Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Three Years Have Passed Since The War Ended	By : cpetnm Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16830 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Hermione went home to shower and change. Draco agreed to give her an hour, then he would join her for lunch at her cottage.

She put on a pair of jeans and a pink Henley shirt. Her hair fell loose down her back, wet from her shower.

It was a lovely fall day. The air was crisp and the sun shone through the falling leaves. Hermione picked onions, potatoes, and carrots from her garden.

She took her basket of veggies into the kitchen and used her wand to magically peel and chop everything for potato soup. She decided to make a loaf of French bread as well.

She heard the whoosh of her floo and called out for Draco to join her in the kitchen.

“What are you making?” he asked.

“I thought we could have potato soup and French bread. We’ll be eating in about an hour.”

“Can I help you?”

“I think I’ve got it under control. Would you like some sparkling water?”

“Please,” he said.

He enjoyed seeing the domestic side of Hermione. He valued her different interests and didn’t think she would enjoy only doing one thing, such as tending house. Draco hadn’t grown up with a mother who worked, but she didn’t take care of him as a child either. He had elf nannies and tutors when he was older. It wasn’t exactly clear to him how regular families balanced their responsibilities, but he thought it would be possible with someone like Hermione.

“What do you feel like doing today?” she asked Draco.

“I’d like to sketch you.”

“Okay. What do I need to do?”

“Just get comfortable somewhere and try not to move too much. I’ll take as little or as much time as you want to give me.”

“I can do that. Do you need your art supplies?”

“I brought them with me,” he said, pointing to a bag. “I had hoped you would let me draw you.”

Hermione showed Draco a small sea shell. “Guess where I found this?”

“Where?”

“It came out of my hair when I washed it. I didn’t even feel it.”

Draco laughed, “Wow, Granger. I am sorry about that. You looked so shocked after we were soaked.”

“I was! And I was freezing, too. Does the water ever get warm enough to swim in?” she asked.

“It’s always a bit chilly, even in the middle of summer. It’s refreshing on a hot day.”

“Hmm. Well, I will treat your ocean water very skeptically from now on.”

“Seems reasonable,” he said.

“Do you want to eat outside? It should be comfortable in the sun,” Hermione asked, pulling the bread out of the oven.

“Let me set the table for us while you get the food,” Draco offered, taking napkins and spoons from her cabinets.

“Thanks, Draco.” She ladled generous portions of soup into deep bowls and garnished it with bacon bits, chives, salt and pepper. She cut the bread into slices and took a small tub of butter out of her ice box.

Draco came back in to help her take the food to the table.

They set the food on the table and sat down to eat.

“Delicious,” Draco said appreciatively.

Hermione smiled at him and took a spoonful of her creamy soup. “What do you like to eat at home?”

“Pretty basic stuff, I’m afraid. Pasta, chicken, fish, sautéed vegetables. If something looks good at the market, I might try it, but otherwise I stick to what I know.”

“I’ve been impressed with your kitchen skills.”

“Thanks, love,” Draco replied.

Love? thought Hermione. The endearment made her blush. She knew lots of people who used that same word all the time, but coming from Draco, it meant something more to her.

Draco noticed her pink cheeks and ducked head and immediately realized his blunder. He wouldn’t apologize, because he had strong feelings for her. It might not be love yet, but he knew it was headed that way.

“You’ll have to teach me to make this bread,” Draco said, trying to change the course of her thoughts.

“I’d be happy to.”

The continued to talk as they ate their meal, enjoying their stolen time together.

“Have you been able to work on your DADA text?” Draco asked.

“I’m almost done with the chapter on Patronuses. Maybe you could read it and let me know what you think?”

Inwardly, Draco grimaced. He wasn’t able to produce a Patronus.

Hermione noticed his reluctance. “What is it?”

“I’ve never been able to produce a Patronus,” he admitted. “I’m not sure I could offer you any suggestions on the chapter.”

“I could teach you, if you wanted to try.”

“If anyone could teach me, I’m sure you could. Are you ready to sit for me?”

“Sure. Can I lay in the hammock?” She thought that might be the perfect place to let her mind wander while Draco sketched.

“That would work. Let me grab my supplies and set up.”

Hermione cleared the table while Draco got ready.

Making herself comfortable, she prepared to let her mind drift, something she rarely did. She looked at Draco, his pad of thick paper and charcoals on a small table.

“Is this okay?” Hermione asked.

“Yes. Just relax.”

Hermione felt self-conscious being looked at so intimately, but she understood that sketching was one way Draco was secure in expressing his feelings. She heard his charcoal pencil scratching the paper.

Her mind drifted and she thought about the winter holidays. If they were together, it would be the first time in years she could wake up and enjoy Christmas morning with someone, rather than joining the Weasleys for Christmas dinner. The idea of having someone to share her favorite holiday made Hermione consider what her life might be if she and Draco took their relationship to marriage and family.

She thought about Christmas morning with two fair-haired little boys running to the tree, thrilled to open their presents. Draco would watch them with fatherly amusement while he and Hermione sat on the floor helping the children find their gifts. They would enjoy a leisurely morning of opening presents, eating and watching the boys enjoy their gifts. Draco would save her gift for last while the kids were distracted. He would give her something thoughtful, like a rare book, or something she wouldn’t normally buy herself, like jewelry.

Draco said something to her.

“Pardon?” she said dreamily.

“Do you need to stretch?” Draco asked. What was she thinking about? She looks so content.

“Oh, sure.” Hermione gingerly got up from the hammock and walked over to Draco. She placed her chin over his shoulder and looked at the drawing.

“Draco, these drawings are…amazing.” She shook her head in disbelief. The way he drew her made her look beautiful, desirable, and thoughtful.

“Thank you. Do you have the patience to sit for a bit longer?”

“Yes, absolutely.” Hermione made herself comfortable in the hammock once more.

She looked up and examined the colorful red and gold canopy of leaves. Every so often a leaf would flutter to the ground. When it got colder, she would have a mountain of leaves to clean up.

What would it be like to live with Draco? She thought he would be compatible to live with. Would they live in one of their cottages or find a larger place? They could add a floor to one of their homes like the Weasleys had done to the Burrow. She inwardly laughed. She couldn’t imagine Draco living in a house like that. She owned several acres of land around her house, so it was possible that her house could be expanded.

Hermione envisioned them spending Sunday mornings making love in the warm cocoon of her bed or creating elaborate dinners where they tried to make all the things they loved to eat. They would take long walks along the country roads, picking bouquets of wild flowers and finding interesting landmarks. When it was rainy and dreary, Hermione would take Draco into Muggle London for a movie or to a museum.

“What are you thinking about?” Draco asked her.

His question broke her out of her silent reverie. “I was just thinking about the future.”

“Your expressions ranged from inquisitive, to excited, to content.”

“You got all of that from my face?” she asked.

“You’re very expressive. It’s one of the reasons you’re not a good liar.”

Hermione laughed. “I’m a terrible liar. Can I see your sketches?”

Draco knew she was evading his question, but he didn’t want her to feel pressured to tell him something she didn’t want to say.

“Come sit here,” he said, patting his lap.

Hermione sat on his lap and looked at his drawings on the table. He folded his arms around her, resting his cheek on her shoulder.

“Can I have this drawing?” she asked, pointing to a picture of her profile.

“No, I think I’m going to keep all of them.”

“Vintage Malfoy.”

“Fine, you’ve forced my hand. But if you wait, I can turn my study of you into a painting,” Draco said, pushing her hair out of the way to kiss her neck.

“Mmm. But I do love that sketch,” Hermione said, enjoying Draco’s lips on her neck.

“You can have it if you really want it. I have a few sketches I can use.”

“I rather like the idea of a painting.”

“I’ll probably want to keep the painting, too. You can visit it at my house.”

Hermione untangled herself from Draco. “Come on, you great prat. I need something to drink.”

She gave Draco a wink and sauntered off towards her kitchen. He picked up his supplies and put them into his bag, thinking about the painting he would create for Hermione.

Draco had an idea for the rest of their afternoon and thought Hermione would love it.

“Can I take you somewhere?” he asked.

“Sure. Do I need to take anything?”

“Just your purse and your coat.”

When she was ready, he put his arm around her and Apparated them to his property in France.

Hermione looked around, eyeing the beautiful garden they had landed in.

“I thought you might like to spend the afternoon and evening at my house in France. The two elves that live here would be thrilled to make us dinner.”

“Draco, this is incredible!”

He grabbed her hand and led her through the garden toward the large stone house. As they got to the front door, an elf opened it.

“Master Draco! Welcome back, monsieur. Greetings mademoiselle,” the elf said with a curtsy to Hermione.

“Hello, Celli. Hermione and I are going to spend the afternoon here. I thought we could have dinner, as well. Something light, please.” Celli bowed to Draco and Hermione and disappeared with a pop.

“After we check the house and the grounds, we can have something to tide us over,” Draco said to Hermione.

Hermione was in awe of the old property. There was a sparseness to the house she liked, but the building had character. The grey stone floors contrasted with the wooden beams of the ceiling. Large windows let in the afternoon light. Tapestries and art lined the walls.

Draco told her what he knew of the house, which wasn’t very much. The house had always felt welcoming to him, something he had never felt at Malfoy Manor.

“Why don’t you live here?” Hermione asked.

“It’s too big for me, but I want to live here in the future. Do you like it?”

“Something about the house feels very gracious. I don’t know, but I feel like the house wants us to be here. Is that crazy?” Hermione could imagine living here.

“It’s not crazy. When I was a little boy, I’d cry when I had to leave. My great-grandmother was indulgent and I felt like I could be a child for once. She always had great toys for me that I wasn’t allowed to take back to the manor. It was so different being here.”

Draco led her through the spacious downstairs area. The formal living room was filled with old books and lovely objets d’art. The upholstered furniture was slightly faded, but that added to the comfort of the home.

“The house has five bedrooms. I usually sleep in the room I used as a boy, but I suppose I should use the master bedroom now.”

Draco kept his arm around her shoulder as they toured the house. He was delighted she liked the house that meant so much to him.

Each bedroom was large and simply furnished. The fireplaces were unlit, but Hermione could imagine a roaring fire on a cold winter’s night. The master bedroom had a sitting area in front of the stone hearth.

His great-grandmother’s portrait hung in the room, one of the few portraits in the house.

“Draco! It’s lovely to see you, petit-fils*.” The jovial woman in the portrait beamed at him.

“Grand-mère*, it’s always a pleasure to see you. May I present Miss Hermione Granger?”

Draco pulled Hermione towards the portrait.

“Hello, madame. How do you do?”

“Very well, very well. It is a happy day when my Draco brings his lady love to see me.”

“Hermione is very special to me, Grand-mère,” Draco said, kissing her cheek.

“Madame, your house is beautiful. One day you’ll have to tell me all about it,” Hermione said to the portrait. She could understand why Draco had such affection for his great-grandmother.

“I would love to, ma bichette*. You are Muggle-born, no?”

“I am,” Hermione answered wearily.

“Good! The Malfoy line could use some new blood,” she said cheekily.

Hermione laughed with relief at the irreverent older woman’s feisty attitude.

“Draco, have the elves make you two café au lait and let me get to know Hermione.”

Draco whispered in Hermione’s ear. “Is it okay to leave you with her?”

“Yes, Draco. I’d love café au lait.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he assured her.

“Draco is quite taken with you,” the portrait said with a wistful smile.

“I’m taken with him,” Hermione told his Grand-mère.

“He was raised by such a difficult man. His mother and father squandered their time worrying about money and power. Family is the most important thing in the world. Draco learned this the hard way, but he understands the value of love and family.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say to the portrait. Draco was certainly different than the spoiled, bigoted child she had known.

Hermione decided to change the subject. “Draco is a talented artist. Have you seen any of his drawings?”

“When he was here for Christmas, he showed me his sketchbook. He is so smart, my Draco. How do you know him?”

“We went to Hogwarts together, but we didn’t get along then.”

“He wasn’t taught to accept different people, Hermione. You were not in his house?”

“No, madame. I was in Gryffindor House. Even though he teased me, I was secretly curious about him.”

“Yes, I can imagine. My Draco is a handsome man, is he not?”

Hermione grinned at the older woman. “He is very handsome.”

“So, how did you two get together?”

“I was at a bookstore and he helped me reach a book. We struck up a conversation and realized we had more in common than not. We’re still getting to know each other,” Hermione confided.

Draco walked in with two steaming cups of café au lait.

“Grand-mère, I’d like to take Hermione to the parlor to enjoy our drinks. We’ll come by before we leave.”

“Of course, mon cœur. I will see you in a while,” she said, her eyes twinkling merrily.

Hermione took her drink from Draco.

“Was my grandmother nice to you?” Draco asked.

“She’s great, Draco. I’d love to talk to her again.”



They spent the next two hours enjoying the warmth of the home’s front parlor.

“Master Draco, Mademoiselle Hermione, dinner is served.” Celli gave them a bow before beckoning them to the dining room.

They appreciated the exuberant elves’ version of ratatouille. Celli served them merlot.

“Can Celli get Master anything else?” The little elf looked beside himself to have guests to serve.

“No, thank you. We’ll call you if we need anything.” Celli nodded and disappeared.

Hermione put her hand on Draco’s arm. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“We’ll come back and stay for a weekend,” Draco promised.

“Do you spend your holidays here?”

“I did come for Christmas last year, but over the past three years, I haven’t visited enough. The few things I wanted from Malfoy Manor are stored in the cellar. Even though I love this house, it felt lonely to be here by myself, so I’ve avoided it.”

Hermione understood why Draco would avoid the house. It was a house for a family, not a single, young man.

“What do you do for the holidays?” Draco asked.

“I have dinner with the Weasleys at the Burrow.” Draco didn’t think Hermione seemed especially enthusiastic about this.

“Is that enjoyable?”

She laughed. “They are very sweet to always include me, but I’m with another family. Their traditions aren’t what I would do or what I did growing up. But I hate spending Christmas Day by myself.”

Draco had spent Christmas the past three years drinking from noon until he fell into a drunken stupor in the evening. He didn’t exchange gifts with anyone, although last year he did buy himself a new broom. His parents weren’t allowed to write or receive mail, so he didn’t even have contact with them. It was all very pathetic, in his opinion.

This year, Draco hoped he could spend the holiday with Hermione. He could bring her here and spoil her with presents. She would love the quaint wizarding village a few miles from the chateau. It was the epitome of France. The elves would be thrilled to decorate the house for Christmas with fresh garlands and a tall pine tree. Maybe Hermione would introduce Draco to some of the traditions she enjoyed.

It was close to 10:00 p.m. when they finished their meal.

“We should go back,” Draco said, helping her up from her seat.

She hugged her arms around his waist. “Do we have to? I think I’d rather stay here.”

“I think our bosses will become suspicious if we continue to miss work.”

“True. Do you want to stay with me tonight?” She didn’t want to overwhelm Draco, but she didn’t want the day to end.

“I was planning to. Let’s say goodbye to my grandmother then I’ll Apparate us back to your cottage.”

When they arrived back at Hermione’s cottage in the country, the air had the smell of impending snow. They crawled into bed and made slow, sensual love.

Later, Hermione watched Draco’s breathing slow and even out and his face relax into a peaceful repose. He rarely looked so unburdened when awake.

She knew she loved him. It was too soon to admit those feelings to him, but she did.



A.N. anaidra, I’m glad the story helps you to relax! Thank you for commenting and reading. J

Victoria, you are very sweet! I have to admit, I really favor romantic Dramione stories, although a spot of turmoil is headed their way.

Petit-fils is French for grandson. Grand-mère is French for grandmother. Ma bichette is French for my fawn.
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Three Years Have Passed Since The War Ended