April 29th, 2008
A key scraped the lock on the front door of the flat. Hermione opened the door slowly, careful to not let the hinges squeak. She had barely stepped into the kitchen when she jumped at the sight of her husband sitting at the table, a cup of tea in his hand.
“Ron, you scared me,” she said, pulling off her raincoat. She lifted her wand to her long curls and cast a drying spell.
Ron chuckled lightly, shaking his head, but there was no hint of true amusement in his laugh. “I scared you, did I?” He grimaced as he took a sip from his mug. “Can’t imagine why.”
“What is it?” Hermione sighed, shutting the door behind her. “I’m not in the mood for games tonight. I’m exhausted.” She hung her coat on the iron rack by the door.
Ron gave another humourless laugh. “I’m sure you are.” His blue eyes were dark and focused on the empty table before him.
“Godric, Ron, just spit it out,” Hermione said, frustrated.
Ron’s head snapped up, his gaze piercing her like a knife. “I know, alright? I know about him, so you might as well come clean. Don’t fucking lie to me, like you’ve lied for the past six months.”
Hermione froze. Her flushed cheeks grew pale as his words sank in, hitting the pit of her stomach like a rock.
She moved slowly towards the table and pulled out a chair, sinking into it and folding her hands nervously on the table. “What do you want to know?” she whispered.
January 12th, 2008
It all started so innocently.
Hermione had been walking to get a new stack of blank parchment from the cupboard when she heard a shattering noise. She looked up to see pieces of a ceramic mug scattered on the floor amidst a puddle of coffee, a frantic intern attempting to repair it, and a perturbed-looking man standing over the scene, running a hand through his white-blonde hair.
Hermione was about to rush over to help the frazzled girl when she realized who the man was. She hadn’t seen Draco Malfoy in years—and to see him here, in her department of the ministry, was quite a shock.
Her stomach twisted nervously as she remembered Malfoy’s cruel behaviour during school, and she hoped desperately that the poor intern wouldn’t leave the room in tears—or hexed.
She couldn’t hide her shock when she watched Malfoy extend a hand to the student, helping her to her feet.
“It’s fine,” she heard him say curtly. “It’s just a mug.” With a wave of his wand, the liquid vanished and the pieces of mug dropped neatly into his wire wastebasket.
The girl scurried away before he could say anything else. Hermione blinked and looked away, trying to remember what she had been doing before she was distracted.
After getting the parchment, she sat back down at her desk and stared thoughtfully at her own untouched mug of coffee.
“Geminio,” she murmured, tapping her wand on the porcelain. A second red mug appeared next to the first, full and steaming.
Hermione lifted it slowly and walked across the room, her heart pounding in her chest. It’s just coffee, she silently scolded herself.
Malfoy was staring intently at a piece of parchment when she arrived at his desk, his brow furrowed. Hermione tried not to stare at the lip pulled halfway between his teeth as she cleared her throat quietly.
Malfoy glanced up, and upon seeing her, sat up straight, his head tilting to one side.
“Hermione Granger, as I live and breathe,” he said smoothly. Hermione considered how much deeper his voice had gotten, and her breath caught in her throat.
She cleared it and fiddled with the mug. “Is it your first day?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“It is,” Draco said. Had his eyes always been so piercing?
Hermione set the mug down harder than she’d intended to. “I brought you some coffee, I—uh—saw what happened earlier,” she said hurriedly.
“How very generous of you,” Malfoy said, in a voice that left Hermione wondering whether or not he was being sarcastic.
“Well—you’re welcome, I think,” Hermione said slowly, before turning to walk back to her own desk.
She heard a small click behind her as the tip of Draco’s wand tapped the rim of the mug, turning it from scarlet to a deep emerald green.
January 28th, 2008
Hermione had always dreaded meetings. They usually consisted of several older wizards droning on for an hour about things that weren’t relevant to most employees in the room. She began to doodle in the margin of her parchment, pretending she was intently taking notes on the information being shared. After looking up at the speaker in mock interest, her eyes soon flitted across the table, connecting with Draco’s.
She looked down immediately, feeling her cheeks flush. How long had he been staring?
Lifting her quill once more, she slowly outlined two pointy ears and a round face, continuing to draw until the lines had formed a small, smiling cat.
Hermione looked admiringly at her handiwork, stifling a gasp when its fluffy ink tail began to swish back and forth.
The cat drawing began to walk across her parchment. She stared in shock as it stopped and lifted a limb to its mouth, a tiny ink tongue emerging as it licked its paw. The cat then continued its stroll around the paper. Suddenly, it froze and sank down low, as if it had spotted a mouse. Then, in a quick movement, it pounced, grabbing at invisible prey with its round ink paws.
Hermione couldn’t contain her smile as she looked up, meeting Draco’s gaze once again. He smirked, making a point of sliding his wand back into his pocket. Looking back toward the wizard speaking at the front of the room, he nodded as if he were deep in thought.
Hermione looked back down at the cat, now sleeping soundly in the corner of her parchment. She tore the opposite corner from her parchment as quietly as she could, and using what she knew was an impressive bit of wandless magic, transformed it into a tiny paper bird. Stealing a glance at the presenter, who was still droning on, she enchanted the bird, sending it flitting across the table at Draco.
The bird fluttered around his head twice before landing on his shoulder. Keeping his eyes locked on the wizard speaking, he gently picked up the paper bird and placed it into his pocket. Hermione blushed as the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.
February 11th, 2008
The clinking of silverware against plates was a harsh accompaniment to the pianist in the corner of the restaurant. The soft notes of Claire de Lune filled the air and Hermione sighed, reminiscing about the times her father would play classical music on the radio whenever they drove somewhere.
“Sorry I’m late,” a man’s voice broke Hermione’s nostalgic haze. She looked up to see Draco pulling out the chair beside her, wearing a fitted grey suit.
“Quite alright!” crowed the current Head of Magical Games and Sports. He had already consumed several firewhiskey sours, and his plump cheeks were stained red in his inebriation.
Draco stared straight ahead, his expression neutral. “Corporate dinners are such bullshit,” he murmured, so quietly that only Hermione could hear it.
“How else would the higher-ups be able to get drunk using company funds?” Hermione whispered back, and Draco chuckled, smirking at his dinner plate.
“You clean up well,” Draco said quietly.
Hermione went scarlet, immediately fidgeting with her dress. The high neck was modest, but the low, scooping back exposed her golden skin. Her long curls were free of their usual braid, hanging in ringlets halfway to her waist.
“Well, I don’t need to worry about spilling ink on myself here,” she managed, immediately cringing at her own babbling. What is wrong with me? she thought in frustration.
“Of course,” Draco murmured, raising his eyebrows slightly.
She glanced sideways. Why is he still smirking?
“You’ve gained some control of your hair,” he went on, “I remember it being significantly more disobedient.”
“It’s still quite troublesome,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “That’s why it’s never down.”
“Well,” Draco said, finally turning his head just enough to look her in the eye. “It looks nice.”
February 14th, 2008
“Do we have a reservation anywhere tonight?” Hermione asked hopefully, poking at the eggs on her plate.
“A reservation? Why?” Ron asked, getting up to serve himself some more sausage.
“For dinner,” Hermione responded, and when she was met with another quizzical look, she sighed. “For Valentine’s Day?”
“Oh!” Ron said, then shrugged as he sat back down. “I didn’t really plan anything.”
“Okay,” Hermione sighed. She stood up to leave for work, pulling on her long coat.
“Your hair is different,” Ron said suddenly.
Hermione tugged on one of her loose curls, stretching it like a spring. “I’m just trying something different,” she said, releasing it to fasten the buttons on her coat.
“Oh, alright,” Ron said curiously. “Well, it looks nice.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said, picking up her purse. “I’ll see you tonight.”
The flat was only a short walk from the Ministry, and the February air was crisp and refreshing. She crunched through the remnants of snow left on the sidewalk, feeling slightly disdainful that she would be spending her Valentine’s Day doing paperwork, before returning home to no flowers, no chocolate, and no dinner.
A wave of heat washed over Hermione as she stepped out of the cold and into the entrance hall of the Ministry. She decided to think about the many things that needed to be fixed in her relationship after work. Compartmentalizing had always come easily to her.
She stepped into the lift to head up to her floor—the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Several other employees got on with her—none of whom she knew—until the elevator was filled with the scent of woody, musky cologne. Draco Malfoy had stepped through the doors just before they clicked shut.
Hermione tried not to stare at the back of his head as the lift climbed upward. Witches and wizards trickled out at each stop until they were the only two left. Hermione fiddled with her ring as she contemplated saying good morning. Before she could decide whether or not to say anything, the doors opened once more, revealing the hectic atmosphere of their department.
He strode over to his desk without a word, so Hermione did the same, feeling tremendously stupid for being so conflicted about a simple greeting. She found a small memo in front of her, written in her supervisor’s messy scrawl.
Granger,
The ambassador from Japan will be arriving in a week’s time to discuss the exchange program between Hogwarts and Mahoutokoro. Please get Malfoy up to speed with the project and create a plan for the presentation regarding the application process for students.
Hermione felt her stomach jump as she read the line about working with Malfoy. She smoothed down her skirt as she stood, nervously beginning the walk to his desk. She could feel her curls bouncing against her back as she moved, and she immediately regretted her decision to wear them down. Would he know it was because of him?
“Did you hear about the exchange program?” she asked abruptly when she arrived at the front of his desk.
Malfoy slowly lowered the Daily Prophet that he had been reading. “Good morning to you too, Granger,” he drawled. “Did you hear about the exploding broomsticks? I expect there’ll be a recall.”
Hermione stared down at the headline on the paper on Draco’s desk. ”ATTEMPTED CLEANSWEEP COMEBACK TURNED ATTEMPTED MURDER,” was written in bold on the front page.
“No, I hadn’t read it yet,” she said, hiding a smile. “And the exchange program?”
Draco leaned back. “Enlighten me.”
Hermione explained the project and the application presentation, trying to not be distracted by the way Draco’s jaw clenched as he listened, nodding frequently.
“Shall we start now, then?” he asked once she had finished.
“Uh,” Hermione said, feeling her mind go blank. “Why don’t you start a draft of the application, and I’ll work on the opening statement for the ambassador?
“Sounds good,” Draco said, leaning over to pick up a fresh quill from his pencil cup.
“Okay,” Hermione said, turning to walk back to her desk. “Okay?” she whispered again, rubbing her forehead. What a dumb thing to say.
She began to write as soon as she sat down, determined to put this confusion and embarrassment out of her head. Hermione got genuine enjoyment from her job. She loved knowing that she was making a difference in the magical world, and she often got to complete her tasks at her own pace.
Two hours flew by and she barely even felt the time passing. She was so absorbed in her writing that she didn’t notice when a tall figure approached her desk.
“Granger.”
She looked up in surprise, knocking over her inkwell.
Malfoy smirked, swiftly tapping the growing stain with his wand and siphoning it back into the tiny jar. “You might’ve gotten your hair under control, Granger, but I see the clumsiness is still a work in progress.”
She felt her cheeks growing hot. “How’s the application coming?” she asked quickly.
“Finished a rough draft,” he replied, walking around her desk to look at the memo. “Hmm,” he said, leaning over to read the parchment. Hermione felt her heart rate increase as his cologne overwhelmed her once more. The deep, amber scent was warm and made her want to lean even closer.
“You should include a line about the translation charms the ministry has been working on here,” Draco said, reaching forward to tap the parchment. His arm brushed Hermione’s shoulder, and she shivered at the contact as if she’d been shocked.
“Okay,” she managed. She could barely take in a breath until he had walked away.
Once 5 o’clock had arrived, Hermione’s hand was cramping from the amount of writing she’d completed. She was pulling her coat on when Draco approached her desk.
“I know we’re off the clock now, but I have a few more ideas about the application. Care to grab a drink?”
Hermione blinked at him, stunned that another human being existed who was willing to talk about work after hours. She thought briefly of Ron, waiting for her at home—with no Valentine’s day plans—and picked up her purse.
“Let’s go.”
She and Draco had finished discussing their project soon after arriving at the bar, and quickly moved on to reminiscing about school and the jobs they had held right after graduating.
“He didn’t,” Hermione gasped, choking with laughter.
“He did,” Draco responded, grinning. “He put on this dreadful waltz and demonstrated the steps for us. We all nearly combusted trying to contain our laughter.”
“I’m sure,” Hermione said, wiping tears from her eyes once she had contained herself. “McGonagall forced Ron to dance with her. It was hysterical.” She felt a slight pang of guilt when she said her husband’s name.
“Weasley, eh?” Draco took a sip from his glass. “How is he?”
“Fine,” Hermione said vaguely. “He works with his brother at the joke shop.”
“Interesting,” Draco said, in a tone that indicated the opposite. “And you’re still together, I assume?”
“Married 8 years next month,” Hermione said, her gaze distant.
Draco stared at her, his head tilted slightly. “It’s Valentine’s Day, you know.”
Hermione tensed. “I know,” she said, stirring her drink with a cherry stem. “We—uh—didn’t make plans.”
Draco looked like he might say more, but he simply nodded.
“Why are you sitting here with me?” Hermione asked, dropping the stem back into her glass. “Weren’t you going to get married right out of school?”
Draco shrugged. “I didn’t exactly follow the plan my mother had laid out for me. I was supposed to get married, produce an heir, rebuild the family name—but I couldn’t get married for duty’s sake. Astoria was lovely, truly, but I just couldn’t do it. My mother hasn’t gotten over it.” He leaned back in his seat. “I just want a life that I created, one that I chose…not one that was chosen for me. So I’m focusing on work—and tonight I’m having drinks with a coworker.” He lifted his glass. “Here’s to you,” he said, downing the rest of the golden liquid.
Hermione finished her drink as well, setting the glass down with a loud clink. “Another, I think,” she said, waving over the bartender. “Now tell me about Snape’s dance lessons one more time.”
By the time Hermione arrived home, she was still flushed from laughter and slightly tipsy. She opened the door to find Ron sitting in the kitchen, a wilted vase of roses on the table.
“It’s late, ‘Mione,” he said, standing as soon as she had stepped through the door. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” she said, standing frozen. “I had to work late.” The lie had tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop it.
“Oh, okay,” he said, looking puzzled. “I—I got you some flowers,” he said, gesturing at the bouquet, “for Valentine’s Day.”
“Thank you, Ron,” Hermione said politely. Five years ago, she would have been more excited about the gesture. Now, she couldn’t help but feel bitter that Ron couldn’t remember that she preferred daisies.
March 1st, 2008
Hermione sat down at her desk, late and flustered. Draco strolled over, holding his green mug.
“You look terrible,” he said simply.
“Thanks,” she snapped, rubbing her eyes.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s nothing,” she sighed, shuffling through the pieces of parchment on her desk.
“It clearly isn’t nothing,” Draco said. “Just spit it out, Granger.”
“It’s the same old argument,” Hermione said finally, dropping the papers. “I was up half the night fighting with Ron. He’s been talking about children for years, practically since the day we got married. I just… I just don’t think I’m ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I don’t dream about them the way he does. I like my job, I like my life, I’m not ready for anything to change.”
She sighed and glanced up at Draco, who was still staring down at her. “Sorry,” she said, looking back down at her desk, “that was probably too much information. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“It matters,” he said quietly. “You deserve to live without being pressured. You’re allowed to be happy, as you are. Children aren’t something to be compromised on. If he doesn’t understand that, he certainly shouldn’t be having any.”
Hermione chuckled weakly. “Where did this wisdom come from?” she asked.
“I grew up at some point,” Draco replied, sipping his coffee.
“I know,” Hermione said, tilting her head to the side. She stared at his rolled-up sleeves as he lowered the mug from his lips. “Maturity looks good on you.” She looked back down at her desk, her heart pounding.
“You think I look good?” he asked, his voice low.
Hermione looked up at him slowly, until his eyes were burning into her own. She didn’t say anything, but her mouth twitched, betraying a smile.
March 21st, 2008
“It feels like there’s something missing.”
“I agree, I just can’t put my finger on it.”
Draco was leaning back in his chair, his feet up on his desk, tossing a ball of paper into the air. Hermione was pacing in front of him, staring at the slightly wrinkled piece of parchment in her hand.
“We mentioned that the application covers financial status, language proficiency, exam scores, and requires references…” Hermione paused, tapping her lip.
“And we listed suggestions for transportation, stipends for living expenses…” Draco continued, flicking his wand so that the paper ball he was tossing froze in mid-air.
“And we mentioned the essay,” Hermione sighed, flicking the paper with her wand so that it floated over to Draco. “It just seems like we aren’t thinking of something.”
“Maybe we could include a section of questions to check for biases?” Draco suggested, frowning at the paper in front of him. “We wouldn’t want to send students abroad that hold any antiquated beliefs about blood status or anything else, because they could potentially cause harm in the host community.”
Hermione stared at him, unable to contain her smile. “Wow, yeah…that’s—that’s a wonderful idea, Draco, truly.”
Draco stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face. “Thank you,” he said finally. “I’ll—uh—add that to the application and to the presentation.”
Hermione nodded and began to walk back to her desk, her cheeks burning the moment she realized that she’d called him Draco.
March 28th, 2008
The ambassador’s arrival had the entire department rushing around, making sure that all the necessary affairs were in order.
Hermione barely had a moment to breathe until she found herself standing in the middle of the rented art gallery, the welcome party in the ambassador’s honour well underway.
A jazz band played bright, crooning music from one corner of the room. Ministry employees stood in clusters, admiring the various paintings and statues. Others were in pairs, dancing slowly in the center of the room to the floating melody. There was a large crowd around the ambassador, who seemed to be enjoying speaking with all the English witches and wizards.
Hermione tucked a loose curl behind her ear just as she heard a soft whistle behind her. She turned and smiled at the sight of the man in a fitted black suit.
“You look lovely,” Draco said, his silver eyes dark. He stepped closer to her, admiring her sleek, emerald dress.
“Thank you,” Hermione said, feeling breathless standing so close to him in such a dark room.
“Not your usual colour palette,” he said, his eyes feigning innocence as he reached out and touched the thin green strap on Hermione’s shoulder.
“I like trying new things,” she whispered, emboldened by the liquor in her veins. She stared up at him through dark lashes, her heart racing.
“Care to dance?” he asked softly.
“I’d love to.”
He took her hand in his and led her to the center of the room, pulling her in by her waist with his other hand. His fingertips were warm against her bare back.
“This dress should be illegal,” he murmured, his lips inches from her ear. Chills ran down Hermione’s spine. “Every bloke in here is wishing he was in my place right now.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione said, but she smiled nonetheless.
They swayed as the band continued to play a slow, soulful tune. Hermione felt him pull her even closer, her face inches from his chest. She slowly laid her head down, breathing in the warm, comforting smell of him.
Every nerve ending in her body felt alive. She was excited, but somehow also at ease—like she could run away with him or sway here forever, and either option would feel just as good.
She didn’t want to accept just how wrong it was. On paper, it was truly sinful, to feel so good being so close to him—but she didn’t agree. Nothing evil could possibly feel so heavenly.
April 4th, 2008
The ambassador leaving caused a collective sigh of relief to roll through the office. His visit had gone extremely well, with Hermione and Draco’s presentation being particularly well-received. Yet, everyone had been on their very best behaviour for a week, and it was nice to relax for the first time in days.
Most people went home early, ready to begin their weekends after such a stressful week. Hermione, however, sat at her desk until the sun began to sink, cleaning out her desk in preparation for her next assignment.
A memo from her supervisor sat atop her desk, a note that was short but had Hermione beaming with pride.
Granger,
Excellent work, as usual. You and Malfoy made a great team on this assignment. If you find no issue with it, I’ll likely pair you up for projects in the future.
I anticipate no disagreement when I recommend you for a promotion.
Finally satisfied with her organizing, Hermione stood to leave. As she walked towards the lift, she glanced towards Draco’s desk and was surprised to see that he was still sitting there.
She approached his desk slowly, fidgeting with her purse. “You’re still here,” she said simply.
“I am,” he said, looking up at her from his desk. He slid the parchment he had been writing on into a drawer and stood. “I’ll walk you out.”
After strolling out of the office, they paused as they waited for the lift to arrive. “I really enjoyed working on this project with you,” Draco said smoothly, turning to face her.
“Me too,” Hermione said, turning and staring up at his defined face. “We…make a good team.”
“We certainly do,” Draco murmured.
“I look forward to working together…again,” Hermione said, feeling herself moving closer to Draco as if he were magnetic.
“As do I.” The intensity of his gaze made her want to look away, but her eyes were locked on his.
He reached his hand out hesitantly. When Hermione didn’t move, he gently brushed one of her curls out of her face. “Do you wear your hair down…for me?” he whispered.
Hermione felt her heart pounding in her throat. “I do a lot of things for you,” she whispered back.
They stood, faces only inches apart, as the lift’s doors opened, marking its arrival with a high-pitched ding.
Neither moved to enter the elevator. Hermione’s lips parted slightly. She breathed him in, unable to tear herself away. Before she could stop herself, she grabbed his face and kissed him deeply.
Draco’s hands roamed her body through her grey cashmere sweater, the one that she wore because it reminded her of his eyes. They gasped for air between desperate, frantic kisses, begging each other for more with every movement of their lips.
They stumbled back until Hermione felt the edge of Draco’s desk hit the small of her back. The mahogany wood pressed into her skin, leaving an aching indent as Draco pressed his hips into hers.
He broke the kiss and she almost cried out in frustration. With one swift motion of his hand, the objects and papers littering the surface of his desk vanished, leaving behind a smooth, empty surface, ready to be carved with sins. Draco barely had time to mutter a cushioning charm before Hermione’s lips were on his again. His fingers dug into her hips as he lifted her onto the edge of the desk, stepping between her thighs as they deepened the kiss.
“All of you,” he mumbled, his voice low and gravelly. He pulled the sweater off her head as she began to fumble with the knot of his tie. Draco’s warm fingertips brushed hers as he pulled the silk from his neck in one swift motion. His hands moved to her hips as he hooked his fingers into her waistband and pulled at her skirt. Hermione raised her hips to help him before unzipping his trousers with her shaking fingers and palming his length through his boxers.
Letting out a hiss of pleasure, he attacked her lips with newfound vigour. His kisses trailed down to her jaw, then her neck, leaving little red marks behind in his wake.
She gasped as he ripped her tights open, exposing her black lace panties, the ones she had bought while thinking about his hand on the small of her back. Pulling away from her, he stared into her eyes as he stroked her through the thin fabric. Hermione couldn’t contain her moans as he focused his gentle motions on her clit, the fabric growing wet under his touch.
“Please,” she begged as he continued to tease her.
“Please, what?” he asked, his eyes flashing. “If we’re going to do this, you’re going to ask for it.”
“Please fuck me,” she gasped, her eyes closing with bliss as he increased the speed of his fingertips. “Please, Draco.”
He tore her panties as if they were made of paper and positioned himself at her entrance. His lips were on hers once more as he sank into her. She moaned loudly into his mouth, burying her fingers in his hair. “Oh, God,” she gasped as he pushed into the hilt, her walls stretching to accommodate his size.
“Oh, Draco,” she moaned as he began to rock his hips into hers. His thrusts were deep and hard; Hermione’s eyes rolled back as he fucked her with reckless abandon.
She needed this; she needed him. The golden girl, the brightest witch of her age, was getting fucked on a desk and she had never felt more alive. She hadn’t realized how monotonous her existence had become until she met someone who changed it.
Every inch of her body was on fire as his relentless thrusts continued. He swallowed her moans as he reached between their bodies to touch her clit once more. She tightened her grip on his hair as her eyes rolled back, unable to remember the last time she’d felt so good.
He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth as he moaned, his hips meeting hers with punishing force. Her orgasm began to approach as she reveled in the sensation of his gentle touches combined with his hard strokes. Her hands left his hair as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs shaking on either side of his torso as she came. His release followed soon after, his strokes becoming sloppy and staggered as he finished.
They lay panting, swallowing each other’s gasps and breaths with tired kisses. Somewhere distantly in her mind, Hermione felt her Gryffindor honour nagging her, begging her to think about what she had just done. She silenced the thought immediately, basking in the touch of her lover, thinking that at this moment, Slytherin selfishness felt so much fucking better.
April 15th, 2008
Hermione was halfway out the front door when her husband called her name.
“Ron, I’m going to be late. I’m meeting Luna in a half an hour.”
“And you two are…spending the day together?”
“I already told you,” Hermione sighed, “I haven’t seen Luna in ages. We’re going to the museum and then to dinner. I’ll be home late.”
“I…okay, fine, never mind,” Ron said, rubbing his temples. “Have fun, I love you.”
Hermione felt like her throat was closing slightly as she choked out “love you too,” and left the flat, apparating away as soon as the door had shut behind her.
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement as she thought about the day ahead of her, spent with a beautiful blonde—just not the one she had named to her husband.
Hours later, Hermione was wrapped in crisp white sheets, her hair wild and her eyes sparkling. “I can’t believe this view,” she said, pulling the sheets from the bed as she walked over to the window, staring out at the London skyline.
“People expect the penthouse to have a nice view,” Draco said with a chuckle, joining her at the window and pulling her bare body into his. She relished in the touch of his warm, strong arms, and stared across the city at the London Eye.
“Do you come here often?” she asked, turning and wrapping her arms around his waist.
“No,” he said, resting his chin atop her head and breathing in the sweet, flowery scent of her hair. “I stayed here a bit after the war… home didn’t feel very welcoming.”
“I don’t blame you,” Hermione said, reaching up to touch his face. His eyes were bright from the morning sun streaming into the room. She stared into them, mapping the tiny constellations within, so fitting for the man named after the stars.
“I would’ve stayed more often if you had been included,” he said, smirking.
“Really, why?” Hermione said, staring up at him with mock innocence. She squealed as he lifted her into the air. They fell into bed once more, and Hermione found herself wishing more and more that she could stay in this room forever, where things were simple and there were no consequences to face.
As the morning slowly faded into afternoon, Draco placed a call to the front desk for room service. Hermione opened her mouth to tell him what she’d like, but he smiled and waved his hand at her. Soon trays arrived, bursting with food—one of everything on the menu.
Hermione curled up on the king-sized mattress, nibbling a sandwich and reading The Secret Garden. Draco stretched out beside her, reading his copy of The Odyssey. Hermione smiled as she watched him scribble an annotation in the margin using a Muggle pen from the bedside table. She stroked his hair as they sat in silence, reading and listening to the soft sound of their breathing.
“Have you always enjoyed the classics?” she murmured, having abandoned her own book to read over his shoulder.
“Not always,” he responded, turning the page. “I was forced to read them as a child, but I grew fond of them again in adulthood.” He turned towards her. “I’m sure you had them memorized early on.”
“Not memorized, but I did love them,” she sighed, reaching out to touch the page. “I always pitied Calypso.”
“I’m sure she would appreciate your kindness,” Draco said, placing his hand on her thigh and stroking her soft skin with his thumb.
“Maybe,” Hermione murmured, reading on as Odysseus left Calypso’s island, leaving the heartbroken nymph behind to continue his journey.
April 29th, 2008
“Leave him.”
Hermione froze, turning slowly to look at Draco. She pulled her wand from her pocket, wordlessly bringing the lift to a halt in the middle of its descent.
“What?” she asked.
“I said leave him,” Draco said, looking down at Hermione with dark eyes. “I can’t think about you going home to him anymore.”
“I…” Hermione was at a loss for words as the reality of the situation came crashing down on her. Her marriage, her life, everything was up in the air.
“This is real, and it isn’t going away,” Draco said quietly, gently placing a hand on her face.
“I know,” Hermione responded, biting her lip in contemplation.
“Merlin,” Draco said, bringing his other hand to her face. “You’re so beautiful, it’s criminal.” He leaned down and kissed her deeply. Hermione placed her hand on his chest, wishing once more that they could stay here, suspended between floors, suspended from reality.
Her walk home felt longer than usual. Normally she wouldn’t walk through the rain, but she needed to think. She debated how in the world she could begin this conversation, about potentially ending her marriage. What would Ron do? Would he scream, or cry? Would he throw things? Would he leave immediately, or beg for counselling? Hermione cringed, unable to foresee an outcome that didn’t end in fiendfyre. She trudged up the stairs slowly and inserted her key into the lock.
Ron was silent. His freckled face was pink—from anger or embarrassment, Hermione couldn’t tell.
Finally, he looked up at her, his eyes red. “Are you sorry?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“What?” Hermione asked, confused.
“Are you sorry you did it?” he asked simply. “Do you regret it? Do you want to take it all back?”
Hermione’s mind spun as she considered the question, but it did not take her more than a moment to know the answer. She stared at her husband, taking in his pain, and wished that she could say what he wanted to hear. Finally, she smiled wistfully, unable to hide her emotion.
“He brought me back to life.”