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The castle was lovely at dusk. The waning sunlight cast shadows across the halls, dancing with the stones. Torches would light, the crackle soothing background noise as bodies find their way to the Great Hall or dorms or wherever they wandered. It was peaceful as the night rose, the stars winking back into existence.
It was peaceful, quiet and the exact reason Hermione could hear pained shouts from a floor above.
Heart beating in her chest, she whipped her wand out from her pocket and barreled up the stairs, taking each step two at a time. The cries continued, fading from fear to fury, but pained all the same. When she entered the corridor, the sound echoed from all around and she couldn’t directly pinpoint which opened door she needed to enter. Before she could utter a locating spell, the hall shuttered with an ear-splitting crash and a plume of dust erupted from the doorway four classrooms from where she stood.
Cracked wood and debris continued to fly into the hallway as she cast a shield and ran through the settling dust.
Nothing could have prepared her for the scene.
Draco Malfoy was held aloft by the neck of his collared shirt by more than ten pixies, their brethren launching coordinated assaults on any spans of bare skin they could find. Rivulets of blood fell in thin streams down Malfoy’s forearms to fall to the floor beneath and stained the white fabric where they’d torn through the delicate skin of his neck. He swung his hands and legs fruitlessly, trying to lose their grip, his wand nowhere in sight.
To the left of the room was the cause of the crash.
Boxes and crates that once had been stacked neatly in the corner now lay in ruins along with the crumpled heap of Hufflepuff robes in the shape of a body. The body twitched but remained prone.
Alive and not her current problem.
“Immobulous!” She cried, spinning to expertly aim her wand at the group of pixies holding Malfoy aloft. They froze, Malfoy’s collar ripping from their palms and he promptly fell, hitting the stone floor before she could do anything to soften the landing.
“For fucks sake, Granger!” He growled, rolling to his knees, rubbing his tailbone. “Couldn’t let a guy down easily, could you?”
“It was barely five feet above the ground, Malfoy,” she said drolly, fashioning the remnants of a broken crate into a cage large enough to house the floating pixies. She guided them into the crate and muttered a sticking charm, reinforcing the integrity of the crate.
“What on Earth are you doing in here anyway?” Now that the excitement had been contained, she was more easily able to recognize the room for what it was. It was the trophy storage room, famously used for detention.
“What did you do this time?” She eyed Malfoy from the corner of her eye where he still knelt on the ground, griping about his bruised arse. “And who did you rope into it?”
“I haven’t the foggiest of what you mean,” he said cheekily, standing to wipe his hands on his torn trousers. “Nobody is roped into anything. Participation is an election; any fallout is equally theirs.”
“Right, and as Head Boy you thought to throw caution to the wind and forego rules? You’re meant to be a leader, someone the Prefects and can look up to. Being a Head has been an institution for years, it’s prestigious and you’re making a-“
“Spare me the speech, Granger,” he sighed wearily. “I can assure you; I’ve heard it already. McGonagall already shoved her beak so far down my throat, I’m afraid I’ll hack up a hairball soon. And, for the record, I’ve also been yelled at by my mother and father via a Howler and there is to be a committee as to my ability to retain Head Boy status, so please. No more.” Hermione blinked at him owlishly, for once, at a loss for words.
“Well,” she stammered softly, grasping for something comforting to say and coming up empty, “you could have said so, saved me the effort.”
“Ah, yes, forgive me Granger but between the kidnapping and falling on my arse, it missed my notice to tell you as much.”
“You were hardly kidnapped,” she muttered, turning from him to stare concernedly at the prone body amongst the boxes. “Who is that any way?”
“Justin Finch-Fletchly,” he replied, distracted by the scattered piles of metals, accolades, trophies and various pieces of suit armor lain strewn about, no doubt looking for his wand.
A chill slithered down her spine and gooseflesh erupted on her exposed skin. She tried to tell herself it was the cold air of this wing of the castle, but she knew even that couldn’t erase the memory of tepid breath, Firewhisky and bruising fingers.
***
It had been at one of the Slytherin’s Slug Club after parties, this one especially prominent as it was the last one before Christmas break last year and Malfoy and his posse were sparing no expense.
Harry usually brought Ginny and Ron to his chagrin, hadn’t been invited and turned down going with her out of spite. He also had better things to do with Lavender Brown, but Hermione wasn’t going to bring that up and took it on the nose.
Justin had overheard their conversation in the Library, and had approached her the next day, wanting to get a leg up in notoriety and hoped someone would recommend his admittance to Professor Slughorn. So, not wanting to be the odd one out yet again, Hermione had brought Justin as a date to their meeting where Justin was promptly ignored by their teacher and peers, no matter how many times she attempted to bring him into the conversation. She remembered the wine he began furiously imbibing not helping his case, but everyone else was enjoying the rare vintage of elf wine Malfoy had brought from his family’s cellar.
She recalled Malfoy staring daggers at Justin each time he gulped down his goblet, but she’d thought nothing more of it other that it had to have been expensive and Justin was drinking it like Butterbeer.
Hours later, she still felt his heavy gaze occasionally, but Justin had moved on from the wine to Firewhisky and was making a proper fool of himself, slurring his words and spilling drink on the linens. She too was getting overwhelmed by his behavior and had decided to call it a night.
She found Harry and Ginny, wished them a good night and pulled a drunk Justin from the party. He became belligerent and fed up with babysitting him, she spun them into a corridor and pointed a furious finger in his face.
“Listen here, Finch-Flectchly. I did you a favor by bringing you here tonight and you’ve made a fool out of me. If I had known you’d be this insufferable, than I never would have brought you. It’s no wonder Slughorn didn’t see fit to invite you to his group.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth did Justin spin them so her back was to the cold stone of the hallway, her collar in his hand and fist raised. She shrunk back, reaching into the pockets of her dress, devasted to remember that the meetings were a no-wand policy.
She’d never experienced such physical violence before, but she raised up on her toes and met him eye-to-eye.
“Do it,” she whispered, her words so soft they didn’t travel farther than the small, simmering bubble they were trapped in. His muddy brown eyes, narrowed and bloodshot, widened as a dark, silver tipped wand appeared from her right and stabbed him under the chin.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.” The words were calm, collected and oily, sharp enough to cut to the bone.
Justin could hardly swallow from the pressure of the wand, but he released her and stormed off, away from the party, towards the Hufflepuff common room.
Hermione watched him go, her heart beating fast enough to explode and her fingers itching to slap him across the face. She contemplated running after him, but propriety and the wizard standing next to her gave her pause.
Malfoy stood cloaked in the pale sliver of moonlight from the lone window in the corridor. It lit his eyes like a silver flame for all the rage that simmered in their mercury depths. He didn’t look at her, save a shifting of his eyes as he spun around, back to the party. He didn’t warn her to wait a bit before heading towards her own dormitories or check on her well-being. He just left, like smoke, his presence lingering long after he’d left.
Shaking her head of the memory, Hermione clenched her jaw and glared at Justin, hoping he remained knocked out on the cold hard floor long after they’d left. She even hoped he developed a crick in his neck and couldn’t move it for days afterwards.
“Good,” she finally said quietly after perusing the various trophies around her feet. “He’s a creep and deserved to finally be knocked out.” Draco grunted in agreement, and she thought she might have heard him utter, I was happy to, but she couldn’t be sure. She stooped to pick up a grimy trophy, so old she couldn’t read the plaque on the front. Rubbing a shirt sleeve on the placard, she looked over at Malfoy to find him staring at her.
“So, you were both in here for detention?”
“No.”
“No?”
“That’s what I said.” His voice was gruff, laced with an edge Hermione couldn’t quite decipher. She studied him instead, his dirty clothes and oozing cuts, a dichotomy of his usual crisp, kempt appearance. It suited him, she thought meeting his eyes once more. Her cheeks blazing at the thought, one of many she’d found herself having lately.
It was impossible not to.
Draco Malfoy had returned to school impossibly taller with his muscles filled out compellingly and stopped gelling his hair into a tough shell atop his head. The current style he favored was either created effortlessly or he spent far too much time in front of a mirror.
Every witch with a pair of eyes noticed the changes and fell over themselves to get his attention. She certainly had, but while she remained dignified, they simpered and preened in his presence. The girls could have been invisible for all the good it did them.
Secretly, she hoped none of them ever caught his attention.
It had been an infinitely hard year having him in such close proximity. He’d traipse around their shared space in low-slung sleep pants and no shirt, and she’d have to excuse herself to the library just to focus on her homework.
Her dreams were haunted by him. She’d wake in the early hours of the night, the ghost of kisses peppered along her shoulders a taunting companion to the ache between her thighs.
And the physical attraction wasn’t even the worst of it.
Draco Malfoy had learned her habits. How she took her tea, which armchair she preferred and what snacks she favored. Often there would be a cup waiting after her rounds were done on the table in front of the fire, her current read on the seat of chair. They hardly talked save for issues and conflicts pertaining to the Head duties, but somehow throughout it all, he’d noticed her in a way no one else ever had.
He wasn’t known around the school as being particularly thoughtful or considerate. Yet he was.
Malfoy cleared his throat and Hermione started, mortified to have been caught staring too long. Her cheeks flamed hotter, and she tore her gaze from him back to the trophy she was still diligently polishing. Her sleeve made no dent in the grime, but she rubbed harder in earnest, wishing she could disappear.
She heard footsteps and soon the tips of black, polished shoes appeared. Then a shirt hem, broken buttons and slate grey eyes. He’d crooked a finger under her chin and lingered, eyes boring into hers as they searched for something.
Why are you so concerned with why I’m here?”
“I’m not so worried about the why as I am what it could mean. It’s like I said, what you do reflects upon me as well.”
Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. “I see you’re going to dig your heels in then, so let me rephrase my question: why are you so concerned for me?” A mischievous gleam sparkled in his mercury eyes, and she had to resist the urge to squirm under the weight of his stare. He was far too close and could surely hear her heart thundering in her chest, but she would not give him the satisfaction. He’d caught onto something in her expression earlier and he was a cat with a mouse in its claws, and he wasn’t letting her go.
“I haven’t a clue what you mean. My first responsibility is to this school and its students, and it appears one’s been injured.”
“So, it’s Finch-Fletchey you’re fussing over?” He asked skeptically, a blonde brow arched.
“Of course.” She stood taller, throwing her shoulders back and inched closer, hoping upon all hope that she seemed more confident than she felt.
“I see. And what do I have to do to get that amount of concern?” His lips turned down on one side as he closed the rest of the space between them, her back pressing into stone in an attempt to evade him.
Draco leaned down, his mouth scant centimeters from hers. She could smell peppermint on his breath with each exhalation. She wanted to chase it, search for it and taste it on her tongue.
Their chests brushed, her breath coming faster.
Hermione was flustered, overwhelmed and too far gone to realize that the trophy that still hung from her limp fingers began to slide to the ground.
With far faster reflexes than she had, Draco’s hand shot out and gripped the second handle on the cup mere seconds before hers regained the other.
The air around them became heavy and charged, static electricity crackled, the hair on their heads standing on end. A familiar tug began gnawing behind her belly, growing insistent with each second. She stared in horror at Draco whose mouth had opened to say something and made to let go. Quicker than he could release the cup, Hermione gripped the front of his torn, bloody shirt and held on for dear life as they were whisked away.
***
Everything hurt.
She felt like an unsolved Rubik’s cube, twisted this way and that. It was too dark to determine where she was and what she’d landed on. Whatever it was, was lumpy and poked into her ribs painfully.
The air was musty and damp, trickling water could be heard from the pipes above, or below, she had no way of knowing which way was up. She couldn’t see any way through the stars dotting her vision.
Something toppled over, a box as it were, and fell onto her stomach, stealing whatever breath remained in her lungs. She wheezed and batted her assailant to the side.
It grunted. Or rather, someone grumbled and cursed loudly.
“Fucking hell! Granger, what the fuck? Where are you?”
Malfoy.
Relief colored her growing terror. He’d traveled with her wherever they were because the trophy had been invariably a Portkey.
She’d recognized the pressure in her navel from the port keys they’d taken to the Quidditch match back in fourth year, and when Malfoy had made to let go, fear like nothing she’d ever felt sliced through her veins like ice. Too many splinching reports had been made from irresponsible port key usage and all she could see was his broken, mutilated body and the terror that she’d never get a chance to talk to him ever again. She held onto him like a vice through the entire length of travel.
He thankfully sounded hale and whole, but how had it gotten there? Why was it there? Most importantly, where had it taken them?
Her head ached with questions and Malfoy’s continued griping, but she gritted her teeth and sat up. Her eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness through the little light that filtered in from the closed door behind her. Malfoy lay prone on his back glaring at her, the box kicked off to the side.
“What the fuck?” He repeated with less venom and rubbed at a spot on his forehead.
Indeed, she thought and stood. The room spun but she managed to stay on her feet. Leaning down, she offered Malfoy a hand and pulled him up.
“Sorry about throwing the box on you.”
“I couldn’t be fucked about the box. Where are we?”
“How am I supposed to know? And does every other word that comes from your mouth need to be an expletive?”
“Fucking absolutely!” He cried, throwing his hands in the air. “In fact, I am of the opinion that you’re not using enough. Fucking fancy that shit seeing as it’s your fault we’re here in the first place.”
“Yes, because it’s my fault we’re here. I’m grateful you finally caught on. It was my mess that created a slew of discarded trophies, and I planted a port key within them to pick up “fortuitously,” she made quotes in the air, her anger finally boiling over.
“Honestly, Malfoy. How was I to know the cup I grabbed was going to whisk us off to Merlin knows where?” She flipped him off and turned to search the boxes for her wand.
She spied the handle just beneath a box on its side. And next to it, the grimy trophy.
Her heart sank as she knelt and shoved the box aside, revealing her wand broken in half, held together by the thin strand of heartstring. Tears of anger and frustration welled in her eyes. Receiving her wand had been a turning point in her life. It was proof that no matter what the bigots said, she did belong.
It had chosen her almost immediately and had been a faithful friend for years. It didn’t look too damaged, but she knew better. Most repaired wands don’t return to their full capabilities. She’d have to get a new one if she had plans to join the Auror’s after graduation.
Hermione let out a frustrated groan and sat down; her head hung between her knees. She didn’t know where Malfoy was in the dark. Distant thrumming and deep rumbling began above, garbling and knocking. Pipes, large and small, spanned the ceiling in precise, intricate patterns carrying all manner of waste and water.
Wherever they were, they were surely in a basement and there was no use waiting around
“Malfoy,” she called, standing and brushed her pants.
“What?” She jumped, having not heard him creep up from behind. “Jumpy, eh, Granger?”
“Aren’t you a least bit shook up, eh, Malfoy? I don’t know about you, but the sooner we can get home, the happier I’ll be because currently, I’m quite pissed.” She held up her broken wand for him to see. His brows drew inwards, but he didn’t remark on the loss of the one thing that could have helped them get home. Hopefully the cup would do that.
She stooped to grab its handle and held the other for Malfoy to grab. He met her eyes and she nodded. He reached for it, hesitated and grabbed onto the trophy.
Nothing happened.
“Unbelievable!: she shouted and threw the cup into an open box. Malfoy didn’t say anything about her outburst. He looked dejectedly at the box before asking, “what should we do?”
She tempered her feelings and assessed the storeroom they’d landed it.
It was easier to see now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Floor to ceiling shelves lined the entirety of the back wall, mere feet from where they’d landed. It seemed they’d fallen onto a delivery that no one had gotten to. The boxes were labeled, giant white stickers that touted an apron and an iron; a dry cleaners. The shelves held all manner of cups, spouts, straws, syrups, sodas and kegs.
They were in a supply room and as she toured the shelves a plan began to form.
There was no way they were going to get away unnoticed in the clothes and robes they had, so they had no choice but to blend in.
Stopping beside the crushed boxes, she tore open the closet one. Then another and another, throwing open lids like her life depended on it.
Malfoy was quiet all the while, blending into the shadows while she worked.
She opened several boxes and amassed a small pile next to her before she turned to appraise Malfoy in the corner.
“What size shirt do you wear?”
“How should I know?” He replied shrugging pompously. “All of my clothes are bespoke. A Malfoy wouldn’t bother with anything off the rack.”
“A large the, your majesty,” she snarled and threw a new collard shirt at him. He caught it and eyed it distastefully, rubbing the material between his fingers.
“This is polyester, Granger. It is going to chafe, and with my sensitive skin I couldn’t possibly-“ he looked up and stopped mid-sentence, freezing at whatever he saw on her face. “It’s lovely, thank you.” Malfoy ripped the buttons of his ruined shirt and tossed it aside, whipping the clean one around his shoulders. Her cheeks blazed at the cut of muscles on his chest and abdomen and the small trail of hair that led to the waistband of his trousers. She spun away, chucking the rest of his ensemble blindly behind her.
“These too,” she choked out.
Seconds past, the air thick with the sounds of him disrobing, zips and snaps an accompaniment to her embarrassment.
“You can look now,” he said finally. She did and was taken aback by the changes. He looked simply muggle with his logoed button up and black slacks. An apron dangled limply from an outstretched finger, and he eyed it distastefully.
“What is this?”
“It goes around your waist. You put things in it.”
“What things?”
“Pens, pads of papers, receipts, er money from sales.”
“You’re going to make me work, aren’t you?” Malfoy’s features twisted from disgust to horror and Hermione didn’t have it in her any longer for his dramatics and spoiled behavior.
“I wasn’t, but if the idea tortures you as thoroughly as it appears it does, I may find a way to force indentured servitude to get us out of here. But sadly, I do not think we have the time. These are a means to an end. We cannot walk out of these doors in our wizarding clothing and not attract unwanted attention.
“I have no clue where we are, but it’s not Hogwarts. We need to get out of here and find the closest ministry liaison and get home. So, you will do as I say, when I say it because you’re bound to be out of your depth here.” Chest heaving from frantic gulps of air, Hermione turned and busied her hands and mind with finding clothing in her own size. Back turned, she missed the soft look of concern and tightening Malfoy’s face, his own hands twisting around themselves. They flexed, fingers reaching towards her before he fisted them.
***
“Hey, hello! Where do you think you’re both going?” Hermione stopped in the middle of the long hallway, Malfoy frozen next to her where they’d been meandering down since leaving the stock room. The walls were bare, an off-eggshell white that gave them zero indication where they’d ended up.
She glanced to the side, Malfoy’s eyes wide with terror and alarm as hers undoubtedly were.
The man’s accent was thick, his voice deep with a slight twang to it and entirely recognizable.
America.
They were somehow in the United States, thousands of miles away from their friends, their families and with no way to contact them.
Her lower lip trembled, frustration and anger threatening tears to spill from her eyes. She wanted to scream from the sheer absurdity of it all, but the man was barreling down the hall to them, his footfalls drowning out the panic.
“Hello?” he said again as the turned, waving a hand in their faces. She wanted to slap him.
“Yes?” Her tone was testy, bitter and the man, Dick (fitting, she thought), narrowed his eyes in disdain before dismissing her and looked to Malfoy.
“Out of towners then? Should have known. It’s a wonder we get anything done around here. I need you both on the circuit, taking drinks to customers, cleaning tables, sweeping the floors, et cetera. I assume you’ve been given your quadrants?”
“I- er..” Malfoy fumbled with a response, his cheeks pinkening, but Dick hardly noticed. He waved a hand and dug around in a pocket, procuring a small map before thrusting it in her face.
“Your positions are marked in red. Keep to them, don’t make fusses and if you have questions, don’t. Figure it out on your own, away from the patrons and for the love of God, whatever you do; do not fuck this up for me.” Spittle flew from his mouth onto her chin, and she nearly gagged from his stale breath as he inched closer with each word he said.
Feeling as if he made his point, Dick settled back on his heels, looked them each over once before clicking his tongue and scurried off, muttering under his breath about spring breakers and how they’d inevitably be his downfall.
“What the fuck?” She shrieked quietly, spinning on Malfoy and crumpling the map in her hand.
“Oh, now you say it,” Malfoy exclaimed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air.
“We’re miles and miles and even more miles from home in America with no guarantee of return or safety or even where we’ll sleep for the night and you’re more concerned with what expletives I do and do not say?”
“Who knows, Granger. Maybe this will be fun?” There was hope in his eyes and she didn’t know how to quantify how it softened the ice of his eyes and swirled them alluringly. If she wasn’t careful, it would soon become her favorite color, and Merlin knew she had better things to worry about than how attractive Draco Malfoy was under the intensely harsh fluorescent lighting.
“We don’t even know what state we’re in,” she settles on lamely.
“Does it matter? There has to be something somewhere we can track down. You heard Dick. It’s spring break, maybe we can turn this to our advantage.”
“How?”
“We’re clearly stuck in a Muggle world. That means, we cannot use any magic that would get traced back to us since we’re both over the age limit. I’ll be honest, I’m shit at wandless magic and I’m certain you’re probably not adept at it yet seeing as the classes just started. Even with all the times I’ve caught you with your nose in the textbook.” He raised a brow, daring her to say anything to contradict him. She flushed but he barreled on.
“We need money to accomplish anything. You’ve dressed us for success and Dick has given us the means. At the very least, I say we do what he’s asking of us so we can get paid and find accommodation for the night. Maybe a little food.”
It all made sense. She couldn’t fault his logic. It had been on par with her own after all, even if she never voiced it.
There were no windows, so she had no idea what time of day it was nor had Dick made mention of where they were. But there was a small sliver of hope shining through the despair that had darkened the edges of her vision.
And Malfoy had been the one to give her that reassurance.
Sensing there was nothing else left to do other than follow through, she smiled at Malfoy and nodded.
His answer smile lit the hallway brighter than the lights did.
***
Las Vegas, it turned out was where the Portkey had spit them out.
The old relic was most likely an aged, illegal vice a teacher or two had years and year ago.
International Portkeys were highly monitored and extremely difficult to create. It took sustained, advance magic. One wrong move or if the spell wasn’t performed long enough, it could end in disaster. Splinching and death being the worst of the outcomes.
And the trophy had sent both of them through with ease.
Those thoughts and more were a constant companion with Hermione as she danced around the kitschy casino. It was garish and trite, the space around the tables and machines transformed from a stereotypical betting hall to their version of a lush, tropical oasis.
Inflatable palm trees were erected around every inch of available floor space, with hollow coconuts draped around the top, forcing the very tip of the tree to lean forward. Many already had, Dick skirting the patrons, uttering apologies and gallantly saving the from collapse.
Walls boasted large hibiscus flowers held up by tape, small flamingo figurines with the bar menu were centerpieces to every table and there was even a luau being held in the back complete with a limbo bar and a pig being roasted on a spit.
Dick claimed all was well and up to code, by Hermione couldn’t see past the belching coals and the flammable carpet beneath.
She didn’t see much of Malfoy as she made regular rotations around the room, taking and delivering orders and cleaning trash. She’d made off well enough in tips she thought, stuffing the change in the pocket of the pants she wore, not trusting the small apron and its easy accessibility.
Her nose itched and she sighed, resisting the urge to sneeze for what had to be the millionth time that day.
Vibrant pink and purple flowers were draped around each waitress’s necks with matching ties given to the waiters and bartenders and it just so happened, these were real and she was allergic.
It wasn’t serious but between the cigarette smoke, the burning grease from the pig and the pollen, she’d had enough and wanted to quit. Her feet hurt, she was starving because even with all its liability, the pork smelt divine, and the hopelessness was beginning to set in again. It had been ages since she slept and with the time zone difference, she was more than confused and pissed off.
Malfoy’s head blond shock of hair bobbed above the customers he walked behind as their eyes met above their heads. He beckoned to her, motioning towards the doors that said EXIT above them.
When they met, he held out a scrap of paper with an address on it.
“What’s this?”
“Lodgings. A hotel the bartender said. He also mentioned it’s cheap and barely reputable.” Hermione wanted to laugh at the repugnant look on Malfoy’s face, thought of a million ways to torture him with what horrors may await them but standing still, she realized she could barely keep her eyes open.
“How far?” was all she could manage, swaying on her feet.
“Enough,” he replied, grabbing her upper arm and steering her through the hallway and the stock room where they’d arrived and into the blaring, late summer sun. She squinted, hissing in pain. A taxi blasted its horn on the curb, the cabbie waving their hand impatiently at them.
“How?” Bewildered, she ran down the marble steps after Malfoy who held the door open to them.
“Magic,” was all he supplied as he shut the door and they were whisked away through the busy streets.
***
“We only had one room left. A queen and it’s already been paid for it looks like, so if you could sign here. Thank you and here are the keys and I hope you enjoy your stay!”
The receptionist dropped the keys into Malfoy’s awaiting palm and disappeared as fast as she’d arrived all the while Hermione’s brain still tried to comprehend that they’d have to share a bed.
Malfoy, nonplussed, strode away from the front desk and towards a stairwell with a sign pointing them forwards to the rooms.
“Coming?” He called over a shoulder and disappeared around the corner.
Hermione watched in a daze, exhausted and intrigued. Malfoy was surprisingly acclimated to the Muggle way of life, knowing what certain items were like taxis and showed no discomfort in riding in one. She thought back to their day, her memories cycling in a vortex of overstimulation and found that there were more than a few things he seemed to be comfortable with and took in stride. Shame coated her skin and she felt slimy.
It was not out of the realm of possibility, but unfair nonetheless of her to assume he would have been out of his depth and incapable of handling himself.
Chagrined, Hermione followed after him. He was waiting for her against the stairwell, twirling the ley leisurely on a finger. His expression was amused, but knowing, as if he’d been waiting for her to catch up in more ways than one.
“This isn’t your first time in the Muggle world, is it?”
“Nope.” He popped the last part of the word, and she wanted to be annoyed by the ricocheting sound in the empty hallway, but she felt she’d reached capacity. She just wanted answers and sleep. She didn’t care in what order.
“How long?”
“My parents, well my mother specifically, thought it best I be exposed to the other world.” He pushed away and started up the stairs and she followed, her steps sluggish and heavy. “There’s an abject laziness to the wizarding world and Mother thought it best that I don’t become complacent. She thinks that there is measure to be found in the Muggle way of life and in some ways, they’re more advance than we are. I mean, look what they’ve accomplished without magic!” He chuckled, spinning to face her. He towered over her on a normal day, but staring up at him now on the higher stair with a halo of light around his head, made her feel so much smaller.
Insignificant.
He’d always had an aura to him. He was charismatic, charming, frightfully smart and dare she admit, funny. But none of that showed on his face. It was near unreadable, save for the glimmer of longing she couldn’t place. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he must have thought better of it and turned once more.
They went up three more flights before he quit the landing and started down a short hallway. He stopped in front of one, put the key in the lock and pushed the door open. He waited with a palm on the wood while she wobbled towards him and into the room.
It was unremarkable, like all low priced hotel rooms were. She stayed in her fair share along the summers her and her parents had traveled. She didn’t feel uncomfortable with the space, she just wished she had her wand to clean it up a bit.
But beggars can’t be choosers, she supposed. She collapsed in the rickety chair at the desk and toed off her shoes, groaning as her feet throbbed. She stretched her toes and slid down the backing to relax her head.
“Comfortable?”
“Immensely, thank you.”
“Of course, Granger.”
Malfoy moved to the sink and washed his hands, leaning to splash water on his face before turning the spigot off and dried off. His eyes met hers in the mirror.
“What?”
“I meant what I said. Thank you, Draco. For all of this” He froze for scant seconds before hanging the towel up and kicked off his own shoes.
“You’re welcome,” was all he said, his voice deep and gravelly.
“How did you manage this?”
“Do you ever stop asking questions?”
“Depends, do you intend to answer them?”
“There are a lot of things I intend on doing tonight, Granger. I’m just not sure being on bombarded with questions is one of them.” The air grew hot as his eyes deepened in color. It could have been the shadows casting darkness on him, but he looked hungry.
She tried desperately not to look towards the bed. Singular, and stood and raced into the bathroom.
“I think I’ll shower.” He said nothing else before she shut the door.
***
Once she was out of the shower and clean, Hermione eyed the pile of dirty, stained clothing on the floor disdainfully. The last thing she wanted to do was put them back on her clean body, but there was little else she could do. She washed her undergarments with soap and water before blasting them with the blow dryer plugged into the wall. When they were sufficiently dried, she tugged them on and with the towel wrapped securely underneath her arms, she left the bathroom
Draco was on the bed, his shirt off with his hands behind his head. He was the picture of comfortability, but she transfixed by the porcelain perfection of his skin and the muscles beneath that tried desperately to escape.
He appeared to be asleep, so she padded to the desk and the built-in shelf that held a few toiletries and blessedly, lotion. She lathered her skin, luxuriating in the feel of it re-moisturizing after the harshness of the cheap soap. The springs of the bed jostled when she bent over to run her hands down her legs.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked, reaching for the discarded towel to cover herself.
“I could ask you the same?” Draco cried, gesturing to her widely, his cheeks aflame. “Who trounces around the room practically naked with another man in the room? Weasley’s going to kill me if he ever finds out about this?” Hermione scrunched her nose up when he stopped speaking and cocked a hip.
“Ron? What does he have to do with any of this?”
“He’s your boyfriend. I know I would if the roles were reversed.”
Hermione’s mood darkened at the mention of Ron and the threats he’d issued over the years in a misguided attempt at keeping her, and Ginny’s, prospects of dating lower than the depths of the Black Lake. His most recent was telling everyone that she and Ron were an item after Cedric Diggory had attempted to ask her to Hogsmede for a drink,
She’d raged and screamed at him good and proper for an hour before Harry stepped in and begged Ron to give up the ruse.
They’d tried dating in their earlier years, but it had felt wrong and a bit performative. Everyone had been sure they’d start dating, get married and have children, but Ron was the closest thing to a brother that she had besides Harry, and the idea of kissing and having children with her brother sickened her.
She’d thought this had all been put to rest.
“I’m not seeing anyone and no man, including Ronald Weasley, has any say in who I see or what I do. If I want to trounce around this room in nothing but my intimates, I will and there will be no one to stop me from doing so.”
If Draco was shocked at her outburst, he didn’t react. He laid back down, placed his hands behind his head and stared at her.
“By all means, please do.”
“Do what?”
“Trounce around in your intimates.”
Hermione scoffed and drew the towel tighter around herself. “You do not have to be so crass.”
“Me? You’re the one who suggested it. I simply mentioned that if you did, I wouldn’t mind.”
“That’s exactly my point!”
“And what point is that?” Draco stood from the bed and rounded the corner until they were toe-to-toe. He lifted an inquisitve brow, but that same hungry look she saw in eyes moments before was back. Her throat closed and her mouth dried up. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening, just that she didn’t want it to end.
“Go on,” he urged gently, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. She shuddered at the featherlight touch.
“They’re all the same,” she said quietly. “They all only want one thing and when it’s not reciprocated, I’m the one in the wrong. I’m only desirable, conquerable for that one, small thing that doesn’t even make me, me. It’s inconsequential and I don’t want to feel that from you.”
Draco was silent for a moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He blew out a slow breath before he gripped her face in his palms gently.
“Well, darling, I have bad news because I do want that one thing.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he swiped his thumb across her lips, pressing firmly. “But that’s not all I want. I do desire you. I have for years, and these last few weeks being so close to you but knowing you belong to another have been the most agonizing weeks of my life.
“It’s torture knowing you’re on the other side of the wall, while I’m on the other wondering what you’re thinking of before you fall asleep and what you dream of. I want to know your thoughts and your fears. I want to save you from them and help you reach everything you’ve ever dreamed of. I want the mundane and the exciting. You are not inconsequential to me, Hermione. You’re my everything and I hope you let me prove that to you.”
She was crying.
She could their tracks ending as they reached his thumb and pooled in the crevice of his hand. He pulled away, just far enough to wipe them away and with her mouth free, she surged forward and captured his mouth.
Their kiss was messy and wet from her tears. Sloppy until Draco recovered from his shock and took charge. He was gentle, sweet and consuming as he lazily nipped and tasted.
They stayed that way for days, hours, weeks, she didn’t know. He didn’t take more than he was offered, and she was more than content to kiss Draco Malfoy for eternity.
But just then, her stomach growled ferociously, and they broke apart laughing.
“I don’t know if it’s a compliment that you’re ravenous after making out, but if anyone asks, I took it as one.”
“You’re incorrigible and I am going to have my hands full with you, aren’t I?” she asked coyly.
“You most certainly will, my dear.” He said with a wink.
“Good,” she teased, returning one of her own. “I can’t wait.” In that moment, her stomach gave another roar of hunger and Draco eyed her belly with a raised brow.
“I suppose we should find some food before we go to sleep. Tomorrow we can venture out to look for a way home. The room is paid up for another two days.”
“Are you ever going to tell me how you managed that?” Hermione asked, moving to her pants in the bathroom and the cash she’d left in the back pocket.
“I used a phone.”
“You didn’t?” she gasped, poking her head out of the doorway.
“I did. Bribed the bartender to show me how since I’m an ‘out of towner’ and all. Used the man’s card and gave him all my tipping money, so it looks like dinners on you.” His smile was bright, and she dipped in to dress. When she emerged, Draco had put his shirt back on and was tying his shoes.
“Shall we?” She hooked an elbow and tugged him towards the door, grabbing the key where it had been left on the counter and ripped the door open. As tired as she was, she felt electric, full of possibility and with the man next to her, she knew everything would be okay.
“Together?” Draco asked.
“Together,” she agreed.