I Made This Place for You
"I crawled out the window and ran into the woods. I had to make up all the words myself. The way they taste, the way they sound in the air. I passed through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled around for a while, and stumbled back out. I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn’t a kingdom then I don’t know what is.” — Snow and Dirty Rain, Richard Siken
_
“Bloody hell.”
It was early in the morning. Hermione’s head was nestled in the indent in Malfoy’s chest, and their legs were entangled. The last thing she wanted to do was move, but she could feel him breathing heavily underneath her.
“Malfoy?” whispered Hermione, grudgingly opening her eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I forgot to transfigure a cot,” he grumbled, voice rough from sleep. “I think my back will split in two.” Hermione chuckled, but when she tried to get up, his hand shot out to push her back on his chest. “I’m not telling you to move.”
“You were just complaining.”
“About the floor, not about you,” he said. “If I knew how hard this floor was, I wouldn't have bought this bloody flat.”
“The architect probably didn’t predict its future owner would rather sleep on the floor than buy himself a bed,” said Hermione. “Especially considering he’s not hurting for cash.”
“Shhh,” said Malfoy, patting her head softly. “Quiet time. No insulting me, now.”
“Nah,” said Hermione, pulling his hand away from her head and resting her chin on his chest so she could look at his face. “Once I’m up, that’s it, no procrastinating. And we have a meeting later today, did you forget?”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. His face was soft from sleep. Hermione reached a hand and rubbed a finger over the mark on his cheek. Malfoy’s eyes were squinted, and strands of unruly hair fell across on his forehead. She didn’t think it was a bad sight to wake up to.
“It’s barely six in the morning, Granger, chill out,” he said, reaching a hand to grab her wrist. He leaned down awkwardly and planted a kiss on her lips. “You have morning breath.”
“I’m going to punch you,” said Hermione, her words sounding muffled as he kept pressing their lips together. “I should go, Malfoy. I have to feed Crookshanks, he probably scratched all over my door by now.”
“What’s that?” asked Malfoy, wrapping his arm around her to keep her from moving.
“He’s my cat.”
“You still have that ugly beast that kept chasing you around school?” said Malfoy.
“Don’t call my child a ugly beast.”
“I don’t like cats,” he retorted.
“And I don’t like you.”
Malfoy chuckled at that. “I beg to differ,” he said, running his hand up Hermione’s back until he closed his fingers around the nape of her neck. He squeezed softly. “You kiss people you don’t like?”
“It’s morning and you’re holding me hostage in your empty flat, don’t push me,” warned Hermione, but she allowed her body to relax over his.
I should leave, she thought. But Malfoy was so comfortable, and warm. The sunbeams peeking through the windows were the softest wake up call she could get.
And going home meant tiptoeing around to avoid Harry’s attention. And more than that, she didn’t want to go to the center that afternoon, knowing she’d have to pretend she was okay working somewhere that didn’t have her back.
The bloody meeting, thought Hermione. Her evening out with first Ginny and then Malfoy had taken her mind off things momentarily, but the anger and resentment were finally catching up.
Hermione was tired of letting things happen around her.
“I can hear you thinking,” said Malfoy, pinching her arm softly to get her attention. “Thinking is not allowed in the morning, Granger.”
“It’s not like you think much other times of the day, either,” she muttered. He poked at the soft spot over her ribs in retaliation. Hermione yelped.
“All the arse kissing is finally getting to your head, isn’t it?” he said. “And you say I’m arrogant.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t,” said Hermione. She placed her hand on his stomach, rubbing circles over the fabric of his shirt.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Malfoy. They stayed quiet for a moment. Hermione’s head was still a whirlwind of concern. She exhaled an exasperated breath. “What is it?”
“What?”
“What's ruining my plans for a peaceful morning?”
Hermione hesitated. She didn’t know if she should talk to him about it, but the more she thought about it, the more Hermione realized she was working with insufficient data.
At that moment, Malfoy was her only accessible source of information.
With her mind made up, Hermione moved until they were face to face. She placed her arms on the floor by each side of his head. Malfoy shifted so she could rest more comfortably, placing a hand on the small of her back.
“So I know this is a little random, but do you remember what guidelines you were given about the rehab program when you first got in? Can you tell me?”
“You want to talk about the program now? Seriously?” said Malfoy, frowning.
“It’s important,” she insisted. To placate him, she kissed the hollow of his throat.
“They actually weren’t very specific,” he murmured. He looked at a point over her shoulder as he considered her question. “I had my hearing with the Wizengamot about seven months after the war ended, and the MRC wasn’t even a thing back then.”
“Oh, so none of you got assigned into the program immediately?”
“Nah,” he yawned. “I got a huge fine. Seized half of our estate with mine and my parents’ sentences together. I didn’t care in the beginning, we have a lot of worthless junk, but then they just kept taking stuff.”
“Like those books I gave back?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” said Malfoy. “How did you even get your hands on them? Is the Ministry just giving my stuff away?”
“Harry gave them to me, he must have found them in the DMLE,” said Hermione. “I can’t believe how all of this circles back to money,” she continued. She reached to tap him on the cheek until he looked her in the eyes again. “So, how did you get placed in the program?”
“Well, on top of all the fines and seizures and whatnot, they also gave me house arrest for a year, and there was a really vague clause in my probation paperwork saying I could be called up for ‘societal services’ whenever the Wizengamot felt like it. Same thing happened to Theo and Pansy, but they didn’t even get house arrest.” He kissed her forehead, shifting beneath her so that her head was on his shoulder. He closed his eyes. “My lawyer is a complete fuckwad.”
“So you got called up for the program out of nowhere?” she said.
“Pretty much,” he sighed. “Why do you care, Granger?”
“I’m just curious,” she said, kissing the side of his neck. He shivered.
“I think it happened a month after they created the MRC. Called a bunch of us in and said we had to go to meetings, and pose for photos in The Daily Prophet. It was more of an annoyance than anything. But they said we’d end up in Azkaban if we didn’t comply.” He yawned again.
“Who said that?”
“Um, Kingsley. I think the Head Auror before Saint Potter was there too, and the older McLaggen, and some other Wizengamot judges.”
“Weird,” said Hermione.
“Yeah,” agreed Malfoy, nuzzling her cheek. “It was me and Goyle and the Carrow twins in a group at first, but they got released really quickly. Merlin knows why, they obviously weren’t reformed.”
“Very weird,” she said absent-mindedly.
“Didn’t they tell you all this when they interviewed you for the position?”
“Oh, I didn’t interview,” said Hermione. “I wasn’t actually supposed to work with the program.” She felt Malfoy stiffen. “I was supposed to help with administrative work, but Hughman kind of surprised me with this job when I showed up.”
“Weird,” he echoed.
They stayed in silence for a second, each thinking about what the other said. Hermione had more sitting on her chest. She weighed the situation -- she ached to have someone to share her thoughts with, and Malfoy was there, and she trusted him.
Finally, she whispered, “I told Cartwell about what Rookwood did.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, a couple days ago. And they called me in for a meeting yesterday. He’s going to be fined. Which doesn’t seem fair to me.”
Malfoy scoffed. “Did those idiots at least get him good? I know for a fact Rookwood didn’t have to pay as much as I did when he first got sentenced.”
“Malfoy, the money doesn’t matter,” said Hermione. “How on earth a fine is an appropriate punishment for what he did?”
“It’s not,” agreed Malfoy, his voice raising a pitch in anger. “Rookwood is a bastard, but I don’t know why you’re surprised, this program is a total sham. You can find better ways to screw him over on your own. I can help you.”
“It’s not a sham,” said Hermione, a bit louder. Malfoy shifted beneath her again. “Cartwell’s completely invested in this program. I wouldn’t have joined if I didn’t think it was legitimate. And what are you even suggesting?”
“The Rookwoods are lunatics, Granger, but that’s not enough to get you shunned from the pureblood community. But the right rumor would make them outcasts, and Theo knows a lot of people. We could even make him lose some money, if we play our cards right.”
“Again, it’s not about the money,” repeated Hermione, not entirely surprised by his suggestion. “And I don’t want to have to create a scheme so he’ll be held accountable. I want the Wizarding legal system to work as it should.”
“Alright, alright,” said Malfoy in the verbal equivalent of throwing his hands up. She balked at the appeasing undertone of his words.
“Don’t patronize me, Malfoy.” said Hermione. “Seriously, don’t. I’m not being unreasonable.” Malfoy frowned at the vehemence in her voice.
“I’m not patronizing you, Granger,” he said in a low, soothing voice. “We can argue about this all morning if you want. But you’re not going to change my mind, and I won’t change yours.”
“I know,” said Hermione, but Harry’s many accusations were still ringing in her ears, almost like chants in the back of her mind, making her feel defensive. “But it’s not unreasonable to want Rookwood to pay for what he did legally.”
Hermione felt her chest tighten with frustration, and Malfoy must have read it in her expression, because he lifted a hand to tuck a curl behind her ear, then pressed his finger under her chin, making sure she was meeting his gaze.
“And I never suggested that, Granger,” said Malfoy, sounding exasperated. “I don't think you’re bloody unreasonable. I’d deal with the situation differently, though. I’m not pretending otherwise.”
Hermione felt her blood rush to her cheeks, but Malfoy kept going. “Come on, let’s just agree to disagree,” he said. ”Rookwood is a scumbag, the system is flawed, and you’re not going to make the entire pureblood population of the Wizarding World see the errors of their ways anytime in the next century. But I see that you’re trying. Okay? Listen, I’m not--” he exhaled a frustrated breath when he felt her scrunch into herself. “Hey, let’s not think about all of that for a second, okay? Can you do that?”
Hermione wanted to tell him so much, right in that second. More than he could even imagine. It ached, to feel so exposed in front of another person.
To be seen and have nowhere to hide.
“Granger, can you do that?” he pressed. He placed his hands on either side of her chin, and gently tugged her face towards his. “Can you?”
Hermione pressed her lips against his, losing count of how many times she had done it since the previous night. “Okay,” she murmured, and he pulled her closer. She exhaled into the kiss, feeling a weight lift from her. She turned off the switch in her mind, not because he had asked her to, but because he had made her want to do it.
As she let herself be enveloped by his warmth, Hermione felt safeness and peacefulness settle on her skin like butterfly kisses.
_
As she stepped out of her fireplace and into the MRC’s building, Hermione’s mind flashed to her conversation with Malfoy that morning. His words had been, unintentionally, the push that Hermione needed to do what she felt was right. The idea had followed her from the second she had left his flat and as she went through her morning routine.
It was probably a mix of her uneasiness over the entire ordeal and the mellowed state the morning had left her in that made the decision to walk up to Hughman’s office so easy.
“Miss Granger,” greeted Hughman. He had a cheerful smile on his face, and bounced a little on his feet. “Come in, come in, let’s not stand here.”
“Thank you,” said Hermione, walking past him and into his office. She waited for Hughman to close the door and make his way to his desk before sitting in the armchair in front of him. Her eyes immediately wandered to the photo framed above his head. It was still crooked.
“So, Miss Granger,” said Hughman, resting his elbows on top of the desk to give her his full attention. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Ah, I know, of course, you want to talk about that donation, right?”
“Oh, no, sir,” started Hermione, but Hughman waved her off.
“Don’t be humble, Miss Granger. It was quite the accomplishment, of course,” he said, nodding his head eagerly.” I have just the idea. How about we call Mr. Kuiling in for a visit? You could show him around, maybe even inspire him to donate some more. We can schedule it for a day when you aren’t busy helping Cartwell with those criminals. Don’t you think that’d be exciting?”
Hermione would’ve been more excited to walk barefoot in the Forbidden Forest, but when he gazed at her with an expectant expression, she nodded and pretended to consider it. “Maybe. But I actually wanted to talk about something else, if you don’t mind.”
Hughman tugged at his tie and said, “Well, of course. We can go back to that later. Go ahead, Miss Granger.”
Hermione took in a sharp breath, then started. “Sir, I understand that you felt that the Wizengamot’s decision about Rookwood was the right one, but I’ve been thinking it over and have to say that I don’t agree with it,” she said. Hughman immediately stiffened, but she didn’t let it derail her. “The rehab program was started to reform those individuals, but also to hold them accountable for their actions during and after the war. Telling Rookwood that he can pay his way out of facing the music for his racism completely undermines our message.”
“Miss Granger, I’m sure you understand that our relationship with the Wizengamot is extremely important to our long-term success with this program. I think pushing this matter might just cause an unnecessary headache, don’t you agree?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t understand,” said Hermione firmly. Hughman’s mouth was slightly agape. “Our program simply cannot accomplish its goals if we can’t hold our members responsible. When I started here, you told me about the Center’s high standard of excellence. Shouldn’t the Wizengamot be helping us achieve this standard?”
“You’re right that our center has a standard of excellence,” said Hughman. Hermione almost groaned. He’d fixated on the least important thing she’d said. “But this is a very delicate matter, Miss Granger. The Wizengamot has made its decision very clear. Of course, I understand you are very upset about how Mr. Rookwood acted towards you, but it’s completely out of my hands.”
Hermione’s eyes travelled back to the crooked frame, her mind racing to think of something that would make him change his mind. She watched the photograph-Hughman beam proudly towards the camera, puffing out his chest as he turned to shake Shacklebolt’s hand.
Something inside her flipped like a switch.
“Ah, I understand your position completely,” said Hermione, feigning an innocent smile. “Okay then, director, I guess I did try.”
Hughman grinned in satisfaction, “I knew that someone as bright as yourself wouldn’t have any problem understanding the situation, of course.”
“Of course,” said Hermione, pushing her chair back and standing up. “We should definitely schedule that visit with the Auror, sir.”
“Yes? That’s fantastic, Miss Granger. I will make sure Edina contacts him immediately.”
“Certainly. I mean,” she started, picking up her purse and putting it over her shoulder, “Mr. Kuiling donated a lot of money, so he should see the reality of the center, shouldn’t he?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“You know, Mr. Kuiling and I had a long conversation at the ball,” she continued. “He told me his late mother was a muggleborn. He was very pleased to hear the center was so committed to the fight against blood supremacy.”
Hermione’s eyes sparkled as she watched the expression on Hughman’s face falter. She took a step back, but stopped behind the chair, skimming her fingers over the leather.
“He also mentioned that he’d be talking to family friends about the MRC,” said Hermione casually. “He was sure they’d be very interested in donating as well.” She leaned in. “I’m not saying he’d be appalled to learn about the Wizengamot’s disregard of the mistreatment of the MRC’s only Muggleborn employee, but I guess that’s a risk we’ll have to take, since there’s nothing we can do to change their decision.”
“Miss Granger, of course the Wizengamot cares deeply--” he tried.
“I’m sure they do,” said Hermione. “I just wonder if Mr. Kuiling will share that opinion, you know? And considering all of his affluent friends, I guess I’m a little concerned about what might happen if the word gets out. You know how rumors fly in a community as small as our Wizarding one.” Hermione waited a beat. “Anyway, just a thought,” she said sweetly. “Thank you for the meeting, sir,”
Hermione turned on her heel and headed to the door. She had barely grabbed the knob when she heard Hughman say, “Miss Granger?” She bit back a smile, making sure to clear her face of any trace of amusement before she turned to face him again.
“Yes?” she said in a calm voice.
“Let’s hold off on calling Mr. Kuiling for a visit, shall we?” he said. He tugged at his tie, his forehead shining with sweat. “I will contact the Wizengamot again. Like I told you before, they take these matters very seriously, of course, and if you feel so passionately about their decision I’m certain they wouldn’t mind looking over their report again.”
“Oh, there’s no need,” said Hermione, waving a hand. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. I’ve already taken up so much of your time today.”
“It’s no inconvenience, of course, Miss Granger. It’d be an honor to follow up on this matter and reassure you of your importance to the center,” he said quickly. “You’re a very valuable member of our staff.”
Hermione stalled for a second, pretending to be conflicted over his offer. “Well, if you’re sure, sir.”
“I’m completely sure,” he said. “Please, it’s my pleasure.”
“Thank you, then, I appreciate your support,” said Hermione, offering him a smile that narrowly avoided being a smirk. “I’ll let you get back to your work now then. Thank you again, sir.”
“Of course, Miss Granger, it’s not a problem.”
Hermione smiled one more time, then opened the door and made her way out of the office.
After closing the door behind her, she walked down the hallway with her head held high, feeling lighter than usual as both pride and the feeling of victory lightened her up from the inside out.
_
Hermione studied the group’s faces. The leftover high of her accomplishment was still dancing inside of her, but she tried not to show it. She avoided lingering on Malfoy for too long. He’d taken to looking at her with a new glint on his eyes, like they shared all sorts of secrets.
“I’ve read your assignments,” she said. “I’m happy to say that I’m pleasantly surprised. Most of you sounded very sincere.” The group looked surprised at her words. “I have some of the passages from your essays here, I thought I’d read them out loud and we can discuss them.”
“I thought they were going to remain anonymous,” said Pansy in a snarky tone.
“It will. I don’t know who wrote what, and you won’t recognize any essays except your own,” said Hermione. She waited for them to protest, but when none did, she picked up the parchment and started reading.
My conversation with this woman reminded me of my first year in Hogwarts. I made a friend from another house. I hadn’t even thought about their blood status until I went back home for Christmas and told my father about them. That was the first time my parents opened up our family grimoire and explained that my friend and I were different. I told my father I didn’t understand. I was punished and sent back to Hogwarts, so I never talked to my friend again.
Hermione’s eyes scanned over the room, cataloguing their faces before continuing. “I’ll bet at least one of you can relate to that. You know, confining someone to a specific community is a very effective way to make sure they don’t open their minds to diversity. I can imagine it was easy for your parents to do that, even when you were away at Hogwarts.”
“You’re not going to villainize our parents, Granger,” snapped Pansy, face twisted in a scowl. Hermione remained unfazed.
“Do you agree with everything your parents tell you?” asked Hermione.
“My father was a bastard,” said Theo. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly when he heard Malfoy’s snort. “What? It’s the truth. I don’t want to be like him.” Hermione caught, from the side of her eye, Malfoy’s subtle nod of agreement.
“You don’t want to be like him, but you still perpetuate his ideology?”
“Do I?” retorted Theo, his smile growing. He didn’t sound like he was lying. Maybe it was the lingering euphoria she’d felt earlier that day, but Hermione was feeling hopeful. She had to bite back a smile.
“Well,” said Hermione, grabbing another parchment. “Parents were kind of a theme in most of your assignments. Another one of you said that they talked with an ex-classmate about their families, and that they were both shocked to learn how similar their relationships with their parents were. They wrote that it made them wonder what else would be similar between them.”
“Are you trying to insinuate we have daddy issues?” said Malfoy. Hermione turned to him, narrowing her eyes.
“I wouldn’t call it that,” said Hermione. “What I meant to say is that we’re such a different generation than our parents, so we have more in common with each other than we do with them. It amazes me that there hasn’t been more progress on blood status issues.”
“Tradition is the foundation of pureblood culture,” said Pansy, studying her nails. “Any progress we make evolves from the foundation we’ve already built.”
“Maybe so,” said Hermione, “but is there really that much of a foundation to build on? Purebloods supremacy has always been a minority view. And as far as I remember, pureblood supremacists haven’t won any war.”
Theo elbowed Malfoy, who snickered and bumped his shoulder harshly. Pansy shot them both a sharp look of annoyance. They seemed more amused at Pansy’s sputtering than angry at Hermione’s words.
Rookwook didn’t seem to agree. He held himself defensively as he snapped. “Your mistake is to think that the war is over.”
“Do you know something that I don’t, Rookwood?” said Hermione. “Because if you’re insinuating what I think you are, we might have to take that up to the DMLE.”
“Isn’t Potter the new Head Auror?” snickered Theo.
“That’s irrelevant,” snapped Hermione, eyes still locked on Rookwood. “So?”
“I only meant figuratively,” he said grudgingly, but Hermione caught the malice in his eyes.
People like Rookwood were the reason Voldemort still had a following. They didn’t thrive outside of battle. Hermione thought about the Wizengamot placing him in the program instead of in an Azkaban cell, then refusing to punish him appropriately, and felt anger boiling up.
“Not even figuratively,” said Malfoy, rolling his eyes. “But Rookwood here knows he doesn’t speak for all of us.”
“Why are you such a cunt, Malfoy?”
“Language,” snapped Hermione, cutting in before he could retort. “What do you mean by that, Malfoy?”
He was staring at Rookwood with distaste and deep anger, his lips curled in a sneer. Like he was a cockroach that he almost couldn’t bring himself to step on. It sent an unpleasant feeling running through her. “Malfoy?”
He dragged his eyes away from Rookwood. When found her, his gaze softened almost imperceptibly, but Hermione caught it, her heart faltering then picking up pace --
Malfoy had never looked at her like that. Not when he was angry, or upset with her.
And now -- now the way he looked at her made her heart soar.
“We already said we aren’t interested in war,” he finally said. “Maybe that’s enough to make us different from our parents, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” said Hermione, still recovering. “But maybe not wanting it just isn’t enough. Maybe you have to change every aspect of your life to make sure it doesn’t happen. That starts with these meetings, but it doesn’t stop here.”
The corner of Malfoy’s mouth twitched, and Hermione had to drag her eyes away from him, afraid that she’d give them both away.
_
“Someone seems to be in a good mood.” Hermione didn’t bother to feign surprise as she turned around, finding Malfoy lingering by the Solarium’s entrance. “You’re not going to reducio the chairs today?”
“I told Cartwell about changing locations when we talked about Rookwood,” she answered, closing her purse before looking up. “You have to stop staying back, how long do you think it’s going to take before someone realizes you do this after every meeting?”
Malfoy huffed, “You give those morons too much credit, Granger.” Hermione’s chest rose with anticipation as he walked further into the room with slow, measured steps, reminding her of a cat in the middle of a hunt.
She lifted a palm to stop him when he got too close. “I’m dead serious. I bumped into Theo at the bar last night and he talked about you like he knew something,” said Hermione, who was slowly realizing the unethical circumstances of her relationship with Malfoy.
She’d been too busy denying whatever it was that they were doing to acknowledge it properly, but it was hard to do so when she had spent the previous night slumped against him on his apartment’s floor.
“A word of advice, Granger,” he said, covering her hand with his. “Theo’ll spew random shite just to see how you’ll react. And from the way you’re blushing, I’m guessing you gave him exactly what he wanted.”
“I’m not blushing,” retorted Hermione. “And it’s not my fault that Theo has some hidden agenda. How am I supposed to know he’s trying to trap me into admitting things he shouldn’t know in the first place?”
“If it makes you feel better, he does it with literally everyone. He’s such a damn gossip,” said Malfoy. He cocked his head. “Seriously, fess up, Granger. You’re looking way too perky. It’s creeping the bloody hell out of me.”
She rolled her eyes, taking her hand away from his. “I met with Hughman earlier. He’s going to talk to the Wizengamot about Rookwood again.”
“And how did you manage to make that happen?”
“I just made the director aware of the consequences if he didn’t,” said Hermione. She was silent for a beat, then palmed her face when it dawned on her, “Merlin, I sounded exactly like you.”
Malfoy chuckled, “Maybe that’s what happens when a lion mixes with a snake.”
“That’s the corniest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” snorted Hermione, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She couldn’t help but smile. He looked so young when he joked around. “But I’m serious. Do you realize I work here? That I'm in charge of these meetings? I shouldn’t even be hanging around you like this.”
His face fell momentarily, and Hermione cursed herself for ruining the light atmosphere between them. But reality was knocking on the door.
“Let’s get out of here, then.”
“That’s not really the point,” said Hermione. “We really shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Granger,” said Malfoy, “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”
“If I make things so difficult for you, then why do you want to hang out with me so badly?”
“Ah, that’s the million galleon question right there. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment,” sighed Malfoy. Hermione struggled to hold onto her annoyance. “Or maybe Lucius dropped me in the head as a baby.”
“And I’m the one who’s perky?” said Hermione, biting her bottom lip. “I see what you’re trying to do, insulting yourself to soften me up until I agree to do what you say.”
“Is it working?”
Hermione paused -- the more Malfoy looked at her with heat in his eyes and a smile on his lips, the closer her heart was to defeating her head.
“Are you going to take me to your unfurnished flat?” said Hermione. “Because I don’t think my back can handle your hard floor again.”
Malfoy exhaled, pretending to be put out, “If I recall correctly, which I do, you mostly slept on top of me.”
“I don’t think so,” lied Hermione, shaking her head. Malfoy reached out to gently grab her arm and pull her closer. “You really don’t take me seriously, do you?”
“I do ,” said Malfoy, his voice dropping an octave. He curled his arm around her waist and squeezed her to him, then bent his head to nuzzle her cheek, his nose sliding back and forth over the soft skin. Hermione’s legs shook and she exhaled a sigh. She felt defenseless against his touch.
Malfoy softly kissed the corner of her lips, and Hermione pressed her eyes closed, breathing him in. Her mind was going alarmingly silent. Malfoy paused by her ear, whispering, “which is why I’m not taking you to my unfurnished flat.”
_
Draco squinted at the bright sunlight and pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket. He placed them on his face, turning around in time to catch Granger’s baffled expression as she took in the scenery.
“Where are we?” she asked, hands on her hips.
“Venice.”
Granger’s eyes widened.
He had apparated them to a Wizarding district near Cannaregio Canal. It was familiar, even if he usually didn’t come willingly. Short, mismatched but charming buildings rose out of the water, jostling each other for space. The cobblestone plaza was bustling with activity. There were almost as many shopping bags as people -- witches, wizards, and pigeons bumped into each other as they entered and exited store after store. Granger jumped to avoid being smacked by an older woman hurriedly marching down the street.
He reached a hand to steady her.
"Malfoy, international apparition is illegal,” said Granger in a low voice.
“I have a license,” he shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like I had the time to get a portkey, Granger. This is something of a spur-of-the-moment trip.”
“Why are we in Italy?” asked Hermione. She seemed to have forgotten about breaking the law, too busy looking around in awe to protest when he grabbed her hand and pulled her down the street with him.
“Weren’t you just complaining about how empty my flat is?” he said. “Well, here we are, Granger. Here to solve your problems.”
“We had to come to Italy so you can buy a couch?”
“Well, of course, Granger,” he said, pulling her out of the way of the young couple who she had almost wandered into. She smiled at them apologetically, then let go of his hand and looped her arm through his, allowing him to guide her. “Do you think I go shopping in Diagon Alley?”
“I think you’re very high-maintenance if you have to go to another country just to shop,” she said. Draco chuckled. It was true.
They stopped in front of what looked like a Mediterranean cottage. Its grey stone walls were covered in vines, green with small pink flowers. Above the wooden door was one large window, warded by a concealment charm that made it impossible to see inside.
Draco knocked twice, smirking as Granger squirmed with unease. It wasn’t hard to notice that she wasn’t comfortable in unfamiliar surroundings.
“What is La Farfalla Concept?” she finally asked, reading the small sign hanging over the door.
“A furniture shop.”
“It looks like a house.”
“It’s quite exclusive, you usually have to make an appointment months in advance,” said Draco, just to see her predictable reaction. Granger scrunched up her nose and shifted closer to him, as if someone was about to come out and grab her. It made his mind flash to the first time she took him to Muggle London -- Not so confident when you’re the one being led around, huh? He was about to say it out loud when the door opened. Granger flinched in surprise. “Why are you so squirmish?”
“I don’t know,” she said, still gripping his arm. He chuckled. “I thought this wasn’t planned?” she said suspiciously.
“My mother redecorates at least a few of the Manor’s rooms every year. We basically buy this place out when she does. We don’t need to make appointments.” said Draco, pulling Granger through the door with him.
The door shut behind them with a loud thud. Despite its modest exterior, the shop’s interior stretched further than they could see from the hall. Shelves full of exquisite knick-knacks went high up the ceiling, where members of the staff carefully levitated golden tassels and ornate throw pillows. Each section of the store was fully decorated to display the large array of furniture specific to each period.
“Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” greeted a soft voice from somewhere over his shoulder. Draco dragged his eyes away from Granger to find the familiar face of Zeta Moretti. She smiled shyly at him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s been awhile since we had the pleasure of having you here.” She spoke with a slight Veronese accent.
“Hello, Zeta,” said Draco, accepting the two kisses she planted on each cheek. “Thank you for having us on such short notice. This is Hermione.”
“Hello,” she said, barely sparing Granger a glance before turning back to Draco. “There is no need to thank me, we always make time for your family.” She beamed at him, and Granger dug her nails into his arm, making him flinch. “I took the liberty of selecting some of your mother’s favorite pieces. I can take you to look at them while your friend here sits in our waiting area.”
“There’s no need,” said Granger through gritted teeth. Draco bit on his bottom lip to prevent a chuckle from escaping.
“Thank you, Zeta, but I’m not shopping for the Manor,” he said, watching as her face fell. “We’ll just take a look around by ourselves, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course, feel free to roam around,” she said, looking reluctant to leave. Granger stepped an inch closer to Draco, and Zeta grimaced. “Mr. Malfoy, call my name if you need anything, please. Anything at all.”
Once the woman had disappeared around a corner, Granger turned to him with her lips parted and eyes wide. “For Godric’s sake, that woman totally wants to get in your pants.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “She’s in her fifties, Granger. She’s my mother’s friend.”
Hermione snickered. “That makes it even funnier. You’re popular with the cougars, apparently.” Draco shuddered, and she laughed harder. “Draco Malfoy, the geriatric heartthrob,” she teased.
“You didn’t seem to think it was so funny when she was here, you almost ripped my arm off,” said Draco, looking around the room. “And you almost burned a hole through Pansy’s head last night at the bar. I must say, Granger, your jealousy is extremely entertaining.”
“Ha,” she faked a laugh. “You were just waiting for the opportunity to mention that, weren’t you?” She pointed at a huge leather sectional. “Look, that’s a cute couch.”
“You’re not distracting me,” grumbled Draco. “And that couch is ugly.”
“I’m not trying to. I’m not the jealous type, and you’re delusional if you think so,” said Granger in a sing-song voice, moving away from him to skim her fingers over the leather. She turned to him with amusement. “Don’t you want to build your own bachelor pad? This screams ‘I like to smoke cigarettes and brood all evening.’”
“We’ll get back to that later,” said Draco, crossing his arms as he watched Granger skip around the rows of couches. “When did you get the impression I spend my time brooding?”
Granger stopped, placing her hands on her hips. “How am I supposed to help you pick if I don’t know what you like, Malfoy? Maybe you should ask Zeta to come back, she seems to know everything about your taste in furniture. She did say she’ll help you with anything ,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“You’re not funny,” said Draco, but he chuckled anyway. “I don’t have a taste in furniture, Granger. Let’s pick something to sit on and get the hell out of here.”
“Oh no,” she shook her head. “We didn’t illegally apparate to another country to pick one couch and go back. We'll furnish that entire bloody flat. I hope your wallet is full today.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “They make a transaction request and Gringotts transfers the money directly, Granger. No wizard carries enough galleons to pay what this shite costs.” he said, moving to stand beside her. He tried to be subtle as he reached for her hand.
He felt ridiculous, being like this -- wanting the touch of her skin on his all the bloody time, feeling half empty when she was just a few steps away.
“I’m sorry for not knowing how rich people work,” she said sarcastically. Granger arched a brow, her eyes fixed on his face as he slowly intertwined their fingers. She always looked at him with conflicting emotions, like she wanted to reach out as much as he did, but she wouldn’t let herself. “Where’s the sudden desire to decorate that flat coming from, Malfoy?”
Draco toyed with her fingers, rubbing his other hand over his jaw nervously. He hadn’t shaved that morning, remembering the feel of Granger dragging her nails through the scruff. “Maybe I’m finally going to sell it. I have to find a way to disguise how hard the floors are.”
“Not made to sleep on?”
“Not at all,” said Draco, shaking his head.
We’ll find something better to sleep on, he thought, but didn’t say it.
Granger slowly rubbed her thumb against his knuckle. Draco felt the room around them shrink.
“Alright then,” she said. “Let’s do this.”
_
They had been there for over three hours by the time Draco managed to convince Granger they had seen every piece of furniture in the shop.
More than the furniture, he was entertained by how she tried to remain neutral as he scanned his options, but couldn’t hide when she didn’t like something. Granger refused to share her opinion when he asked outright, so he pretended to seriously consider the most absurd options, like the claw-footed ottoman, and watch as she struggled to not point out her preferred choice.
Granger was terrible at hiding what she really thought, but Draco was certain that she’d missed how he’d been marking everything she picked. By the time he had finalized the purchase and arranged delivery, the moon was high in the sky and the night had turned bitterly cold.
The street was scarcely illuminated, the atmosphere subdued now that it wasn’t as busy. A family of three strolled on the opposite sidewalk. A group of teenagers laughed boisterously a few feet in front of them, bottles of firewhiskey dangling from their fingers as they gleamed with light and youth.
Granger had pulled a jacket out from her bottomless purse. Her arm bumped against his as they walked in silence towards the nearest apparition point.
Draco was grasping for a reason to extend the night, to keep her by his side for a bit longer. Asking her openly seemed too raw, like peeling back his skin. He wasn’t scared to give her a look. It turned his stomach that he wanted to -- too much, too fast.
But the options were clear to Draco.
He could say goodbye, go back to his flat, and stare at his newly purchased furniture, more her choice than his. Maybe he’d go to the Manor instead, strike up a conversation with his mother and pretend that what he’d done with Granger wasn’t a betrayal to everything she’d taught him. He’d pretend he didn't know the exact shape of her lips, that he knew the way she sounded when he touched her just so -- how she got aggravated by the smallest things, but let go of her anger generously, like she didn’t want to keep bitterness inside of her. How she was passionate and funny and how he wanted her so much he didn’t know what to bloody do about it.
He squeezed her hand, and she turned to give him a small smile. Draco felt his heart grow twice its normal size.
At the apparition point, they stood facing each other, shuffling in their feet as hesitation soured the air between them. It was the most awkward they had been in weeks.
“Malfoy-”
“Granger-”
They paused. Draco sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. The look on Granger’s face was painfully uncertain. They had spent the previous night wrapped up in each other, but he didn’t think the enormity of it had dawned on them until just then.
Here they were, having spent the entire day holding hands and joking around and still unable to say, “come home with me.”
“Malfoy?” asked Granger, voice soft. “What do you want to do now?”
And isn’t that the question? he thought. He sighed and stepped closer to her, leaning down to press a lingering kiss on her shoulder. Granger shivered, and he smiled.
“I want to go home with you, Granger,” muttered Draco. She melted against him. “Will you come home with me?”
He heard her sharp intake of breath. He didn’t say anything, waiting her out -- he didn’t press her, nor did he move. He waited patiently for Granger to figure out whatever was going through her mind, and before long, she turned her head to whisper in his ear.
“Yeah,” said Granger. “I do.”
“Alright,” he said, closing his hand around her wrist. He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, swiftly apparating them away.
-
They had barely landed in the flat when Granger threw her arms around his neck, roughly pulling him to her and crushing their mouths together. Draco parted his lips, and she wrapped her tongue around his, sighing into him like she’d been waiting to do it all day.
And it was enough, really -- her eagerness was enough for his chest to crack open and all of his desires to begin tumbling out. He wanted so much from her he didn’t even know where to start -- he pushed her into the nearest wall, pressing his body into hers so firmly that she spread her legs to make space for him.
Draco twisted his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck, and she slid her arms down to grip his waist, pulling them together in one smooth motion.
She was vibrating against him, and he tugged her bottom lip with his teeth, hearing muffled sounds of pleasure echo in his ears. He wrenched his lips away from hers, breathing rapidly as he pressed their foreheads together.
He squeezed his eyelids tighter. His mind was fogging and he was slowly losing any hold on his control. He swallowed, trying to keep himself together, but she was moving against him, pressing herself against his hips and thighs.
He slowly slid his hand out of her hair, letting his fingers trail down the expense of her neck, stopping just above her heart. Granger’s chest was beating as hard as his. “Can I touch you?” It sounded as breathless as it had the day before.
This time, she didn’t hesitate before whispering, “Yes.”
He fit his mouth against hers, kissing her deeply. She hummed against his lips, and he moved his hands until they were gripping her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his hips, making it easy to pull her away from the wall.
He walked them towards the bed that had been placed in a corner of the room, thanking Merlin for fast delivery, and sat her down on the mattress. He moved to lean back, but she squeezed her thighs around him, keeping him locked.
“Don’t move,” whispered Granger. “Come closer.”
“Wanna touch your skin, though,” he mumbled, not fully aware of what he was saying.
Granger kissed him again before allowing him to move. Draco propped himself up just enough to take his shirt off, self-consciously holding his left arm close to his body. The Dark Mark had faded away, barely a ghost of an image over his skin, but it had been there once. He held in a breath as Granger’s eyes skimmed over it, and he breathed in easier when she didn’t linger.
He threw the shirt somewhere behind him, watching as she dragged her eyes from his arm to gaze at his chest instead, letting it travel down the rest of his body, gulping audibly when her eyes found the trail of hair that disappeared down his pants.
She leaned forward on the bed, swiftly taking her own shirt off. His mouth went slack, and he watched expectantly as she reached behind her back to undo the clasp of her bra. His eyes tracked her every move, inhaling sharply when she slid the straps down her arms, giving him a full view of her breasts. She laid back down, and Draco leaned over her, his eyes roaming everywhere, drinking her in.
She was always beautiful, but it blew his mind to see her like that -- her sprawling curls forming a crown around her head, her swollen lips, her dilated pupils -- he took a mental picture, searing it into his mind.
“Are you just going to look at me?” she whispered. “Do I have to beg you to touch me?”
He licked his lips, incapable of forming an intelligent response. Instead, he bent down to kiss the valley of her breasts. He bit into the soft skin, then turned his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth, smiling when a loud moan escaped her lips.
He switched to her other breast, paying it the same languorous attention, and one of her hands flew between her thighs.
“No,” he mumbled against her breast, pulling her hand away. “Be patient.”
“I’m never patient,” she grunted, and he chuckled.
“What do you want, love?” he asked, scooting up until he could nuzzle her neck, one hand gripping the edge of her pants.
“Less talking, more touching.” she muttered.
“I can do that,” he said. “Lean forward for me?”
She did. He made quick work of pulling her pants down her legs. She used the soles of her feet to push them into the floor and his hands roamed over her knickers, pushing the fabric to the side and reaching in. He swallowed her moan with his lips, feeling his cock throb as he pushed his finger inside of her.
She clenched around his finger and gripped desperately at his shoulder, then ran her hands down the expense of his back, her nails digging in hard. He groaned, grinding his hips against the mattress to relieve some of the pressure.
He kissed her thoroughly, using his other index finger to rub her clit. She arched her back, her chest heaving and her eyes pressed closed. “More,” she groaned, bucking her hips.
“More?” he whispered, carefully taking his fingers out of her. He placed his fingers in his mouth and sucked.
Granger’s eyes flew open, darkening as she watched him.
She reached a hand to the nape of his neck and pulled him towards her, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth. She dragged her lips down to the soft spot of his jaw, continuing down to his neck, sucking the skin into her mouth. Her hands moved to undo his belt and pop open the front of his pants, and she pushed them and his boxers down with her feet.
She bit his jaw before kissing him hard on his mouth. He tore his mouth away from her just an inch, muttering a contraception charm before pushing her knickers down and guiding himself into her.
She was too much for him. He stopped thinking. He could only move, hearing her moan into his ears and the quiet crunch of bedsprings beneath them. The room grew warmer and warmer.
He soared higher and higher, his thumb pressing to her clit and mimicking the motion of his hips as he dragged her along with him.
“Don’t stop,” she moaned, digging her nails in deeper. “Faster. Please.” She instinctively squeezed her thighs together, and the extra pressure was exactly what he needed to tip over the edge. His mind went completely blank, and his heart raced in what felt like an inhumane pace.
He stayed there, unable to open his eyes, for what felt like hours. When at last he opened them, Granger was looking at him, the back of her hand caressing his cheek. She smiled, and his chest fluttered again.
He carefully slid out of her and laid beside her on the mattress, pulling her closer to him. He didn’t want to give her a chance to retreat -- he had her fully exposed now. He wasn’t letting her go back into hiding.
He nuzzled against her cheek and kissed the spot below her ear. Granger shivered, and he whispered, “You okay?” She didn’t respond immediately, but scooted closer to him on the bed. “Answer me, love.”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she finally said, then turned on her side. “Can I tell you something?”
“Uhum,” he agreed.
Granger sighed, then pressed her hand to her eyes.
Draco could swear his heart stopped for a beat, and his stomach turned with apprehension. She licked her lips and finally pulled her hand away, then whispered, her voice so soft he had to scoot closer to hear, “I was kind of hoping the sex would suck.”
Draco frowned. “What?” She snickered. “Are you laughing?” he said, incredulous. Soon she was bent in two, and he watched in confusion as the pearls of laughter filled the room, her eyes watering from the force of it. “Are you mad?”
“I’m sorry,” said Granger, another burst of laughter coming out of her. Draco chewed on his bottom lip as he watched, unsure if he should laugh with her or apparate them straight to St. Mungo’s mental ward. “Merlin, I needed that.”
“You done now?” he asked when she finally subsided. She giggled, but nodded. “Care to expand on your hopes I was shite in bed?”
Granger’s face sobered, but she sighed and said, “It’d be easier, wouldn’t it? It would give us an out.”
“You want an out?” he asked in a small voice.
“You don’t?” she said, her expression serious. “Is it bad if I don’t? Because I keep turning it over in my head, trying to make sense of this. Trying to freak myself out into running for the hills, I guess. And failing.”
Draco turned on his back and sighed, crossing his arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling, his mind running wild. He didn’t know if he wanted to tell her that he was past doubt, when she sounded so unsure.
Granger filtered into his view, scooting closer and throwing a leg over his body. Her hair flowed around her shoulders, and her brown skin was slick with sweat.
He wanted to put his mouth all over her again.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Malfoy.”
“I’m thinking you should call me by name,” he said without planning it. Granger frowned.
“You want me to call you Draco?” He nodded. “Alright then. Draco, tell me what you’re thinking.”
He sighed, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to form words. Why did she say that? he thought, frustrated with himself. He was kind of terrified of telling her what he thought and sounding insane, or worse, overly attached.
When he didn’t say anything, she started to move away. He threw out a hand and gripped her waist, stopping her.
“Granger,” he said. She stopped moving, and he took a breath. “Things are kind of mad lately, alright? Or maybe not lately, more like all the bloody time.”
“Okay--”
“I’m kind of good at avoiding shite, it’s easier.” He groaned. “Why do you want me to speak, again?”
“Because I kind of need it,” said Granger. She sounded insecure, and he didn’t want her to sound like that, not ever, so he yelled at himself to grow a pair and speak.
“Alright, yeah,” he hummed. “So, things are mad. And people are daft, and I’m pissed off all the bloody time. And when you’re around, I’m not.”
“Okay.”
“Listen, Granger, I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say, because I’m definitely not the bloke to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, mostly because that shite doesn’t mean anything. But the matter of things is kind of simple to me.”
“Is it?” asked Granger, tone flat.
“Sure,” he nodded, his hand traveling up and down her side. “I don’t think it’d matter much if the sex was shite at first, to be honest with you. I’d just want to try again, and again, until we got better at it.”
“And we would, because we’re both perfectionists,” she said.
“And because I kind of just want to be around you, all the bloody time. And I don’t deny myself what I want, so I’m doing my best to do exactly that. It’s quite simple.” said Draco, hoping it was enough for her, knowing he’d try harder if it wasn’t.
But Granger gave him his favorite smile -- the one that made her eyes turn into half moons. His heart threatened to leap out of his body and straight into her hands.
He pulled her face towards him and crushed their lips together again, hoping she would stay exactly where she was.
Hoping she knew that she was exactly where he needed her.