[Dec. 4] FIC: transition, draco/hermione, PG
Series: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: JK's babies.
Notes: In response to glub_glub's request for Draco/Hermione. It's actually christmas-y! What a revelation. And, LORD, fruitcakes are comedic GOLD.
Warnings: Draco/Hermione. And Harry and Ron are giving me a "We're gay and living together!" vibe, but really, linoleum gives me a "We're gay and living together!" vibe so take that as you will. Also, totally a future-fic, which means I made up an ending for the series.
Spoilers: Frankly, there are only spoilers for Philosopher's Stone in that you kinda need to know who the characters are. Oh, well, and I suppose if you consider the existence of Grimmauld Place a spoiler...
Summary: Draco is in transition.
TRANSITION
1. the act of passing from one state or place to the next
Draco is an anachronism in the small book store, as if Napoleon had paused in his drive through Europe to nip into the little shop and take a gander about. But then, Hermione has always fancied Draco to be an anachronism in and of himself: a little too urban for his aristocratic leanings, a little too obsessed with bloodlines and lineage and the like to truly be modern.
He's also been flipping through the same book for a solid twenty-five minutes, so Hermione abandons her own books, organized in three neat piles at her feet, and squeezes her way over to stand just behind his shoulder. He smells like Ivory soap these days which is another out-of-place development, and one for which she takes complete responsibility.
"Interesting book?" Hermione asks and though she tells them not to, her lips quirk into a smile.
Draco gives her a quick, over-the-shoulder glance and holds the book up so she can see better. A little cartoon dog, named Spot no doubt, dashes back and forth across the page retrieving balls and sticks for his master.
"I'd say it seems just about Weasley's level."
She whacks him in the shoulder with Alice in Wonderland. "You promised you were going to be nice."
He gives Alice in Wonderland a doleful glare and then brushes hair off his forehead in one of those regal gestures that, Hermione privately admits, make her knees a little weak. "I promised I would be polite not nice, and I only promised that for when we actually get there."
"That's not the answer I was looking for," she murmurs but let's it drop because, really, that he's promised to be civil long enough to have Christmas dinner with Ron and Harry is a major accomplishment, and she doesn't want to push her luck.
He must have caught her frowning out of the corner of his eye because he turns around and kisses her on the cheek, quickly, still a little embarrassed about being affectionate in public, before saying gruffly, "C'mon, there's probably something Weasley would enjoy in the sports mags section."
2. an event that results in a transformation
It wasn't love that had them living together to begin with. Not even lust, although that came much sooner than the love.
When the war finally broke out, Draco had been caught in the middle. The wizarding world was changing, and he had found himself on the side that would rather drown on a sinking ship than struggle back up for air and life. And Draco had desperately wanted to live.
It had been Dumbledore's idea, of course, that he hide with Hermione somewhere out of reach of the angry Deatheaters prowling for traitors. She had agreed, but only because the other choice had been to bring Draco into the decaying remains of Grimmauld Place, and Harry hadn't need that at all. So Hermione did her part as she always did.
He had been impossible to live with for those first few weeks, stalking around the apartment in a wordless, slow-burning fume. She'd wake up in the morning to find her cupboards ransacked, and Draco spread out at the kitchen table with a page or two of the Daily Prophet in front of him and all the others scattered on the floor around him.
She'd screamed at him before the first month was through. I'm not your servant, Malfoy, she'd barked, This isn't your home! You can't act like this forever! Do you think anyone's going to put up with you when this war is over?
You're so bloody sure you're going to win? he'd snapped back.
She'd had to clutch her arms to stop shaking and then she'd frowned at him and said, You're one of us now. You better hope we win.
She still doesn't feel right taking credit for the change he went through over those months. Not a complete reversal, just smaller things, like tea brewing for her in the mornings and the occasional fresh load of laundry when Draco finally figured out how to use the washing machine.
When the final, bloody days had come, Harry and Ron and everyone she had ever counted as allies had been caught up in the chaos. But Draco had still been there, barefoot at her kitchen table, and maybe it was as simple as that. Or maybe it was as simple as the cool, sensible grey of Draco's eyes in the sunlight. Hermione's never been entirely sure.
3. a change from one place or state or subject or stage to another
She's forced him to carry the fruitcake from the Tube station for fear he'll drop the wrapped presents in the slushy snow that's been gathering up on the sidewalks.
"You can't harm a fruitcake, even if you drop it," Hermione says impishly as they reach Harry's building.
"It's not like I would have dropped the books on purpose," he mutters.
He's got a grey toque, frosted with icing sugar snow, pulled all the way down over his ears, and the cold wind has made his cheeks and nose rosy. He looks so picturesque that Hermione almost wants to drop the books herself, so that she can wind her arms around his neck and kiss him. At which, he would almost certainly scowl the not-entirely-displeased scowl that she has grown to adore.
Instead, she opens the door to Harry's building and rings the buzzer to his apartment.
After a moment of static, Harry's voice comes through with "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer" playing in the background. "Hello?"
"It's us!" Hermione says, and she smiles brightly for no discernible reason.
A voice that sounds like Ron's grumbles faintly, "Oh great," before Harry's voice returns.
"I'll buzz you through. C'mon up."
She and Draco take the stairs because he's still a little leery of things like elevators, and besides, Harry only lives on the fourth floor. When they get to his door, Hermione barely has a chance to rap before its thrown wide, and Harry's catching her up in a hug.
"Hey, Hermione," he mutters near her ear, almost laughing.
She tries to say "hey" back, but it gets muffled in the collar of his red and green sweater. Almost certainly Mrs. Weasley's work. He lets her go, and instantly there's a chill in the air that's so oppressive it's nearly tangible.
"Malfoy," Harry manages to grind out between clenched teeth.
"Potter," says Draco in an equally hostile tone, but his eyes flicker momentarily away from his long-time rival to meet hers. He deflates a little and holds out the saran wrapped package. "We brought you fruitcake."
Harry looks at the fruitcake and then at Hermione, who is trying to psychically beg him to behave, and then at Malfoy again. Finally, he rolls his eyes in a way that almost seems amused. "You would."
4. a musical passage moving from one key to another
"...yourself a merry little Christmas,” sings the enchanted snow globe on Harry's bookshelf. "Let your heart be light."
Hermione takes the mug of cocoa that Harry offers and nestles in between her knees. She watches, a little nervously, as Harry holds out a rum and eggnog in Draco's direction. There's a split second where she actually wonders if they're going to break out into a fist fight before Draco grins glassily.
"Thanks, Potter."
"Welcome, Malfoy."
Ron's packed into a little red armchair at the opposite end of Harry's living room, tearing into the wrapping paper of his presents. He gets through the first layer and whoops. "Quidditch Illustrated? Brilliant!"
Hermione smiles into her mug and says, "Don't thank me. It wasn't my idea."
Next to her, Draco groans. "Don't thank me either, Weasley. I don't think I could stand it."
"Wasn't planning to," is all Ron grumbles, but he starts flipping eagerly through the magazine.
Harry sits down in an old, beat-up rocking chair and looks apologetic. "Dinner's going to be a little longer... I've never actually cooked a turkey before."
Ron snickers. "If I hadn't gotten a hold of mum, he'd probably've burned down the building by now."
Out the corner of her eyes, Hermione sees Draco opens his mouth to say something, but sees elbows him, and he shuts it again, giving her a sour but slightly amused look before returning to his drink. Harry doesn't miss this side play, however, and he makes a choking noise.
"Jesus, Malfoy! She's got you as whipped as Ron was."
Draco's indignant "She does not!" rings out at the same time as Ron shouts, "She did not!" They glare at each other, and Harry starts to laugh. Hermione smiles, feeling warm right down to the bottom of her toes. She lets her fingers drop to rest near Draco's hand on the couch, and without even looking away from Ron, he takes them in his hand and holds on tight.
The snow globe bubbles away, "Through the years we all will be together, if the Fates allow."
5. a passage that connects a topic to one that follows
With dinner over, Harry summarily banishes Ron and Draco to the kitchen to take care of the dishes before collapsing wearily on the couch beside Hermione.
"Are you sure that's wise?" she asks, picking at a loose thread at the hem of her shirt.
He smiles at her over his glasses and shrugs lazily. "Not in the mood for a little apocalypse after dinner?"
Hermione laughs and watches through the open kitchen door as Draco taps Ron on the head with a soapy pot and gestures for him to make room. Ron's answering shout is audible even over Harry's snow globe which has broken into a spirited rendition of "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing".
"Are you ever going to get around to explaining what you see in him?" Harry asks, following her gaze.
She sniffs. "Are you ever going to explain what you saw in Cho Chang? Or Margaret Callaghan? Or, what was her name, oh yes, Susan Watson?"
"That's not the same," he counters, playfully. "None of them were Malfoy."
She sighs and nestles down in the folds of the couch. "He's not the same Malfoy. Well, he is in a lot of ways, but he isn't in others. Little changes."
"He still sounds like old Malfoy to me."
Hermione shakes her head. "You'll notice he hasn't insulted your parents or threatened to tell his father once this evening."
Harry laughs. "Ok, fine. I'm just happy I'm not his girlfriend."
"I think we're all happy about that, Potter," Draco quips as he and Ron come back into the room.
His hair is a little tousled, and Ron has soapy water dripping down one cheek, but they seem to be in one piece which can only be a good sign. Draco looks between her and the door hopefully and mouths the word "Home?"
Hermione smiles at Ron and then at Harry, grinning by her shoulder, and then at Draco, still wavering a little out of place but with his footing getting steadier all the time.
"Home," she says aloud.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: JK's babies.
Notes: In response to glub_glub's request for Draco/Hermione. It's actually christmas-y! What a revelation. And, LORD, fruitcakes are comedic GOLD.
Warnings: Draco/Hermione. And Harry and Ron are giving me a "We're gay and living together!" vibe, but really, linoleum gives me a "We're gay and living together!" vibe so take that as you will. Also, totally a future-fic, which means I made up an ending for the series.
Spoilers: Frankly, there are only spoilers for Philosopher's Stone in that you kinda need to know who the characters are. Oh, well, and I suppose if you consider the existence of Grimmauld Place a spoiler...
Summary: Draco is in transition.
TRANSITION
1. the act of passing from one state or place to the next
Draco is an anachronism in the small book store, as if Napoleon had paused in his drive through Europe to nip into the little shop and take a gander about. But then, Hermione has always fancied Draco to be an anachronism in and of himself: a little too urban for his aristocratic leanings, a little too obsessed with bloodlines and lineage and the like to truly be modern.
He's also been flipping through the same book for a solid twenty-five minutes, so Hermione abandons her own books, organized in three neat piles at her feet, and squeezes her way over to stand just behind his shoulder. He smells like Ivory soap these days which is another out-of-place development, and one for which she takes complete responsibility.
"Interesting book?" Hermione asks and though she tells them not to, her lips quirk into a smile.
Draco gives her a quick, over-the-shoulder glance and holds the book up so she can see better. A little cartoon dog, named Spot no doubt, dashes back and forth across the page retrieving balls and sticks for his master.
"I'd say it seems just about Weasley's level."
She whacks him in the shoulder with Alice in Wonderland. "You promised you were going to be nice."
He gives Alice in Wonderland a doleful glare and then brushes hair off his forehead in one of those regal gestures that, Hermione privately admits, make her knees a little weak. "I promised I would be polite not nice, and I only promised that for when we actually get there."
"That's not the answer I was looking for," she murmurs but let's it drop because, really, that he's promised to be civil long enough to have Christmas dinner with Ron and Harry is a major accomplishment, and she doesn't want to push her luck.
He must have caught her frowning out of the corner of his eye because he turns around and kisses her on the cheek, quickly, still a little embarrassed about being affectionate in public, before saying gruffly, "C'mon, there's probably something Weasley would enjoy in the sports mags section."
2. an event that results in a transformation
It wasn't love that had them living together to begin with. Not even lust, although that came much sooner than the love.
When the war finally broke out, Draco had been caught in the middle. The wizarding world was changing, and he had found himself on the side that would rather drown on a sinking ship than struggle back up for air and life. And Draco had desperately wanted to live.
It had been Dumbledore's idea, of course, that he hide with Hermione somewhere out of reach of the angry Deatheaters prowling for traitors. She had agreed, but only because the other choice had been to bring Draco into the decaying remains of Grimmauld Place, and Harry hadn't need that at all. So Hermione did her part as she always did.
He had been impossible to live with for those first few weeks, stalking around the apartment in a wordless, slow-burning fume. She'd wake up in the morning to find her cupboards ransacked, and Draco spread out at the kitchen table with a page or two of the Daily Prophet in front of him and all the others scattered on the floor around him.
She'd screamed at him before the first month was through. I'm not your servant, Malfoy, she'd barked, This isn't your home! You can't act like this forever! Do you think anyone's going to put up with you when this war is over?
You're so bloody sure you're going to win? he'd snapped back.
She'd had to clutch her arms to stop shaking and then she'd frowned at him and said, You're one of us now. You better hope we win.
She still doesn't feel right taking credit for the change he went through over those months. Not a complete reversal, just smaller things, like tea brewing for her in the mornings and the occasional fresh load of laundry when Draco finally figured out how to use the washing machine.
When the final, bloody days had come, Harry and Ron and everyone she had ever counted as allies had been caught up in the chaos. But Draco had still been there, barefoot at her kitchen table, and maybe it was as simple as that. Or maybe it was as simple as the cool, sensible grey of Draco's eyes in the sunlight. Hermione's never been entirely sure.
3. a change from one place or state or subject or stage to another
She's forced him to carry the fruitcake from the Tube station for fear he'll drop the wrapped presents in the slushy snow that's been gathering up on the sidewalks.
"You can't harm a fruitcake, even if you drop it," Hermione says impishly as they reach Harry's building.
"It's not like I would have dropped the books on purpose," he mutters.
He's got a grey toque, frosted with icing sugar snow, pulled all the way down over his ears, and the cold wind has made his cheeks and nose rosy. He looks so picturesque that Hermione almost wants to drop the books herself, so that she can wind her arms around his neck and kiss him. At which, he would almost certainly scowl the not-entirely-displeased scowl that she has grown to adore.
Instead, she opens the door to Harry's building and rings the buzzer to his apartment.
After a moment of static, Harry's voice comes through with "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer" playing in the background. "Hello?"
"It's us!" Hermione says, and she smiles brightly for no discernible reason.
A voice that sounds like Ron's grumbles faintly, "Oh great," before Harry's voice returns.
"I'll buzz you through. C'mon up."
She and Draco take the stairs because he's still a little leery of things like elevators, and besides, Harry only lives on the fourth floor. When they get to his door, Hermione barely has a chance to rap before its thrown wide, and Harry's catching her up in a hug.
"Hey, Hermione," he mutters near her ear, almost laughing.
She tries to say "hey" back, but it gets muffled in the collar of his red and green sweater. Almost certainly Mrs. Weasley's work. He lets her go, and instantly there's a chill in the air that's so oppressive it's nearly tangible.
"Malfoy," Harry manages to grind out between clenched teeth.
"Potter," says Draco in an equally hostile tone, but his eyes flicker momentarily away from his long-time rival to meet hers. He deflates a little and holds out the saran wrapped package. "We brought you fruitcake."
Harry looks at the fruitcake and then at Hermione, who is trying to psychically beg him to behave, and then at Malfoy again. Finally, he rolls his eyes in a way that almost seems amused. "You would."
4. a musical passage moving from one key to another
"...yourself a merry little Christmas,” sings the enchanted snow globe on Harry's bookshelf. "Let your heart be light."
Hermione takes the mug of cocoa that Harry offers and nestles in between her knees. She watches, a little nervously, as Harry holds out a rum and eggnog in Draco's direction. There's a split second where she actually wonders if they're going to break out into a fist fight before Draco grins glassily.
"Thanks, Potter."
"Welcome, Malfoy."
Ron's packed into a little red armchair at the opposite end of Harry's living room, tearing into the wrapping paper of his presents. He gets through the first layer and whoops. "Quidditch Illustrated? Brilliant!"
Hermione smiles into her mug and says, "Don't thank me. It wasn't my idea."
Next to her, Draco groans. "Don't thank me either, Weasley. I don't think I could stand it."
"Wasn't planning to," is all Ron grumbles, but he starts flipping eagerly through the magazine.
Harry sits down in an old, beat-up rocking chair and looks apologetic. "Dinner's going to be a little longer... I've never actually cooked a turkey before."
Ron snickers. "If I hadn't gotten a hold of mum, he'd probably've burned down the building by now."
Out the corner of her eyes, Hermione sees Draco opens his mouth to say something, but sees elbows him, and he shuts it again, giving her a sour but slightly amused look before returning to his drink. Harry doesn't miss this side play, however, and he makes a choking noise.
"Jesus, Malfoy! She's got you as whipped as Ron was."
Draco's indignant "She does not!" rings out at the same time as Ron shouts, "She did not!" They glare at each other, and Harry starts to laugh. Hermione smiles, feeling warm right down to the bottom of her toes. She lets her fingers drop to rest near Draco's hand on the couch, and without even looking away from Ron, he takes them in his hand and holds on tight.
The snow globe bubbles away, "Through the years we all will be together, if the Fates allow."
5. a passage that connects a topic to one that follows
With dinner over, Harry summarily banishes Ron and Draco to the kitchen to take care of the dishes before collapsing wearily on the couch beside Hermione.
"Are you sure that's wise?" she asks, picking at a loose thread at the hem of her shirt.
He smiles at her over his glasses and shrugs lazily. "Not in the mood for a little apocalypse after dinner?"
Hermione laughs and watches through the open kitchen door as Draco taps Ron on the head with a soapy pot and gestures for him to make room. Ron's answering shout is audible even over Harry's snow globe which has broken into a spirited rendition of "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing".
"Are you ever going to get around to explaining what you see in him?" Harry asks, following her gaze.
She sniffs. "Are you ever going to explain what you saw in Cho Chang? Or Margaret Callaghan? Or, what was her name, oh yes, Susan Watson?"
"That's not the same," he counters, playfully. "None of them were Malfoy."
She sighs and nestles down in the folds of the couch. "He's not the same Malfoy. Well, he is in a lot of ways, but he isn't in others. Little changes."
"He still sounds like old Malfoy to me."
Hermione shakes her head. "You'll notice he hasn't insulted your parents or threatened to tell his father once this evening."
Harry laughs. "Ok, fine. I'm just happy I'm not his girlfriend."
"I think we're all happy about that, Potter," Draco quips as he and Ron come back into the room.
His hair is a little tousled, and Ron has soapy water dripping down one cheek, but they seem to be in one piece which can only be a good sign. Draco looks between her and the door hopefully and mouths the word "Home?"
Hermione smiles at Ron and then at Harry, grinning by her shoulder, and then at Draco, still wavering a little out of place but with his footing getting steadier all the time.
"Home," she says aloud.