Set during war. How Draco feels in his relationship with Hermione. Not too OOC I hope.

Universe: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Theme: (Angst) Romance/Fluff
Rating: K+

IMPORTANT NOTES: Hi guys! This is my first English published fanfiction here! Hehe. I know it's very very short but it just popped into my head and I had to write it down. Unfortunately, I don't have the time and I'm not enough fluent in English to make it a long fanfiction. As I am not an English speaker and since I didn't get all this beta reader stuff, this work may contain typos, mispelled words and grammatical mistakes for which I apologize but I'm doing my best avoiding them. Feedbacks are welcome =).

Disclaimer : Harry Potter and its universe is the property of J.K. Rowling. No money is being made with this fanfiction. This is all for our pleasure.


Maybe Tomorrow


She was pure, he believed. He could only protect her, he was convinced. Cherish her as mush as he could was the only good thing he could do for her. He would sometimes kiss her when there was just the two of them, even if the other Order of Phoenix's members knew they shared a certain intimacy. They would see how protective he was towards her, how it was hard for him to hold back every time he wanted to shout to lock her home, how he would make sure she was always with someone reliable, how he would watch her (and over her) when he thought he was unseen, how he would put her like nothing else mattered to everyone and to him. Like she was light. Like she was life.

They had all noticed the change in him. They may not know him well but they did know how spoiled and self-centred he was before. How whiney he would be when he was upset. How posh he was acting before. Before her. He still wouldn't care for the others and he was certainly rude from time to time but he wasn't as sarcastic as he was. Most of the time, he would just show his annoyance but it would stop there. The reason was because only Hermione mattered, not his pride, not his life. He kept living not because he was afraid of dying or being hurt but because of her. She wanted him to be here so he was. He no longer cared if he was hurt if hurting could keep her safe. He no longer cared being tortured if he would offer her another day of hope. He no longer cared of being dead just as long he knew she would be taken good care of. And it was worth it, he thought.

She made him feel alive. She made him feel complete. He was so grateful he was sure he could never repay her in anyway in thousands of lifetimes. He only had himself to give so he gave himself. But still, he would be rewarded for his acts, for his pain. She chose him over Harry, Ron and the others. He wouldn't figure out why, no matter how many times he would tell her to go away, that he wasn't the one, she would slap him in the face then hug and kiss him hard. He eventually kept it shut but think the same. Why him?

He wasn't worthy of her, he was absolutely positive about it. That's why every time he got lost into her kisses, he would feel the mad tenderness she offered him and the guilt of tasting her sweet lips. It was a very strange mixed feeling. It felt good but wrong too. Like he was stealing something valuable he could never afford nor touch. That's why he tried not to kiss her. She would often make the first move and he would let her because it was what she wanted (and that it was too painful to resist). That's why every single night, she would have to pull him in her bed to cuddle inside his arms. He would trace her body with his finger because he knew she loved this and her skin felt so soft against his that every caress make him feel dizzy and overwhelmed by her warmth. It was his only mark of affection he would openly show her. It felt already too much for him.

Because every night, when he thought she was finally asleep, he would hold her tight and deeply inhaled her intoxicating perfume like it was forbidden. What he ignored was that she was well aware of this. Not always, but she sometimes wake up because he was too strongly hugging her. She wouldn't tell anyone, not even him. She knew a part of him wasn't ready and felt too pitiful to let him love and be loved back. Just not yet. So she waited.


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