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Bless the Broken Road	By : Lissa & snowblind12 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 10182 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I make no money off of my stories.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
AN: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, commented, fav’d, followed, and thrown us a kudo! I can’t take much credit for this story so far. This was Lissa’s brainchild and she wrote the original 6 chapters when she and I were first getting to know each other. We weren’t co-writing yet. But I beta’d them and knew this story would be well received. Lissa has a lot of writing talents, but writing emotion is one of her greatest strengths. I am in awe of her much of the time!
But now I’m the luckiest witch because she’s brought me on board to help write the rest of the story. Woot! This is the first chapter I helped write and I’m soo happy to see if posted. We have great plans for the story and can’t wait to share the journey with you!
Hope you enjoy the chapter and if you are so inclined, please leave us a comment or review!
Have a great weekend everyone! ~Anne
Chapter Six
Days Feel Like Years
Six Years After Astoria Died
Four Months After Ron Died
“I always needed time on my own. I never thought that I’d need you there when I cry. And the days feel like years when I’m alone and the bed where you lie is made up on your side. Everything that I do reminds me of you. And the clothes you left they lie on the floor and they smell just like you..”*
August 2012
Hermione’s wand vibrated on her dresser, the green number blinking through the dark. 3:45 … 3:45 … 3:45. She said the incantation to set it to snooze, but it didn’t matter, she was awake. She wasn’t sure if she had slept at all. She had successfully gotten Hugo back into his own room a few weeks ago, the nightmares had finally abated to only one or two a week. With her son where he belonged, her bed was just so very … empty. Rolling onto her hip, she spread her fingers over her husband’s side of the mattress. It was made up, pillow sham still in place. She smoothed her palm over the bedding, tears sliding down her nose to drip off the upturned tip and onto her lips. She could taste their saltiness. Rolling the other way, she let her eyes fall to the pile of dirty laundry Ron had left right next to the hamper the day he had been taken from her. She hadn’t had the heart to wash them. The shirt still smelled like him a little bit and she knew soon enough that, too, would be gone. Hugo had taken his smell from their bed. She had worn his robe so much that it smelled like hrself now, and not him.
Every day she lost him a little more. Molly and Ginny had insisted on cleaning out his side of the closet, his dresser, his medicine cabinet, and the coat closet. They donated his clothing and shoes, robes, and cloaks. She had flown into a rage of grief and yelled and screamed at them when they had tried to take the pile of dirty wash from the floor and to pack away his robe. They had let her have her way, encasing her in their loving arms until her hysterical tears had calmed.
They had helped her pack away his keepsakes and the journal he had kept from their time on the run in seventh year and the delluminator Dumbledore had bequeathed him. Those items were stored in impenetrable charmed boxes in the attic. She had insisted on saving his things for their children to go through when they were older. Something so they could get to know him better. She had given his broom to Harry. His wedding ring was boxed and tucked into her jewelry armoire, waiting for the day his son married. Hermione’s wedding set stayed where it belonged, on her ring finger. Right now, she didn’t think she’d ever take them off. She would love him forever.
Pretty soon, all that would be left would be photographs and memories. She wasn’t sure it would be enough. Her wand buzzed again and she muttered the incantation to reset it for the next day as she pulled herself out of bed and stumbled into the shower. She let the hot water sooth away her fatigue before starting her morning chores. By seven in the morning, she had chewed through two pieces of toast, downed half a pot of coffee, and had bills and a grocery list completed. They were ready for her to take care of when she was done with work at the end of the day.
She got up from the table to stretch before she began making breakfast and was startled when she heard a loud crack from outside, someone was in their yard at the apparition point. Picking up her wand, she held it loose and ready – just in case – before making her way to the back door. Peering out the curtained window, she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was Harry and Ginny.
She pulled open the door with a small smile. “Hello, you two. I wasn’t expecting you!”
“We thought we’d surprise you with breakfast!” Harry held up a bag of fast food and Hermione laughed. Ginny had become obsessed with the sausage muffins during her pregnancy with Lily and it had never gone away.
“The kids will love it, and I won’t have a mountain of breakfast dishes to do!” She chuckled again and opened the door all the way to let them pass. “Where are your kids?”
“Dropped them at mum’s, she wanted to feed them a big breakfast before tutoring and dad’s going to take Lily to nursery,” Ginny answered with a flip of her hand.
Harry and Ginny set the table while she went and woke the kids. Helping with their teeth and hair before she sent them downstairs for their surprise. She grinned to herself when she heard the excited squeals of greeting while she flipped her wand to make the beds and straighten toys.
She made her way to join them a few minutes later, but paused on the steps as she caught the low voices of her sister-in-law and best friend. “She looks like a walking inferi,” Ginny was mumbling. “How much longer can they go on like this?”
“I think she’s doing fine, Gin. We need to give her some time. They were together for fifteen years! Friends for longer!”
“She walks around like she’s under the Imperius Curse. She’s just existing, Harry. It’s not healthy,” she protested quietly. Hermione had to strain to hear them. What she wouldn’t give for some extendable ears right about now.
“What do you suggest we do?” Harry sounded exasperated.
“Set her up on a date,” Ginny replied firmly.
“That’s ridiculous. Ron has only been gone for three and half month, Gin. She’s not ready to date.”
“She needs something for herself, Harry!”
“She does, but dating isn’t it. Not yet, anyway. If it were me and you were gone, I don’t think I’d be doing half as well as she is.”
“That’s because you’re a man. I would tell you to date, too, if I could.”
Hermione listened to their hushed tones, leaning up against the wall at the bottom of the steps. She leaned her head back and tried not to groan. If Ginny was getting a wand up her arse about something, she would be forced into it no matter how uninterested she was.
She tiptoed back up the stairs and trotted down loudly. When she entered the kitchen, they both looked up at her from opposite sides of the room and grinned.
“Hungry?”
“I’m not, thanks anyway.” Ginny frowned and Harry looked her up and down. It made her defensive. “I’ve been up for a while. I’ve already had some toast.”
“You’ve lost weight, Hermione.”
“I realize that, but I’m fine. Things will even out, I’m sure.”
“You look tired. Can we take the kids this weekend? You could catch up on some rest.” Harry’s offer was polite, but she had no desire to spend an entire weekend alone. That would be bloody awful.
“No, we’ll be okay. I was planning to take them to the menagerie this weekend. Do you and the kids want to join us?”
Her friends glanced at each other and then back to her. “We could do that.” Ginny answered. “I still think you need a day. Let me book you at the spa?”
“No. Thank you, Gin. You know I don’t care for all that simpering, pampering stuff.”
Silence.
“Hermione…” It was Harry who started this time.
“Please don’t, Harry.” Hermione crossed the room and started fumbling with her Muggle coffee pot. Nothing tasted better than a cup made just the way her mum use to.
“We’re just worried for you.”
“Damnit!” In a very uncharacteristic outburst, Hermione swore, making both children gape at her with wide eyes. “Up to your rooms, now! Please get yourselves dressed. Clothes are on your beds,” she exclaimed at them. “Hurry!” She watched them scuttle out of the room and heard them thundering up the stairs.

“You have got to stop coddling me!” She turned on her friends. “You have to stop! I will never be strong enough to move on if you keep tip-toeing around me. I’ll never get it all done for myself if you’re always here helping me. I can do this just fine, and I’ll thank you both to remember that!”
“Hermione!” Ginny scolded, eyes flashing. “Sometimes I think you forget that we all lost him! I lost a brother. Harry lost his best friend! My parents lost another child. We all just want to help you.”

“You have no idea what I’m going through.” Hermione’s voice was cold, devoid of all emotion. If she let her anger take hold, she’d lose all sense of control. “Yes, you lost him, too. It’s not the same, though, Ginny.” Her anger grew as the redhead threw her a scandalized look. “It’s not. I lost my husband! The father of my children! It’s not in your face every single day. You miss him, yes, but it comes and goes, doesn’t it? It’s not engrained into everything you do. Am I right?

“You don’t wake up to half your bed empty. You’re not soothing a four-year-old in the middle of the night after he has nightmares that his daddy was murdered. You’re not trying to explain to your six-year-old that daddy can’t come back – but of course he still loves you!

“You don’t go through the motions every single day hoping…just hoping that they’ll become familiar again. That you’ll feel safe again. That it won’t make your breath hitch with loss when you make only your side of the bed or wash only one coffee cup.

“You don’t wake up in the middle of the night with a start, hoping it was just some God-awful dream. You’re not just existing. You don’t…you don’t…” She was gasping for breath as the dam broke and angry, hurt tears flooded her face.

“You don’t know what it’s like to think no one is ever going to touch you again. That no one will ever make your body feel alive again. Make you explode with desire and passion that only a lover can bring. I feel dead, my body feels dormant. No one but my children has done more than brush my arm in over a month. Do you know what I miss the most? Hugging him. Having him hug me. I miss feeling safe in his arms! So much!

“You have no clue what it’s like to watch your best friend, lover, and center of your u-universe be put into the gr-ground and wish with all your being you could go with him. You have no idea how hopeless it feels to know that if you fall apart, you’ll drag two defenseless, broken ch-children down with you.” She was positively ugly crying at this point. “I’m so tired of trying to be perfect.”
Ginny had tears streaming down her face and was hugging herself tightly, leaning up against the counter. Harry had gone deathly silent and sat at the table with his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with his grief.
She watched the scene before her, trying to stem her own tears. They truly didn’t understand. They cared about her; they were trying to be here for her. They missed Ron, and they loved him. They were worried, and she loved them so much for it, but they just did not get it.
“It’s been three and a half months. I thought it was supposed to get easier.” She was blubbering through her sentences at this point. After a about a minute of only the sound of her tears, she had calmed somewhat.
“Guys…” she whispered. They both looked at her. Tearful and pleading faces were begging to know what they could do to help. “It’s not getting better. Why isn’t it getting any better?” They were across the room in a moment, Harry sending the chair crashing to the floor in his haste. They pulled her to them, crushing her. She let them hold her while she blew apart at the seams.
Two Weeks Later
“Hey, Gregory.” Draco smiled at the elderly man as he handed him a cup of black coffee. “How are you doing tonight?”
“Hey, kiddo.” Gregory’s voice was rough with age and deep like a bassoon. “I’m hanging in there. How are things with you? Is that witch you were dating still in the picture?”
Draco made a face. Six and a half years since Astoria had passed away and he had only had two semi-serious girlfriends. One had ended disastrously because of jealousy for his dead wife, the other after a five year old Scorpius had reported with tearful eyes that the woman in question had told him she never wanted children and he would shut up or she’d talk his daddy into sending him away.
He wasn’t sure he was ever going to get the hang of dating again. “No, Greg. She wasn’t the right one.”
“Ah, that’s too bad, kid. Young, handsome lad like you deserves a good witch to warm his bed and care for him.” He gave a crude wink, which made Draco laugh and shake his head with affection as the older man found a seat amongst the circle of chairs. Looking back out the front window of the Diagon Alley café, Draco could see more regulars coming. Mostly everyone was here, but it was still a bit early. He’d give it a few minutes before getting the session going. They had a few new people join them over the last four months – two of them having lost their spouses in the explosion that had happened on May second.
Iris had convinced him to attend this group almost two years ago, and it had changed his existence. So much so, that after eighteen months of attending, he was asked to lead the group. The former leader, a woman named Pricilla Storm, had remarried and was well on her way to a new, happy life. She had felt the need to move on from her volunteer position with St. Mungo’s. Draco would be forever grateful to the woman; she had really helped him come to terms with his grief.
He was checking the coffee supplies when a strange sense of trepidation came over him. A slight sense of unease. Almost like he felt when he came to his first meeting. At the same time, he had an overwhelming feeling that there was something coming. No…someone coming. He looked up in surprise as a very small figure entered the room. At first, he thought it was a child, but took a step back in shock when she turned. He’d never forget that face for as long as he lived.

Instantly his hands grew clammy as he took her in. She had aged well. Even if she had been the bane of his existence once upon a time, he wasn’t blind. Hermione Granger had grown into a stunning woman. Maybe not beautiful in the pureblood sense of the word, but an Earthy, surreal beauty that was very unique and understated. She was small, barely over five feet tall, and petite. If she weighed more than seven and a half stone he’d be surprised.

It did look like she had probably recently lost a bit of weight, but that was only natural in light of what he knew she had been through the last few months. He had lost more than a stone, himself, after Astoria had died. Extreme grief can definitely kill an appetite.

He scolded himself. Focus Draco. Her looks don’t matter right now. She’s not going to be excited to see you. If she doesn’t turn tail and run like she’s being chased by a flock of wild Hippogriffs when she spots you, it will be a miracle. Do your job and be welcoming.

His gaze returned to the brunette and it alarmed him to realize she had seen him. The expression on her face mirrored his own surprised feelings. He watched as she reached up to pull at a curl nervously. That bushy mass of riotous spirals had been one of the many things he used to hurt her during his Hogwarts career. If he were being honest with himself, it was still a mess. Though, for some reason, it seemed much more appealing as an adult than it had been as an adolescent. The piles of ringlets spilled over her shoulders and down her back, much longer than it had been before.
Her warm, brown with amber eyes roamed the room hesitantly, stopping on a few faces she likely recognized from the papers of their spouse’s deaths in link to the explosion, then she returned to his steel-grey orbs. Her teeth were out, worrying her full, pouty bottom lip in a gesture he recognized as a stress reliever. It came back to him in a tidal wave of memories. She had done that more times than he could count while at school. To the point where her pouty bottom lip would be bloody during exam time.
She was walking up to him. “Malfoy?” It was said hesitantly, almost like she wasn’t sure it was really him. He wanted to laugh.
“Hey, Granger,” Draco said instead, using a kind tone. He was very well aware of her recent loss; he remembered how he’d felt when the grief was so fresh. He would not be cruel, he would not be snarky – he was thirty-one years old. An adult. In truth, he was embarrassed by the things he had said and done to her in his youth. She didn’t deserve most of it. His thoughts returning to the present, he remembered seeing her at St. Mungo’s the day of the explosion. He remembered the odd onset of concern he had felt for her. She was so strong, though. The image of her stoic presence at her husband’s funeral still resonated with him. He hadn’t had to interact with her on those occasions, though.
As it were, she didn’t look so stoic right now. He could sense her unease. He struggled for something to say. It normally came so easy to him at these meetings. He felt a tad awkward and feared his engrained childhood snarkiness towards her would rear its ugly head.
Draco’s thoughts turned back to her recent loss. Gods, he couldn’t imagine being with someone as long as she had been with Weasley and losing them the way she had. How long had they been friends before they got married? Nine years? Ten? They were fourteen years past the end of the war, add another seven…twenty-one years she’d known that poor bastard. They’d been married at least half that, probably longer. All of a sudden, his own, personal grief was put into a much smaller bubble. He was used to knowing people who had lost their spouses after fifteen, twenty, even more than fifty years because of this group. Granger’s loss just seemed different, though. Maybe because he had grown up with them. Granger without Weasley just seemed…wrong.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” He gestured to the cart. “Most people are so wiped by this time of the evening they find the pick me up refreshing.”
She seemed to come back to herself and the surprised look left her eyes as her forehead crinkled into the familiar look of distrust she used to bestow on him. She dropped surprised eyes to the tray and then flicked them back up to meet his. “What’s the catch?”
His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Catch?”
“Yeah, the catch. You’re going to dump it on me?” A frown tugged the corners of her mouth and she crossed her arms suspiciously.
Draco shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. He had been kind, right? It hadn’t come out all condescending or holy-than-thou, had it? Damnit.
He raised his hands as if to show he was apologetic. “No catch, Granger!” he insisted. “Just a cup of coffee.” His expression was innocent, and he watched Hermione’s eyes narrow, sizing him up. Then her face smoothed and she had the grace to look abashed. She gave a little sigh and let her arms drop to her sides.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione said. “That wasn’t fair. I’m nervous, my emotions are high. I guess old habits do die hard. I’d love some coffee.”
He gave a light chuckle, reaching one hand up to scratch behind his head before busying himself with making her a cup. “Forgiven. No worries. I’ve grown up a bit, though. Haven’t purposely spilled anything on someone in years.” Draco tossed her a smile as he poured her a cup of coffee. “How do you take it?”
“Cream and one sugar, please,” her eyes widened slightly and he mentally snorted as she watched him prepare her cup. A Malfoy in a service roll probably seemed very odd to her. He handed her the paper mug, starting slightly when their fingers brushed. His hand reflexively pulled away quickly when there was a warm and tingly sensation where his skin touched hers. It seemed to creep into his whole being and he fought his discomfiture. He studied her carefully, puzzled by his own reaction even more when she switched the cup to her other hand and seemingly rubbed her fingers subconsciously on her jeans.
He cleared his throat and poured himself a cup, bewildered by what had just transpired. What to say…what to say… “You do know where you are, right, Granger?” he asked softly. “You do mean to be here?” Stupid question. He watched her face go from contemplation, to guarded as her eyes shuttered.
“Do you think I’m stupid? Of course, I know where I am!” she hissed. Her tone gave warning of her anger, laced with just a touch of desperation, devastation, and brilliant determination. “My family asked me to give it a try. I don’t know what good it will do, but I’m trying not to disappoint. Harry and Ginny are worried about me. No one under…understands…” She took a deep breath as her voice hitched. Setting down his drink, Draco reached out and cupped his hands around hers as they held her cup of coffee, recognizing the panic attack of grief that was threatening to overwhelm her. He felt that same tingling warmth from before, only stronger. If it weren’t for the tears standing in her eyes, it would be all he could have thought about. Her emotional needs were more important, though.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I mean it!” he insisted when she glared at him and tried to pull away. Was it just him or did it get twenty degrees warmer in here? What the fuck is the matter with you? He was totally bewildered by his physical response to her nearness. Weasley is barely cold in the ground.

Ignoring the rush of heat that was creeping up his arms, Draco held her hands firmly in his. “I understand, Granger. I do. So do all these people in here. Everyone in this room has lost the witch or wizard they were married to. We all struggle with our friends and family not truly understanding what we’re going through. It’s why we’re here.” This seemed to calm her instantly as her gaze flicked from his, to the group of fifteen or so chatting amiably while they waited for Draco to start the meeting.
“Yeah?” The tightness in her body seemed to seep out of her; as though his words had dragged the fear and anxiety right out of her muscles.
As her body relaxed in front of him, an image of alabaster colored hands sinking into the depths of her wild mane in order to cradler and tilt her head back flashed in his mind’s eye and he shook his head distractedly. What was that?
“Yeah.” He agreed, patting her hand and reluctantly letting her go. “You’ve come to the right place, little witch. C’mon, let’s find you a seat.” Draco placed a gentle hand on the small of her back and guided her to mingle with the rest of the group.
An Hour and a Half Later at The Wayward Broom
Draco kept his eye on the entrance as he awaited his friend’s arrival. The Muggle whisky the waitress had recommended was smooth and flavorful, but it had yet to lessen his agitation.
A flush of relief came over him when a very disheveled Theo Nott made his way to their usual back corner table.
The lanky brunette slid into the seat across the booth from Draco as he griped, “This better be important, Malfoy. Pansy and I had just finished dinner and were opening our second bottle of red when you floo messaged.” He cocked his right brow and scolded, “You know what that means.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re such a tosser, Nott. If any other man made that statement, I would realize I had cock blocked him. But not you. No. Only you would get pissy because I interrupted your game of Wizard Skittles.”
Theo gestured to the waitress to bring a round of what Draco was drinking. He shot his best friend a scolding look. “Now, that’s not fair. You know it’s not just a game of Skittles. I’m up, Draco. By one game! If I win tonight, I win the tournament. If I don’t make it back in thirty minutes, I forfeit, and she wins the round. You realize what that means, don’t you?”
Draco tried to suppress his amusement. This is why he loved Theo. “It’s your own fault for making such a ridiculous bet with her in the first place. I mean,” he shook his head in disbelief, “what normal couple decides the winner of a tournament of Wizard Skittles gets to name their next child?”
Theo looked Draco in the eyes, a retort on the tip of his tongue. But who was he kidding? His shoulders fell. “You’re right. I’m certifiable.”
“No, Pansy has your number and knows how to get her way. All the while making you think you have a fair shot. Let’s face it. You were never going to win this tournament.”
“Fuck, you’re probably right. But she’s drinking tonight! And I’m up by a game!”
Draco smirked. “She let you get ahead, Theo. Think about it. It would be very Gryffindor-ish if she just raced ahead and cleaned the floor with you. She had to make it look like a competition. There is a lot riding on this. She can’t have you come back later and say it was an unfair tournament.”
Theo took a large swallow of the drink the waitress placed in front of him before meeting his friend’s stare. A heavy exhale was followed by a mumbled, “Damn! You’re right, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “Why didn’t I see it?”
Draco laughed lightly. “I have no idea. Love is blind? I mean, you’ve beaten her less than five times in all the years you’ve known her.”
Theo wagged his finger. “That’s not true. I won three games last month. Before we made the bet.” The brunette’s blue eyes glazed over as his jaw fell in quiet recognition of his error. “She played me. She planned this!”
Draco shrugged noncommittally as he sipped his drink, thankful for the reprieve from his own worries. “Whose idea was it for the tournament?”
Theo threw his head back as he answered resignedly. “Mine.”
“No, it was hers. She just made you think it was yours.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “Honestly. And you call yourself a Slytherin.”
A resolved look of determination came over Theo as he looked at his wristwatch. “I have twenty minutes to get back and find a way to win. Otherwise your Godson is going to be named Herbert. What’s up. Why am I here?”
Draco sipped his glass. “Granger. Hermione Granger.”
Theo gave his friend a sideways look. “Come again?”
“Granger, well it’s Granger-Weasley now. Anyhow, she showed up at the group meeting tonight.”
Theo considered for a minute before comprehension dawned. His expression turned serious. “That’s right. Weasley. Diagon Alley.” He watched Draco for a minute. “And this is troublesome to you…why?”
“Theo, I can’t explain it. She’s in my head. Did I tell you I was at St. Mungo’s the day of the explosion?”
“Yeah, to look for Narcissa.”
Draco nodded lightly, his eyes getting a far-away look. “I saw her. When she found out he was killed, I mean. I saw Potter and Weaslette tell her that he was dead.”
Theo didn’t say anything as he contemplated his friend and what was going on.
“She was beyond distraught. I mean, completely understandable, you know?” He let out a breath as he looked around to make sure they weren’t overheard. His words were just above a whisper.
“Okay, here’s the thing, and I can’t explain it,” he huffed in irritation before finishing, “but it really bothered me that she was upset. I became upset. It was like my grief for Tory was stirring up inside of me. Only I wasn’t thinking about Astoria. I was thinking about Granger. I couldn’t get her out of my head after that. I even went to Weasley’s funeral. I kept my distance. No one saw me. But I went. She was a pillar of strength at the service. One kid on her lap and the other with Molly. I knew she felt her world had ended. It was like I could feel her anguish. Her anger. And she sat there quietly. She didn’t even shed a tear.”
Theo scratched his head as he struggled for what to say.
“Why? Why would I go? Why did I feel that compulsion? Why did it bother me that she was hurting? It’s Hermione ‘pain-in-the-ass, know-it-all’ Granger!”
Before Theo could respond, Draco continued, “Then, out of the blue, she showed up tonight. Only she wasn’t the strong witch from the funeral. She was me. She was me the first time I went to a meeting. On edge, nervous, distrustful. Afraid. Resigned that it wouldn’t help. Alone in a room full of people.”
Theo took a deep breath. “Draco, maybe it’s just that you relate to her. I mean, you both lost your spouses suddenly. Maybe seeing her grief is bringing your own back to the forefront of your psyche and what you’re interpreting as despair and concern for her, is really just a reflection of your own pain.”
Draco’s jaw fell. “Wow, Theo. I didn’t know you had that in you. Maybe. Maybe you’re on to something.” He thought for a moment. “I don’t know, though. I’ve been running the group for two years. There have been many attendees who had similar experiences to mine. And I have never been affected by them the way that I’m moved by her.”
Theo sighed. “Okay, I hesitate to say this because it will likely just make you mad and storm out of here like an angry hippogriff, and I’ll be stuck with a son named Wilbur for nothing, but you’ve always had this… wait.” He scratched his jaw. “Let me rephrase. You’ve always been a bit attuned to Granger. Ever since she decked you third year. If you weren’t tormenting her, you were kind of watching her. For a while I thought it was a secret crush. At least, until you started fucking Pansy.” He grimaced. “But I can’t talk to you about that, or I might punch you.”
Draco had the wherewithal to look properly chagrined for his youthful hormones and sexual history with his best friend’s wife.
Theo waved his hand dismissively as he continued. “Yule Ball you couldn’t stop watching her. And I remember how shaken you were about her coming to harm in the Manor by your crazy aunt. I mean, you told me about it months after the war. Right before your trial, if memory serves. But you were so shaken by it, it was like it had happened the day before.”
Draco rubbed his eyes. The truth of his best friend’s words making him weary. “The way you remember it, I can see why you thought I might have had a crush on her. But I swear I never did. It’s not romantic…what I feel. At least…well. I did have a brief urge to run my fingers through her hair while I was talking to her tonight. But it was an isolated thought and was gone as fast as it came over me.”
“Well, thank Salazar you didn’t act on it. Your fingers might have had to be amputated to get them out of that mane of hair.”
A flush of irritation came over the blond.
Theo smirked knowingly. “You wanted to hex me just now, didn’t you?”
“Theo, what is wrong with me? I don’t want Hermione Granger! I don’t. So why the fuck am I thinking about her? And why the hell did I get a warm, tingly feeling when my hand brushed hers tonight?”
Theo closed his eyes in exaggerated resignation. He was going to be here a while. “When my son comes to me and asks why I let his mother name him Chester, and how much it irritates the hell out of him when she calls him Chesty for short, I’m sending him your way.”
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Bless the Broken Road