Love Potions
Time is slipping through an hourglass on Slughorn’s desk.
He’d assigned the small group of eighth years the task of brewing wolfsbane. The ministry, under Kingsley Shacklebolt’s guidance, had mandated that any and all people affected by Lycanthropy would have free access to wolfsbane. Which was a difficult promise to follow through on given how difficult it is to brew.
Draco had been successful maybe a dozen times since school started.
Granger even more so.
She was throwing herself into brewing as much as she could as fast as she could. So Draco was doing the same.
He wished he felt the same way she does. Like it was something noble.
While he’d spent the year prior living in fear that someone would discover he no longer believed in blood purity, he’d seen the horrors werewolves like Greyback were capable of. Saw the mutilated bodies of his victims.
It was hard to suddenly accept that all werewolves should be given the same free reign as any witch or wizard.
“Have you got any more pickled Myrrh?” Hermione asks from across the table.
Draco hands her the jar silently, trying to keep track of how many counter-clockwise stirs he’s finished.
They work well together. He might have guessed that a couple of years ago. He's not sure he would have guessed just how well they do other things together as well.
Since they’d returned to the castle, word had spread about their relationship.
Draco didn’t mind the angry whispering and glares.
It had been over a month since the funeral, and Draco was starting to think everything would be alright. Granger was better than she had been even before their deaths. It was like she remembered what living really looked like. Carrying on even in the wake of tragedy.
Like if she focused on something small, the war faded.
Draco was trying to figure out how to tell her about Molly Weasley’s invitation. Honestly, Draco wanted to whisk her away for the Christmas holiday. Maybe Germany or Switzerland. Somewhere neither one of them would have to think about their parents.
But he was still on probation. The taste of freedom had quickly turned bitter upon his return to the castle.
“How about aconite?” She interrupts her thoughts, holding her hand out without even looking up.
He passes that too, removing his ladle and grabbing the Moonwort to return it to the Potion’s store.
If he’s been paying close enough attention, and he knows he has, then she’s reached the fermenting stage of her batch.
He only has to wait a minute before she follows him into the storeroom.
“Ran out of powdered moonstone,” she says, wrapping her hands around his waist, pressing her chin to the spot between his shoulder blades.
He lays his hands over hers and leans his head back.
“Then you came to the right place.”
It only takes a moment for him to find it, sitting high on a shelf in front of him.
“You know, I won’t be able to reach it if you keep holding me hostage,” he jokes.
Except he is a bit sad when her hands slip off of his body.
Forgetting the moonstone in an instant he spins around and kisses her, trying to keep in mind they are in the middle of class.
They’ve been brewing for an hour and Hermione’s hair has expanded into a frizzy mane, Draco can’t help but tangle his fingers in, scratching at the roots gently.
She whines when he pulls away.
“Not fair.”
He looks at her, puzzled.
“That I can’t do the same thing with your hair,” she reaches up and brushes an escaped lock of pin-straight hair off of his forehead.
Draco smiles as a clear image of children with magnificently curly blonde hair appears in his mind.
“Draco? Where did you go?” Hermione asks, her hand slipping down to his chest.
He must have gone pale at the realization that he was so lovesick, he was imagining their children.
“The future,” he whispers.
She drops her hand to her side and steps back.
“What about it?” she asks, her voice too small to really sound like her.
He shakes his head. It was a fleeting thought. They’ve barely been together for three months. He’d only seen the error of his ways last year.
“Nothing we have to talk about now,” he tries to reassure her, but it only makes her brow furrow.
“But we will have to talk about it at some point?”
Draco could swear her hair looked as though it expanded even further.
“Probably. Yes,” he tries to read her face. He doesn’t understand why she is pulling away.
“Maybe we should discuss it now. No better time than the present. I don’t want to waste any more of your time, and I can understand really that you probably wouldn’t want to carry on seeing me-” She starts rambling.
What?
“Granger, stop,” he reaches out and cups her face gently.
She goes quiet, her eyes widening and tears threatening to spill.
“I definitely don’t want to stop seeing you. Why in Salazar’s name would you think that?” he asks, truly baffled.
She blinks and then swallows, leaning into his hand and shrugging.
“I thought perhaps you were waiting. To break it off. Because of my parents,” she says to the floor.
He can’t help the look of absolute shock that takes over his face.
“I was waiting. But not to end things. I was waiting because I didn’t want you to assume their deaths had anything to do with me finally bucking up the courage to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Merlin, he certainly didn’t intend for this to be where he told her for the first time.
“I love you, Granger”
She looks at me with softer eyes than he would have thought her capable.
“I love you too. Draco."
He was grateful she never used his surname anymore.
“I know.”
She smacks his arm.
“That isn’t exactly the response I was looking for,” she grumbles.
He sweeps her up in his arms and gives an uncharacteristically spirited spin, crushing his lips against her.
She loves him. You knew that, Draco.
“Much better,” she says as he sets her down, her long lashes fluttering. “So what was it?”
“What was what?”
“The thing that did finally help you buck up the courage?”
Draco reaches into his pocket and withdraws the letter he had received at breakfast.
“Who is it from?”
“My father. He has written to inform me that unless I end this spectacle, I will lose my inheritance and my place as a Malfoy.”
“Draco, you can’t-”
“Already done, Granger."
When she kisses him, he knows he's made the right choice. It's a revelation, discovering what it feels like to do what is right. All because of her.