Hermione educating students at Hogwarts about SPEW. Draco at back at home, panicking because there’s no eggs for his meringue.
Him calling her in the middle of class, Hermione answering a magical phone in the middle of her lecture.
She sighs as her husband starts to ramble about how he can’t get any eggs because he doesn’t want to go to the store filled with muggles. Hermione promptly ends there conversation, returning to the lesson.
Ten minutes later a Draco in an apron and covered with flour bursts into the classroom. She drops the chalk in shock, spluttering how this was entirely unprofessional.
There conversation went something along the lines of:
I got the eggs
You came here to say that?
Of course. I’m very proud. This earned a few laughs from the class. He blushed as the students stared at him.
Pray tell me how this was achieved?
Ms. Greene’s fridge helped me.
Wha- You stole them?
She offered me some tea so I snagged three eggs while she was bringing out a tart. I left money on the counter like any respectable gentleman,
He looked down at his watch before his eyes widened in panic.
My pie is burning. See you later, Granger,
He dashed out of the classroom and a very flustered Hermione angrily scrambled after him, shouting for him to get back here or he’d be sorry. Realizing she still had a class to teach, she managed a frantic apology before racing after her him. I don’t know why I’m in love with this idiot, she muttered.
The class of fifth years couldn’t stop laughing until McGonagall asked them what the problem is.
The world froze over.
Icy winds and flurries of snow relentlessly pounded there street for days.
The street was slick, the roses crystallized in ice.
Hermione shivering for hours after the power goes out. The fire in there hearth barely enough for them to stay warm. Yet she continues to write, her hand never once wavering. Work would always be important.
But her hand is shaking with exhaustion. Draco knows and has known for hours. And when she begins to waver, he joins her on the rug, grabbing her hand and squeezing it fiercely. The pen falls and the remaining arm wraps itself around her body. She tentatively returns the gesture, too tired, too cold to mutter a retort.
A sigh escapes her weary body as she lays her head on his shoulder.
They sit near the blazing fire as the storm rages on outside.
For 6 days and 7 nights the swirling snow screams in the wind.
Now Hermione no longer complained as Draco held her close. They shivered in the darkness, the enteral flame barely warming them. Whispers and touches of comfort kept them going.
And when the skies finally cleared, the world starting to melt, the pair went outside.
Trees had fallen and plants had died.
But they were survivors.
That’s what they’d always been.
Put me down,
Draco-, she warned.
PUT ME DOWN YOU PALE DORK,
He stumbles with surprise, nearly dropping Hermione. She’s slung over his shoulder, his back sore from where her fists were pounding mercilessly. Her cheeks are flushed angrily as she plops her head into the curve of his neck as an act of resignation.
I am not a dork, he insists furiously. Yet his face is crimson.
You watched Star Trek with me,
Her voice is muffled.
Only because you made me,
Then why are your geraniums named Spock?
He pauses, unable to answer. Hermione grins as she watches the back of his ears turn red.
But seriously, are you going to put me down?
Not until you are in the bed,
I told you I’m not sick,
Then please explain why your forehead is 103 degrees,
He pauses to tenderly tuck loose hair behind her ear.
I can’t let you get hurt again. I promised,
And all is quiet as he carries her down the hallway.
Hermione brushing her teeth, her hair piled in a messy bun while her eyes are rimmed with exhaustion.
Draco wordlessly joining her and meticulously squeezing toothpaste on his brush. He proceeds to rest his elbow on her head, smirking lovingly as he sticks it into his mouth.
Her complaints are muffled by the white foam. She stands in grudging silence before rinsing her mouth.
The next day Draco begins to brush his teeth without her. She appears with grim determination etched on her face. A small step stool is placed at the foot of the vanity to which she steps on promptly.
She places her elbow on his head, causing him to suppress a smile. After spitting out his toothpaste, he for once has to look up at her. There eyes meet carefully as if they were challenging one another.
And then she leans down. Her lips gently find his, the taste of mint mixing with the warmth of her breath.
His eyes widen in surprise but he doesn’t move until she pulls away. With stool in tow, Hermione flounces out of the bathroom, a ghost of a smile on her face.
He merely touches his reddened cheek, morning routine forgotten.
And the taste of mint lingered for hours to come.
They were otherworldly, gliding through the gloom of London.
A man pale as snow gazed down at the world, his gray eyes piercing all. His thick, black robes swirled around him. He was an apparition, dark and ghostly as death itself.
Yet the other one was nothing like him. She strode forward with purpose, paying to heed to the passerby’s. Her clothes were sharp and clean, there crisp white a contrast to his darkness.
Black and white.
The man put his arm around her protectively as they pushed through a crowd. His icy stare froze many in fear until the woman smiled wryly at him.
Ice and fire.
Different but not. Hades the king of darkness with Persephone bringer of spring.
He had offered her the pomegranate that would open the door to his realm, his soul.
She took his hand and let him pull her into a heart so black and lonely.
That melted as her smile slowly illuminated the darkness.
Hermione not in bed.
Draco becoming worried, grabbing his wand before sliding out of the sheets.
Him running through the flat anxiously.
He finds her sleeping on the floor, her book still open. He sighs in relief while shaking his head in amusement. He should’ve known.
Draco places a bookmark between the pages before gingerly removing the tome from her hand.
Him picking her up and setting her on the couch, dutifully covering her in blankets. He pauses to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, smiling softly at how peaceful she seems.
Minutes later he reappears with a blanket and pillow in tow.
The sun rises and sheds it’s golden light on the pair.
Hermione wrapped in blankets, her hair sprawled across the pillow while Draco sleeps faithfully beneath her.
Draco’s fingers danced across the keys, the dark room resonating with sound.
The velvet curtains were shut and the furniture was covered in a layer of dust.
Hardly anyone used the library at Malfoy Manor.
Except for her.
His body stiffened yet his hands continued to spin the tale of sorrow and pain.
They couldn’t stop moving, the memories flowing like water. He didn’t want to let them.
Three years ago she had been sitting in that armchair, smiling like there wasn’t a care in the world. It was a smile he could hardly remember no matter how many times he tried.
Three years ago she had been alive and now she was gone.
He slammed his elbows onto the board, pressing his forehead into his hands. It made an ugly sound that shattered the beauty he had created. His face was was contorted with unspeakable anguish as his chest rose and fell.
Why was he breathing when she was not?
He swallowed, pushing away the tears.
There was one thing his father was right about. He couldn’t save anyone no matter how hard he tried.
The power had gone out and all was silent. The TV no longer thrummed with sound, the entire house plunged in darkness. Draco had a late shift tonight and so Hermione was alone.
Shadows cast by the moon loomed above her, taking terrifying shapes. They spun across the wall, her eyes forming them into swirling Death Eaters. The pool of black always lurking in the depths of her mind was spread across everything.
It was too dark.
Hermione grabbed her wand shakily and crept out of the house. The moon was her only friend, it’s light a relief from the darkness.
She sat next to one of Draco’s rosebushes, hugging her knees. The petals had the same musky, sweet scent that followed him.
She buried her nose in a fallen white rose, waiting quietly for him to return.
A sudden clanging aroused her from her shivering, trance-like stupor. She drew her wand, her eyes wide with fear. Spells would fly at a moments notice.
Yet there he was, panting, standing in the doorway. Wisps of ghostly hair rose with his hurried breath, his face cast in moonlight.
He marched down the steps with anguish and fury written across his face, his black robes swirling around him. She lowered her wand slowly.
I thought you died, he growled, his eyes a mixture of pain and relief.
Draco pulled her close and closed his eyes. Hermione gently stroked his back until his breathing stilled.
He pressed his face into his shoulder and she knew then that he was crying.
He always did that when he cried.
But her fingers didn’t stop moving up and down his spine.
I’m here, they said. I’m alive,
The Granger’s came to visit. Hermione is glad to see them, Draco feeling awkward as Mrs. Granger hugs him. Her father tries to teach him about baseball while Hermione and her mother cook, laughing and tasting various dishes.
Yet the night comes and the thunderstorms aren’t stopping. The very same weather that was brought with the siege of Hogwarts. Hermione grabs his wrist, making one, desperate request.
They can’t know. I don’t want them to worry.
Draco understands. The dreams of darkness are always worse when the lightning comes. They go to sleep, both of them tightly wrapped in each other’s arms. For the simple reminder that the other is there is enough to leave the drowning river of nightmares.
There was no screaming, no thrashing and no sobbing. But that didn’t stop Hermione’s arm from shaking or Draco waking up drenched in sweat.
But they made it. Together. They meet each other’s eyes wearily.
Mrs. Granger asks how they slept. Draco answers with a simple good, sharing a sad smile with Hermione.
The nights were always worse.
But they were so much worse alone.
Hauntingly beautiful as she swirls down the steps, winking before straightening her shoulders. Draco blushing while smiling furtively, quickly covering it with his palm. Him cursing that girl who always got under his skin. The girl who tasted of stardust and parchment and made everything go away.
Almost everything. He saw the way Ronald looked at her and every time he wanted to wrap his fingers around his throat. She was his.
Yet she was in the arms of another, dancing and whirling throughout the crowd like a ghost. For he was a coward and she was an angel. She still wanted him even when he confessed that he was afraid.
It should’ve been him making her smile, waltzing and twisting to the music.
He turned around with his heart in his throat. Someday, he swore.
Someday he would give that beautiful, brilliant girl the world.
Hermione pointing out a small, white dog waddling across the street. Draco trying to tell Hermione that it’s a dangerous beast as she picks it up.
They end up taking it home.
Draco gleefully dubbing the dog ‘Hound of Darkness’ and pretending to make evil plans. After it knocks down a picture of Dumbledore and pees on the carpet Hermione lets the puppy run around the backyard.
They end up going with Bean.
He complains how it behaves like a hyperactive child on steroids but grudgingly rubs it’s belly all the time.
Hermione reads novels aloud as the puppy sleeps on her lap. Meanwhile, Draco spends his afternoons baking dog treats before Hermione scolds him for spoiling the poor animal.
Long walks through the leaf-swept forest, the pair constantly chasing after the excited puppy after it spots a squirrel.
Draco late for work because Bean chewed through all his socks.
Hermione and Draco curled up on the couch watching movies, the puppy sandwiched between them.
A new picture on the sideboard of the three where the old picture of Dumbledore fell.
Hermione apparated onto the doorstep, exhausted from work. It was Draco’s turn to cook and all she wanted to do was eat something. Yet when she stepped through the door, she found a very stiff-looking Draco meticulously cutting out paper hearts.
Hey, she called in greeting. He looked up and then jumped out of his chair, causing Hermione to suppress a smile.
You said you’d be home by 9. You’re an hour early, he said flatly.
On the bright side, you get more of me, she retorted. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth but it disappeared quite quickly. He was tapping his fingers to Vivaldi’s Spring which meant he was nervous. Setting down her bag, she surveyed the room fully. There were chains of pink and red hearts everywhere and a large vase of roses on the dinner table. Which of course was set with steaming bowls of soup and breadsticks. Warm candlelight flickered and suddenly the radio turned on.
He did this. For her.
I don’t know much about this but there was this very informative book at the library and-
She marched forwards, ignoring his rambling and pressed her lips against his furtively.
This was the same boy who once struggled to even look at her in the eye. She knew how hard it was for him to do something like this. This beautiful boy gave her the world.
Thank you, she breathed, gently pulling away. His arm had found it’s way around her waist while the other concealed a blush. Yet he didn’t let go of her as she moved towards the table.
May I have this dance? he murmured, his eyes soft. In response she placed her arm on his shoulder and the two began to waltz. Hermione closed her eyes as she rested her head against his chest.
The rain and wind picked up, rattling the windows. But the pair were lost in warmth and laughter amidst the crackling radio.
Hermione bought Draco a white rose bush for his birthday. He often complained how it was bore but he treasured it and took care of it dutifully. The plant had it’s own watering schedule and when it got too big for the pot he moved it to the garden. He even would read to it when Hermione wasn’t home, flushing when a passerby walked by. Yet that winter it died. It died and although it was just a plant he was shaken. One more thing that is destroyed by my hand.
The fragile white petals laid crumpled in the grass. Draco cut it down to it’s roots, leaving a blackened stump and threw away his gardening gloves.
Until the next spring a tiny, green shoot with the beginnings of a bud appeared. He was perplexed. How could something so far gone come back?
Regardless, he sighed and resumed his regiment of care. The neighbors thought he was insane for he toiled over a small sprout but he ignored them.
The shoot had become a plant. The plant grew and slowly resembled a flimsy bush. Time passed and he continued to take care of it, Hermione teasing him mercilessly
The very next spring one bud unfurled, revealing soft, white petals. Delicate yet resilient.
Draco & Hermione curled up on the couch watching classics. There wands rested on the coffee table from when the two had levitated popcorn into each other’s mouths. Her head is tucked under his arm, his fingers gently entwined in her hair. The blanket, once meant to cover them both, was sacrificed to Hermione despite her protests that she wasn’t cold. Now she’s sleeping quietly as Draco watches her with a small smile. The movie runs forgotten in the background as the sleepy pair enter the night.
She could feel his lazy smile against her skin. His head was pressed to her neck, his lashes fluttering against her throat.
Are you going to let me go to work? she asked primly. Or tried to. Her cheeks flushed as he planted a soft kiss under her chin.
Alright, alright. He relaxed his embrace, allowing her to get off the couch. Smoothing her skirt Hermione took in a shaky breath before facing him one last time.
He inhaled sharply, his eyes filled with warmth. I’m just so proud of you. You look stunning,
Grinning, Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder. Says the man whose only wearing green pajama pants.
It was Draco’s turn to blush. Not everyone dresses sharp at five in the morning, he grouched. She laughed and soon he had to relinquish his frown.
You’ll do great,
I hope so. I’ve lost so much sleep over these papers. She drew her wand from her pocket before flashing one last nervous smile. I’ll see you after the International Prevention of Cruelty of Magical Creatures assembly.
He nodded slowly as he watched her fade away, the last of her to disappear her beaming face. His expression softened and he remained on the couch, unmoving. There was so little to be happy about these days. Seeing the woman who never gave up on him smiling like the sun was pure bliss.
He only agrees to the dinner because his mother was pleading for him to come home.
Draco not bothering hide his anger towards his father when he guides them to a table in the drawing room.
His jaw is tight and his fists clench underneath the table.
Hermione gently places a hand on his his but her arm is shaking violently. He grabs it tightly in an effort to steady her, rubbing his thumb against her wrist.
Narcissa tries to make conversation but no one responds. She looks down at the floor before quietly excusing herself to get dessert.
Lucius merely cuts his steak without a word, barely acknowledging the two’s presence.
The moment they exit the manor, the rusty gate shutting with a clang, Hermione breaks down. Draco wraps his arms around her and buries his face in her hair as tears drip down his jacket. He closes his eyes as it starts to rain, the water melding with the salt now on both of there faces.
The sharp, old building loomed behind them. It was the building that had broken them both.
Today was the day Voldemort had laid siege to Hogwarts.
Hermione sat blankly in the kitchen, her steaming coffee untouched. She vacantly clasped her wrist as her arm trembled.
Draco had awoken and angrily kicked the door, scattering a pile of books. He collapsed back on the bed, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders shook.
Today was the day there friends had died.
Wizards ran through the streets, cheering and shouting happily.
Draco shut the curtains, plunging the bedroom into darkness.
Hermione dropped the mug, her arm shaking even harder.
Draco didn’t move until he heard the tinkle of shattering glass. He stumbled into the kitchen, distorted memories of broken, bloody bodies on those clean white cots running through his mind.
Hermione was rocking back and forth, eyes shut while breathing quickly with her wrist tight in her hand.
Draco joined her on the floor, leaning his head on top of hers. He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged.
She didn’t see that he was crying until she felt something wet land on her shoulder.
The muffled whoops and cheers from the outside were louder then before, the two figures in the darkness silent.
The shards of glass lay painted in red as blood dripped from Hermione’s hand.
Hermione quietly began to slip out of bed to get a glass of water when something brushed her wrist. A hand tightened, desperate and shaky. There lay Draco breathing heavily, his hair matted with sweat. His anguished, raw gaze held so much hurt and fear, too much for any man to bear.
Stay, he pleaded.
That was all she needed to slide back under the sheets, allowing him to pull her close. She gently stroked his spine as he shuddered and pressed his face into her shoulder.
The world slept as the two held each other, unbeknownst to the dark shadows that plagued them.
[Interviewer proceeds to turn on the tape]
Draco: I hate the children in this neighborhood. So noisy and always sniveling, those disgusting little brats.
Draco: There’s this one child I can’t stand. She is so happy all the time it’s absolutely horrifying
Draco: She drew a very inaccurate-looking unicorn with chalk on the porch saying ‘have a good day!’. It took me 3 hours to scrub off.
Draco: However she has decent manners compared to the other beasts
Draco: She calls me Mister Malfoy
Draco: Treats her superiors right
Draco: But that stupid girl always has chalk on her face and- only because I’m a charitable member of society- wipe it off when I leave for work in the morning
Draco: There is a reserved handkerchief for her in my pocket for whenever I leave the house
Draco: She likes these horrifying pink stuffed bears. They’re quite soft but they have to hide a greater evil. Nothing is what they seem
Draco: ….What? Say that again
Draco: You think I actually like this child?
Draco: Everybody knows that if you make her chicken nuggets in a pink apron she doesn’t…