Chapter Text
Draco made sure to give Granger a scorching kiss the moment they stepped back into Hogwarts, right in front of a group of Gryffindors that included the Weasel. Granger rolled her eyes, but she smiled as she leaned up to meet his lips.
Then he excused himself, claiming he needed to sleep until dinner.
He’d wanted Granger to nap with him, but she said she needed to speak with Professor Sinistra. And apparently, she couldn’t stay with him tonight because she was having a sleepover with Ginevra Weasley.
The disappointment that hit him through the bond from Potter mirrored his own. They’d only just completed the bond, and although Granger understood it made them crave her more intensely, she didn’t grasp how hard it was to be apart from her.
Still… it was probably for the best. He’d barely slept the night before, and that was after being knocked unconscious and chained in a dungeon. Now that the danger had passed, he felt like he could sleep straight through to the weekend.
If he hadn’t already promised the Headmistress that he’d attend class in the morning, he’d probably skip.
Or maybe not since Granger was his potion’s partner.
He dropped his wand on the nightstand and immediately collapsed into bed. “Fuck.”
His whole body ached. Potter wasn’t the only one unaccustomed to the level of physical exertion it took to escape the snatchers. But Draco would never admit that he could barely walk. Apparently, he needed to add sprinting to his fitness regimen.
He closed his eyes and held out his hand, trying to practice wandless magic. “Nox,” he whispered.
But nothing happened.
He tried to focus on where his magic was pooled. He couldn’t be sure, but it felt like it was centered in his chest. Granger had said something about a current. Though he wasn’t exactly sure what she meant, he got the gist.
In his mind, he imagined an alembic from Potions class: a round vessel filled with his magic, rising through a curved tube toward his extremities.
“Nox,” he tried again.
He opened his eyes to see the lamp flickering.
He imagined the alembic bubbling more vigorously.
“Nox.”
The light went out.
A small, triumphant smile tugged at his lips. How the hell had Granger become so proficient at wandless magic before the ritual? Now she could cast almost anything without a wand, but even before, her repertoire had been impressive.
He was shaking from the effort it took to manage one spell. But knowing Granger better, her torture at the Manor had driven her to master wandless magic with a ferocity that made sense now. And even though the thought of her being tortured still made him sick, he was proud that she’d turned the experience into a strength. Without her, they wouldn’t have escaped the snatchers. He and Potter would be dead, and Granger would be in Dolohov’s hands.
He shivered in disgust. Dolohov was unhinged. Draco hadn’t realized how obsessed the man was with Granger. But he was in Azkaban now. She was safe. They were safe.
With that thought, sleep came easily, but the sleep wasn’t restful.
In his dream, he found himself in a cramped, musty room with a sloped ceiling. It was dark, and he could hardly see anything except for the light seeping through a thin crack under the door. The room was stuffy and suffocating, and he was soaked in sweat.
He tried the wooden handle, but the door was locked.
His breath came shallow. The heat pressed in on him, making it hard to inhale fully. He squinted into the darkness. A small shelf sat crookedly on the wall, holding a couple of figurines. He wasn’t sure what they were, but they were plastic and green.
With no control of his limbs, he reached up and pressed his palm against the low ceiling, trying to push it upward. But there was no give. He’d known this, but he tried anyway. His hand came away dusty, and he sneezed as the dust drifted into his face.
He felt something crawling through his hair and reached up. It was a spider. But instead of swatting it away like he wanted, his fingers moved gently, almost fondly, as he petted it.
“Hello, friend,” he said.
Except that wasn’t his voice. Awareness started to seep into his senses. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t his five-year-old body.
Where the hell was he? What kind of dream was this? It was like he was experiencing the dream, but it felt as if he was inside someone else, watching, feeling, and trapped behind their eyes.
“Are you hungry?” the voice said. “I’m hungry too. I saw a couple of flies in the corner, but you can have them today.”
A small hand carefully lifted the spider and carried it across the tight space, gently placing it in the corner.
Suddenly, the tiny door behind him flung open.
“Who are you talking to, you freak!”
His whole body jerked in fear. He didn’t answer. His mind blanked on a response that might calm the man down.
A large man with a ruddy face and bulging eyes reached in and grabbed his arm tightly.
He winced as he was dragged out of the space and slammed against the opposite wall. The pain in his arm was so sudden and sharp that he felt like he was going to vomit.
“You better answer me when I’m talking to you, Potter!”
Draco jolted. This wasn’t a dream; it was one of Potter’s memories. He didn’t want to see this, and Potter wouldn’t want him to either. But he was trapped, a passenger in a body that wasn’t his, forced to feel the memory of every jolt of pain and each spike of fear.
He tried to wake himself up, but he didn’t know how.
The large man moved closer to his face, and Potter’s eyes fixed on the white foam forming around the Muggle’s mouth as he yelled. Spittle hit his cheeks.
“Get in the kitchen and start cooking! You should have had eggs on the table ten minutes ago!”
Potter nodded quickly. “Yes, Uncle Vernon. Did you want some bacon with your eggs?”
Draco felt the strategy behind the words. The appeasement. The instinct to offer something that would soften the person yelling to avoid conflict. Draco knew that instinct too well. He’d used it with his own father more times than he could count.
Oh, hell. If he was seeing this, Potter must be having this nightmare as well.
The thought snapped him out of the dream.
He woke with a gasp, bolting upright in his bed. His heart hammered against his ribs. He didn’t bother trying to practice wandless magic; he grabbed his wand and flicked on the light with shaking fingers.
Draco could still taste the dust from that cramped room on his tongue, and his shoulder throbbed, even though the injury wasn't his own. He sat on the edge of the bed and covered his face with his hands.
Fuck, Potter’s Muggle relatives were a nightmare. Was that how all Muggles looked and acted? But that couldn’t be the truth. Granger had mentioned plenty of times that she’d had a good childhood. That she loved her parents.
A large part of him couldn’t help but feel sorry for Potter. Draco had always believed Potter lived a charmed life, despite losing his parents. Adored by everyone. Apparently, that wasn’t the case.
After checking the time and realizing it was already dinnertime, he hurriedly showered the smell of sweat off his body before quickly heading to the Great Hall.
The moment he pushed open the doors, his eyes sought out the Gryffindor table. Potter sat at the end, slouched comfortably, eyes fixed on Granger as she talked animatedly with Longbottom. He looked tired. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed him, but he didn’t look haunted, like how Draco often looked after waking from his own nightmares.
He checked the bond. Potter seemed content, and so did Granger. Potter was also incredibly horny, but what else was new.
Draco’s eyes lingered on Granger. She was back in her school uniform, her hair in a low bun, and she had just picked up her goblet filled with what he knew was pumpkin juice. She indulged and allowed herself to drink it every evening at dinner, despite the sugar. Tea in the morning and tea at lunch. Pumpkin juice for dinner. He didn’t know when he’d memorized that.
Without thinking, he walked toward her.
Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she smiled. He braced a hand on the table and leaned down, brushing a quick kiss against her lips, then another on the top of her head.
She smoothed the hair back from his forehead and he briefly closed his eyes and leaned into her hand.
“All right, Malfoy?” Potter asked.
His tone was casual, but Draco could feel the probing edge beneath it. Potter must have sensed his earlier panic. Draco could barely meet his eyes after seeing that memory.
“Fine, Saint Potter.”
Potter rolled his eyes.
Granger grabbed for Draco’s hand, lacing their fingers. “Are you eating with us?”
He glanced toward the Slytherin table. Theo and Blaise were waving him over, and everyone else was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Not tonight, Granger. I need to speak with Theo and Blaise.”
She nodded, accepting it without question. She didn’t need to know that he’d have to be imperiused to sit at the Gryffindork table.
He ignored Daphne and Astoria’s stares as he slid into his usual seat beside Theo and across from Blaise. He heard Pansy say his name and something that sounded suspiciously like ‘whipped’, but he ignored her as well. He also ignored Astoria’s scoff.
He didn’t look up as he speared a sausage. “Where’s your girl, Blaise? Didn’t see her with the Gryffindors.”
Silence stretched for a beat before Blaise answered. “She’s reserving the Quidditch pitch for Gryffindor practice for tomorrow night.”
“Hmmm,” Draco said around a bite. “Isn’t that Potter’s job?”
It was quiet long enough that Draco finally looked up. Theo and Blaise were staring at each other like they were having a silent argument.
“What?” Draco demanded.
Theo shook his head. Blaise nodded. Theo shook his head harder.
“Spit it the fuck out.”
Theo groaned. “Mate, you’re on probation.”
Draco stared at him. “I’m well aware.”
Another look passed between them.
“So…” Blaise said slowly, “where were you last night?”
Draco paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. Right. They didn’t know. He set his fork down and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
Before he could answer, his owl swooped in, dropping mail and nearly knocking over his goblet.
“You little shit,” Draco muttered affectionately, offering a piece of sausage.
His owl took it, and if Draco didn’t know better, he’d swear his owl rolled its eyes before flying away.
“The Prophet put out an evening issue?” Theo asked. “That’s strange. They haven’t done that since the end of the war.”
“Special edition, probably,” Blaise said. “Something must have happened.”
Draco wasn’t listening. His attention had zeroed in on a cream envelope sealed with the Malfoy crest and in his mother’s elegant handwriting.
Shit.
With dread pooling in his stomach, he grabbed the envelope and carefully broke the seal, pulling out the piece of parchment.
My dearest son,
I suppose congratulations are in order. But let me start by saying that nothing brings a mother more joy than learning from her cousin, immediately upon waking, that her son was attacked by Greyback and kidnapped by snatchers, along with Ms. Granger and Mr. Potter.
After ensuring you were safe, I asked why such an odd trio was captured together, only to be told that my son is supposedly in a triad with Ms. Granger and Mr. Potter.
This was news to me.
I told him he must be mistaken. He assured me he was not. Still in disbelief, likely due to not yet having my morning tea, I argued again. He laughed and informed me that if the noises coming from Potter’s room half the night were any indication, it was quite true. I did not inquire further.
I also told him I would not believe him until I heard it from you.
However, while having my morning tea in the second tea room on the third floor, I noticed something strange on the Black Tapestry: new lines extending from your name with two new additions. Ms. Granger and Mr. Potter.
Please tell me you did not do what I think you did. Write me back immediately with an explanation.
-Mother
Oh shit.
She hadn’t signed it with love. She hadn’t signed it your loving mother. Just Mother. She was furious.
He was still trying to figure out what he could possibly say to her when Theo punched him in the arm
“Ow, fuck! What was that for?”
Theo waved the paper in his face. “Would you like to explain this?”
He looked at the front page of the paper and saw a picture of Granger's back. His eyes immediately went to her arse, before his brain caught up.
Someone at the ministry had taken a picture of them. Granger was stepping up to him, and he was bending down to meet her kiss. Potter was by her side, smiling, with a hand on her lower back, just above the curve of her arse like he was tempted to grab it.
He watched the loop several times. He took note of the possessive look in his eyes and saw his lips moving as he warned her that everyone would find out about them if she didn’t step back. He saw her step toward him and go on her tiptoes, her calves flexing in those heels.
“Nice arse,” Blaise said.
Draco didn’t look away from the photo. “I’m telling Ginevra.”
Blaise snorted. “Like she’d care. She comments on Granger’s arse all the time.”
Theo hummed thoughtfully. “It is a very nice arse. I saw it in all its glory once. Best day of my life.”
Draco yanked the paper out of Theo’s hand. “Stop staring at my wife’s arse!”
They stared at him in shock, and he realized his mistake. “I mean, my girlfriend’s arse. Stop looking at it.”
Theo and Blaise immediately dissolved into snickers. Theo clapped him on the back. “You’ve got it bad, mate.”
Draco ignored him and focused on the article instead. Of course, fucking Rita Skeeter couldn’t keep her quill out of everyone’s business. But even though he was irritated, he couldn’t pretend to be angry that the world knew Hermione Granger had kissed Draco Malfoy. He just hoped Granger wasn’t upset. He knew she was a private person and had a personal vendetta against Skeeter.
He skimmed the headline.
Hero Status Going to Hermione Granger’s Head?
Sources at the Ministry of Magic were positively scandalized this week when Hermione Granger was seen entering the Ministry in the company of none other than War Hero Harry Potter and former Death Eater Draco Malfoy. Eyewitnesses claim the young witch appeared unusually cozy with both young men, wearing Muggle clothing that left nothing to the imagination. The scene sparked whispers among Ministry workers that Hermione Granger might be reliving the glory days of fourth year by skillfully stringing both boys along. At least Krum seems to have learned his lesson. Is Draco Malfoy his replacement? This also sparks the question: where is Ronald Weasley? Did Hermione break his heart and leave him in the dust for his best friend and enemy? Could it be that the supposed brightest witch of her age is enjoying a little game of romantic tug-of-war? Only time will tell.
Of course, your faithful correspondent didn’t stop at mere speculation for the appearance at the Ministry. A little digging (and a few well-placed questions to sources who wish to remain anonymous) revealed that the trio had recently been kidnapped by snatchers. While the exact details remain murky, the incident had a silver lining: it ultimately led to the capture of the dangerous Antonin Dolohov, whose involvement in the First and Second Wizarding Wars has long been a thorn in the side of the Ministry.
For those eager to see justice in action, turn to Page 4 to view Dolohov’s latest mugshot and to find out about his court proceedings, scheduled for sometime in early May, where he will finally be held accountable for his dark deeds.
Of course, we’ll be keeping a very close eye on Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Malfoy. One can only wonder how this unusual friendship will unfold in the days to come.
His eyes lifted to find Granger who had moved to sit beside Potter. She was concentrated on the article, her eyebrows furrowed as she read aloud to Potter.
Potter crossed his arms over his chest, and rolled his eyes multiple times as he shook his head. Finally, she slammed the paper onto the table, stood up, and met his eyes. He could feel her anger through the bond, but more than that, she was worried.
He raised an eyebrow at her. Was she worried about him?
She tilted her head toward the doors, and he nodded. Though it was undignified, he quickly took a few more bites before draining his goblet.
“She okay?” Theo asked.
He shook his head. “Not sure. I’m about to find out.”
“Tell her I said she has a nice arse. Maybe that’ll cheer her up.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, Nott.”
Theo called after him. “Is the article true? Were you kidnapped!?”
He waved a hand, dismissing Theo’s question for now. He’d catch them up later.
As he left the Great Hall, he felt every eye on him. Let them stare and whisper as the most beautiful girl in the school led him around by his fucking balls. He didn’t care.
Before he reached the doors, he caught Weasley’s death glare. Draco smirked.
Potter and Granger were waiting for him just outside the Hall. He cupped Granger’s face with his hands. “Are you okay, Granger? Skeeter is such a cunt.”
She huffed. “No need to insult cunts like that, Draco.”
A slow smile tugged at his mouth. He couldn’t help it. She was so adorable when she was mad. Hair sparking, curls trying to escape the bun she’d forced them into.
She met his kiss halfway. “It’s not me I’m worried about. I’ll handle Skeeter. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He barely heard the question. He was too focused on the way she bit the corner of her lip. “Me? Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“Because, Draco,” she said gently. “You said you didn’t want your father to know about us. What if he gets the paper?”
It was like he’d been suddenly doused with cold water. He jerked back, and his hands fell from her face. “Fuck. I didn’t even think about that.”
Potter’s worried eyes met his. Draco looked away quickly, fixing his gaze on a painting behind Granger’s head. He needed to handle this immediately. He had to write his mother and explain everything. Perhaps she would be willing to talk to Lucius for him. He didn’t want his father to start sending him letters again. And he needed to shield Granger from his father’s attention.
He knew his mother was on his side. She’d forgive him for the ritual once she learned that Granger had volunteered. She’d forgive the secrets, and she’d help him keep Lucius at bay.
He absently leaned in and kissed the corner of Granger’s mouth where she’d been chewing her lip. “Excuse me, I need to go write my mother a letter.”
She said something else, but he didn’t hear it. His mind was already racing, planning what he would write to his mother, while dread curled in his stomach.
Back in his room, he sat at his desk for over an hour, writing. He explained everything that had happened since New Year’s, leaving out the explicit details. Usually, he tried to keep her in the dark about his dating life, but she needed to know how important Granger was to him. He knew she would help if he was honest with her. Hopefully, she’d write to Lucius immediately. His father was an abusive prick, but he genuinely cared about his wife in his own way.
Mother knew that Draco didn’t want to hear from him. She knew that if he received a letter from his father, it would send him into a spiral of self-loathing and hate.
If it were up to him, he’d never think about his father again. But if his father found out about Granger, Draco would feel sick every morning until he received a letter from him. The anticipation would make him paranoid. Just seeing his father’s handwriting would set him back. He didn’t need or want the self-loathing, or the shame, or the reminders of everything he’d done wrong while trying to make his father proud.
He was finally happy. Draco had someone he loved more than anything, who he would do anything for. He finally saw a future with more options and the potential to become someone others didn’t fear or hate.
He folded the letter carefully and pressed his signet ring into the wax.
He opened his window and whistled for his owl as the cool evening air came in.
Aquinas swooped in gracefully, landing on the sill with a soft hoot and immediately lifting his leg.
“Take this letter to my mother as quickly as possible,” Draco murmured, offering him a treat from the jar. Aquinas snapped it up, then took the letter and launched into the darkening sky.
The moment his owl disappeared, the corner of his desk lit up. He glanced over to see his journal glowing.
With a bemused smile, he flipped through the pages until he found the latest message from Granger.
HG: Hi.
DM: Hi. Aren’t you supposed to be with Ginevra?
HG: I am. She’s working on plays for the Hufflepuff match.
DM: Why is Ginevra doing Potter’s job?
HG: She told Harry he wasn’t focused enough and took over. She said he could be captain again when he got his head out of my arse.
DM: Probably for the best. Gryffindor might have a chance now.
HG: Be nice. I know you’re starting to like him.
Draco rolled his eyes.
DM: Let’s not get carried away.
HG: Are you okay?
He swallowed and ignored the sick feeling in his gut.
DM: Why do you ask?
HG: You seemed upset earlier.
Before he could come up with an excuse, the journal glowed again.
HG: Are you mad at me?
He reared back in shock. She thought he was mad at her?
DM: Of course not. Why would you think that?
HG: I don’t know. When I brought up your father, you didn’t say much. I asked if you were okay, and you just left. I’m sorry if I overstepped. I didn’t mean to bring him up and upset you.
DM: No, Granger. It wasn’t you. I just hadn’t thought about him finding out about us. You’re right, though. He probably will, and it threw me off. I just don’t want him taking an interest in you. And I don’t care to hear what he has to say about us.
HG: Okay. As long as you’re not mad at me. And don’t worry about your father. He will never bother you again.
DM: I don’t think I could ever actually be mad at you, Granger. Annoyed? Sure. Angry? Absolutely not. I-
Fuck it.
DM: I love you far too much to ever be angry with you.
A full minute went by before the journal lit up again.
HG: Draco Malfoy... Did you just tell me that you loved me over paper?
DM: Yes. Now say it back.
HG: Oh, Merlin...Fine. I love you too, you twat.
His lips twisted into a grin.
DM: Of course you do.
HG: Now that you’ve admitted it, you better say it to my face tomorrow.
DM: I’ll say it to your face, your mouth, your arse, and your cunt. Just come to my room right now, and I’ll say it as many times as you want.
HG: Tempting. But I can’t leave Gin. It’s been a while since we’ve had a girls' night.
DM: Fine. Tomorrow then.
He snapped the journal shut, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face.
Granger loved him, and he loved her back. The bond had only confirmed what he already knew in his bones: she was his, and he was hers. His wife.
One day, they’d make it official. They would have an actual ceremony with vows spoken aloud instead of whispered in a dark dungeon. She would wear white, and her curls would be loose, hanging down her back.
He’d stand in front of her as a free man. No more probation, and no shadow of his father hanging over him.
He could almost see it.
He’d be a Potioneer. Or maybe even an Auror. He’d never imagined that path for himself, but it didn’t feel impossible any longer.
They would go anywhere she wanted for their honeymoon. France. Italy. Some remote island where she could read in the sun and he could pretend he wasn’t watching her every second. He didn’t even care that Potter would be there.
He’d just settled into bed when a soft knock tapped against his window. With a sigh, he pushed himself up and crossed the room. Aquinas swooped in the moment the latch lifted, dropped a letter onto the desk, and, without waiting, stole two biscuits straight from the treat jar before disappearing back into the night.
Draco shut the window and tore open the seal of his mother’s letter. Her elegant handwriting filled only a single line.
Don’t worry about your father, I’ll take care of him.