Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything thus affiliated and am making no money from this work.
A/N: Much thanks to Sam for the beta work. This is a companion piece to "I Wish You Love", and is based on the song of the same name. I recommend watching Michael Bublé's version on youtube.
"Please."
Your whispered plea is so broken as you move over her, hips undulating together under the thin sheet that has pooled at the top of your thighs. You don't know if she understands what you're asking of her, what you're willing to give up for her. She keeps her legs locked around you, pulling you closer with each slow thrust and helping you to stoke the embers into flames.
Her response is breathed so softly you nearly miss it but for the notice you take of her mouth as it moves. "You know we can't, Draco. I wish so badly that we could, but we just can't."
You want to argue, but you see the tears gathering in her eyes, and you once swore to yourself that you would do your damned best to be sure you were never the cause of them again. So instead, you swallow your anger and your need to fight for her past the lump gathering in your throat and you continue to make love to her until she is gasping and crying and begging you for release. Still, you find yourself dragging it out, not willing to let this last time end so soon. It doesn't matter to you that it has already gone on for more than an hour; you want for it to never end. Finally, she screams your name as you take her over the edge, but you are relentless and ride her out until she has calmed and you can resume your steady pace within her.
o.O.o
You're known for your sneer. Not your smile, not a quirk of your lips, not your laugh, not any of these things that might mark you as a pleasant person to be around. People think of you as a bit of a bastard, really, and you do nothing to disabuse them of that notion. If anything, you encourage it at nearly every given opportunity – not because it's completely true, but because it keeps you relatively safe. It keeps those who would be close to you safe from what would happen to associates of yours.
When she starts paying attention to you, you think she is daft. The history between you is long and ugly, and you have a hard time wrapping your brain around what her reasoning could possibly be. So you respond as you always do. You make fun of the brown bush on her head. You insinuate that the only reason she is part of the "Golden Trio" is because the other two can't pass their classes without her. You make fun of her for using the spell you cast to fix her teeth. The only thing you won't do anymore is comment on her blood. You've spent the last summer at home getting acquainted with the look of Muggle blood, and you know it is no dirtier than your own. Before you finally take your leave of her, your eyes meet, and you know that she has noticed what you haven't said. You know that she knows something has changed in you, and it feels like the hardest thing you've ever done to tear your eyes away from hers.
Months are passing, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to keep up your façade. It crumbles altogether when you find yourself alone with Granger quite by accident while on your way out toward the Quidditch pitch. You've been itching for a good spin on your broom to get some of that adrenaline high into your body, and you hadn't expected anyone else to be out there so close to curfew. Yet, there she is in all of her bookish glory, surrounded by parchment on the grass near the stadium stairs. Before you are able to rethink you plan, she hears your feet shuffling on the grass and blinks up at you, stopping you in your tracks. Even though you know you should say something to her, preferably scathing, you find yourself locked into silence as surely as your eyes are locked onto hers. With an almost imperceptible tilt of her head, she lazily flicks her wand and an empty space appears next to her where her various scrolls and essays had been vying for her attention. The invitation is clear and your body moves without being told, settling cross-legged next to a girl who has been a bane of sorts to your existence for the last five or six years. She takes your hand and holds it with both of hers as she leans her head on your shoulder. All you can seem to do in return is squeeze her warm palm with yours and rest your own cheek on her surprisingly soft hair. It's the first time a real smile has graced your face in too long to remember.
From there, things grow. You find yourselves alone more and more often, and for a long while that time is spent in silence. After that first time, the touching increases but remains chaste. You notice yourself craving the comfort she seems so willing to give and gladly let her take comfort from you in return. When you're with her, you don't need to worry about what is expected of you or the fact that you can't sleep or eat well anymore. All you do is focus on holding her and letting her make you smile until one day toward the end of winter, she looks up at you and her lips part ever-so-slightly. Your hands are moving so slowly that you feel as though you are in a dream – first one and then the other cradling the sides of her face and neck as you pull her to you for a kiss.
Time passes by in a blur and you realize that the only time you can accurately recall is your time spent with her. Kisses turn to caresses, and caresses turn into making love. It's never fucking; you know that because you care far too much and are never willing to spend less than enough time to let her know it as well. And always, in the background, your lips form soft smiles so genuine that you can't make them stop.
When you finish the cabinet, you try to meet her just one last time to say goodbye. You know that you're acting strange and that you have to push her away so that maybe this will hurt her less than you know it is going to hurt you. She won't let you, pulling you close to make love one last time before you leave to be held accountable for the parents you were born to and the result of their poor decisions. While she doesn't know the reason why, she does seem to understand that this is the last time the two of you can be together for at least a long while. Your smile as you part is brittle but still true.
Even though it is nearly an entire year before you see each other again, your love has never felt more alive and you have never felt as helpless as you do while watching your mad aunt forcing Hermione's body to twist and bend in unnatural ways. When she disappears with the elf who brought you treats as a small child, you can't help but cry out. You are lucky when your family only sees it as your opportunity to please the man who has taken over your life and home being gone along with your piece of hawthorn, your only real weapon.
When you see her once more just weeks later, just as one of your best friends tries to kill her, you do your best to stop him. It almost isn't enough, but then she is safe, and all you can do is break down and wish that she would hold you once more. She leaves and the fight rages on and all you can do is try to survive until you can see her again, knowing that she passed you by and saw you begging Death Eaters for your life. After the final showdown, the dust settles and you manage to pry your mother off of you. It's then that you see her walking in your direction and you get up to follow her when she slips out a side door of the Hall. She seems to have disappeared as you wander the hallway until suddenly, hands come out of stone and pull you through the walls. Before you know it, her lips are on yours, and you can taste her tears on your tongue as hands grasp and pull at clothing, moving just enough to connect the two of you together. You can feel your cheeks lifting into a grin so wide that you know you look the fool but just can't bring yourself to care. And when you slide into her it feels like home, and you want to laugh and cry because this, this, this is where you belong and you hadn't even realized how empty you felt until you experience being whole again.
It's been nearly two years since the end of the war, and while people don't seem to think too badly of you anymore, they don't seem to think too highly of you either. You never fail to meet Granger when she asks, and she asks often enough that you don't have to. Still, things have been off, and you know that she is gearing herself up for something. "Something" that feels like your heart breaking.
o.O.o
It has been nearly four hours that you have nurtured the slow burn between the two of you, making her erupt into flames five times. She locks her eyes with yours and mouths the words "let go" to you because her voice is nearly gone at this point. Moving just a bit quicker, you reach down with one hand to rub the spot that makes stars burst behind her eyes and gasp your release into her shoulder. Her own follows seconds after and you gradually slow your fingers as her shuddering and twitching body begins to shy away from yours due to so much intense stimulation. Still buried within her warmth and surrounded by the feelings she cannot say, you give in to the desperate urge to tell her exactly what she has done to you.
"I love you. You will not leave me without knowing that for a fact, Hermione Granger. I love you and there is no force on this earth, no one living or dead, no spell or potion ever made that will change that."
Tears are slipping down her cheeks as she looks up at you, one hand on your face while she reaches up to brush her lips against yours one last time before turning around and walking away from you. Pausing as she opens the door, you see her tilt her head so that she can almost see you, but her words are lost to the wind rushing past outside. Then she turns once more and moves a few paces before twisting with a soft pop and Disapparating.
As she leaves, you feel your reason for smiling go with her. Any quirk of your lips feels hollow with her gone, and you know that you will never smile again, until you can smile at her.