Chapter Text
The festivities resumed once again on the patio, the lanterns and decor from earlier supplemented by cascading white blooms covering any and every available surface. The result was a fragrant explosion of beauty that reminded Hermione of Titania’s bower. Hermione was grateful that Pansy and Blaise had chosen to host the entirety of the wedding outdoors, as there was nothing that could compare to the natural beauty that the backdrop of the gardens and large trees that surrounded the Estate provided.
A long table was set up for the guests, with Neville and Theo at the head sharing a beautiful, blossom-adorned wicker bench designed to fit two. Hermione, from her seat between Draco and Luna, watched the newlywed wizards, who were making no effort to keep their hands to themselves, as they took turns feeding the other bites of food. If it was anyone other than Neville, Hermione would have found the whole scene rather nauseating, but she had to admit that her friend, well, both of her friends, deserved to feel every bit of the obvious happiness that filled the air.
The Casa kitchen staff had prepared a family style feast of traditional food. The center of the table was lined with various bowls and platters, which everyone took turns serving and passing up and down the table. It was a meal that Hermione had come to recognize as familiar from her time spent living in Italy: pasta dishes tossed in a variety of sauces, salads, freshly baked bread, cured meats and cheeses, and platters of freshly harvested fruit sliced and served with sprigs of mint. The dishes moved from guest to guest, who all raved about the rich flavors of the meal.
A full bar had been set up along one edge of the patio, and Luna had somehow charmed pieces of parchment so that all a guest needed to do was write their drink order with a provided quill and then the bartender would both prepare and deliver that drink to the table. While it was an undeniably genius idea, the result was that everyone moved much more quickly toward inebriation than they would have if they’d needed to stand up and retrieve the drinks themselves.
Looking around at the group, Hermione could see that getting everyone pissed was having the effect of blurring some of the barriers that had been dividing the group up until that point. Somehow the topic of Peeves led to the whole table sharing their favorite stories about the poltergeist’s pranks. Blaise had everyone crying with laughter at the image of Peeves with a chamber pot stuck on his head after attempting to prand Madam Pomfrey, to which Andromeda and Pomona added their own anecdotes about the poltergeist from their years at Hogwarts.
After that, the ice was broken, and as plates began to empty, conversations began to tangle and cross between unexpected combinations of people. It was as though each of them were discovering commonalities that they’d been previously unaware of, and through the sharing of experiences, interests, and stories, empathy and understanding began to bloom.
When Andromeda vanished the table and its contents with a wave of her wand, there was a moment of shuffling as everyone abandoned their chairs, continuing their conversations in small groups. The chairs were cleared, and the enchanted gramophone began to play more upbeat music. As if the loud strumming of guitar had cued the transition from day to night, the final traces of sunlight faded, leaving them surrounded by the purple-hued darkness of evening.
Hermione held an almost-empty bellini in her hand as she, Luna, and Millicent talked about the various initiatives relating to magical creatures that were taking place around Europe. Millicent, while she focused on centaur relations, was quite well connected with the independently-funded work that was being conducted to preserve and create habitat for magical creatures. Hermione had thought herself very well-versed on the subject, but found that her work in government hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface of what groups with private funding were able to accomplish. It was also surprising to learn that Luna kept frequent correspondence with various magical researchers who were working to encourage collaboration between individuals and groups in various countries who were working on similar projects. When Luna informed her that she’d received an owl from a wizard in Spain who was also struggling with waning birth rates in the gnome population of his ancestral villa Hermione almost combusted with excitement; she would have abandoned the festivities in favor of resuming her research if Luna hadn’t reassured her that “there is plenty of time for such things.”
A small hand tugging on her dress pulled Hermione’s attention from her conversation with the two witches.
Teddy, his hair turquoise and delightfully poofed on the top of his head, frowned up at her and fidgeted with his hands. “Miss Hermione,” he started.
Leaning down so that she could be at eye level with the young wizard, Hermione placed a hand on one of his shoulders. “What is it, Teddy?”
“It’s just…I don’t…” He huffed out through his nose. “I don’t think Uncle Draco and Uncle Harry want to be friends.”
If it wasn’t for the sincere sadness etched on the boy’s face, Hermione would have burst into uncontrollable laughter. However, it was obvious that he was deeply concerned about the fact that his godfather and older cousin were not openly friendly. Her heart went out to the boy, who knew nothing of the years and history that had resulted in the animosity between the two men.
“Would you trust me to talk to them about it?” she asked. “They’re both my good friends, and I can be rather convincing, you know.”
Teddy seemed reassured, nodding his head with a small smile. “Thank you, Miss Hermione. I just want them to get along.”
“Just wait, we’ll have those two wizards dancing together in no time at all.”
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“You’re up to something.”
Harry glared at her, his eyes searching hers in a way that only someone who’d known her for most of her life could, weighing her sincerity.
“I happen to agree with Potter on this one,” Draco muttered, surveying Hermione under furrowed, pale brows.
She rolled her eyes at the two wizards who stood in front of her. She held out the two overflowing shot glasses again. “Come on, just take the shot and be done with it,” she encouraged.
It was Draco who acquiesced first, grabbing the shot and throwing it back. Harry quickly followed, wincing as he swallowed. “Tequila? Really?”
Hermione shrugged, pulling her wand from her pocket to summon another three shots for them. “Again, and this time I’ll be joining you.”
“I would like the record to show that I am not enjoying myself,” Draco drawled, grabbing the second shot and taking it with less ease than the first. He shuddered, although he did chuckle when Hermione coughed at the burn of the liquor going down her throat.
When Harry had taken his, Hermione looked between the two of them, feeling the buzz of alcohol in her fingertips. She shook herself to clear her head.
“The two of you have a problem,” she began.
“We do?”
Hermione snorted a laugh at the perfectly synchronized response, and laughed harder as they glared at each other.
“Teddy. He’s noticed that the two of you aren’t exactly friendly ,” Draco and Harry both winced at the word, “and it’s making him sad. You’re the two most important men in his life, and so you’ve given me no choice but to assist you in getting your heads out of your arses so you can be there for that magical little boy who thinks that you both hung the moon.”
She looked intently at Draco, who looked down as he tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. When his eyes returned to hers to find her still staring, he grimaced. “You’re trying to use your girlfriend mind-powers against me,” he accused.
Harry snorted. “She’s quite good at that.”
Draco’s eyes darkened as he looked between her and Harry. “Granger, please tell me that you didn’t --”
Hermione immediately recognized the misunderstanding. “Sweet Circe no! There has never been anything even remotely romantic between Harry and myself!”
A look of horror filled Harry’s face. “You thought that --”
“Nevermind,” Draco muttered, splotches of red blooming from his cheekbones. “All of you Gryffindors are just so friendly ,” he grumbled. “It gets rather confusing.”
“Returning to the topic at hand,” Hermione continued, eager to move past the mixup. “Can you two please tolerate each other for long enough to dance with Teddy? It would mean the world to him.”
“Wait.” Harry held up a hand, looking incredulous as his dark brows rose to disappear under the black fringe that fell onto his forehead. “You want me and Malfoy to dance together.”
“With Teddy,” Hermione corrected, grinning widely.
“No.” Draco shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m with Malfoy,” Harry said. “That is a hard no from me.”
“You don’t have to slow dance! Just dance, however you please, within general proximity of each other, with Teddy. It’s really not that complicated.” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “Please?”
What followed was a silent battle of wills; Hermione alternated between staring at her boyfriend and friend, her eyes tilting up to look at the taller blonde wizard before dipping down to look into Harry’s bright, green eyes. She didn’t relent, holding her ground, refusing to be the first to back down.
It was Harry who finally sighed, breaking eye contact and nodding reluctantly. “Fine,” he grumbled. “If Malfoy does it then I’ll do it. For Teddy.”
Draco looked at Harry with a betrayed scoff. “Weak, Potter,” he whispered at the wizard before turning to scowl at Hermione. “I’ll bloody do it too, but you owe me one, witch.” The promise in his words and the way that witch fell from his lips sent a wave of heat up the sides of her neck and she swallowed, feeling naked under the intense silver of his eyes. She wet her lips with her tongue, unable to look away from him.
“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered, breaking the tension that practically vibrated the air around them. “Save it for later, yeah? It’s one thing to know that you’re shagging, but it doesn’t mean that I want to see --” he gestured his hands between them “--whatever that is.”
“Harry James Potter,” Hermione snapped. “After the obscene number of times I have stumbled upon you and Ginny shagging in the public spaces of Grimmauld Place…” Hermione glared at her friend, who at least had the decency to look somewhat guilty.
“Okay, okay,” Harry said with a resigned sigh. He turned to face Draco, forcing a smile that bared his teeth. “I’m going to need a few more shots. What do you say, Malfoy?”
“Couldn’t agree more, Potter.”
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“Can someone please explain what in the bloody fuck those two are doing?”
The heavy weight of Theo’s arm slung around Hermione’s shoulders as he joined her, Pansy, and Luna where they were sipping their drinks and nodding along with the music. Hermione grinned up at the sweaty wizard, who had ditched the suit jacket and rolled the sleeves up on his now-wrinkled shirt. The twinkling lights overhead reflected on his glowing face, and while his hair was terribly unruly, he somehow still wore the wreath of greenery from the ceremony. It was impossible not to return the beaming joy that hadn’t left the wizard’s face for the past few hours.
Hermione followed Theo’s eyes to the dance floor, where Teddy jumped up and down with a smile so bright that it almost rivaled Theo’s. However, it was not the young wizard who was prancing about that drew Theo’s attention. It was the two, fully-grown wizards who were currently hopping in circles around the little boy who were the current source of entertainment. Looking around, it seemed that the whole group had formed a loose circle around the patio, all watching the two men respond to whatever instructions they were receiving from Teddy.
Hermione bit back another laugh as Draco nearly tripped after a particularly high hop. As he tried to regain his balance he stumbled into Harry, who lurched forward, barely catching himself before falling to the ground. Both wizards were flushed, although it was hard to tell if it was the result of very athletic dancing or the four tequila shots they’d downed before inviting the young boy with whom they both shared an important relationship to dance.
When Teddy grabbed one of their hands in each of his, tugging them into a dizzying series of circles, Hermione looked up at Theo, who was still watching the scene with a look of awestruck glee. “Teddy told me that he was sad that his godfather and cousin didn’t get along, and so I gave them tequila and now they’re all dancing.”
Theo raised his brows at her, obviously impressed. “I think you are missing your calling as a diplomat, Granger,” he teased. “Shall we leave them to it or join in?”
When Theo tugged her forward, Hermione followed, turning back only to grab Pansy’s hand and bring her along with them. As they approached the three dancers, Hermione found her eyes drifting predictably to Draco, who, like Theo, had removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. Looking up at his face, she smiled as realized that he’d given up any pretense of pretending that he wasn’t enjoying himself; she watched with wonder as he and Harry both shook with loud laughter, obviously sharing a joke.
He must have felt her eyes on him, because he glanced over at her with a flushed grin. He looked happy and carefree, and when his silver met her amber he gave her a look that said: Fine, Granger. You win this one.
Hermione bit her lower lip to try to hold back her laughter, but moved toward him as she began to sway and move to the music. He reached for her and she reached for him, and when their fingers brushed he clung to her, claiming her hand in his. With an insistent tug, he pulled her to him, her back coming to rest against his front, the warmth of him bridging any barrier caused by their clothing. His hands dropped to her hips, gripping her just tightly enough that she was still able to move from side to side. Tilting her head back until she felt the firmness of his chest, she reached her hands up and behind her until they found soft blonde hair.
For a moment she was lost in him: his scent, his touch. But a loud laugh broke the reverie, and she opened her eyes that she hadn’t realized she’d shut to see the dance floor now crowded with dancing bodies. Ginny had joined Harry, and she noticed Ron was laughing with Hannah and Lavender on one edge of the group. In the middle of them all, Teddy spun and giggled; Hermione didn’t think she’d ever seen the boy so happy.
She felt the sharp pressure of a chin lower to rest on her shoulder. “Thank you for making me do that,” Draco commented low in her ear.
Hermione smiled, turning her head so that she could plant a soft kiss to his cheek. “Anytime.”
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“Move your arse, witch,” Draco growled from behind her as they stumbled into the small clearing in the gardens. Not too far removed from the patio, with the music still audible through the thick trees, this was one of the many spaces on the grounds that was designed to be enjoyed: a simple, stone bird bath and fountain was in the center of the clearing, with three stone benches surrounding it.
Hermione approached the fountain, letting her hands trail through the bubbling water. Her senses were slightly dulled from the bellinis she’d been drinking steadily throughout the evening, but she giggled at the tickle of the water against her skin. Behind her, she heard the rustle of paper and cloth.
She turned, seeing Draco seated on one of the benches, fumbling through his pockets as he brought out the two cloth bags and delicate paper that he would need to roll a spliff. She simply watched his hands go through the motions that she had witnessed so many times now, still struck by the delicate dance of his fingers, the way they carefully crumbled the dried herb and tobacco into the valley created by the creased paper.
When he brought the tightly rolled paper to his lips, she felt the heat pooling under her skin as his tongue licked a languid line across the edge of the paper. Her breath caught in her throat and -- fuck , he was beautiful. Breathtakingly handsome. An unfair expression of physical perfection.
Hermione moved toward him, hiking up the flowing skirt of her dress and climbing onto his lap. Draco’s arms opened to her, holding her steady as she shifted her hips, settling into a comfortable position on his firm thighs.
The rolled spliff hung out of the corner of his mouth, his soft lips curled up into a quiet smile. “You look beautiful,” he stated, as though it were a matter of fact and not his opinion.
Hermione flushed slightly, but held his gaze as she reached into her pocket for her wand. Lifting it up into the space between them, she barely touched the tip of the wood against the twisted end of his spliff, whispering the spell that she’d heard Draco use so many times.
His eyes stared deeply into hers as he inhaled, the tiny spark of red growing to cast a warm glow onto his striking face. Lowering her wand and sliding it back into her pocket, she reached her hands up to touch the loose strands of his hair.
As he exhaled a careful stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth, Draco’s eyes fluttered shut. “Mmmm,” he hummed, low and graveled in his chest. “That feels nice.”
“This?” Her fingers scratched against his scalp.
“Mmhm.” He took another long drag. “It’s really unfair of you to take your perfect hands so far away from me. It’s cruel, really.”
Hermione snorted a laugh. “And what would you propose we do to rectify this injustice?”
“It’s quite simple, Granger.” Draco plucked the spliff from his mouth, tiny wisps of smoke escaping as he leaned towards her. “You will just have to stay here with me.”
She could taste the smoke on his breath when their lips met, the sweet smoke intertwining with the distinct flavor that was Draco. His tongue plunged into her mouth, not hesitating or waiting for her invitation, like he was claiming what already belonged to him.
And he wasn’t wrong. Hermione opened to him willingly, fulfilling a sense of rightness that locked into place when they were together. His lips were warm, wet, and soft against hers, and it was easy to sink into him. She lost all sense of the passage of time as their tongues danced at a leisurely pace, like they had all of the time in the world.
“Oopsala!”
Hermione clamored off of Draco’s lap at the sound of the booming, female voice. She shifted to sit on the bench next to him, eyes darting around in an attempt to identify the intruder.
She certainly hadn’t expected to see a red faced Pomona Sprout stumbling out of the bushes, empty wine glass in one hand and pipe in the other.
Their professor offered them an amused grin as she took a series of punctuated puffs on the long-stemmed pipe. “Apologies for the interruption, you two, but I smelled the smoke of the sweet herb and figured that this was a safe place for a quick toke.”
A quick sniff immediately identified that yes, Pomona Sprout was indeed smoking a pipe of marijuana. Hermione glanced over at Draco, who simply lifted his spliff back to his mouth with a look of bemused wonder.
“I have to say,” the woman continued. “Minerva will be absolutely delighted to hear about the two of you. It’s really a story for the ages, isn’t it? Childhood enemies who fought on opposite sides of the war find love and forgiveness in Italian gardens?” She chuckled. “It’s too good!”
Hermione felt her cheeks warm as she looked at Draco again. “Thank you, Professor,” he responded to the woman who continued to merrily puff away at her pipe.
“And lovely work with the flowers, Draco. Some of the happiest I’ve ever seen.” With a cheerful wave and a laugh, Professor Sprout departed, leaving the two of them in a rather confused silence.
“Her pipe,” Hermione started, trying to pluck at a thread in mind that wasn’t quite responding to her demands.
“Gandalf,” Draco said definitively.
“Oh my gods, Draco, you’re right!” Hermione laughed, delighted. “Yes! That’s what it was. Our professor not only has a Gandalf pipe, but apparently is quite familiar with getting high from it.”
Draco joined in with her laughter. “Just like Gandalf himself.”
“What?” Hermione searched his eyes, shocked at the certainty she saw there. “No, Gandalf wasn’t getting high throughout Lord of the Rings, Draco.”
“It’s literally called ‘pipeweed,’ Granger! Don’t tell me that old wizard with all of his chuckling and cryptic statements didn’t remind you of someone who’s just a bit blitzed?”
Hermione scoffed. “No way.”
Draco simply grinned at her. “Want to check the text? I’ve got my copy in my room.”
“I don’t need to see the text to know that you’re wrong.”
“Fine,” Draco rose to his feet, his spliff only seconds away from being finished. “In that case I will just have to drag you back to the festivities and spend the rest of my evening enjoying that flicker of doubt that will cross your face every few minutes as you wonder whether or not I could be right.”
“Prat,” she muttered as she took his offered hand.
“Swot,” he replied with a laugh, kissing the crown of her head as they walked back toward music and laughter that filled the night.
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One hour and countless drinks later, Hermione sat perched on Draco’s lap as a slow song played from the gramophone. All of her attention was on the slice of pizza that she held carefully in one hand. She had to lift the slice up to take a bite, but the inconvenience was entirely worth it for the indescribable joy of dough, tomato sauce, and melted cheese meeting her drunk taste buds.
The idea to serve pizza at midnight was truly inspired, and a hazy glance around the room revealed that most of those who remained on the patio were very deeply involved in either snogging or consuming the offered food with the undivided attention of a lover.
Many had already gone to bed, leaving only scattered couples on the dance floor or in the chairs that sat along the edge of the patio. Hermione had dragged Draco into one of the offered seats for a “pizza break” after what felt like hours of dancing and too many toasts to the newlyweds.
“You want a bite?” she asked, holding her pizza up and over her head.
“I’ve got my own, but yes,” Draco said from behind her. Her back curved perfectly against his front, and while his legs weren’t the most comfortable seat she’d ever occupied, it was well worth it just to have the grounding of his hand holding her in place and the warm hum she always felt when in his close proximity.
She felt his hand grab hers as he maneuvered the pizza to his waiting mouth. She felt the tug as he took a bite, and then the satisfied hum as he chewed. After a moment, his fingers tightened against the skin of her stomach. “Your turn.”
Hermione shifted so that she sat across his lap with her legs dangling off of one side, and looked up at the wizard. There was a smear of sauce in one corner of his mouth, and his eyes held the sultry sleepiness that she’d learned to recognize as a sure sign that her boyfriend was intoxicated. Of course, there was no doubt that she was very much in the same boat, if the happy buzzing in her head or the deep passion she currently felt for pizza were any indication.
“You’re a mess,” she sighed, and in that moment, as she lifted her thumb to wipe the sauce away, she was overwhelmed by her affection, her want, her caring for the man who now glared at her. “What?” she asked. “You had sauce on your mouth.”
His cheekbones flushed pink. “You are too good, Hermione. Too good and too beautiful.”
“Feed me.” She opened her mouth.
Draco complied, bringing his slice to her lips. She bit down, moaning at the absolute perfection that was Italian pizza.
“Is it the mozzarella?” she asked, covering her mouth with her empty hand as she chewed.
Draco’s face took on a thoughtful expression. “Probably,” he agreed. “It’s always the cheese that makes the difference.”
Hermione swallowed the mouthful of pizza. “I don’t know how to tell you how happy I am when I’m with you.”
“I’m definitely happier,” Draco replied, now taking a bite of his own slice.
“No.” He couldn’t possibly understand. “I am the happiest, the happiest of the happy, Draco. It’s past the point of any happy that you could have possibly ever experienced.” There . There was no arguing with that.
“Witch,” Draco’s voice lowered, and Hermione felt trails of excited chills go up and down her arms. “For someone so smart, you can be very silly sometimes.”
She scoffed, offended at his words. “I’m not silly, you’re silly!”
“You’re wrong, but it’s alright. You’re still the most incredible witch in the world according to my very smart eyeballs.”
“I’m not wrong!” Hermione felt a flare of indignant anger in her chest.
Suddenly a half-eaten slice of pizza filled her vision. “Pizza?” she heard Draco ask, but she was already leaning forward to resume eating.
They fell into an easy silence, each of them occupied with finishing their slices of pizza. Hermione’s eyes wandered down to the arm that encircled her waist. The rolled up sleeve revealed the tattoos that covered his skin. Reaching out a tentative finger, Hermione traced the stems and blossoms that were permanently preserved there in ink. They were beautiful, certainly, but there was a strength that they communicated to the world that she admired even beyond the shapes themselves.
A partially formed idea that had been hovering on the periphery of her mind for weeks now clicked into place, and as she swallowed the last bite of crust, she knew, with a beautiful and concrete certainty that she’d spent her whole life chasing, what she wanted to do.
“Draco?” Hermione craned her neck to look up at him.
His left eye cracked open and he looked down at her. “Hm?”
“Will you do something with me?”
A low hum vibrated from his chest. “Of course.” His smile faded as a frown played at the corners of his lips. “At this point I should probably ask more questions,” his words were slurred, “but I am having a hard time imagining saying no to you right now.”
Grinning up at her wizard, Hermione pushed away from him, bending down to grab her bag where it sat on the patio beside them. She had to blink to clear the head rush as she stood up before reaching her arm into her bag and pulling out two vials. She tossed one at him, snorting with laughter as he fumbled to catch the small glass bottle.
“Granger, are you trying to poison me?” Draco looked at her, mouth agape. “Evil, evil witch!”
“It’s Sober Up, you dingus,” Hermione retorted, pulling the cork and swallowing the contents of the vial. She watched as Draco did the same, smacking his lips together as he handed her back the empty bottle.
“What in the bloody hell is a dingus?”
“Come on,” she called, already leaving the dim light of the patio and moving toward the path that led around to the front of the Estate.
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“Ow!”
Draco, leaning forward on the small stool to push a curl out of her face, smirked at her. “I told you it was going to hurt, you beautiful and stubborn woman.” He leaned around her to look at the man who was bent over her other arm. “How’s she doing?”
“Not too twitchy for a firstie,” the man said, giving Draco a grin that revealed at least one golden tooth.
Hermione clenched her teeth against the sharp vibrations that felt like they penetrated her bones. To distract herself, she looked up from what the man was doing and back at her boyfriend, who was watching her carefully. He was looking especially disheveled from the night of dancing and drinking: pieces of hair falling out of the bun on the back of his head, his eyes heavy and soft, almost reminding her of the first moments when he woke up in the morning. The ultimate example of masculine beauty.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked, the Sober Up bringing back the precision in his words. His hand lingered on her face, softly cupping her cheek.
Trying not to flinch, Hermione leaned into his touch before replying. “I’ve changed so much in the past months,” her voice was quiet, and her words were just for him. “Things that were always just out of reach became attainable, and the pieces of myself that always felt broken or…wrong have been put back together. I just want to remember what I found here, to take those kernels of truth with me wherever life takes me. Does that make sense?” She searched his eyes, hoping to find understanding there.
Draco nodded, an almost sad smile crossing his face. “It makes perfect sense, Granger.”
She leaned back in the cushioned chair, letter her eyes close and shifting her focus to the humming pain that moved across her left forearm, the deep vibrations of the needle bringing a pain of her own choosing to the place where she’d lost all of her power and choice years before, etching a permanent reminder onto her skin that she, Hermione Granger, was capable of both transcending the past and embracing the future, whatever it held.
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“It suits you,” Draco whispered, his fingers delicately touching her tender and reddened skin.
They lay together in his bed, the white sheets tangled in their intertwined legs, leaving their upper bodies bare. The windows were all opened, and a warm breeze stirred the air that still was heavy with the smell of sweat and sex. They’d left on a single lamp, which cast a warm glow throughout the room.
Draco sat propped up against a pillow, holding Hermione’s newly tattooed forearm on his lap. Hermione lay on her side facing him, watching as he once again traced each of the plants that now surrounded the slur that scarred her skin.
Sure, there were similarities to the tattooed plants that surrounded Draco’s faded Dark Mark, but she’d asked the artist for a different style that would set her apart from her already-tattooed boyfriend. Whereas the plants on Draco’s arms were bold and vivid in their colors, Hermione had asked for more delicate lines and a more muted color palette. She thought it suited her, as much as a tattoo could ever seem at home on Hermione Granger’s skin.
“A rosebud,” Draco said.
“Beauty and youth,” she murmured back.
“A sprig of fir.”
“Time.”
“A white chrysanthemum.” His finger tickled as it barely brushed her skin.
“Truth.”
“And a white violet.”
“Take a chance on happiness.”
He scooted down on the bed, turning her arm so that he could plant a feather-light kiss to her bare skin. “It’s perfectly you, Hermione.”
When he released her arm, she tugged it back to rest on the empty mattress between them. “I’m not sure I could have done this without you.”
He cocked a brow. “The tattoo?”
“No,” she huffed a quiet laugh. “But I definitely wouldn’t have dreamt of doing that without you -- even if it was originally Neville’s idea.” She reached to him, her thumb coming to brush the skin of his jaw that was just now beginning to lose the smoothness of the previous morning’s shave. “I’m talking about how I’ve changed, Draco, how I’ve found the little parts of myself that I’d forgotten or hadn’t even gotten to know yet. I don’t know how you did it, but somehow you kept showing up and standing beside me, but you never saved me. You let me do the saving myself, and I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you for that.”
Draco’s smile was sleepy. “You’ve done more than a fair share of changing lives too, Hermione. It’s what people do when they care.”