Chapter 6
September 2008
Draco was first down in the morning, as usual. Hermione had been rushed off of her feet the night before and he hadn’t even properly seen her since coming back from Scotland. As soon as she had come home from the lab, Draco received a kiss and a mumbled ‘love you’ before she turned on her side and fell fast asleep. She deserved the rest.
By the time he was out of the shower, his stomach was no longer growling but had moved onto screaming to be fed. Hermione had been so busy with research in the lab, he had been in training for the friendly game against their friends across the border and as a result their fridge was completely empty. Domesticity was a lot easier than this in his head.
“Hi husband,” she said quietly attempting to suppress a yawn. Hermione emerged at his side as coffee was passing through the filter. She grabbed a mug and sat at the table, patiently waiting on the coffee.
Draco stood behind her chair, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She instantly relaxed into his touch. “Why don’t you head back to bed? Our fridge is very empty so I will have to go get something for us.”
“No, no. I’ll shove some leggings on and then we can head to the shops together. Has the paper been yet?” She stood to look at the owl perch just outside the kitchen window. The treats hadn’t been touched. “I swear that owl gets later and later every day,” Hermione called over her shoulder.
“Because he hates me!”
“He doesn’t hate you, love. You just accidentally shut the window on his wing. That’s a very bad thing to do to an owl.”
“Of course you take the owl’s side. Go on, get bottoms on. I’m starving.” Draco playfully slapped her bum as she moved past him.
When they returned home from their outing, bagels in tow, the paper was waiting on them and the treats were indeed gone. There was an envelope waiting too, probably from Molly Weasley or Harry although both had access to their Floo to call. They did drop by, as did a lot of their friends which took him by surprise.
Growing up his house had never been a revolving door. It was a door that was opened if the person on the other side of it had an appointment or a life-or-death reason to be there. Usually the latter towards the end of his school career. Now when he came downstairs and saw Theo or Blaise and occasionally Pansy sleeping on his couch, he just turned and went back up the stairs.
“Letter is for you, Granger. A secret admirer I don’t know about?” Draco curled his lip up into a side smile.
“Ha, ha. I doubt it,” she replied. Hermione picked the letter up, looking at the front of it. “It’s been stamped, but it’s rubbed off. Is your mum in France again?”
Draco furrowed his brows, coming beside her to look at the envelope. “She shouldn’t be… unless she’s fucked off again and isn’t coming home for six months and wants you to keep the house elves’ company.”
Hermione opening it, her facial expression showing every ounce of confusion. “It’s just ‘I’m sorry’?”
“What?”
“It’s a single bit of parchment that says, ‘I’m sorry’.”
“Who needs to apologise to you?” Draco looked the letter over. “I’m sure you’d remember the owner of this writing, it’s absolutely diabolical,” Draco scoffed.
“No one. I have no idea who could’ve sent this. It looks like someone’s writing to be fair.” Hermione set the parchment down and then herself in a chair. “Probably one of the lab techs messing something up and I’ll find out about it tomorrow morning. I hate Monday’s,” she sighed.
“Hermione Malfoy, did you just admit you hate Monday’s?!”
“Yes, Draco Malfoy. I did.”
“Read your paper woman.”
“Kind of looks like someone’s I know, Merlin. That’s going to annoy me.”
Draco snorted and busied himself, cleaning up crumbs and putting dishes in the dishwasher. All the muggle way. It was cathartic when you didn’t wave a wand for everything.
“Draco,” she said, her voice tight and controlled, but he didn’t seem to hear her.
“Hmm?” he hummed absentmindedly, still focused on wiping down the last of the dishes.
“Draco,” she repeated, louder this time, the tension in her voice impossible to miss.
Draco turned around, his smile fading when he saw the expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”
Hermione didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she held up the newspaper, her eyes locked on his as she turned it around so he could see the photo. “Care to explain this?”
Draco’s eyes widened as he saw the image, confusion quickly turning to alarm. “What the—?” He crossed the room in two quick strides, snatching the paper from her hands. His heart sank as he stared at the picture, trying to make sense of it. “I didn’t even know this was taken…”
Hermione’s eyes flashed with anger. “That’s what you’re concerned about? That you didn’t know the photo was taken? Not the fact that you were seen with a woman leaving your hotel room?”
Draco looked up from the paper, his face pale. “Hermione, it’s not what it looks like. I swear.”
“Not what it looks like?” she repeated, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. “It looks to like you had a good time with the team, Draco.”
Hermione scanned the page some more, scoffing. “Sorry my mistake. Not just some random woman, oh thank Circe, no, it looks like you’ve been caught sneaking out of a hotel with Pansy Parkinson! And the entire wizarding world is reading about it while I’m left in the dark!”
Draco moved closer; his hands raised as if to placate her. “Please, Hermione, let me explain. That’s not Pansy! That’s Deakins new assistant! She was on the same floor as me, everyone went clubbing that night and she couldn’t because she had Deakins on her arse.”
“Thank Merlin it wasn’t you!” Hermione spat. The words seeped in sarcasm.
“Hermione that’s not fair!” Draco’s face contorted with anguish, and he stepped closer, desperation clear in his eyes. “I would never betray you like that. You have to know that. This is just a misunderstanding—an unfortunate situation that the press is blowing out of proportion. Please, believe me.”
“Pansy is in Scotland right now. She’s doing that estate up isn’t she.” A statement. A question? Draco said nothing. He knew where it was going. “Isn’t she?!”
“Yes, she is.”
“How can I believe you, Draco, when you didn’t even tell me? When I have to find out like this?” She let out a bitter laugh. “Pansy Parkinson of all people – do you know how humiliating this is?”
“I wasn’t with her. Hermione this is ridiculous,” he huffed. “You can’t honestly believe I was fucking Pansy!”
“That was us when you were with Astoria! Sneaking in and out of muggle hotel rooms, using fake cards, fake names, glamoured from head to toe!”
“I was never with Astoria and you fine well fucking know that, Granger.” Draco’s voice was deep, deadly. He spoke her name in no less than a growl.
It felt like time had stopped, and the foundations of his world were crumbling in front of his eyes. Finally, Hermione spoke, her voice so quiet that Draco had to strain to hear her. “I don’t know what to think right now, Draco. I just… I need time. I can’t do this.”
She stood, the wooden chair scraping across the hardwood floor ever so slightly. He buried his face in his hands, listening to their front door open and close, softly without any bang. Then a crack of apparition. This was so fucked up.
He didn’t remember falling asleep. His neck had formed a kink from being in the uncomfortable position. Twenty-four hours had passed and here she was, emerging from the Floo.
“Hermione…” he started, voice hoarse from lack of sleep.
She held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “I didn’t come back to talk, Draco. I came to collect a few things.”
Her tone was icy, detached, as if she had already made up her mind and her movements were precise, calculated. She shoved some clothes fresh from the tumble dryer into her magically extended bag, then lifted the diary that lived on the coffee table. Picked up her favourite copies of Jane Eyre, a muggle writer who she had declared an artist of literary. And he knew.
“Is this really it?” Draco asked, his voice cracking with the weight of his words. “You’re just going to leave?”
A sniffle escaped her, but she kept her back fully turned. He appreciated it, if he looked her in the eyes he might lose his composure. “I love you, Draco. But I learned before, there’s no love if there’s not trust. Ron taught me that. You did with Astoria as well.” This time, the door slammed. The echo reverberated through the walls – along with her words.
Hermione was gone, and he had no idea how to fix what had just broken.
Present Day
Draco hated press days. A monthly one was held during the Quidditch season, along with the ones after every winning match. For the hour the press had, they grilled him. Asked him uncomfortable questions about his personal life, his family life and somehow always managed to make him renounce the Dark Lord he had once been a slave to. Admirable really how far they would go in statements and questions to make sure he wasn’t secretly offering up muggles anymore.
Today was an especially big one. The countdown for the World Cup had been on from the moment the England team caught the snitch, but the opening games were fast approaching. Just six weeks until the team faced their first opponents, and the draw had been the previous day. Denmark.
The Denmark team were wild. Great, great players but not much harmony between them all. Sometimes they were all completely out of sync, Draco didn’t know how it was possible, but they made it possible somehow. He knew his team had the chemistry it took to overcome them; they had done it before in the National Playoffs. They could one hundred percent do it again.
Draco donned his ‘press conference’ suit, black slacks, a white oxford shirt and grey tie with a navy jumper over the top. It almost pained the aristocrat in him to not wear a suit jacket but none of the rest of the team did. So informal it was disgusting. He Flooed to the stadium and prepared for the grilling.
As he walked in the door, the camera flashing started. He would definitely be leaving here without his eyesight. Draco took a seat behind the panel, next to Ginny and Coach Deakins. Ginny would be here to answer the questions Draco wouldn’t be able to make up on the spot. He weirdly enough was thankful she was here; the pressure had lessened on him.
“Thank you for coming to this session. Today, you’ll have the opportunity to ask our Captain questions, hopefully regarding the upcoming World Cup. Let’s kick the questions off, man in the purple shirt.” Deakins pointed to a man sitting in the front row, a quick-quote-quill writing away on a notepad.
“Mr Malfoy, how are you feeling after your recent injury?”
“I’m doing great, thank you.” Draco flashed a smile. “I am very thankful to the staff at St Mungo’s who really jumped to action as soon as I had arrived. I have personally been a patient at the incredible facility many times and I am forever grateful for their healing abilities. Next?”
“Are you confident the team will be in perfect shape for the opening game? And yourself?”
Draco laughed slightly. “Of course I do. I’m sure Ginny here can attest to the hard work that every player is putting in on and off of the field. We have all been working tirelessly with Coach to come up with defensive and offensive methods which will hopefully give our opponents some surprise. Ginny?”
“I agree with everything Draco has said. I cannot explain the amount of work the team has been doing over the past few weeks. The excitement has been helping the team morale every day.”
“Are you aware of the ongoing investigation against the Swedish team or the possible outcome?”
Draco fought a sneer. “I am aware yes. We had been informed of the opening of the investigation by the International Association of Quidditch and they have footage of the incident in question. As I was incapacitated, representatives took statement from a number of players on the field from both sides and took mine not long after I was released from hospital. None of us are aware of their decision as of yet, but it should be public knowledge soon I’d assume. We’ll find out when you do. Next?”
“Miss Weasley, are you confident in Mr Malfoy leading the team after still being out on medical leave?”
Ginny cleared her throat. “I am. Mr Malfoy has been Captain of our team for over a year now and I think he’s the best man we could have to lead us into the World Cup.” She paused, and the reporters started again. Her voice out spoke them all, “I’d like to just remind the press here today it’s Mrs Potter now, not Miss Weasley.” She gave a sickly sweet smile.
More questions came, for Coach Deakins and Ginny. Questions about formation, morale and overall personal ones. Ginny hadn’t been present for one of these before and as a result, they were hounding her. Being married to the Chosen One wasn’t an easy feat. He zoned out, keeping his amused smile on his face and laughing when necessary. Like a robot. Playing a part in front of the press was crucial and it was the part he hated the most. His mind focused as a journalist asked, “Mr Malfoy, how is physical therapy going?”
He was startled. Mainly because it hadn’t been released that he was seeing a physical therapist – much less his ex-wife. “It’s going great. Not much else to say on that front,” he laughed uncomfortably.
The same reporter jumped in, “How is it being in such close proximity to your ex-wife after the scandal that came out last year?”
Well, Draco was no less than baffled. He took a breath, not letting the question affect his façade. “It’s fine. We both have moved on from the so called ‘scandal’, and I have realised we are in a much better place as no more than acquaintances.”
“So, it doesn’t affect your daily life?”
Draco flashed a smile. “Not at all.”
“If we could keep the questions to strictly sporting, that would be appreciated.” Coach Deakins deep voice was commanding, and the reporters hushed immediately, almost all of their hands going down. Nosey bastards.
The questions did relate to quidditch from there on out, boring ones that they could write ten or so words about in their newspaper. It wrapped up quite quickly and Draco couldn’t wait to get home and just relax. Tomorrow he would be convincing Hermione he could play again.
The receptionist let Draco head into Hermione’s office as soon as he had arrived which he took as a good sign. Must be, right?
He was sitting with a smug look on his face until the door swung open and Hermione looked positively – he had not one other word for it other than – feral. Her already wild was even more wild, pieces of it sticking up on their own, going the wrong direction. Chaos. Utter catastrophe. His eyes concentrated on the purple bags under her eyes.
“Granger, are you—”
“Draco Lucius Malfoy if you ask me if I’m okay I swear to Godric Gryffindor himself I will Avada you right here in this very room!”
Hermione’s voice must have broken some sort of decibel range, a world record must have been made in those five seconds. He would’ve paused to celebrate it – it was incredible – if the anger was not so obviously aimed at him.
“Hermione, what –”
“How’s your leg?” Hermione asked, a bite in her voice.
“It’s great, much better after using the bands. I can lift more in the gym every day.”
Hermione orchestrated her usual events, the walking and the stretching. Using the bands and squatting very unnaturally. Pretending to mount and dismount a broom. Standing on one leg and again, squatting very unnaturally. He had essentially proved he had full use of motion in his leg.
“Granger, have I done—"
“If you’re about to ask me what you’ve done, just stop. You said enough yesterday.”
Draco was confused, furrowing his brows at what she could have meant. He relaxed the full night taking the utmost care to not pull anything before the session today. He had even broken what he thought was a sacred rule of masculinity: he took a bath filled with Epsom salts.
Oh. The interview.
“Look, Granger if I knew they were going to bring you up as a follow up question I would’ve shut it down immediately. I was cornered!”
“’We have both, both,” she let out a forced laugh. “Moved on from the so-called scandal.’” This was bad. She recited the article.
“I had to say as little as possible. I didn’t want to cause anymore hurt!” Draco defended.
Her eyes welled with tears, tears she evidently didn’t want on show. She was never one to hide her vulnerability, after all they had been through it was a good thing, such a good thing to be vulnerable. The realisation she just didn’t want to be vulnerable with him hit Draco like a tonne of bricks. Collapsing right on top of his ribs, puncturing his heart.
“I know I walked away from you. I know that I called this marriage a sham. I know what I said to you that day as I walked out the door and I know exactly how I said it. I meant to hurt you that day, I meant to tear your heart out like how seeing those photos torn mine to pieces. It was a nightmare for me Draco, a living, breathing, very fucking real nightmare.”
Draco had to interrupt. “I never and would never cheat on you. I would never wish for another woman to be within ten feet of me bar you, Granger. You are my soul! Don’t you think you hurt me by thinking I was so easily fucking swayed? Did you save my mortal soul from darkness and just wait for me to fuck up?!”
“No!” Hermione screamed. “No! Alright? The past few weeks had me reconsidering everything! Thinking how I could be wrong, because the man I married would never do that to his wife.” She paused, wiping her cheeks free of the tears. Clearing her throat, she began again. “But we did do that. The beginning of our relationship was based on secrets and lies and fucking lawyers to break contracts!”
“You know the position I was in. You know I couldn’t just leave Astoria. Everything was written up for the engagement, the wedding, the half of the estate she would inherit – everything. She was promised to me before I had even turned two years old. It wasn’t my choice. But in all that mess, I fell in love with you, Hermione.”
“I know. Somewhere deep down I know we didn’t cheat on Astoria really but…” She trailed off. “Gin told me last week she knows you still love me.”
“I do, Hermione. More than anything in this world.” Draco fought to keep his voice steady.
“The timing, Draco,” Hermione sighed.
“The timing?”
tears fell from her eyes and this time she wasn’t caring. “Yes! The timing! June 2008 is a time I never want to revisit.”
Her words smacked him square in the face. They hadn’t ever spoken of it in this manner, and her implying that he would cheat on her because of it had him fumbling for words. “Are you serious right now?”
She could see she had made an impact. Whether or not she meant it, he couldn’t be sure. “Draco, finding out I was never pregnant in the first place was hard – for both of us. You shut down. You shut me out, you never really spoke your feelings aloud. And the disappointment – I-I felt like I failed you.”
He remembered it so vividly. A random Wednesday morning Hermione had been deathly sick. She put it down to dodgy fish, but over the course of a week she hadn’t been able to shift it. Pregnancy wasn’t something they had considered due to Hermione being on a muggle type of contraception, meaning she never got her period anyway. He didn’t know she had gone to a muggle supermarket and purchased a test, but when the two lines showed – Gods his heart felt like it could explode. The timing wasn’t perfect, but was there ever such a thing as a perfect time? A few days later, Hermione was better but now experiencing cramping so to be smart, they visited a healer – a private one due to the delicacy of the situation – and were told the worst news he had ever heard. A chemical pregnancy had taken place. It was real and gone. In days.
“Hermione, darling, you never failed me. That’s ridiculous. You could never make me stray.”
Hermione said nothing for a few beats, just busied herself with paperwork on the countertop.
“I’m signing you off. You’re fit to play quidditch.”
“Please, Hermione. I love you.” Those words hadn’t been uttered for so long he said them so quietly he didn’t know if she would even hear them.
“You said it yourself; you have realised we are in a much better place as no more than… acquaintances. I don’t know you anymore, Draco.”