Chapter Text
When Hermione returned from her trip to Hogsmeade, she was greeted by the sound of two voices coming from her dorm as she stepped through the portrait hole. She’d had a brief conversation with Remus about how he’d requested McGonagall get in contact with Harry about having a connecting portrait for him and Tonks to be made and put in Grimmauld Place. Hermione was glad that it would mean they’d be able to at least see their son grow up any time he was over at his godfather’s home.
“And where the bloody hell have you two been?” she asked without preamble as she emerged into the common area.
“Miss me, darling?” Theo asked, a cheeky grin tugging at his mouth. Him and Draco were in their usual spots on the couch, pressed into each other’s sides. Draco’s arm was slung across Theo’s shoulders, his long pale fingers drawing soft patterns against the other boy’s shoulders. Theo was practically in his boyfriend’s lap, one leg slung over both of his and his head pillowed against a shoulder.
“Yes, both of you, actually,” she admitted with a huff. Both men raised their brows in surprise at her candor, but she ignored them as she shucked her shoes. It was incredibly cold outside, and the walk back to the castle had frozen her fingers and toes, despite her warming charms. They were nothing against a Scottish winter.
She flopped down onto the couch on Draco’s free side. With a flick of her wand, she sent another log into the already-lit fireplace, minding it carefully until it fully caught. With a sigh, she sunk the weight of her body into Draco, gratefully absorbing his warmth.
“So, where were you two off to?” she asked. She forced levity into her tone, but she was actually quite put out that they’d just taken off without a word about it to her. Not that she was their keeper or entitled to know their whereabouts at all times, but friends told each other when they would be gone when they usually weren’t, right? She would have expected the same from Harry and Ron, she reasoned.
Draco’s free hand reached out for one of hers, covering her chilly digits with his warm ones and pressing her palm into his thigh. He engulfed her hands from both sides in an attempt to heat her back up, and she smiled to herself at his thoughtfulness.
“Something came up with my estate,” Theo said, huffing a deep sigh. “Some shite daddy dearest put in his will about the transfer of assets after his death. My solicitor said it was urgent.”
“Oh, that’s annoying,” Hermione said, though she really had no idea, did she? Sure, she’d had to take care of a lot in preparation for getting her parents successfully out of the country after she’d modified their memories, but she was sure it was nothing in comparison to the assets and wealth that a family like the Notts possessed. And she knew that was nothing even in comparison to the worth of the Malfoys’ estate. “Were you able to get it sorted?”
Theo waved her concern away with a sweep of his hand. “Yes. Gringotts had records that negated my sire’s amateur attempt at keeping me from the Nott properties. Everything was sorted this morning.”
“Good,” Hermione hummed. She sighed as Draco switched out her hands under his, suffusing warmth into the neglected one.
They spent the rest of the afternoon in relative quiet with one another. Comfortable and content in having a slow, uneventful evening.
After Hermione had gotten warmed back up, she changed into comfortable clothes and then harangued the boys into catching up on some of their Potions assignment to be ahead in the coming weeks. She’d have to start getting them ahead in their courses in order to make time for their NEWT revisions, which she wanted to have plenty of time for as they got closer to the end of term. It didn’t do to leave the preparation for only a week or two before the assessments.
They’d worked until dinner, then went down to the Great Hall together. They all sat together at the Gryffindor table, as many students were still in Hogsmeade. They’d chatted amiably with Luna, Ginny, and Neville as they ate. Theo was his typical self, making everyone feel comfortable and dropping jokes that were just saucy enough to get everyone to laugh, if even slightly uncomfortably. Draco was in rare form, as well, striking up polite conversation with Luna about her father’s most recent publication of The Quibbler, and having a rousing argument with Ginny over Quidditch.
They stayed in the Hall much longer than they typically would, with how well everyone was getting on and the absence of their more aggressive Housemates. Hermione hadn’t spoken with Seamus since she’d had to threaten him at wandpoint at the Quidditch afterparty back in November. Her and Dean had shared polite conversation in class from time to time, but he’d always grown uncomfortable when Dean would come around, his loyalty to his best friend warring with his House camaraderie. Hermione didn’t blame him, and he’d apologized profusely for Seamus’s behavior, but it wasn’t up to him to smooth things over. Seamus had yet to say anything about the incident.
It was after ten by the time they made it back to the Heads’ dorm. Hermione was tired, and she could tell that Draco and Theo weren’t much better, both a little disheveled and blinking long. She bid them both goodnight, urging them to do the same as she disappeared into her own room to fall into bed.
She’d made the conscious decision to not brew Neville’s tea that night, growing so comfortable in her improved mental state and lack of nightmares that she thought she could skip out on it, especially given she’d gone weeks without one at that point.
That had been a mistake.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d actually been asleep when she’d woken to the sound of her voice being called and the press of warm hands to each of her shoulders. Her chest was heaving with her cries, and her throat was raw from her screams. She felt hot and sticky, and that annoyingly familiar pain in her arm begged to be scratched open and exposed like the festering wound it was, both on her skin and in her psyche.
Why had it gotten so bad again?
It was Draco in her room, shushing her and running his hands soothingly up and down her arms. She could feel the rumble of his voice in the air of her room, but she couldn’t make out the words he was saying through her frantic breathing and the galloping of her heartbeat in her ears. She could feel the absolute panic in which she was enthralled, but she was a slave to it, unable to break herself of its grasp. She’d not had a panic attack like this since just after the final battle.
No amount of fighting with her body and mind was breaking her out of it. The tingling numbness in her face and hands were a telltale sign of how deep she was, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she passed out from the hyperventilating. It was a cycle she’d grown used to during the summer.
She was vaguely aware of being moved, the tangle of her sheets dislodging from her legs, and the next thing she knew, there was icy water pelting down her still-clothed body.
A gasp was ripped from her lungs, and she sputtered as water dashed into her gaping mouth. The sudden shift in sensations cleared the panicked fog of her mind. Everything around her started to coalesce into her consciousness. She was in the shower, the water absolutely frigid as it pelted her and soaked through the large t-shirt she’d worn to bed and her curls she’d not bothered to put in a plait for sleep. Draco was pressed chest-to-chest with her, his body stoney as she shivered against him. His arms were banded around her shoulders, keeping her body upright with how harshly he gripped her to him. He was muttering softly in her ear where his head was bowed down to hers.
“Come on, love. That’s it. You’re safe. It was just a nightmare. You’re at Hogwarts. It’s January of 1999. She’s dead. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
He repeated the refrain over and over, like a mantra, as Hermione’s mind slowly released her body from the grips of the attack. She still shivered almost violently from the cold of the water, but Draco understood when it was just a response to the temperature and no longer part of her panic. He turned the knob, allowing the water to heat them both, and it was only then that Hermione’s mind registered that he was just as soaked and freezing as she was, his black t-shirt and grey joggers plastered to his body.
Hermione’s body sagged into his with her exhaustion. Draco shifted his grip, one arm sliding around her waist as the other cradled her back, that hand winding into her hair to curve against the back of her head. He rested his forehead against hers, his centering mantra stopped, but he was humming now, some tune Hermione didn’t recognize. It sounded almost like a child’s lullaby.
Their shivering eventually stopped, the steam of the shower floating around them and encasing them in a protective cocoon.
Hermione sighed. She pressed herself further into his chest, thankful for his strength and support.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Draco scoffed. “Don’t apologize, Granger. I was already awake. I’m just glad your wards weren’t up. Who knows how long you’d have been in there if I hadn’t heard you.”
“Why were you awake?” It had to be long after midnight.
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping,” he admitted rather easily, Hermione thought. “My mind healer thinks I’m having a slight regression with my mother’s return to the Manor.”
She’d known about Narcissa Malfoy’s relocation back to the family estate in Wiltshire, but she hadn’t realized it was affecting Draco negatively.
“Have you tried the tea I drink?” she asked. They still didn’t unwind from their embrace.
“That’s what I was about to do when I heard you.” He shifted then, both hands going to the hem of her shirt. “Come on, let’s get out of these wet clothes.”
He helped her undress from her sodden shirt and knickers, and she’d reciprocated with his own sleep clothes. They stood under the warm stream of the shower for several more minutes, pressed skin-to-skin. Hermione let her hands wander leisurely over his slippery skin. Her intent wasn’t sexual, though she craved him in such a way. They hadn’t been together since before the break, and she was definitely feeling the distance, but this wasn’t the time. She was content to use explore the ridges of his body and the long, sinewy stretches of muscle.
Eventually, he tilted her head back, his gaze flickering between her eyes for a moment before a sort of resolution steeled his face. Then he bent down, approaching slowly, giving her an opportunity to stop him or move away if she wanted. She didn’t want that, though, and she pressed forward that last little bit to close the space between them.
His lips pressed into hers, pillowy and soft. The first contact was just a touching of lips, water slicking between their mouths. When Hermione didn’t back away, he turned it into a proper kiss, slotting his lips between hers and softly goading her into moving with him.
It was the most tender and reverent he’d ever kissed her. She would almost describe it as lazy if it weren’t for the control she could feel in every drag of his lips. His hands were soft where they rested on her hips, his fingers gently kneading the skin there.
She sighed as his tongue finally swept across her bottom lip, granting him entry. His tongue slid over hers languidly, not a fight for dominance but a slow exploration, and she willfully followed his lead.
When he pulled back, Hermione wanted to chase him for more, but she was also content with that connection. That kiss had been a comforting between two people who knew what it was like to lose sleep and sanity to the demons ever-present in their minds and memories. It was an acknowledgment of a kindredness of traumas and their pursuit to heal them.
“Better?” he asked. The hand that had been in her hair shifted to cradle her jaw, his thumb sweeping over her cheek.
Hermione hummed. “Yes. Thank you, Draco.”
His mouth quirked up in the barest hint of a smile. “Anything for you, love.”
She realized with a flutter of hope in her chest that he was telling the truth.
He helped her out of the shower after turning it off, wrapping her in her dressing gown. He didn’t have one, so he just wrapped a towel around his waist. Hermione did not fail to notice that he was erect, but he hadn’t drawn any attention to it, so she decided not to, either.
She didn’t have her wand, and it didn’t seem as if he’d had his on his person when he’d carried her into the bathroom, so her hair dripped to the floor as they emerged into the common area.
If Draco was surprised to see Theo waiting for them on the couch, he didn’t show it, so Hermione followed his lead. Theo was waiting for them with brewed cups of tea. His expression had been sort of somber before he’d realized they’d walked out, and his features quickly shifted into a cheeky smirk.
“Late night tryst, you two?” he teased.
Hermione scoffed. “I wish.”
His sarcastic expression changed once again as he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh?”
“I had a nightmare, and then a panic attack.” She sighed as she lowered herself onto the couch beside Theo. He passed her the mug, which she took gratefully, immediately smelling the blend Neville made her.
“I figured,” Theo admitted. Draco took a seat on his other side, and his boyfriend passed him the second mug. “I woke when I heard the shower come on, and you were out of bed when I came out here.”
“Sorry to have woken you,” Hermione said.
“Stop apologizing,” Draco drawled. She didn’t have to look at him to feel him rolling his eyes.
Theo snickered as Hermione hid her face in the edge of her mug. She knew she had a habit of apologizing for anything she perceived as an inconvenience, and Draco was raised to not think anything he did was such, so it was a topic they spatted over often.
“Thank you for making tea,” she said instead.
“Better.” Draco pulled a long sip of his own tea. She wanted to scowl at him, but she was feeling generous after he’d helped her out of a panic attack.
They sat in silence as Draco and Hermione finished their tea. Theo had a hand on each of their thighs, and her dressing gown had fallen open just a sliver, allowing his warm fingers to make contact with the sensitive skin on her upper leg. She wasn’t much up for anything sexual, though, and she allowed herself to just bask in the familiar touch, even as he began tracing waving, abstract patterns with the tips of his fingers.
There was an unspoken agreement as they finished their tea and Draco gathered their mugs to set them to wash in the sink. Hermione let Theo take her hand in his, and there was no objection or questioning when he walked them to the open door of his room. She willingly let him undo the tie of her dressing gown, exposing her naked skin to the chill of the room. Goosebumps rose on her flesh, and Theo smoothed his hands down her arms.
Draco entered behind them, fixing the bed to straighten out the blankets and pillows. Theo pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Hermione’s lips before nudging her towards the bed.
She crawled in, relishing in the warmth that still lingered in the sheets from where Theo had been laying in them earlier. She situated herself in the middle as Theo undressed and Draco dropped the towel that had still been around his waist. They got into bed on either side of her, their warm bodies chasing away the last of the chill.
Once they were all situated in bed, Draco cut the lights with a wave of his hand, dowsing them in darkness. Large hands, calloused and smooth roved over her body, Theo’s settling across her ribs and Draco’s pressed the hip opposite him. Thighs and feet touched, though not enough to make Hermione feel like she was being crowded. Honestly, this was the most comfortable and secure she’d felt in probably her entire life. Both of the men who had somehow stolen her heart on either side of her, both content to share affectionate contact with her in the wake of the panic attacks she’d been keeping from them all year.
They were quiet for several long moments, breathing deep, and Hermione was sure that they had both already fallen asleep.
Draco’s soft voice cut through the silence, volume just above a whisper.
“I want to take you to the mind healer I see this Thursday. He’s already agreed to make time for you after my appointment. You can say no, obviously, but I think it’s a good idea.”
A feeling of unease churned in her gut at the same time a familiar warmth bloomed in her chest. The thought of talking to someone about her feelings and experiences still irked her in some deep part of her, but she also was touched by the care and initiative Draco was showing by arranging this for her. He knew that taking that first step would always be difficult for her, so by him doing it for her in a way that wasn’t pushing made Hermione feel truly seen.
Was she ready to talk to a professional, though? Did she feel that she actually needed to talk to someone? The immediate answer to both of those questions was a resounding ‘no’, but that knee-jerk reaction made the rational part of her brain light up. Those were her emotions speaking, her aversion to admitting that there was something wrong with her that needed to be addressed. But she’d already admitted her flaws and need for help when she’d dragged herself back to Theo and Draco before the holidays, and it would seem like a waste of all that effort and heartache to go back on that progress now. And who knew? Maybe talking to an unbiased, uninvolved third party would be easier for her than talking to her friends and loved ones? She wouldn’t actually know until she tried it.
She took a shuddering breath when she realized she’d been frozen and silent for longer than intended. Her response was a whisper filled with trepidation.
“Okay.”
~*~*~*~
She wasn’t sure if she’d ever been more nervous in her whole life.
Well, she was probably more nervous in the lead up to obliterating her parents’ knowledge of her entire existence, but this was probably a close second.
She gnawed on her bottom lip and her knee jiggled nonstop as she waited in the seat outside of the healer’s office. The door was closed, as Draco was inside with the man, whom she’d been introduced to when they’d first arrived. Healer Harris was a man in his mid-thirties, and he had warm brown eyes and a kind smile, and he’d greeted Hermione not like she was the well-known Muggleborn witch that she was and instead just like any other nineteen-year-old who’d requested his services. He and Draco had disappeared into his office with a parting reminder that she could change her mind at any time. Just because she’d shown up didn’t mean she was obligated to talk to him.
That had eased some of her anxiety, honestly, but it had ratcheted back up in the hour that they were locked in the silenced room.
She startled when the door finally opened, a clatter in the otherwise silent wing of offices. Draco stepped out first, looking just the same as he had when he’d went in earlier. He was in his typical non-Hogwarts uniform of black joggers and a dark grey hoodie. He shook the healer’s hand as they passed the threshold before turning to look at Hermione.
“Have you decided?” Healer Harris asked, the corners of his mouth tipping up in an encouraging smile.
Hermione took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll come in.”
His smile broadened. “Good. I’m glad you’ve decided to talk. Draco, will you be going back to Hogwarts?”
Hermione had anticipated that he’d want to get back to Theo, who they’d left after dinner alone in their dorm. Draco had pressed a kiss to his lips, and Theo had squeezed Hermione’s hand before they’d departed.
He shook his head. “No, I’ll wait for Hermione.”
Hearing her first name on his lips still gave her a thrill; it wasn’t a regular occurrence, even though she’d taken to calling him Draco exclusively.
She shot him a grateful look as they traded spots—her rising to be escorted into the room by the healer and him taking the seat next to the one she’d vacated. He flashed her the barest of smiles before the door closed between them, though it was enough to give her the fortitude to carry onward.
~*~*~*~
When Granger emerged an hour later, her eyes were slightly red and there were traces of tears on her flushed cheeks, but she looked calm, content even, and the trepidation and worry that had begun to build in Draco’s chest eased.
She thanked Healer Harris for his time and promised to be back the following Thursday, which Draco took as a very good sign that everything had gone well, despite the signs of her distress. She seemed fine now, though, even smiling as the healer bid them both goodnight, asking Draco if he could get to the Floo okay.
They were silent as they walked together down the hall to the Floo they’d arrived through two hours prior. The rest of the building was empty at this point, Healer Harris having stayed longer than usual in order to see an extra client. Draco wondered idly if they could maybe arrange their appointments to be earlier in the evening or on a different day of the week in order to make it so the man didn’t have to stay so late. He knew from the familiarity they’d established since the summer that Harris had a wife and two young children at home, one of which would be starting Hogwarts the next term. He was sure they all hated that the man got home so late on Thursday evenings.
Granger threaded her arm through his as he picked up some of the Floo powder and called out Professor McGonagall’s office. She pressed herself against him as they stepped into the hearth, consumed by green flames and the scent of coffee that always permeated her person.
The headmistress’s office was empty when they stepped through on the other side. Considering the time, it was very possible the woman was in her personal chambers for the evening. They didn’t stick around to find out, though, both silently agreeing to make their way out of the office and down the winding staircase to the corridor.
They kept their arms linked, and Draco reached up to cover her small, slender fingers with his own. They were slightly chilled, as they always seemed to be now that the weather was colder, and he pressed his skin to hers firmly to try to offer some of his warmth. She turned her head up to him and smiled in thanks, causing that annoying sensation of pixies in his stomach. It was happening much more recently where Granger was concerned, and Draco was no stranger to what it meant. He’d experienced the same when things developed with Theo, and he’d been just as annoyed about it then.
For all he liked to tease Theo about his softness and tender feelings for the witch on his arm, Draco knew he was experiencing the same. He thought of her when they weren’t together, and he looked after her when they were, ensuring she was fed and hydrated and was getting enough sleep. Hell, he’d subjected himself to an icy shower for her just the previous weekend without a second thought! All that went through his mind as she’d been lost to her memories was the tactics Healer Harris had talked about when discussing Draco’s own occasional panic attacks. And from the wild disarray on her face, he’d known she wasn’t hearing him, so he’d done the only thing that wouldn’t require her to follow basic commands.
He’d always known he was attracted to the witch, obviously. And he’d developed a solid friendship with her since the beginning of eighth year, outside of their physical relationship. But all signs pointed to the development of rather strong romantic feelings, as well, if the way his body reacted to any sort of positive attention from her meant anything. And that was something he didn’t really know how to feel about.
It wasn’t that he was adverse to this development by any means. If there was ever a witch to be smitten with, he thought Hermione Granger was at the top of the list. How he’d somehow tricked her into being his friend, let alone shagging him, was still a mystery to him, but he wasn’t complaining. The only thing that worried him was the status of her feelings regarding him.
Anyone with eyes could see that Theo and Granger got on swimmingly and had deep, genuine feelings for each other. She smiled at him freely, laughing at his jokes, and scolding him when he took things too far. She leaned into him when he slung an arm around her shoulder, and she still blushed when he pressed kisses to her cheeks and forehead. She watched, enraptured as he told stories, and she didn’t shoo him away when he would twirl her ringlets in his fingers as he did so. Draco had no doubt that she’d reciprocate his feelings if Theo ever worked up the courage to tell the witch how he felt.
He wasn’t so sure about his feelings toward himself, however.
He watched her plenty, never seeming able to take his eyes off her pretty face whenever they were near each other, so he’d have known if she exhibited the same signs of admiration toward him as she did his boyfriend. She was kind to him, sure, and she smiled at him plenty, but they were always small, almost tentative little things, and her eyes typically darted away from his far sooner than he would have liked. Her body responded to his readily whenever they were intimate, so he knew that wasn’t an issue, but he wanted her sweet laughs of his own volition and not because Theo had said something ridiculous.
Draco had a feeling that wasn’t in the cards for him, though.
But he was content with whatever she’d give him. He had Theo after all, so if all she was willing to give him was a physical relationship and friendship, he’d be happy.
They arrived back to the portrait leading to the dorm, and Lupin was absent from the frame, most likely off somewhere visiting with his wife. Draco was sorry to have not known his cousin in life, but he made a point to visit her when he passed by her portrait leading to the Hufflepuff common room. Part of the progress he was working on with Healer Harris was establishing relationships with family, and he’d sent letters sporadically back and forth with Andromeda throughout the last three months, but that was difficult for him sometimes, considering what his family—especially his mother—had done to her. Talking with Tonks was easier, both because she wasn’t actually around anymore and because they’d never known each other, through relatives or otherwise. Everything was a clean slate with his cousin, and their five minute chats had been nice so far.
The common area was empty, and a floating piece of parchment was perched before the mantle from Theo.
Went to the Snake Pit. Blaise was bugging me for a lads’ night. Join if you want, otherwise I’ll be back later. xx
“Did you want to go join them?” Granger asked, plucking the scrap parchment from the air, breaking the charm that kept it aloft.
He shook his head. “I already have plans to see them tomorrow. It’s Pansy’s birthday.”
“Oh good, so you two are abandoning me again.” The complaint was teasing, Granger tossing a smirk over her shoulder as she walked into the kitchenette.
She set the kettle to boil as Draco joined her, taking up their usual routine of preparing their evening tea. They’d both been taking Longbottom’s blend routinely since the weekend in order to avoid another late night incident.
“You’re welcome to join, you know.”
She scoffed, but it wasn’t harsh. “Yes, I’m sure the snakes would love having me in their midst. A lion and a mudbl—”
“Granger,” he growled in warning.
She grimaced at him sheepishly. “You know what I mean.”
He sighed. He did, unfortunately. Slytherins had a horrid reputation of blood prejudice, and some of his friends had not been immune. Blaise was indifferent, as his family was more newly wealthy and not part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and had always been cordial with Granger in shared classes. Daphne and Astoria had similar feelings, and their parents had stayed neutral during the war. Pansy, however, hadn’t historically been kind or even avoidant of Granger and the other Muggleborns. She’d bullied Granger nearly worse than he had, especially in their earlier years at school. As they’d gotten older, though, and things had become more serious, Pansy had lost some of her vitriol in favor of concern for her own life.
The brash witch couldn’t be described as friendly by any means, especially to those she didn’t know well, but she was much less scornful than she had been when they were younger. She’d expressed her begrudging respect toward Granger after she’d cut Finnigan down during the Quidditch afterparty, and she’d been forced into cordial silence when Draco and Theo had admitted to their relationship with the Gryffindor.
“It’s really just Pansy,” he admitted. “I think you’d actually really like Daphne, and Blaise is…” He searched for a word, but Granger nodded.
“Blaise and I get along fine,” she said. “We’ve always been in advanced classes together, and he’s been polite. We were in Slug Club together, too.”
Draco had nearly forgotten about that little group Slughorn had put together their sixth year. He had much more pressing things to be focused on that year than which witches and wizards the old bat had deemed worthy enough to be in his presence in their off time. He liked the man just fine as their Potions professor, honestly, but he’d been a bit put out at the time that Severus was no longer in charge of the dungeons.
“Right. And I think you can handle Pansy Parkinson.”
She snorted. “I think I’d have died of shock if you’d told me that in second year.” She cut the burner as the kettle began to whistle. “I was terrified of her.”
“Everyone was,” he assured with a chuckle. “Theo would literally cower in her presence when we were younger.”
Granger graced him with that chiming giggle that was most common in Theo’s presence, and he felt his chest warm in pleasure at having been the one to elicit it.
They finished preparing their tea but did not travel to the couches, instead leaning against the counters in the kitchen, facing each other and drinking their beverages in silence. Draco could feel Granger occasionally darting her eyes over to him, but any time he looked up her gaze was trained somewhere else. Though there was a flush over her cheeks and creeping up from under the neckline of her jumper.
He was curious and couldn’t help but ask, “What are you thinking, Granger?”
She jumped minutely at being addressed after their period of comfortable silence, and the flush crept higher as their eyes met. He watched her swallow, though she hadn’t taken a sip of her drink.
“I actually was thinking about working up the courage to thank you.”
He hadn’t expected that response at all. He’d assumed from the pink tinge of her skin that it was thoughts of a sexual nature, given the circumstances under which he usually saw her like this.
“What for?” he asked.
“For not giving up on me,” she muttered, nearly a whisper, like she was keeping a secret, though they were the only two people there. “I was…awful to you and Theo for weeks, and all you were trying to do was help. I didn’t realize what I needed until you two swept in and made me see. I suppose there’s something to be said for getting out of your comfort zone. So, thank you, Draco.”
Draco didn’t let himself overthink before saying, in a voice that was just as quiet, “We just wanted you to see that you were worth it, Hermione. You’re worth the work of healing.”
Only a second passed before her small frame was pressed to his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist. He quickly set his cup aside to return her embrace, unused to such contact but secretly—or not so secretly—reveling in it. The last time he’d been so close to her was the night of her nightmare, and then it had been for the comfort offered by two men in bed surrounding her after she’d had a panic attack. And any other time had been as a result of their sexual escapades. Now, though, she seemed to be hugging him as a show of her affection and appreciation, and it was contact that Draco was unused to from someone other than Theo or his mother.
He didn’t force himself to brush her off or not enjoy it, as he may have in the past. Instead, he settled his chin on the top of her head and just stood with her for several minutes, both of them wrapped in each other. Draco was sure his heart was hammering away under her ear where it was pressed to his sternum, but he couldn’t bring himself to care that she was a witness to the response she pulled from his body.
“Can I tell you something and you not get weird about it if it’s not something you want to hear?” she asked, her voice timid. She didn’t lift her head to look up at him, so he didn’t urge her to, figuring she needed the bit of distance.
“Of course,” he assured.
Her breasts pushed into his chest as she took a deep breath. “I really like you, Draco. Like, romantically.”
To say he was surprised by her admission would be an understatement. Had he not just been fretting that she didn’t feel the same way about him as she very obviously did about Theo? They didn’t share the same dynamic, so he’d been unable to identify any signs that she was attracted to him beyond what he could offer her physically.
But then, he was a different person than Theo, wasn’t he? He wasn’t bright and cheeky like his boyfriend, and he never would be. It hadn’t been his personality before, and the circumstances of his life had done nothing but further dampen any traits that may have been Theo-like. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care for the witch just as Theo did. He’d felt the initial attraction (far longer than he’d probably ever admit to himself), and he’d developed deep caring feelings for her in the time they’d gotten to know each other. He’d known he was falling for the woman long before she’d cut them off the previous term, and her absence had hurt him just as much as Theo, though he’d never admit that aloud. Getting her back had been like a cooling charm on a hot summer’s day.
Matching the atmosphere of candor she’d established, he said, “I really like you too, Hermione. Romantically.”
She squeezed him just a bit tighter, and he returned it.