This is a one-shot for Your-Arrow-Girl's beverage challenge.
Prompt: choose a beverage, which you think embodies Dramione, and write a fiction with said ship.
She saw his face in every glass of water.
It lay there, shimmering, taunting her like the reflection of the sun off of the raindrops that had been scattered to all and sundry the last time they'd seen each other.
So she drank more water, and more, and more, but she couldn't quench her thirst for something beyond her reach.
She'd stare, mesmerized, at the shimmering surface, convinced that she was seeing Draco's blonde hair in the light from the table lamp.
Really, she wasn't seeing the glass any more. The long, brown hair swinging in front of her eyes was nonexistent. She was looking at that one day in the rain where they'd had their goodbyes, passionate kisses and tears that ran down their faces and mixed salt into the rain. And by the time the sun had come out… he was gone.
She refused accept the invitation to his wedding. There would be wine, and champagne, and everyone toasting the Pureblood triumph, the wedding of the century.
There was no way that she could drink champagne when she needed him, simply, as she needed water.
Her hair was wet, and so were her eyes, and her hands were soaked with the water from the glasses she'd broken, throwing them at the wall in a silent protest.
I don't need you anymore, they said.
At least, that was what she'd hoped.
###
She knew she was lying to herself. It was raining on the morning of his wedding, and she knew that she was going.
Pulling on a dress and pulling a brush through her hair, she looked at her reflection in the water from the sink. The water puddled around her fingers, and she took a breath as her bathroom faded away and she arrived at the wedding with a loud crack.
They were trying to salvage the outdoor seating, to make the scenery resembling a paradise, the fantasy wedding in a country where it loved to rain.
She almost cracked a smile when she saw him standing on the edge of all the arrangements, face uplifted to the sky. His hair was mussed, and his pale figure glowed against the rain like the reflection of her lamp in the glass.
It was so similar that for a moment she was afraid she'd imagined it all, until he turned around and her breath caught at the familiarity of it all.
His eyes were the rain, clear and grey and bright, and she felt like he was raining down all around her.
###
He was waiting at the altar when he saw her.
The rain was pouring down on the canopies, making patterns in the light coming through the cloth. It played across their faces, audience and participants alike, and beyond these patterns the subtle changes in Draco's expression were unmistakeable.
There was a pause. The bride had yet to make an appearance, and here they were, just below the rain, staring at each other as if the drops of the rain were speaking things only they could hear.
There was still water in his hair, and they sparkled like diamonds among the gold.
It took her breath away, and she almost wished that she had champagne right now, because this feeling was too strong.
He took a step off the altar, and then another step. At this point, people were starting to clue in and turn: her friends, his family.
When he reached her, she knew that there was nothing more to say.
They were gone before the sun came out.
A/N:
Well, that was fun. I haven't written like this for a while.
Anyways, that was around 630 words, which meets the minimum requirement for this challenge.
I hope you all enjoyed!
-Isefyr
(I don't own Draco or Hermione. How very sad.)