Say Something
The resounding slam of a door could be heard a few yards away. A clack, clack, clack followed in its path. From this very backdoor, emerged one royally enraged Hermione Granger, in all her fiery grace.
A voice trailed behind her as Hermione stormed through a small dirt path. She made a beeline for a cabin situated amongst the shallow trees a distance away from the house.
"Hermione, will you please listen to me?" She was stopped short, as a hand moved to spin her around, steadying her as she glared at the pair of grey orbs staring anxiously back at her.
What is it Malfoy? She would usually say, but Hermione was now bent on giving her husband of one year, eleven months and thirty days, a rightly deserved cold shoulder. She stared at him, tight-lipped, awaiting his attempt at alleviating his situation.
"Hermione, I swear I knew it. I counted, and I was completely sure I was right. Only of course I seem to have miscalculated the dates, but the important thing is that I remembered. I did. I do. It was just unfortunate that…" The well-crafted speech fell easily on deaf ears, as Hermione rolled her eyes, mercilessly elbowed his rib and trudged back into the house. She was clearly hearing none of it.
"I guess I deserved that." Draco sighed before making his way back into the house to persuade his disgruntled wife. Yes, he had been married for two years; yes, he kind of screwed up the date of their anniversary; and yes, he may deserve a trophy for worst husband of the year, but Draco had liked to think that Hermione was above such petty grievances, especially since he had only mistakenly made the reservations a day early, and presumptuously bought a huge-ass bouquet to show his love.
Needless to say, Hermione was rather nonplussed at the situation. She neither found it highly comedic nor unfortunate. It was in the list of things not to do – completely unacceptable.
They hadn't been married for twenty years, but only two she had argued when he looked on at her apologetic but immensely tickled by the situation. He had then cleverly rebutted to say that because it was only two, and not twenty, it was likely that he could mess the dates up. That earned him a towel slapped in his face, and the echo of footsteps out the door much earlier in the day.
Now, in the comfort of the four walls of their house, he heard her pattering in the kitchen. "Look, I am so, so sorry sweetheart." Draco said, as he entered the kitchen, watching his beloved stack sparkling clean dishes back into the sink, to be rewashed. Unrelenting, Hermione angled her body away from Draco. She started the tap running. "Are we playing this game again Granger?" Draco puzzled out. He was greeted with silence, and the sound of clinking of glasses. "Are you seriously going to ignore me?" He asked again, receiving no response.
Draco cursed under his breath.
It was a universally known fact that Draco Lucius Malfoy had and would always somehow revel in a chaos of sorts. He thrived in heated bickering. Verbal aggression was his forte. But silence, it gnawed on his brain cells, gave him an absolute wrecking headache. And this she had known. Hermione Granger knew he hated the silent treatment, and now equilibrium as he knew it, was uncomfortably disrupted.
This would not do.
With a stealth he had honed from years of Quidditch training, Draco pinned Hermione against the edge of the kitchen sink, causing her to unceremoniously drop a dish plate that she had been in the midst of scrubbing clean.
At first, Hermione's mouth had flown open, an indignant cry would resound, Draco was completely sure, but when no sound escaped her lips, Draco took it as a challenge. Expertly, he pushed the tap close, lifting a struggling Hermione onto an empty counter top next to the sink.
Swiftly, he pinned her down, capturing her lips in his. She fought against him for a bit, but soon gave in to his practiced ministrations. Together, their tongues tangled, and what was a burning rage now quelled into a slow, blazing animalistic need.
"Say you'll forgive me, love." Draco whispered in between stolen kisses, and flurried caresses.
Hermione hummed in delight. Her frenzied response was her unspoken answer, and as their bodies melded together, what seemed potentially disastrous before, was now made unimportant, almost nonexistent. They were united, the two of them, and come hell or high waters, they would always be Hermione and Draco Malfoy.
And in the afterglow, Draco gently cradled Hermione to his side. He nuzzled her tenderly. "I'll make the reservations for tomorrow." He told her.
"Just don't forget the next time." She said, tracing the line of his pecs. She watched as his chest heaved slightly.
"I wouldn't dare Princess."
It was now her turn to chuckle.
At the stroke of midnight, in between the tangled limbs, and quiet lovemaking, Draco leaned over, kissing the sides of her face.
"Happy Anniversary Love." He said.
.
.
Happy Anniversary indeed.
