AN: Sorry about the angst!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the wonderful world of Harry Potter.
How did he end up in this position? How did all the events of his life lead up to this moment? This moment… flat out on his back on the king-size bed, staring straight up at the simple white ceiling.
Draco stretched his arms out, the tips of his fingers repeatedly grazing the expensive Egyptian cotton bedsheet, the mattress conforming to the shape of his body while still offering a slight resistance.
What once felt like a heavenly cloud now felt like quicksand, dragging him down. Too soft.
Silently, Draco rolled over to his right, his eyes now fixed on the fluffy pillow next to him.
Too much space.
There was a time when he relished having this entire bed for himself. A time when the thought of sharing it with anyone overnight caused resentment to bubble in his chest, directed at this hypothetical person, daring to creep into his personal space.
Then she dared to.
No… he wanted her to. Invade his space, invade his life, his mind, his heart.
Their first night.
Draco slowly lifted a hand, once again letting his fingertips glide over the cool fabric. Where was the warmth?
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, drawing his hand back inward to his chest.
The warmth. His own personal source of sunshine. Bright, life-giving, yet relentless sunshine. The sun he worshipped, felt unworthy of, especially when the radiance of her smile threw him off. Never the recipient of such a smile from anybody, it was doubly overbearing when it came from her.
Draco opened his eyes, partly reluctantly and partly hopeful: that this was a bad dream, a nightmare, really. He wanted to open his eyes to see her sleeping beside him, her face framed by curls, her pink lips slightly open.
But even with his eyes closed, he could feel the cold and empty space next to him. All the heat in the world couldn't overcome this chill, this cold air that made his throat constrict.
Cruel. That's what it was.
That's what this whole fucked up situation was.
His hand curled on the bedsheet, tightly grabbing the too-soft fabric.
He needed the touch of her skin, the way her body tensed and shivered at the softest touch of his fingers. The way she felt.
He could still remember their first night together. Meeting for the first time a year after the war. Their somewhat unpleasant encounter escalating to a shouting match before getting kicked out of the muggle bar.
He had turned away from her, intent on getting away from her after getting kicked out onto the streets. She had stared incredulously after him before running up to him, grabbing onto his shoulder.
"Always running away, aren't you, Malfoy? Scared to lose another argument?"
Infuriated but unwilling to get caught with their wands out in the middle of a Muggle street, he grabbed her arm, dragging her to an empty alley next to the bar.
"What the hell, Malfoy," she glared at him, wrenching her arm out of his grasp. "If you considered this argument to be some kind of foreplay, you are about to be monumentally disappointed."
"Shut it, Granger," Draco growled back. "I'm not about to have you hex me when you undoubtedly fail to beat me in a verbal argument. Stay still."
Granger opened her mouth to respond, her anger thoroughly expressed through the hate-filled glare she directed at him. Putting a hand over her mouth while rolling his eyes, Draco apparated the both of them to the front of his flat.
Hermione whipped out her wand as soon as she regained her footing, aiming it directly between Draco's eyes.
Draco looked almost bored, staring at the tip of her wand as he slowly, yet somehow mockingly, put up his hands.
"You wanted to finish the argument?"
"Where are we, Malfoy?"
"My flat."
"Why?" Hermione glared at him suspiciously, her wand still pointed steadily at his face.
"For fuck's sake, Granger, put down your wand," Draco hissed at her, looking around the street. "We're in a muggle neighborhood and if anyone happens to pass by, it might be odd to see a fully grown man terrified of a stick."
"Terrified?" Hermione repeated, smirking, as she lowered her arm.
Draco didn't reply, only scowled at her before brushing past her to get up the steps of the building. He didn't hear her follow him and he casually looked over his shoulder.
"Coming? Or are you scared of losing an argument?"
He had won. He lost the argument, of course, but he won.
After an hour of shouting at each other, Draco couldn't help but to lose focus: her brown eyes bright with an intense fire behind them, as if lighting a fire behind the brown to make it appear a more golden color. Or maybe that's just how he saw her. Everything was gold.
Her curls bouncing with the smallest of gestures, wild with more dramatic movements.
Her cheeks pink, the derisive scoff she made when clearly disagreeing with what he was saying, her lips slightly parted.
He had slowly walked towards her while she was ranting something about former Death Eaters and how money had somehow allowed the snakes to slip by without punishment.
"Like me?" Draco replied, quietly, as he set out to close the gap between them.
"You know you saved Harry's life," Hermione replied nervously, noticing how close he was. Because of their height difference, she couldn't help but to glace straight at his lips.
"Granger," Draco softly lifted her chin with a finger. He saw her eyes flutter a couple of times before she looked straight into his stormy grey eyes.
"Malfoy," Hermione took a slight step back, her back hitting the counter of his kitchen, as she turned her head away from his hand.
"I'm sorry," Draco lowered his hand.
"For what?" Hermione avoided his gaze as she attempted to look casual, leaning against the counter as if that was the reason why she stepped back.
"When I somehow saved Potter," Draco said, his eyes rolling at the word 'saved'. "I failed to save you."
Hermione sharply turned her head back up to look at him directly in the eyes.
"You know you couldn't have done anything without being branded a traitor," Hermione said forcefully.
Unable to look into her eyes any longer while she had that blazing intense look in her eyes, he turned his gaze slightly to the kitchen cabinet behind her head, trying not to relive the memory of her writhing on the floor before he walked out. He remembered that scalding feeling of shame.
"Malfoy," Hermione said his name, watching his eyes slightly glaze over. "Draco."
Draco snapped his gaze back to hers, and as if time slowed, they both had sufficient time to know that something was going to happen: something explosive.
But it wasn't explosive.
As Draco grabbed Hermione's face, lightly grazing his thumbs over her pink cheeks, her gaze fell to his lips as he stared down at hers. He leaned first.
The moment his lips fell over hers, there was hesitance on her part. Draco, however, immediately felt a slow burn taking over his chest: unyielding with a promise of growing intensity. Determined to make her feel it, knowing that somehow she would also feel it if she took the chance, he slightly drew back, but dropped his hands from her face to grasp her hips firmly.
"Hermione," Draco whispered, his breath across her lips giving her chills.
Her eyes shot up to meet his before lowering back down to his patiently waiting lips, and she leaned in.
They should have finished their argument. Maybe he should have kept his distance. Maybe if they did, things would have turned out differently.
But knowing what he knew now, knowing what it felt like to touch her, to stare into her eyes, to kiss her, to know her on every intimate level… Could he? Would he will that all away?
Was he being selfish?
Maybe.
But being unselfish wouldn't bring back the dead either.