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When Hermione arrived at Malfoy Manor on New Year's Eve, she hadn't expected this. Draco had indicated that tonight would be significant, but—this—was more than she could fathom.
1987
Hermione first discovered her fascination with fire when she was young. Looking back, she realised it stemmed from her inability to explain the odd occurrences that always seemed to transpire wherever she went and the incessant bullying that followed.
After a particularly nasty incident in Primary School, one teacher introduced her to the concept of burn journals. Cataloguing her thoughts, then burning them provided an introductory lesson in control over her emotions and the external noise that surrounded her. Watching the pages burn away, along with the feelings of being an outsider—of never fitting in—was satisfying in a way that she had never experienced before.
The mesmerism of fire licking the pages and turning to ash never lost its lustre.
1990
Initially, the fires were innocuous—a spot of grass here, a small pile of rubbish there. The thrill from the unknown—how was this even happening?—urged Hermione to test the boundaries. Bright as she may be, she was too young to comprehend that one should never push boundaries without absolute control over every extraneous factor.
The neighbours were never able to determine just what had happened. They’d left to go to the grocer and returned to the bones of their home, engulfed in flames, with nary a reason as to why or how this could happen to them. She had tried to rationalise it. Maybe if their daughter had been just a bit nicer to her, none of it would have happened.
Hermione watched from afar as their home had been reduced to nothing, knowing deep down that she had pushed too far and had no way to reconcile what she’d done. It was a harsh lesson, spurring an intrinsic understanding that her ability to exert control extended to others and their lives. It was then she should have realised how deep this need for control went and the spring that fed it.
1991—First Year
The moment that Hermione realised what Professor Snape was doing during the Quidditch match, she knew she had to act—and quickly. Conjuring her best bluebell flame, she focused all her efforts on the hem of his robes and sent a spark. This was the first time she had targeted someone and not something. The thrill that shot through her when Snape’s robes ignited electrified her—there was no denying the instinctual need to fan the flames.
Watching him focus on Harry with such intent—and murmuring to himself for fuck’s sake!—only pushed her desire to succeed in the effort to break his concentration. Protecting Harry while he was high above the ground, in such a vulnerable state, was her singular focus. There was no time to watch what was happening on the pitch. It only took a few minutes for the blaze to lick high enough for Professor Snape to realise something was amiss and jolt into the stands directly in front of him.
Only once she knew that Harry was no longer in danger and her emotions had ebbed did she realise how close she was to losing control a second time.
1994—Fourth Year
Hermione could hardly believe Harry when he told her that his first task in the Triwizard Tournament was contingent on Dragons. Dragons. Her hesitancy hadn’t stemmed from a lack of confidence in Harry’s skill set, but the lack of control that he would have over the potential flames.
A need for control in all that she did had been firmly rooted by this point, especially after four years of dealing with Dra—Malfoy. Four years of still being told that she was an outcast who didn’t belong in this world either. That no matter how much she worked or how hard she tried, her choices moving forward were predetermined by her station in life. She’d never have known then that those interactions with Malfoy—the smarmy git—would have such a lasting effect. Solidifying a fundamental need for control over herself and to some extent, others.
She would be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge the deep thrum she felt at the thought of being so close to the flames of a real dragon—her first dragon. Hermione had never seen one before, only read about them in her Care of Magical Creatures studies. Their flames were different, wild, in comparison to fires that she started herself. And more dangerous, she thought. Her fascination with fire trumped her tendencies toward control. It had opened the floodgates for more than one dragon to nestle itself in her consciousness.
1997—Seventh Year
Leaving her parents and the Wizarding world at large behind to follow Harry on his hunt for Horcruxes should have been more stressful. Hermione’s ability to dissociate and control her emotions had bloomed in the years since the Triwizard Tournament. Her lack of struggle had been noted, many times by Ron, and it hadn’t gone overlooked that his resentment continued to mount as a result. Compartmentalisation was a trait needed for survival, and she’d be damned if she didn’t survive. It was the first time she was able to truly rely wholly on herself and her abilities without a second thought. She recollected that her acute control over the outcome was a necessary endeavour, and if Ron hadn’t understood that, it wasn’t her problem.
Luckily, Harry understood—he always understood. Even before Ron had left, Harry was what mattered most, and he had helped her through the starving nights when they huddled around her self-lit fires. At that point, the flames felt like home, even when they didn’t have one. They spent night after night, week after week, on the run from Voldemort, just out of reach from the Snatchers they regularly observed in the settings they hid within. Nights ending in front of the fire grounded her in the trying moments and gave her the will to continue on their shared path of righteousness.
Watching the flames—her flames—flicker and crack helped soothe her fears as long nights turned into longer days. Her ability to control this—rooting her in each moment—was enough to get her through the grim days that laid ahead.
1998—Battle of Hogwarts
Fiendfyre.
As soon as the spell escaped Crabbe’s mouth, she was stricken with fear. Fiendfyre was only controllable by the most skilled wizards and witches—a class of which Crabbe decidedly did not belong. Her first experience with this remarkable feat of magic was not meant to go this way.
While the flames engulfed the Room of Hidden Things and the objects around her began to go up, Hermione’s fear continued to mount. An extreme lack of control had shaken her to her core. Frantically searching the room in terror, she locked eyes with Malfoy and shared an unspoken sentiment—a need to get out. Harry had swooped in and grabbed her, but there was no way that she could let him leave Malfoy like that. Alerting Harry to her intent, he doubled back and lifted Draco onto the back of the broom. As he wrapped his arms around her to secure his place, she knew he would never be just Malfoy again.
Flying through the room and over the flames, Hermione registered just how much she hated this—this lack of being able to control the raging fire below. Draco must have sensed her wariness because he tightened his arms just a bit around her waist.
No, no—she didn’t like this at all.
1998—Eighth Year
It hadn’t taken them very long to bond during Eighth Year, when Headmistress McGonagall placed all of the returning students in the newly-renovated living quarters. After the events of the previous years, there was a multitude of issues for them to wade through. Still, she had been correct in the Room of Requirement the school year prior, he wasn’t just Malfoy anymore. Late nights were spent sparring over Potions theory, who would take the lead on their Ancient Runes project, even who Crookshanks spent more time with. Her friends didn’t understand their connection, but that didn’t matter to her, and it certainly didn’t matter to him. Malfoy—Draco—had fast become the pillar she didn’t know she needed.
As the year progressed, they spent more and more time together watching the fire until it reduced to nothing but embers on the nights they couldn't bring themselves to sleep. There was comfort in the tranquillity of their time spent together. Tranquillity Hermione equated to finally finding someone willing to show how scarred the war had left them, how changed. His choices and agency to control his destiny had been removed, too. They both realised early on that it was easy to just be together and unite over a mutual fascination with the hypnotic nature of fire and the calm that it provided.
1999
At the end of their last term, Hermione travelled to the home that she had once shared with her parents. Before the war changed everything, the house had held fond memories and the everyday hustle-bustle of a lively family. At that point, there had still been hope that her Memory Charm could be reversed and they would once again share the space. Knowing how hard it was going back to a house that used to be a home, Draco offered to come with her and help shoulder that burden. Bringing him into the house that she had once shared with her Muggle parents was something that Hermione never imagined she would do.
One day to adjust had turned into two, and eventually, almost a whole fortnight flew by. They spent late nights discussing theory and falling into deep conversations in front of the mantle just as they had back at Hogwarts. Here, though, they were away from the prying eyes of their peers and the judgmental glares at a war heroine getting too close for comfort with a former Death Eater. Hermione used the time to admire Draco’s ability to go toe-to-toe with her intellectually, even if he was only doing it to rile her up. The chemistry between them far surpassed any interactions with their peers.
Hermione took Draco out in the yard one evening to teach him—as her father had once taught her—to build a fire from scratch. Through this, she discerned that, while it sprung from different traumas, their shared love of fire still manifested the same way. She watched as Draco leaned the logs of wood up against one another in a triangular fashion and struggled to convert that first spark into something more. Watching his eyes light up as the fire finally caught was all Hermione needed to determine how much their relationship had parallelled the incipient stages of fire.
That initial flicker of more slowly ignited, combusting all at once and then they just were. Blazing. They burned hot, gravitating together to grow and heal through the shared experience of coming to terms with their issues bit by bit.
Bringing him into her home, entrusting him with those memories, and making new memories where her parents’ had once been, she realised just how much control she didn’t have when it came to Draco Malfoy.
2001—Present
When Hermione arrived at Malfoy Manor on New Year's Eve, she hadn't expected this. Draco had indicated that tonight would be significant, but—this—was more than she could fathom.
Their shared attraction to fire—and in turn—the need for control it satisfied had only been exacerbated since the end of the war. After all this time, Draco and Hermione had spent many nights sitting in front of the fire in silence, watching the flames flicker. From the Common Room to their respective flats to now, their love had ebbed and flowed, and grown into something beautiful.
There had never been any questions or acknowledgement from Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy regarding their ‘dalliance’—as they had put it. Hermione was just a small obstacle in their way of ensuring the Malfoy line stayed pure, and Draco provided a proper heir. Much time had been spent discussing the pressure that their expectations placed on Draco and his ongoing reconciliation of what he wanted versus what was expected.
His sense of duty was continually at odds with his sense of self.
Draco had met her at the gates of the Manor, and though he seemed more anxious than usual, she had initially written it off. He probably hadn’t realised that his nervous tics were on full display, but she knew him almost better than he knew himself. Running his hands along his jacket front, he led her to their favourite spot: a gazebo within the gardens. He settled the two of them on a blanket that she noted had been placed with purpose under the rafters with a view of the majority of the grounds.
Hermione never imagined that she and Draco would make it this far in their relationship. Still, here they were, sharing an intimate night under the stars when they could have been celebrating the New Year with their friends and family.
After a short while, Draco became even more anxious, and Hermoine began to worry as to his true intentions of bringing her here tonight. When she finally drew up the courage to meet Draco’s deep grey eyes, she recognised the reverence that she had come to know and love. Through the restlessness and with all the grace of an aristocrat, he withdrew a small black box from his trousers. Before Hermione knew what was happening, Draco flicked the box open to reveal an elegant band shaped into laurel leaves, inset with two small stones, and topped with a round, precious white fire opal.
Love. Progress. Hope. Happiness. Truth. All the things they’d been working towards.
“I…but—” Hermione fumbled, struggling as she realised the importance of the moment, “Draco, what about your parents?”
His eyes flicked towards the Manor as he muttered a spell under his breath, revealing the large estate in various states of conflagration. In front of her, what once had been the pride and joy of the Malfoy line was slowly being devoured by the flames.
His expression darkened, and at that moment, she knew.
Knew that this man had given up everything—no, everyone—to be with her.
Tonight Draco seemed to be placing everything on the line for her and providing her the keys to their future with intent. He was taking control of his destiny and giving her the reins to theirs in a way that she would understand—a way she would appreciate.
Shifting her sight back towards Draco, she watched as he smirked mischievously.
“What do you say, Granger? Ready to watch the world burn together?”