A/N everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's.
One shot for a Dramione prompt competition. Set during a 7th year at Hogwarts after the war.
Prompt: Snow
She closed her eyes, her nose stinging as she breathed in and out, letting go small puffs of cloud out into the air each time she exhaled. Snow whirled around her in waves, whipping the brown curls back and forth, a solitary statue, alone. She stared blankly ahead of her. She'd somehow ended up at the Shrieking Shack. The rickety house, though, wasn't what she was seeing. Ron had snapped again. All she could see was him staring at her, mouth moving, viciously forming words she couldn't hear. The fight seemed to replay over and over again in slow motion before her eyes. A lonely tear trickled slowly down the pale cheek. She wiped it away impatiently, her red wool gloves scratching her cheek.
Ron snapped so easily after the war. She knew it was partly because of Fred, of course, and she'd tried to help him, but he was so stubborn. But now, it was just the littlest things that sent him over the edge. He'd already been moody because she'd seen something that reminded her of one of George's inventions in Zonko's. Ron, annoyingly sensitive as always, heard her hesitate, about to say "one of Fred and George's inventions" and had sulked for the rest of the tour. He'd seemed all right, though, when they went to the Three Broomsticks for a drink. All Hermione had been doing was reaching across the table, when someone from behind her bumped her and her arm jerked forward, knocking Ron's bottle of Firewhiskey all over him. He lost his head, jumping up, blue eyes blazing. He started to yell at her, telling her how clumsy she was, and how she'd never had consideration for anyone else.
Of course, half a minute into the rant he realized there was nothing to rant about and it was stupid to go on. Being stupid, though, had never stopped Ronald Weasely. He started to bring up things even she'd forgotten, stuff from before the war. Viktor and the Yule Ball, Scabbers, for God's sake; stupid little things, but he just kept yelling, and she knew she had to stop it. So she did something extremely unpredicted. She interrupted him. "Stop." She held up a hand. He stopped immediately. It was silent. By this time, the whole pub was silent, the more sober of the crowd sitting back and watching. The less sober were what looked to be one big group, trying to help their friend off the floor where he'd fallen off his barstool.
Usually, when he went off like this, she'd let him finish, with tears rolling down both of their cheeks, let him yell at her, while she just soaked it in. He'd started doing it more and more often though, and she was done with being his little sharpening block. "Just stop, Ron. It's a bottle of Firewhiskey." She turned on her heel, about to storm out, but turned around. "Oh and Ron?" she asked. He looked up, his ears red. "We're done." She grabbed her coat off of the back of her chair, almost tripping over the drunk who'd fallen off his chair, now passed out as his "friends" had given up.
The scene had started replaying again, when it was interrupted. "Granger?" Hermione closed her eyes. She would know that voice anywhere. Of all the times – why did he have to choose now? "What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked, her words almost ripped away by the wind.
"Didn't know you preferred the company of snowflakes to Weasely and Potter." He said, raising his voice above the wind. She could almost hear the stupid smirk in his voice. She turned, out of curiosity. Yep. There it was. His smirked lessened slightly. "Well I can understand Weasely, but Potter? Where is the hero of the world, anyway?" He looked around the clearing mockingly, as if expecting Harry to be hiding behind a rock or shrub. So he'd been in the pub. She looked up, blinking against the brightness of the gray sky as he came to stand beside her. Snowflakes, wet and cold landed on her face, stinging and melting, leaving spots of wetness on her face. Malfoy continued, apparently not bothered by her lack of enthusiasm on the subject. "You should have slapped him, Granger. I've been on the receiving end of one of those, and good God, do they hurt." Hermione's eyes widened as he barked out a short laugh. Draco Malfoy. Laughing. And even possibly teasing her…this was turning out to be one hell of a day. She sighed again. "Do you enjoy holding one sided conversations, Malfoy?" she asked.
"Ah." He said, smirking. "Not so one sided, are they now?" She held back a little smile as her eyebrows lifted. Definitely teasing her. A few moments of silence passed. She amused herself by blowing puffs of fog into the air, and watching them get ripped apart by the wind. "so…" she started, not actually sure how she was going to start the conversation. Silence greeted her words again, the only sound the howling of the wind through the trees. "Awkward." Malfoy whispered into the wind. Hermione stared. Not only was Malfoy using Muggle slang, but he coughed back what almost sounded like a- a giggle at his own joke. Draco Malfoy. Giggling. "Malfoy?" She asked.
"Yeah, Granger?" he replied.
"Exactly how much Firewhiskey did you consume at the Three Broomsticks?" she asked. He looked at her smiling. "None." He said. He turned back to face forward. "Okay, maybe a bottle, but I lost a bet, though, so the boys gave me a heavy dose of Veritaserum." She blinked. That explained some things.
"What was the bet?" She asked.
"That you'd break things off with Weasel when the fight started. Honestly, I didn't know you had the balls to do it, but I bet on it anyway." He threw a sideways smirk at her. She frowned. "But I did."
"Oh but I also said you'd slap him." He said. He turned his head her way. "You should have god damned slapped him, Granger." He teased. Hermione couldn't decide whether she liked the new Malfoy or not. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, there was several people and a wooden obstacle known as a table between myself and the said Weasel." At this Malfoy laughed. "There was also a second part to the bet," he added after a while.
"What was it? She asked, wondering what else 'the boys' could have come up with.
"I had to tell the girl I'd been in love with for my entire time at Hogwarts that I loved her." His words were met with silence. Why was he telling her this? She knew she must be blushing, but since it was cold out, she hoped he wouldn't notice. She turned to leave. "I guess I'll leave you to it, then," she said. She felt sorry to leave, sorry that she'd never see him this way again. His true self. Long fingers wrapped around her wrist, jerking her back. She was pulled against Draco's chest and, not even having a second to breathe, his lips met hers.
His skin was cold from the winter air, but his mouth was warm. Her hand had inexplicably wrapped themselves around his neck and up into his short, silky hair. The snow whirled around them, but she was warm, electricity running through her veins. Draco pulled away, stone gray eyes searching deep brown ones. His long, elegant fingers touched her cheek. "I love you Hermione Granger." He whispered.
And, just like that, he was gone.