Old music played softly from the gramophone. Soft amber lamps shed light on dust particles racing haphazardly through the slanted air, landing softly on the wooden floor. Outside, the sky was pitch-dark, and the stars had begun to show themselves. It had been a long time since they had last taken Astronomy lessons at midnight on Wednesdays, but as Hermione held her dance partner a little tighter and looked out of the window, it seemed she could still trace the constellations like it was only yesterday.
"And there," she whispered, turning so that her cheek rested against his, "is your star…"
"It is yours now," he whispered back, pressing his nose against hers. He was taller than her, so for a moment his lips brushed against the smattering of freckles on her upper lip. She shivered, and he held her just the little bit tighter.
They were alone now, just him and her. The room was theirs. And the sky was theirs too, as the midnight velvet is for all lovers the world over. The world sleeps, and they awake, and neither heeds the turning of the clock as the turning of the gramophone continues on, and their shoes and their heartbeats are the only things they can hear in the silence.
"I am yours," he whispers again.
Some time later, they are asleep. The amber lamps have burnt out, and it is now the sun's rays that shine through the windows, but our lovers are asleep yet. They lie there in their oblivion, a cotton sheet carelessly thrust over both, but carefully tucked under her so she is warm and tight. As she sleeps her head moves ever towards him until it is tucked under his chin, against his chest, and she murmurs against his collarbone in her dreams.
Then suddenly he is awake, and moving, and his fingers reach to his forearm where by his rapid scrabbling it seems there must be some burning sensation. She is awake too within the shudder of a heartbeat. She is with him. She ishim, it seems, in one rapid shudder of a movement, and they are rocking together, back and forth, back and forth.
"Will you…" he says raggedly, eyes roving over her face desperately and hungrily. Hermione watches him steadily but sadly, and runs her fingertips over his blond hair, lit golden by the sun. He is so beautiful, and he is so full of light, if only he can see it. "Will you still love me tomorrow?"
It is the words of the song they danced to last night, and she swallows. So trite, so easy. And yet from his lips she senses his worry and his conflict. His past is not a past one would wish on anybody. Yet it is his, and he must live with it, somehow. And so must she, for he is hers now, and she is his.
"Tomorrow, and the day after, and all the rest of my life," she whispers back, kissing his eyelids and then his nose and finally, his lips. "I'll love you forever and always, Draco."
so, i just updated don't stop believing, and felt i needed some mushy oneshot wonderness to get my writing groove back on, because oneshots allow for poetic mushiness in a way that would be too goopy for long... long shots? is that what you call them? it sounds so funny in my head, haha!
was listening to the shirelle's will you still love me tomorrow and felt a song fic about draco's vulnerability -not hermione's, since female weakness seems so archetypal- was in order. hope you like it! review review!