Call Me Psyche - Dramione

19

Draco turned out of his apparation, away from the scene of the garden of his Aunt Andromeda's cottage and toward a dark side-street in west London. The pleasant country evening weather was replaced with a rainy city night. Hermione's arm was still hooked through his, and she stumbled into his front as she followed him, face to face on the pavement. The dampness was raising the scent of pomegranate from her hair, just below his face.

Hermione gasped as cold raindrops hit the warm, bare skin of her arms and legs in the little red cocktail dress she had been married in. She reached for her bag but Draco had already shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her. Her breath caught, her lips parted as she watched his hands smoothing the jacket over her shoulders and arms.

He was lovely as always, but nervous, turning Andromeda's wand in his hands now. "Upside down," he said, sniffing a laugh. Her hand darted out to help but he told her, "Keep still and stay dry while I get this wand to act like an umbrella. Won't take a minute."

Yes, it must be nerve-wracking, starting a family at age eighteen, mid-war, with a notorious undesirable. Nerve-wracking and so sweet that Hermione rose on her toes and kissed his cheek as he fumbled with the wand. "Thank you," she said, low and a little husky.

The umbrella spell unfurled from the wand. Beneath it, they stood close, and she wiped at a raindrop beading on the front of the well-pressed, re-tailored white shirt Andromeda had given him from Ted's wardrobe. At Hermione's touch, the water seeped through the shirt's fibres, cold and revealing the tone of his skin through the wet fabric.

Draco sucked in a breath and pinched the lapels of his jacket closed around her. "We'd better get inside."

She said nothing, but kept glancing at his profile outlined against the yellow streetlights as they hurried toward 12 Grimmauld Place. Approaching the house without the Fidelius spell in place felt wrong to her in every way. It was no longer a place of safety. That much was clear when Draco extended his arm, scarred by the Dark Mark, and twisted the handle to open the door.

He went through the first, sneaking up on his Great Aunt Walberga's portrait to be sure it was covered. Today of all days, he wouldn't have Hermione called slurs in the House of Black. Not to mention his not wanting to risk Walberga telling anyone that Potter's Mudblood companion had been back to Grimmauld.

Draco took her hand to lead her inside. But the glass from the smashed transom window was strewn all over the front step and across the floorboards of the vestibule. In her thin-soled, delicate wedding shoes, Hermione slipped on a shard as it cracked beneath her feet.

Draco hissed and lunged to steady her against himself. Both her arms were around his neck as she examined the floor beneath them, looking for better footing in the dimness.

"I'm alright," she said. "Trust me, I've had worse going than this."

Draco knew it must be true, and it raised an ache in his chest. This beautiful, astonishing creature – she was right when she told him months ago that he was easily seduced. She had yet to do anything especially provocative, but it didn't matter when he found everything between them provocative.

"Leave it," he said, heaving a sigh and sweeping her into his arms, carrying her over the glass. She bit back a squeal as he made a swift turn sideways to march them into the house. "There," he said. "You've managed to get yourself full-bridal carried over a threshold on your half-wedding day. Very clever."

She was laughing into his neck. "I promise you, I didn't plan it this way," she said. "But it is rather perfect of you."

He answered with another sigh, his breath shaky with the shiver she'd been raising speaking so close to his throat. Here he was, setting her back on her feet in front of the Black Family Tapestry when what he wanted was to whisk her up the stairs to the bedroom he'd tidied the last time he was here, as if something deep inside him knew then that coming back here with her was his destiny.