Chapter 2
Fall 2006
It goes as well as can be expected for something with an expiration date.
Not yet , he had said, fourteen months ago now, but she feels the weight of those two words every time she looks at him.
The first few months were the hardest, before she had learned to hide her ever-growing feelings and be happy enough.
If Draco notices the way that she holds him at arm's length, he never remarks on it.
Hermione never makes plans with him beyond today; he seems content to shoulder the burden of planning their dates and social schedule anyway.
She never reaches for him, even when her fingers itch to twine with his as they walk down the pavement from the apparition point to her house.
She never calls him her boyfriend, always saying something along the lines of “we’ve been seeing each other” whenever she has occasion to introduce him or clarify their relationship.
When she wakes in the night screaming and sweaty with the recollections of all that happened in the war and imaginings of worse things that didn’t, she doesn’t call him. Doesn’t stumble through his floo the way she would if this was something else, if this was permanent.
If they had a future.
But they don’t.
What they have is for now , and for now only.
~~~
The Burrow is loud, hot, and cramped, more so than it was in the days of her youth. The addition of spouses and children burdening its ever expanding frame past the capacities of even the best charms.
Hermione had been temporarily banned from the premises by Molly, after her tumultuous breakup with Ron, though every other Weasley had been quick to reassure that she was still family.
Molly cooled off when Ron’s engagement to Lavender Brown was announced, enough so for Hermione to be invited to the wedding. Now, years later, things are far enough in the past for her to be granted not only an invitation but a plus one to the birthday of Ron’s oldest child.
She hadn’t meant for Draco to come, or to even invite him, but he had seen the invitation and volunteered before she could do anything.
So, here they are, eating cake and drinking wine.
Within an hour, it is too much, and Hermione exits to the garden for a reprieve from all the noise.
This was not the life that she was meant for. Not at all.
“Alright, Granger?”
Hermione sighs into the breeze, relishing the early October chill that seeps through the knit of her cardigan.
“Yes, just–loud in there.”
Draco nods. “Warm, too.”
A short gust of wind blows her curls into her face and she sputters, prying all the loose strands from her face. The way he stares at her makes her think maybe she missed a spot.
“What?”
He tilts his head to the side, unsure what she is asking him. “I’m not sure, Granger, why don’t you tell me what?”
She huffs. “You have this look–you’ve had it lately, sometimes you look at me and I just…”
“You…?”
“I don’t know what it means, that’s all. You look at me like–I don’t even have the words to say what it is.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I know what it is.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
He takes one step closer, then another, less than the length of her arm between them.
“That look, it’s–I’m in love with you. That’s what it is.”
Hermione feels a chasm open in her chest and in the same breath wills it to shut.
For now .
“Oh.” Her reply is carried away on the breeze, weightless. She swallows. “Well, that’s–I’m sorry. I’m sure that it will pass.”
His brows are pinched when she dares to look at him. “Why would it pass?”
She shrugs. “Well, what I mean is–I’m sure it’ll fade with time, you know, once you get married and you have some kids.” Rambling now, to reassure herself or him, she doesn’t know. “You’ll be a good father, Draco, and you’ll love them so much, and you’ll–you’ll forget about me. It’ll be okay.”
“Why would I want to forget about you?”
“ Because , Draco, because your mother–the traditions…you have to marry eventually.”
He looks down at her and his expression is so earnest it almost caves her chest in.
“Who says I can’t marry you?”
The pain of such a simple question knocks the wind out of her and she has to turn away as she nearly chokes on her own spit.
Finally, she scoffs. “Don’t joke about that.”
“I’m not.” A few strained breaths, then, “I would never.”
Even facing away from him, she can hear the conviction in his voice. The emotion.
Blinking away tears, she turns slowly to look at him. “Draco…”
“I am being completely sincere, I mean–I’m not proposing to you right now, but” he shrugs, “ I love you . I meant it when I said I wanted to be yours.”
She doesn’t let herself believe it, doesn’t let herself feel the meaning of what he has said. Not yet.
Not yet.
There are things to clarify.
“And y-your mother? The tradition, the estate, your inheritance? Draco, I can’t have children.”
Shaking his head, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “ I know that . Bloody fucking Weasley made sure everybody knew when you–and I don’t care if you’ve forgiven him or moved past it; I won’t ever forget the way he smeared you in the press afterward.”
Hermione smothers the flame of affection that glows in her chest at his defence of her.
She shakes her head. “Draco, I can’t have children. If you married me you would have no heirs.”
He shrugs. “That doesn’t matter to me in the slightest. Teddy can inherit the Black estate.”
“And the Malfoy line?”
“Sometimes things come to their natural end.”
She blinks, and then blinks again.
Everything about what has just unfolded is unreal, unimaginable, impossible to comprehend.
All at once, the weight of it hits her like a bludger to the gut. All she can do is stare at him in stunned silence.
“I-I don’t know what to say.”
And she doesn’t.
Hermione is a planner, it has been ingrained in her from a young age. For all its limits, her relationship with Draco has allowed her some personal growth; to let go of her propensity to plan and just embrace what is.
She never let herself imagine a scenario like what is before her now. Any inkling of a daydream was stamped out before it could take root.
This approach has, unfortunately, left her completely unprepared for this moment.
And end to the Malfoy line, because of her .
A marriage, to her .
Draco Malfoy, in love with her .
She gasps, looking up at him once more.
His throat bobs and his shoulders slump imperceptibly. Hermione watches disaster unfold in slow motion, seeing the exact moment he misunderstands her silence and resigns himself.
“It’s alright,” he sighs, eyes darting away quickly before looking back at her, “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I didn’t mean to–I suppose I did it again didn’t I?” His laugh is so self-deprecating that she flinches. “Too little or too much with me, and no in between. I wish I could turn down the intensity, I do, but something–”
She wants to reach for him, to cup his face in her hands and tell him that she loves him anyways, that she knows he is working on communicating better. She wants to stop his downward spiral in its tracks but she is still frozen. In shock.
Finally, as he stops speaking and takes a step away, she moves.
“Wait–no, Draco, wait- ” her hand wraps around his wrist and she implores, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, but you have to understand, I-I’m stunned . I never thought…” tears prick at her eyes and her throat gets thick, all her delayed emotions finally flooding her as the shock thaws. “Draco, I always thought this was temporary. I thought it would end one day and you’d go on, and marry someone–Astoria maybe– and have these beautiful children and because you’re so polite you’d invite me to the wedding and I’d have to watch in the papers as you lived your life without me and–”
A sob wracks her frame and she wobbles, but his arms steady her.
Tears stream down her face, then dampen the soft fabric of his jumper after he pulls her into his chest.
“I’m going to apparate us home, alright?”
“Alright.”
~~~
Once more, they find themselves on the floor in the entryway, this time fully clothed, her legs draped over his lap.
Ear pressed to his chest, the beat of his heart calms her, only an occasional shiver shaking her frame after what felt like hours of crying.
“I never meant,” Draco plants a kiss into her hair, “to give you the impression that this was temporary.”
He apologizes and she apologizes, and they forgive each other for the miscommunication. After relocating to their bed, he holds her as she whispers all her hopes and her fears and desires, everything she had tried to stop herself from feeling, into his chest. She tells him how she’s afraid that after he knows all of her, if she stops restraining herself, that she’ll be too much.
Too needy.
Too sensitive.
Not worthy of the love she only just learned that she had.
Fingers threaded together, he lifts her chin and says quietly “I love you exactly as you are.”