Closer

Hermione Granger was always something of an enigma through Draco’s eyes. He never knew what to make of her. She wasn’t sour towards him like her friends, well, not as sour, and she had to be one of the most talented, skillful witches he had ever met. There wasn’t a spell she couldn’t cast or a potion she couldn’t brew. Yet in that moment the only brew that seemed to catch her attention was a pint of his finest ale.

She had been eyeing it for the past several minutes. They were seated in his private lounge, across from a crackling fireplace, having just completed a full tour of Malfoy Manor. It was quite simple, really. Living quarters were in the right wing and common areas in the left. There was also a dungeon in the lower levels and a garden in the back, but he hadn’t treaded those paths since his formative years. It had only been the previous week when Lucius signed over the Manor to his son. Since the Battle of Hogwarts, the Malfoys had progressed to bigger and better things, supposedly. They lived in a larger home fashioned for the Minister for Magic and his or her family.

So much had happened since the battle. So much had changed.

He could still remember hearing news of Harry Potter’s death. It had a shocking effect on him. Sure they hadn’t been mates in school, or anything close to it, but Draco felt a pang of unrelenting sadness as the words left his mother’s lips. The Dark Lord has won, she said. Victory is ours. Yet even she spoke with a tone of grief.

Now, four years since Potter’s demise, the Malfoys were on top and Voldemort was nowhere to be found, leaving Lucius in charge of his affairs. Draco couldn’t bare the thought of what would have happened had the Dark Lord stayed to reign over his new empire. But it was foolish to think he wouldn’t be back. And wherever he was, he had to be in the midst of an even darker, deadlier scheme.

It had even occurred to Draco that Voldemort was the mastermind behind his marriage to a Muggle-born. But what could the hater of all Muggles want with an alliance such as that? It was unthinkable.

“Are you all right?” asked Hermione, glancing at him with a look of concern. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

He felt like it, too. “I’m fine,” Draco lied. “How about some of that beer?”

The young woman shifted her gaze to the aforementioned beverage and then back at her new husband. “Do you have anything stronger?”

Draco arched an eyebrow, oddly impressed. “There’s some wine in that cabinet,” he said, gesturing to the wooden structure to her right.

Hermione was up and at it in a matter of seconds. She popped the cork off with the bud of her thumb, as though it was the most familiar thing in the world, which for all Draco knew, it could have been. The girl examined the bottle after taking her first sip. “Elvish Wine? I always thought your family to be the Quintin Black type.”

“Really?” he laughed. “Not too far of a stretch, I suppose. Hand it over here.” Hermione did, reluctantly, and before long the bottle was half its normal weight.

The young woman spread herself across the chaise lounge. “We’re married,” she said, blinking several times over. “Yet I know nothing about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“We might as well be strangers,” shrugged Hermione.

Draco nodded slowly. “Let’s play a game.”

“That sounds awfully sinister.”

The former Slytherin chuckled. “I’m serious. Let’s play a round of twenty questions. It’s fool proof.”

“Drunken antics in the middle of the Malfoy Manor. Not exactly how I imagined my Friday night but it’ll do.” The girl sat up, finishing off the bottle as her new husband tossed it over. “You first.”

“Anything goes?” he asked curiously.

“Anything goes.”

“Right.” The young man thought for a moment, sifting through question after question before he fell upon one that had been tugging at his brain all day and all night. “Why not Potter?”

Hermione paused for a moment, as though she was about to ask the context of his inquiry, but she knew perfectly well what he meant. “Harry has always been a good friend,” she explained. “Sure he’s brave, caring and blatantly handsome, but our friendship just never took that shift.”

“Would you have liked it to?”

“At a certain point, yes.”

Draco nodded, registering her words. “Well, that’s two questions from me. It’s your turn.”

“Are you a virgin?”

The fair-haired wizard raised both eyebrows, startled. “Er –”

“ – You don’t have to –”

“ – Yes,” he blurted. “I am.”

A look of surprise veiled Hermione’s features. “You and Pansy never…?”

“No. Not that, anyway.”

“But some things?”

“Some things,” he confirmed, scratching the back of his head. “Well, most things.”

They laughed together, in a way that felt perfectly natural. And then Draco began to wonder. Was Hermione Granger a virgin? Had someone already treaded those waters? And furthermore, why was he hoping for the former? She wasn’t actually his wife. Draco had no claim over her. Yet the pang of envy in his gut was difficult to avoid. He figured it had something to do with being a Malfoy and wanting control over everything.

“You only learned of the role I played in Weasley’s release today,” he began. “So that can’t have played a part in your agreement to this…alliance.”

“You want to know why I went along with it?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve been trying to answer that question all day,” she admitted. “I suppose it has something to do with Harry’s death. If you can’t beat them, join them.”

“That’s….”

“Treason?”

“No, just…sort of sad, really. Like you’ve given up.”

“Oh, you’ll know if Hermione Granger ever gives up,” she said confidently. “The sky will fall and the oceans, lakes and rivers will run dry before I pack it in.”

Draco arched an eyebrow, slightly impressed but mostly relieved.

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