Against the Odds

Chapter 3

Draco sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on the strange blue creature on the screen, surrounded by vibrant tropical scenery. The creature—oddly dog-like, with oversized ears—was rambling on about something called Ohana. Draco didn't fully understand what was happening in the movie, but the creature reminded him of a French bulldog, and he found Frenchies amusing. Something about their squashed faces and short legs always managed to make him crack a smile, and this little blue alien had the same effect.

He glanced over at Hermione, who had burrowed herself into a thick blanket cocoon, her face barely visible under the layers of fabric. Her soft snores filled the room, and for the first time that day, Draco felt a sense of peace settle over him. She had fallen asleep, finally comfortable after hours of dealing with her painful cramps, and the potion he had insisted she take seemed to have worked wonders.

He allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction. His little wife—wife, the word still sounded strange in his mind—was no longer hurting, and for once, he wasn't being yelled at or scolded. He leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed over his chest, eyes flicking back and forth between the movie and Hermione's sleeping form.

He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he watched her, his gaze lingering on the peaceful expression on her face. Her cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the blankets, her wild curls spilling out in every direction like a halo around her head. Heknew he probably looked like a creep, staring at her like this, but he didn't care. Something about seeing her so at ease, without the sharp tongue or the fire in her eyes that she wielded during their many arguments, made him feel strangely protective.

It was funny, really. Years ago, if someone had told him that he would be lying in bed next to Hermione, his wife, watching a Muggle movie about a blue alien, he would have laughed in their face. But here he was, and it felt oddly right.

His thoughts wandered as he continued to watch her. He found himself questioning why he had ever thought of her as ugly when they were younger. Ugly? What was he thinking? She had always been beautiful, hadn't she? Even back at Hogwarts, when they were too busy hurling insults at each other to notice much else, she had been striking in her own way.

He remembered the day she punched him in third year, her fist connecting with his face in a way that shocked the entire courtyard. At the time, he had been furious, embarrassed that a Mudblood—no, Hermione, she was just Hermione now—had dared to lay a hand on him. But looking back on it now, he couldn't help but smirk. That punch had been the moment everything shifted. Maybe not consciously, but deep down, Draco knew it had left a mark on him—not just physically, but emotionally.

Was that a kink? He wondered idly, as the blue creature on the screen continued to wreak havoc in Hawaii. Perhaps. There was something undeniably attractive about a woman who could stand up for herself, who could match his wit and fire with her own. Hermione had always been like that—brilliant, fierce, and utterly unafraid to put him in his place. And Merlin, she was intelligent. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that her intelligence had been what drew him in from the start, even if he hadn't wanted to admit it back then.

She wasn't just book-smart either, though that was part of it. No, Hermione was clever in ways that constantly caught him off guard. She could argue circles around him in almost any debate, and while that had been infuriating at first, Draco had come to admire it. Hell, he even liked it now. He liked the challenge she presented, liked that she kept him on his toes. She was never predictable, never easy, and that was part of what made her so damned irresistible.

He glanced back at her again, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest as she slept. Her breathing was slow and even, the lines of tension that had been etched into her face earlier completely gone. She looked younger like this—softer, more vulnerable—and Draco felt his heart clench in a way that was becoming all too familiar. He had spent so many years pretending that he didn't care about her, that she was just an annoyance, but now, sitting here in the quiet of their shared bedroom, he knew better.