Disclaimer: I do not stake any claim to anything in the Potter universe. And the dialogue used (and abused) belongs to the writers of Queer as Folk. Written for the dmhgficexchange on lj.
"Draco's coming into town."
It was stated casually, as if Pansy Parkinson was merely observing the weather. Off hand, really, like a small notation scribbled in a diary entry. Yet, it startled Hermione Granger into a bridled trepidation. Consequently, her eyes widened ridiculously and she choked on her sip of San Pellegrino. When she finally regained her composure, she feigned indifference and asked, "Oh?"
"Yeah. He'll be in tonight and is leaving after his meeting," she said distractedly, not even glancing at Hermione. "I've put Blaise and Apollonia Zabini at table twelve with Seamus Finnegan and his plus one. What other couple needs to be placed?"
Hermione blinked slowly, trying to discern the jumble of sounds that resonated from her friend. It always seemed that whenever Draco Malfoy was mentioned, all of Hermione's conscience thought evaporated like dewdrops. It was insanely tedious and she loathed it. Finally, when her brain was able to recognize what the sod Pansy was talking about, she squinted at the parchment in front of her that contained a list of guests that had confirmed their intention to attend. "How about Dean Thomas and Astoria Greengrass?"
"They're a couple?" Pansy finally looked up, a curious frown turning down her mouth, and she was twirling her ponytail around her quill.
Hermione smirked, "No. Singles, but Dean likes blondes."
"Hmm." A sagacious leer graced Pansy's face, and before she bowed her head toward the parchment, her blue eyes glinted impishly. "Interesting strategy you've got there."
Hermione ignored the insinuation. There was no point in interrogating or disagreeing with Pansy once she got an idea in her head. "So." She drew out the last letter as far as she could, although she knew it was a terribly obvious preamble to her inquiry. "Did Draco say he'd be back for the wedding?" She supposed she could ask him herself, but she feared the answer and the implications that went along with such a query.
"Mmmno." Pansy tapped her quill against her chin thoughtfully. "All right. On to table thirteen. I figure the Weasleys. Clearly Ron will be seated at the main table with the rest of the wedding party, so how about Arthur, Molly, Fleur, Bill, and Ginny." Pansy suddenly sneered as her quill quivered ridiculously as she wrote, her annoyance apparent. "I can't believe that slag has the gall to show up. Can't she recognize a pity invite when she sees one?" Pansy asked incredulously, pausing to peek at her companion.
Hermione shrugged. "She promised to behave." Her voice was bland, for she didn't believe it either, but Ginny Weasley was her friend, and so she changed the subject to one she found more appealing. "Did you mean, no, Draco isn't coming to the wedding, or no, he didn't say?"
"He didn't say, the sod. So I put him at table three." Pansy grinned as if she'd been immensely clever or brilliantly conniving.
Hermione's eyes grew larger again and she quickly held up her seating chart that was charmed to correspond with Pansy's. With her nose nearly touching it, she studied it closely. "Table three! That's for the dates of the wedding party!"
"Well spotted, Granger," Pansy replied dryly.
If Hermione's shock was engulfing before, it was now entirely monumental. All because Pansy had evidently decided to make an exception to her rule of seating everyone wizard-witch. "Are you mad? You placed him next to Theo Nott!"
"What is it with you and this redundancy? Is it some muggle disease?" Pansy laid down her quill and gave Hermione her patented "Get Real You Silly Bint" glare.
Hermione, however wasn't deterred. "Tell me this, Parkinson. Who in the wedding party is dating either of these blokes? Because it certainly isn't Daphne, Tracy, or most importantly, me. Is it Millicent? Or your bearded, googly-eyed cousin, Tashar?" Hermione's brown eyes were biting and hard; she could smell a dastardly plan like a dead rat.
"Mind your fat mouth about my cousin." Pansy threatened, but only because she knew Hermione was on to her devious connivances.
"Well, she is terribly cross-eyed, and she gave me an impromptu instruction on proper facial shaving protocol. As if I needed to know that." Hermione argued back, folding her arms over her chest.
"That is true." Pansy sort of chuckled. "All right! Stop staring at me like that, you sociopath. I put them beside each other because I am looking forward to watching them fight to the death over you. To. The. Death. It will be hilarious."
"Me!" It was an overzealous squeak that erupted from Hermione's throat. Unladylike and spectacular, causing many patrons to peer over.
"Again with the repeating the obvious. Do they have a potion that will cure that, or are you doomed to repeat yourself for the rest of your life?" Pansy raised an inky eyebrow and eyed Hermione surreptitiously.
"I'm not dating Theo! We don't even flirt." Because she felt an overwhelming sense of contrition when he subtlety flirted with her, like she was betraying something huge. Something unexplainable and not of this earth. So she couldn't find the will to reciprocate his advances. It just felt wrong and sordid. And not in a good way.
"But you aren't dating Draco either," Pansy countered pragmatically.
"Precisely!"
"You just shag him rotten every time he puts a toe on British soil."
"It's not just shagging." The very idea scandalized Hermione's innate sensibilities of what was proper and what wasn't. Yet, she couldn't really put a name on what exactly she did every time Draco came back to England.
"Then what else do you do together? Has he met your parents? Taken you on holiday?" Pansy's asked rhetorically, her mouth pressing into a fleeting white line. "No. He doesn't. So if that isn't just shagging, then what is it?" Pansy's peremptory rhetoric always seemed astounding and brash, and while Hermione adored the straightforwardness, sometimes it was really annoying. Especially when it was directed towards her.
"It is none of your business, Parkinson." Hermione huffed and pushed her long hectic hair out of her face.
Pansy's countenance melted into a sweetness of friendship and compassion. "Look, he is my pal, but what ever 'it' is, well it is trollshit. He lives in Romania chasing dragons for months, and his only form of communication is a measly owl every few weeks. Then he comes back, crawls into your bed, and then jumps out the next morning." She reached across the table and took Hermione's hand. "It's hard to hear, I realize that, but he's a spoilt cad. Everything comes easily to him, and he prefers it that way. He takes more than he can give, and when something gets too complicated, he runs. He's the poster-boy for commitment-phobes of the universe."
Hermione bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. It was hard to hear, albeit she was already aware of his roguish personality. It was one of the traits that had attracted her to him in the first place. Whenever they started this … this mess, she had been busy training for her job at the ministry. She hadn't had time to begin a serious relationship, or to nurture one.
It had worked out for them both. She could focus on her work and maintain her space, and he was able to do whatever the hell he wanted with whoever the hell he wanted. She relished it, she had been happy with their no-strings-attached affair, but now that life had slowed down … well her feelings had changed. No matter how much she liked to deny it. The truth was, she didn't want to see him go. She wasn't done with Draco Malfoy yet.
"I know you love him, but you deserve more than he is willing to give." She quirked her mouth sullenly. "Besides, Theo really likes you. I think you should hang Draco and give him a chance."
Hermione sighed, her eyes never leaving the parchment in front of her, and she fought the sting of saline in her eyes. "I …." She exhaled loudly. "I don't—it's not like that."
"Enlighten me then."
Hermione inhaled sharply, her brain scrambling to articulate the situation properly "I'm not interested in Theo. If I was, I'd date him, without worrying who I might hurt. But I don't want to date him. And Draco is—he doesn't—that is to say—well, we have an understanding." She finished lamely, returning to fray the vellum.
"An understanding?" Pansy's eye brows rose cynically.
"Now who is being redundant?" She felt a little bit of an impishness twinge her mouth.
"I'm just saying that you are more than this, that I know you want more than what he gives you. You aren't happy anymore, and you are wasting your energy on a guy who, even if he woke up and smelled the roses, probably would be too much of a prat to do anything about it. I just want you to be happy, Hermione. Happy all the time, not just every few weeks or months." Pansy's sincerity nearly undid Hermione. She was grateful she had such a friend, someone to hope for her and wanted better for her. Someone to tell it like it was, even if Hermione didn't want to acknowledge it.
"I am happy," she argued, because she was, for the most part. She had good friends, good family, and a good job. There wasn't much more a girl could want in life. She didn't need Draco Malfoy or any other bloke around to be entirely fulfilled. That was just preposterous.
A huge and maniacal smile slid across Pansy's face. "Doll, you are an atrocious liar, but I adore you for it."
Feeling sheepish, because she knew it was true, she leaned back in her seat and began to play with the zipper of her jacket. "And I don't love Draco."
Shaking her head, Pansy reclaimed her quill. "Yeah, that sounds like an entirely true fact. Tell me another one."
Hermione didn't reply to the barb; it was needless anyway. She did love Draco. More than she had ever loved anyone romantically before. She loved having something to look forward to, and missing someone. Because just when she thought she would fall into the agony of melancholy at his absence, Draco would show up. Like now. When the ache of absence became unbearable and all she wanted was the soothing comfort of a lover. However it wasn't enough, not really. She wanted children and valentines, and picket fences. Romantic holiday's and quiet moments. She wanted all that and more. She just couldn't understand why Draco couldn't give that to her. More importantly, why didn't he want to?
Since Hermione had a partiality to knowing as much as possible, she resolved to find the answer to that very question. Even if she didn't get the answer she wanted. Even if she lost the one she loved.
- - -
The small flat was tidy when Draco Malfoy entered, with the exception of the sporadic stacks of books here and there. It was dimly lit with candles and soft music warbled from the old record player in the corner. The savory aroma of Lamb Roast hung in the air and the fire cackled in the hearth. Near it, an overstuffed violet chair comforted the recumbent frame of a pretty witch with an abundance of wild curls. She was dressed nicely in an ivory jumper that exposed one shoulder and a pair of black slacks. Her hand hung limply over the edge but still grasped a careworn book. However, it was her lovely face that held his attention the most. Serene in slumber, and slightly flushed. Her dark lashes made alluring crescents upon her cheeks and her persimmon mouth was parted like Cupid's bow. She was his vision of heaven. Wonderful, soothing, and familiar. Everything home should be.
He let an endearing smile span his face as he set his duffel on the hardwood floor. Furtively, he crossed the striped rug and slowly knelt beside the chair. Taking great care and using both hands, he extracted the book from her fingers and clasped her palm in his. As he tenderly brought it to his lips, he caught a faint whiff of mimosa. His eagerness to see her sparkling brown eyes and welcoming smile overwhelmed any reluctance he had about waking her and he gently pushed an errant tendril from her face and caressed her cheek. "Wake up, pretty girl." Then softly he stroked her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.
Her face scrunched adorably and her hand flew up to her mouth to rub her knuckles languidly across her nose and mouth, trying to chase away the sensation he evoked. Draco chuckled lowly. "Are you going to snooze through my entire visit?"
Her lashes flew up then and she squinted at him bewilderedly, then with a excited gasp she sprung into his arms. "Oh, Draco," she exclaimed as she pressed her body against his tightly, fisting the material of his uniform in her hands, and eliciting a thousand fluttering to burst into his stomach. "It is so good to see you," she murmured against his neck.
He allowed a shiver to pass over him. "Likewise, Snapdragon." The endearment was meant to be jocular, but because of the joy he was experiencing at being in her arms again, it sounded sincere and winsome. One of his favorite things about her was that she never pulled away from his embrace. She just cuddled close to him, making his breath shorten, his chest constrict, and his heart swell. He felt needed, wanted, and he knew he was missed. It was comforting to know he was important to somebody. He reluctantly pulled away, if only marginally. "It smells delicious and you looked nice. Expecting somebody?"
A mischievous smile to match his lit up her eyes and she leaned toward him conspiringly. "A fierce Dragon Keep that I have my eye on."
"Fierce, eh?" One eyebrow rose mimicking curiosity. "Looks like he is late."
"Well, he isn't known for his punctuality." She shrugged.
"Then what is he known for?" He placed a kiss on her neck, her jaw.
"Showing up when you least expect it." She nuzzled against his temple, her hair falling over them, cocooning them in her sweetness.
He reached up and pulled it back, clutching it at her nape. "The rogue!"
She giggled. "Indeed."
He couldn't wait any longer. It had been months since he'd tasted the tang of her mouth, and with her smile and her scent and her nearness, he couldn't contain his eagerness for another minute. Rising up, he captured her lips with his own. It was a bursting kaleidoscope of magic and marvel, pied lights and trumpeting songs. He kissed her like he had lost and then found her, like he might never get to kiss her again, like he never wanted to stop. He tasted her, reacquainted himself with her textures, the nectarous luxuries of everything that was Hermione Granger.
She surrendered to him, as always, inviting him to explore her soul with his tongue, giving as much as she got in a fiery tango of affection, her hands clutching his face as she urged him on. Begged him for more. He felt his control spiral away, and all he could think was this is it. This is what I came for. It transcended all other needs and desires. It was moments like kissing her that made him never want to leave again.
Suddenly she chuckled and released his mouth, but continued brushing her swollen lips against his, softly eliciting unchecked tingles and adoration. "Goodness, did you forget the shaving charm?" Her fingernails scratched affectionately into his scruff.
He settled his forehead against hers and steadied his breathing. "Usually the ladies find it irresistible."
"I'm sure." He closed his eyes and relished the awesome feeling of her hands touching and stroking his face. "But I think they might find the overpowering scent of dragon dung quite resistible."
"Says you. I have loads of fangirls." His lip protruded petulantly. "Besides, I'm weary of the communal showering. There is only so much of Charlie Weasley a bloke needs to see in his lifetime."
A metrical laugh exploded from Hermione's throat. "C'mon. Aside from all the bawdy machismo repartee that is commonplace there, you can't tell me you aren't keen on a little sword fighting and towel snapping."
"Oh ho! Mind your tongue, woman!" He waggled his eyebrows at her.
"Go shower, Draco."
"All right." As he rose, he pecked her mouth one last time. "Get the grub ready. I haven't eaten a descent meal in months."
He retrieved his duffel and headed for the lavatory, pausing at the linen cupboard to fetch a towel before entering the bright, white washroom. He pressed his thumb to the tap which magically recognized his preferred settings, and a steady, steaming spray burst from the head. He quickly divested of his clothing, and stepped inside. Instantly he felt refreshed, and the swirling mist cleared his head. A shelf in the corner held numerous bottles, vials, and soaps. His favored shampoo was amongst them. He smiled inwardly because it was nice to have someone care enough to provide such small luxuries. He really did appreciate her in his life. He didn't deserve such kindness and consideration. Not when he didn't fully reciprocate it.
He shook his head, deciding he didn't want to think of such dismal facts, and hurried through his scrubbing routine.
Once he was freshly showered, his face cleanly shorn and dressed in casual clothes, he returned to the main room to find Hermione sitting at the table, distractedly sipping her wine. She appeared sad to him. Distant, as if her mind was a million miles away from the dining room. Draco gulped and took his seat beside her. "Hey."
"Much better," she observed, mirth twinkling in her eyes.
He flashed a grin. "Yes." He picked up his fork and took a bite. "This is incredible; you are quite the little cook." He always told her that, because it was always true. And he liked the modest blush that bloomed on her cheeks.
"Thanks. So what brings you to town this time?" she asked, and something akin to hope lit up her face.
"A meeting at Gringotts," he said after he swallowed, watching her carefully.
"Oh." Her shoulders slumped slightly, and if he hadn't been studying her body language so closely, he would have missed it. "And work? How is that?"
His mood instantly lightened because he loved telling her about his job. "Exciting as always. Challenging. I mean, do you know what it is like trying to catch an angry dragon?"
She shook her head, a bemused smirk gracing her mouth. "I've never had to deal with an angry dragon."
"You'll have to come to Romania sometime and meet one." As soon as the words left his mouth he felt the atmosphere change. In the two years they had been doing this…thing, he had only mentioned her visiting him twice. The implications of it would alter their relationship, making it more than what it was.
Her face was blank, mouth parted, and she just stared at him. He suddenly realized that this visit was going to be different somehow. Sure, they would go on as they always did, but he felt the foreboding in the air. It was stagnant and compressing.
Her mouth tightened under his gaze, and she took another drink from her glass.
Draco cleared his throat and pushed his food around on his plate. "Just last week we harnessed a particularly unruly Peruvian Vipertooth. She gave us a good fight for at least three hours and then inexplicably calmed down. We weren't sure if she was tired or if she was playing coy. I barely took two steps toward her tail when she swung it around at me and knocked me out. When I came to, it was two days later. I would have a nasty bruise on my face, but Gillian is a fantastic healer."
"Gillian?" Her voice wavered. "I—you've never mentioned her before. Is she new?" Hermione blushed again, and bit her lip and it was very apparent she was trying to check her jealousy.
"Yeah. New." He spoke solemnly, not giving anything away lest her ever-thinking mind over-analyze too much; he didn't want her to come to the wrong conclusions.
She nodded, and he watched her fingers stroke the stem of her wine glass. "So. Pansy's marrying Harry in just two weeks. Can you believe it?"
He shrugged and rubbed his chin. It was obvious that something was amiss; she rarely talked about such things with him. "To each their own."
"Are you against them getting married?"
"I'm against marriage in general," he blurted. When he saw the surprised expression on her face, he proceeded to explain himself. "I mean, most relationships are at their best when a bloke proposes, and I just figure if there is nothing wrong with how things are going, why change it?"
Hermione's eyes flashed with dissatisfaction, and she opened her mouth, likely to launch into a diatribe that completely opposed his personal views. The conversation was quickly turning down a road he wasn't prepared to walk. So he panicked and did what any fellow in that situation would do. He diverted. "Dance with me." He wiped his mouth with the linen napkin and stood on unsteady feet, proffering his hand to her.
She blinked at him, momentarily confused by his distraction, and her brows swept together. "Dance?"
As he nodded, he grinned because he liked the way she always repeated things. He figured it was for two reasons. Either to commit to memory, or because the statement couldn't compute logically in her head. "Yes."
She licked her lips and slowly placed her palm onto his. As he pulled her up, his eyes met hers and he saw tentativeness. "Don't worry. I won't step on your toes this time."
She nervously chuckled. "We'll see." And she let him slide his body against hers. After he placed her hand at his shoulder, he let his fingers glide over her sleeve, whispering past her exposed shoulder and down her spine where he pressed it hard against the small of her back. His free hand clasped hers, and he began swaying slowly with the rhythm.
She was apprehensive at first, her body tense under his touch, but once he began to hum along, she relaxed against him. Letting her curves meld against him with a surrendering sigh. She even laid her cheek against his chest, and the gesture translated to him that whatever her worries were before, they were soothed for now.
Draco always thought they made a corresponding pair physically, like puzzle pieces that fit no where else, jig-sawed specifically for each other. He was taller than her by far, but he liked that. He liked how petite and light she felt in his arms. It awoke some repressed side of his manhood and gave him a sense of protectiveness. Particularly because he knew that Hermione Granger didn't need shielding from anything. Perhaps from him, though. Because whether or not he wanted to admit it, he knew he had her heart. She trusted it to him a long time ago, albeit she had never acknowledged it and if he knew her half as much as he did, he could bet that she would never declare it to even herself.
They swayed in complete silence, letting the music fall over them as they moved in sync, To Draco, there was nothing that could compare to being in her cozy flat and holding her close. There was an ease with her; he could relax and be himself. It was real and he was always satisfied. He truly cherished their moments together, and he gave her more of himself than he had ever given to anyone else.
Withdrawing his palm from hers, he used his knuckle to lift her chin to bring her pretty gaze to meet his, and as he peered deeply into the brilliant windows of her soul, he found that he could not say what was on the tip of his tongue. It would be misleading, an empty promise, and he couldn't bear to treat her dishonestly.
Gradually he lowered his mouth to hers, sliding languidly against her lips, and that familiar spark struck in his stomach, then acutely sprung to jolt his heart. When he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, she opened with a sigh and leaned further into him, reaching in and tasting his soul. And it spun his world on its axis; he became mindless, urgent. His hands moved of their own accord, slipping past her jumper to feel the heat of her skin. To let it burn his palms and ignite his desire. She was so supple, pliant, responding passionately to his advances.
It was no wonder that when he swept her up and carried her off to her bedroom, he as completely swept away.
- - -
She was using his shoulder as a pillow, her warm breath whispering over his chest and her body was molded against his. Her fingers made lazy circles around his belly button as his mirrored them on the small of her back. He was content, satisfied, and just happy. So completely blissful that he didn't believe anything could ruin this perfect moment.
"Draco?" she hummed lowly.
"Hmm?"
"Were you—I mean…are you going to attend Pansy's wedding?" Her tone was innocuous, but the insinuation was clear. It sucked up the bliss that stilled the room and his contentment evaporated, leaving nothing but the thickly cumbersome tension from earlier.
His mouth was dry, and it took all of his willpower to be completely honest with her, only because he knew the truth was going to hurt her. "No."
Her hand stilled and he felt her stiffen. "Why?"
"That's just not my scene." He didn't know why he couldn't just tell her that he was afraid to go with her because it would be like they were establishing themselves as a couple. It would take away everything they'd created, and he liked things just how they were. He was happy. He didn't like change.
"That's a cop-out, Draco." Her voice held an edge, cutting up his heart like razor blades.
"What do you want me to say, Hermione?"
She sat up, drawing the sheet around her. "I want you to want to go because I'll be there. I want you to go so you can dance with me in front of everyone we know. I want you to be with me."
He sat up too. "Hey! That is not fair."
"What isn't fair about me wanting that?"
He reached up and ran his hand aggressively through his blond hair, exhaling harshly. "Because it is more than I can give you."
"I'm not asking for much," she protested.
"Yes, you are." He stood and began pacing. "You are asking for my heart and soul. I'm not that guy. You knew that going into this. You knew I was opposed to commitments, that I was a free agent. I won't be good for you. I will always be away from you, I will always have a roaming eye, but worse than all that, I will always be in danger. And then where would you be? A widow and a single mum? Why would I want to do that to you? Why would you want that? It's nothing but heartache for you. I won't put that on you or anyone else."
"Do you love me?" The question was so unexpected that he almost answered capriciously, and if he did that, he would never be able to take it back. It would be out there for the world—and most importantly, her—to see, and all of his reasons would become obsolete. Mostly because every dreamer and poet could eloquently argue that in life, it was all you needed.
He looked away from her, his jaw tightened like steel, and he lied to her. It was such a lie that it should never have been told. Not to anyone. Not ever, and he was the biggest shit in the universe because he did it so effortlessly. He damned his upbringing, he cursed his character, and he hated himself.
She sucked in a shattered breath of air and her face twisted into heartbreaking visage of disappointment and pain. "GET OUT!" she screamed as she untangled herself from the sheet and stood, her fingers curled into angry fists. "Get out. I don't want you here anymore. I don't want to do this anymore. I want to get over you and move on and just find someone who appreciates me, someone who cares about what I'm feeling, that sacrifices because I sacrifice for him. I want marriage and kids. I want love and complications and all the things that go with commitment, and I deserve that. So if you don't want to give that to me, get out and never come back." Then she slammed the door to the washroom.
And just like that, Hermione Granger threw Draco Malfoy out of her life.
- - -
He was standing at the entrance in his uniform. His face was drawn in practiced stoicism despite the haggard scruff along his jaw. But his argentous stare was forlorn, and his countenance was rigid as his hands wrung in nervous fists, He seemed strange, foreign, like he was out of place.
Hermione gasped in disbelief, her fingers slipped on her champagne flute, and her body constricted. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and she swore all of her vitals stunted. As if her body moved of its own accord, she spun on her heals, and tucked her chin down, trying desperately to blend into the crowd.
It wasn't so much that she didn't want him to see her—well it was that, but only because she didn't know why he was there, and she wasn't sure how to deal with that.
Pansy glanced from her conversation with Harry, her smile fading. "Goodness, Old girl, you look like you've seen a ghost."
Perhaps she had; maybe it was just a specter passing through the night. Hermione peeked over her shoulder one more time to be sure. No, not an other-worldly entity, he was really there. Taking a deep breath, she quickly exhaled, "Draco is here."
Pansy's eyes widened in surprise, and her mouth slid into a sly leer. "He is?" She strained her neck, and crooked her waist to peer around Hermione. "Oh, he is!"
"What's going on?" Harry asked as he slid his arm around Pansy's waist.
"Draco came," Hermione muttered lowly.
"There goes the party." He quirked his mouth disapprovingly.
Pansy threw him a reproachful grimace and slapped his chest with the back of her hand. "Shush."
"Maybe he'll leave," Hermione rubbed her faced with both her hands "Harry come dance with me."
"But—" he began.
"Go on, please ," Pansy suggested as she urged him towards Hermione. "Dance with Hermione, and I'll see what he wants."
"Gods, all right, but only because I can't refuse you both." He shook his head, his demeanor playful, and he kissed Pansy quickly before lending his arm to Hermione to lead her to the dance floor.
"I don't know why you don't want to see him." He took her hand gently and laid his other high on her back. His movements were rehearsed and stiff; although he had mastered dancing, he still hadn't acquired smoothness.
"Because I don't want to relive the pain I felt when it became clear I wasn't important to him." It was hard enough to say it out loud, and she just knew that she wouldn't be able to hear it again.
"Well, obviously you are."
She jerked her head to face him and her brows swept together quizzically. "How can you say that when you know he made it clear that he never intended for there to be more than just shagging between us?"
Harry's shoulders slightly lifted and his mouth spread into a sage grin. "Because he's here."
She huffed. "What does that prove?"
"Well, what other reason does he have to be here than you?" His voice was calm, reassuring, as if he was placidly assisting her to the heart of the matter.
"Oh, I don't know. Cake? His best childhood friend's wedding?" She didn't care if she was behaving brashly; she was a bundle of frazzled nerves and it fueled her derisiveness.
"Be serious." Harry chastised.
"I am!"
"No, you're not, you are repressing," he amended as he shifted his weight.
"Harry Potter, don't psycho-analyze me, just dance," she admonished.
"Fine." And he turned his cheek to watch the rest of the crowd, swaying with her mechanically.
Guilt washed over her. Harry was just her friend and he was trying to be honest and supportive, and she was treating him very badly. He didn't deserve it. "I love him, you know," she whispered ephemerally.
He looked at her then. "Yeah, I know."
"It's just hard." Hermione's voice cracked,
He nodded, his compassionate green eyes flickering behind her and back again. "Nothing worth having is easy. You should really talk to him, see what he wants."
He was right, as always. She was being cowardly hiding from Draco. And it was true, he was mostly likely here to see her, and it was only fair to herself to learn what he wanted. "Yeah. I guess I should."
"Good, you do that, and I'm going to ask the pretty girl in white for a spin around the floor." And then, quite gracefully, he twirled Hermione around and released her hand.
When she halted, she was face to face with the one man in the world that held her heart. "Draco."
His mouth thinned in a small smile. "Hi."
"Hello," she replied lamely.
There was an awkward, uncomfortable pause, and it seem to last forever.
"Look I just wanted—"
"I didn't think—"
They said in unison. She chuckled and looked at her feet.
"May I have this dance?"
Her head rose and she opened her mouth.
There are certain moments in life when one must choose between two divergent paths, and no matter which was chosen, the outcome would be pivotal, life changing. Something would change for either better or worse, but one would not remain the same after making the choice. This was the most monumental cross-road of her life, and she recognized that. Draco was asking for a chance and she had to decide if he deserved it, if she was prepared to embrace the consequences of either choice. But what if it was too late? Was her heart too broken? It was strange to know that whether she declined or accepted his offer, her life would never be the same.
She took a calming breath and nodded. "You may."
He took her hand tentatively, carefully wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer, all the while maintaining a respectable space between them. "You look beautiful."
"Thank you." It was reminiscent of the night she last saw him and those same emotions poured over her in a crashing deluge. She had missed him while he was away. But somehow it was harder seeing him now than ever before.
To distract herself from the aching nostalgia, she acknowledged his uniform and the subtle scent of fresh air and dragons. "So you came directly from work?"
"Yes."
"What for?" Her innate curiosity just expounded the query from her mouth; she would have been able to hold it in had she known it was coming. But it was out now, and she desperately wanted him to answer the way she hoped.
"I wanted to see you," he spoke solemnly, in an unflappable air of honesty.
Her heart sang, pleased, but she kept it checked. "Well now you have, so you can go."
"Don't be like that." He pleaded, his eyes darkening with hurt.
"Then pray tell, how do you think I should behave?" she hissed through clenched teeth.
"Cool down, Firecracker, you're about to explode." His hand squeezed her soothingly.
She took a calming breath because he was right; her anxiety was making her cynical and irrational. "Obviously you have something to say, so spit it out." She lifted her chin determinedly, her brown eyes clashing with his daringly.
He glanced around them. "I'd rather we go somewhere private."
She stepped away from him, instantly breaking the dance, and shook her head. "No. We've spent a lifetime in private, without prying eyes. I don't want to do that anymore. Anything you have to say can be said here."
"This isn't the right place for what I've come to say," he murmured as his eyes flickered to the other patrons
"I'm not going anywhere with you." Because he could break her down with his mere presence and charming words. As long as she had witnesses, she could keep her resolve and not give into him.
He narrowed his eyes with aggravation. "You are so stubborn; can't you just give a little?"
"Me give?" She slapped her hand against her chest, her indignation was glaringly apparent. "I gave you all I had and now you want more?"
"Yes—"
"Too bad." She couldn't believe his gall. It was astonishing and she choked on her anger. "Say what you have to and then leave."
He exhaled, making his vexation evident, his jaw flexing as he kept whatever response to himself. His silver eyes burned holes into hers, but she was determined and stout. She would not back down. Not anymore.
Then quite unexpectedly he dropped to bended knee, his hand searching his jacket pocket.
Hermione gasped, panicking. "What are you doing?" Didn't he know that proposing at a wedding was bad etiquette? Where were his manners? Besides, he hadn't even apologized.
He cleared his throat and proffered an open velour box that held a simple engagement ring. "Hermione Granger, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
She was so stunned that she didn't reply. She didn't know what to say. Why was he doing this now? What had changed his mind? Had he positively lost his marbles? What if this was some joke?
But she was staring at him, and she knew by the faint tremble in his demeanor and the visible anxiety of his constitution that this was by no means a joke. In fact, she could tell that Draco Malfoy had never been more serious in his life. She clamped her hand over her mouth and stepped back. It was then that her peripheral vision cleared, and suddenly she was all too aware that every reception guest had his or her eyes glued to them.
She straightened her spine and grinned at everyone. "Oh, this isn't real. It's just a gag." She took two steps to him and hissed at him, "Get up."
"This isn't a joke," he said loudly, for all to hear, "and I won't until you answer me."
She giggled nervously. "Let's talk about this privately."
"No, you wanted me to say it to you here. So I am."
She hadn't wanted him to say that! All she'd wanted was an apology. For him to concede that he had been wrong, and yeah, sure, she wanted him to try harder for her, but this was too much. "I'm going out on the veranda and that is where you will receive my answer." She said it with as much finality she possibly could, then pivoted and with her head held high, walked directly, hurriedly outside.
Thankfully he was right behind her.
She gripped the banister and looked over the lake, but she could feel him behind her, tipping up her chin, she turned to him. "Draco I—"
"You won't marry me. That's why you wouldn't answer in there, to save me from the embarrassment." He sighed and peered down at the box. "Who could blame you? I am, without a doubt, the worst candidate for marriage alive" He gave the ring one last glance before returning it to his trouser pocket. "But conversely, that's also the reason I'm the best candidate."
"And how's that?" she asked dryly, watching his every move.
"Because as strongly as I was opposed to the idea, now that I am behind it, I'm equally," he took a step toward her, "fervently," his hands flew to cover his heart," and passionately committed." He gulped, and his eyes were alight with an urging trepidation. "I'm an all or nothing sort of bloke, and I'm willing to give my all to this. To you."
Hermione crossed her arms under her chest self-consciously and cleared her throat as she fidgeted with her hair apprehensively. "A--and what changed your mind?"
"I finally thought of one good reason to do it." He moved nearer still, and his essence nearly undid her. She was vibrating with anticipation.
"And what is that one good reason?" She spoke lowly, not really trusting her voice, anyway, but needing to know all the same.
"To prove to the person that I love how much I love her. That I would give her anything, I would do anything… I'd be anything to make her happy," he concluded beautifully and she knew she was done,
Her heart screamed yes, but she knew that all was not resolved. That she couldn't go to Romania to live, and he hadn't given her any indication that he was willing to leave there. What about his fears? She couldn't accept knowing that he would constantly have that burden on his shoulders. He needed a clear conscience when dealing with such ferocious beast. "Let me see that ring."
He blinked at her, then handed it over. She opened it slowly and studied it. It wasn't garish, but the silver was etched with intricate markings, runes for love, forever, and promise. The diamond was small, perfect for her tiny hands, and cut so that it caught the light just perfectly, sparkling in pied prisms. "It's nice." Her mouth felt like cotton.
"It's you. In every way," he preened, obviously very proud of his perceptiveness.
"So you love me." Hermione glanced at him side-long, a slight smile tugging at her lips.
"I think I've always loved you," he admitted.
"Why did you lie?" She had to know. If he had been honest with her from the beginning, they wouldn't be in this mess. But then again, she wouldn't have such a great story to tell their grandchildren.
"Because I'm a shit."
She grinned, slightly astonished at his brutal frankness, because he was, very much so, but it was still unexpected to hear him admit it.
"Where will we live?" She felt lighter, nearly whimsical, and the seriousness of her interrogation was dulled.
"In your tiny flat," he drawled pragmatically. "Until we can afford a bigger place, when we need it." She liked his implications; they met her wants and desires. She couldn't ask for much more.
"And your job?"
"The Ministry isn't far, when you commute by Floo." By now, his timbre was lighter, more playful.
"The Ministry?" she exclaimed, turning to him fully.
"Yes." He grinned delightfully, his gladness over this news obvious. "I start Monday as a Hitwizard."
She remembered that he had thought about switching to that career, but she had never encouraged it. She knew how much he loved being a Dragon Keeper. "What about—"
"Hermione, chasing dragons doesn't give me you." He took her hand and laid his palm along her cheek. "Can't you just accept that?"
She could because she realized that he was sacrificing for her, that he was meeting her halfway. And Love is like that. Love is equal and enduring. It doesn't begrudge, it is unconditional. It never belittles or disgraces. It is powerful and ever evolving. It is effulgence, beautiful and evolving. It was magic. "Yes." She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "Yes."
"Yes?" He asked.
"Yes! To everything!" And she threw herself into his arms, kissing him as a lover, as friend, as her everything for the first time because this was the first day of the rest of their lives together. As one, as a couple. As Hermione and Draco. To her, there was nothing better than that.
A/N: I want to thank everyone who assisted me during this exchange. Julia, Sonia, Zoe, and especially Laura for her fantastic betaing skills. And a little high five to Stephen, for being a cool dude. You all mean the world to me more than you will ever realize. I'm glad you are my friends.
Request: Would you prefer an art or fic gift?: fic, please
Song, Poem, or Quote (title/original creator): "Queer As Folk: Season 5, Episode 11"/Showtime studios
Sorry, but this quote requires a little explanation. This is actually a scene from a t.v. about gay men. I know that for many D/Hr shippers, slash is a huge squick, but don't worry - there isn't anything graphic in this particular scene. Basically, the premise of the scene is that a guy known for being a player is asking his long-time, but on-again-off-again boyfriend to marry him, who is obviously wary after being hurt so many times.
"you won't marry me. *sigh* Who could blame you? I am, without doubt, the worst candidate for marriage alive. But conversely, that's also the reason I'm the best candidate."
"and how's that?"
"because as strongly as I was opposed to the idea, now that I am behind it, I'm as fervently and passionately committed."
"Uh huh. And what changed your mind?"
"I finally thought of one good reason to do it."
"And what is that one good reason?"
"to prove to the person that I love how much I love him. That I would give him anything, I would do anything… I'd be anything to make him happy."
Describe your ideal gift in as few words/keywords as possible (plus rating): Any rating. Both Hermione and Draco are snarky and witty. Also, Draco as a ladies man who changes his ways when he falls in love with Hermione.