Chapter 24
November 25, 2019
“It’s not a b-”
“I’m going to wring your fucking neck if you say that one more time,” Hermione promised through gritted teeth, Draco yelping a bit as she let out a rare expletive.
“Beautiful couple in the beautiful golden hour! Just beautiful! Now laugh!” their photographer called, a middle-aged woman who was far too cheery to be outside on such a nippy fall morning.
Hermione and Draco laughed on command, like circus animals, the man’s guffaw the same fake political laugh that he used at dinners every week and hers a maniacal, unpracticed sound, edging on unhinged.
Still, he held her close, one hand draped possessively around her waist, pulling her against him while the other was in her hair, dipping her head back so that she had nowhere to look but at him. His eyes were soft with love, but the strong fingers clenching her curls told a different, desperate story.
Her grin was wobbly, a bit too weak to look anything like the adoration a girl should have after just getting engaged.
Despite it all, she knew how great the photos would look, though all she’d be able to think about when looking at them was the fact that she was angrier with Draco than she’d ever been at this moment.
“Hermione, cradle his face in your hand. Your other hand, the one with the beautiful ring!”
“Gorgeous,” Narcissa crowed, clapping her hands together like she was at a Broadway show and not her son’s fake engagement photo shoot.
“Just one more, you know what we want,” the photographer called out.
“We’re almost done,” Draco promised, eyes pleading as he moved closer to her, his minty breath puffing against her lips.
She was weak, putty in the face of the man, and just closed her eyes and let him do the rest. The moment his lips were on her he dipped her back, gaining the cheers of his mother and Columba this time, lifting her into a cradle only a moment later for even more photos. Even when she was this annoyed with him she was touched by his courteousness, the way he made sure to smooth her dress out before pulling her back into a scorching kiss, his tongue tentative as it traced her lips, like he expected her to bite it off.
He was forced to do all of the work, not that it was much punishment for him, but it was all the power she had at the moment.
“Now, my assistant texted your assistant the edited shot for Instagram, and we’ll get the others over by tomorrow night. Thank you both for having me as a part of your special day, it’s been a pleasure!” the photographer, Paula or Patty, bowed towards them, beaming gratefully.
“We’ll see you for the engagement shoot and the wedding,” Narcissa smiled, putting a hand on the other woman’s shoulder.
“I thought this was the engagement shoot?” Hermione whispered through clenched teeth to Draco.
“This was the photoshoot of our engagement, the engagement shoot comes later,” he explained, as though that made any sense. How did any of this sound normal to him?
“Thank y’all, we’re going to head out now and grab some coffee to try and wake up,” Draco smiled, grabbing Hermione’s hand in his and pulling her along. Pansy mercifully followed without being asked.
“If you’re lying and we’re not grabbing coffee, I’m going to grab the wheel and steer us into the nearest body of water,” Pansy warned. She looked perfect despite the early hour, having done her own makeup while Hermione’s was professionally done before the sun had even risen.
“I believe that would be a federal offense, classified as threatening bodily harm against a public official,” Draco drawled, still holding her hand. She withdrew it at his jab.
“No one here finds you funny right now,” she replied before Pansy could even retort.
“Did you tell her?” Pansy asked, unimpressed.
“You knew?” Hermione felt betrayed. She shouldn’t have felt shocked, the line that Pansy danced on between professional allegiance to Draco and friend to Hermione being one that grew blurrier every day.
“I told him not to tell you until later today,” Pansy apologized, as though that changed anything.
“I didn’t tell her, Sinistra’s office didn’t abide by the embargo we set, leaked to POLITICO.”
Hermione had woken up to see that Draco’s office had dropped its bipartisan cosponsorship of a bill set to forgive $10,000 in student loans for nearly all Americans. The bill was one that he’d introduced with Democratic Congresswoman Aurora Sinistra of Texas, spurring press and social media fodder for weeks over the fact that the federal government looked poised to finally address the near-two trillion dollar elephant in the room.
Hermione remembered going to dinner with the congresswoman and her husband following the introduction of the bill, an absurdly normal and enjoyable evening that had her feeling like she could really be a Congressional spouse sometime soon. This changed none of that, but soured the joy that such a normal, easy interaction with an older, established Congressional couple had brought her.
Waking up to find out that he’d pulled out, which was a rarity for such a high profile bill, was a kick to the stomach, made worse by the fact that she didn’t even have the chance to see Draco and question him until they got to Freedom Park for the photoshoot.
“I just want to know what’s going on.”
Draco grimaced, “Grandmother and mother have been working with the catering team for days… We’ll talk after brunch.”
“God save me,” Hermione murmured, cursing the moment she became willing to put her feelings on the backburner so that women who’d worked hard to cater a brunch could have their feelings spared.
True to form, Brax and Liv had picked up on the tension between the engaged couple immediately upon their arrival, shooing everyone out of the kitchen to grill Hermione.
She felt pettily smug knowing that they picked speaking to her over their grandson, but deflated as her anger started simmering once more under their expectant gazes.
“What’d he do now?” Brax asked, arms crossing over his chest. He looked just like Draco in his anger, and Hermione marveled at the strength of Malfoy genes. Maybe her kids wouldn’t be cursed with her curls after all.
She did a quick mental calculus on whether or not to drag their problems out into the realm of their family, and shook her head. Her first instinct was to crumble and share everything, sink into the warm embrace of the older pair, but she didn’t. It wouldn’t help anything to air their dirty laundry, to rehash the issue and just get angry again while knowing full well there was no resolution.
“Nothing, it’s just been a long week.”
“And it’s about to be much longer,” Abraxas said ominously. “That witch of a woman Walburga and her brood…”
“Hush now, Brax. They won’t be here today, you know that,” Livana scolded, smacking his arm, fast as a whip. “That’s a good wife, keepin’ things private. We’re here if you need us to listen or talk some sense into our boy, but follow your gut. Nine times out of 10, it’s better to fight it out at home than to get everyone involved in your business.”
The woman’s validation soothed Hermione’s stomach a bit. All that she wanted to do was to have someone listen to her, especially two people as comforting as Brax and Liv. Choosing maturity was hard, especially knowing that she had people willing to stroke her hair and hold her close while she complained about the unique frustration of being engaged to a Member of Congress.
The door to the kitchen swung open before she could backtrack, Gram Black walking in. She was as beautiful as ever, her curls pulled into a fancy chignon that Hermione could only dream of pulling off.
“Y’all okay in here? Looks like brunch is about ready,” the woman’s eyes flit over Hermione’s face, a maternal concern in her eyes that she didn’t put words to. She could only assume that Draco was pacing worriedly and making everyone absolutely miserable on what was supposed to be a special day.
“All good,” Hermione confirmed, knowing that the woman’s ‘y’all’ was more of a ‘you.’ “We’re coming right out.”
Livana pressed a kiss onto Hermione’s makeup-covered temple before flouncing out of the room with her dark green skirt flowing behind her.
“I love the boy, but they won’t find the body if you ask.”
Hermione’s laugh in response to Abraxas’ mob movie-like promise was near-hysterical, a tear slipping down her cheek.
Abraxas pulled her in for a hug, pressing his own lips to her hair. “Boy’s a knucklehead, gets it from his father. But unlike my son, he gets the ability to apologize before his wife throws him out to sleep on the most uncomfortable sofa from me. It’ll be just fine, put on your brave face and let’s get this over with, ya with me?”
She just gave him a smile, knowing that any further words would have her breaking into the frustrated tears that she and every woman alive hated so very much.
“Why doesn’t everyone take a seat so we can start eating?” Cygnus suggested none too subtly the moment that Hermione and Brax walked into the dining room, fingers rapping on the table as though he was frustrated. The man was always impatient, which she expected from a man his age, but didn’t appreciate being rushed at her own engagement brunch that his own wife demanded to hold at their house. The look she shot him as she approached the seat that’d been saved for her flew right over him, but made her feel a bit better, petty as it was.
Draco’s eyes were trained on her from where he was standing on the other side of the table, one hand gripping the seat that her jacket was hung over. Reminding herself that now wasn’t the time to fight with him, she walked over, allowing him to pull out her chair like nothing was wrong.
He grabbed her hand with his own, pulling it onto his lap, possessively, pleadingly, like he was thinking she might blow everything up at what was supposed to be a celebration of their love. He knew her well to think that, and Pansy’s glittering eyes from across the table were another reminder that the people in her life knew her tendencies intimately.
“Now,” Cygnus grumbled, sounding far more like an irate old man than Abraxas did. Druella and Cygnus were only a few years older than Livana and Abraxas, but they certainly showed in the couple’s demeanor and poor endurance when it came to long days.
Draco squeezed Hermione’s hand as the man said grace, Hermione choosing to squeeze her eyes shut and try her best to pretend that she wasn’t completely miserable on a day that already had her anxious.
They’d been engaged for months, but today marked the point of no return. There was no backing out now, not without a permanent arrow above her head proclaiming ‘failure’ or ‘gold digger’ for all the world to see. Not without leaving the Malfoys embroiled in more gossip fodder than they deserved while she escaped somewhere that provided her the obscurity she longed for once more.
“So… how are you feeling Hermione? It’s a big day!” Narcissa asked with evident glee as piping hot dishes were passed around the table, caterers having been ushered to the kitchen to start cleaning up.
“I am just happy everyone could be here,” Hermione smiled tightly as Draco spooned a paltry amount of scrambled eggs onto her plate. “More.”
The room was quiet at her brusque request, and she blushed, caught in a rare moment of outward annoyance.
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Druella cut in, saving the awkward moment from resting for too long. “And we get to finally meet Pansy, what a treat that’s been!”
Hermione let out a laugh, knowing just how impressed Draco’s family was at the way that the woman spoke to Draco over the phone. Pansy meant business and ran Draco’s life with authority, something that southern women clearly appreciated.
Pansy beamed like the docile northeasterner that she wasn’t. “Oh, it’s such a pleasure to meet you all in person! I’ve heard so much about you from Hermione and Draco. I know we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other as we plan the wedding.”
“And go on our bachelorette party!” Columba piped up through a mouthful of biscuit.
“Vegas,” Pansy held her mimosa up towards Columba, smirking at Hermione’s immediate clucking tongue.
“Absolutely not. I’ll agree to St. Thomas if you just stop joking about that!”
Hermione realized she’d been played immediately at the way Columba and Pansy squealed, clinking their glasses for real this time.
Brax chuckled, “You got played, my girl.”
“It seems so,” Hermione pursed her lips, unable to hide her smile at the way that Columba and Pansy knocked heads gently, already thick as thieves after only a few meetings.
“You deserve a nice trip, just sit back and let us plan it. You’ll be thanking us the moment you have a drink in your hand,” Columba promised, Pansy giving an affirmative nod.
“Draco, are you and the boys planning anything?” Cygnus asked, cutting his tender steak and covering it in runny egg yolk. Hermione swallowed her disgust.
He nodded, “Key West, we’ll just take a short weekend.”
Lucius frowned, “Both of you going out of state is a bad look.”
“It’s winter, daddy, there’s nowhere they can go,” Columba shot back.
“Asheville? Boone? Beech Mountain?”
The man ticked the places off on his finger, looking more like an old, out of touch CEO yelling at an underpaid secretary than a father speaking to his daughter at a family brunch. To be raised on the knee of Lucius Malfoy, to grow up seeing your father get everything he wants handed to him.
It was no wonder Draco didn’t understand her anger as more than a passing emotion, expecting her to acquiesce after simply voicing her feelings to him. He’d been a little boy who saw slates wiped clean the moment feelings were spoken and plans were laid out, the resolution never the heart of the matter because men like Lucius Malfoy didn’t care about resolution in the heart of anyone but themselves. And now he was a man who expected the same, for knots to be untangled the moment that his hand touched the string, a simple acknowledgement all that was necessary to set things right once more.
“You want us to celebrate Hermione’s only marriage in a cold, musty cabin on the side of a mountain? What if someone followed us there and murdered us?”
Lucius stiffened, unrelenting, “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Dove. There are beautiful resorts in Asheville that cost more for a night than your weekend on a podunk little island. And as for your security concerns, I’ll be sending guards with you.”
“Thank you, papa,” Columba nodded primly, hiding a smile as she sipped her mimosa and took that as an endorsement of her plan. When dealing with a man that doesn’t back down, anything but a flat out refusal looked like a yes.
Hermione zoned out from there, nodding and smiling and laughing when she needed to. The Malfoy family was always happy to talk about themselves, and so was Pansy, so she was able to glide along in the ensemble part of the discussion easily.
It was only when she’d hugged everyone goodbye, promising to see them at Gram Black’s Thanksgiving charity event that Pansy pulled her aside.
“You need to figure this out,” she whispered heatedly, arms crossed over her chest. As though Hermione wasn’t very aware that her and Draco needed to talk.
“I know,” Hermione tugged on a curl frustratedly, wondering if Pansy was speaking as a friend or an employee, hating herself for even questioning the girl’s intent.
“I’m going to go see Theo while you figure this mess out.”
“He landed?”
Pansy looked down at her shorter friend, expression a bit antsy to Hermione’s well-trained eye.
“He did. Just text me when you two figure your shit out. Love you,” Pansy kissed Hermione’s cheek and sauntered out of the house to slide into the flashy red car she’d rented.
Hermione really needed friends who coddled her; maybe she wouldn’t relent to Draco’s smothering so easily if she had other arms open to her.
“Ready?” Draco asked, coat on, not even pretending that he hadn’t been lingering.
Hermione just walked out to his truck, knowing he’d follow. Instead of letting him help her in like he always insisted on doing, she shrugged him off and let out an annoyed sigh at his hovering. Like she’d actually fall and eat it on the gravel of the Black’s large home if he wasn’t there.
It only annoyed her more, the way he was so caring, yet so obtuse.
“Are you going to explain?” she asked after a solid five seconds of silence, impatient as a child in the face of a promise.
“I am,” he replied, voice calm as he drove down to the dirt road that the Blacks lived on. Draco’s was a few miles away in a less rural area, though the other farms full of trotting horses and grazing cows had her wondering if this was a way she might enjoy living, at least for half the time. She’d been thinking just the day before that she’d like some farm animals, a melty feeling inside her chest at the thought of a mini-Draco and curly-haired girl holding newly hatched chicks, awed expressions as they looked up at her for a photo.
Her domestic daydreams only brought a curdling shame to her gut as she leveled them with her incandescent rage over Draco’s lies. She didn’t want to even entertain the idea of being a political spouse who was kept out of everything her husband’s day job required. She wanted to be a part of what he was doing, someone that he came to first when he needed advice or a partner in negotiations.
He knew that she wasn’t housewife material, had said he wanted her because she was different from the other women his mother sent his way, yet here they were. She hadn’t even said ‘I do’ and he already seemed to have forgotten his promise to never, ever put her in that pristine, spousal box. She cared, she did, wanting to be his sweet, special, fragile little thing at home and his partner the moment they stepped outside. It was a dizzying balance of priorities, to want to curl up in his lap and stand strong at his side in equal measure.
The car was silent for the rest of the trip, the only noise the crackling of gravel under the tires as they drove up to his home.
She begrudgingly accepted his large hand on the way out of the car, the heels that she was still wearing a liability that outweighed her pride. He let out a punched breath as she pulled her hand from his seconds later, waiting steps away while he unlocked the front door.
“Baby,” he started, sounding a bit lost as she shut the door behind herself. His eyes were intense in the same way that they’d be before a committee hearing, where he’d talk circles around his colleagues with glee in the dogged pursuit of a win, no matter the cost. His lips, though, downturned and frowny, uncertain in a way that made him look as close to pathetic as one’d ever seen him.
Good.
“I’m going to change,” she headed upstairs, overjoyed to finally scrub the makeup that’d sat heavy on her face for hours off. The slightly freckled, pale skin that was beneath the thick foundation shocked her. Had she really gotten that pale? Maybe a trip to the Caribbean wasn’t the worst idea.
Downstairs, Draco sat on the couch like a stone figure, chin nestled in his fist as he stared forward at the muted TV. The blaring headline on WWN was broadcasting that they’d be live with Rep. Sinistra shortly, and Hermione was almost tempted to listen to her speak before talking to Draco.
Almost.
“So?” she asked, sitting down a few couch cushions over from him, pulling his hoodie over her knees and curling up into a tiny ball. She didn’t take her normal spot on the chaise end of the sectional, wanting to sit up and feel engaged rather than sink into the plush softness of the couch. She needed a nap, but it could wait.
It was hard not to second guess her reactions, to wonder if she was being too petty, too petulant, too childish. To fear that this would push Draco over the edge and have him end things.
This was the outward etching of her unseen scars, deep-rooted fear over being left, a wobbly, bitten lip and resigning herself to bruised knees from dropping to the floor and begging him to stay. Reshaping herself to fit whatever mold Draco worked up, squeezing her Hermione-sized bits into a contorted mold that’d never feel right, but kept her right by his side. Desperate for belonging, desperate for his love and soothing and care for her, desperate enough to do anything she needed and accept anything he said to stay here by his side.
The girl who’d won countless high school and college debates was crumpled into the tiniest form imaginable on the couch, willing to wave a white flag and end the fight before it started, knowing that it’d keep him in her life just a day longer.
Swallowing down that instinct, she stayed put, though her hand gripped the couch cushion, yet yearning for Draco’s fingers to be stroking her own.
“After you went to bed last night, I received a call from Adrian. As you know, Dems are looking to push to get the bill on the Floor before Christmas, but Senate Dems asked them to tie in a bill that would double the Pell Grant. Sinistra’s team agreed without her staff consulting Adrian first.”
“You’re pulling out because you don’t want to give students a few extra thousand dollars?” Hermione pressed her fingertips to her eyeballs, head throbbing in twin spikes of fear and anger. “It’s a done deal?”
“It’s a done deal.”
“You aren’t even going to push back?”
“If that’s what Senate leadership wants, there’s no way Sinistra is going to object.”
“You’re not even trying!”
“What do you want me to do, Hermione?”
His voice was barely controlled, an echo of Lucius’ normal tone if she closed her eyes.
She almost lost it, the clingy girl losing the fight to the pragmatic optimist.
“How much is a Pell Grant? Six thousand? You don’t want the lowest of low income students to have $12,000 a semester? That’s really your line in the sand?”
“Forgiving $10,000 in loans would cost over $370 billion, Hermione. We can offset that through appropriations, but the Pell Grants? Students are guaranteed six years, twelve semesters, of grants. That’s an extra $30 billion a year, for an uncapped amount of years, not accounting for inflation. We can’t just wave a magic wand and create money.”
She didn’t even debate her argument, because if they were going to fight then she was going to fight.
“Are we going to ignore the fact that we’d have more than enough money to double the Pell Grant and do countless other things to lift up low-income Americans if millionaires and billionaires paid their fair share in taxes?”
“Not this,” Draco smacked his forehead.
“Not this? This is the whole point, Draco! People with means skirt paying their fair share, and then Republicans say that we don’t have the money to help lift people on safety net programs out of poverty. It’s ridiculous; if there’s a cause to champion, it’s getting people to pay into the government so that we can do more, not less.”
“No one’s going to want to raise taxes in an election year, not me, not Amelia Bones. She’ll say she’s raising taxes til she’s blue in the face, but she’s a liar. Raising taxes is unpopular with everyone but progressives, it’s DOA in any Congress.”
“Do you… do you understand what you sound like when you do deficit calculations to decide whether or not giving someone a chance at a successful future is worth it?”
“You make me sound like a monster,” he sighed. “I can’t change the fact that we won’t have the money later to boost Medicaid or provide Social Security COLAs if we take drastic action on Pell Grants and loan forgiveness in one fell swoop. It’s a pipedream, something Dumbledore is playing chicken with.”
“That’s why you need to talk to them and remove the rider. We could pass this, Draco! Do you know how much this bill means to people? How much hope it gave them when you signed on?”
“Don’t accuse me of not knowing what’s at stake for my constituents, Hermione. I signed onto the bill and got seventeen Republicans to do the same. You can be angry at the situation, but you can’t be angry at me.”
But couldn’t she? She had to pause for a moment to try and collect her thoughts, desperately aware of the fact that Draco didn’t see her as the woefully idealistic early-20-something anymore.
He wasn’t wrong, not fully, but even though she no longer had to worry about where her next meal came from or if the rug was going to be pulled out from under her by her landlord, she was still young and passionate and very, very aware of what it was like to be poor and without stable ground under her.
It was easy to fall back into the skippy swing of a young woman who carried a hatred for their government’s inefficiency and a hope for change if the right people were put into positions of power. It was just as simple to fall into despair and righteous anger when a bill set to change the course of student debt was sinking into quicksand when the finish line was clearly in sight.
Obliterated because of Draco, obliterated because Democrats couldn’t take a good thing for a good thing and had to complicate it to try to get an even bigger win.
“I am mad at you, a bit,” she admitted, voice shaking as she ignored his angry exhale. He could be mad, but it wouldn’t change how she felt. “It’s hard for me to feel like you don’t see me or people like me.”
“Sweetheart, Hermione, this isn’t about student loans. This is about an unworkable poison pill being added in the eleventh hour because Dem leadership doesn’t think I have the guts to pull out.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I’m trying to,” Draco ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not trying to patronize you, but you do see that this isn't my fault, right? Dumbledore knows that the bill was going to pass as is, but is trying to score political points while tanking his bill and hoping no one blames him for it. He’s gambling that a soundbite on WWN about me being anti-poor is better than eradicating student debt for thousands of his voters. That mental gymnastics is batshit, but it’s not my calculus.”
“I understand that, but the only person who has a voice in this is you. I can’t go to James and ask him to talk to Dumbledore. That’s not my place and this isn’t his bill. It’s yours. Aren’t you supposed to fight for it?”
“I am fighting for it, but if leadership has spoken, they’ve spoken.”
Swallowing, she weighed blurting out her own trauma, the weight saddling her down paycheck after paycheck. It was worth tossing to him, to see if he took the bait, how he’d respond in the face of the one poor person that he couldn’t placate with the same political pats on the back that he’d give his constituents.
“I have $17,000 left in student loans, and that’s after my scholarships and grants. I’m luckier than so many other people, but even my life would change for the better if you passed the bill.”
Draco looked at her, his expression telling her everything she needed to know about what he was about to blurt out.
“If you say that you’ll pay my loans then I’m leaving. It’s not about me. It’s about everyone who is drowning in debt,” she said quickly before he could speak.
He looked away guiltily, a hint of frustration on his face. How did she explain that this was about more than him being able to pay her loans? It was about helping millions of Americans who were shouldering the burden of college loans, unable to buy a house and a car and have kids without the heavy weight of what they owed the government staring them in the face. It was all a farce, the way they were promised that if they went to college, then they’d be on their way to living the American dream. It wasn’t true, and the only reason Hermione was anywhere close to financial security was because she found herself engaged to Draco.
Deep down, in that locked little place she’d never let anyone into, she was relieved. Weighing whether or not to crawl into his lap and nod, whisper into his ear that she’d like it very much if he helped her out. Pacified that her children would never know instant ramen as anything more than a fun meal to try or never know what it was like to wonder if they should put the grapes or chicken back on the shelf after miscalculating their grocery total, that they’d never know the mortification of holding up the post-work grocery line full of women in Lululemon and men in bespoke suits while she pulled items off of the belt.
“I co-sponsored the bill because I want to help people, you, my constituents, whoever qualifies for relief under the provisions. But Hermione, you know why I can’t stay on. Blaming me for something like this is unfair. We are never going to get to a place of agreement on this. I’m not going to add billions to the national debt over a program that doesn’t even need to be boosted, and nothing’s going to change my mind.”
She nodded, seeing this for the dead end it was.
“Can’t you call Sinistra and try to fix this?”
“Adrian tried al-”
“You’re not Adrian. You’re the Member of Congress, call her and try to figure it out while I nap. Please.”
She stalked out of the room, frustrated with the entire situation as she walked up the stairs towards Draco’s room.
The feeling of a heavy hand draped over her chest woke her up as the sun was starting to set, the lingering lump in her throat only growing larger.
Dislodging Draco’s arm as she sat up, she stared down at him. He wasn’t sleeping, eyes open as he stared up at her, looking far too much like a lonely dog who hopped on the bed after being told to stay downstairs.
“I don’t like when you’re mad at me,” his voice rumbled in the silence, rough from disuse. “Especially if I can’t fix what you’re mad about. There’s nothing I can do, sweetheart. Even if I don’t pull out, all the other Republicans will.”
“Did you call?”
He nodded, a grimace on his handsome face.
Her stomach sank. Pissed as she was at Draco, she knew he wouldn’t lie about that. That he would do anything to please her, to keep the facade of political tranquility between them, to ignore the deep, deep rifts between the way they were raised and the issues that were so personal to her that a visceral anger, and, deeper than that, shame grew any time they were brought to the fore.
“Dumbledore pushed for it, there’s nothing she could do. She was apologetic, for whatever that’s worth.”
Hermione snorted, “Absolutely nothing.”
Draco sat up, running a hand through his hair, instinctually reaching towards her with the free one before stopping and gripping the soft blanket that was covering her.
“I told Gemma not to post yet,” his voice was little more than a whisper, his form hunched against the pillows like he was anticipating a hit. He wasn’t supposed to look like that, unsure and forlorn and pitiful.
“Post what?” she asked, still shaking off the last vestiges of her nap.
“Photos from today.”
She just stared at him, waiting for it to make sense.
“Just in case.”
Where she’d normally respond in pity for the uncharacteristically pathetic man in front of her, she tugged on the string she tried to always keep hidden inside her, the sick desire to bring him as low as he was bringing her.
“Just stop. I’m not ending our relationship over this, Draco. I can be pissed at you without leaving you.”
“I’m aware, Hermione. But there’s no going back after this.”
“There’s been no going back! I don’t want to go back, Draco. I just want to be mad at you without you trying to make me feel bad for it.”
He barked a laugh at that, loud enough to make her flinch.
“Now you know how I feel. Can’t stay mad at you, can’t even get mad at you… Sweet face, sweet voice, my sugar sweet girl.”
She blushed as he flipped the conversation on its head, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze.
“Lay back down, sweetheart,” he instructed, tone sharpening. “Gonna let me show you how sorry I am?”
He didn’t give her a chance to lay down after her wobbly nod, putting one hand to the center of her chest and pressing her against the pillows while the other snuck under her large sleep shirt, rubbing along her stomach.
“My sweet girl, you deserve everything,” she jolted as his tongue traced along her inner thigh, unable to see him when one of his large hands still held her down.
Her body heated as he yanked her underwear down just far enough for him to press a kiss to her puffy lips, where he murmured another apology. It would’ve been laughable if his tongue hadn’t flicked her clit, back arching in a plea for more.
It was completely contorted, the way that he apologized with his tongue, his face between her thighs, instead of staring her in the face and saying sorry like a man. It was even more fucked up, the way that she accepted it, easier to accept an orgasm than an unfulfilling apology on an issue that wasn’t truly going to be resolved.
“Draco,” she whimpered, the word a plea. She was very ashamed at her willingness to forget everything as two of his fingers slid through her wet folds, happy to just lie in his comfortable bed and forget everything that sought to drive them apart. If anyone destroyed her, it should be him.
“Hold on,” he crooned, sliding two fingers in easily, his voice static in her cotton-filled head.
“I can’t,” she might have said, thighs squeezed together to hold him inside of them, glue them together intimately.
I’ve got you sweetheart, let go, perfect little wife, just one more -
She came apart to the rhythm of his sucking tongue, the hand that’d been pushing her into the bed now squeezing her own as she waded through the fog of her apology orgasms.
“So fucking sweet,” Draco whispered, lips peppering kisses like brands along her sweaty neck, his nose snuffling like he wanted to sear her scent in his nostrils. “So fucking good for me, my perfect little girl.”
The warm weight of his hand on her belly disappeared, a kittenish whine from her throat following at the loss.
“Just a sec, hold on sweetheart.”
She didn’t know what she was waiting for, desperately clenching her wet thighs together, emptier than she wanted to be.
“Spread your legs for d-” Draco groaned as she immediately dropped her legs onto the comforter, allowing him to slide into her center, inch-by-inch. “Perfect, so tight for me.”
“For you,” she agreed, voice a rasping sound. “I need it.”
Draco quickened his thrusts at that, kneeling over her and blocking everything but his face out of her already blurred vision.
“You need me,” he agreed, voice like steel. “No one else can fuck you like this sweetheart, give you exactly what you need. Buy you anything you want; I’ll take you anywhere, dress you up and feed you and keep you full of my come.”
“Please,” she squealed, his thrusts growing rough as she wrapped a leg around his thigh, hoping to slow him down. “Please.”
“I know what you need, my perfect girl. Squeeze, there, good girl. Jesus.”
She came at that, barely enjoying it as he wrenched her hips up to slide her towards him, angling deeper for his pleasure.
He bit her ear as he panted out of words as he came, leaving her to whine like a spoiled little thing at the feel of him filling a condom.
“My perfect girl, going to tuck you into my pocket and never let you go.”
She giggled breathlessly, fucked out at that, whining only for the short moment he collapsed on her, letting out an even sadder noise when he rolled off the bed to throw out the condom. Unwilling to part with him for a second, not when she was warm and fuzzy and he was saying all of the right things.
He’d take care of her, give her everything she wanted, and if he said it in the heat of the moment, it must be true. Wasn’t that enough?
It would have to be.
xxx
“You bitch!” Pansy squealed, jumping out of the car before Draco had even pulled to a stop. Luna let out a joyful laugh, her normal smile even brighter than normal as she was pulled into a tight hug.
Blaise was scowling at his employee, one hand held out like he was going to wrench Pansy off his pretty blonde wife. Both women ignored him, and he looked up at Hermione as Draco helped her out of the car, like he expected her to step in.
No luck.
“You look so beautiful! You’re glowing!” Hermione called as she walked towards Luna, unable to run in heels in the same way Pansy was.
“Oh stop, that’s just a myth,” Luna blushed prettily, accepting Hermione’s hug.
The woman’s bump was now obvious, her plum sweater dress showing the cutest swelling belly.
“How are you feeling? Good enough to be out?” Hermione asked, concerned. Luna had promised that she was feeling better, finally admitting to being pregnant a week earlier, sick of Hermione and Pansy moseying around the point by asking obvious questions about her health.
“Of course I am. Don’t ask silly questions,” Luna chastised, smushing a kiss to Hermione’s hair without care for the state of her red lipstick. “Let’s go in?”
“Draco is checking on the table,” Blaise explained, hooking an arm around Luna’s waist like she was unable to walk without his assistance. More like he didn’t want to be more than a step away from her, Luna had complained, the man’s protective instincts kicked into high gear with news of her pregnancy.
It was only a matter of time before he asked Draco if he could work from Charlotte, Hermione knew, something that the selfish, untrusting Congressman was working his way towards accepting, with her warning.
Draco had a swarm of young women around him when they walked into the front of the restaurant, one in white and the rest in black.
A woman wearing a nametag, presumably a hostess or manager, snapped her fingers and called for everyone to look over. They all smiled, Draco looking amused as he posed with what could only be a bridal party.
“Now where’s your bride, your honor?” one of the women slurred up at him.
Pansy couldn’t hide her snort, and Hermione swallowed a groan as Draco’s eyes caught hers.
“Oh, you have to get in! The people’s bride!” a woman called, pointing towards Hermione.
“Yes, come, come!” the bride ordered. Who was Hermione to ignore her? She spoke as though Draco wasn’t there. “My man’s okay, but yours… congrats on bagging that!”
The rest of her group hooted, begetting a raucous atmosphere that Hermione wouldn’t have expected from a restaurant that came highly recommended by Luna.
The manager, as she introduced herself, apologized as soon as she handed the phone back and ushered the girls out to a waiting pair of Ubers, murmuring quietly about the restaurant owner owing someone a favor as they walked to the table.
Much more akin to what she expected from Luna, the restaurant was dark with neon artwork and glowlight signs hanging from the walls and ceiling, music pumping through the space as couples and small groups dined. They were shown to the very back of the restaurant, a booth with menus and ice water already set on the table their final destination.
“I wish I had that on video,” Pansy sighed as she slid into the booth first, Hermione and Draco scooching in next to her.
“That was something,” Hermione sighed, dropping her head onto Draco’s upper arm.
“Get ready for the campaign trail. Plenty of weird old men who will pay a pretty penny for a photo with you, Columba and Mrs. Malfoy lie in your future,” Blaise smirked, turning on his phone’s flashlight to look at the menu like an old man.
Hermione went to make fun of him, only stopping when she realized Draco was doing the same thing.
“I’ve gone from being surrounded by old men at home to being surrounded by them at work and in my free time,” Pansy warbled, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Where did I go wrong?”
“Focus on choosing what drink I’m going to pay for, Miss Parkinson,” Draco commanded without looking up from where he was squinting at the menu.
Feeling bad for him, Hermione nudged his knee with her own. “They have Blue Moon and a jalapeno marg.”
He looked over and spoke teasingly. “What if I wanted to branch out?”
“You don’t,” Hermione and Pansy said at the same time.
True to form, Draco ordered a Blue Moon with two orange slices, averting his eyes from Hermione’s knowing gaze while he did.
“How are you two feeling?” Luna asked once the waiter had left to grab their drinks and appetizers.
Hermione’s smile was brittle to her friends’ eyes, and she knew them well enough to know that Pansy had most certainly texted Luna what happened the morning of their engagement shoot.
“We’re good,” she nodded. “Just trying to get through this week.”
Luna’s nod was sympathetic, a hand reaching down to rub her belly. Hermione dug her nails into her palm, want and envy and self-hate braiding together. “Thanksgiving’s hard enough for normal families.”
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Draco asked with a little grin.
“Your family is straight out of every holiday rom com movie,” Blaise jumped in, defending Luna even though Draco was joking. “The grumpy dad, the crazy aunt, the big fight, the meal that goes wrong…”
“I personally can’t wait for a Malfoy Thanksgiving,” Pansy smiled devilishly, dipping a chip into the salsa verde that’d just been brought out. “It’ll make Parkinson holidays look like drunken fever dreams.”
“Everyone’s going to be on their best behavior this year - there are babies and an engagement,” Draco promised.
Hermione didn’t have the same confidence in his family, especially when Walburga was involved.
“You let us know how it goes,” Luna nodded, clearly in the same boat as Hermione. “Have the photos gone up yet?”
Hermione nodded, “Around five. It’s gone exactly as I suspected.”
“Which is?” Pansy asked in a sing-song voice.
“Full of comments calling me a gold digger and supremely blessed. Draco’s are all telling him how lucky I am, so no surprise there,” she rolled her eyes, trying not to be annoyed with Draco for the hypocritical misogyny being aimed at her. It wasn’t his fault, but seeing his comments full of emoji hearts while hers were all angry faces stung a fair bit.
“Screw them,” Pansy wrinkled her nose. “They’re all old and fat and single and miserable with lumpy kids who hate them and a trip to Disney World the only thing they have to look forward to.”
“All of those things?” Blaise asked with a raised brow.
Pansy shrugged, “Some combination of them. Miserable and lonely, they just wish they were you.”
“She’s not wrong. You’re pretty and successful and living in a fun city with a handsome fiance. Anyone with eyes or ears would be jealous.”
“I wish that made it better,” Hermione muttered as she swallowed a gulp of her pineapple margarita, wincing at the alcohol-forward taste and glaring at Draco. “Ever since I met you my drinks all taste way worse.”
He laughed, “Tell them light on the alcohol when you order, then. Bartenders think they’re doing us a favor by going liquor-heavy on our drinks.”
“I, for one, appreciate it,” Pansy followed up with an easy swallow of her spicy margarita. “Speaking of getting wasted, what should we expect at the event on Wednesday?”
“Why would being intoxicated remind you of a charity dinner with low-income families?” Draco asked, a crease forming between his brow.
“Everything reminds me of being drunk. So?”
“One, your colleagues will be there as well as your boss and his entire family, so you’ll be expected to be on your best behavior,” Blaise practiced his disappointed dad look, near perfecting it already. “You’ll be as far away from our guests as possible-”
“Hey!” Pansy tried to pout, but her grin spread across her lips despite her best effort.
“This isn’t about you, Pansy,” Blaise sighed.
“I’ll be wherever Hermione is,” the girl said. “Practice for the campaign trail.”
“What?” everyone asked at the same time.
Hermione wasn’t sure where Pansy was going with this train of thought, far too used to the way that she made decisions without consulting anyone else.
The brunette leveled them all with a stare that said they were absolute idiots. “Hermione isn’t going out on the trail alone.”
Draco’s sigh was long-suffering. “We’re hiring a professional body person for her.”
“Consider me hired pro bono.”
Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking, Hermione interjected. “Can we talk about this later?”
It was a conversation that Hermione wanted to steer; she had spent years in the backseat, knowing that she’d get where she needed to go even if they took a route she wasn’t particularly keen on. Allowing Pansy and Draco to decide what her campaign involvement level was and what her time on the campaign looked like would save her a few fights, but leave her miserable in the long run.
Her time campaigning with James showed her just how awful a day, let alone months, on the trail could be.
Realistically, she knew that Lucius and Narcissa were counting on her to be a yes woman. It made sense; family members and party leaders were always happy to help out on the campaign in any and every way, especially when it came to the race for president. But her? She wasn’t a Republican, she wasn’t a Malfoy by blood, and she didn’t like Lucius’s politics. She’d go out on the campaign in very small ways towards the end… maybe. Her decision was still being made, something Draco knew full well, so arguing about Pansy was a moot point at the moment.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Draco murmured, pulling her hand to his lips. “Sorry.”
“You did nothing wrong,” she said quietly, blushing as she remembered they weren’t alone.
“So, the bachelorette party,” Pansy cut in, making up for her earlier blunders with the perfect subject change.
“Oh! I found a starfish art therapy center we have to go to!” Luna gushed.
“Doesn’t that sound fun,” Draco whispered into her ear, kissing down her jaw like they weren’t in public.
“I need another drink,” she whispered, shivering a bit as his tongue shot out to trace the shell of her ear. “Please stop!”
To his credit, Draco pulled back immediately, his grin wicked and full of promise.
She turned away, jumping back into the conversation as it turned to a bar crawl around the island on horseback, something that Blaise was already shutting down.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to just enjoy where she was. Not panic about what lay ahead or impatiently rush through dinner in hopes of Draco putting his lips on her once more.
“Hermione!” Pansy snapped manicured fingers in her face, dragging her back to the present.
“Sorry,” she apologized with a small smile. “What were you saying?”
xxx
November 27, 2019
“Aren’t you a lucky gal,” a stout old woman drawled, squeezing Hermione’s cheek between two wrinkly fingers. “Show us the ring!”
Hermione held her hand up, flexing her fingers to the gaze of others for at least the fifteenth time today. The old women, dressed in expensive, thick fabrics that were obscenely out of place at a meal for underprivileged families let out squeals, drawing eyes of volunteers to where they stood.
She looked around casually, trying to draw a pity extraction from one of her loved ones. Draco was showing members of the media around the elementary school gym turned community kitchen, entertaining a larger crowd of cameras than normal due to the upcoming election.
“Hey sis, mama needs us to grab a few more boxes from the car,” Columba interrupted, an apologetic smile on her face. She was dressed in a burnt orange dress that would’ve made anyone else look like they wandered off the set of Little House on the Prairie, her high cheekbones dusted with a bit of glitter.
“Pardon me,” Hermione wrenched her hand back from the old ladies, only making a face of distaste when they were turned away from everyone in the gymnasium.
“That’s Mrs. Figg and her coven, she’s an old biddy,” Dove whispered with disdain. “Always trying to outdo gram and gran with her summer potlucks. Never had an original idea in her life, that one. And she’s supposed to be setting up!”
Hermione just nodded, not knowing enough about rivaling church lady factions to speak into the silence.
“Pansy and Theo are having quite a time,” the blonde hit Hermione’s hip with her own, gazing over to where the duo were counting the number of Thanksgiving boxes that were stacked up in the front of the gym for easy pickup at the end of the dinner.
The Black family had gotten together a good system over the years, Narcissa had boasted, serving a warm community meal on Wednesday and providing everyone in attendance a box with a turkey breast and ready made side dishes prepared for the following day. Hermione shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was to hear that hundreds of people came to the meal; not everyone was as rich as the Malfoys in Charlotte, that much was obvious when they drove through the city. She was grateful to be a part of the day, however small her role was.
“What do you think Blaise is going to say?” Hermione responded just as quietly.
“We’ll let Luna handle that, but you know well as I do those two are going to get married. Pansy’s got her little claws dug in real deep, not that he looks worried. Draco’s first office couple, how exciting!”
Hermione laughed at her excitement, drawing Draco’s eyes to her. He beckoned her over with one easy wave, gaining the excited nods of the media gaggle.
“Duty calls,” she sighed, taking Columba’s wish of good luck to heart. She’d need it.
“Miss Granger! Happy Thanksgiving,” an older male reporter called, his salt and pepper hair gelled back in the same look that so many local news reporters rocked.
“Same to you,” she smiled, stepping next to Draco and trying not to look like a little girl hiding behind her father in fear. The eager eyes that trailed after her everywhere she went were a bit too much, especially when they were accompanied by questions that she couldn’t answer and expectations that she’d never live up to.
“You’re engaged, that’s exciting, isn’t it?” another man asked, this one with just a huge camera in his hands.
She nodded, taking Draco’s hand when he offered it, trying and failing to siphon strength off of the broad-shouldered, confident man. What would it be like to be unafraid at any questions that were lobbed your way, to know that you could outlive any scandal with a smile and a last name and a chunk of change from your bank account.
“All of our local viewers want to know what’s next. Draco’s not getting any younger now is he? How many kids are you hoping to have?” the man let out a laugh like the questions were anywhere near appropriate.
“Are you ready to be a mother, Hermione?” a female reporter asked before she answers, her age shown by the crows' feet decorating her eyes and gray peeking out from her dyed roots.
“It’s Thanksgiving,” Draco interjected tersely. “If you don’t have any questions about my grandmother’s community dinner, then Gemma from my team would be happy to show you the Thanksgiving boxes that families will take home after tonight’s meal.”
She sunk into his side, a bit grateful and a bit ashamed. All too willing to let him lead. It was easy to marvel at the easy confidence of a man who’d never been told no, who’d never had to wonder if they were too aggressive or too rude or out of line. Too easy to follow his lead and hope that if he took her under his wing, she’d one day wear the same teflon armor he had on.
“A family photo first?” Gemma, Draco’s communications director, suggested, eyes apologetic as she looked at her boss.
“Of course,” Draco smiled, calling over the various members of the Malfoy family. Rolf and Leo would arrive when the dinner started, but everyone else, from Brax to Cygnus was there and helping out.
Hermione smiled as brightly as she could, posing so that her body completely faced the cameras instead of turning into Draco’s side as she usually did.
The past two days had been full of comments speculating that she was with child already, women like HappyMama220 and PatriotKayla sounding off on Twitter about how she looked the way they did at the end of their first trimester.
Those comments had sucked the breath right out of her, the way that people dissected her weight and her body like it was their right. The way that another woman had commented that she would poke a hole in a condom if she was promised a Malfoy child support check, the reply garnering over 1000 likes. It was a casual cruelty that the internet seemed to deal in spades, snarky remarks that she’d absently laughed at until she was the butt of them.
Draco had crooned quietly while she cried, curled up into a pathetic ball on his lap as the pleasant buzz of margaritas at dinner turned into a pounding headache and sour taste in her mouth. Pansy was suspiciously absent, something that Hermione hadn’t even noticed until the next morning. Draco, pseudo-dad and good boss that he was, had confirmed with Theo that she was at his house before falling asleep, a text that Hermione wishes she could’ve seen the pair open up.
“Thank you for coming,” Gemma called out politely, moving to herd the press out of the gymnasium with the help of Flora.
It took Hermione an embarrassing amount of time to realize that Narcissa’s assistant had previously been working in Draco’s office, there the few times that she’d met his DC team. Pansy had scoffed when Hermione asked after the girl, claiming that she wasn’t finding men who met her standards in DC so she took the excuse of Lucius’ campaign to move home and work for Narcissa.
Hermione couldn’t blame the dirty blonde for taking the leap and moving back home, not if her end goal was a husband. She hadn’t even been dating in DC, not before Draco, and knew how abysmal the market of men in the city was.
“You with me, sweetheart?” Draco asked, pulling her flush to his chest.
“Just thinking,” she smiled, a weak little thing he could see right through.
“Lions don’t lose sleep over the opinions of sheep,” he said seriously.
She laughed loudly at that, pressing her cheek to his chest. “You sound like a fitness trainer on Instagram.”
“Hey,” she could tell he was grinning without even looking at him. “It’s a good saying.”
“For ‘live, laugh, love’ people it is,” she giggled, reaching up to press a kiss to his lips. “Thank you for loving me.”
“Always, baby. My sweet angel girl, better than everyone I’ve ever met. I mean it. No one else matters, hm? Just us. Me and you.”
She nodded, wanting so badly to believe him. The ring on her finger was heavy, a promise and a chain that both led her back to Draco and had her leaning into him, aware that there was no one else there to carry her weight.