Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy firmly believed that there was nothing worse than sharing a space with someone. At Hogwarts, he frequently used a notice-me-not charm in the library to deter anyone from sitting next to him. He couldn’t handle the sound of someone else’s quill scratching a paper when he was trying to focus. He hated when people tapped their foot, when they read their textbooks under their breath–-he was sure there was a special place in hell for mouthbreathers--any unnecessary noise made him want to crawl out of his skin. Focusing on schoolwork was difficult enough when the Dark Lord was sitting at his breakfast table each morning, let alone when trying to drown out the noise of someone biting their nails.
This small quirk likely stemmed from being an only child--any noise made was made by him, and then quickly shut down by his father. It could have something to do with his father in general, but really, what didn’t at this point?
Now, he was twenty-four, and he worked at an office job where he was frequently forced to share his space with others. He’d recently graduated from a cubicle to a small office that was really more comparable to a broom closet, but at least it had a door. Finally, he wouldn’t have to suffer through Susan Bones clipping her nails, (he was considering leaving flowers just to show his gratitude).
He still had to share conference rooms, and the library downstairs, and the cafe on the third floor--but that was all fine. At the end of the day, he went home to his flat where it was just him and his thoughts. His house elf, Nix, prepared his supper each evening, before returning to Malfoy Manor. No one’s cutlery scraped at plates but his own, the only dishes in the sink were his, and he could read a book peacefully with no one to disturb him.
However, Draco was expected at the manor once a week for afternoon tea with his mother, where the roles were reversed. Narcissa Malfoy did not scrape her plate, she found it rude to read while someone else was in the same room, and she had a small army of house elves that did not ever leave dishes in the sink.
“Darling?”
He looked up from the paper he had been pretending to read, simply to annoy her. “Mm?”
“How are you?” She set her tea cup in its saucer, and narrowed her eyes.
He narrowed his back at her. “You realise we already did this? The whole greeting thing? I could have sworn you were there.”
“I would laugh, but I don’t find you very funny.”
“Colour me wounded,” he muttered, turning back to his paper.
She hadn’t finished speaking, though. “You’re very thin, Draco. You look as if you barely sleep, and using sarcasm to deflect has never been a good look on you.”
She was right, of course, as she always fucking was. His pureblood mother had the observation skills of a snake about to strike, but unfortunately for her, he had been raised to do the same.
He tilted his head. “I suppose I am my Father’s son. How is he, by the way? Does his sarcasm distract from the prison stench?”
Narcissa stared at him long enough that he almost felt bad, but not long enough to make him apologise. “I worry about you. When was the last time you spent time with your friends? All you do is work, and while that is admirable, it is not a life. I know what it’s like to be lonely.”
Draco sniffed. “I don’t have time to be lonely.”
Narcissa sighed, picking back up her teacup. “Face first into the point, Draco.”
His mother’s words had been on a loop in his mind the entire week. He spent time with his friends! Since when was it a crime to work a lot? He couldn’t remember a single time where his father hadn’t been planning some scheme or another.
He dropped the pen he had been twirling between his fingers.
He was acting exactly like his father.
Fine. He would make plans with Theo and Blaise when they got back from their trip.
He was in the middle of drafting the letter when Hermione Granger popped her fuzzy head into his broom closet, saying that there was a fire at her flat, and she needed somewhere to stay for a few weeks-- weeks --while it was repaired.
While he had known her for the majority of his childhood, and all of adulthood, he really didn’t know her; other than the fact that she was as swotty as ever, worked far too much, and constantly handed back his case reports with red ink splattered across the page. He didn’t have anything against her, anymore, but they certainly weren’t friends.
“You don’t have anyone else to ask?” Were, of course, the first words out of his mouth. He really was doing his best to be less snarly at people, but it was proving to be a difficult habit to break.
She only tucked a stray curl behind her ear, seemingly unbothered by his snarliness. “Harry and Ginny have a toddler, plus a baby on the way.” She ticked the reasons off on each finger. “I wouldn’t be able to do any work, especially when they’re always on me to stop bringing the office home. Molly and Arthur are great, but they have friends over practically every night, and I would be expected at every single meal. And Ron and Lavender--well, I don’t think I really need to explain that one, do I?”
No, he supposed she didn’t. He wasn’t exactly privy to all the details of the Weasley/Golden Girl breakup, but he did know it involved a very public proposal, which was then very publicly denied.
He couldn’t say he was surprised. Granger had always been significantly brighter than Weasley, and even though it seemed they were destined to end up together, Draco could never see them lasting long term.
They had apparently gotten past it, which was beyond him. The only ex-girlfriend he was still friendly with was Pansy, and that was only because they still slept together on occasion.
He realized Granger was still waiting for an answer. He cleared his throat, leaning forward on his desk. “Who’s to say I don’t have friends over every night and wouldn’t expect you at every meal?”
She rolled her eyes. “Blaise and Theo are in Italy, Adrian is not the kind to come over for dinner, and if Pansy visits, I highly doubt either one of us would want me involved.”
A blush crept up his neck, and he couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed she was aware of his entanglement with Pansy, or pleased that she seemed to keep track of his social circle.
He sat back. “Fine. Only because I have an obscene amount of room in my flat, and only for a few weeks.”
Granger had the nerve to grin at him. “Merlin, Malfoy. No need to be so generous.”
He scowled. “The press would have a field day if they knew I allowed the Golden Girl to live on the street.” She gave him the date of her move in before flouncing off, clearly pleased with herself.
He dropped his smirk, then his head. He couldn’t remember a single time he’d spent any time with Granger that was longer than a morning meeting, and in less than a week, he’d be living with her for an entire month.
He needed to stalk up on Calming Draught.
Draco’s flat was large enough to house a family of eight--minimum. The elevator opened up into the kitchen, which held a black granite island in the middle, and an oak dining table at the far end under the window. He’d placed three large couches, plus a lounging chair--all a familiar shade of green--at the centre of the room, all facing the magicked projector that hung from the ceiling. The farthest wall occupied not only a door that led to his bedroom, which obviously had a canopy bed, a walk-in closet, and ensuite, but the corner was also home to his grand piano.
Adjacent to his bedchambers was what he preferred to call his office, though that wasn’t quite right. While it did have a desk where he occasionally filed paperwork and signed documents, it was more accurately his potions lab. Three cauldrons sat in the middle of the room, and the walls were lined with cabinets of every ingredient he could get his hands on.
Potions had been his best subject in school, therefore, regardless of how mundane the mixture, it always brought him a sense of comfort. It made him feel slightly juvenile, too, but it was one of the only hobbies he had that hadn’t been tainted by the war. One of the only hobbies he had, period, now that he thought about it.
He dragged a hand over his face. Granger would need a place to sleep, somewhere to keep her things, probably change her clothes. Picking up his wand, he began levitating the cauldrons to his bedroom, settling them in the closet before casting a notice-me-not charm. Then, he removed the cabinets from the wall, and attached them to the ceiling, glamouring them to appear non-existent. He added a door that led to the ensuite as well, as he didn’t particularly feel motivated at the moment to reconstruct his entire flat.
The room was decidedly bare, save the desk. As long as Granger wasn’t lying about bringing work home, she would probably make use of a desk.
“Nix.”
The crack of apparition sounded to Draco’s left. “Yes, sir?”
“I need you to bring a bed, an armoire and bedside tables for this room.” He paused. “Lamps, as well.”
Nix nodded, his large ears flapping with the movement. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Anything else, sir?”
“Yes.” A smirk tugged at the corner of Draco’s mouth. “Please make the bedding and lamp shades a deep green. You know the one.”
More nodding, more flapping. “Yes, sir. Nix knows exactly the one, sir.”
“Thank you, Nix.”
“We are redecorating, sir?”
“Just preparing for a guest. She won’t be staying very long.”
Session 119
Healer Nikas’ office, while Draco had become somewhat comfortable within the space, was still one of the most horribly decorated rooms he’d ever had the horror of seeing. White tile flooring that yellowed as it reached the edges, bright blue wallpaper with a grey spider web pattern–he was told it was grape vines, he didn’t see it–and dark red furniture.
Nikas held up a hand just as Draco opened his mouth. “Yes, Draco. I’m fully aware of your opinion regarding my wallpaper choice.”
“And your flooring, and your furniture.” He crossed his arms. “The whole room should be demolished, really.”
Nikas only shook his head, and asked what they would be discussing today.
At first, therapy had been a court mandated ruling, and Draco rebelled against every aspect. Why would he tell some stranger about the inner workings of his mind, when he himself didn’t even understand them? On top of spilling his guts, he was expected to complete a homework assignment for the next session. He had barely graduated, yes, what with a war going on–but he was far past being scolded for late assignments.
He had told Nikas that the first time they met, his tone biting and cold, as it always was back then. The healer had only tilted his head, studying him. It aggravated Draco to no end, of course, and he snapped at him to spit out whatever he was cataloguing about him.
“What is it, exactly, that upsets you about the homework?”
Draco had scowled. “I’m already being forced to take an hour out of my week to spend talking –as if that’s supposed to fucking help–and on top of that, you want me to take more time answering more stupid questions at home? It’s not happening.”
Despite the utter disrespect Draco showed him and his practice, Nikas had simply slipped the glasses from his face, and nodded. “I understand you don’t want to be here. Honestly, with that mouth of yours, I don’t want to be here either. So, I’ll make you an offer. I will end our session fifteen minutes early, and you will spend that time completing the assignment. Does that sound fair?”
No, it sounded like a trick. “As if having you stare at me is any better.”
“I’ll leave the room.”
Finally, Draco had agreed, and astonishingly, he realized that talking did help. It was slow, the first session was full of one word answers and clipped replies, but gradually, Draco learned that opening up to a professional certainly wasn’t the worst thing he had faced.
He had been required to see Nikas once a week for one year, and once that time was completed, Draco decided that once a month would be more than sufficient.
He had even become fond of the healer, despite his horrendous taste in decor.
Draco slouched into the couch. “Hermione Granger asked to move in with me.”
Nikas frowned, flipping backwards through his notes. “Hermione– Hermione . I wasn’t aware you were–you’re not. You can’t be. Since when have you been in a relationship with Ms. Granger?”
Draco smirked. It wasn’t often the healer tripped over his words. “I’m doing my best not to take that as an insult, Doc.”
Granger had come up quite a few times in his past sessions. His guilt that surrounded that night at the manor, his constant tormenting at school, the fact that he’d felt jealous that a muggleborn was beating him at things he was supposed to be bred to be the best at. The fact that they now worked at the same firm was also a frequent topic of conversation.
They had never discussed a relationship, and they were never going to.
Nikas still looked terribly confused, and Draco relented, explaining the situation the best that he could. He still wasn’t completely sure what had happened himself.
“That is–well, this certainly isn’t going to be easy for you.”
“Ah, exactly what I pay you for,” Draco snapped. “To point out the obvious.”
Nikas continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The only people you’ve ever shared a living space with were your parents. And not only was that seven years ago, but it was a considerably larger space.”
“My flat has plenty of space.” Draco argued.
“Completely and entirely missing the point,” Nikas rubbed between his eyes. “Is there a reason you didn’t tell her no? Especially when she is a substantial trigger in your life?”
Draco shrugged. “Aren’t you the one on my dick about being nicer to people?”
“I more meant actively not tripping people–”
“I haven’t done that in months!”
“–or not taking it as a personal attack when someone cuts in front of you.”
“It’s rude . That stupid git needed to be put in his place.”
“And it’s not rude to purposely trip someone?”
Another shrug. “They should watch where they’re going.”
“We’re quickly moving away from the main issue. Why did you say yes to Hermione Granger moving in with you?”
Draco looked down, absently playing with a loose thread on the couch. “I don’t know. I guess–it’s complicated. I know I’ve changed, but most of the time it feels like no one else notices. I’m not saying I need a fucking parade, or anything, but some recognition would be nice. And it was–nice. That she thought to ask me. Regardless of our past, she’s one of the few people who isn’t wary around me, she doesn’t go quiet when I walk in the room, or whisper when I leave. And she hasn’t even interacted with me, really, she doesn’t even know the extent of who I am now. I don’t know. I guess–I guess I just wanted to prove her right.”
Nikas stared at him for a moment, then tilted his head. “And you thought the best way to do that was letting her move in with you for a month?”
Draco scowled. “It’s too late to take it back, so why don’t you shut up and tell me how to deal with this?”
His hands were shaking.
Granger was moving in within the hour, and his entire body was revolting against it. He’d laid awake nearly the entire night, which brought out the already prominent circles under his eyes and a particularly foul mood. He’d been snappy at work all day, which was only made worse when he then had to apologize. His co-workers took everything so personally .
He never should have agreed to this. What was he thinking? What was she thinking? Granger was fully aware of his mood swings and callousness, why would she want to put herself through that? Surely living with her ex-boyfriend would have been the lesser evil.
He almost laughed, despite his nerves. Who could have guessed that the Golden Girl would have ever chosen the Ferret over the Weasel?
The floo flared to life, and in stepped Granger. Fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.
He really should have guessed.
Tucking his still trembling hands into his pockets, he rose from the couch. “Welcome to my humble home.”
Her eyes were wide as she practically gulped down her surroundings. “You have this entire place to yourself?” She spun in a slow circle. “If this is humble, I’d love to see what your idea of extravagance is.”
“You have seen Malfoy Manor, haven’t you?”
Merlin, fuck. Yes, she had seen it. He was sure she’d had a great view as she was tortured on the floor--
“Unfortunately, my last visit lacked a proper tour.”
“I didn’t mean--”
But she was smiling, waving away his apology before he’d even spoken it. “It’s fine, Malfoy. I don’t blame you for Bellatrix’s actions that night. Besides, it was a long time ago.”
Actually, if you counted his nightmares, it just occurred a few nights prior.
He cleared his throat. “After you clean off your shoes, I’ll show you your room.”
She looked down. “But they aren’t dirty.”
“Were they not just out on the sidewalk? They’re filthy .” He was already halfway to the door before he realized she wasn’t following him. He followed her eyes, and instantly understood why she was stuck to the floor.
Along the outer wall of his flat--which spanned forty feet--were floor to ceiling ebony bookshelves.
“Malfoy,” her voice was nearly breathless. “I think you might have more books than I do.”
“Somehow, I really doubt that.”
She made a show of a shoe polishing charm before stepping toward the dark wooden shelves, carefully running her fingers over the spines. “The majority of my textbooks and biographies were ruined in the fire. I saved most of my muggle novels, but... “ She trailed off, squinting at a particular text. “You have three copies of Hogwarts: A History?”
Draco blinked. “There are three editions. Would you mind telling me what exactly caused this fire?”
Her face twisted, and she turned towards him, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Just a potion gone wrong. I didn’t set a timer for the burner and it got out of control.”
He frowned. Since when did Hermione Granger forget something as simple as a timer? He seemed to remember her high pitched voice constantly screeching at Weasley to be careful around his cauldron, when had that changed?
Another thought struck him. “You were inside?”
She nodded, fingering more spines. “Yes. Thankfully, my wards kept it from spreading to the other flats. But my room in particular got the worst of it.”
“You’re lucky you weren’t hurt.” He thought of how close his office was to his own bedroom, and made a mental note to place more wards around it. He then noticed she wasn’t carrying any luggage with her. “Your clothes were ruined, too.”
“I’ve been borrowing from Ginny until I can find the time to buy more.”
He cocked his head. How was she handling having most of her belongings destroyed so well? He was sure he’d have nothing short of a meltdown if even one of his robes were destroyed--let alone all of them. Maybe she had suffered a head injury--she was moving into his flat, afterall.
“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I don’t have a potions lab, then.”
She scowled, opening her mouth to defend herself, then quickly furrowed her brows instead. “But you always loved potions.”
“I don’t have much time anymore.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie.
“You have been working a lot. How's Burke vs. Vendin coming along?”
“That’s classified, Granger.” He smirked as her scowl returned. “Unlike you, I prefer to leave my work at the office. Now, if you're finished tickling my books, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”
“I was not tickling them.” She grumbled, but followed behind him, eyes lingering on the piano in the corner.
“Perhaps caressing is a better term.” He turned before she could see his smirk. “Nix prepares dinner on weekdays, but for lunch, breakfast, and all meals on weekends you have to fend for yourself. I don’t care what state you keep your own room in, but the common areas are to be kept tidy at all times--”
“Nix?”
He paused, already prepared to defend himself. “My house elf.”
“He doesn’t prepare meals on the weekends?”
“That is what I just said, yes.”
“And I have to clean up after myself? He won’t?”
Draco clicked his tongue. “He’s a house self, Granger, not a slave. I didn’t think I’d have to explain that to you .”
“That’s not what I--”
But Draco was already striding forward, explaining that if she must, she could read whatever books of his she pleased, and where he kept the tea bags.
“Unfortunately, I only have one bathroom. I’ll have Nix pick up some toiletries for you. Do use a silencing charm if you have to--”
Granger held up a hand. “Thank you, Malfoy. I do have some common sense. Are you going to show me my room anytime soon?”
Instead of answering, Draco opened the door on his right, motioning for her to step in ahead of him. He was anticipating a look of disgust at the blatant slytherin colour palette of the room, maybe even a snide remark or two--
“This is lovely, Malfoy. Thank you for letting me stay here.”
He refused to let his disappointment show, even as his stomach suffered a spasm at the lack of a brawl. “Of course, Granger. Like I said, I have the space.”
“You do realize this is far too large of a flat for one person.”
“Well, now there’s two of us, isn’t there?” He checked his watch. “Nix is only on call for another hour to prepare dinner. If you need anything after that; I’m afraid I'll be busy.”
She rolled her eyes, situating herself on the bed.
Confident that he had fulfilled his hosting duties for the time being, he closed the door behind him, exhaling for the first time since she arrived, he was sure. At least his hands had stopped shaking.
Nix was already bustling around the kitchen, levitating dishes and ingredients and pans. He was also whistling. Draco clenched his jaw, but did not comment on it.
Nix started when he saw him standing there, the dishes in the air dipping slightly. “Sir! Was Miss happy with her room? Nix made it just how Sir said to.”
“Yes, she seems to be feeling right at home.” Draco dipped a finger into the pan hovering closest to him, tasting the tangy sauce.
“Nix will set the table for two, sir?”
“No.” I would be expected at every meal . “Please bring a service cart to her room, and set the table for one.”
“Yes, sir. It should be ready soon.”
“Thank you, Nix. Don’t forget to take a plate for yourself.”
Nix nodded, beginning to whistle again, while Draco perused his shelves. What book should accompany him to bed tonight? Perhaps some Latin poetry; his Latin skills had been lacking recently. He pulled two options from the shelves, sitting them on the table. He frowned. He wasn’t in the mood for Latin. Striding to the far end of the bookcases, he pulled a tattered copy of a fantasy novel, transfigured to appear as non-fiction. Yes, that one would do.
As he flipped through the pages, finding the spot where he’d left off last, sudden exhaustion gripped him. “Nix? I think I’ll take a service cart in my room, as well.”
Nix nodded, and Draco swept towards his bedroom.
Dragging a hand down his face in a yawn, he tried to ward off the thoughts swirling through his mind. He was as taut as a violin string, and his interaction with Granger had been incredibly minimal. Fuck, even before she showed up he had a shit time trying to sleep. If last night was an indication of how his next month would be, he was in fucking trouble.
He was late. He was never fucking late. In fact, he never needed to even set an alarm because he nearly always woke up before it sounded anyway. Today, however, it was already quarter past eight, and he needed to be out the door in ten minutes. It had taken him forever to fall asleep last night, and once he did, it was fitful. Sometime after two in the morning, he’d given in and taken Dreamless Sleep potion, which he was now thoroughly regretting. He magicked himself into the first robes that flew from his closet, and quickly pushed some styling cream through his hair. There was nothing he could do about the bags under his eyes.
“Good morning, Malfoy.”
He stopped dead in his tracks on his way out of his bedroom. The blissful three minutes where he’d forgotten about his houseguest were quickly cut short. “Granger. Good morning. Did you rest well?”
She leaned against the doorjamb, teacup in hand, sporting a grey pantsuit. “Very well, thank you. And yourself?”
“Like a baby. Unfortunately, I won’t have time for morning tea--”
“I already made you a cup. It’s on the counter.”
Well, perhaps he had time for a sip or two. “I--thanks.”
“Anytime. Just one more thing--are you planning on taking the train?”
His brow furrowed. “No, why?”
She hid her smile behind her cup. “I just wondered, as you are wearing your slytherin robes.”
He glanced down, and sure enough, a silver and green tie was hanging from his neck. “For fuck sake--” Spinning on his heel, he marched back into his bedroom, ripping off his robes and throwing on ones that were not his Hogwarts uniform. He triple checked.
When he finally made his way back into the kitchen, Granger had disappeared. His teacup was still on the counter, charmed to stay hot. He picked it up, fully expecting to spit out the first sip. She probably made it too weak. Plus he took his with three spoonfuls of honey--
He swallowed the first sip. And then three more. Not only had she taken the time to make him a cup, she also somehow knew exactly how he liked it.
She was more observant than he gave her credit for.
He checked the time, swore, and apparated to the office.
“You’re living with Granger?”
Draco scowled, downing another gulp of firewhiskey. “No, Granger is living with me, temporarily . I really wish you could wrap your small mind around the concept so we could move onto a different topic.”
It had been two days since Granger had moved in, and Draco was already counting down the days until she moved out again. She was a perfectly fine houseguest. She kept the common areas tidy as he’d asked, borrowed one book at a time from his shelves, and when he checked, she always put them back in the correct place. His nosiness had gotten the better of him one night when she stayed late at the office, and he was perturbed to find that she also kept her room suspiciously clean. She made his tea the past two mornings, and he hated to admit that he was not looking forward to making it himself again. He was hoping there would be a reason to kick her out early, and she was giving him nothing to work with.
Adrian Pucey had the same perplexed look on his face he’d worn since Draco had told him about his living arrangements. Half an hour ago.
“And she asked you ?” Adrian lowered his voice. “Mate, you didn’t imperius her, did you?”
Draco did not lower his voice. “Why the fuck would I do that!” Adrian at least had the decency to look ashamed at his question. “Do you think I want her swotty little self staying in my office? Touching my things? Making my tea?”
“Three things.” Adrian held up the appropriate number of fingers to demonstrate. “It’s not an office, I don’t understand why you insist on saying otherwise. I also don’t understand why you don’t want her making you tea. She makes you tea?”
“Yes, with honey. That’s only two things.”
Adrian leaned his elbows on the bar, setting down his own firewhiskey. “If you’re so aggravated by her presence, why did you let her move in?”
Why did everyone ask him that? He swirled the liquid in his glass. “Because she asked.”
It really had been that simple. He easily could have told her no, it wasn’t as if they were close. There was no friendship to ruin by setting a straightforward boundary. They didn’t even work on cases together at the office. Maybe he was the one under a spell.
“Well, like you said, it’s only temporary. You want another round?”
“Yeah. Make it a double.”