Breath Mints / Battle Scars

Draco scoffs, pulling away from her neck and taking her chin in his free hand to line their gazes up. “Are you blind?” he asks, incredulous, as he runs the tip of his nose against hers. “Haven’t you seen the way he looks at her?” He nips at her bottom lip. “Fuck, Granger — you should know that look by now.”

Then Draco pulls his face from the crook of her neck, eyes closed as he drags his nose gently against hers. Again, he says words that don’t match up. Quietly. Lovingly.

“I don’t forgive you.”

She releases a shuddering breath against his lips.

“I didn’t apologize.”

“Oh, I think it’s hilarious.” Draco pulls his bloody lips back over his teeth, smiling up at her, face against the bars. “One, two, three, four…” he murmurs in a voice that’s got nothing left to lose.

One, two, three, four…

Burbage practically snarls. “Let’s begin.”

I declare a thumb war.

“So…” he says at last, and she’s only slightly relieved to hear some of that regular snark in his tone, “you’ve taxidermied me.”

She bites down on her bottom lip. “Essentially. And only a piece of you.”

“Oh, get the hell out of my face, Longbottom — I’ve wasted enough time trying to get past this fat oaf—”

“FAT OAF?!?”

Hermione casts Silencio on the Fat Lady

Merlin’s fucking deformed right tit, what the fuck am I talking to you for?

Vague hues pass before her watery eyes. Deep emeralds and blacks, the orange glow of a fireplace. And even in her shaking, incoherent state, she’s furious with herself for not being able to see better.

She’s wanted to see this for ages.

WAR HERO AND FORMER DEATH EATER SPOTTED ON ROMANTIC CHRISTMAS EXCURSION

Below it is a massive, moving photograph of the two of them kissing on the edge of the fountain in Trafalgar Square.

“Fucking Skeeter,” Draco groans, angrily shoving a bonbon into his mouth. “Probably fucking followed us the whole night.”

“Yes,” says Hermione quietly, setting the paper down. “I paid her to.”

He chokes again on his tea.

She just laces their hands together on the table, glancing sideways at his appalled face.

“Figured you deserved a grand gesture.”

A moment later, he’s on in his feet — leaves her laying there confused as he finds his jacket on the floor, absolutely unashamed of his nakedness. When he collapses back down next to her, he pulls the exact same carousel from his coat pocket. “Happy Christmas,” he says wryly, laughing as he hands it to her.

“I—what?” she splutters, laughing too. “How did you — I thought you didn’t have any Muggle money!”

“I didn’t. I stole it. Happy Christmas.”

And he kisses her before she can even start to argue.

“We’ll have to go to Diagon Alley, you know,” he says as they peruse the display of gingerbread houses — part of a competition.

“Why?” A small flutter of uncertainty awakens inside her. Is he really that uncomfortable around Muggles?

But then he says, “To go to Gringotts. I have no Muggle money and I want another one of those flimsy hot chocolates and you are not paying for anything else.”

The urge to kiss him is suddenly almost overwhelming. She turns away to hide her wide smile as she hooks her arm through his and spins them around, back toward the hot chocolate stand. “I asked you on the date. Surely, you have some respect for tradition. I’m paying tonight.”

“Tradition?” he splutters. “If you’ve any respect for tradition, then the man — being me, unless there’s something you haven’t told me, Granger — would be paying for everything. But you blindsided me.”