Summary: Hermione prepares for a date, but her heart is somewhere else. One-shot. HGDM
Disclaimer: I own nothing, obviously. All characters are JK Rowling's. Final line belongs to Ingrid Michaelson.
Note: This is slightly AU in that I just ignored the Epilogue. Because, who likes the Epilogue anyway? This story is based on Ingrid Michaelson's "I'm Through" because it's gorgeous and pulls at my heartstrings. I highly recommend giving it a listen.
The clock read 6:49 in the evening.
Hermione heaved a sigh as she zipped up her skirt and tucked in her blouse. She attempted to smooth the nest of curls piled on her head to no avail; she swept and clipped it away from her face in compromise, soft tendrils freeing themselves anyway. Light makeup was the most she could manage.
These things didn't plague her with anxiety any longer…a date. They were just dates. She approached them all with the same apathy, because all men were the same. All men except for him.
"Can you help me, please?" She turned away from him, exposing her bare back as she struggled to zip the dress. It was a beautiful dress – soft, lavender lace with a nude underlay. It flattered her bare shoulders and collarbone and hugged her curves.
He smirked as he slid up behind her, his hands grazing her hips as he trailed them up her back. "My pleasure," he whispered into her ear, tugging the zipper and trailing kisses along her neck. Hermione blushed and let out a giggle.
"YOU are distracting me!" She accused, turning around to face him, laughter in her eyes. "We're going to be late." He took her face in his hands, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb.
"You are beautiful," he murmured. His eyes never left her face. Hungrily, he leaned in and smothered her lips with his own. In a matter of moments her determination had dissolved, and she was kissing him back with equal force. With him, kissing was perfect. It was as if they had memorized each other's lips; they moved against each other rhythmically, always perfectly in time.
Reality set in, and she pulled away breathlessly. "Draco!"
He chuckled guiltlessly. "We could always skip the ball-"
"You know that's not an option," she chided.
He sighed, tucking a strand of curls behind her ear. "I want you all to myself."
Hermione awoke from her trance when she heard a knock at the door. She hastily grabbed her bag and shrugged on her coat, trying to shake him out of her mind.
When she opened the front door, Ron was waiting with flowers – peonies, bright and happy. Explosive, almost. Hermione bit her lip.
"Hey 'Mione – for you," Ron greeted her shyly, handing her the bouquet with caution. She smiled.
"They're beautiful. Thank you," she said warmly. "Why don't you come in for a moment?" she led him into the apartment and wandered into the kitchen to find a vase. Music was still tinkling from the bedroom where she had been dressing for the evening.
Ron paced nervously as she filled the vase with water and placed the flowers inside.
Hermione broke the silence. "I was expecting you to floo," she offered.
"Yes, well, I thought I'd go a bit rustic tonight. Do it the muggle way," he grinned. "Besides, we're going to a muggle restaurant…might as well prepare myself!"
Ron was sweet. He was a passionate (hot-tempered), loving person. She knew he was trying very hard – to show he had changed, to show he cared about her and her world. It would be unkind to not humour him. Instead of wincing with dread, she forced a cheerful smile.
"Oh really? Lovely. I'm looking forward to it."
"You look beautiful tonight, Hermione," he said earnestly. Keep smiling.
"Well, thank you. Shall we go?"
. . .
"I'll have the caprese salad, please." Hermione folded her menu and smiled gently at the waiter.
"Er, I would like the…penne quatt-ro for-ma-ggi," Ron stumbled awkwardly through the pronunciation, deep in concentration. The waiter shot Hermione a fleeting look of pity before nodding her head and slipping away.
And they were alone once again.
"So…how's work?" He asked brightly. "You finally getting adjusted?" Hermione had transferred to a post at the Muggle Liaison Office six months prior. She had tried to continue working in the Magical Law Enforcement Office; it was too difficult.
"Great – it's going great," she replied. "I suppose it's about time they actually hired someone with a connection to the muggle world. I feel useful."
Hermione honestly didn't mind her new job. Her colleagues were amicable, and she was highly competent in the role; however, she found herself quickly bored with it. Everything came too easily to her. There were no challenges to overcome.
"This is absolutely bullocks, Malfoy, and you know it!" she cried, exasperated. "I've been working on this case for THREE weeks and have found nearly enough evidence to bring it forward to the Wizengamot. I just need-"
"Deadlines are deadlines, Granger," he replied smoothly, as he closed the door to his office – others were beginning to get curious. "Shacklebolt wants someone on the case that is competent enough to close it. Who better than me?" She wanted to slap the sickening smug clean off his face.
"You're insufferable," she hissed, tossing her files unceremoniously on the desk. "What makes you think YOU'RE more competent than I am? Aren't you forgetting the MacKinnon case you botched last month? Only an idiot would have forgotten to check the status of the wards-"
"How dare you," he spat venomously. "I did NOT forget about the wards, I had no idea he left them open to Parks, a mistake which anyone could have made-"
"Not me." She stood toe-to-toe with him, her anger rising still. "It was a careless error. At least I am thorough in my work – I'm keeping this case and you're not going to stop me." He moved as if to attempt to grab the files from the desk, but he did not. Hermione never could have predicted his next move.
Without fully understanding how, she found herself pinned against the wall under his firm grip. And he was kissing her – hard. As her body went limp, his hands roamed over it hungrily. She was shocked, dizzy with confusion, and when she finally had the strength to push him away –
"What the hell was that?" she gasped, wiping her mouth in complete bewilderment.
He rolled his eyes, but she could see that he was still brimming with lust. "Must you question everything?" he retorted as he leaned in once more. This time, she was expecting it.
This time, her body responded. She kissed him back; let his hands wander with abandon.
She didn't give herself the chance to assess her own sanity until it was all over.
He lowered himself into his chair still panting, his top buttons not yet fastened. Hermione pressed out the last ruffles in her skirt before grabbing the files and looking him square in the eye.
"The case is still mine," she stated crisply, before letting herself out.
She had even surprised herself, really. But that didn't stop her from going back to him again. And again.
The waiter was a saint, really – before the conversation became incredibly uncomfortable (Ron had been nervously chattering about Harry and Ginny's recent pregnancy announcement), she arrived at the table with the entrees. Hermione thanked Merlin that Ron had the tendency to prioritize food above all else. He didn't fail her; before she had a chance to lift her fork, his mouth was full of cheesy sauce.
Soon after, his collar was spattered with cheesy sauce.
She could grow to find this charming again. Hermione liked to take care of people. She was good at it. Ron needed someone to fill the role of mother and wife. He barely knew how to dress himself. Thankfully, this evening he had taken Hermione's persistent advice and wore a simple blue jumper and jeans. He did have an annoying habit of embarrassing himself in the muggle world. But then, they all did.
A sliver of blonde hair flashed before her in the front window of the restaurant and she felt her heart catch in her throat.
It's a muggle, she chastised herself. Pull it together. The muggle man knelt down to scoop up his small daughter and hurried away.
Hermione idly wondered if she was setting unfair expectations for every man that wasn't him. She had never expected to fall so easily…so deeply. Every preconceived notion she ever had was launched out the window when she opened her heart to him.
Soon enough, it hadn't been a secret. It was difficult to mend the relationships the revelation had strained. Things were already complicated with Ron – the two had tried to make it work after the war, but the passion was fleeting. They reverted to bickering and fighting and Hermione grew exhausted.
Would life with Ron turn sour again? Would she risk heartbreak again? Things were different now. A switch inside Hermione flickered off some time ago, and she knew she would never be the same.
There had been lust. Passion. Love, even.
Yet everything was lidded with darkness. She awoke to his screams at night, both of them soaked in his sweat. Memories of his father, his aunt…the hollow look in Hermione's eyes, as she was tortured under his own roof…
"You were looking for me?" she asked softly.
He looked different, stiff. He was distant – his mind seemed somewhere else.
"I've done a lot of thinking. Done some…assessing of my life. My needs have changed," he said steadily.
She stared at him. "I don't understand what you're saying."
"I'm saying this…arrangement has run its course. More important things require my attention." He slowly met her gaze with determination. If she hadn't always been so attentive to detail, she might have missed the flicker of pain in his eyes.
"Draco…what brought this on? Let's talk about it. You don't know what you're say-"
"You stupid woman!" he snarled. "I know exactly what I'm saying. My father may not have been right about everything, but he always knew what was best for me. War is war, but I am still a Malfoy and I have plans to uphold the honour of my name. You – you're beneath me."
"You're trying to push me away – I know you are. Draco, I can help you. I understand." She moved toward him. Her soft hand grazed his cheek delicately, her eyes searching his. He only returned daggers.
"I am my father's son," he said evenly, through gritted teeth. "I always will be. There is no place for you in my life."
He never apologized. They did not exchange a single word once she left his office for the last time.
Ron cleared his throat.
"Listen. 'Mione…I know that we have a past," he began. "We've hit some rough patches, but we have always stayed close. So much has changed since Hogwarts –we've all become totally different people."
She nodded, encouraging him to continue.
"I think we both needed time to grow after Hogwarts – to find ourselves. Make…er, mistakes."
Hermione held her breath. She knew to what, or rather whom Ron was referring.
"I know what I want now," he continued. "Hermione, you have always been one of my best friends, but you are so much more than that. You're beautiful, kind…absolutely brilliant," he chuckled. "I love spending time with you."
"Well thank you, Ronald," she replied softly after a pause.
"I want to take this to the next level – that is, if you're ready…and willing. I want you to be my girlfriend."
He eyed her carefully, waiting for her response.
Hermione had two choices: ignore it, run away and resign to a lifetime of loneliness; or, say yes, knowing that life would always be a little less satisfying than she hoped. Knowing that she was never going to get her fairytale ending. Knowing that she would never be hopelessly in love with Ron, and that he would always care more.
It wasn't about moving on. Hermione knew that moving on would never be an option. She could only try her hardest to ease the pain.
"Okay," she said, nodding. Ron exhaled with relief. He signed the check, stood to help Hermione with her coat, and kissed her gently on the cheek.
Hermione did her best to ignore the dull ache in the back of her heart.
"Let's walk you back to your flat? It's a beautiful night." The two figures disappeared into the night, their arms linked, and the snow falling softly around them.
. . .
The 24th of January: the anniversary of his mother's death. Draco sat hunched in an armchair, alone in the dimly lit library of Malfoy Manor. Both of his parents had passed; the estate now belonged to him. He stared listlessly out the window, watching the snow steadily accumulate across the gardens. A journal lay open in front of him.
Draco had been writing his story since the end of the war. Every vulnerable detail lay in the pages of the journal – every detail dissected, and not a single one omitted.
Writing usually made the dreams worse. Memories and reflections came to him at night and plagued him with guilt and terror.
But it was the only way he could explain himself; clear his conscience. It was the only way to make himself feel…less evil.
No matter what, there was no way around it. His soul was cursed. The lives his family took, the prejudices held firmly in his family history – he was doomed before birth. No amount of light in his life could banish the darkness.
It was silly, really, that other women even attempted to compete with her beauty. She was, quite literally, the belle of the ball. The lace dress outlined her delicate shoulders, the colour lit up her features, and her face was positively glowing. He watched her sip the remains of her champagne and set the flute down, spinning and giggling gleefully on the dance floor. He stood there, drinking in her beauty and joy. He was less self-conscious now; others were finally beginning to understand their relationship as they became more comfortable in public.
He was completely and utterly smitten.
He couldn't keep himself from smiling around her. Her beauty continued to awe him as she playfully dragged him to the floor, laughing and dancing. She was happy…she was perfect. She was free.
Hermione was free. She was meant to be that way – untamed, free from restrictions and restraints. She fought her way to equality by achieving excellence in every aspect of her life. It was impossible not to have admiration for her intelligence and dedication.
"We'll need his wand – it's the only way we'll be able to know whether or not he cast the Imperius curse."
"And how do you suppose we locate his wand? I hardly think he'll come waltzing into the Ministry to have an appointment with us. He knows the aurors have been watching him – he knows he's a suspect," she snapped, sitting on the edge of his desk.
He nodded "Fair." She rolled her eyes.
"I still cannot believe it's necessary for you to directly supervise this case," she complained. "I'd have a lot more done by now if you would quit making obvious and unrealistic observations."
Draco shrugged his shoulders. "It's my job to irritate you."
He loved watching the flush of anger rise to her cheeks – it made him crazy. He grabbed her face and kissed her roughly. In a matter of seconds he could feel her anger project itself into a different kind of passion.
Seven months had passed, and he could still feel his lips burning, his skin tingling from her touch. She made him feel weak; she made him feel raw. She ignited feelings and emotions inside of him that he never knew he had.
It was singlehandedly the most terrifying, yet most fulfilling relationship of his life.
But he didn't deserve her.
Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy was beyond help. No holy power could save him from the damnation that he so rightly deserved. Sure, he was intelligent and capable and the ministry was smart enough to look past politics and give him a second chance. The public was not so willing.
When the truth came out, Hermione faced wrath – she faced outrage. Mrs. Weasley sent her a Howler every Monday for five weeks. Draco was ignored.
He received a single handwritten letter from his father in Azkaban, two months before his death.
Draco,
You might be surprised to know that "gossip" still travels within the walls of Azkaban. I can only hope my sources are mistaken.
Our family suffered at the hands of this war, it is true.
You are a Malfoy – do not forget it. A destiny awaits you that you cannot change. We may have to tame our "public" views for the sake of appeasement, but I expect you to uphold the family honor.
Do not run away from who you are.
Lucius
It was then that he realized that everything and nothing had changed. No matter his actions, whether or not he agreed with his father's ludicrous notions, the wizarding world would forever see the evil buried in his heart. Lucius would never change his views.
His heart ached to touch her again. He longed to gaze into her amber-flecked eyes and never look away for as long as he lived. Surely nothing could be more perfect.
"The first time I felt alive again…" he murmured out loud, writing along in his journal. It was the morning he awoke at her flat for the first time.
The brightness of the room was nearly blinding – he wondered how she managed to sleep so late without drawing the curtains. He rolled over slowly to make sure she was still there…that he was not dreaming.
And there she was, tangled in the sheets beside him, her curls strewn across both pillows and her chest heaving softly. The faintest smile played across her lips.
Her beauty was ethereal; in this moment he could swear she was an angel.
He watched her lying there until watching just wasn't enough. He had to touch her, hold her. Take in her scent.
She awoke and chuckled softly when she felt his hands upon her face and his lips upon her own.
They spent the entire morning locked in this embrace, and he swore to himself that he would never forget this moment.
And he never did. It always came back to haunt him when he was alone. The manor was cold, empty, and unfriendly. He felt surrounded by harshness, and he was beyond repair or escape.
He could not surround her with this life. He could not envelop her in his doom.
It was his duty to bear it alone.
So he did the only thing that he knew how to do: he pushed her away. It was, in his mind, his most selfless act. He saved her pure soul.
Draco left the ministry to start his own private consulting firm. He couldn't bear to be around her anymore, even from a distance. It was suffocating to watch her, to want her with every fibre of his being.
She would always be perfection. He could not be the one to ruin her.
Draco sighed wistfully, succumbing to the painful squeezing of his heart. He hurled his tumbler glass across the room and watched it shatter into a thousand shards.
"I'll always know you were the one to rip me from the ground."
The End. My first submission so I am nervous! Thoughts? I am obsessed with DMHG pairing, but find sometimes that their tragedies feel more realistic. Please feel free to review with full honesty :) Thanks!