The first time Draco Malfoy ran into Hermione Granger, it was the last place he would’ve ever expected. Not that he really expected to see her anywhere - it had been fifteen years since he’d seen her in person, after all. But if he had to guess where he might run into her again for the first time in over a decade, it certainly wouldn’t be his best friend’s sitting room. Especially given that his best friend is none other than Pansy Parkinson.
It had been a Friday night like any other. He was a bit tired after a long week of dealing with the idiots in his employ in the Ministry, but he was looking forward to seeing Pansy after she’d spent the previous two weeks in Paris for Fashion Week. Success in the Wizarding World apparently wasn’t enough for her - she had to take over the Muggle fashion world too. They were both a long way from their bigoted sheltered youth.
Draco was always as comfortable in Pansy’s lush London apartment as he was in his own home, and that fateful Friday night was no different. He stepped through the fireplace into the parlour, headed into the kitchen to open the bottle of wine he brought to let it breathe, and instinctively moved through to the sitting room. Except instead of finding Pansy, he found her.
She was standing on a raised platform in the centre of the room, looking over her shoulder at Pansy who was crouched behind her frantically pinning the bottom of her gown. Given that Draco could barely see her face, he probably shouldn’t have been able to recognise her, but it was immediately undeniable that this was the Golden Girl herself.
Her hair was just as wild as he remembered (who else could it have been with a mane like that?), but everything else was decidedly different. Her stance was confident and comfortable, no awkward teenage gait in sight; her plum coloured gown clung to her filled-out curves, giving off an air of casual elegance; and her skin looked as soft as silk even from across the room. So much about her was in stark contrast to his memories of her from Hogwarts. But he still immediately knew it couldn’t be anyone else.
She radiated an energy that was unique to her, that made him want to stop in his tracks and just take her in. And that’s exactly what Draco did. In the few seconds he had before she noticed him, he was able to mentally catalogue a few small details. Like how her fingertips danced against one another in lieu of anything to occupy them. How the sprinkling of silver strands through her dark curls shone beautifully in the waning sunlight coming in through the windows. How tall she looked on the platform in a pair of heels that perfectly matched the plum of her dress. She was beautiful.
Of course he’d seen her in the newspapers occasionally over the years, so he wasn’t taken aback by her appearance. But there were a few things that he never noticed or wasn’t able to pick up from photographs. The strangest thing of all was the pull he felt towards her, as if he couldn’t bear to look away. And yet it didn’t feel entirely unfamiliar when it came to her - Draco couldn’t deny that Granger had always caught his attention during school. He’d just assumed that it was some natural pureblood instinct within him that called out to the muggle-born in her as if she was an opposing force he ought to take down. He was such a naive ignorant brat. But feeling that same draw now, when he worked for years to dismantle his own foolishness? It was dizzying.
Luckily for him, Draco didn’t have a chance to run any more circles in his own head as Pansy interrupted his pondering.
“You’re early.”
She was still perched behind Granger, somehow still looking elegant while doing so, smirking up at him as if she was waiting for a joke to land. He raised a brow at her, not even bothering to correct her that he was, in fact, exactly on time. He had a feeling that she already knew that, but he couldn’t work out why she would intentionally make this kind of mistake. Granger was obviously a client of hers, but Pansy had never made this mistake before. If she was in England, Friday nights after 8pm was their time together. It’s not a time he would ever expect her to be working anyway, but Pansy was not the most predictable person in the world.
“I can come back in the morning if you need, Pansy.”
Her voice was light and melodic, but it held a self-assuredness that reminded Draco of how she sounded when she answered professors’ questions in their shared Hogwarts classes. His eyes shot up to hers, only to find her already watching him. He felt momentarily self conscious, suddenly aware that he’d been standing in the entrance of the room watching her before either woman noticed he was there.
“I have what I need for the adjustments we discussed,” Pansy responded, rising to her feet gracefully. “You can get changed back into your clothes in the room down the hall, I’ll meet you there in a few minutes and see you out.” She had her professional businesswoman voice on, which always amused Draco to hear given how crass she was with him.
Granger stepped off the dais carefully in her heels, but her eyes never left his. They were a warm but deep brown, and Draco couldn’t help but feel that she was looking for something in his eyes. All he could do was stare back, unsure what else he was meant to do in such a brief strange moment. As she slowly walked towards the door he’d entered from, he had to make a conscious effort to hold her gaze rather than dart his eyes to her slightly swaying hips. She didn’t come close enough to brush against him, but his heart still beat faster as she approached and broke their eye contact to leave the room.
And just like that, she was gone. She hadn’t spoken to him, only to Pansy, but her voice was still ringing in his ears and playing on repeat. In fact, he’d been so lost in his thoughts about her that he realised he hadn’t said a word the entire time.
“She’s getting an award,” Pansy said as she vanished the raised platform and scattered pins. She was looking at him with a curious expression on her face.
“Okay…?” He wasn’t sure what Pansy wanted him to say.
“You know, for her groundbreaking research?”
“Right. Her groundbreaking research.”
“They could use some more funding. Look into it.” She never was one to mince words, and he appreciated that about her. He never had to wait very long to find out what she wanted or thought about something. She’d tell him, usually bluntly and often with an accompanying insult.
He hummed noncommittally and she rolled her eyes and left the room, presumably to escort Granger out. His mind was still spinning about seeing her after all these years, and he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling he was left with. Why did he have such a visceral reaction to seeing her again? She was just an old classmate. Well, maybe she was a bit more than that, what with their complicated history. But that all ended 15 years ago! He was a completely different person. He couldn’t speak to whether she was, but he was sure she’d at least grown up and changed somewhat in a decade and a half.
Pansy returned with two glasses of wine and a knowing look in her eye. Draco quickly grabbed a glass from her and took a hefty sip before finding his way to an armchair. Pansy smirked and settled in her own chair, looking way too smug and victorious for his liking.
“What?!” He finally snapped.
“It’s all over your fucking face, dumbass.”
Draco opened his mouth to respond before thinking better of it and drinking deeply from his glass instead. Pansy grinned widely and blessedly changed the subject.
*
The second time Draco Malfoy ran into Hermione Granger, he was a little bit more prepared. It was still a shock to the system to see her, but he’d been quite on edge and somewhat expecting it ever since he saw her at Pansy’s. If she can suddenly be in his best friend’s sitting room, then who’s to say she won’t show up randomly again? He was tense every time he traversed an unfamiliar hallway in the Ministry for interdepartmental meetings, and even found himself nervous once or twice while sitting in his own office. As if Granger would ever need to visit the Department of Magical Games and Sports.
It was a Monday morning when it happened. He’d arrived in the office to chaos, quickly finding out that four members of the Holyhead Harpies brawled with six members of the Falmouth Falcons after the Saturday game. Three bystanders were injured as a result, as well as eight of the fighting Quidditch players, and Aurors had to come and break up the fight before things got even worse. They didn’t even have the dignity to duel like respectable witches and wizards. And it was his mess to clean up. Draco set up a meeting with Robards from the Auror Office for later in the day, sent ten stern letters by owl to each of the involved parties, checked in on the bystanders who had all been sent home from St. Mungo’s, and filled out an obnoxious amount of paperwork. It wasn’t the best way to start the week, but he’d honestly had worse Monday mornings. By the time he needed to head up to level 2 for his meeting with Robards, he’d forgotten all about Granger. So of course that would be when he’d see her again.
The first thing he noticed when he saw her for the second time wasn’t her navy robes, or the pile of parchment in her hands, or even her impressively tamed curls. It was how restless and uncomfortable she looked. In stark contrast to how she was at Pansy’s only a few weeks prior, Granger looked visibly tense. She was standing on the right side of the elevator against the wall looking small and fragile, as if she wanted to blend in and go unnoticed. But as soon as the elevator doors opened, Draco saw her and only her.
She didn’t see him, though. She was reading the top page of parchment in her hands, seemingly engrossed. He stepped into the elevator and filled a gap just to her left, glancing over to see what was capturing her attention. The page was filled with frantic scribbles that he couldn’t read surreptitiously - all he could make out was a clear heading at the top of the page that read Funding Meeting.
Draco looked away quickly so as not to be caught snooping. He remembered Pansy’s comment about her supposed groundbreaking research that needed funding, but he was ashamed to realise that he hadn’t given it much more thought. It seemed even Pansy’s blunt interference wasn’t enough to get him to realise the obvious. Granger needed funding for her research. Draco had money. Pansy liked to solve problems (mostly so that she could take credit for it later and be smug about it for the rest of her life).
But was it really as simple as offering Granger money? Would she accept it? Why was he even thinking about offering in the first place? He didn’t even know what her research was about! Oh yeah, and he still hadn’t said a word to her. At that realisation, Draco decided to tackle both issues at once. All he had to do was ask about her research. Say something intelligent, or witty, or charming. Say anything, really. He couldn’t just continue to gape at her like a fish - that didn’t really work out at Pansy’s, and he wouldn’t get anywhere with that as a strategy. He tried to think of something that showed polite interest, but not too much interest. Something that showed just how much he’d changed over the years, but without seeming over-eager. But what if she got out at the next floor? He didn’t know where she was going and she seemed quite anxious for her funding meeting. He had to say something, and quickly, or he’d miss his opportunity - again. His sense of urgency overtook his careful calculations and his brain blurted out its first thought at her, entirely too excitedly.
“You won an award!” Draco said. He heard it echo off the walls, dashing his hopes that he perhaps said it only in his head. Had that really been the first words he’d spoken to Hermione Granger in fifteen years? That was really the best he could do after years of growth and self-reflection? The few other people in the elevator with them thankfully ignored him. He internally cringed at himself, but luckily didn’t have a chance to wallow in insecurity for long as Granger’s wide eyes met his.
“Yes,” she replied after a moment of silence. She seemed a bit out of sorts, like she’d just been underwater and broken the surface unexpectedly.
“Congratulations,” Draco said, making a very conscious effort to sound normal this time. Granger smiled politely at him in response. It was only a small smile, not the genuine wide warmth he used to watch her give to others from a distance at Hogwarts. He wanted to see that again.
“What’s your research about?”
She tilted her head at him, a curious expression blooming on her face. He did want to know about her research, but he also just wanted her to keep talking. To hear her voice.
“I research post traumatic stress disorder, as it’s called in the Muggle world, and I am developing a potion to treat it in wizards.”
Draco furrowed his brow, not quite sure what that meant. Did she say there was a muggle disease in the wizarding world? Something about traumatic stress? He’d have to look in the Manor library after work to learn some more. She seemed to be able to read his confusion and continued unprompted.
“It’s what often happens to the brain after trauma. And after the war…” she trailed off.
Draco understood. For years after the war he suffered from daily nightmares, ranging from his worst memories to alternate versions of reality where he was forced to murder his mother. The war was bad enough, but the torture of the years after… He would wake up in a panic, unsure of what was real. He would stay awake for days at a time, delirious and haggard, just to avoid having to sleep. Except it crept into his days too, so that he never found a moment of peace. Waking visions of the past real and unreal, twisted and indistinguishable.
It wasn’t until he threw himself into the world of Quidditch as a distraction that he was finally able to live a semblance of a life again. It was a very slow process to where he is now, and it didn’t even occur to Draco that he could’ve had some kind of disease or affliction. He just assumed it was the natural result of being a reformed Death Eater who had been given a second chance at life after the war.
He’d never sought out a mind healer because who was he to complain of trauma when he’d been the cause of it for so many others? When he’d been on the wrong side and contributed to the suffering of thousands of people? He didn’t feel it was his right. People like Granger should get that chance, not him.
Eventually, the nightmares and conscious visions lessened in frequency. He still had them semi-regularly, but it was nowhere near as bad as it once was. He didn’t want to think about how much easier and faster that process might have been if he had some kind of treatment to help him. He’d tried Dreamless Sleep for a few months but found he was on a dangerous path of addiction and reliance, and luckily his mother pulled him out of it before it was too late. And perhaps denying himself the numbness of addiction was a kind of punishment within itself. If Granger was developing something that could help and still be healthy in the long-term, then it truly would be groundbreaking. It would change the wizarding world for the better. No wonder she’d won an award.
Draco decided that he had to know more about her research, and help her in any way that he could. But yet again, he came back to the same question - would she accept help from him? She came to the Ministry for funding, and would probably get it. Maybe she didn’t need him, after all.
The elevator dinged and came to a stop - had it been stopping and starting up again this whole time? - and Granger made for the door. She paused as if waiting for him to exit with her, and he realised they were the last two in the elevator. They were on level 1, and Granger assumed that’s where he was going too. He’d missed his floor. He had been so focused on Granger and then his spiralling thoughts that he didn’t even register the rest of his surroundings. Or that he had a meeting to get to with the head of the Auror Office. A blush rose to his cheeks.
“See you ‘round, Granger,” Draco said, taking a step back and leaning against the back of the elevator. He wasn’t sure how to explain himself so he opted to say nothing and try to look cool instead. Worked like a charm every time.
Granger gave him an odd look with a hint of a smile, but then seemed to remember her meeting and the anxious look returned to her face. She muttered Malfoy with a nod in his direction and walked off down the hall with purpose.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, Draco slumped down into himself. How on earth was Hermione Granger affecting him so much when he’d only had two tiny interactions with her after nothing for fifteen years? He couldn’t lie to himself - while the prospect of her research very much interested him, he’d felt a pull towards her before he found out about any of that. There was something inherently intriguing about her, something that drew him in.
*
The third time Draco Malfoy ran into Hermione Granger, he couldn’t really say it was an accident. He had set up a meeting with her, after all. One could hardly pass that off as an accident.
“Come on in, Malfoy.” Granger’s office door opened wide, the witch holding the door open for him. He made his way to one of the chairs in front of her desk, and she returned to hers on the other side. He quickly took stock of the office, unsurprised that the majority of the space was built to house books.
“How can I help you?” She asked, watching him with poorly contained unease. Draco cleared his throat and met her stare with confidence.
“I’d like to support your research,” he said. “Financially.”
She blinked at him, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Why would you do that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He said as he cocked his head at her. She furrowed her brow, eyes trained aimlessly somewhere behind him. She was lost in thought for a minute and Draco didn’t let the silence choke him.
“Because…” she trailed off, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. “Because you never have before.”
“I didn’t know about your research until recently,” he countered.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And how did you find out about it, exactly?”
“Uh, you told me…? In the elevator?”
“Oh, I- yes, that’s right,” she blushed, looking down at her hands in her lap. Draco couldn’t help but think about how pretty she looked while flustered. He was sure that not many people saw this side of her, especially in her workplace.
“I know you were recently approved for funding from the Ministry, but I can’t imagine it would be enough to sustain you for long or cover the full scope of your research.”
Her eyes narrowed yet again and zeroed in on him. “And how would you know that I was approved? I only just found out a few days ago-”
“It’s a matter of public record, Granger. Anyone can request information on where the Ministry’s funding goes.”
“And why did you need to know about whether I was approved? You went out of your way to request the information?”
Draco took a deep breath and tried his best not to sound exasperated. “Am I not offering you money for your research? Is it not relevant to know whether you’ve secured funding elsewhere to assess my own contribution?”
She frowned at his words. “I suppose that’s true,” she relented. She still seemed hesitant and unsure, and Draco hoped that she was running out of reasons to question his motives.
“Look, Granger, I understand why you’re suspicious of me. But this isn’t some trick or scheme, and I don’t have some secret evil plan. I just want to help.” He tried to infuse the words with an assurance that he was genuine, without being too vulnerable.
It seemed to work, and Granger relaxed slightly in her chair. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“An ongoing contribution to supplement your funding, with room to grow if the Ministry well runs dry,” he said. “And in return, I will be kept apprised of the details of your research, and informed of any discoveries you may make.”
She stared at him blankly for a long moment, processing his words. He matched her stare with cool confidence (that he definitely hadn’t practised in the mirror at his flat before the meeting).
“What do you personally get out of this, Malfoy?” She asked softly. She no longer seemed suspicious, just curious. Draco sighed, understanding that she needed him to show some of his cards before she would accept his offer, no matter how generous. He took a deep breath, weighing his words carefully.
“I… I know what it’s like. How hard it all is. Even still, after so long… it doesn’t just go away. If you can find a way to make it easier, to help people, then I want to help you do that,” he said. His hands were shaking slightly under the table and he could feel the heat of redness on his cheeks. He avoided Granger’s eyes by looking at a bookshelf to her right. “I want to help. Of all people, I should be the one to help.”
The truth was that ever since that day in the elevator a month ago, Draco hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Granger and her research. That first night, he’d scoured the Manor library for information on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, finding only surface level references to behavioural changes in witches and wizards after the First Wizarding War. He was sure that there had to be something more in depth, perhaps using different terminology, but his hours of research resulted in very little of consequence. He then perused the best academic libraries in both England and France (it’s easy to be extended all-access when your family has funded them for generations) and yet he didn’t find more than conjecture and unsupported theories. The most useful texts were written by mind healers for those studying to enter the profession, but even they didn’t offer the concrete answers that Draco was after.
Finally, Draco decided to venture out of his comfort zone and look towards a wealth of knowledge he’d have previously disregarded as nonsense in his younger years. Granger had mentioned in the elevator that Post Traumatic Stress was a known disorder in the Muggle world, so Draco figured that it was a necessary part of his research to understand their perspective. Muggles have wars and can be traumatised too, so surely it couldn’t be that different? He wandered into Muggle London and found a bookshop where he bought all nineteen non-fiction books that referenced PTSD, quite startling the cashier who helped him (was it really so unusual to purchase everything needed to research a specific topic in the muggle world?). He then spent the next few weeks exclusively reading them and writing notes, comparing the theories to what he found in the wizarding texts. He found it a rewarding exercise, understanding why Granger had spent the last several years exploring the topic.
He soon realised that he was left with even more questions than answers. Does trauma present differently in wizards compared with muggles? Does one’s magic interfere with the processing of mental damage? Do curses and other magically imbued injuries compound the mental state of distress more than non-magical physical injuries? What of memory charms such as Obliviate, the Imperius curse, Confundus? Draco’s mind couldn’t contain the questions that would double each time he thought of something new. But instead of being daunted, he was excited by the scope of the problem.
And if anyone could get some concrete answers, it would be Hermione Granger. She didn’t give up, and she didn’t shy away from a challenge. Perhaps, Draco considered, she was always the missing piece of the puzzle that wizarding academia needed - someone with immense knowledge and skills who could also draw from Muggle scholarship. He had always assumed that the wizarding world was inherently more advanced compared to the Muggle world. But in this area at least, that was clearly not the case.
Granger cleared her throat and sat up straighter in her chair. “You understand that this research is slow-moving, expensive, and there’s no guarantee of anything?”
Draco was relieved that she returned the conversation to the impersonal logistics of his offer. “You don’t have a limit. I don’t care how much you need, you can have it.”
She baulked, mouth open but unable to speak more.
“I have more money than I know what to do with. If I’d known about your research sooner, know that I would have already offered this to you.”
She merely blinked at him. If he’d known he could shut Granger up as a teenager, he would have offered her money back then. But now, he found himself unsettled by her silence. He liked the sound of her voice. He liked that she didn’t hide her intelligence, but wasn’t condescending either. At Hogwarts, he thought she was. It greatly contributed to his open dislike of her, but he’d misread her - she wasn’t patronising, she was just passionate. She cared, and she wanted to share that enthusiasm with those around her. What he assumed was pushiness and bossiness was really a desperate attempt to get those around her to care as much as she did. To listen, to learn, to stand by her. Draco wondered if she ever found anyone who matched her in these traits. He hoped that she had, but expected that might be an impossible feat. It was hard to imagine anyone as selfless and determined as Hermione Granger.
“I…” she took a moment to collect her thoughts, looking down at her desk to avoid meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”
Draco nodded and reached into his pocket to retrieve the folded parchment he’d magically signed at Gringotts that morning. “I’ve given you access to my vault should you need any funds, no need to come to me first.” He handed her the parchment and she took it, staring at the Gringotts seal with wide eyes.
“You really meant no limit?” She squeaked at him. He struggled to suppress a smile at her incredulity.
“I mean it all. I’m in on this, alright?” Her eyes flitted up to him and stared right into his soul.
“You really trust me?” She said softly. She gestured at the Gringotts parchment, but Draco felt that she was referring to more than just the vault access. And the truth was, he did trust her. It wasn’t logical, or thought through - although he was sure that he could find ample evidence to support his instinct - it was a feeling. A deep understanding that she was good, that she was honourable. She wouldn’t take advantage of his endless galleons, but more importantly, she wouldn’t waste the opportunity that he was giving her. It wasn’t about the money as much as it was about the freedom that it would bring to her. Instead of spending her precious time pandering to the Ministry or other private benefactors for grants, she can focus on the research. She can make decisions without having to consider the financial particulars. She can rest assured that her life’s work won’t be forced to shut down prematurely due to lack of funding.
Draco never had to worry about money or his future, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t understand the power of it. His father drilled into him as a child exactly what their fortune was capable of. At the time, it felt like a grave responsibility to become the next Malfoy heir with unlimited resources and power - but as an adult it seemed to Draco a cruel joke. Who was he to have that kind of wealth and influence? Someone righteous but genuine like Granger should have it all instead. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He’d been too preoccupied with himself all these years to look at the big picture. Meanwhile, Granger had only ever been thinking of the big picture and how she could personally make a difference. He regularly donated to charities, of course, but this felt different. She was different.
“I trust you.” He didn’t need to say more than that. “Right, I’d better leave you to it,” he said as he stood from the chair. She stood as well and reached out her hand for him to shake. He took it, savouring the soft warmth from her hand, berating himself for holding on a touch too long. She didn’t seem to notice.
“We’ll - I’ll - be in touch,” she said, her cheeks reddening slightly into what Draco thought was the prettiest colour. He nodded, afraid to open his mouth lest he accidentally compliment her or ask to see her again in a non-professional capacity. He started towards the door, ambling slowly as he tried to think of one more thing to say or ask her just to hear her voice one more time. Luckily enough, he didn’t need to.
“Wait, Malfoy,” he heard her say behind him. He turned, eyes catching on the furrow in her brow. How did she look pretty even with such an expression on her face? He pushed the thought aside and met her deep, serious eyes. “What did you mean when you said you should be the one to help, of all people?”
Draco broke their eye contact and let his eyes roam over her bookshelves. If it were fifteen years prior, or even ten, Draco might have snapped in response to the question. He might have scoffed that it were obvious, or rolled his eyes, or made an unkind remark about how she’s meant to be the Brightest Witch of Her Age. He might have smirked and made a comment on his family’s obscene wealth, or perhaps he would have sent her a vague expression and left without a word. But instead, Draco took a moment and thought about how to respond. He decided that if there was anyone who deserved his absolute honesty, it was Hermione Granger.
“I… I contributed.” He took a deep breath, staring at his dragonhide boots. He couldn’t look her in the eyes while he exposed his truth to her. “To all this pain. To what you’re researching… I’m partially to blame. And people are still suffering from my actions. I’ve tried to make it right ever since, but… I don’t know if I ever will. Maybe now I’ll get a little closer.”
There was a moment of silence after his words, and Draco held his breath in anticipation of what she could say in response. As usual, she surprised him.
“You were a child, Draco.” He heard the intake of breath before he registered the feeling in his own chest. “Your trauma is just as valid as mine or anyone’s.”
His throat tightened, and a weight started to press against his lungs out of nowhere. His muscles tensed and his limbs felt locked in place, yet heavy as lead. His head swam with too many thoughts at once, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He hadn’t felt these things in a while - but he knew what it was.
The panic attacks started when he was a teenager, and were a regular occurrence throughout those dark years. Occlumency was useful at times, but it was draining and often took more energy and focus than he had to give. He would often find himself opening up his mental barriers only to spiral directly into a panic attack. After the war, Draco attempted to hone his skills to use Occlumency as often as possible so that he could cope with the aftermath of his disastrous teen years. It worked for a little while, allowing him to feel like he always thought a Malfoy should. Controlled, functional, composed. This disconnect from the constant noise and guilt was a much-needed peace. However, the emotional dysregulation of such frequent Occlumency only caused a build-up under the surface - and all things come to a head eventually. He learned the hard way that feelings needed to be felt and processed or they would find a way to spill out at the worst moment.
Even with all the competing thoughts in his head, Draco could clearly understand that the loudest and most urgent was that he needed to leave. Granger couldn’t see him like this. Her office was too big, too visually loud, and most importantly, she was there. He didn’t like anyone to see him in such a state, especially not Granger, who’d already seen him be vulnerable enough.
He stumbled the short distance left to the door, opened it with shaking hands and quickly made his way down the hallway. He headed to the elevators to get to the nearest Apparation Point - until he remembered that he was in no state and could splinch himself. So instead, he quickly found a narrow storage closet where he could calm himself down first. The space was barely big enough for him but it smelled soothing like clean linen. It felt comforting rather than constricting, which helped Draco focus on evening his breathing.
He tried to think of the usual things that calmed him down - but the only thing that came to mind was Granger’s face. Her wonderment at his generosity. Her soft hand in his. Her passion and care and relentlessness in pursuit of her research.
And it worked - Draco felt calmer. His heart slowly returned to its usual pace and his mind cleared like a fog lifting. But he was absolutely exhausted. Had he really just stormed out of Granger’s office like a maniac? He hoped that she hadn’t noticed what had happened - but Draco thought that unlikely given Granger’s propensity towards being the smartest and most observant person in any given room. Now that he thought about it, he vaguely recalled hearing the sound of his name following him down the corridor. He’d been so scattered that it had gotten lost among his thoughts and only resurfaced after the fact.
Had Granger come after him? Did she worry about his safety apparating, or is it possible that she was concerned for him? That she intended to check on him or even comfort him? The idea sent a burning sensation through Draco’s chest. He tried to shake the thought away to revisit later and began to make his way home.
*
Over the next three months, Draco received weekly updates via owl from Granger. Each correspondence was lengthy but strictly professional, which was a relief to Draco after their last meeting. He always replied with more questions and prompts but also gratitude for her letters. He felt rather embarrassed that he’d opened up so much, even if he didn’t regret doing so. He was certain that his vulnerability was the only reason Granger had agreed to his money - but it didn’t make him feel any less uncomfortable that he’d shared his shameful truth with her.
On many nights since, his mind circled over and over what he’d said and how it may have come across to her. Had she believed him? Had she pitied him? Worst of all, had she said what she thought he wanted to hear to secure research funding? Draco wouldn’t ever consider such a thing in the sanity of day (she was far too righteous and principled) but anything felt possible in the depth of a gloomy night. He was no stranger to the cruel manoeuvres of his brain that kept him from sleep more often than not.
He supposed that it was better this way, to agonise over Granger instead of replaying the war or even his misery since. But for a reason he couldn’t explain, he felt a deep sense of foreboding at the thought that Granger could never forgive him. He knew intellectually that she didn’t owe him forgiveness (and he’d never ask it of her) but emotionally, it carried a weight that Draco didn’t expect.
Thoughts of her even began to seep into his days, hitting him like a bludger at the office or at lunch with his mother. He was certain that Pansy had started to become suspicious of him after the second time she’d caught him with his head in the clouds (or more frankly, in Granger - no, not in Granger, well maybe- Merlin help his perverse mind). He’d wonder what she was working on, what her weekends looked like, and if she ever thought of him. Most of the time he’d conclude that of course she wouldn’t ever think of him, but occasionally he would let himself believe that maybe she could be. Perhaps she would be weighing up a comment from one of his letters, or maybe he would cross her mind when she completed paperwork or requested money from Gringotts. Or possibly, if she ever visited the Ministry, she’d recall their conversation in the elevator just like he did every time he got in one.
Draco looked for reasons to contact Granger more frequently, but didn’t want to overwhelm or annoy her. He wasn’t sure if his responses to her updates helped at all, but he couldn’t help making suggestions or observations about her work. She didn’t seem to mind - whether she appreciated the challenge and contribution or whether she was merely appeasing him for his galleons, he frankly didn’t care either way. He just wanted to talk to her. And that fact, well, freaked him out. Why on earth did hearing from her become the highlight of his week?
Sure, he was personally invested in her research and intellectually stimulated by her updates, but it was more than that. It was the thrill of engaging with someone smarter than he was, who he could learn from and engage with on a meaningful level. It was the fact that she cared, and she never gave up. Just in the last three months since he’d become involved with her research, Granger had come to countless dead ends - but she didn’t let it break her stride. In one of his letters, Draco asked how she immediately moved on to the next attempt after weeks of work proved fruitless. She responded that every wrong answer pushed her closer to the right one and taught her something valuable - and that had been replaying in Draco’s mind ever since.
He considered that mindset applied to his own life, and wondered - did each poor choice he made help him get closer to who he would eventually become? His actions were no doubt abominable mistakes, but he’d never considered that they could have contributed to the positive outcome of him learning and growing. It seemed obvious once he began to contemplate it, but he always separated his past self from his current self. He’d thought that his past had done nothing but harm him, but Granger’s one comment changed his whole outlook on the purpose of his mistakes.
*
Five months into their arrangement, their communication went up to twice and then three times a week. Their correspondence, once stiff and concise, evolved into lengthy letters that often veered into unrelated intellectual debates. They recommended books for the other to read, and incorporated their thoughts into the next letter sent. Draco didn’t even care what she asked of him - as long as she continued to write and engage with him. It made him feel alive and challenged in a way he couldn’t remember feeling since he was a child learning magic for the first time. He felt increasingly impatient for each letter to arrive and often found himself daydreaming ideas of what to send her next during boring meetings.
The only problem with the letters arose one Sunday morning when Draco returned from breakfast at the Manor to find Pansy lounging on the couch in his office, parchment piled haphazardly across her lap. He should’ve known to burn the letters lest they be used against him as proof of… something. He didn’t know what exactly that something was, but he did know that he didn’t trust the wide grin that met him from his best friend on his arrival. She didn’t even say anything to him, which somehow felt worse than if she’d pestered him. She knew she didn’t need to. As usual, she saw straight through him. And he knew it. Her grin only widened as he groaned, accepted his fate and poured himself a whiskey. At least Pansy didn’t point out that it was 10am.
He tried to avoid the topic of his regular correspondence with Granger but it was far too late for him - Pansy brought it up every single time they saw one another. To anyone who didn’t know her as well as he did, her little comments may have seemed innocuous. She’d say “I read this great novel, you should read it and you know what, Granger would like it too, perhaps you can pass along the recommendation for me” or, “I made a new gown that would look just gorgeous on Granger, do you know if she has any more events coming up?” or, “Blaise just opened a new restaurant, when shall I make a reservation for? You should invite Granger along too, I’m sure she’d appreciate a break from her busy work schedule”. At the last remark, Draco had been admittedly a tad sharp with his response. He’d held his tongue until then, but couldn’t hold back his retort at her obvious attempt at manipulating the situation.
As it was, Draco felt like he was one wrong move away from destroying whatever newfound camaraderie he had with Granger. Their communication made him excited to meet each day and gave him something to look forward to - he didn’t want to risk ruining it by being too eager. Yes, they were friendly in their letters and yes, conversation occasionally veered off of purely professional topics, but that didn’t mean anything in particular. For all he knew, she could have the same kind of correspondence with other colleagues. He couldn’t assume that their friendliness equated to an interest in even being friends, let alone anything more. Not that Draco was thinking about it being more, of course not. He just enjoyed talking to her, and picking her brain, and learning from her. She just came to his mind so often because he’d become much more involved in the research, that’s all.
A part of him was aware that Pansy was only excited that Draco was developing a connection with someone new, especially someone as unexpected as Hermione Granger. But he still felt that she was overstepping and baiting him in a way that made him uncomfortable. Luckily, he didn’t need to express this explicitly to his friend. He apologised for snapping at her but then asked her to “stop doing whatever you are doing” and she understood and promised to back off.
*
At six months in, Draco started to lose hope that they’d ever find a treatment. Of course he knew of everything that existed in the muggle world from his research - but he wasn’t confident that muggle approaches could adequately address trauma so fundamentally entwined with magic and the magical world. Granger had already proven that muggle medications could interact poorly with magical signatures, so that wasn’t an option. Sure, he could see a mind healer instead of a muggle therapist, but he still didn’t feel he was deserving of one even after all this time. Not to mention that any mind healer would already know him and his part in the war. Mind healing might work for some witches and wizards, but it was not enough to address the profound suffering lingering even this far post war. There had to be a potion, or a spell, or something. Any other option that didn’t lead to potion addiction or numbing the mind to disastrous end.
Granger, naturally, was unfazed by his doubts. She’d been a researcher for most of her career and had developed what seemed to Draco an inhuman amount of patience and optimism. At each failure, she just jumped to the next idea with a smile. He kept to his promise of unlimited funds and Draco was pleased to see that she put his gold to good use, leaving no stone unturned. They regularly brainstormed new approaches and worked together on multiple theories at a time. Her unwavering confidence bolstered his spirits and he felt that together, they were unstoppable. No matter how long it took, they would find something. Draco would take anything at this point.
Only one instance seemed to shake Granger’s resolve - they were particularly close to creating a panic attack specific calming draught (at this point Draco started to think of them as a team) when the trial batch spontaneously burst into flames and nearly burned down half of Granger’s lab. Draco wanted to tear his hair out when he received an unexpected patronus where she explained the situation and said she’d be taking a few days off. She sounded stressed and shaken yet somehow composed enough to get through the patronus with little more than a trembling breath at the very end. His frustration had bubbled to the surface as she explained the failure, but it was quickly replaced by worry. Was she okay? Should he do anything or leave her be? He responded by owl as he had never managed to cast more than a few wisps let alone a corporeal patronus. He thanked her for the message and asked if he could help in any way, leaving it vague with uncertainty. He didn’t want to overstep their still developing accord.
He wondered why she sent a patronus rather than her usual owl - it carried a sense of urgency and weight that was new between them - but he was happy that she did. It felt like she let him see a part of her that not many were privy to. Something intimate that represented the core of who she was. He didn’t know that she could cast a patronus but was not in the least surprised; he’d started to believe that there was nothing above Granger’s capability. The otter patronus was bright and unwavering, just like the witch herself.
A few weeks after the fire, Draco was yet again faced with the glowing otter swimming in the air around his office. It was late in the day on a Thursday and he’d been finishing up paperwork when his heart stopped at the sight. Did something happen again? Was she hurt? He felt an increasing pressure on his chest as his mind jumped to conclusions before the message even began.
Draco, I think I figured it out. Can you come to the lab?
Her voice echoed around his office and his heart nearly stopped beating in his chest. She did it - he didn’t know quite what it was yet, but it didn’t matter. The message rang true from her steady confidence and the underlying pride and disbelief in her voice. And the way she’d said his name… it sounded so intimate, so natural. He wished he could store the message like a photograph, to take out and listen to over and over. Not just to hear her say his name again but also to revel in the joy of the message itself whenever he felt down. But he knew he couldn’t focus on any of that now. He stored it away in the back of his mind to ruminate on later (probably as he tried to sleep). He leapt up, grabbed his wand from the desk before him, and stepped through the floo to the lab. His paperwork could wait.
Draco wasn’t sure what to expect when he stepped through. Would there be lab assistants frantically testing and re-testing her results? Would a crowd have formed in her office, with butterbeers passed around the room in celebration? He tried to steel himself for anything, even the possibility of being turned away due to it being a mistake that he was invited and included in such an important breakthrough.
A hundred scenarios flitted through his mind while he travelled through the floo network, yet what he found was still unexpected. It hadn’t even occurred to him that everything would be as it normally was. Lab assistants milled about, clearly tired from a long week of drudgery; researchers poured over stacks of parchment at desks he could see through open doorways; memos flitted about just as they did at the Ministry.
Brows furrowed, he swiftly headed towards the only office with a closed door. He knocked and entered hesitantly, unsure at what he’d find on the other side. The room was fairly dark and visibly messier than the last time he was there. Granger sat at her desk, still as the Great Lake, staring downward at a piece of parchment before her. He let a few moments pass as his eyes adjusted to the dim light but she still didn’t look up.
“Hermione,” he said softly, feeling out the unfamiliar syllables on his tongue. He couldn’t hold back the reverence in his voice. It was the first time he’d used her first name, but it felt comfortable and easy as if he always said it. He hoped it felt that way for her to hear it.
Her head shot up, eyes wide as they met his, and Draco was blindsided with a surge of emotion at the connection. His heart pounded in his chest as they stared at one another, just taking in the moment.
Somehow it was only the fourth time they came together in person (not counting their younger years, of course), but that felt like an impossible reality. Months of communication and collaboration lent them an accord as natural as Draco’s lifelong friendship with Pansy.
There was no longer a wariness between them, or the sense that they had to choose their words carefully lest something be misconstrued. They may not have seen each other in person in months but Draco felt that they’d become close. Of course, there was always a lingering fear that this was one sided, but the sheer volume of their written correspondence would suggest otherwise.
Draco often reread her letters and found that it helped him most when he woke up from a nightmare or couldn’t sleep from overactive thoughts (he didn’t regret not burning them, after all). Even through her text alone, she calmed him. And he felt this same sense of calm and comfort the moment he stepped through her office door. She acted as a dampener to his racing thoughts, but had the opposite effect on his racing heartbeat. And what was once an awkward silence between them was now thick with the miles of parchment shared over the previous seven months. They were not the same to the other, but both struggled to find a place to start without the comfortable barrier of distance. Draco had so much that he wanted to say that he became paralysed into saying nothing.
“Draco, I think we did it,” she finally spoke. She no longer exuded the confident sturdiness from her patronus message, as if she was afraid that she was mistaken in her prior surety.
“You did it,” he immediately replied, not wanting her to minimise her own accomplishment for his sake. He may have helped, but Granger was ultimately responsible for any successes in the lab.
“I- we still need to run trials, do further testing, I’m not sure about the-”
“Don’t worry about all that yet,” Draco interrupted. “We’ll figure it out later. For now, you’re allowed to just be happy and excited that something finally worked.”
Her eyes welled with tears as she let his words truly sink in. “Thank you, Draco,” she said softly.
She dropped her head into her hands and a muffled sound broke from her throat. At first Draco worried that she’d begun to cry - until her head lifted up and uncovered a joyous grin and she began to laugh. He joined in, unable to hold back his smile at the sight of hers.
After a minute or two of unencumbered giggling from them both, a more comfortable silence settled between them. When Draco finally spoke, it was barely louder than a whisper.
“I have so many questions, and of course I’d like to know everything about your findings, but first - why is no one else celebrating? Everyone seems to be carrying on as normal,” he said as he gestured towards the door.
“Oh,” she blushed and looked down into her lap. “I actually… haven’t told anyone yet. I… wanted you to be the first to know.”
Draco could've sworn his heart stopped beating in his chest for a moment. That she would want to share this moment with him, first and foremost - it was so touching and meaningful that he felt emotions swell up to the surface and threaten to spill over. She could have told any number of people - it would have been easy, natural, completely understandable. But she chose to wait for him. She sent a patronus and held onto this discovery just to share it with Draco.
It felt like a type of intimacy he’d never experienced before. It was intoxicating; a high he’d never felt. Granger’s presence alone was almost suffocating, but the knowledge that she told him first made him feel like he would explode out of his skin. How was he meant to respond to that? He was sure that if he opened his mouth at that moment, only a choked breathless sound would emerge.
She let him process her words, patiently watching him with a slight cock to her head and warmth in her eyes. All Draco could do was stare at her with what was surely a disbelieving yet hopeful expression. Eventually he got himself together and swallowed down his nerves.
“That… that means a lot to me,” Draco muttered. Her responding smile was shy but genuine.
“I wanted to share this with you,” she said softly. The air was thick with tension as they held eye contact. “You deserve to celebrate as much as I do.”
Even more than her sentiment, Draco found himself caught up on her use of the word deserve. He struggled with the word being connected with him when used positively. It caused him to freeze, mind spinning in place. He’d become almost numb to being told he deserved The Kiss or to go to Azkaban from the thousands of howlers and letters he received for years, not to mention his internal self-loathing magnifying the message. But he hadn’t been told that he deserved something good since he was a child. A spoiled, entitled child who was promised the world. Who was taught that he was owed his privilege by right of his birth, and that he was naturally superior to all others.
He deconstructed this entitlement as an adult, but instead ended up with the extreme opposite attitude from his childhood. Since the war ended, being told that he was warranted anything good led to immediate guilt and shame. He felt as if he had a debt to repay society - not just financially, but also in how he lived his life. He told himself that he would never seek the lifestyle that he was once promised by his father, and he would never use his wealth to gain power or influence. It was why he was still a fairly low-level (at least, for a Malfoy) Ministry employee. He had no interest in paying his way to a higher position, or lobbying himself for a raise. He certainly didn’t need it. His money went to charitable causes, mostly given anonymously, with the occasional investment to help a friend (thankfully his friends proved themselves to be conscientious business owners).
But no matter how much money he gave, or how much time he spent lamenting his past, his guilt and shame never dissipated. He felt as if he deserved very little - that was his penance. That didn’t mean he had to be endlessly miserable (he’d done his time in that regard, for many years) but he didn’t expect greatness from the world anymore. Instead of happiness, he settled for contentment. A good enough job, loyal and dependable friends, a safe home. No love life to speak of, but that was alright with Draco. Most of the pureblood women who once sought him out long since gave up on him and found other men to marry. His only intimate relationship was Astoria, who’d been widowed by 27 and swallowed by grief. They understood each other, and sought comfort in each others’ presence. But their connection was never particularly romantic, merely platonic and occasionally sexual.
His life was perfectly fine. Or, it had been perfectly fine. Until her. She was so bright, so vibrant, that he hadn’t even noticed that she coloured everything else in his life into a warmer hue. His work days weren’t so tedious when he had a letter to read, or a research topic to delve into at lunch. His mother even mentioned that he was looking quite salubrious. Could it have been her shine reflecting on him? Or just that his renewed purpose in supporting her research gave him a boost of energy he’d been lacking?
He tried to tell himself that must be it, but knew he was only lying to himself. Yes, he was intellectually stimulated by the research, but that wasn’t what caused his boyish anticipation for her letters. It was how she wrote, how she addressed him as her equal in their shared efforts, how she occasionally included small tid-bits about her life that told him something new about her. Like how she once spent 8 months living in a dragon sanctuary in Romania with one of the elder Weasels when she was in her early 20s. Draco himself was barely functional day-to-day at that point, so he hadn’t noticed when she disappeared from the country and newspapers. He did, however, access archived Prophets to discover that she disappeared shortly after a very public break-up with the Ginger Git. He’d come very far from childhood - but some things definitely hadn’t changed. That Weasel was still a twat. His sister was alright, though, and Draco’s relationship with her as the Harpies’ captain was on the friendlier side of his usual cool professionalism.
Granger had somehow entwined herself into his life in a deep-rooted way. At times he even found himself nervous that they would stumble upon a panacea, lest it stop their reason for communication. Which then left Draco conflicted - wasn’t the whole point of this that they work together to find a cure or at least treatment? And he wanted that, of course he did, but he also wanted - he… he wanted her. The thought sent his mind spiralling even further. But it ultimately didn’t matter, because she would be at the top of the list of things that he didn’t deserve.
It suddenly occurred to Draco that he never responded to Hermione’s comment. How long had he been standing in front of her? When did she stand up from her desk and step near him? He stumbled to respond to her comment but didn’t feel entirely in control of himself as his thoughts continued to race.
“I… deserve…?” Draco felt like he was underwater. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, balling his hands into fists in an attempt to regain control over his body. Then - warmth. His right hand, enveloped in a gentle embrace. A comforting movement across his knuckles, back and forth. His breathing slowed as he focused on it, and he was gradually able to return to himself.
He opened his eyes to her concerned gaze. She was standing so close to him that he could map the freckles across her cheeks, and smell a fresh citrusy scent emanating from her hair.
“Draco?” His name was imbued with the question of whether he was ok, but he didn’t quite know the answer himself.
“Hermione,” he said, as if that answered anything at all. She was still holding his hand. He stood as still as he could, trying to preserve the moment for as long as possible. It felt so right to hold her delicate hand in his. So much so that it almost sent him into another spiral. But, like all things, the moment ended. Her hand slipped from his and she fidgeted with a little silver ring on her right hand instead.
“Are you alright?” She still looked concerned. He nodded, feeling as if his throat wouldn’t let him speak much more. She seemed to understand and let him off the hook, much to Draco’s relief. “Can I show you the results?”
He couldn’t help the genuine smile that took over his face at the reminder of her achievement. This woman, this brilliant woman. She led him back over to her desk and sat, encouraging him to lean over her shoulder to read from the parchment before her. He scanned the page and tried not to let her intoxicating scent distract him too much.
“So after the murtlap tentacle failed to incorporate into the potion as intended, I decided to try essence of daisyroot to help bind it with the other ingredients. And then when that part was done, the diagnostic was still showing irregularities, as you can see here,” she pointed at a graph on the page. “So I added moondew and snakeweed in various quantities until it was testing as viable.”
Draco leaned in closer to read her scribbled notes next to the magically recorded data from each experiment. She spread different pieces of parchment across the desk and pointed out the differences based on each adjustment she made. Her voice was clear and focused and Draco was lost in the details of her experimentation splayed out before them. She’d done everything as he would - except for the instances where she thought of something much better than he would have, of course. Her solutions were just so creative. She thought outside the bounds of standard potion making, and incorporated healing theory into every step of her creation.
The potion that Hermione succeeded in formulating would (in theory, dependent upon further testing) be an invaluable tool for Healers to use in conjunction with other holistic therapies for patients with mental scarring and distress of many kinds. It would prevent the brain from entering into certain states of self-harm without leaving them numb or altered like other potions and substances tend to do. It also was seemingly not addictive, harmful, or damaging to a patient’s magical signature. Granger’s plan was never to create a catch-all cure, but something that could revolutionalise the limited and imperfect treatment options available. The hope was that a Healer could administer the potion under initial supervision, help the patient process memories without the brain’s trauma response interfering, and eventually the patient could take the potion themselves in the long term to prevent symptoms such as panic attacks or flashbacks. It could also be used in different amounts to treat internal scar tissue from the Cruciatus curse. Draco hadn’t been convinced that such an ideal solution was ever possible, but Granger’s results meant that there might be a very real chance now.
He reached out to pick up a piece of parchment with the final successful diagnostic details, but accidentally brushed his arm up against her shoulder with the movement. He paused for the briefest of moments before grabbing the paper and bringing it closer. He read over it three times. Not because he couldn’t understand it, or because he was trying to commit it to memory. No, he kept having to re-read the parchment because the only thing his brain could process was his proximity to Hermione Granger. He hadn’t realised just how close they were, but he didn’t want to make out as if it was a big deal or anything. He was just looking over her research results, and only happened to be a mere breath away from her skin.
Granger hadn’t moved at all since he’d leaned closer to grab the page. His face was right next to hers, hovering over her shoulder as he glanced down at the desk, and she hadn’t even flinched. She just sat there like a stone statue, silent except for her quiet shallow breathing. Of course, Draco could just stand up with the paper and relieve the tension. But he found that he didn’t want to.
He read over the page one more time and smiled, turning his head slightly in her direction. “You really are the brightest witch of our age.” His voice came out breathier than usual, relaying his nerves at her nearness. Her head turned towards him fractionally, but it was enough to align them so that their noses almost touched. Draco could’ve sworn her eyes darted down to his lips, but perhaps he imagined it. They held eye contact for what felt like forever, somehow inching slightly closer. Draco wasn’t sure if he moved or she did, but suddenly their noses were touching and a jolt of energy shot through his body at the contact.
Was this really happening? Draco’s mind cleared of all his earlier panic and ruminations. He didn’t need to over-analyse this, at least not yet. He could just exist in this moment and figure out what the hell was happening later. He watched her close her eyes a moment before he did, and then their lips touched. She was just as warm and soft as he could have imagined, and she tasted faintly of strawberries. He allowed himself to be entirely enveloped by her. The scent from her hair still lingered in the air, but it was paired with the unique aroma of her. Her skin, her essence, something indescribable. He moved his lips over hers, hoping to not scare her away from this precious moment, and he thanked Merlin that she responded in kind. She pressed her lips into him with a passion he didn’t expect and then their tongues met and Draco was lost. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire but there was no pain - all he knew was that this felt so right, and he never wanted it to end.
She pulled away panting and looked down at her lap where she’d begun to wring her fingers together. “I’m sorry,” she said, to Draco’s utter bewilderment.
“I’m not,” he responded. She looked back up at him pointedly.
“It was inappropriate of me, you’re - kind of, a colleague, I guess-”
“I don’t really care.” Draco’s eyebrows lifted up in challenge. He felt no obligation to remain professional if she wanted him back. He was an investor, sure, but they were by no means colleagues with contracts dictating their behaviour towards one another. They didn’t share an employer who would discipline them for this and regardless, he did not find an ounce of regret for their kiss. If Granger felt that he’d crossed a line, then he would back off with no questions asked - but he got the impression that that wasn’t the case. She’d seemed just as into the kiss as he was - a beautiful cherry blush still stained her cheeks - but Draco could see the doubt deep in her eyes. Was it because she didn’t think he wanted it too, that she’d somehow foisted a kiss upon him without his consideration and consent? Or was she flooded with shame because it was with him? Because he would always be the Draco Malfoy of her childhood? He tried to force these thoughts out and focus on the present moment. Where she still sat in her chair and he was still bent uncomfortably close to her. She looked back down to her lap and Draco felt the need to give her some space. He stood upright and took a single step to the side of her desk so that he wasn’t hidden behind her.
“I take my work very seriously and-”
You do, you’re absolutely brilliant.”
“Oh, I- well, thank you, that’s kind, but I-” she stuttered to a halt, pausing to choose her next words carefully. But Draco didn’t let her find more reasons as to why their kiss was a mistake.
“You’re beautiful, you’re driven, you’re relentless.” Her brow furrowed at the last word. “That’s a compliment, Granger.”
“That’s… you don’t have to say all that. I still crossed a line just now.”
“Care to cross it again?” Draco smirked.
Her eyes widened. “Oh. You- you want-”
He took a step back into her space and crouched down onto his knees before her. She squeaked in surprise at his movement and her lips parted in a way that made him want to kiss the breath out of her. But he had to make sure she really wanted it first.
“If you think it was a mistake because you don’t like me in that way, then I’ll back off, I promise. But you can’t tell me that was nothing. Don’t just make excuses because you’re scared.” His playful smirk was replaced with complete seriousness.
The redness on her cheeks deepened, but she held his gaze. “I’m not scared.” She sounded genuine.
“It’s me. I’d fully understand if you don’t want to go any further because of our history and who I was. Who I am. Just please… please don’t pretend that was nothing.” A tense silence followed his words, but still, their eyes held contact.
“Who you were is not who you are, Draco.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “And you’re right. That wasn’t nothing.”
His eyes snapped back up to hers, and hope swelled within his chest. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached a hand up and cupped her cheek in his palm. She nestled into it and her breathing quickened. His thumb caressed her skin, and goosebumps arose on her arms. She was so soft, so warm and just so enticing. He couldn’t help it - he felt magnetised to her. He drew himself closer still, remaining on his knees before her, and this time it was her who bent her body down to him.
When their lips met for the second time, it felt just as electrifying as the first. Draco’s hand migrated into her curls, and she brought a hand to his chest in response. He didn’t hold back this time - he let her know exactly how he felt about her through his touch. She made a sound of pleasure and a shiver wracked through him, spurring him on further to hopefully elicit more where that came from. He shuffled his knees closer to her chair, groaning as his trousers pulled uncomfortably tight. Her hand on his chest caressed over his shoulder to his upper back, where she then pulled his upper body towards hers. He could feel the pressure of her breasts against him and he groaned again at the glorious sensation. It was so much - their tongues dancing, his fingers through her hair, their bodies pressed together - it was utter bliss, but it was all happening so fast. Too fast.
This time it was Draco who pulled his lips away, panting. He kept his hand in her hair, mindlessly caressing her curls as his mind started to spiral again. It was bound to happen - only a matter of time before the situation caught up to him and his brain spun him out of control. But then something remarkable happened - Granger took his face in both her hands and reminded him gently to breathe. She whispered that everything was okay and that she was there for him. She held his face with a gentleness that he couldn’t remember ever experiencing - perhaps not since he was a young child in his mother’s embrace. She grounded him in her and he felt more soothed and comforted than a Dreamless Sleep.
“You’re okay,” she reiterated. He smiled into her hands, feeling that it might actually be true. They stayed like that for what was probably a few minutes but felt to Draco like a lovely eternity.
“You should tell everyone. Celebrate,” he eventually said.
“You want to leave?” She asked, moving her hands from his cheeks. He covered them with his own to stop her from pulling away.
“Only if you want me to. I just don’t want to take away from your moment.”
“I… I don’t want you to leave.” His heart swelled.
“Then I won’t leave.” Her cheeks reddened once again. “I won’t leave,” he repeated.
He didn’t want to scare her or be too intense… but what he really meant was that he’d never leave her, as long as she wanted him around. He’d be there. He’d spend every day trying to make up for his past if she let him. He’d show up for her, do whatever she needed. She was already everything he wanted and needed. If they could make something work - whatever this was - he would promise the universe that he’d never ask for or expect anything ever again. Not that he really had, not for many years, but still. It’s not that he suddenly deserved it - he knew he didn’t. But if she actually wanted him back? If something real could happen between them? Draco might finally be happy. Not just content, or fine. Happy. Something he’d given up hoping for a long time ago.
Draco squeezed her hands, finally pulling them from his cheeks to rest together near her lap. “Let’s go together then.”