Note: As stated in the summary this story was inspired by the Ed Sheeran song, "Perfect." It used to contain the lyrics in the body of the text (if you've read this before, you're not going crazy) However, I've been informed this was copyright infringement, so I've removed them. But might I suggest listening to the song as you read? Or before? Or after? I hope the inspiration will become clear :)
"You're perfect," he murmured, planting one last slow kiss on her lips, and then another upon her jaw as he rolled off of her.
He didn't move any further away than was strictly necessary. He would have happily remained inside of her. But he didn't want to crush her physically, or emotionally smother her, despite the fact that what they'd just done was- unequivocally- the best experience of his life.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and just took her in, hoping she wouldn't push him away, but prepared if she did. Even after months together this still seemed too good to be true. She met his gaze with a smile and he allowed himself the opportunity to study her. Her dark curls were splayed out across the pillow he slept on every night, her beautiful body ensconced in his sheets, her lips swollen from his kisses. She squirmed in his arms though she didn't try to get away from him.
"I'm a mess," she admitted, averting her eyes even as she brought a hand up and attempted to smooth her hair.
"Stop," he ordered, he could hardly bear his own self-hatred; her self-deprecation was intolerable. "You're the most exquisite thing I've ever seen."
Even in the low light of the room he could see how she blushed, but she cuddled into him instead of fleeing and his heart soared.
He used to think the reason he always noticed her was because she was an abomination, a proverbial train wreck he couldn't look away from. He knew better now. Of course, she did stand out, but she wasn't anathema, she was simply exceptional. And if she was dirty it wasn't because there was anything inferior about her blood or anything else about her really, but because their society, people like him, kept shoving her down in the mud. But she just kept getting back up. Which might have been the most extraordinary thing about her.
He'd almost been stopped in his tracks when he saw her at Hogwarts during the final battle, standing tall and proud and as fierce as ever. Barely two weeks before she'd been writhing in agony on the floor of the drawing room in his childhood home, on the verge of death. He'd seen seasoned Death Eaters- grown men twice her size, not to mention so-called impeccable pedigrees- succumb to less. He had been officially fascinated by her courage and resilience.
He didn't even bother to pretend he didn't scour The Prophet for her name in the weeks following the fall of the Dark Lord. Not that it actually took much work, the three friends who had been dubbed the Golden Trio were regularly plastered all over the pages of every publication in Wizarding Britain. She was beautiful, and so obviously uncomfortable with being photographed that on several occasions it had actually made him laugh out loud; before that he hadn't laughed in months. His humor was only tempered by the red-headed idiot always pictured by her side.
He was flabbergasted to see her at his trial; she and Potter had just shown up and volunteered to testify on his behalf. He wasn't particularly surprised by Potter who had a serious hero complex and who did owe his mother a life debt, but her? She had no reason to speak for him and every reason to hate him.
Weasley was conspicuous in his absence. Draco understood that the Weasel despised him and he couldn't have cared less about that, it was mutual. But he was disgusted that the other wizard would allow his girlfriend to come speak publicly about her brutal torture and not turn up to support her. She deserved better.
And, in large part thanks to her and Potter, he was only given probation and ordered to return to Hogwarts to complete his schooling. He knew that this was more about having him in the castle under the watchful eye of Minerva McGonagall than it was about any concern for his future. He didn't care. He had seen what just one year in Azkaban had done to his father, he would have done just about anything to avoid that.
After he was sentenced, for the first time in his life he swallowed his pride. He approached Potter and her and he thanked them for their testimony. He knew he also owed both of them an apology for his behavior over the years, especially her, but he couldn't quite manage it. Potter shook his hand uncomfortably. She gave him a genuine smile and he could have sworn he felt his heart clench in his chest.
She came back to Hogwarts without Potter and Weasley which gave him the opportunity to really watch her. She wasn't nearly as suspicious of him as they were, or if she was, she at least refrained from snarling at him. In fact, he found himself on the receiving end of her polite- but still real- smiles on a daily basis.
And so he couldn't help but notice that she was stunning. He didn't know how he'd never realized it before. As early as fourth year he had grudgingly admitted to himself that she was growing to be rather pretty, but this was nothing in comparison to the way she looked now.
Her hair was as wild as ever, but whereas she'd always appeared to be in a constant battle with it before, now she just let it be. And it suited her, longer than she'd worn it when they were younger, it was unfettered and refused to be cowed. It was her. For as much as she seemed determined to come off as a buttoned up, bossy, swot; he'd seen who she really was and she was so radiant there was no looking away. And for the first time in his life he found himself wanting something he was quite certain he could never have.
She was the one who stumbled upon him, playing piano during their second week back at school in the practice room his parents had arranged for him before he'd even come to Hogwarts for his first year. They didn't want seven years of careful tutelage to go to waste. It was one of the best things his parents had ever done for him. Not that they knew how much he loved to play. If they had, his father would have stopped his lessons long ago. Malfoys weren't meant to enjoy things, and the man already thought it was too feminine a pursuit, but it had been important to his mother and Lucius had indulged her.
Draco hadn't visited his practice room in over a year, and he hadn't played for pleasure in longer than that, so, though he felt a presence hovering in the doorway, he didn't turn around to confront them until he was good and ready. When he did it was with a sneer on his face. He was an infamous former Death Eater and he figured it wouldn't take much to scare whomever it was off. He froze when he saw it was her.
She was leaning against the wall just inside the room, staring at him in disbelief, her eyes wide and full of tears. "I'm sorry," she swallowed thickly, "I didn't mean to intrude, I just heard somebody playing and got curious, and then it was just so beautiful I couldn't leave."
He was, as a reflex, set to tell her to get lost, but then she raised her hand and wiped her eyes and he felt that weird clenching in his chest again and he realized that the last thing he wanted was to chase her off.
"Thank you," he said simply, and her eyes nearly bugged out of her face in surprise. He almost laughed at the comical expression. "I do have manners, you've just never seen them before."
It was his first ever attempt at self deprecation and he was rewarded for his efforts when she bit her lip, trying and failing to suppress a smile and then let out a little giggle before clapping her hand over her mouth. His breath hitched at the sound- he'd made her laugh and he hadn't even really been trying.
"Well, um, you're really talented," she said when she recovered, "thank you for letting me listen, I'll just be going," she stumbled over her words.
Her obvious reticence to leave encouraged him. "You can stay if you want Granger, as long as you don't disturb me."
She nodded eagerly. "I wouldn't dream of it," she swore. She sank to the floor, drawing her legs up against her chest, wrapping her arms around them and leaning back against the wall. He began to play again. He was hyper aware of her presence but instead of annoying him as anybody else's would have, it bolstered him.
She figured out that he was there nearly every night after dinner. He'd never enjoyed playing for anybody except for his mother before, and even that had become a chore. Because she'd asked him to play for her repeatedly over the past few years in an attempt to pretend that everything was normal in their lives, despite the fact that nothing was. And he hadn't appreciated something he loved so much being used as a mere distraction.
After a few weeks of playing regularly for her, she began asking him tentative questions at the end of night. It was so Granger, he really didn't think she could help herself, and he thought that it should have felt intrusive, but for some reason he didn't actually mind telling her about himself. Even if he didn't quite understand why she was asking.
So, she learned that he'd been playing since he was four and that while, at first, it had been just another lesson, it had become his escape. She learned he'd once dreamed of being a professional musician, before the reality of society and the truth of his expectations in his role as the Malfoy scion had become clear to him. And, in turn, he learned that she'd wanted to be a ballerina. Given how red she'd become during her confession he surmised that this was not something she had shared with a lot of people, he counted her confidence and trust in him amongst the best compliments he'd ever been given.
The last question she asked him every night was the title of each piece he'd played and the name of the composer. She always scribbled down the list in a journal she carried with her, and he felt strangely touched by that, though he had no idea why she was doing it. The day after he confessed his long abandoned dreams he gathered his courage and when he began to play it was something nobody else had ever heard
"Those were so beautiful, almost familiar, I really felt them," she said when he finally stopped. "Tell me about them, I'd like to hear more like that."
He turned around on the bench to face her. "Well they're untitled, and they're mine," he hesitated, "but I do have more. I've actually started composing again."
Her eyes went wide and the expression on her face morphed into something like reverence. "Oh Draco," she sighed, "don't ever stop."
He turned away from her and started playing again, this time to try and hide the fact that he thought that his heart was going to burst.
One day in November she broke their unspoken agreement not to approach each other outside of his practice room and sat next to him in potions. She'd calmly unpacked her things before she so much as glanced at him. He knew he was staring at her incredulously.
She just shrugged. "We might as well start taking advantage of the fact that we are by far the cleverest students in this school." He had to duck his head and pretend to be searching through his bag to hide his smile at that pronouncement.
Soon after that he finally plucked up the courage to apologize to her, but even then it was only because he caught her in a moment of weakness. The war may have taught him humility, but he still had a hard time expressing it.
He finished playing and turned around to face her, but she was neither looking at him eagerly nor leaning against the wall with her head tilted back and her eyes closed as she usually was. She was curled in on herself, like she was quite literally trying to hold herself together, shaking slightly, an empty potions vial at her side.
He recognized the signs immediately: she was suffering from the after affects of the cruciatus curse. But this was usually the result of long-term, repeated exposure. His aunt had really been a sadistic bitch to have done so much damage in one session. And he'd done nothing to stop her.
The least he could do was try and offer her some comfort now. He approached her cautiously. He knew how jumpy people in this position could be. But her head shot up and she launched herself at him and wrapped herself around him with what seemed to be all the strength in her little body. In his experience hugs like this were a myth. Certainly nobody had ever needed him like she seemed to need him in that moment. He couldn't believe how good it felt.
Still, he wasn't quite sure how to react and awkwardly arranged them so that she was on his lap with her face buried in his neck.
"I'm sorry," she sniffed after at least twenty minutes of clinging to him, finally pulling away, "it's just that touch helps settle it down and that attack was a bad one."
"It does?" He'd had no idea. Then again, that's not the kind of comfort Death Eaters were likely to offer each other. And if his parents knew, it wasn't something they'd indulged in while he was present.
"Yeah," she nodded, crawling off his lap but she settled in quite close to his side, "do you mind?" She asked.
He shook his head and she cautiously took his arm, wrapping both of hers around it.
"Granger- Hermione" he corrected, he still often called her by her surname but it didn't feel appropriate at the moment, "I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry, for everything. For how I treated you over the years and for what you've been through because of people like me. I hope that someday you can forgive me."
She yawned and slumped heavily against his body, the attack had clearly taken a heavy toll. "Oh Draco, it's already done. I forgave you the moment I heard you play, nobody truly bad could make something so beautiful."
He huffed out a disbelieving breath. That was far more than he deserved. She was far more than he deserved.
He hadn't wanted to go home for Christmas but he found it impossible to deny his mother, whom he loved, despite the fact that she seemed determined to ignore that the Manor made him uncomfortable and that the very sight of his father made him furious. So, he'd sucked it up and returned to Wiltshire for the holidays. There was nothing keeping him at Hogwarts anyway, she had gone to see her boyfriend.
Her stupid, clueless boyfriend who didn't deserve or appreciate her. He could admit the hypocrisy in that, given how much he himself wanted her but would certainly never be worthy of her. But at least he recognized how exceptional she was. Weasley could barely be bothered to write, and he'd missed every Hogsmeade weekend thus far. He was too busy with his special auror training at the Ministry and- from what Draco could tell- enjoying his newfound fame partying and posing for pictures.
On Christmas Eve, Draco got into an almost inevitable fight with his father about his future. He wasn't nearly brave enough to mention his newly resurrected dreams about spending his life writing and playing music, but he made it clear that he was no longer willing to just fall in line and take his place at Malfoy Enterprises after graduation. That led him to spending the remainder of his time at home hiding away in his rooms and returning to Hogwarts before the official end to the holidays- as soon as he felt that he possibly could without also arousing suspicion that all was not well with House Malfoy.
So, he was shocked to find her already lounging in the common room that had been set aside for the so-called eighth year students when he arrived. Their eyes locked the moment he entered the room.
"Hey," she greeted him with a smile, she was seated in an armchair, her back against one armrest, legs thrown over the other, reading a book and dressed in what appeared to be an old Gryffindor quidditch jersey, a pair of tight fitting blue trousers, and some wooly socks.
He was still getting used to the sight of witches wearing trousers, and found it somewhat disconcerting, but on her it was not at all unappealing. She was thinner than she probably should have been, still steadily recovering from the war and months of near starvation, but despite that she had a beautifully curvaceous body and he had to stop himself from ogling her.
"Hello," he responded, falling elegantly into the armchair beside her without bothering to put his cloak away, "you're already back?"
She shrugged, "Ron proposed."
His heart felt like it stopped in his chest.
"Congratulations," he managed, his tongue so heavy that it barely formed the word.
"Oh Draco," she breathed, "do you think I'd be here if I agreed to marry him? He knew I wasn't ready and he asked anyway. I'm afraid I wasn't particularly gracious in my refusal. Mrs. Weasley practically threw me out and I don't think I'll be very welcome at the Burrow in the near future," she finished bitterly.
He let out a long breath. "I'd say that I was sorry, but I don't think you would believe me. So, I'll just say that you can do better."
Her lips quirked into a funny little smile, "you're right, I wouldn't believe you. And I don't know about doing better. Ron's a good man, despite how frustrated I am with him right now. Still, thank you, it's nice to have one person who's completely on my side."
Her reticence with him, which he hadn't even realized existed before, melted away after that. She touched him casually and smiled at him without reserve. She sat with him in every class. She was at least as ambitious as he was and she was going for eight N.E.W.T.s. They made a good team, academically and otherwise.
She didn't seem to have any hesitation being seen with him. And more than once he caught her glaring at one of their fellow students, almost daring them to say something about it. But the real revelation to Draco, who had been taught from infancy to hide his thoughts and feelings, was the way she talked to him, really talked, seemingly about any and everything. She always called him 'Draco' now and the syllables of his given name had never sounded so wonderful on anybody else's lips. He realized that he didn't want there to come a day where he wouldn't hear it anymore. Simply didn't want to live without her. And he began to cautiously hope that one day she might one day accept all of him, agree to build a life with him, and vowed to make sure she never regretted it if she did.
He kissed her for the first time on Valentine's Day. She'd been so devastated, so stupidly determined that nobody wanted her-even Weasley- outside of her role as a war heroine, that he could no longer resist. If she had rejected him he convinced himself that it would have been worth it just so that she felt like she warranted a man's attention.
They were in his practice room when it happened. He no longer played for most of the time they were in there and they spent it talking instead. Actually, he felt less of a need to play and preferred to spend the evening just being with her. But she did often, sweetly, request something and he was always happy to oblige. Tonight they were just sitting on the slightly battered sofa she'd somehow cajoled the elves into moving into the space.
She was glancing morosely at the one piece of correspondence she'd received earlier that day: a card from her parents. Granted, he'd not gotten even that much, but he also hadn't hoped for kind thoughts from friends, the only one he had was sitting beside him. He was by no means heartbroken for himself, but it hurt him to see her like this.
Without really thinking it through he'd leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers. She only hesitated for a moment before melting into the kiss. He pulled away after just a few moments, needing to tell her how he felt. "If you'll have me, I won't be stupid enough to give you up," he promised fervently, his forehead resting on hers, his right hand cupping the base of her skull.
"I'll have you," she answered immediately, pressing their lips together again, and he knew his life would never be the same.
Not six hours after pictures of them had been printed in The Daily Prophet, taken by some unscrupulous student while they were picnicking on the shores of the Black Lake, Potter and Weasley stormed into the Great Hall and physically wrenched her out of the place where she was having lunch at the Gryffindor table. He was halfway out of his own seat, poised to do something that would have surely gotten him into trouble, when he noticed the Headmistress making her way over to intervene.
Her approach had not stopped Weasley and his temper, there was a relatively quiet exchange between the three of them them before he exploded on her, and all of Hogwarts heard his toxic words.
"So, Malfoy is it, huh? I never thought you were the kind of cheep tart to spread your legs for a few galleons. He's just using to fix his reputation, you know that right? Don't come crying back to me when he drops you!"
Hermione just stumbled backwards, obviously shocked. Even Potter seemed momentarily stunned, but he said nothing in her defense. Hermione let out a sob and bolted from the Hall. He foolishly gave her a head start, not wanting to draw more attention by chasing after her immediately and so he ended up spending most of the rest of the day combing the school for her, before finally concluding that she didn't want to be found, and retiring to bed.
He tossed and turned. He hated that he'd put her in this situation, but at the same time he would never take it back. And if need be, he vowed to fight for her.
The next morning she marched right up to him and kissed him with a passion he'd never experienced before. "I'm sorry," she murmured against his lips, cradling his head in her hands. "I thought I needed some space to get my head on straight, but all I really needed was you. That is, if you'll still have me?"
He almost laughed. "Of course." He kissed her forehead. "I was just waiting for you to be ready for me to call you mine."
And from then on, she was.
Nobody approved. His parents, along with Potter and the Weasleys were the most vocal. But the members of The Order of the Phoenix also voiced their concerns that she was being terribly naive to believe that he was genuine in his affections. He cared little for what they thought, but it was difficult for him to see her judgement disrespected. She became so disheartened that she stopped fighting him when he asked to read the letters.
To his horror he discovered that she was being accused of acting foolishly because she was a muggleborn. They didn't think she could possibly understand wizarding society because she hadn't grown up in it. Somebody like him could never really want somebody like her, they said. So much for being the enlightened elite.
He incinerated his own letters from home after barely a cursory look. He'd made his choice.
During the last few months of term she virtually moved into his room, no longer comforted by the reminders of her friends in hers. He happily made space for her. He almost couldn't believe how much it affected him the first time she pulled on one of his Falmouth Falcons shirts to use as a nightgown, and then- as an afterthought- asked him if he minded.
But the strangest and most miraculous thing was that, while she had moments of despair, she was largely happy with him. He was the thing that put a smile on her face, she came to him for comfort, and she showed him a kind of affection, and beyond that respect, that he hadn't known existed.
And then came the beautiful day when she asked him to make love to her. They'd been sharing a bed for weeks but he still feared this might be the step that scared her off.
Instead, it was the best experience of his life, and while she was somewhat shy in the aftermath, she didn't budge from his side.
"I'm going to Australia," she told him after they'd woken each other with gentle kisses and caresses the next morning.
"To get your parents?" He responded lazily, rubbing her upper arm.
"To be with my parents," she corrected.
He reared back in surprise and desperately attempted to tamp down the panic he felt over her declaration. "You're leaving Britain… for good?"
She sighed. "It's been made very clear to me that I'm not welcome here, I never have been." She looked at him, then bit her lip and snuggled against his shoulder in an obvious effort to hide her face. "You could come with me." There was a pause, fraught with tension. "If you want."
He didn't have to think. "I want."
He kept her close as he swung her gently around in her parents back garden to the sweet melody of a song he'd written for her when he could only dream that this day might eventually come. It was their first dance as a married couple, under the stars, the grass a soft carpet beneath their bare feet. "You looked perfect," he murmured when she asked if he approved of her dress.
"Enough to be your wife?"
"Yes, love, far more than I could ever even hope for, much less deserve."
He pulled her more tightly against his chest and the small gathering of people who had come to witness their bonding all smiled. They could feel the rightness of the connection between the couple before them, the day had been filled with it. A beautiful but simple celebration of a love forged against all the odds, his parents would have been appalled, but for them...it was perfect.
Author's note: So, there you go, just a little something inspired by the Ed Sheeran song of the same title and posted in celebration of Hermione's birthday I hope you liked it! I'm finishing up my first ever Harmony (Harry x Hermione) I hope to have up later, I'd love if you'd give it a chance if that's a pairing you enjoy!
So, something crazy awesome happened last week. I was nominated for some awards. They are hosted by the Beyond the Book Fanfiction Nook group on Facebook. I was nominated for best new author and a couple of my other fics were also nominated. If you feel so inclined I would be so grateful if you would go over there and vote. If not, I'd still encourage you to go over there and look at the list of nominees, it's not all Dramione but it's still a great collection of stories for your reading pleasure the link is: https*:*/*/*docs*.*google*.*com*/*forms*/*d*/*e*/*1FAIpQLSf9h-zaH8sTTErFV0GU*_R1bCLNUDW-HszRzcuH*J7Ikk3lCZbA*/*viewform
Just copy and paste and remove that asterisks. Sorry, I know that's a pain but this site won't allow links
Thanks for reading!