big hand over to clasp hers.
“No one is going to ruin it; I won’t let them. Just focus on relaxing, sweetheart. The wedding is nothing compared to the stress of the election.”
“You had to ruin it, didn’t you?” Hermione snatched her hand away from Draco’s grip, giving him a wounded look. He was all too amused at her dramatics.
“I’m just being realistic!”
“I’d prefer if you kept the realism to yourself for a little while,” she asked, closing her eyes and flipping onto her stomach.
“I’ll try my best,” she could tell there was a smile in Draco’s voice, but she just tuned him out and focused on the sun that was roasting her back. It was a perfect day, and for now, she’d bask in the joy of the moment.