Chapter 23
October 23, 2019
“You don’t think we’re too old?” Hermione asked with a raised brow, foot tapping impatiently. It was Tonks’ birthday, and with Colin driving James, Hermione was the lowest on the totem pole that day, meaning she had to grab Halloween pastries from Dunkin’ Donuts for the woman’s birthday.
Pansy was easily convinced to join the neverending 9am line at the House side of the Capitol’s one coffee shop, her perfectly manicured nails clacking as she typed an email furiously on her work phone.
“Too old? For Halloween? Never,” Pansy looked offended, not skipping a beat as she looked back down at her phone. “Mid-twenties are the death knell of our slutty costume era, so I kind of feel obligated to go.”
“Well I can’t wait to hear about it,” Hermione replied pointedly, making it clear that she wasn’t going to the Halloween party that Harry and his friend Ron were throwing at some sticky, dark northwest bar they were renting out for the night. It felt a bit juvenile, honestly, but if Pansy was going to be excited about a holiday, she wasn’t going to judge her. Not out loud, at least.
“You’re an old maid,” the girl scowled as she took a miniscule step forward.
Hermione just let out a laugh, looking down to check her phones in the silence.
The cacophony of conversations taking place in the Longworth Dunkin Donuts was slightly overwhelming, Hill staffers gossiping while lost tourists attempted to get cell service in order to find the office they were supposed to meet at. Unashamedly, Hermione took the pause in her own conversation to look around and see if she recognized those around her.
You never knew who you’d see in the halls of the Capitol; colleagues, public officials, celebrities in town advocating for a bill. It was always a gamble, but this time, it looked like there was no one interesting to covertly nudge Pansy and point out.
What was curious, though, were the girls who were loudly talking about Draco as they walked out of Dunkin’ after finally grabbing their coffees and a baker’s dozen of spookily sprinkled donuts.
“Jason saw him at the Republican Governors happy hour last night,” one of the strangers said loudly, obviously uncaring of who heard her conversation. More likely, she wanted people to hear her conversation as she walked down a busy hallway.
Both of them were clearly Republicans, dressed in Lilly Pulitzer dresses that were at least four seasons out of style. Because Hermione could tell now; how far she’d fallen. Pansy’s fashion lessons were clearly working.
“I told you we should’ve gone!” the other girl, a dirty blonde, whined, voice echoing as she teetered along on too-high heels in the hallway.
“It’s not like you could’ve gotten him,” the first girl snorted. “He was whispering to some girl all night who wasn’t Hermione Granger.”
Hermione Granger, privy to the entire conversation, had to hide a groan. Pansy, however, squinted her eyes further as though she could laser the girls’ heads off with a withering look.
“What?” drunk-on-heels gasped, stopping in her tracks like she was personally invested in Draco’s love life. “Was he cheating? He would never!”
The first girl shrugged slowly, like she was pained to share. As if. “I mean… no one ever thought they were going to last anyways. Jason said the other girl was really pretty, so I guess it makes sense. He isn’t going to marry a Democrat!”
“They’re too different,” her friend agreed, her initial hesitance long gone. “I wonder if they broke up or if he’s cheating.”
As soon as they stepped on the escalator that led them down to the Rayburn building a few steps behind the whispering girls, Pansy struck. Hermione should’ve expected it.
“Jason clearly doesn’t know what Draco’s director of operations looks like,” Pansy snapped, tapping her fingers on the plastic case of her work phone. “You can take a photo of me to send to him if you want to confirm.”
“Oh!” the gossiping girl gasped, face turning bright red as her eyes flicked between Hermione and Pansy.
To her credit, Hermione was almost as embarrassed as the duo was at Pansy’s intrusion.
“Sorry! We didn’t know,” the second girl squeaked, eyeing the maintenance man with a bucket of paint who was rocking out with headphones a few steps ahead of them. There was no way off of the escalator.
“Who do you work for?” Pansy asked, ignoring the apology.
The girls made eye contact. The second one caved after a second of Pansy’s icy glare.
“Think twice before you embarrass your offices next time,” Pansy warned.
The girls ran for the stairs, forsaking the elevator up to their office in order to skirt Pansy.
“That was harsh,” Hermione snorted.
“And they were idiots. You can’t talk shit publicly and not expect to be called out for it.”
“Are you telling their boss?”
“Obviously. They deserve a bit of shame after that,” Pansy smiled as they stepped on the elevator. “Now, go enjoy your little birthday celebration and let me handle it. I’ll see you tonight.”
xxx
October 26, 2019
“Hello?” Despite her best efforts to seem calm, Hermione sounded a bit nervous.
“Hi, Miss Granger, this is Flora Carrow, Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy’s executive assistant,” the other woman replied in a prim, southern accent. “Congressman Malfoy told me this was a good time?”
“He did,” Hermione grit her teeth and threw a sharp glare at the man who was glued to some random college football game, a beer in his hand. He was so engrossed in the game that he didn’t even have a quick glance to spare for the woman he’d forgotten to inform about this call.
“Great!” Flora’s voice warmed up immediately. “Just a few questions for you today, but you’ll be hearing me a lot in the days ahead.”
“Sure.”
“Wonderful. Mrs. Malfoy mentioned that you’ll be in Charlotte for Thanksgiving - when do you plan on arriving and leaving?
“Oh, I’m not sure. Draco bought my ticket.”
“I’ll touch base with his aide,” Flora murmured to herself, the clacking of her keyboard the only sound between them. “Now, Mrs. Malfoy also mentioned that depending on the weather, you’ll stage your engagement on either the Saturday or Sunday following Thanksgiving? No worries on the photographer, we have them booked both days just in case.”
“What photographer?” Hermione asked, tapping her fingers on the small reading table in hopes of getting Draco’s attention. Nope. Still staring at the TV like a dope, his feet now planted on the glass table in front of him.
“For your engagement photos?” The woman said, no, asked in her easy Southern twang. She definitely thought Hermione was an uncultured idiot, but she wouldn’t be the first in the Malfoys circle… nor would she be the last. “They’ll be there to take pictures while Draco is proposing and more with family after. Everyone will be waiting nearby to celebrate, we have catering arranged to celebrate with a small group… No one from the Black family will be there, Mrs. Malfoy wanted me to mention that. On that note, is there anyone you’d like to be there?”
A bit late notice, isn’t it? Hermione felt annoyance flare inside of her, knowing already that Pansy had planned to go to her family’s Vermont homestead.
“I’ll get back to you,” she said vaguely, taking the woman’s ‘hm’ as judgment. If she knew that Pansy was the only person Hermione had to ask, Flora surely would have even more judging ammunition.
“No problem! Narcissa also wanted to talk about the wardrobe for your visit. There’s the engagement shoot, but there will also be church on Sunday and a visit to Mrs. Black’s Thanksgiving community meal. Press is always invited to Mrs. Black’s community event, so you’ll need to be casual, yet put together. No jeans, of course! I can send you photos of some of Columba’s past outfits?”
Hermione let out a laugh, unable to keep the sound in as the woman drawled no jeans, of course, as though they were from the same planet. What was more casual than jeans?
She had to stop herself from asking if leggings were acceptable, knowing that being a bitch to Narcissa’s ‘executive assistant’ wouldn’t get her anywhere. Not over something so benign, at least. If this was the start of her relationship with Flora, she knew that there would be many asinine, ludicrous requests in the days ahead to get fired up over. For now, she’d save her ire for Draco.
“That sounds great,” Hermione replied after laughing, and Flora continued on as though she didn’t hear it.
“As for the wedding, we’ll need to start getting your guest list together as well as your bridal party. When do you plan on sending out formal asks?”
Sigh.
“Pansy, Columba and Luna. I’ve already asked them.” No, she hadn’t asked them as much as she’d just made comments about the fact that they’d be in her wedding. It was a given, honestly; Draco’s sister, who she counted as one of her three friends… and the other two. The girls she’d considered her high school friends, more, people she sat beside in her AP classes and took photos with at graduation, hadn’t been in her life for years, and her college friends were more Harry’s than hers from the start. It’d been a bit of an embarrassing, hurtful pill to swallow, knowing that any burgeoning relationship she’d had in DC was washed away in the tide of her relationship with Draco.
She didn’t have many options, and if she was to have people stand with her, it’d be them.
Anyway, Draco already let her know that his three groomsmen were Blaise, Regulus and a friend named Viktor who was off serving some covert mission in Bulgaria of all places. They’d met in law school and Hermione knew very little about him; she’d had to hide her surprise at hearing Draco had friends who weren’t his family or staff or colleagues, but she’d done it well. Viktor would apparently be back in the states at the start of the new year, so she looked forward to meeting him and seeing the kind of person Draco became friends with organically.
“Well that puts us ahead of schedule!” Flora squealed.
Whose schedule? Narcissa’s? Hermione had no schedule. All she knew was that they were getting married in Charlotte at the Malfoy’s church, and after a lot of back and forth discussion with Narcissa, they were having the reception at the Ballantyne Hotel.
Most girls had vivid, explicit dreams of their wedding day, but all Hermione wanted was the honeymoon.
They were actually taking one, too, as they were getting married during the two week district work period surrounding Easter. Knowing how difficult the next year was going to be, Draco gave her full reign on choosing their trip. Not that she’d decided yet; there were far too many options in a world she’d been unable to explore. Did they go somewhere sunny and laze on a beach with a drink in hand? Or do they fly somewhere like Paris or Rome and immerse themselves in the city?
Narcissa was the only one stressed by them not having their honeymoon completely solved, but like Draco had gently reminded his mother, she had bigger fish to fry right now. Namely a wedding and her husband’s presidential campaign.
The first primary debate was next Wednesday, and Hermione was clammy just thinking about it. Draco was flying to Cleveland, Ohio to support his father, but was smart enough to not even ask her if she wanted to come. Lucius was bad enough, but to have to listen to Dolores Umbridge talk about her backwards, medieval plans for the government as though she had a chance at winning? It was a bridge too far at this point.
Work had been weird enough as polls started to come out putting Lucius at the top of the pack. It was like none of her colleagues or work friends knew what to say around her anymore. No, it was like they thought she was a Republican spy, somehow taking their off-the-cuff remarks about hating Lucius’ smug face and turning them over to the Malfoy campaign as though they had value. As though she hadn’t thought the very same thing about the older man on a near daily basis since meeting his son.
Hermione tuned back in at the tail end of Flora’s babbling about a makeup artist who’d always be available to her in Charlotte, deciding to not start the fight over the fact that she wasn’t going to set a precedent of having her makeup professionally done. She’d wear mascara on a good day, but other than that? She had no need to get done up.
When could she come to Charlotte for cake testings? Did she have a preference for flavors?
Would she want to dress hop in DC or New York or Charlotte? And by the way, had she settled on a color scheme yet?
The rapid fire questions were certainly a result of a begrudged Narcissa, who was affronted when Hermione had no answers to her questions. No vision, no Pinterest board, not even strong preferences. The woman had seemed extremely put out that both her daughter and soon-to-be daughter-in-law had no desire to plan their own weddings, though Hermione figured it’d work out better in the end, seeing as Narcissa didn’t care much for the few opinions that she did have to give.
Trying to be minimally helpful, Hermione shared that she’d like a weekend in NYC to dress shop, figuring that Narcissa would enjoy that the most. Pansy as well. Given Flora’s jubilant squeal, that was the right answer.
The call was over soon after, leaving Hermione drumming her fingers and running a quick calculus on whether interrupting Draco’s college football reverie was the best move.
It took nearly no time to realize that there would be no better time, not before Lucius’ first primary debate and the impending likelihood that he’d cement frontrunner to not just the pollsters and politicos, but the eyes of America who would finally and forcefully be drawn into the cycle. No more pretending like the election wasn’t happening; it was right around the corner, and the American people were about to be bombarded with ads of Lucius’ smooth voice and smug smile. God help them all.
“That was Flora,” Hermione started, raising her voice a bit in case Draco had tuned them out.
“Oh?” He called, still fully focused on the dark blue team that was losing to the other dark blue team.
Is this why so many women hated sports?
“Are you listening to me or the game?” she asked, tone just a bit sharp as she stood up.
Draco sighed pointedly as he muted the TV and patted the couch next to him. “C’mere, prickly girl.”
“I wouldn’t be prickly if you would’ve told me your mom’s personal assistant needed me to answer a thousand questions I wasn’t prepared for!”
Nonetheless, she trudged over to Draco, knocking her head against his shoulder roughly as she crumpled on the couch.
“I don’t have answers for her half the time, that’s what ya signed up for. Micromanaging southern ladies who micromanage other southern ladies.”
She smiled to herself; Draco steered the conversation where she wanted him to without even realizing it.
“I mean… What did I sign up for? There was no manual, no reviews on Glassdoor… I’m batting at it blind, Draco. Especially if you’re going to throw things at me last minute, like wedding planning conversations with your mother’s assistant.”
Draco slid his hand into hers as he gave her a probing, slightly apologetic look. Whatever her face said must’ve been something along the lines of ‘we need to have a serious conversation we’ve been dancing around,’ because he groaned and looked thoughtful.
“Nothing normal, that’s for certain,” he chuckled ruefully, squeezing her thumb between his own and his index finger. “Columba was the first Malfoy wife to work-”
“She was also probably the first to finish high school before getting married,” Hermione muttered unhelpfully.
“But,” Draco continued with an eye roll. “She was also marrying into a different family. I know you’ve heard it a million times, but there are expectations for a Malfoy wife. And we are already… stomping all over those.”
“So why don’t we continue to do it and just live the way we want?” Hermione asked petulantly.
He let out a real noise of sympathy then, untangling his hand from her own to cup her cheek like she was something precious to him. Something precious and naive and malleable to the whims of him and his family; a moldability that she only trusted him to handle with care.
“Is this about the wedding… or everything else?” he asked quietly, watching her for a reaction.
Hermione sighed heavily. The wedding was so much bigger and grander than she ever would have wanted had she been left to her own devices, but at the end of the day, it was just a day, and she’d be married to Draco after that. It was everything that came along with being married to Draco that was weighing heavily on her.
“Everything else,” she mumbled.
“Sweetheart… You don’t honestly think you’ll be able to stay in your job much longer, do you?”
Her eyes filled with tears as Draco struck at the heart of her near-constant anxiety.
“I want to,” she whispered, tears flowing down her cheek. Did she think she could? Almost certainly not, but did she want to? To work up the ladder to legislative director on a smart six to seven year path? More than anything.
“I would give you the world if I could, Hermione,” Draco’s jaw was tight, teeth clenched together in the way he always hooked a thumb in the corner of her jaw to stop when she did so. “But we need to start seriously thinking about what comes next. I don’t want James to fire you, and I know that James and Remus would hate nothing more.”
“Then why do they have to? If I’m doing the work and keeping my head down, what else matters?”
Deep down, she knew that she was doing what she always did; looking at the theoretical side of things in the hope that the practical, realistic side wouldn’t bog her down. But with the way that things were going, the way that reporters would stop into their office asking to speak to her or would only ask James questions about her and Draco after votes? The countdown clock on her current position was nearly at zero.
“Sweetheart, I don’t want you to be more hurt than you have to by this. Pretending that everything is normal is only going to make this worse.”
“I know,” she replied, voice soft and wobbly through the flow of tears that just wouldn’t stop. “It just hurts. I’m scared that I’ll never get a job again. I know.. I know you say Malfoy women don’t work, but what if I want to?”
“That’s a bridge we can cross when we get to it. Marriage is hard to begin with, but being newly married to a Member of Congress is even more difficult. I would love to have you travel with me when I’m voting, but we also have the campaign to think about.”
“Yours or your dad’s?”
“Both,” Draco shrugged. “Mine won’t require much, but I’ll be expected to start traveling regularly as we get towards the end of the summer. Congress will likely vote the last week of July, then come in for a week or two between then and November. I’ll be flying around the country, and while you don’t have to participate in the campaign, I want you to be there with me.”
“I want to be with you too, but I don’t want to just become Draco Malfoy’s wife.”
She didn’t like bucking against him, not when they were normally so in tune with each other despite all the differences they had, but this was their future. It was her life, and she wasn’t going to just quietly accept the Malfoy norm as what her life was going to be.
She wouldn’t be the first or last woman to lose themselves to their husband, to the role of wife and partner and mother.
When men in politics said their wife was their rock, Hermione was the one who shuddered instead of awwing. Being a rock meant that they were immovable, sure, but how did they end up glued to that spot in the first place? Their husband plucked them up and placed them there, at their side, on campaign stops and spouse forums and fundraising dinners. It was nothing she’d choose for herself, yet here she was, soon to be Draco’s rock that garnered applause every time he said it.
It was as terrifying as it was comforting, to know that she’d have a place at his side, to have someone who always wanted her. To comfort her and protect her and keep her safe with food in her belly and a hand to hold. It’s what she always wanted when she was curled up in her closet, the sound of her parents and their drugged out friends reverberating through the house, wishing that someone would burst in and save her. And Draco was here, but so was everything that came with him. It was what she’d wanted in a way she never wanted it.
“You’re never going to just be my wife, Hermione. You are your own person, and I’ve never tried to stifle that. I never will, but I need you to be my partner. I want you at my side so that we can skip the bad banquet food and go through the Mcdonald’s drive thru on the way home; I want you at my side when my father is losing his mind so that I have someone to laugh with as soon as the door’s shut behind us. I know that you’re giving up far more than I am, believe me. But I am only going to be able to make things better if you’re open with me.”
There was a war inside her, the conflicting relief at hearing Draco say that he’ll keep her by his side and the already uncomfortable feeling of being shoved in a neat little box were always going to be at odds with each other. That was the price of loving Draco and making him her future; there would always be obligations, always be sacrifice. But wasn’t that what marriage was?
“What scares you?” she asked, changing the subject to one that was often on her mind. Draco was always so sure of himself, his quick smile and southern drawl an armor that was on around even her some days. It seemed like Draco forgot where he ended and Congressman Malfoy began some days, and she just wanted to have some honesty and vulnerability from him if they were already in the trenches of a tough conversation.
“You being scared away,” he answered immediately. “My age, my family, my career… There’s more reasons for you to leave than to stay. I’m rich and handsome, but I’m not the only one. You could find someone younger and better suited for you in no time.”
Hermione laughed despite the seriousness of the moment. Even in his vulnerability, Draco was complimenting himself. Should she really be surprised?
“They may be handsome and rich, but they’re not you. I love you, and it’s going to suck, but it’ll be worth it. It will,” she insisted, knowing that both of them were dreading the hurdles ahead. “Not to minimize your fears, but is that all that scares you?”
“No,” he shook his head, scratching his chin with the hand that wasn’t rubbing her bare thigh. “I’m terrified that you’re going to wake up one day and resent me for stealing your youth. Our timelines are not matched up as individuals, but we’ll have to make decisions soon if we get married.”
“You mean kids?”
Draco just nodded, staring straight ahead at the now muted TV, like he couldn’t bear to make eye contact. It was a bit dramatic, but she understood. It was another thing they’d talked about, but now they were moving past hypotheticals into planning.
“You know I want kids,” she smiled softly, stroking the side of his neck with her thumb. They’d had this conversation multiple times, Draco normally the one to tap in lightly, as though he’d scare her away by mentioning pregnancy and babies and her being rooted to him by more than just a ring on her finger and a signature on a paper.
“You’re 23 years old. Anyone else your age would be putting kids off for ten years and enjoying life and traveling the world as a married couple before having them.”
Yeah… she’d thought a lot about that. Having children was never the issue, but the timeline was. Did she want to be a 23-year-old mom? Did she want to be judged by everyone she knew and had ever known for having a kid right away? Did she want to have people counting back the months to see how long they’d been married before she announced she was due?
Not really, but also, did she really care? Harry was the only friend she had who was going to judge her, and he would do that even if she was pregnant at 33 and had been married for 10 years. Her circle was small, which made it easier personally, but the weight of public judgment was still something she knew she’d feel keenly.
“I’m not worried, Draco,” she promised after a long silence. “I want kids with you, and I know our timeline. I want you to have time with our kids, to love them and play with them. I want Brax and Liv to know and love them too; if that means having them early, then so be it.”
Draco cleared his throat, sounding suspiciously hoarse. “I want that too. I don’t want to be in a wheelchair when our kids go to college; I want you to have been my highschool sweetheart so we could be where my parents are, not even sixty and spending over two-thirds of their lives together.”
“We can’t change that,” Hermione gulped, not willing to fully touch on their age difference still, no matter how many times they’d talked about marriage and how they’d raise their four hypothetical children. Morbidity terrified her, but it was escapable, if only in conversation. “We’ll need help if we’re having a few babies in a row.”
Draco’s smile was a beautiful thing. “I think getting help with our babies will be the least of our problems, sweetheart. Would you want to go back to work?”
“Yes,” she replied immediately. “But not full time… and not at first. I want to be better than my parents, and I can’t do that if I’m working all of the time.”
Shit. She felt immediately guilty, thinking of how full Draco’s days were and how that could’ve been taken as a slight.
“Father always said that the joy of a safe district is getting to pick and choose what events you go to. He’d bring his scheduler over for a meal every week and have them go through the events he was invited to and let Dove and me pick one that we’d attend with him. He was busy, but he was a good father.”
“And I know you will be too,” Hermione was confident that Draco would be an even better father than his. More like Abraxas, God willing. Loving and goofy and not too full of himself. She’d leave that unspoken, though. “There’s going to be a lot of change, but we’ll get through it together. Just angrier and more shorter-tempered than normal, which probably isn’t saying much.”
“Means I gotta work to keep my sweet girl happy, hm?” Draco’s voice dropped from conversationally solemn to husky in a millisecond, and Hermione was already rubbing her thighs together in anticipation for what came next.
She nodded like a bobblehead, moving to kneel over Draco’s lap, settling on his thighs.
His hands moved towards her, one gripping her loose, sleep-mussed curls and the other moving under the large t-shirt she had on. Unlike her, he looked calm, running his hands up and down her thighs as she pressed pleading kisses to his neck.
One long finger stroked the gusset of her panties, eliciting a whimper almost immediately. It was disorienting to go from one of the most serious conversations she’d ever had to being so, so very turned on, but with Draco, she knew this was likely to be the case for life as long as she had him in it.
He slid a teasing finger along the seam of her underwear before sliding it under the elastic to touch her skin, a shudder moving through her as the pad of his finger moved through her wet folds towards her clit.
“So wet,” Draco murmured. “Is this all for me, sweetheart?”
Hermione nodded, reaching down to hook a finger in her underwear and peel them down to her knees ungracefully.
“You eager for my fingers?” the man asked, a knowing smirk on his face as he slowly slid his index finger into her pussy. “So tight for me, Hermione, so perfect.”
“Draco,” she moaned, rocking her hips impatiently. She needed more, and Draco knew. He always did, but there were days he found more pleasure in her neediness than her gratification. It seemed like today was one of those days.
“Be patient, little girl,” he admonished, moving his thumb to circle her clit.
She let out a noise of relief, moving her hips in time with the thrust of his finger inside of her and working to get more friction on her clit.
“More, please,” she begged, letting out a squeal when she was rewarded with a second finger slipping inside her.
“This is why I don’t want you to work,” he said matter of factly. “I can’t leave my needy little wife all alone in DC, can I? All alone with her little fingers. They’ll never be enough, not when you know what mine feel like inside you.”
“Draco,” she whined, embarrassed, angry and turned on in the same measure. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, face flaming as she pressed a kiss to his neck. Pleading, hoping he’d pull down his sweats and fuck her.
“Don’t worry,” Draco crooned, slipping his free hand up her shirt to tweak her nipple. “I’ll never leave you alone. Anything you need is yours, sweetheart.”
“Then fuck me,” she reached down to stroke the front of his pants in hopes of coaxing him along.
“Shit,” he murmured, his hand moving from her nipple to palm at his sweatpants pockets.
She knew what was coming before he even said it, letting out the most pathetic whimper to ever leave her mouth.
“I don’t have a condom,” he groaned, continuing to pump his digits inside of her. “Come on my fingers then I’ll fuck you upstairs.”
He started to flick her clit in earnest, feeling the way that she was clenching around him.
“Just fuck me,” she pleaded, already knowing what the answer would be. He was hyper-vigilant about condoms, even after she’d told him she was on the pill and flung the little pill pack in his face in case he needed proof. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, though, it was the paranoia of a life spent in the public arena. A baby out of wedlock, something James had already accused him of. Them both of. Something his parents would have heart attacks over. As though they wouldn’t be begging them to have kids the second she had a second ring on her finger.
“Can’t give my baby girl a baby yet,” he said. “Just wait for our honeymoon, hm? Me and my little wife on the beach, I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk and a baby’s in your belly. Would you like that, sweetheart?”
She would, God, wherever they came from, the fucked up, primal baby-loving cells in her brain were squealing and had her dripping on Draco’s fingers. Her mind was melted down to the point of not acknowledging Draco had made his vision of their honeymoon known despite the fact that he’d told her the decision of beach or adventure was up to her. They could fuck then fight, at least this time. Unless he’d already made reservations at the resort he’d been unsubtly pushing in St. Thomas.
Hermione was a mess, unraveled by the man under her. Moaning his name, face fiery, unable to do anything but rut on his fingers and squeeze her hand around the back of his neck in pleading.
“My perfect girl, always so good for me. Need you to come all over my fingers, sweetheart.”
When she came it was with Draco whispering in her ear, reminding her how good he felt inside her. He was generous with her pleasure even when his dick was as hard as a rock under her, not removing his fingers until she started to pull back off of his lap.
“Upstairs?” she asked, eyes wide in a way he somehow found enticing despite the hornet’s nest her hair certainly was and the red tinge her face had surely taken on.
“Upstairs,” he agreed, smacking a kiss on her temple as he stood up with her in his arms.
Despite the lingering pit in her belly, she knew that when they were alone, life with Draco was sweet.
xxx
October 30, 2019
“Senator Malfoy, you once said that it isn’t the federal government’s job to provide school lunches to low-income public students and have advocated for slashing the Department of Agriculture’s budget for the National School Lunch Program which provides nutritionally balanced, low-cost or free lunches to children each school day. What do you propose instead to support the 29.6 million children the program feeds daily?”
Hermione knew Lucius well enough at this point to see the slight tick of his jaw, a tell he’d passed onto his son.
“This is a ridiculous question!” Theo crowed, faking like he was going to throw his bowl of fried rice at the television screen. Pansy slapped his free hand without even looking up from her phone.
The Halloween party she’d gone to had, in Pansy’s words, gapped the chasm between her and Theo. All Hermione knew was that when she told Pansy she’d head home from Draco’s so she didn’t have to sleep at the house alone, the drunk girl had told her not to bother. Her location the next morning had been at a rowhouse a few blocks from their own, one that Draco said belonged to the Notts, his expression aggrieved.
They’d planned on having a debate watch party with the Malfoy team and random Republican staffers at their house before Pansy’d decided she was serious about Theo.
Whatever ‘serious’ meant to a duo she’d already heard fighting, Pansy with sharp words and Theo with his low, slow southern drawl and a teasing smile, three times in the past hour, Hermione really didn’t know. Uncaring of who heard them, Pansy might add.
The small blessing was that Blaise was at the debate with Draco and hadn’t been around to see the pair fight with a different… passion.
Pansy’d come home from Ron and Harry’s Halloween party the next morning, having sworn to Hermione that she was fine. Hermione tracked her location to a rowhouse a couple streets over from their own, waiting in a kitchen chair like an angry parent as soon as she saw that the girl was on her way home in the morning.
“Really?” Hermione asked, arms crossed.
Pansy squinted, looking like she’d been fucked seven ways to Sunday.
“Are you so hungover that you can’t even come up with something nasty to say?”
“Why are you being so mean to me?” Pansy whined, flopping to the floor and covering her face with her hands. Hermione, benevolent as she chose to be, placed a glass of ice water on the floor in front of her friend.
“You scared the heck out of me, Pans. You can’t just text me after you’ve already arrived at a random address and expect me to know it’s you texting me and not a murderer.”
“As though someone could figure out my phone password.”
“They could if they were holding a gun to their head!” Hermione retorted, knowing Pansy was smarter than her arguments.
“Hardly a murderer,” Pansy snorted. “I was at Theo’s.”
Now wasn’t that something? Hermione raised a brow before softening her tone a bit.
“Oh?”
“Yes, oh.”
“Is that a thing?”
“It could be,” Pansy shrugged. “It took two Manhattans to realize that Harry is an idiot and even family money can’t completely paint over laziness and lack of vision. I deserve better.”
“You do,” Hermione agreed immediately.
She loved Harry more than she should, and he’d been a wonderful friend to her in college, but he was lazy. Who he would’ve been in a life of lesser circumstances, who’s to say, but this Harry Potter? Rich as sin, last name that turned heads, handsome face and arguably decent personality? He was more than happy to rest on his laurels and have his mom clean up after him. Give it a few years and you’d exchange mom with wife, but the problems would still be the same. If his parents couldn’t convince him to take charge of his life, no one could.
“He’s a good guy, but that never mattered much to you. And rich as he is, he has no drive. You’d end up divorced in two years,” Hermione was honest.
“I know,” Pansy frowned. “The sex was incredible, fuck me if I know how, but I’ll end up killing him before we can even sign divorce papers. He drives me insane.”
Hermione chose to focus on the forward-looking part of Pansy’s honesty. “And sex with Theo?”
Pansy shrugged before putting her head on her legs, voice muffled. “It’s good, just not great. I have to tell him what I want, which is fine, but Harry just knew what I was into. His hand was on my throat without me saying anything, you know?”
“I absolutely don’t know and have no intention of learning,” Hermione held her hand up as though Pansy was even looking. “Intimacy can come with time. But if you like his personality and see a future with him, isn’t that what matters most?”
Pansy snorted, “To someone like you, maybe. Sex is important to me, sis. Your little bow legged walk is enough for me to know you have nothing to complain about, so don’t lecture me on overcoming sexual compatability with the power of mental connection.”
“I had no plans to do so, Pans. Don’t be mean to me. What’s next?”
“Going slowly, setting boundaries and culling him of his ‘I was raised by nannies’ chip on his shoulder.”
Whatever that meant, it was beyond Hermione, but clearly something Pansy felt confident she could help with.
“I’m proud of you,” she smiled honestly. “Look at us, in adult relationships.”
“Don’t box me in with you, sis. I’m not the one getting married at 23.”
Hermione had kept to herself that she figured Pansy would be married within two years, wanting her kids to be the same age as Hermione’s own. Especially if Luna was pregnant like they’d expected. The woman had been MIA, not that that itself was worrying, but the fact that her Facetime calls were always punctuated by her turning green and hanging up abruptly. Pansy hated nothing more than being left out by the few people she loved deeply, Hermione knew that well.
Pansy and Theo were a thing, weird as it was to watch them try to figure out in realtime. Suave, yet puppylike Theo and hardened Pansy were quite the pair. Now they just needed to slowly break the news to Draco and Blaise, both already resigned to the pair ending up together if Draco’s comments were anything to go by.
They’d wait a bit, though, in hopes of an optimal reaction.
Blaise was under enough stress from what Draco had been sharing, and this would put him over the edge. Hermione wished that Luna was there with her, but the woman had been sending updates on Draco from Cleveland, including the fact that she’d tried and failed to bring them to the Hard Rock Cafe for lunch. Hermione hadn’t known what to say to that, but was even more grateful to not be there if that was the best option they had for food. It made the thought of the campaign trail and the random places she’d have to visit even more anxiety-inducing.
Among the random assortment of Republican riff raff in their home was Daphne Greengrass Pucey, the wife of Draco’s legislative director, Adrian. The man had always been nice enough to her, politely asking how she was doing in his thick accent. His wife, though, was prettier than a picture and looked like a catalog model version of Luna. Prim, put together and decked out in pearls and a coordinating aqua blue skirt and shirt set.
She’d taken up residence next to Hermione all night, something that the curly haired girl thought was supposed to be a relief for her. It was sweet, but honestly, Hermione couldn’t care less if she’d been left alone all night. Since seeing Draco’s interview on WWN before the debate started, her stomach had been turning.
She’d planned to invite Harry because she genuinely missed him and thought it would be nice to not be the lone Democrat in the room, but that decision was nullified by Pansy’s post-Halloween party hangover. It was for the best, once she really thought it through and realized that having him there would mean that no one would’ve been able to hear over his incessant chatter and crass rebuttals to whatever the candidates said. He truly was his father’s son, after all.
So Daphne was a helpful distraction, one that was painting a very clear picture of what life would be like once she was a southern wife.
Hermione wasn’t sure she hated it fully, but it was in her nature to buck at the idea of staying home. Full-throated feminism, whatever it actually was, felt like it became more and more like a carrot dangled on a stick the closer to marriage she got.
“So you don’t work?” Hermione asked bluntly, putting on the kindest, least judgmental tone she could.
Daphne laughed, “Darlin’, I don’t need a salary to be working. I have to go to events with Ade every night and travel back to the district with him.”
“I didn’t realize he went back to the district so much.”
The other girl nodded like a pretty bobblehead, “DC was never in our plan, but you know what they say about God’s guiding hand. Both of our families are still in North Carolina, Ade’s just moved to Charlotte last year. But with the election, Draco’s been wanting him to show face a lot more and get in front of everyone he should know.”
Hermione’s confusion must’ve shown.
Daphne smiled gently, “Draco doesn’t want to put the cart before the horse, but if he goes to the Senate then Adrian will run for his seat. Blaise doesn’t have any interest, so they’re trying to lay the groundwork now. I don’t think it’s the smartest thing, counting chickens before they hatch, but their heads are harder than all hell.”
“Wow, that’s exciting,” Hermione smiled genuinely. Adrian was smart and had worked for Draco a long while, so she figured it made sense. His temperament seemed a lot better than Blaise’s, too, so she figured there’d at least be less of a chance for a foot-in-mouth moment if he ran in a special election. “How do you feel about being a congressional spouse?”
“At least I won’t be the youngest,” Daphne snorted and tipped her wine glass towards Hermione, and she let out a surprised laugh of her own. “Jokes aside, it wouldn’t change much. My daddy paraded us around at events before we could even walk, so maybe I’m just meant for hobnobbing. So long as the food’s generally better than a typical buffet, I’ll be peachy.”
Draco’d mentioned that the Greengrass patriarch was the CEO of Gringotts Bank, which was headquartered in Charlotte. Regulus was a board member there, which was yet another small world tie that Hermione couldn’t wrap her head around.
“Well at least we’ll have each other if everything works out?” Hermione asked tentatively.
Daphne grabbed Hermione’s free hand in her own, “You’ll have me regardless; you can’t shake me now. I know it’s still early days, but I told Draco I’d happily be your PA out on the trail.”
“My PA?”
“Personal assistant, body person, bag lady, schedule manager, call it what you want… Everyone needs someone to shepherd them along, and I figured it’s better me than some rando from the RNC trying to stake their name out for personal benefit, right?”
Hermione couldn’t help but be touched by the fact that a veritable stranger, a very rich stranger, would give up her glamorous life for a bit to help her out. She knew that that wasn’t the whole story, that she’d also be cementing herself as an ally to the Malfoy for her sake, her family’s and her husband’s, but still. Anyone who offered to travel the country during a high-stress campaign was at least a bit of a saint, ulterior motives or not.
“I would love that,” Hermione agreed. “I didn’t even think that I would need someone to help me out. I’m no one important on the trail.”
Daphne’s smile was small and slightly incredulous, edging on condescending. “Sweet gal, you are someone. And you’re going to be a Malfoy soon, hm?”
Hermione shrugged, knowing that no one knew they were engaged yet. She had half a mind to tell Daphne, but decided against it. The girl clearly wanted to be her friend, even without divulging a huge secret.
“You are,” Daphne continued easily. “You can’t be expected to manage your life by yourself, and after the campaign I’m sure you’ll get an executive assistant like Narcissa has, but for now? You just let me help you along. It’s gonna be a hell of a ride.”
“I’m dreading it already,” Hermione admitted honestly. “I hated campaigning with my boss, so I can’t imagine how much more strenuous this is going to be.”
“Well then we’ll set your limits for the start. People in politics? They will take and take until you hold your hand up and say enough’s enough. Especially when your last name is the same as the candidate; they’ll ship you out to as many events as possible, especially because Columba is going to use her job as an excuse not to. Narcissa can’t do all of the women’s events, can she? And goodness knows Lucius needs a woman’s touch to get the female vote.”
As though it was fate, a loud ‘oh shit!’ sounded in the room, clearly from one of the random people who ended up in their house based on the unfamiliar tone.
Gemma, Draco’s communications director, held up a hand and shushed the room. Everyone listened, cowed by the woman’s no nonsense demeanor.
“-I stand by what I said. Unlike Senator Malfoy, I abide by the word of the Bible and obey the commands of God,” Dolores Umbridge simpered, slightly sweaty face looking even pinker thanks to the God awful pink suit she donned. “When I’m president, as soon as I’m sworn in I will return to my desk and overturn Obergefell v. Hodges and return our nation to its biblical foundation of marriage being between a man and a woman.”
Boos sounded in the audience, despite the moderators explicitly stating at the beginning that no applause or boos should sound during the course of the debate.
Lucius looked like a snake rearing up to attack, but before he could speak, the random baseball star who’d entered the raise spoke up.
“You know, she’s got a point!” The man, John Dawlish, agreed with the point of his beefy finger. “When I was a kid, boys were playing sports and girls were dressing up dolls. Now we have girls tryin’ to be in Boy Scouts and boys doing gymnastics in the Olympics! I agree, I would also scribble out that nonsense law.”
“Senator Malfoy?” Celestina Warbeck, the sole female moderator, prodded.
The man looked over at the two of his three opponents who’d spoken with a look of snobbish pity. “Starting with the fact that a president doesn’t have the right to overturn a Supreme Court decision, I would urge my friends and fellow candidates to take some time and read the Constitution. It’s remarkably short and digestible, so much so that North Carolina’s fifth graders read it each spring. Second, if elected, my job is not to influence the courts, let alone the Supreme Court. Obergefell is the law of the land; we have far more pressing priorities than to overturn gay marriage, regardless of how I feel in my personal capacity.”
“Well put, well put, I agree with the senator,” the former one-term Missouri governor, Igor Karkaroff, grumbled behind his unkempt beard.
“Well, look at that,” Theo whistled. “Lucius sounded like the reasonable one of the bunch.”
“Of course he did,” one of the men Hermione didn’t recognize chimed in. “He’s going against three nutballs. It’s sad to watch at this point, what a waste of his time.”
“It’s not a waste of his time, he’s showing how competent he is before we even get to the general election,” Gemma chastised with the roll of her eyes. “The Dems are cannibalizing each other, so all the better for us that Lucius rises to the top without even throwing a punch.”
“Here here!” Adrian called, lifting his beer up and clinking it with the man next to him.
“This is going to be our lives for the next year,” Daphne groaned.
“Not a fan of politics?” Hermione asked.
“Not when we play-by-play every debate or interview like it’s the Super Bowl. I mean, this is the first debate. We have too far to go to get excited at this point.”
She had a point.
“They all seem to think Lucius has it in the bag,” Hermione pointed out.
Daphne nodded, “Oh, he definitely does. That’s why I think this is all pointless, ya know? We know who’s going to win, but the media and the GOP enjoy the fanfare of getting there… I’m just here for the inauguration parties.”
Hermione hadn’t even thought that far ahead. What celebrities would want to attend Lucius’ campaign events and victory parties? Certainly not anyone she was a fan of, right?
“Oh God, not abortion already. It’s the first debate!” one of the strangers groaned. Who invited them here?
“You need to shut up or leave,” Pansy barked, her hand intertwined with Theo’s on his thigh, though neither of them was looking at the other. “This is a debate, not an open forum for your thoughts.”
Both Hermione and Daphne had to hide laughter at that. Even if Lucius Malfoy was inextricably tied to her future, at least she had a tight circle, that may soon include Daphne, there with her. That comfort made the sting of Lucius’ constant presence just a bit more manageable.
xxx
November 20, 2019
Hermione had never dreaded going to work on a regular basis, not until now. The debate had opened up a groundswell of speculation over her place in the Malfoy family despite nary a mention of her name in the debate. Not that it was needed when Twitter trolls and people who fancied themselves the FBI put out self-aggrandizing 17 tweet threads deep diving into her life and relationship with Draco. Thankfully none of them seemed to know a thing about her parents, but that barely mattered when her motives were being questioned and lies were being retweeted and shared like truth.
No, she was not a Republican plant spying on James Potter and the Democrats. No, she was not a Democratic plant, spying on the Malfoys. No, she did not have ambitions to run for Congress if Draco was appointed to the Senate. No, she was not already pregnant and trapping Draco for his wealth. No, no, no.
She could easily ignore the social media chatter, but she couldn’t ignore the people who continued to show up to their office asking to meet her.
For better or worse, the Capitol building was open to the public. That meant that after going through security, anyone could walk right into their office and question Colin on whether or not Hermione Granger was available.
He’d made the mistake, months back, by telling someone chipperly that she was in the office, which led to an angry woman when she didn’t come out to say hello.
Now, though, he knew better. They all did, and the safety protocols that Remus had to implement had her stomach roiling with guilt when interns were berated at least once a week for saying that they couldn’t disclose the location of any of their colleagues.
What people wanted with her, she had no idea. Draco’s ear? She couldn’t give them that. A conversation with her? About what? She was nothing, she was no one, she was just trying to do her job without getting fired before she was ready to leave. But that was getting harder every day.
It was only 11am and she was inundated with emails and calls from a Republican office that really wanted James to sign on their veterans bill, egged on by the fact that James had noncommittally told their member at votes the night before that they should contact Hermione. She hadn’t had a chance to sit down with Dorcas and James to discuss the bill, either, so she had to keep putting the staff off.
To make it worse, she felt the telltale aches of her period coming on just an hour before she felt an unwelcome surprise in the underwear that Pansy always made fun of her for wearing.
“I’ll be right back,” Hermione called out to her colleagues, tucking a tampon into her bra before grabbing her phones and heading out on brand new heels that agitated the blister on her pinky toe.
“Sounds good,” Penelope acknowledged without looking, still on hold with United’s congressional desk trying to get James on a later flight after they were warned tomorrow’s votes would run longer than planned.
Hermione gave Colin a smile as she walked out, noting with sympathy that he was on a call of his own. Their interns had already headed home for the Thanksgiving holiday, leaving the staff on the hook for the menial, monotonous tasks that they’d throw to the interns when they were present.
Turning right out of the office and heading the short distance to the bathroom, Hermione noticed immediately that a heavyset man who was leaning against the wall across the hall from her office jolted up to follow her. There were a few other people on the phone in the hallway, pacing as they spoke into their iPhones.
One of the pacing staffers made for the alcove that led to a stairwell, and Hermione made a split second decision to follow them into the normally busy thoroughfare to see if the guy would follow her. He did, which caused her stomach to sink like a rock.
The man she’d followed in, his staff ID clanging against his hip while he walked, headed up the stairs, so she went the same way, figuring she’d go to Draco’s office where she knew him to be in a planning meeting with his staff.
It was the last thing either of them needed, but getting followed into the women’s restroom was not in her plans. The ‘People’s House’ it may be, but Hermione wanted nothing more than to feel safe in her workplace. When anyone was allowed in, that felt close to impossible.
Breaking a slight sweat, more out of panic than exertion, Hermione stepped towards the door that’d lead her to Draco’s floor of Rayburn, the man still silently following behind her. Doing a quick calculation, she turned towards him once she was in the hallway.
“Do you need directions, sir?” she asked in a sugar sweet voice, putting on the persona of Luna for a moment.
“I was looking for you,” he replied directly, his dark brown eyes on her own. He didn’t look embarrassed at getting caught following her, which only made it worse. Everyone in Congress knew that the unrepentant people who didn’t even try to cloak their actions were the most dangerous callers and visitors.
“Okay?” she replied with a nervous titter, feeling more out of her depth with every moment he stared at her. Caught between turning her back towards him and sprinting towards Draco’s office or continuing her conversation and hoping a cop or good samaritan came into the dreadfully empty hallway, she kept her eyes on him.
“I know your kind. Liberals that think they can brainwash good American patriots like the Malfoys with their bodies and smiles,” he replied, eerily calm as he spoke.
She broke into a cold sweat at that, wondering who this man was and what he wanted from her.
“Sir, this is my workplace, I’m not sure this is the time or place for this.”
“You haven’t responded to any of my Instagram comments or messages, so what was I supposed to do?” he got slightly angry at that, closing the gap with another step forward. She smelled the liquor on the man’s breath and took another step backwards before turning and moving towards Draco’s office as quickly as she could without breaking an ankle in her heels.
“Hey!” the man called, voice echoing in the hallway as he moved to follow her.
She stepped into Draco’s front office, the feeling of safety it normally brought her dashed by the presence of the stranger she knew would soon follow her in.
An intern she knew to be the son of some dignitary stationed in DC was at the front desk, meaning that Pansy was in the meeting currently taking place in Draco’s office. Her eyes widened at the sight of the young man, pleading and desperate and ashamed at all once to drag her trouble to his doorstep.
“Ms. Granger?” he asked, standing up as though readying himself to do something before the other man entered the office behind her.
Hermione tripped ungracefully as she moved to distance herself from him, falling awkwardly against the leather chair that sat in the left corner of the front office, her left ankle and wrist both throbbing as she landed.
“Don’t walk away from me when I talk to you,” he said angrily, as though he had any right to barge into Draco’s office and raise his voice.
“Sir,” Hermione gulped, trying valiantly not to cry as she pulled herself up on shaking legs to stand against the wall, palms placed on the popcorn wall. “You have to leave.”
“This is the People’s House, I don’t have to do anything. You are paid with my tax money to work for me and to listen to me, girl!”
That wasn’t how it worked at all, actually, but that argument was far from the most pressing thread in his threatening bellow.
“Excuse me,” the intern interrupted in a deep, affronted tone, walking out from behind the desk. “You won’t talk to a lady like that in our office.”
“She’s no lady, she’s a spy trying to take down the Malfoys! How are you all so blind?” he laughed maniacally, the loud sound sending a fear she’d never felt before pounding through her. Her eyes flickered down, panicked as she noticed a pair of scissors innocuously splayed on the desk.
She hoped he didn’t see them, that he wanted to make a point more than he wanted to hurt her. To hurt the innocent college student who was trying to stand up for her.
Like a saving grace, the door to Draco’s office slammed open quickly, Blaise walking out.
“What is going on?” he asked, eyes flickering quickly between a near-weeping Hermione, the intern and the stranger.
“I’m just trying to get answers from the spy,” the man waved his hand at Hermione as though that explained everything. “She’s trying to take down the Malfoys, we all know it. I won’t stand for it, not when the liberals are trying to take over our country.”
“Sir, you need to leave.” Blaise replied coldly, Theo right behind him as Adrian moved to stand in front of her and block her from view. She was grateful, but terrified. Did the man already grab a mail opener from a different office? Or a stapler? He could hurt them without a gun, and he seemed keen on knocking some sense into her in whatever way he saw fit.
“I’m not going anywhere until this little… slut stops what she’s doing! I’ll stop her myself if I have to.”
Gasps sounded over his words, his threat, as Draco stomped out of his office mutinously and three cops burst into the room, slamming the front door of the office into the man’s wide back.
Unable to think of anything besides the fact that the man wanted to hurt her, Hermione trembled, knees knocking as she fisted her uninjured hand into Adrian’s blazer in the hopes of keeping herself upright. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she heard Blaise explain that he was disturbing the office and threatening a female staffer, wishing that she’d wake up from this in a cold sweat, but in a bed far away from the audience in front of her.
“You’re okay,” Pansy’s voice sounded as soothing as she’d ever heard it, causing Hermione to hiccup-gasp as she came back to herself.
She felt woozy, gripping Pansy’s arm when she offered it and letting herself be dragged into Draco’s now-empty office.
“You’re clammy as fuck,” Pansy murmured, pushing Hermione onto the couch and plucking her heels off.
“He was following me,” Hermione replied through chattering teeth.
“He’s a creepy dickbag, he’s going to be banned from here if not in jail,” Pansy promised, draping the UNC blanket Draco proudly displayed in his office over her legs.
Draco walked back into the office a moment later, eyebrows drawn and face paler than normal.
“Pansy, can you get a bottle of water?” Draco asked her, moving towards Hermione and taking up Pansy’s place at her side as he crouched down.
Pansy must’ve come back at some point, not that Hermione noticed, only opening her mouth to guzzle down water when Draco coaxed her to.
“Good girl,” he crooned, stroking her hair. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
Hermione had to think about that for a moment. Was she okay? No. As a woman, she’d always been told that she needed to protect herself. To be vigilant. To switch up her walking routes and not share information with people she’d just met and not smile at random men on the streets or on the Metro. She worked to do all of those things, doing what she could to not be trafficked or murdered or whatever else happened to women who were too approachable or noticeable.
She’d never been Pansy, beautiful or striking. She was another girl on the streets, only picked out by her riotous hair.
But now, she was a target; hated by her own party for being a traitor and loathed by Republicans for poisoning the Malfoy family. It felt almost unreal to hear someone spew the wild garbage she’d only seen on the internet the few times she’d dared to search her name, far too curious to leave herself unsearched.
She wasn’t safe; she never would be again, even if she did end things with Draco.
“Hermione?” he asked again, shifting so that he was sitting at her feet and able to make eye contact. Hermione shifted to sit up a bit, feeling the tampon that was resting in her left bra cup. With her luck, she’d bled all over her royal blue dress and Draco’s leather couch.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m not safe,” she replied simply, emptily. “And everyone else is in danger because of me.”
“By that logic, my staff is unsafe because they work for me. And your team is unsafe because they work for James.”
“He was waiting outside of my office,” she ignored Draco’s attempts to match her fears with logic. Sense was the last thing she was looking for at the moment.
“He’s going to jail,” Draco replied gruffly, running a hand over the smooth skin of his chin.
He’d done nothing wrong; they couldn’t keep him there. But she’d let Draco rest in that false safety for now.
“How many more of him are there?” she asked honestly.
“Too many,” Draco replied frankly. “Public service has been a danger before either of us were born, and it will be after we’re gone. Like today, we just have to trust the police to do their job, especially when we’re in the Capitol.”
“How’d they know to come?”
“Judah hit the emergency button under his desk before Blaise came out.”
“Smart,” Hermione commended, committing the boy’s name to memory. He came here to answer phones, not serve as a bodyguard. She owed him one.
“It was, but I wish it wasn’t necessary,” Draco replied with a heartbroken expression. “My instincts are to lock you up and hide you away until my name means nothing to anyone, but I have a feeling that’s impossible.”
“I just don’t want anyone to die because of us,” Hermione replied, eyes welling up with tears that overflowed for the first time. “I don’t want my friends or team to be as scared as I just was, Draco.”
His face crumpled at that, a show of genuine sadness and helplessness that Hermione’d never seen from him. He stood up, lifting her easily and sliding onto the couch with her and the blanket on his lap.
“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he whispered into her hair, arms wrapped around her waist and holding her to his chest like she was his most favored stuffed animal. It’s what she needed in the moment, to be tethered to him and know she wouldn’t be dragged away by a random, ill-intended man.
“You can’t stop it,” she answered, feeling Draco flinch.
“I don’t want you to live in fear, Hermione.”
“I don’t live in fear. I’ve been a woman much longer than I’ve been with you. I know the risks of just being alive. Twenty-six percent of women worldwide have experienced relational violence. One in five women in the U.S. have been raped or had someone attempt to. I don’t need to be told the risks of just being alive,” Hermione finished, honestly uncertain over what Draco had done to deserve her regurgitated statistics and ire.
Nothing. He had done nothing. Just been born a man who had never felt the fear of eyes on him as he walked down the street in a dress on a breezy day or had to calculate whether or not to get up and walk into the next train compartment when it cleared out aside from a few rowdy men.
“I’m sorry,” Draco apologized again, weaving a hand into her hair and scratching her scalp in the way she loved. “I can’t change that, as much as I wish I could. I want to keep you safe, but no matter how many TASERs or cans of pepper spray I give you, I can’t change the world. I can’t change people like that scumbag. We’ll have security during the campaign, and I’ll talk to Capitol Police about what we can do during work hours…”
Hermione could feel Draco’s mind racing away, thinking of everyone he could lord over and pay to keep her safe.
“I don’t want my office to know,” she replied, already moving to get off his lap. She had to put a tampon in and get back to her office. She’d already been gone for too long, another black mark in her ledger.
Draco let out a long sigh, clearly annoyed with her stubbornness.
“I need to go back, okay?” she asked softly, steeling herself with a confidence and okayness that she didn’t actually feel. Knowing Draco, he wanted to drive her to Brax and Liv’s house and wouldn’t leave until she was curled up under a blanket and half asleep while his grandparents sandwiched her in their love.
Hell, she wanted that too, deep down. But she needed to get back to work and focus on what she was being paid to do.
“Okay, Hermione,” Draco replied, running a hand down his face. “I’m trying not to be overbearing, but I don’t want you in the hallways alone. Can you text Pansy if you need to go out in the hall for any reason?”
Hermione prickled, “And put her in danger too?”
“This isn’t sustainable,” Draco replied gravely. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt, Hermione. Just let Adrian walk you back to your office if you don’t want me to, okay?”
Hermione wasn’t going to fight him, as much as she wanted to. She was exhausted after everything that’d occurred, but she’d leave the fighting for later.
“I need to put a tampon in,” she stood up, off of Draco’s lap, hissing as she put weight on her ankle.
“What happened?” he asked, swirling to hunch over and stare at her ankle.
She weighed whether or not to lie before settling on the truth, knowing that Judah the intern had seen her wobble and fall.
“Tripped when I got in your office, it’s just a little sore, nothing cracked.”
Draco scoffed, touching her with gentle fingers. “Just because nothing cracked doesn’t mean you’re fine. Try and walk on it.”
She did just that, favoring her right leg but walking normally. She’d ice it when she got back to her office, and walked straight into Draco’s private bathroom.
A quick peek in the mirror was mortifying, mascara streaking down her face and the wide, red eyes of a terrified little girl staring back at her. She cleaned herself up to the best of her ability before walking back out, Draco waiting with crossed arms and a fierce expression on his face.
“Adrian will walk you to your office,” he said, clearly having peeked out while she was in the restroom. “I’ll drive you and Pansy home.”
“You have your committee dinner,” Hermione replied tiredly.
“I do,” he agreed. “Pansy said she’ll clear her schedule.”
Hermione snorted, keeping the fact that her only plans were loudly fucking Theo on random surfaces of their home. A sight Hermione hoped to never see again.
“Thank you,” she replied, grateful for Draco and his team who were unwittingly dragged into their boss’ mess.
Draco pulled her to his chest, pressing a kiss to her temple before pressing one to her lips.
“I love you more than anything, sweetheart. If you need anything just text me, okay?”
“I love you too, I will.” she promised, wincing as she slipped back into her heels, tightly gripping Draco’s hands while she put them on.
“You could go barefoot, it’s just a few flights of stairs,” Draco suggested with a smirk, knowing she’d never do it.
“I’m fine,” Hermione replied with a glare. She wasn’t, but so much of her life had become a game of public pretending, she was getting used to it.
Draco hmmed, clearly unbelieving as he opened the door back to the waiting room of his office.
Judah, the intern, stood up immediately, eyes flickering over her with concern.
“Are you okay?” he asked, blushing slightly when he realized that Draco was right behind her.
“I am, thank you so much for your quick thinking, Judah,” she praised. “I’m sorry to bring trouble to your doorstep, though.”
“Don’t apologize,” both Draco and Judah admonished at the same time, causing her to shake her head. What was with southern men and their white knight complex?
“I won’t, but we owe you one,” she wagged a finger. “Thank you, really.”
“Of course, ma’am. It’s my pleasure,” the boy sat back down at his desk with a smile.
“Ready to go?” Adrian asked, lips pursed and brow furrowed as he stepped towards them from the back office.
“Thank you for walking with me,” she said, knowing that pushing back would only annoy both Draco and Adrian.
Blaise was still in the hallway with a few Capitol Police Officers, drawing the glances of everyone who walked by.
Her stomach sank, knowing that the incident, even if the full extent of it was fabricated, would be tweeted out or put into a Hill email newsletter at some point. It was inevitable in such a small world, but she hoped that at least her name was left out of it. And if Draco had any say, he’d do his best to make sure that it was.
For now, though, she just wobbled on shaky ankles back to her desk, feeling less safe than she had since the height of her parents’ violence and mood swings.
She could only do what she could do, and for now, that meant finishing up a memo on a veterans bill that’d never be signed into law, let alone be taken up for a vote. Clacking her teeth together, Hermione settled back into her desk without gaining the glance of anyone but Colin at the front desk who would’ve given her the same jubilant smile even if she’d returned with her leg in a cast. It was a small miracle, but one she’d take for now.
A win was a win when you were taking so many losses, after all.