Tis my unofficial Valentine's Gift Exchange Fic submission to Priah, who was neglected in the 'receiving an actual fic' department until two months after the whole deal ended. So, back when I didn't know anyone would actually be writing her a fic, I started one for her. And in the trials of time and laziness, it finally got done.
And for those of you surprised that I'm still alive. . . Well, I would be, too. Peace to my health.
And now, my latest:
----
ECHOING THE SOUND ; PG-13Dedicated to: Priah, my most trusted homie in the whole wide world. May you never be neglected in receiving fics again.
Hermione's left heel followed her right into the car as she settled herself in the passenger seat, trying to get comfortable despite the layers of winter gear upon her body.
"Thanks, Draco," she smiled as the dressed-up blond walked around to the driver's side of the car and climbed behind the wheel. "You have no idea how much this means to me. Especially in a situation like this."
"Well, what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't steal the very sought-after Hermione Granger right out from under her date's nose?" he replied swiftly, smirking as he revved the engine and graced Hermione with a fairly predictable eyebrow wiggle.
Hermione chuckled, but opted to look out the window at the large, maroon building they were steadily leaving behind in the London snow.
"In a useless attempt to deflate your ego, I might point out that I would've been fine without your brilliant offer to give me a ride home," Hermione started, fidgeting in her seat, trying to get warm. "I'd just have walked to a dark alley or something and apparated to my place from there."
"Granger with a little black dress in a dark alley at this time of night. Wouldn't that be a story for the kids," Draco joked, despite the obvious furrowing of his brows at the thought. He turned his head to look at her momentarily. "But for kicks, why don't we explore the option of your significant other giving you a lift home?"
"Because he had an emergency, so he had to leave early," Hermione bitterly replied, tugging on her scarf absently as she burnt holes through the dashboard with her fiery eyes. "And he's not my significant anything. I swear to Merlin, this is the last time I let my mother set me up with anyone."
Draco chuckled, backing out of his parking space and stepping on the gas.
"You don't seem to believe that the boy really had an emergency," Draco observed after a moment with amusement. He wasn't all that concerned for Hermione's date and his reputation with her. He could honestly say that no one was good enough for the lady sitting next to him; that was a given. Still, the least one could do was try to live up to his best potential to treat her properly.
Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head, obviously disgusted with the topic at hand.
"He said his sister was in the hospital with pneumonia," she provided, uttering the words as if they were the most improbable combination of events to have happen to someone ever. Draco raised an eyebrow and quirked his lips. "He's an only child."
"Ah," he replied in understanding, then shrugged. "His loss."
"I'd like to think so," Hermione agreed with a hint of a smile on her lips now. "Turn left here and continue straight."
"I remember, Minnie," Draco grinned, loving the way her cheeks burned at the irritating nickname. After his first use of it experimentally, her reaction was too good to pass up time and time again.
"Oh, shove it up your a--"
"Hey," Draco stopped her warningly. "Language."
"Well, you remember where to shove it," the brunette passenger amended swiftly before toying with the loose, frilly strings at the end of her scarf. "Besides. . . it's been a long time. Couldn't assume you remembered my place. Especially since--"
"Since it's in Muggle London," Draco finished for her, his face now sporting a wry smile with soothing gray eyes to match. "You should know better, Minnie. I have a superb memory to match the rest of my outstanding self. Besides," he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows slightly, "I had many a. . . good time there. Pity to forget something like that."
Hermione stared at him for a moment, nothing interrupting the soft hum of the engine propelling the tin wagon down the street, before Draco turned his head away from the road to look at her again.
"Wow," she elaborated, putting on her impressed face. "You have gotten better at this whole being a complete arse thing. Just when I thought it couldn't get any more accurate. . . Great progress." Dropping her facade after hearing his chuckle of mild amusement, she shook her head and grumpily remembered the annoyance that's been clouding the back of her head. "Damn hats."
Draco watched his companion pull off her black beanie and drop it in her lap gracelessly as her hands went back up to run through her hair.
He knew that any longer would constitute as staring, but her wild hair and large, enveloping overcoat, and the way she closed her eyes had him enthralled. But he'd been through this before.
So, turning his eyes back to the road, which, in all fairness, should have been monopolizing his attention, he smirked and made small talk.
"What? You have a thing with hats now?" he teased, hoping his thinly veiled. . . affection wasn't as noticeable to her as it was to him.
Huffing like a child, Hermione stuck her chin out at him, which he, of course, found unreasonably adorable.
"You say that like I have a thing with nearly everything," she retorted, pouting. "I just don't have a hat head. . . if there even is such a thing and half the world's population isn't bloody mad."
Staring and deciding not to even dignify that comment with a reply, Draco continued driving as though she hadn't said anything. The woman was totally off her rocker.
"Really, winter is not my season," she continued, fully aware of Draco's attention deficit. "Especially not when I have to wear a dress as well as all these goddamn accoutrements. Leave it up to Dean to have an engagement party during the snowy season."
Draco looked up at the night sky through the car window.
"Not snowing," he pointed out.
"Not the point," Hermione retorted. "It's still bloody cold." After a moment of silence, she shifted in her seat and looked back out of the passenger window. "It was nice to see everyone though. . ."
"Mm," Draco agreed, glancing at her solemn state. "Who knew that Stella Gelender would end up finding marital bliss with Dean Thomas. Bloody weird."
Hermione grunted in agreement before furrowing her brow slightly as she looked over at Draco guiltily.
"You know, I don't even recall seeing her at Hogwarts. I mean, I realise I didn't know the whole school, but she was in our year," admitted Hermione. "It feels kind of. . . crappy."
"Well, that was the problem with you Gryffindor lot, you famous few in particular," Draco pinpointed, his voice void of any bitterness or irritation talking about his former school turbulences, "you never took notice of anyone around you. It was all about saving the bloody world and paling around with your closest few. You probably didn't even know everyone in Gryffindor, let alone those in other houses."
"That's not true," Hermione responded strongly, fully turned to Draco now, a stubborn expression on her face. "I said I didn't know Stella, that doesn't mean I was completely ignorant toward all my—"
"We're here," Draco cut in, smiling at her ambitious speech cut off, her eyes still burning with wound-up debate. "Home sweet home."
Rolling her eyes at the obviously convenient change of subject, Hermione buttoned the top notch of her jacket as Draco reached across her to open her door.
"This is not over," she threatened playfully, before placing her hand on his neck and bringing her lips to his cheek. His wide eyes in obvious shock at what she did--and his imagination running wild on what he thought she'd do--had him looking like a deer caught in headlights.
Chuckling lightly, Hermione climbed out of the car slowly and stuck her head back in.
"It was good seeing you again," she said softly, letting the stare move over him for a moment before straightening and shutting the door, leaving a stunned Draco sitting in the car.
Was she. . . coming onto him?
@}-----,---
"Hi."
The curly-haired brunette stared at the man at the door, not even sizing him up properly, her hair rumpled and eyes glazed over. Giving him a healthy once over, she finally turned away from the door and walked toward another door off the main hallway into the apartment, leaving the front slab of wood open.
"Damn it, Mione, I don't care how gorgeous your boyfriend is, he will not come knocking on our door at seven-thirty on a Sunday," the curly girl yelled to no one in particular before shutting the door to the room and disappearing inside it completely.
Draco could hear a muffled response from somewhere else inside the apartment, deciding with amusement, that he hadn't failed at making an entrance.
True to his presumption, a tired and robe-clad Hermione moved hurriedly toward the door, running a hand quickly through her hair before she finally stopped bustling around and met Draco's eyes. Her fake cheerful expression quickly faded into that of immense annoyance and weariness.
"Oh. You. Should've known," she said with a small smile and motioned for him to come in.
"Don't you people know the meaning of hello in this here Muggle realm?" Draco quipped, stepping over the threshold of Hermione's familiar apartment.
"Don't let the cold air in, smartarse," the woman in front of him warned, effective in getting Draco to slam the door shut quietly. "Now, when I said last night that 'this wasn't over,' I didn't imply that you should. . . grace my apartment at an ungodly hour with. . ." her eyes ran over the material she now noticed in Draco's hands, ". . .a knitted ski hat?"
Draco chuckled and hopped on a bar stool near the counter in the kitchen before depositing the questionable item on the surface.
"Your knitted ski hat to be exact," Draco provided, smirking at her sudden realization. "You left it in my car last night, and really, it isn't my style, so I figured it best to return it to its proper owner."
Snatching it off the counter, Hermione shook her head and threw it on the couch, as though it was its proper place in the apartment.
"Thanks, I'm so forgetful," she commented idly.
"I know," Draco smiled, not meeting her eyes. After a moment of odd silence, Draco cleared his throat and stretched his lips into a friendly grin.
"Well, best be off then," he suggested, getting up from his stool, only to be stopped by a third voice, new to the conversation, sounding younger and substantially happier than either of the two adults in the kitchen.
"Well, why don't you stay for breakfast. . .man I don't know but am sure to soon, considering he woke me up from a pleasant dream," said the same curly-headed teenager that had first opened the door for Draco, now less sleepy-eyed and dazed, and more curious and groomed.
Her large hazel eyes, rich chocolate hair, and petite, curvy figure made her a dead ringer for a younger Hermione, with a few petty, miniscule differences dotted across her cheeks, sun-kissed and sprinkled randomly.
Hermione turned to the newcomer in the room and placed her hands on her hips, almost a maternal instinct when around the child, and opened her mouth to say something.
"I don't think that's for me to decide, though I'd love to. . .girl I don't know but am sure to soon, considering she called me gorgeous while stranding me in the doorway, cold and alone," Draco cut off heartily, eyes ablaze with curiosity at what happened with Hermione's life and since when did she have this. . .roommate.
Sighing, Hermione ran a hand through her curly hair once more, fingers getting stuck in the unbrushed mess.
"Well, aren't you guys a hoot," she said quickly, handing dropping into her robe pockets. "Draco, this is Elsa, my cousin, Elsa, this is Draco, my. . .classmate."
Draco raised an eyebrow at this, going unseen by Hermione, while Elsa smiled mischievously as she slid into a chair at the kitchen table.
"Classmate, huh?" she asked, winking suggestively at her tired cousin. "You mean he's not the one Auntie Ann set you up with last night?"
"No, he's not the. . .no," Hermione replied automatically, then shook her head and turned her gaze to a grinning Draco. "You guys. . .bond or something. I'm going to take a much needed shower then move straight to the coffee machine." With a hesitant look back at her two kitchen dwellers, Hermione disappeared down a hallway.
"So," Elsa started as she leaned forward, narrowing her gaze on Draco and drumming her fingers along the polished wood of the kitchen table, "how do you really know Mione?"
@}------,---
"Well, ladies, I'd like to thank you for a wonderful breakfast," Draco drawled, standing up and half-bowing as he deposited his napkin beside his plate. "If I'd have known I get this kind of service when I return something of yours, I'd have been over here with this hat immediately."
Hermione rolled her eyes as Elsa laughed.
"Well, thank you for returning my hat," Elsa proclaimed, then narrowed her eyes at her cousin. "You borrowed it. Without asking."
"Because you borrowed it first," Hermione retorted with a smirk, then stuffed the hat into her purse, smiling smugly, "which makes it mine."
"The hat has an owner," Draco rationalised, "I know I'm happy. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be off. I have to be at work to receive a shipment of invisible brooms before the delivery people apparate them back to Mongolia and refuse to refund my deposit."
Hermione raised an interested eyebrow.
"Invisible brooms?" she asked curiously. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, what line of business are you in these days that require such items?"
Draco laughed.
"Quite different than that which you remember," he finally provided. "Definitely not in the same ball park."
"Well, I don't know," Hermione mused. "Last time I heard, you were still chasing dreaming of capturing that Seeker position on the Sizzling Serpents. I'd say brooms and invisible brooms have to be in a similar ball park." He smiled and she smiled after him. "What is it that you do now?"
"Well. . ." Draco took a breath to explain before he caught a glance of the clock and put on an apologetic face. "I'd love to explain it to you, but I really have to be going. Hey--tell you what; you come with me and I'll show you what I do. I'd say that's better than just telling you, right?"
Hermione looked back at the idly smirking Elsa who looked way too mischievous for her own good.
"I don't know, I still have laundry today and--"
"Done," Elsa provided, nudging her cousin toward her bedroom. "Now go change and have fun." Lowering her voice, she whispered conspiratorially, "And you owe me all the details about your date when you get back."
"It's not a--"
"She'll be right out," Elsa explained to Draco as she shoved Hermione in the room. Gracing her face with an angelic smile, batted her eyelashes at a suspicious-looking Draco. "What?"
@}------,---
". . .after which she completely ignored me for a whole day, not even looking in my direction in class," Draco laughed, slinging his jacket over his arm as he leaned against the wall in the hallway, facing Elsa. "She was completely in denial about her friends seeing us in such a. . . provocative position. It was pricele--"
"I wouldn't go putting prices on it just yet," Hermione interfered, folding her arms as she walked toward the pair by the door. "What are you two discussing?"
"Nothing. Oh, honestly, Mione, stop giving me that look and get your behind out that door."
Hermione glared at her cousin, also fondly called the Antichrist.
"Listen up, Devil's Incarnate, no parties, no 'close friends,' no dates, no mysterious tutors, no shopping with my credit card, no shopping at all, and finish your damn homework," Hermione listed off without flinching, eliciting an eye-roll from the teenager.
"Got it," Elsa replied. "No orgies, no happiness; must do homework. Now leave!"
"Well, isn't she a hoot," Draco commented absently as he opened the front door. Hermione shook her head.
"Don't ever use the word 'hoot.'" She turned back. "I am so serious about what I said, Ell."
Elsa saluted her and nodded patronisingly.
"Bye, Mione, bye, Billy Idol!"
Draco turned back and opened his mouth.
"Where did you get one of these anyway?" he asked in feigned irritation as the door slammed shut in his face.
"Flea market. Momentary lapse of judgment," Hermione bit out, though the tension was steadily leaving her body. "So. . . Where to?"
Draco held out his hand and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"My wagon of love, passion, and lust, rolled into one." Hermione could only laugh at his response.
"So your awfully trendy Volvo it is, then."
@}-------,---
"I can't believe you still have this thing," Hermione murmured in awe as she ran a delicate hand along the side panel of the mint-green, box-shaped 1989 Volvo.
Draco smiled, seeing her remember the memories in his car and run a hand over it, almost longingly. He realized how much he missed this; missed her.
"Sure do," Draco said a bit loudly as he snapped out of his faze. "And you still have to take off your shoes before you get in."
Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief.
"No. No way! You are not going to make me take my boots off to sit in this. . . At least back then it was new. . . or relatively new. I mean, it's got a few years on Elsa," Hermione sputtered as Draco fought hard not to laugh. "You have to be joking."
"Maybe a little," he smiled, then opened the door for her. "But it's fun to see you squirm."
Rolling her eyes, Hermione lowered herself into an automobile of idle memories, facing flashes of what once was every time she recognised something familiar.
"I was sure you sentenced this thing to a death in the junk heap after you were done with college, done 'dicking around,'" she mused, both she and Draco smiling at Narcissa Malfoy's famous footnote whenever she used to talk about her son in college.
"Who do you think you're talking to here? I'd never give up my baby just because I have my very own stash of Mercedes and BMWs," Draco informed her arrogantly, then his voice softened. "I couldn't very well show up to a formal engagement party with her, but my Volvo isn't going anywhere; not if I have anything to say about it."
Hermione laughed and looked at the dashboard studiously.
"I remember when you first bought this thing," she started after a while. "Your mother--oh, Merlin--she was so angry that her son was frolicking about in a mediocre, peasant Muggle machine." Draco laughed as his mother's shocked and disappointed face appeared before his eyes. "I mean, first it was the mediocre, peasant Muggle girl. . ."
"Don't say that, Minnie," Draco stopped her half-heartedly. "You know she didn't mean it. I can't say that she wasn't judgmental, but it's how she was raised. In time, she got used to it, remember? You two even bonded, if I'm not mistaken. . ."
"Mm, you're right," Hermione granted. "I remember we found real common ground over your. . ." Hermione's smile faded as she looked away.
Draco sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment, before looking back over at the woman next to him.
"Look, it's long past," he assured her calmly, though the turmoil of lost memories rang soundly within him. "Plus, you were right. Both of you. I didn't end up being the Sizzling Serpent's Seeker and that's the end of it."
"Yeah, but we didn't have to--"
"We're here," Draco announced as he cut the engine. Hermione paused her planned apology to look around and eventually wear a mask of confusion.
"Here?" Draco nodded. "In the dark, dank parking lot that looks like it's been abandoned a hundred years ago. . . here?"
"Minnie, Minnie, you never learn," Draco patronised as he lifted himself out of the car and slammed the door, totally at ease in his questionable surroundings. "This is a privately owned parking lot--the owner a friend of mine, naturally--that is my safe house for my baby." Locking it and leading Hermione to a dark corner of the lot, he lifted his palms in the air as if to shrug. "To get to my job, we apparate."
Hermione nodded slowly, deciding it was best to just go along with whatever he said.
"See you there," was all Draco said before flickering a bit and disappearing all-together with a final bang.
"Right. Wherever he went," Hermione said to thin air as if it was supposed to transport her on vocal command. "Yeah, that never works. Magic should be easier."
@}------,---
"It's an office," Hermione assessed, once she was sure than none of her body parts were left in another dimension after apparating. "I never took you for one who'd work in an office someday."
In front of her was a neatly-organized desk fest, people writing, filing, milling about, and owling. The only strange things that stood out in the whole place were 5 large, bright red doors spread out amongst all the walls.
"Well, I'm not. . .exactly," Draco explained elusively, grinning. "Come on, I just have to pick up this shipment and I'll show you what I mean."
Hermione followed Draco across the large office, who was following a colleague of his to a storeroom in back.
"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," a man in a uniform robe, matching the man's beside him, said as he sat down four long boxes of what could only be brooms. "Sign please."
Draco nodded at his colleague, who proceeded to open the boxes and inspect thin air--due to the extreme invisibility of the brooms--before he nodded back at Draco. Satisfied, the blond pointed his want at the parchment the first delivery man thrust in his direction and bid farewell to him as they both promptly apparated.
"Mack, get those to the drop unit and replace the old ones," Draco ordered after an obvious mental debate. Mack nodded and turned to leave when Draco stopped him. "Oh, by the way, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, that is Mack Sullivan, my Grounds Manager."
Hermione, who had been silent through this whole exchange, used this opportunity to smile widely and step forward, extending a hand at Mack.
"Nice to meet you," she greeted. "Now, what are you Grounds Manager of, exactly?"
Mack's eyebrows rose as he turned to answer.
"Nice try, Minnie," Draco scolded, pulling her away from Mack, causing her to pout. Draco insisted in his mind that it didn't make him crazy. "Come on."
Following Draco again, Hermione began to recognise a pattern. Follow Draco; receive answers. Maybe.
"I," Draco started as he walked into an elegant, wood-paneled office and sat on a comfortable leather chair, "am sure you want to know what I do, now that you've--well, not seen--the invisible brooms, but heard of them."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"That was the point of this whole outing, was it not?"
Draco seemed to ignore Hermione's sarcastic reply as he pulled up several images, of what appeared to be horror movie clips, with a flick of his wand.
Hermione's eyes flitted over to the images, brain comprehending a man, free-falling a thousand meters onto a field of grass; a woman fluttering about in an ocean with a large sea creature popping up in front of her and behind every other second; another woman eating what appeared to be live, enlarged tarantulas; a man trying to escape the grasp of a Dementor.
"No," Draco answered the question Hermione had been thinking. "These are not films."
"You don't mean. . ." Hermione's horror-struck voice concluded.
Draco grinned.
"All real. All happening right now," he confirmed, as Hermione's face paled.
"But--"
"This is what I do," he announced, standing up and leaning toward her. "I have the largest chain of wizard's extreme sports on this continent. And yes, it's all safe." Hermione visibly relaxed, but looked skeptically at the images projected by her companion's wand. It made her feel queasy knowing that all this wasn't just an image available in a local cinema; it was real.
"That," Draco pointed to the man, who was once again falling freely, unrestrained towards the green of the grass, "is our Trouser Drop." Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "Don't ask; Yelena from our security department thought it was catchy." Hermione chuckled and Draco shrugged. "That man is technically falling, but he's on an invisible broom--hence, our shipment. They've been acting a bit wonky lately."
Hermione nodded in understanding as she witnessed the man slow to a screeching halt right before he hit the ground.
"It's a thrill," Draco explained. "People love it. The woman, there, is swimming with an Octarang, which we can petrify at any moment if it attacks. That woman eating the tarantula is actually eating an transfigured muffin. And that Dementor that man is running from is not real."
Hermione nodded, looking at Draco suspiciously.
"You know, I definitely wasn't expecting this," she admitted. "You. . . organise dangerous drops, swimming with creature features, eating spiders, scaring the shit out of people with Dementors. . ."
"And golf," Draco added seriously. Hermione's eyes widened a fraction before she let out a long-awaited snort.
"No, really, golf?"
"Hey, that game is bloody dangerous if you don't know what you're doing." Draco nodded in all seriousness, doing nothing to convince Hermione not to laugh. "All right. If you think is so bloody funny, care for a game?"
"Of golf?" Hermione asked, taken aback. She'd really only played mini-golf with her family a few times. She didn't know how to play. . . real golf.
Draco nodded.
"No, but—"
@}----------,---
"So, Ms. Hermione Geneva Granger," Draco started as he drew his club back with practiced form, before letting it descend upon its snowy, ball-shaped target with graceful force, "what is it that you do for a living these days? It's only fair you tell me, now that I've told you, showed you, and thoroughly terrified you with what I do."
Hermone smiled, not even bothering to look where Draco's ball flew. It was no mystery who was going to win this match. She didn't even think he was keeping score.
"Well, I'm in advertising now," she explained, picking up her ball and placing it on the tee. Studiously positioning her club and lining up her feet in the direction she wanted the ball to fly, she looked and flashed Draco a brilliant smile. "I know it's not exactly what I dreamed when I was eleven, already studying for my N.E.W.T.s," she joked, taking advantage of Draco's distraction at her show of pearly whites to kick her golf ball as hard as she could without drawing attention to her foot, "but I love it. Even if my mom does think I sold my soul to the Devil."
"Really?" Draco asked, folding his arms as if interested. "I'd have to say I agree. The Hermione that I used to know would never cheat in something as mediocre as golf, miss Kick-And-Run."
Hermione laughed guiltily, but batted her eyelashes.
"I did not run," she pointed out, ". . .yet!"
Taking off into a sprint, Hermione immediately began laughing as she looked behind her and saw Draco hot on her heels.
"Hey," she panted, turning up on a hill, "don't you have your own ball or something?"
His grin widened even at this, as he caught up with her and winked, catching her around the waist.
"Mm, I have my own ball," he whispered in her ear, panting with effort to keep the squirming Hermione close to him. "More than one, if I'm not mistaken."
Laughing, Hermione threw her weight back into Draco, causing them both to topple over into the magically-trimmed grass, green and vibrant as the sun is hot. The laughing emitted from both of them died down as Hermione turned and raised herself on her right arm, only to find herself looking into Draco's eyes.
It's amazing how you can speak right to my heart
Without saying a word you can light up the dark
Both forgetting to breathe, they let the birds and blazing sun envelope the two of them in a moment that seemed to have immeasurable depth and uncountable duration.
You say it best
When you say nothing at all
Then, without any warning, Draco let out a quiet chuckle that cut through the dream-like sequence like a dagger. Hermione's eyes widened a fraction before she prepped herself mentally to get over it and display a graceful smile as well.
"I've seen entirely too many films with unpredictable sexual tension arising amidst a random session of tag," Draco explained patronisingly, missing the deflated look on his companion's face. "Not that. . ."
"No, you're right," Hermione said, letting out a hollow chuckle as she raised herself to her feet. "No sexual tension to speak of. Let's find our balls, shall we?"
Draco stood up as well, looking strangely at Hermione, trying to figure out why the sudden change in attitude and why the bite in her voice. And why the double meaning in her question?
All day long I can hear
People talking aloud
But when you hold me near
You drown out the crowd
"Right," Draco agreed, but followed her. Hermione circled around a bit before spotting her ball not too far from the tee.
Draco, following her all the while, tried to figure out the reasoning behind his invitation for her to join him to play golf. And what was that sexual tension comment?
Watching Hermione reach down to grab her golf ball, Draco swiftly knelt beside her, his face close to hers. Hermione, stunned to realise he was so close, turned her face to ask him what he was doing, before his lips closed over hers in a longing, searing kiss, aged and awaited for time's sake, like a fine wine.
Try as I may they can never defy
What's been said between your heart and mine
Hermione's eyes drifted closed immediately, melting into the memories, melding past Draco into the present, and mixing old feelings with newly resurfaced ones. For Hermione, this is what she'd secretly been hoping for in the back of her mind ever since she saw Draco in her doorway at seven-thirty in the morning. For Draco, this was the most right-feeling spontaneous thing he'd ever done.
"Now kissing while one is bending over," Draco observed as they both pulled away, "is not something used in the cinema very often."
Hermione laughed as she realised that she was still in the awkward position of reaching for her ball, and straightened.
"Mm, no, do it again," Draco joked, although half the male voice in him was totally serious. Standing up, he stood closer to Hermione, causing their breathing to turn wonky again, as he casually slipped a hand on her hip. "Let's go back to my place."
Hermione's eyes twinkled at the idea and she her hand scoop up a portion of his hair at the nape of his neck before lightly trailing it down his shoulder, then arm.
"And do. . . what?"
@}--------,---
Hermione moaned as he placed a hand on her shoulder.
"This is so lame," she complained, shrugging it off as she pointed at the boxes neatly stacked on the bottom shelf. "How is it that Quidditch is the only thing that gets made into film, games, and board games? Is there no other entertainment for wizards?"
Draco folded his arms, deciding whether the debate was worth it--granted, it would be a long one with him winning, of course. Choosing the alternate choice of action, he reached over her and pulled out another box with a red background and clean, white letters imprinted upon it.
"I told you I have Monopoly," he voiced before taking a swig of his butterbeer. He didn't think it would be this complicated just to pick out a board game. Not that he wasn't enjoying the banter.
Honestly, there were a hundred and one more enjoyable things Draco wanted to do with Hermione right now, but they both decided with some kind of silent agreement that they were moving too fast. Just because they'd had something before, didn't mean that it gave them a fast-pass to rush into something now. After all, they did part, did they not?
"Monopoly's good; I'll kick your sorry arse," Hermione vowed, smiling innocently at him as she moved to throw couch pillows on the floor beside the coffee table.
Draco put on his best poker face and sat opposite Hermione, watching her carefully arrange the game pieces on the glass table as she took them out of the box. Her fingers gracefully grasped cards and shuffled, face lit up in child-like glee as she distributed the multi-colored money.
"So, I've been dying to find out," Draco started conversationally in attempt to draw attention from his blatant staring. Again. "Why is Lucifer's heir to the throne inhabiting your apartment?"
Hermione paused her cash distribution to laugh and extend a foot, effectively kicking Draco in the shin.
"Mm, that's the spot," Draco moaned jokingly, eyes twinkling at Hermione's threatening look.
"She is something, isn't she?" Hermione continued, not acknowledging his past comment.
"Something all right," Draco grumbled, assembling his rainbow-colored cash in front of him neatly.
"What's this?" the brunette across from his teased. "I thought you two were getting along famously; at least that's what I took from your friendly atmosphere when Ell shoved me in my room."
Draco smirked before returning to his grumbling as he waited for Hermione to roll the dice.
"That was before I got whiplash from the verbal assault," he explained grumpily. "Billy Idol my arse. . ."
Hermione stared at Draco unblinkingly for minute before dropping her dice and covering her face in attempt to muffle her laughter.
"What?" Draco asked, curiously looking at the hysterical woman across from him.
"Someone's got blond issues! Someone's got blond issues!" Hermione taunted, loving the way his face twisted into a disgusted frown. "Wow. . . this is priceless--"
"Don't going putting a price on it yet," Draco smirked, repeating her previous words in the apartment, as Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "And I do not have blond issues. I don't even look like Billy Idol. And I sure as hell don't wear as much leather as the bloke."
Hermione nodded and lifted her wheel-barrow pawn seven spaces before picking up a Chance card.
"You used to," she began softly, as she read the contents of her card, "wear leather, I mean."
Draco furrowed his eyebrows.
"When?"
"You don't remember?" Hermione asked, not able to help feeling a little put out. Draco's eyebrows remained raised as she reached over and dropped fifteen dollars into the bank for Poor Tax. "Well, I do. For your nineteenth birthday I got you this leather coat, that looked more like a duster, than anything. I though it'd suit you perfectly though you always insisted you'd never wear any of that bloody irritating, chafing leather. You loved that jacket. . ." Hermione finished, dropping her eyes to the board as if unsure of her last statement.
Draco shrugged as he stood up.
"Well, I don't know," he admitted, walking over to the hall closet and pulling out something black, "the only leather jacket I've ever had is this one." Carrying the leather on his right arm fondly, he handed it over to Hermione whose eyes lit up immediately.
"Merlin, you still have this?" she asked, completely in awe, almost as though she hadn't insinuated that she expected him to have it only a moment earlier.
Draco grinned, his own smile getting brighter by just looking at her; at her joy.
"Of course," he insisted, then reminded, "I love that jacket."
Smiling, Hermione dropped her eyes shyly, still basking in the warmth of seeing him keep her jacket gave her.
"Your turn," she quickly pointed out before twirling a curl around her fingers absently, weaving the brunette tendril in and out of the crevices of her hand. Draco grinned at her nervous gesture and obediently threw the dice, but wouldn't pick them up until she looked up to meet his eyes.
"What?" Hermione asked as she saw the questioning look on Draco's face.
"You never explained about Satan Jr.," he replied. Hermione chuckled at the nickname, but more so at the change of subject.
"Well, she came to live with me after her mother, my Aunt Joan, was hospitalised for leukemia," Hermione explained solemnly, giving Draco fifty dollars for his Community Chest card victory. "Her father left a few years ago, right after the divorce and they never really kept in touch. So being a teenager and having magic blood, it's no wonder they plopped her in my corner of the world." Hermione shook her head, biting the corner of her lip as she looked up to Draco with sad eyes. "I feel for her, you know. She had to move miles from her home in Connecticut to live with me, a place she doesn't know, with a system of schooling completely different from that of America. People she doesn't know; things she never knew about. . . And dear Merlin does that child worry about her mother. . ."
"How's she doing?" Draco asked, genuinely concerned. Hermione shrugged a shoulder.
"I don't know. It's not fair to say. I mean, on the one hand," she motioned, bringing her left hand out from under the coffee table, "she's good; she's living; she's in the hospital, doing fine." Hermione paused. "Of course, on the other, she has bleedin' leukemia, you know? She--she's tubed up and lost a lot of her hair from chemotherapy. She can't see her kid, is barely awake long enough to see anyone anyway, and until they can find a cure, she's not going to. . ." Hermione stopped, feeling the tears coming a kilometer away.
She'd been close with her aunt Joan. She remembered when Elsa was born, how happy Joan had been. Remembered eating cookies at her house and treating scrapes with store-brand Neosporin knock-offs after every time Elsa accidentally bumped into her on the playground. Joan didn't deserve this.
Draco saw that.
"No, no. . ." Draco assured, coming to sit next to her, both leaning back against the couch, as he draped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her to him. "You don't have to. . . I'm sorry I brought it up."
"No," Hermione contradicted, wanting to tell him that it wasn't his fault. That she thought about this every night and not once did she ever even break the surface of her feelings on this issue. That it helped her so much, him being there. "No. . ." she repeated, before extending her legs under the table, draping one over his and leaning her face into the side of his chest; trying to escape into him.
They stayed like that for a while, Hermione staring at the couch opposite them, trying to keep the tears away, and Draco planting kisses on her forehead every once in a while.
At some point, the drooping lids of them both succeeded in their task and lulled the two to sleep, only to have Draco wake up at some point in the night and move them onto the couch.
Shortly after, Draco fell back asleep, making way for the rise up Hermione.
Opening her eyes slowly, Hermione recognised the couch she was reclining on to be not hers and the apartment to match the couch's status. Calming herself, she felt something else of her surroundings that was not quite hers.
Raising herself on one elbow, Hermione looked at the sleeping, mellow face of her Draco Malfoy. She remembered when she got to look at him like this with no repercussion, no repressed urge to stroke his cheek or kiss his lips.
She remembered when her sorrows were only a tunnel to his comfort; his embrace. It wasn't like he didn't comfort her tonight, but it was in more of a friendly manner.
Smiling sadly, Hermione brushed some blond hair onto
Draco's forehead before sweeping it away.
"I'm sorry," she whispered so softly that she wasn't sure she had said it aloud. "I'm sorry I put my career first before us. I'm. . . sorry I doubted you'd ever get that Seeking position. I'm sorry. . . about us." Taking a breath, Hermione exhaled slowly. "I wish I could make it all better."
Content to see his calm, sleeping face, undisturbed by softly-voiced revelations, Hermione leaned in a placed a soft kiss on the corner of Draco's lips. Then, she settled back down against his chest and sighed in a soft state of bliss.
Everything seemed right with the world.
"Holy shit!" Hermione suddenly yelled, sitting up quickly, causing Draco to awake with a start and roll off the couch.
"What the bloody. . . hell, Hermione?" Draco asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes as he sat up from the floor that broke his fall. ". . .The fuck. . ."
"I forgot to call Elsa!" Hermione said nervously as she bolted to the kitchen toward the phone.
Draco grumbled as he stood up slowly and entered the world of consciousness, his mind trying to catch up with his body.
"Should've known Satan was behind this."
@}--------,---
"These sausage and grits are great," Hermione commented with a happy grin around a mouthful of her breakfast. Draco smiled back proudly and held his head high while taking a bow, holding his stomach with an oven mit-clad hand.
"Why thank you," he replied, basking in the gratitude as he commenced his voyage for the biscuits in the black depth of the oven.
"I was actually complimenting the house elves that inevitably prepared this breakfast and left it for you to heat up," the woman at the kitchen table responded with a smirk. Draco's face adapted an expression of mock resentment.
"You don't mean that," he pleaded, holding a cookie sheet full of white-floured carbohydrates in his mitted hand. "I am a fabulous chef, I'll have you know."
"Really?" Hermione inquired, reaching for her tea and inspecting the cup, making sure no signs of a tea bag were found. "As I recall, when we were living together, you couldn't fry an omelet to an edible degree without heavy assistance from yours truly." Draco grinned at a flash of old memories.
"Considering that was your one and only specialty," Draco replied, bringing a plate of steaming biscuits to the table and seating himself opposite his conversationalist, "I can't deny you that one. Besides the wonders of eggs, my dear, you couldn't have cooked to save yourself from Azkaban."
Hermione took a small sip of her steaming tea and gave the Draco an evil eye.
"Could too," she replied after a while. Hearing him chuckle, Hermione took another sip of tea to prevent herself from smiling as well. Happiness from Draco was always contagious and effective against her. Silence prevailing after a time, Hermione cleared her throat and smiled sheepishly at Draco's attention. "I'm sorry for waking you up last night."
"No sweat," Draco answered, slightly uncomfortable to be thinking about a topic-related issue he'd been trying to get off his mind all morning. Now it was back. "I mean, my arse could've used the warning before my plummet off the sofa, but other than that. . ."
Another tight smile. He couldn't stop thinking about what happening during the night. He couldn't believe he heard Hermione say she was sorry about ever doubting; that she was sorry about them. Initially, that meant she was sorry they ever broke it off because of their differences.
I wish I could make it all better.
What did that mean? Why did she have to be so cryptic? Especially at bloody four in the morning. Still. . . It was around nine now and he still couldn't decode what Hermione was trying to tell him. . . or not tell him.
Women.
". . . your arse." Hermione chuckled at her own comment and waited for Draco's reaction.
Draco furrowed his brows.
"What was that?"
"I said," Hermione accentuated, taking another sip of her tea and looking at him, "I wish there was something I could do to make it up to your arse."
Draco blinked several times before a slow, predatorial smile spread across his lips.
"You didn't just say that, Minnie," he growled softly, making her laugh at his reaction.
"Mm, I believe I did," she said, putting her cup down as she stood up, with Draco following suit. Walking over to the calendar, Hermione's delicate finger rested atop a random, glossy square as she looked over his shoulder at him coyly. "Valentine's Day is almost here. There must be something I could do."
Draco saw her smile, but couldn't help and think there was something more. The way she was looking at him; the way her eyes held something more than games; the way she seemed to want him to answer seriously as well as humorously.
"Hermione. . .?" Draco asked unsurely, cocking
his head to the side to look at her. What was she playing at?
"Draco. . ." Hermione responded, turning all the way around to face him, but kept her hands to herself. The only contact between them was their eye.
Maybe she felt it translated all she felt for him, what was in her eyes. It was all a joke, really. If they ever snapped out of it, the daze, it would never be explained that it was about "feelings." No, it was still about the joke of making it up to his arse.
But maybe, just maybe. . .
An owl crashing headfirst into the kitchen window broke the spell under the two former classmates.
Both blinked rapidly as to get accustomed to the surroundings of the Malfoy kitchen. Draco looked disoriented for a moment, glancing at Hermione unsurely and fidgeting with his hands as if to perhaps say something to her, do something. But the owl at the window began to slide down the glass helplessly, creating an unbelievable squeaking sound, which caused Draco to walk to the small creature.
Hermione nervously ventured over to the kitchen table while Draco was retrieving his mail from the injured creature of flight.
"So, uh, mail, huh?" Hermione asked on impulse, then proceeded to mentally scold herself on her vocabulary. Fifty percent of her question was expressive sound words.
Draco grunted a yes as he read through the contents of the parchment.
"Do I even get to ask who from?" Hermione smiled teasingly, placing her hand on her hip while the other reached for her cup of tea. Her smile relaxed into a questioning glance, however, as she took in Draco's rigid form. Walking over to him, Hermione placed a hand on his arm, which seemed to startle him.
"It's. . .um," Draco started uncomfortably, pinching the bridge of nose as he closed his eyes, ". . .my, uh, girlfriend. She's. . .coming back to town tonight and. . ."
Draco tried to grace his face with a weak smile aimed at Hermione, but she dropped her hand from his arm as soon as she heard the word 'girlfriend.'
"Oh," was all she said as she turned and put her dishes in the sink, looking down or around; anywhere except at Draco. "Well, I have--"
"Hermione. . ."
"To go--right now," she said, still looking down as she grabbed her jacket. "I have to go. . ." Walking over to the door, she exhaled as she stopped right in front of it, and turned her head sideways, not enough to fully see Draco. "Thank you for a lovely tour of your workplace and home. It was nice catching up. Goodbye, Draco."
And with that, Hermione opened the door and disappeared behind it as it shut.
And Draco stood in the middle of the kitchen, in disbelief of what happened as he rubbed his hand over his eyes.
The parchment in his hand floated to the ground.
"Ah, bloody hell. . ."
@}-----------,---
"You look. . . beautiful," Draco granted, smiling across the candle-lit dinner table at the woman sitting in front of him. She simply rolled her eyes at his comment, but he noticed her blush nonetheless.
"You're just saying that because you want to get on my good side," the blonde determined, taking a bite of her seafood portofino. "I must look as exhausted as I am."
Draco shook his head and stabbed a noodle with his fork.
"You had a long flight," he said understandably before bringing the fork to his mouth. "How was Scotland?"
"Mm, you know," she brushed it off, "a little work, a little shopping. If you see little as moderate to bountiful." She smiled. That toothy, white, brilliant smile that attracted Draco to her--as shallow as it seems--from across the crowded department store a few weeks ago. And it all went downhill from there.
"Women," he muttered good-naturedly.
"Men," the blonde replied in return, taking a sip of her wine, never taking her eyes off Draco.
There was that smile again. Just a few days ago, Draco would've been lost in it. Eating up all her charm, well aware that she turning it on full blast just for him. She was trying to secure his newly 'taken' status to become more of a permanent thing. It was protectiveness. It was sweet. But something felt off.
Not even necessary to look within the "depths of his soul," Draco knew why.
She was clouding his mind; her words, her smile. Not the blonde beauty's he was eating with. But hers.
"So," the blonde started with interest, "what did you do while I was away?"
Draco's gaze wavered. What did he do? Worked a little; read the paper; watch a little television.
"Nothing," Draco said hesitantly, not expecting anything to come of it. "It was excruciatingly dull without you, truth be told." He offered a smile. That smile that no woman could resist, may she try her hardest.
The woman giggled.
"Nothing, hm?" she asked, finishing her glass of wine. "Absolutely not one thing in that whole week I was gone? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to cover something up." She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him, ruining the whole intimidating effect with her playful smile. "An affair, perhaps?"
She waited for him to pick up on the joke. But Draco didn't have the heart. It wasn't as though he felt any sense of. . . discontentment with the woman across from him. She was fabulous, pretty, funny. . . but nothing compared to her. Her. And Draco couldn't lie to his date, even the opportunity present itself just to shake his head. Just to roll his eyes at her and smile.
He simply looked away. His new girlfriend looked at him fixatedly.
"Draco. . ."
There was a pause. She was processing exactly what her blond counterpart was telling her. She knew they'd only known each other for a few basic weeks, but she was convinced they had something. Something beautiful, exceptional; something she'd never felt before. And now, he was not denying something that was meant to be a. . . joke?
The blonde looked away, the candlelight highlighting the tears evident in her eyes, yet refusing to grate down her cheeks. After a moment, she looked back, salty water reflecting of the dim candles at Draco, her eyes hidden beneath the tears, asking him if he could somehow make it not true; if he could lie and convince her it was not a lie.
Draco simply stared back, refusing to look away. Every decision within about this moment translated in his gaze to her.
She blinked.
Her tear sparkled on the way down her skin.
@}---------,---
The streets were dim and Draco's dress shoes tapped against the damp pavement, creating a rhythmic, echoing click, as he loosened his tie. Why did the object of his affection insist on living with Muggles who refused to admit that perhaps lack of proper lighting on streets was a valid cause of rape, brutality, thievery, and being a pain in his arse?
Thinking of the reason he was on the damned street in the first place, Draco took a whiff of the cold, dank air and prepared himself for his encounter with Hermione.
What the hell would he say? What could he say, showing up at her doorstep, explaining that he. . . what? Wanted another shot at a relationship? Wanted another chance? Wanted her?
After he didn't tell her about his girlfriend?
Damn.
Draco spotted what he needed across the street. Perhaps a bouquet of flowers would take the attention off what an arse he was.
Crossing the street carelessly, he bypassed a honking car that made it clear if the driver had known Draco was such an irresponsible jerk, he wouldn't have slowed down for him in the first place.
Draco was almost at the flower shop, already thinking of what flowers say, "I'm an idiot, forgive me" the best, when a flash of surprisingly familiar chocolate hair caught his eye in the next door café. Realizing that it was Hermione in Eau de Poulet, dining alone, Draco thought that this was his chance. To hell with the flowers. She was there.
@}----------,---
"Hermione."
The woman in question furrowed her brows in realization of whose voice that was. What could Draco possibly be doing here?
"Excuse me, sir, you can't just barge in without—"
"Hermione," Draco breathed as he sat down opposite her, the empty chair suspiciously sporting a jacket on the back of it. He paid it nor the angry waiter any attention. "I'm so glad I found you." He raised his palm to stop her from speaking. "Just. . . listen. You don't have to believe me but. . . Well, this would work better if you did believe me. Believe that I didn't mean to mislead you like that and purposely not tell you about—"
"Your girlfriend," Hermione provided mildly.
"I—honestly, was so wrapped up in everything that, Merlin," Draco rubbed his eyes with his hands, "if you'd have asked me if I was single, I would have said yes. For you, I would have said yes."
Hermione opened her mouth as if to say something, then snapped it shut. Yesterday she wouldn't have believed him. As much as it hurt her to admit it, he'd really torn her heart to pieces. And over what? A night of Monopoly?
No. With Draco, it was always more. Whatever it was they did, it was like the world melted around them, and they were the only two survivors. The city lights were dimmed and the stars in the sky stood out like fat drops of wax, consummating their relationship; their chemistry.
Yesterday, she'd spent the night emptying boxes of their tissues, watching old films and glaring at the lovesick girls in scorn. Her mantra, she remembered, was something along the lines of 'Notice how Satan is always referred to as he?'
But now. . . with him sitting there, looking lost but hopeful, like he did all those years ago. But now, she could change it. All those years ago, when he was just a rookie playing the advance game of life, love, and work. And she was so sure he'd lose, that he'd plummet in the real world, that he poured all of himself out to her and she rejected it. It hurt her like hell, but she rejected it.
Hermione raised her eyebrows in question of what she was supposed to do. What now? He was sorry?
Did he not still have a girlfriend? Did their lives not still separate with each word pertaining an obstacle? What was he proposing?
"Draco, I don't. . . know—"
"Excuse me, but that is my chair."
Draco moved his gaze heavily to his right, meeting eyes with a tall, broad-shouldered brunette, eyes of the forest and clothes of the wealthy. He looked down at Draco expectantly and somewhat irritably.
"And how do you figure that?" Draco asked, trying his best not to let his anger get the better of him. He knew this bloke had something to do with the situation, but being left in the dark about a minor detail only put him on edge that much more.
"Well, that's my overcoat, for starters," the dark-haired man replied, gesturing to the gray cotton covering Draco's chair. The blond occupant turned to look behind him, confirming with his eyes this overcoat the man spoke of, and slowly stood up.
"Astute observation, then," he murmured slowly, looking between the man that was lowering himself into his rightful chair and the troubled Hermione. "So this is what I think it is, isn't it?"
The man across from the woman of Draco's dreams raised his eyebrows critically, looking the distressed blond up and down.
"I suppose saying this was a date wouldn't make you happy," the man observed, his tone neutral, but slightly amused. "Then again, judging by your expression, it's probably exactly what you were thinking."
The man tried to look over at his dinner companion, but couldn't make any direct eye-contact with her as she was studiously avoiding looking both him and Draco, instead occupying herself with observing the red of the tablecloth.
Nodding slowly, Draco simply curled his lip in disgust at the whole situation and pushed away the desire to bloody Hermione's date to a pulp. Instead, he took one last glance at the nervous state that was Hermione and looked away, walking out of the quaint café.
That was it.
If he couldn't make her happy with what he could offer, perhaps Chuckles in there could. If she had moved on so quickly, then maybe she should have him.
Draco turned left.
@}---------,---
Hermione ran a hand through her hair slowly before finally exhaling a quick rush of air and looking at her dinner date sadly.
"Look, I'm sorry," she said quickly, snatching up her purse and standing up from the dinner table, "but I have to go." Turning away, Hermione's conscience didn't even prickle at leaving behind a handsome stranger with pockets full of treasure for the temper tantrum that stormed a minute ago.
The cold air hit Hermione's hot skin as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, disgruntled and upset, turning in circles too fast to see where Draco went. Finally, placing a hand of her forehead, Hermione stopped and caught a glimpse of Draco crossing the street on the corner, down the block. Breaking off into a sprint, as much as her heels would allow, anyway, she cut to the crosswalk from the street long before the corner.
"Draco!"
He continued walking, unclear whether he actually heard her calls or not, his blond hair glinting in the moonlight.
"Goddamn it, Draco!" Hermione yelled, expelling small puffs of air as she shouted. "Stop! Will you stop?"
Draco spun around in the middle of the road angrily, unable to keep the fury at the turn of events under wraps any longer.
"Why? Huh? What could you possibly have to say to me, Hermione, that you didn't think of in there. . . with your date?" Draco asked bitterly, blatantly ignoring a car's horn howling at him madly. "Speaking of which, you really shouldn't have deserted him like that. Poor fellow might take it the wrong way if—"
Hermione rolled her eyes at the obvious distress her former flame was in, recognizing his jealous streak as though it was painted on his forehead.
"Will you shut the hell up already?"
Draco's eyes bulged at her tone, but he snapped his mouth shut, raising an eyebrow evenly as he waited.
"The date," Hermione explained, motioning to the restaurant behind her, while expelling a cold, visible breath, "is another of the winners my mother set me up with. She told me wanted to talk to me about Ell's mother today, but when I came to meet her, that guy was there instead of the very female Mary-Ann Granger. O-kay?" Hermione shouted fiercely, shaking her head at Draco's rapid jump to conclusions. "And what the bloody hell are you so rattled about, anyway? How does my having a date have any effect over your relationship with your girlfriend? I mean, if I thought that it affected your life in any way—"
Draco shook his head.
"She's not my—"
"Don't lie to me, Draco. If ever there was a time not to lie it—"
"Will you shut the hell up already?" Draco smirked, eyes roaming over the very offended and very riled-up Hermione Granger. Her cheeks were rosy and brow held beads of sweat, but her eyes were hands-down, the most fiery. "I meant to say, she's not my girlfriend anymore."
Hermione's anger immediately dissipated, her wide eyes suddenly filling with question marks as she glanced at him helplessly, opening her vulnerable, emotional self to him in the middle of the road.
". . .What? But. . ."
"Did you think that night meant nothing to me, Hermione?" Draco asked, capturing her chin with his thumb and forefinger. "I. . . She meant nothing, compared to what you meant—mean to me. After all we've been through, you made me forget how hard it was without you. . . You—you made me feel like only you could, made me forget all the hassles around me, made me fall into that imaginary world we're always in when we're together. Bloody hell, you made me forget I had a girlfriend!" Draco explained, smiling widely, pleased when Hermione cracked a small grin as well. "It's always been you, Minnie."
"Are you sure? I mean, it's more complicated than we think."
"Well, if you're not positive, we can keep it at the pace you want, but I think we really deserve a chance at this—"
"Draco?" Hermione interrupted, taking his face in her hands and smiling softly at him as the first, unexpected drop of rain hit her nose.
"What?" he asked, genuinely knowing that at that moment, he'd do anything for her.
"Will you shut the hell up already?" she recited laughingly before crushing her lips to her, softly massaging and caressing at a rhythmic pace. Slowly, he slid his hands around her waist and she tangled her fingers in his hair. The kiss was electric, her lips melding and meshing with his, their hearts pulsing in time to their own beat. Moaning, Hermione turned her head and deepened the kiss, bringing her hands back around to cup Draco's face.
"I love you," she whispered breathily as they broke apart briefly, before reconnecting their mouths once more. Draco looked into Hermione's eyes as it was his turn to break the kiss and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Who wouldn't?"
"Arse!" Hermione accused, before grinning madly and initiating another kiss, pointedly ignoring the ever-increasing number of horns that were being directed at them as the two-way traffic struggled to pass the romantic couple without landing the two of them a pair of spots in the obituaries.
"Well, isn't that a spectacle," a masculine voice interrupted, his smiling face greeting the two as they broke apart. "I, personally, am a big fan of young love. Would you mind?" he asked, holding out a clipboard and a pen at Hermione and Draco with his eyebrows raised. "An autograph? You can sign it right there. . ." he indicated with his pen, fully serious, "right below the Sheriff's policy of citizens not disturbing the peace and obstructing traffic for no apparent reason."
Draco and Hermione exchanged looks of pure bewildered surprise and amusement as slow, conspiratorial smiles spread across their faces.
"Sorry, officer," Hermione said sincerely in between giggles and she grabbed a handful of Draco's jacket and pulled him toward the sidewalk with her, fully intent on a sprint away from the cop.
"Yeah, didn't mean to disturb justice!" Draco called out, laughing and jogging after Hermione as she smacked him in the chest, grinning while the increasing rain pelted against both of their shining faces.
Out of sight, Draco drew Hermione to him and nuzzled his face in her neck.
"Have I told you how much I love you?" he asked affectionately.
"Nope," she answered playfully, "but you've told me how much you love you."
Draco grinned and captured Hermione's lips in a tender, fiery kiss.
"I love you, Minnie," he declared, his hot whisper tickling her ear and she closed her eyes for a moment, letting bliss wash over her. Then, she broke away from his embrace and winked at him as their eyes met.
"Well, who wouldn't?"
`,~{@ THE END @}~,'