Thank God I can finally put my name to this!!!
I wrote it as a pinch hit for the HP Secret Santa it is Draco/Hermione
Without further ado...
Title: There Is No Mathematics To Love And Loss
For: floorcoaster
Rating: T
Couple(s): Draco/Hermione
Summary: Can one night after three years change everything? Hermione discovers that one night can change everything; as long she asks the right questions.
Warning(s): None.
Authors Note(s): Title belongs to Anberlin. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Sadly I do not even own the plot it was promoted to me by floorcoaster to whom I want to assure there is absolutely no mention of Hermione riding a broomstick. Hope you enjoy!
Hermione Granger is in a peculiar mood today. The normally calm, collected, rational, loving witch is in her bedroom manhandling various pieces of her wardrobe either tossing them back into her closet or pitching them into the open bag on her bed. At various points she groans; and holds the offending material up to her slender frame debating the reaction the fabric will create in others.
Well, to be honest, in one particular person.
One particular person that she does not want to see at all.
One particular person who should still be in the past, a past that she has dealt with.
He should not be in her immediate future, not in the next twenty-four hours, not ever. She has done very well without his presence these past three years, very well without seeing him everywhere she looked. In fact she is happy the last memory she has is of his backside walking away, leaving her, leaving them, and not his face. It has helped her anger, helped her forget him.
Or so she had thought until three hours ago when her editor called her in and told her that the young witch who was all too eager to interview the grand Draco Malfoy had been admitted to 's and it was up to Hermione to be a team player. Hermione, of course being a team player, accepted with a smile on her face. Inwardly, all she wanted to do was go to St. Mungo's and make sure the witch who cancelled was well and truly on her death bed.
Right now all she wants to do is apparate somewhere far, far away and leave this whole mess behind her.
"Hermione?" Pansy calls. Seconds later she appears and leans on the doorframe. Her hands cradle her very pregnant stomach and her face (she has grown into her nose beautifully, some might say) has an amused expression as she watches her very best friend lose her sanity. "What on earth are you doing?"
Hermione looks up. Her face is a mixture of relief, that she would not have to go through this alone, and disappointment. "Business trip. I have to go to Paris, interview one of the players for the world cup."She wants to hide this entire fiasco from Pansy.
Pansy waddles into the room and makes herself comfortable on Hermione's bed while digging through the contents of the open bag on the bed beside her. As she lays them all out it becomes obvious to them both that every item has two things in common: too much fabric and too much black. "Are you planning on joining a covenant while there?" Pansy asks, trying to school her face into the blank he-will-not-be-mentioned visage she wears so often. "It's a business trip."
"Yes. A business trip where you will need to interact with world famous quidditch stars. All of whom possess strapping muscles, celebrity, and looks. Well, at least the younger ones whose faces haven't seen too many bludgers should possess some looks." Her face very much says 'you need to get laid.'
"I am sorry. Did you just say strapping muscles?"
"Yes I did. It's all those dirty Muggle books you leave lying about the place. Heaving bodices, strapping muscles, swe-"
"I do NOT read dirty Muggle books. They are historical fiction."
"They are porn. Which I think is why this trip will be good for you. But not with these clothes." Pansy's tone very much ends the conversation. Hermione relents, too easily, she thinks but she hats fighting with Pansy, especially a pregnant Pansy. Especially after the last pregnancy. "By the way, who is it you are interviewing? If it is Ron, I will just leave all these atrocious clothes in the luggage. Even you wouldn't make that mistake again."
Hermione bites her lip, a horrible habit but one that somehow makes thinking easier. Should she tell Pansy? She will find out eventually but how wise would it be to tell her that Hermione will be spending all weekend interviewing –Pansy's ex-fiancée, who just turned his back and left after the whole heartbreaking disaster? There was no denying that Draco had done wrong.
However she had too and so had Pansy; but he was the one who left. He turned his back on both of them. But they had all done wrong. All four, five, hell all six of them had done wrong in the course of their relationships with each other. It was never a conceivable option that after the war Hermione and Ron would be the first to call it quits. Especially they way they had, their relationship ended first, it ended badly, and it left heartbreak and resentment on both ends. Even after five years they were barely on speaking terms. Just as odd was the fact that Harry left Ginny. And certainly no one expected Pansy and Harry to put the broken pieces of each other back together again. Suffice it to say that seven years after the end of the war, the world was upside down, but it worked out in a good way. Hermione was happy most of the time. "Hermione?" Pansy calls out again. "Do I need to do a reviving spell?"
"What? No. Of course not. Sorry, I was just-"
"Daydreaming about the stud you get to spend all weekend with?"
"Stud? Honestly, Pans, you need to stop reading that trash."
"Yes, well, I am a bored pregnant woman with raging hormones and my husband is a busy fucking Auror so I take what I can get. Anyway no more stalling. Who is it?" Hermione realizes she can no longer stall and gives in to the inevitable; she has to tell Pansy. She takes a deep breath and comes clean.
"Malfoy."
And in three, two, one.
Hermione visibly braces herself. She is ready, ready for anything Pansy might say or thinkor even do. Instead all Hermoine receivs is silence, and an almost unreadable expression on her friend's face.
"Your ex." Hermione pushes It will come, it has to come, Hermione thinks as she waits. Moments pass and silence still hangs in the air but Pansy's expression changs. It becomes familiar:sharp eyes, tight lip, and furrowed can see the plans Pansy is forming all too clearly. Her worst fears are confirmed when the silence is broken with an airy "That's ancient history."
"You were engaged. You were in love with him, planning to spend your futures together." How can she not care?
"And now we're not. I love Harry. Harry and I will spend our futures together." Hermione nods. How can she not agree? After all, she knows how happy Pansy and Harry are together, but does Pansy honestly not care? How can she not care? "Besides, I don't think we ever really would have worked out," Pansy continus. "Draco is far too type A. He thinks too much, hides even more. And has absolutely no idea of the world around him. I need space freedo-"
"Someone to bow down to your every whim and tell you how beautiful you are." Hermione mumbles, as Pansy begins an all too familiar tirade that Hermione once knew by heart.
"You know, if anyone were to listen to our conversation, they would never know how close we truly are."
"Thank god there are no secret lurkers in my flat to misjudge the nature of our friendship."
"Exactly. Now…" Pansy waddles over and begins rummaging through Hermione's closet before she stands triumphant. "I think you should wear this."
"What?" Hermione's eyebrows shoot up straight to her hairline. The thing (it couldn't be called a shirt: there was far too little fabric to even be a decent scarf) had only been on Hermione's body once, and it had not been on her body for very long, either. To make a long (and rather embarrasing) story shot: the shirt was completely inappropriate.
"You are going to Paris in August. It will be hot and rainy and you will need something and someone to cool you down at night." Hermione groans. This is the second very obvious allusion to the fact that Pansy believes that Hermione needs to be laid. It is even worse since now she has the idea that Pansy is promoting the idea that Draco be the one to do so.
"I am going to interview Draco. I hardly think I will have time to-"
"You will be there for a weekend. I'm sure you can find someone. Maybe you won't even have to look that far." Yes, Hermione decides, Pansy is definitely rooting for her to shag Draco.
"Are you seriously suggesting Draco? Do you even remember what it was like? We fought all the time. Even when you both lived with me. We hated each other, that was why the two of you left in the first place." It was true. They certainly did hate each other then,and later on... Well later on it sometimes felt like the hate was an inside joke. The words were no longer meant, they simply existed as a code between the two of them.
But that didn't matter.
It doesn't matter.
It was a long time ago. A very long time ago. And he left!
"He just does it to get a rise out of you." Pansy states.
"Really. And here I thought he did it because he is a self centered arse."
"He is, but so are you." With that Pansy raises her wand, mumbles some spell, and clothing flies into the open bag which then closes itself up. "There you go. Your portkey leaves in five minutes. Wouldn't want you to be late, now." Pansy stands and smiles.
As Pansy turns to leave the room she looksback. Use of the word "turns" twice in a single sentence. Also, it is not clear which "she" you are referring to. She rubs her stomach, still smilingHer hand rubs her stomach absently, and Hermoine thinks she looks . like a woman who knows every happiness in life. "You know, even when Draco was with me he would look at you. I always knew, before… well before everything became complicated I thought for sure he would leave me for you. No matter what occurred later on, I knew, he knew and I think you knew that it was always you… I love you like a sister especially… well, especially after everything, but when the two of you would fight or talk, or even sit there in silence, there was something just so right about it… Just think about it. Think about him while you're over there. And you know you don't need it, but you have my permission."
Hermione opens her mouth to reply but Pansy is already out of the door. Of course I'll bloody think about him, Hermione says to herself.I have to write an article about the bastard.
~~
Later that night, Hermione sits outside on the promenade at the restaurant Draco chose and seriously contemplates killing the bastard. The restaurant in which she sits is a restaurant that she would have picked out for herself, one that not even Harry and Pansy would know to choose for her.
Somehow Draco knows..
She has read about this restaurant so many timesshe can barley believe she is actually there. Withinthese four walls the greatest minds came to dine, they smoked, drank and imagined worlds that were beautiful and haunting. This restaurant belongs to their ghosts, Hemmingway, Sarte, Appollinaire, de Beauvoir, Picasso and anyone who has ever read one of their novels or poems or plays or seen one of their It is, in short, the perfect restaurant for Hermione Granger, and it is extremely unfair that Draco would choose someplace so perfect for her, especially after three years without contact. As she allows the music of the French language to wash over her, and the champagne she drinks to calm her nerves, she considers everything Pansy said. She can't deny the truth in Pansy's words.. After all, she knew herself that there was more, at one point in time, to her relationship with Draco than the simple terms friends and enemies.
He was somehow the point that grounded her to the world. She never acknowledged it as such; and she certainly never mentioned it to him. Looking back she realizes they never actually spoke about anything, not about anything that mattered, not about anything that would acknowledge there was something there. They just had an understanding: Pansy came first. He loved her first, and Hermione loved her with all her heart, but the two of them somehow… they crossed a line without ever intending to; and now that Hermione knows Pansy had been aware of this thing, this invisible tension, between Hermione and Draco, she couldn't help but wonder if it somehow caused the initial estrangement between Pansy and Draco. Could she have been the catalyst for all the heartbreak her friend had experienced? But then. couldn't she be, by some twisted form of logic, responsible for all the joy Pansy now shares with her husband?. Maybe fate, an idea Hermione despises, truly does play a part in this. After all here she and Draco are,years later. She is and they are. Here she and Draco are, years later, what? About to have a civilized diner in what was, to Hermione's mind, one of the most romantic restaurants in the world? Maybe this is an opportunity for another chance?
"Hermione," Draco whispers, almost too low to be heard in the cacophony of sounds that surrounds them but to Hermione it is as loud as a cannon blasting, and she is immediately startled out of her musings. Draco is standing an arm length away. When was it that she lost her awareness of him? At one point he couldn't enter a room without her knowing.
"Draco." She smiles, and nods, it is almost impossible to say anything more because he looks… he looks like Draco, but so much better than she remembers. The soft lighting that comes through the windows and overhead make his hair appear finer, like spun gold and so soft. He is tan and lines surround his face and eyes. Happy lines, lines one treasures because they are the marks of good times. Days spent laughing; it seems as if Draco has finally lost the stick that was up his arse.
"You're beautiful." The words hang in the air, and Hermione almost thinks they escaped from her lips, only she quickly notes the almost too-quick-to-miss blush that stains his cheeks. His words unhinge her for a second because she isn't. She knows she isn't a classic beauty, and she knows she is certainly nowhere in the same universe as he, yet they are thoughtful words and she will cherish them later.
Right now she needs to dismiss them. Tonight is not about finding lost loves, it is an assignment. Professional. For all she knows, his happy lines could be caused by some French witch who had the IQ of a jellyfish.
"Not trying to butter me up so I write a beaming interview, are you?" When did he sit?
"Now, why would I ever think you would stoop so low as to write something nice about me?"He smiles, and folds the napkin on his lap. Always the aristocrat.
"Well, we wouldn't want that. Malfoy's don't stoop, after all." Hermione takes a rather large sipof her champagne. The sounds that surrounded her before are now a faint buzzing. If she didn't know better, she would swear that the world had just turned back three years. Nothing has changed between them, after all this time, the conversation still came easily, his presence still soothed and irritated her.
"Quite right. I am glad you remembered."Another smile. Hadhe always smiled so much?
And before she can think back to remember, the smile dies on his lips. Because thinking back, remembering, brings back everything. Memories of blood, , tense silences, wants, frustrations. Memories of Pansy's tears. Of hurt words. Of almost realized dreams. Of lost innocence.
"I remember," she whispers softly and something changes in Draco's eyes. For a moment they are so soft, so hypnotizing, that all Hermione can do is stare back.
You know, even when he was with me he would look at you
Then, as suddenly as it came, the moment leaves them. His eyes turn back to that indifferent gray and for a second Hermione doubts that anything had even occurred. Until of course her hand reaches for the glass of champagne and almost drops it., Her hands are shaking, she notes.
Draco politely, always politely, ignores her error, "How's Potter?" he asks.
"Well. He and Pansy are both good." She's pregnant, the thought looms, but she can't bring herself to say it. No more memories tonight. Business. Just business.
Draco smiles and nods, and silence fills the space between them. Hermione waits, for what she doesn't know. She should begin the interview, but that would change this. Whatever this is. Maybe he is being polite, being here with her, maybe she should just get it over and done with so he can go back to whoever he is seeing at the moment.
"Aren't you going to ask about the Weasel?" Draco asks, and appraises her, probably noting with accuracy the shock and confusion that flashes briefly across her face. Why is she like this, she is never this unfocused.
"No. I talked to Ron just last night; some of us have the ability to keep in contact with our friends." Lies all lies. I haven't talked to him since Christmas; even then it was a hello and goodbye.
"Potter was never a friend of mine." Draco's face suddenly changes to the impenetrable mask Pansy was trying to imitate earlier, only there are no cracks in his; only cold steel gray eyes.
"Then why ask about him?" Hermione questions, her voice tainted with disapproval and disappointment.
"Civil conversation Granger. Even someone as lowly as you should possess simple manners." And there is the Draco we all know and love.
"Hello, Lucius, nice to see you again. Here I thought you were rotting away in Azkaban." Her tone is light, but her eyes burn through his and she cannot stop the smirk that appears when he flinches.
"Witty retort Granger, comparing me to my father. I wonder what will happen if you print that in your interview. Insulting a beloved Quidditch star. What will the fans say?"
A triumphant smile crossed her lips. "I merely compared you to your father. You're the one who took it as an insult." Hermione lifts her finger to tap it against her mouth and Draco's eyes have no choice but to follow , "Although it's strange you just jumping to conclusions about that." Draco opens his mouth. Once. Twice. Then shuts it again. Before he can think of a suitable retort the waiter appears at their table to take the order. Draco raises an eyebrow when Hermione orders in fluent French. Hermione rolls her eyes when he does the same. (It is only because of the arrogant smile which accompanies the order that make her want to kis- no slap. Yes definitely slap it off his face.)
The waiter leaves and neither breaks the ice. Hermione chews on her lip and traces her finger around the edge of the flute, coaxing a delicate ringing sound from the glass. Draco watches her finger tracing, her mouth. As her finger is not tracing her mouth, Draco's gaze needs to shift from her finger, upward, or to her face. The bottom lip is trapped by her teeth. He sits and watches and waits. His fingers tap on his right thigh, a steady percussion rythym that comes naturally.
It is, Hermione notes, the same rhythm he always taps. The rhythm he taps at dinner parties when he believes the person he is speaking to is below his intelligence, during a movie in which the dialogue bores him, while he read, while he watched her cook, when he would just sit. Every time he has some unused energy it concentrates in the moving of his damned fingers. It was something just Draco, and she would recognize it anywhere. He tapped his fingers on his thigh while they waited for the healers to tell them how Pansy was doing. He tapped his fingers. Over and over again.
It is all she can hear. She can hear it over the jazz that plays softly. Over the whispering conversations between lovers. Over the arguments, the laughter, the waiters taking orders. All she can hear is that damned tapping.
"Will. You. Please. Just. Stop." Hermione grunts out every syllable.
Draco pauses for a second, confused, then amused and immediately resumes his activity.
"I don't think I will. Free country and everything." His demeanor changes and he is back to the prick that loves to make her life a living hell. In other words, he is completely at ease.
"Malfoy,"she hears herself growl.
"Granger." He smiles. What is up with all the smiling? Why is he so relaxed? Why aren't a thousand questions running through his brain? Why is he not at all affected? As each question forms in her mind, and the damned tapping continues, Hermione feels something inside of her just snap.
"Let's just get this over with shall we?" she asks in a trained, formal voice.
"Fine by me. As if I want to be in your presence any longer." His hands stop tapping, everything is very still for a second. He has the nerve to be angry with her? Fine.
"Fine. How do you fe-" Hermione begins, but Draco interrupts.
"I feel grateful that our team has the opportunity to play for the World Cup. After all, it has been far too long since it has been in its rightful place, home in England. I think our prospects are good, amazing if the Weasel doesn't mess it up and plays to his normal standard. Yes, you may print him as weasel, since he is equally adamant in referring to me as ferret. A reference which I am sure your readers are most likely familiar with by now. No, I do not think that our brooms will give us an unfair advantage. After all, the broom doesn't really matter if the person riding it has no skill. I think our team could still have a definite shot even if we played on the old Nimbus 2000. Let's see. What other questions will you ask? There is no one special in my life right now. Yes, it is horribly sad that my father will not be there to see me play and win the cup but my mother will be, and she will most likely embarrass me with the amount of cheering she does. Oh, and I doubt you would ask because you have a little more sense than that, but the earlier tension between me and one particular teammate has long since ceased to be an issue and although there are tense dynamics, from time to time, that is life and our team is strong and will come through victorious." Draco finishes, leans back, and takes a sip from his glass and smiles at Hermione. "Is there anything I missed?"
His eyes are hard, but dancing with victory. He touched on every question she was about to ask and made follow up on quite a few of them impossible. All she has now is the exact same story every other magazine will have, and that is not what she was sent for. She needs him, an exclusive on Draco Malfoy the seeker, not on the Chudley Cannons as a whole.
Hermione closes her eyes and breathes in deep. Draco watches her, happy she is losing control. Happy, victorious, he needs to engage her tonight. He needs her to be there with him, in the battle. He needs her to remember and forget at the same time, and the only way to do that with this infuriating witch is to fight with her and make her fight back. As she opens her eyes and he sees the normal soft brown eyes alight with anger and determination, he knows he is halfway there.
"Well, since this is an exclusive on you, perhaps you will allow my readers to know more about you," she basically spits at him.
"Why not?" Draco leans forward and waits.
"Favorite color?"
"Green."
"Favourite number?"
"Mine." Hermione rolls her eyes.
"Sunrise or sunset?"
Draco sighs and leans back. "Is there a point to this?"
"Well, since you took away all my questions." She doesn't want to leave.
"You said you wanted to get out of here."
"Our food still hasn't arrived." She's stalling, and suddenly Draco is very interested in this silly little game.
"Fine, play your game. Sunrise." Draco answers but they both notice the slight smile on his face.
"Know it all or have it all?"
"Have it all."
"Don't you already?" She smirks, his smirk, and he almost finds himself reaching across the table to kiss it off of her face.
"Not everything."
There, that's where it begins again. When they look back in time, Hermione wants to remember that one second, because that is when everything changed. And somehow right now, she knows enough to let it rest before diving into the next question with a renewed sense of urgency.
"Go back in time or forward?"
"Forward."
"Forgotten or hatefully remembered?"
"Forgotten."
"Blonde, red-head or brunette?" Another smirk, another desire to kiss.
"No preference." Only you.
"Drink of choice?"
"Firewhiskey."
"Biggest accomplishment?"
"Hasn't happened yet." Making you mine.
"Favorite place?"
"On a broomstick." Wherever you are.
"Biggest regret?"
"You."
Draco's eyes immediately open. He hadn't meant to say that. A fierce desire to take the words away eats away at him.
"What I mean. I mea-"At that precise moment the waiter comes and places the food in front of them. It is the absolute wrong time, in Draco's opinion. The waiter refills their glasses then leaves. Hermione immediately begins to eat and Draco follows her example. Or at least he would, if the food wasn't hot enough to scald his tongue. Still, he watches as Hermione completely ignores his presence and stares at the plate, her sole focus the food that she delicately raises to her mouth; and he tries to think of a way to make this right.
It was three years ago. His biggest regret, Draco took an offer and ran. He ran away from a broken relationship, from a lost child. A child… a child that he had hated since its conception. He always knew he and Pansy were better friends. At one point, they might have been more but so much changed. The war happened, Potter saved his damned life, and something happened between Pansy and Hermione to bond them forever. Something that neither would talk about. Thus the famous trio added two members, three if you count the Weaselette but no one ever does anyway, and everything changed.
But he never walked away from Hermione. Never from her.
It was just he knew. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that her loyalties lay with Pansy. She would never give them a chance. Never.
Pansy was forgiven all her sins on that one fateful night. Draco still doubts that Hermione ever forgives him for his past. Maybe it still factors in now. His own thoughts have changed, they changed the second Voldemort invaded his family's estate and showed him what evil truly was. He couldn't be a part of that life. It was, ironically, the invasion that taught him the truth Dumbledore never could: all blood bled red. It was just blood, the same as his.
Hermione was no different than he.
Still, he hated her in the beginning, but he tried because Pans was head over heels in love with the girl. He still saw her as nobler than thou Granger, (even if she had the balls to stand up to his aunt) but he tried for Pans. Then he tried because she was smart. Then they fought to entertain. Then they fought for an excuse to talk. Then… then they needed to fight or at least he did because to not fight her would certainly result in snogging her and he couldn't do that with a fiancée and child on the way.
Draco was lifted out of his musings as Hermione's fork clattered in the dish.
"Dessert?" He asks and she shakes her head. He signals for a waiter and looks at his untouched plate with a heavy sigh., Good food gone to waste. What a pity.
Maybe it was too late, he thought with a sigh. Too late for her to forgive him his past. When he came here tonight, it had been his hope that time would have made things easier. Pans was happy enough with Potter, and maybe Hermione could accept a future for the two of them; they could finally just be Draco and wouldn't be a betrayal now, it would just be them, the way it could be, the way it should have been before.
Neither talk. Draco stands, offers Hermione his hand which she ignores. They walk side by side, and somewhere inside of him he knows this is it. This is the moment where he will lose her for the second and last time. She opens her mouth, and before he knows what he is doing words rush out of his mouth. "Let me walk you to your hotel?"
~~
Draco's suggestion paralyzes Hermione for a second she opens her mouth to answer but words fail her and she is only able to shrug and indicate the way to her hotel. It is a shame, she thinks, that the atmosphere of Paris in the summer is wasted on them. True, it is a bit too hot, but the breeze is cool, the moon is full, and the distant sounds of jazz are never far from their ears. It is decidedly romantic even for Hermione, who Ron once joked would need to be slapped twice and very hard in the face to even notice a romantic moment when it was occurring. Well, I'm noticing now, Ron, she thinks.
Silence follows them back to the hotel. However, it is a special sort of silence, this silence they share. She always had the urge to lay her head on his shoulder or his lap when the two of them would sit side by side. Pansy, who is never able to sit still for a moment, would be off in the corner cleaning, or sewing, humming about and the two of them would sit. Reading or writing, but the useful activities never lasted long enough, and after five minutes Hermione would be driven to distraction, imagining what it would feel like to be so close to him. Being surrounded by his smell. Feeling his body underneath hers.
She was always so strong, so independent, fighting for everything she had, but sometimes in those quiet moments, all she wanted to do was lie against him and let him protect her. Sometimes she would sit there for hours fighting the urge. Other times, most times, Pansy would come back into the room and Hermione would feel a wave of guilt wash over her, and hate herself for imagining those things.
They arrive at her hotel far too fast for Hermione and she takes one last glance at Draco. His eyes are focused only on her and she lets herself for one second think that she is wanted. That he could really, truly want her. That maybe this can be a second chance for them both.
And you know you don't need it but you have my permission.
She smiles slightly, and he still watches her. His look is so intense she shakes a little. Say something she urges, not quite sure who she is talking to.
"Thank you for meeting me tonight, Draco." She holds out her hand, and he takes it. His hands are rougher than she remembers. Harder, everything is different, she thinks, but maybe better. This time there is no girlfriend. No ex. No baby. Just Hermione and Draco.
Her hand is still in his, and his hand is warmer than any hand has a right to be, the heat travels everywhere and maybe Pansy was right maybe she really does need to get laid if a simple hand does this much to her. Or maybe it's just him. Maybe… Oh god, her thoughts are running in every direction and the bastard has yet to say one thing, he is just staring. Maybe he is waiting for her to release her hand. Oh god he is, isn't he?
Immediately Hermione pulls her hand away and blushes. Still no response. What the hell is going through his thick head?
"Good luck Draco." Hermione walks away, berating herself in her head. Suddenly as she reaches the door, she hears his voice call out.
"Hermione?"
"Yes?" Hermione turns around and is looking into his eyes again. He is so much closer than she remembers.
"Would it have mattered?" he breathes.
"What?" Would what have mattered?
"If I had asked you to come with me. Would it have mattered?" His voice is shaky, and she tries to think, her throat is dry. Three years ago? Three years ago, no, it wouldn't have mattered. She would have stayed with Pansy, no matter what.
She must not have realized she was shaking her head but Draco was now holding her face in his hands steadying her. His nose almost touching hers. His eyes looking through her. His thumb wiped the tear that fell from her eye. When had she started to cry?
"What about now? Is it too late now?" His words… His words tear at her. She has never known Draco Malfoy to ever be so raw; so exposed. What can she say? What does he mean? Does he want her to leave with him? Stay with him? Be with him? Too late… everything seems too late, but it is still here, still right in front of them after all this time. She must have spoken her thoughts out loud because he is smiling and speaking, and suddenly his lips descend upon hers. And then there is no conscious thought.
She wakes the next morning still reliving that kiss.
As she writes her article, she replays every moment from the night before.
As she climbs the stairs to her seat in the stadium, she remembers.
When Draco's hand finally captures the golden snitch after a long 17 hours of playing, she proves him wrong. His mother is not the person in the stands cheering him on the loudest. Hermione is.
Her whole heart bursts with pride and joy for him. And suddenly, in that moment of chaos when everything erupts into a million explosions, she is still and quiet. Acceptance washes over her.
And you know you don't need it but you have my permission.
He flies to the stadium and catches her eye. And she smiles at him.
One night.
One kiss.
Three years.
Fourteen years.
It wasn't sudden.
And it isn't too late.