Note: I do not own anything. I do not own the characters nor the settings, I do not even own the title of the fic. It comes from the song High Enough by Damn Yankees.
Nevertheless, enjoy.
"Granger," Draco said to her quietly one night. They were at the top of the Burrow and visiting the Weasleys for the holiday. Today was the last night of their vacation before they returned to their home in wizarding Brussels, Belgium.
They've been together for quite some time now, but they both didn't want to call it a relationship. It was lax and calming, and easygoing. Life with Draco hadn't been what she'd expected.
She worked as a healer in Brussels, and Draco was an agent for his father's company: the branch in Luxembourg. He liked her more than he'd first imagined. She never pushed him, never coddled him or hovered. She kept her boundaries and he kept his. He wasn't really sure how long it'd been since they first got together.
When they first met after the war, Draco was on business at a prestigious healer university for investment deals. It was all smooth sailing until he saw a familiar witch. Memories of the bushy haired, Potter loving witch drowned his thoughts as he approached her on the bench that day. The war was still fresh in everyone's mind, but just for a second, it seemed like the war never existed. It had only been six months past the war's end, and he went directly into the Malfoy business under the discretion of his father.
Draco racked his brain to try to think of a headline about Hermione Granger in the Prophet from the last six months, but he ceased to come up with one. She seemingly fell off the face of the wizarding world, yet here she was. In the flesh.
"Granger," He said quietly, sitting next to her on the bench. Her eyes glanced up and they locked with his for a moment. Hers were so forgiving. So brown like the dark tea he liked to drink. Like the smell of coffee beans. Like chocolate ice cream at Fortescue's.
"Haven't seen you in quite some time," She noted with a wry smile. She brushed a hair behind her ear and looked down at the book in her lap. In it was various medical terminologies. "Of course, I've been busy with my studies."
Draco looked away with a roll of his eyes, but it was good natured, "Typical of you." A soft, melodic giggle slipped out of her lips, and Draco was mesmerized with the noise. "I don't mean to be upfront, but do you—" -want to go on a date?- "—want to move in with me?" It was word vomit. Absolutely so.
See, Draco was looking to leave the manor — being eighteen years old and still living with his parents was hard enough. Not to mention the fact that his mother and father were so thankful that the war brought them closer together, so they liked to do late night activities together. And Draco was a light sleeper. Thinking about it further made Draco want to obliviate himself.
Of course, when his father passes away in the far future, he would move back into the manor. But for now, he was planning on staying at one of their many vacation homes all around the continent.
Draco didn't like to be lonely, though. He needed to be around someone, or else his deep thoughts would override him and he wouldn't make it out alive.
But he didn't mean to take the initiative to invite Hermione Granger, wizarding world savior, to live with him. He was about to backtrack on his words, but Hermione beat him to it.
Hermione's cheeks reddened but she hesitantly shrugged. "I'll think about it."
The days blended into each other. When Molly told her their fifth anniversary was coming up, she almost passed out. She and Draco had been skirting around the definition of a relationship for five years?
It seemed like a long time coming, but Draco knew all those moments were culminating. He had a ring in his pocket, ready to propose to her.
She laid beside him in bed, her hair fanning out around her head like a lion's mane. She had a sweet smile on her face and her hand trailed up Draco's. She wore a black tank top and a pair of pajama shorts. Fuzzy socks were worn over her typically cold feet. She often liked to wedge the ice cold appendages between Draco's legs during the night. But Draco didn't mind.
He wore his Weasley sweater with pride, the green a good colour for him. He was wearing a pair of what Hermione called 'joggers'.
"Yes?" Granger said quietly from beside him. He almost forgot he said something to begin with.
"Close your eyes," He said softly, sitting up in the bed. He muttered the summoning spell under his breath and the object of his choosing flew into his hand. He held out his other hand and slipped it into Hermione's.
"Trust me," Draco whispered in his ear, his hands moving to lift Hermione up. She was placed on a magical object, but she didn't open her eyes. She trusted him. Draco's body soon was flush against the back of hers, and she briefly wondered what they were doing.
"You're dating?" Harry gaped as he toured the house. Admittedly, it was a nice house. It was smaller than he would've imagined, but still grand and very Malfoy.
Hermione shrugged, as if that was the only explanation to the master bedroom and bathroom that shared all their things. "I guess," She muttered.
Harry turned to her and his eyes turned serious. He searched hers intently but when he didn't find what he was looking for, he sighed. "Make sure he treats you right."
A moment passed where Hermione didn't agree or disagree. She spoke quietly, far away, "I'm meeting his parents formally tonight."
Honestly, the thought intimidated her. This was Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy they were speaking of. Not only were they pureblood supremacists, but they were very elite and to a very distinct upper class. Hermione could foresee the meeting being a disaster, to put it lightly.
Harry's brows raised in curiosity, but he said nothing. He instead looked around and took a stroll to the outside terrace. The garden, which was beautiful, but not overbearing, took a hold of Harry's interests. He took the head of a light yellow carnation in his hand and smiled. "Where is Malfoy, anyways?"
Hermione bit her lip, thinking back to their conversation earlier in the morning. She sighed quietly when she came up with nothing. "I'm not sure. I think he's decided to stay at the branch of his father's company in Luxembourg."
Harry glanced at her oddly before turning to the carnations and switching the subject. Later that day, when Draco returned and after Harry left, they set off to meet the elder Malfoys.
A window flew open and Hermione felt the soft winter breeze before a warming charm hit her. Then, she was moving forward.
His arms wrapped around her waist and his hands rested in front of her. "Open," He said quietly. They were sixty feet in the air, but Hermione felt like she was falling.
"No," Hermione said, or she thought she said. Only a whimper came out. They were on a broom. As she shut her eyes tightly, she gripped the broom with white knuckles in her hands. "Draco."
"Sweetheart," Draco whispered kindly, his hands moving to soothe her tense body. She was shaking.
"Keep your hands," She gasped, her heart racing. "Keep your hands on the broom." Her breathing was laboured and her body was shaking like crazy. She didn't like heights. She hated heights. "Please get me down from here."
Draco was worried. She had never reacted this way in all the years they'd been together. She was calm and collected and never worried when it came to trauma. He should know, she's been through enough secondhand trauma by dealing with Draco, the boy who got the Dark Mark when he was sixteen. "I'll get you down, lovely." He gently angled the broom downwards and they slowly descended towards the field in which surrounded the Weasley home.
She was sobbing by the time they reached the ground. Hermione was still gripping the handle like a vice and refused to let go. Draco had to coax it out of her hands. She was hyperventilating like mad.
Draco pulled her into his arms, surrounding her and whispering soft words in her ear. Draco had experience with panic attacks, but never from this perspective.
The third scream woke Hermione from her deep slumber. At first, she thought she imagined it, but when she heard an anguished cry, she knew it was from Draco down the hall.
They've been living together for about two weeks. It was odd. He never really spoke to her, and when he did, they were quiet and reserved. Hermione wasn't really sure if she made the right decision to live here with a man she knew to torment her.
She pushed her thoughts back from her brain as another shout from Draco's room sounded. Hermione stood from her full size bed and tiptoed her way to the door at the end of the hallway. Deciding not to knock, she pushed the door open and saw Draco panting wildly, his legs tangled in the sheets.
Hermione sat at the edge of the bed and placed a hand on his trembling leg. "Draco?" She said quietly, her hand gently smoothing down the sheets as Draco sobbed. As she untucked the sheets so Draco didn't strangle himself, her hand unknowingly brushed against his left forearm.
His eyes snapped open and his hand wrapped around Hermione's wrist in a death grip. His hand was clammy on her skin and he was shaking immensely so.
She moved her hand from under Draco's grip, and he hesitantly allowed her to move. His hand dropped to his side as her fingers brushed against his cheek. "Let me hold you," She said quietly, offering her arms out to him.
In his delirious mind, he wrapped his arms around her and allowed her to hold him close. In the wee hours of the morning, though he knew she was awake, Draco had asked her, "How can you be this nice to me, after I wished you dead?"
Her breathing became slower, and her hands gently released Draco from their grip. He held her. She allowed herself to be held by him.
Minutes or hours passed; Hermione wasn't sure. All she could feel was the gentle thump of Draco's heart. Her mind was racing and her hands were clammy. She held Draco's and felt his warmth on her cool body.
After a while, her hands stopped shaking and her heart slowed. She spoke, breaking the tension between the air. "When I was nine," She began in a quiet voice that made Draco melt, "My magic was acting up a lot."
She smoothed back her hair from her face and rested her head on Draco's shoulder. He leaned the two of them back so he was laying down and staring into the night sky and Hermione was lying on him. Her fingers ran up to caress the tops of Draco's shoulders.
"My father hated it. He was first upset because I ostracized myself," Hermione whispered. "Then he was upset because I ostracized his business. No one wanted to go to a dentistry that had a problem child. They were fearful. And it cost my dad his business."
Draco wrapped his arm around her, his fingers dancing at her hips the way he knew she liked. He didn't say anything. She never said anything about her childhood to him. He never pressured her to. This must have been the thing that held her from saying all about her childhood.
Lucius Malfoy barely said anything to her during their visit to the manor in Wiltshire. The things Hermione recalled were cordial and polite. Only the bare necessities for being a proper host. Draco's mother, however, was very kind to her. She thanked Hermione for her statement at the family's trial, which meant a lot to Hermione.
Draco had something to talk about with his mother, so he gave Hermione directions to the one place she looked forward to seeing in the house. The library. Actually, Draco used the Malfoy library to bribe her into going. Hermione didn't mind though. Any time she could spend in the ancient room would be time well spent.
"Oh, hello Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said quietly, pushing the door closed behind her. She glanced into his familiar grey eyes and saw a hint of surprise in them. He just apprehensively nodded his head at the girl and continued on with his book.
Hermione walked through the library for a few moments, before settling on a text that she'd heard about but hadn't gone about reading yet. It was a book about ancient rites and family traditions of purebloods. It also included an excerpt on house elves she was particularly interested. Before she could even open the book, she had to decide where to sit in the room. While the firelight was a nice lighting advantage, she didn't want to waste the beautiful afternoon sun that blessed the flat plains of Wiltshire. She decided to sit on the windowsill, near the master of the house, who was using the sun to his advantage as well.
"Interesting read," Mr. Malfoy said to her, his eyes peeking over his book to lock with hers.
With a glance down at his book, she nodded and replied, "Yours as well. That was one of my favorite books as a child." Animal Farm, the title read. Interesting choice for a wizard of his caliber to be reading a muggle book.
The older Malfoy scowled behind his book, about to put it away. What hogwash! A literary expert recommended a children's book to him!
Before he could banish the book back to its shelf, the Granger girl spoke up, "Although I didn't really understand its background in history and war when I was a tot." She was still looking down at her book, but she looked lost in thought. "Orwell did a very good job depicting it, don't you think?"
"Depicting what, may I ask, Miss Granger?" He asked with a curious lilt.
Her eyes lit up like a fire on a summer day. "You don't know?" She gushed to her boyfriend's father. Someone she had feared since she was young. Someone who tried to kill her. That's who she was talking to so animatedly. She had no recollection of any of that though; not when she could speak about books. "Oh, I simply must tell you! You've read it completely?"
Lucius hesitantly nodded, never having seen anyone be so excited over a book like this girl had. She jumped off the sill and sat at the floor in front of Lucius. Usually, finding herself in this position would be demeaning for her, but she was simply too excited about teaching someone like Lucius Malfoy something about the muggle wars.
As she explained the entire history of the Russian revolution, Mr. Malfoy began asking questions about other things she would mention. "Who was Hitler? Why do you speak of him so badly?" "For what reason did they go into another war?" "What is a nuclear bomb?" They spoke for hours, but it felt as if no time passed.
When Draco walked into the library to retrieve his housemate and girlfriend, needless to say, he was shocked when he saw Hermione and his father — his formal, never happy, sneering father — smiling and sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace.
"One night when I was sleeping, my father came into my room and had us go to London. Just me and him," Hermione smiled sadly and pressed her face against Draco's neck. "He took me to the tallest building and sat me on the ledge. It was so beautiful, Draco."
Draco sat up, taking Hermione's crying face into his hands. A tear streaked down her cheek but Draco brushed it away before it could drop. "You don't have to tell me anything, you know that," He whispered, so close to her he could feel her soft breaths on the skin of his lips. He dipped in and gave her a gentle kiss.
"I— I know. But I want to tell you," Hermione protested softly, her hands caressing Draco's blushing neck and the side of his face. "You're my forever."
It was intimate and personal. Their relationship wasn't like anyone else's. They weren't a conventional couple. They were closer than other couples their age. Harry and Ginny never shared moments like these. Lavender and Ron were always snogging, but they did so in a way where they were begging to be seen. Looking at Hermione and Draco would cause someone to blush and look away. Almost too personal for onlookers. But it was weirder. Harry and Ginny noticed it as well. When Draco and Hermione weren't intimate and close, they barely spoke to each other. It never has to do with fighting or bickering or other couple-y things like that. They just didn't have a middle ground between strangers and lovers.
Ginny asked her about it, but Hermione shrugged and looked away, continuing on with her task of washing dishes by hand. "He's my forever," She said casually. "I'm his."
"But what does it matter if you're his forever if you barely speak?" Ginny had countered, her hotheadedness coming out. She was the perfect match for Harry.
Hermione sucked in a breath and turned to Ginny, her hands wet and soapy from the dishwater. She put them on her hips anyways. "Though I'm not going to say I'm comfortable talking about this, I will explain this once," She said quietly, but firmly. "It doesn't matter how unconventional Draco and I are. What we do now works for the two of us. And what you do see of us is obviously not the entirety of our relationship. You just see our distance and assume we aren't friendly. Draco does not enjoy publicly displayed affections, and neither do I."
She got flustered, and her face got all red. Hermione didn't like talking about this to anyone. What she had with Draco was special, and the people wanting to know more about their relationship were nosy.
Out of what seemed like nowhere, Draco's arms wrapped around her waist from behind. In her ear, he whispered to her, "People like to talk about things they can't comprehend." Ginny blushed and muttered an apology. That was the last she spoke of the distant relationship that she admittedly knew little about.
In the field of the Weasley's Burrow, Hermione spoke after a long moment of silence, "He pushed me off the ledge."
Draco sucked in a shallow breath and buried his face into her hair. He wanted to say something to comfort her, but what could he say about an occurrence that happened eighteen years ago? How could he comfort Hermione without feeling inadequate for not knowing this first?
"He pushed me off the ledge, Draco," She repeated. "But I somehow managed to land on the ground without a scratch due to my magic. My father's hips were shattered and some vertebrae were broken. He threw himself off right after."
Draco held her close. His legs were sprawled out in front of him and Hermione was shaking like a leaf on top of him. Her legs straddled Draco's hips but it wasn't sexual in any connotation. His hands sat on her hips and his thumbs pressed into the skin to ground her.
"That's why I'm scared of heights. I know the feeling of falling," Hermione whispered, gently kissing Draco's lips and resting her hands against his neck. "He wanted to kill me. He wanted me dead."
Draco held her tight and the midnight sky was at its darkest. Hermione looked him in the eyes and finally answered his question after five years. "You asked me how I could ever be so nice to you after you bullied me in Hogwarts; after you wished me dead, do you remember?"
Draco's forehead rested against hers. "Of course I remember."
Hermione swallowed, "It was easier forgiving you than forgiving myself."
It was cryptic and very Hermione-like, but Draco understood almost immediately. His arms wrapped around her waist tightened substantially and he buried his face into her hair.
The midnight air was cold against his bare neck but Hermione kept him warm.
"Marry me," Draco said quietly, into Hermione's bushels of hair.
Hermione sighed gently, pulling back and cupping Draco's face in her hands. He looked up at her with warm, loving eyes that melted her into pieces. Held in his storm cloud grey eyes was hope.
She couldn't break his heart. "I want to marry you," She whispered, searching his eyes which were slowly becoming closed off. "But you won't want to marry me."
"Of course I do," Draco said hurriedly, urgently. It felt like Hermione was slipping through his fingers as he spoke. "You're my forever."
Hermione swallowed thickly and pulled away, clambering to her feet. Draco got up as well, his hands beginning to clam up. Never did he believe Hermione would say no.
"No, Draco," Hermione said, ignoring the sharp intake of breath from Draco. Her forever. "I've been working on a research study on how to remove my magic."
All the sadness of being denied vanished from Draco's body when she said that. Replacing the emotion was anger. A lot of it. At this point in their relationship, they never got this worked up. It could be due to the fact that Hermione and Draco barely speak to each other outside of comfort and affection, but Draco had never felt so angry when he was around Hermione.
His heart was pounding, and usually they'd be over with the conversation by now, but Draco ought to be brave for once in his lousy life. He stepped forward, closer to Hermione's figure which was turned away from him.
"I don't know how you think that's a relatively good idea," Draco snapped at her, taking her wrist and turning her around. She had wide, doeish eyes, like she couldn't believe Draco was acting like he was. "You're Hermione Granger. Brightest witch of her age. Defeater of Voldemort. Survivor of war. Giving up your magic would be a complete shame to the wizarding world. Harry Potter. Ron Weasley. Did those idiots get anywhere without you?"
"Draco," Hermione said firmly. "It doesn't matter. If I hate what I am, I don't see the point in continuing."
Draco dropped her wrist he still held like it burnt him. Hermione recoiled, feeling the floodgate open and a wave of emotions she felt for Draco unleash. "I can't even believe what I'm hearing. If this is because your father threw you over the ledge of that balcony, I'll snap my wand. Get over it, Hermione Granger," Draco looked into her eyes, and all he could see was the hurt he caused and slight confusion at his outburst. "Get over it. Because one day you'll realize that worrying over what happened in the past will lead you to emotionless future. Don't dwell on things that happened over fifteen years ago! You're so much stronger, so much better than that. And, dammit, Hermione. It isn't your fault!
"It's not your fault your father is a tosser. What he did was disgusting and I'm appalled, but it's not your fault! You are not what your father told you you are! If I were what my father told me I was, my family would be dead," Draco yelled, taking a single step closer. Already, the approach made Hermione's eyes snap up at his defiantly. "You're stubborn, prude, annoying, a know-it-all, well educated, driven, ambitious, kind, forgiving, and a witch. But most of all, you're alive. Stripping away your magic is like stripping away your identity!"
Draco heaved in a deep breath and his breath caught in his throat. He didn't realize he was crying until he started hyperventilating. His arms suddenly had a mind of their own as they wrapped around Hermione's tiny frame. His head was tucked into her shoulder and Hermione cooed into his ear, but Draco pushed on with his speech. He wasn't done.
"You're alive, and I love you. I love you," He whispered, his words breathy and between bouts of hiccups due to his hyperventilation. "You're my forever. You're my forever, and giving up on the wizarding world is giving up on me. Giving up on yourself. Giving up on everything you fought for. And you and I both deserve better than to be given up on."
Throughout their entire five years of their relationship, the word 'love' was never brought up. It was one thing to be Draco's forever. Forever means you could see each other in ten, twenty, thirty years together in a peaceful relationship. Forever meant you were comfortable. But love meant Draco couldn't live without her. It meant his heart raced when she was nearby. It meant Draco didn't just want Hermione to be his forever, but he needed her to be his forever. Just how Hermione felt, but never knew how to say.
She had first felt the feeling, the hopping feeling in her chest, when he asked her to move in with him. The next was the gentle swoop of her heartbeat when she held him after another bout of panic attacks, led on from lasting effects of the cruciatus curse. The time after that was when she realized they were together. Like together, as a couple. Hermione could be oblivious at times, and she only realized they were dating when Harry mentioned their personal belongings being in the same bedroom. The hammering in her ribcage hurt her chest when she realized. The next time she felt it was when Draco gave her a look of adoration. She remembered the feeling of fondness and compassion. She remembered the softness of his voice and she melted. Her heart melted. And then when she tried to explain it. She never could explain her feeling in words. She just felt. Felt heavy and weightless at the same time. She needed Draco to feel what she felt, and now he did. He said he loved her.
"Yes."
Draco's quiet sobs were silent when he looked at her again and said, "What?"
Hermione giggled at his snotty nose and his drippy eyes, tears of her own trailing down her cheeks. "I'll marry you. Yes."
A choked noise released from Draco's threat and he swallowed thickly. "Whether you're—" He swallowed again. He wasn't sure if it was because he was getting choked up saying the words or if he was trying to buy himself time. "—a witch or a muggle, I still want you to be my wife, Hermione."
Hermione smiled and pressed her lips to his cool forehead, "I love you."
The night was full of feelings. Feelings that neither had felt before. Hermione thought about it after they were spent and cuddling under the fading stars. Maybe Draco and her never were really in a relationship. It was never forced, but the feelings were subdued. Both of them probably had work to do on their emotional state after the war, and going straight into a heavy relationship wasn't healthy in the slightest.
They were in the Weasley's field a few hundred meters away from the Burrow. The fading stars soon turned invisible as the sun rose with the rise in Draco's chest. "Draco," Hermione murmured quietly, slipping out of his hold. A pretty band rested on her left ring finger.
Draco let out a grunt in response, but Hermione just continued, "Can you take me on a broom ride back to the Burrow? I'd like a shower."
Draco's eyes flashed open, and his fingers went around her waist automatically. "Hermione, you don't have to—"
She cut him off with a smile and a soft kiss, "I know. But I want to. I need to, you know? Someone told me that I need to let go and get over my fear."
He summoned his broom while speaking lazily, "That was me, love."
They flew back to the Burrow with ease, and Hermione's eyes were open the entire time.
Epilogue
"Wait," Ginny said, through all the excitement of the newly announced engagement. "You got Hermione on a broom?"
Both Ron and Harry choked on their breakfast.