Dramione Drabbles

15. Martina

When the DMLE needed a woman on the inside to spy on ex-Death Eaters, they groomed Hermione into Draco Malfoy's dream woman.

Polyjuice produced Martina, a stunning agent from the Italian Ministry. She sported a sleek black bob, had long elegant limbs, flawless olive skin, full ruby lips, and wore tight, show-stopping dresses.

Malfoy was hooked from the get-go.

The git was the most affectionate boyfriend she ever had.

When it was cold and she was sniffling, he wiped her nose on his coat sleeve and bundled her up in his scarf. He tied her shoes when they were undone. Carried her home when her heels hurt. Ordered extra chips because he knew she'd want some, even when she swore that she didn't.

He kissed her every chance he could.

His friends joked that she'd broken their bachelor. Malfoy seldom dated women for long. No matter how beautiful, well-connected, decorous, or even good in bed his exes had been, there was always something missing.

Martina was different.

They spent hours discussing politics, people, philosophy. Malfoy drew constellations on her naked spine and recounted old tales about family members named after them. Most everything she divulged was honest, only changing names to keep up the ruse. He looked at her, touched her, spoke to her more tenderly than anyone.

To her dismay and great relief, she discovered nothing suspicious about him. He wanted to move on. To open his own business, an honest one. He wanted a son who was proud of him. To marry only once in his life and spend a lifetime with his best friend—this, he told her one night while dragging lazy fingers down her thighs, watching her like he'd found the missing half of his soul. Like the universe had finally forgiven him and she was the proof.

The guilt was too much to bear. Malfoy deserved to love a real woman. It was wrong to keep up the charade. So she confessed to the DMLE she'd caught feelings and quit the case. And because her conscious wouldn't allow her to walk away without telling him the truth, she spent one last night with Draco.

They made love as always—hot and thorough, desperate and relentless. That night, Hermione left the Polyjuice untouched in her purse, and waited for the sun to rise.

She woke to a wand pressed to her throat.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Seeing the fear and distrust in his eyes made her chest throb. Of course, a man who dated Martina wouldn't spare her a glance.

"Malfoy—I'm so sorry."

At first, he didn't believe her, was certain she'd done something to Martina. He threatened her, yelled at her, begged her please he'd do anything, give anything, to get her back. And Hermione watched, devastated, begging him to understand.

She recounted details only Martina would have known. Confessed his touch made her feel alive. Said she wished she'd meet someone like him someday. Someone who would treat her as he'd treated Martina.

Then she left.

🖤

Eighteen months later, they ran into one another at Flourish and Blotts. Draco entered the Philosophy section, searching for the book she wanted. There was one copy left. He sulked, watching her take it.

"Here." She held it out. "I'll wait for the next shipment."

Malfoy didn't budge. "Martina wouldn't have done that."

"Neither would I," she admitted, "normally."

He took the book, watching her guardedly. They used to stand at eye-level. Now, he looked down to meet her gaze. He assessed her unruly curls and freckled cheeks, flushed from embarrassment, her small cupid's bow mouth, and cozy but far from fashionable clothes. She was no Martina, and she felt it acutely. He wasn't attracted to her anymore.

"There were moments," he said, "when she reminded me of you. The way she debated. Her attention to detail. Something about the way she formed her sentences."

"And you didn't hate it?"

He shook his head. "No, I didn't."

"I quit that job."

"I know."

"Keeping tabs on me?"

"I was in love." He shrugged and started to walk away, but something stopped him. He turned back around. Examined her. "If I had known the way you would fit in my life, I would have given you a chance, Granger."

"So give me a chance now."

He shook his head. "It's too painful."

"But it was real."

"It wasn't."

"I loved you as much as you loved me. More, maybe. I know I don't look like her. I'm short and awkward and probably the opposite of elegant."

He snorted.

"But it wasn't just looks, was it? I know you haven't dated anyone since. I haven't dated, either. Maybe this is our story."

"Granger—" He paused, torn. His eyes darted to the book, then back to her. He didn't look ashamed or disappointed or disgusted, merely curious. Maybe even intrigued. He held up the book. "Are you busy right now? Maybe you could come over and we could read—"

"No." She stepped forward, heart pounding furiously. "I mean, no, I'm not busy."

"If we're going to survive this, we need to start over," Draco decided.

Hermione snatched the book back and placed it on the shelf.

They reached for it at the same time.

(881 words, written nov 18 2023)