A/N: Happy Fanfiction Anniversary, In Dreams. I hope you like it.
Thanks to HeartOfAspen for the prompts that I combined for this mini pit of angst. Alpha love to Kyonomiko and niffizzle. Beta gratitude to my darling CourtingInsanity. All remaining errors are mine.
I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.
Draco had aged.
Salazar. He felt it in his bones. Felt ancient in comparison to his eighteen years.
He released a sharp exhale, silent as death, as he gazed at the furling fog. The memory of the reflection in the mirror last night chased him all the way down to the Black Lake.
There was no hiding the depths into which he had plummeted. Not now; not ever. His skin was pale, too pale, and it appeared to be stretched to fit over his face. His sunken cheeks only sharpened the point of his chin and nose. Purple and black crescents had taken up permanent residence under his eyes at some point during sixth year, but they appeared more prominent under a dark, hollow gaze.
His mother had once said his eyes were as specks of sapphire in lakes of silver. Pansy had simply pronounced them 'sexy' before fluttering her dark lashes slowly and leaning up to pillow his lips with hers…
Gods. That was an age ago…
His eyes were a shadow of the darkness that consumed him now—he knew because she'd nearly told him exactly that before taking her portkey for some tropical paradise she would never return from.
Wind lifted the fog over the lake, making it dance and twirl and sway, and his body surrendered to the involuntary shiver. He hadn't bothered with his cloak, regardless of the nip in the Scottish September morning air.
A chill raced down his spine as the wind picked up, toying with his longer-than-usual hair, stimulating goose bumps under his thin white button down. He couldn't bring himself to wish for his black jumper now either. He flirted with the notion of shucking his shoes and socks and toeing the water before submerging his feet entirely. Perhaps allowing his trousers to get wet as well, instead of rolling them up.
Anything to feel again.
To know he wasn't a thin and wasted shell guarding something worthless and vacant.
He licked his lips, dry and cracked like his fingers. He'd lost all appetite ages ago and had only shuffled his food around his plate at the Welcome Feast last night. He cared little for life-sustaining water and drank the minimum when he felt near passing out.
He stretched a leg out and down, allowing his shoe to skim the surface of the lake while his muscles groaned… He was eighteen and felt as ancient as Merlin. He didn't know if he should scoff, cackle or rant and fury at his lot in life.
He blinked down. A distorted, darkened and rippled reflection blinked back at him. Or perhaps this was all he was now, no matter the badges the Headmistress slapped on him. It was a pity offering anyways. Or a means of keeping him under constant supervision for the eyes of the Ministry.
His left forearm itched. It itched and burned. The Healers told him it was in his head, that he was suffering some post-traumatic curse aftereffects or some shite like that...
The Ministry representative said he was lucky he wasn't in Azkaban. Plagued by nightmares of giant snakes swallowing his mother whole or sickening green light shining through the cracks of closed doors, his branded appendage mocking him, a constant reminder of how abhorrent and cowardly he truly was, Draco felt anything but lucky.
His throat ran dry. He drifted his eyes up and grabbed a hard fistful of his hair.
School. Hogwarts. He was supposed to just return to school and assimilate back as if none of it had happened—no. Worse: on display. Display and constantly monitored under the guise of 'Eighth Year Prefect'.
But Draco knew better. He dropped his toe further, crossing the fluid barrier between air and water. What did he care if these shoes were ruined? Add it to the list.
Eighteen-years-old and still a pawn. Still a pawn in someone else's game. Doomed to a shackled life of suspicion and scrutiny because of his name and his mark. Freedom would evade and taunt him until Death found him.
But then again, Death had taunted him for two years now… perhaps it wouldn't be as much a welcome respite as he believed. Or hoped…
"You're missing breakfast, Malfoy."
He nearly lost his balance; his appendages and face jerked and whipped at the unexpected intrusion.
Wide brown eyes waited on him. Blinking, slow and precise. There was something calling out to him as she took a tentative step forward. He declined to speak, she hadn't asked anything after all; her head tilted, eyes blinked once in question. He merely breathed in answer, deciding it was enough he wasn't protesting that she took another careful step towards him, only breaking eye contact to be sure of her footing on this large rock.
Two more steps. His chest tightened as her eyes found his again. Her mouth held together in a neutral line… She must have decided it was enough he hadn't protested either, for her next course of action was to lower herself on the rock, sinking slowly to rest on her shins, uniform skirt fanning around her… Her eyes locked on his all the while.
It sent a shiver down the length of his spin as they blinked in acknowledgement of each other, neither daring to pick at the silence. There was something old, something tired, whirling about in brown irises. Something all too familiar.
Her lips parted, then closed. Nothing dramatic or snappy about the movements, but it seemed she was undecided how to proceed…
He gave a light scoff, breaking the invisible pull to her penetrating gaze by turning back to the lake. "What of it, Granger?"
A sharp inhale, followed by a long exhale served as his only answer at first. Two breaths stretched out into five, then eight… He elected to stop counting. She had come to him after all. Gryffindor's Princess. She could damn well speak if she wanted; he was certainly not of the frame of mind for petty conversation.
"Thought you might be hungry," she said at last as a flash of pale green caught in his peripheral vision.
His hand shot up, protective instincts drilled into him courtesy of dear Aunt Bella, snagging, much to his surprise, an apple. A green apple. His eyes slid left, brows knitting and furrowing tight as said hand holding said apple dropped to his side.
She shrugged, giving an absent wave of her hand, lips now pulled into a tight line. As if holding herself back from saying anything until she'd decided on just the appropriate something to say… "I collected your timetable for you," was what she decided on. "The Headmistress was handing them out, and since we're both the Eighth Year Prefects and have several classes together…"
He snorted as she trailed off. A sneering snipe tore at the back of his throat but he gave a hard swallow, burying the instinct to lash out or simply to react at all, slamming the door shut. A hollow thud clanged about in his mind and he licked his lips before saying, "I'll collect if from you inside then, but the Headmistress can cool her cauldron—I don't need a watchdog."
"I know." His face twitched as she smoothed over nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt, wind catching curls that had fallen from her messy bun. "I almost told her as much when I handed your schedule back to her, but she simply said she was leaving the Great Hall for an urgent Floo call that could not be rescheduled and it was likely I'd see you before she would."
He wasn't quite sure what to make of that pragmatic response. It seemed realistic enough… even believable… But not enough to penetrate through the labyrinth of wary layers wrapped around his heart…
"What are you doing here?" he asked instead, cheeks flaming at the rasp in his voice.
She countered his evasive query with such each, answering, "Bringing you something to eat." He would have rolled her eyes had he not caught her gnawing on her lip, eyes bouncing between his own and the fog over the lake... "And making sure you don't miss out on the first day of classes—" his jaw dropped, tongue poised for a retort about no longer being under house arrest "—because it'd be a shame to fall behind first day of term."
"Because you're such a swot you need validation for your intelligence by having proper competition for being first in classes?"
Granger's eyes widened as her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. Years of etiquette training, or simply studying his mother, was all that separated Draco from mirroring her reaction. He hadn't expected or planned that retort; the words were out of his mouth before he'd even known what he was doing…
A light chuckle sounded and a small smile danced around Granger's lips… her surprisingly full, pinkish red lips. "Something to that effect, yes." She pressed her hands to the rock, lifting herself, shifting and maneuvering to preserve her modesty as she stood.
Her expression turned serious again, something listless settling in those twin chocolate irises before she slid her gaze right, back towards the castle. "I couldn't sleep, so I went to the Astronomy Tower. I saw when you came out to the lake a couple of hours ago." She caught her lip with her teeth as she squared her shoulders and turned back to him.
She was… nervous… Not afraid. And not necessarily nervous to be with him it seemed… Hesitant to share… "I saw you in the prefect's carriage yesterday. As silly as this may sound, it was like looking a mirror." He drew his lips together, not daring to interrupt her now. "Or maybe you've the mask put together better than I do, but I'm a shattered mess, Malfoy. I can't sleep because of the nightmares, but I've had to cut back on Dreamless Sleep and Sleeping potions, lest I lean on them forever."
Her lip trembled, a glossy sheen covering her eyes as she blinked in rapid succession. "Harry has Auror training to throw himself into… Ron, George and Percy have forged a new brotherly alliance and have come to some peaceful resolution of things in rebuilding the joke shop… but I'm…"
She shook her head, loose collection of curls wobbling side-to-side. She fiddled with the end of her black jumper, and he found himself rising in one fluid and entirely involuntary reaction at her pause. Or lingering to find just the right phrasing again.
"You're just wanting to feel again," he supplied. Her tongue darted out, wetting chapped and worried lips. When she didn't argue, didn't counter, he knew. He knew…
She was as alone as he. As hollow as he. Perhaps even felt that mutual sense of manipulation, only on the opposite end of the spectrum: accepting a Prefect position under the guise of being honoured, only to find it meant she was a glorified Ministry spy.
Perhaps it also seemed a hopeless and impossible task, gathering every last fragment of her broken life and making the pieces fit together again…
Something foreign surged within him, some hidden bravery that acted of its own accord, disobeying his instinct to coil around himself and leave her to her own inner demons. He closed the gap between them in one stride, surprised to find just how much he towered over her.
Gods, she looked a mess—every bit as much as he, if not more so with her curls rioting against their restraint. Cheeks as thin as they had been this past May. Eyes aged and dull, standing out from dark bags underneath. She hadn't answered him, but everything about her told him what she didn't say. Told him he was right.
Everything she was and wasn't, every splintered shard that was Granger… he'd never seen anything so fucking beautiful….
In the wake of that earth-tipping realisation, it came as no surprise that in his next breath he felt two fractals bind themselves together within his chest; something inside he'd long since written off as irreparable righting itself.
Impossible as it seemed.
A warmth he'd never known before washed over him, soothing and lush; his throat bobbed. "Shall we find find your bag and my timetable before we decide to skive off, spending all day at the lake and not caring that Nott will have an advantage over us?"
Her lips quirked and he allowed a lazy smirk to climb his face. In some unspoken agreement, they kept in silent step with each other as they trekked back to the castle, save for when Draco savoured the fruit of Granger's kindness one delicious bite at a time.
She wasn't here.
It was Hallowe'en, everyone was seated at their respective House tables for the Feast, but Her—Granger wasn't here.
His lips pulled inward, forming a tight face as he snatched for his goblet of pumpkin juice. They had fallen into a system: from his loner seat at the end of the Slytherin table nearest the door, he'd be able to make eye contact from her seat at the Gryffindor table, where she usually slipped in between Longbottom and Thomas. It was something unspoken and never discussed on Prefect rounds that she kept a respectable distance between the two wizards and hardly ever started table conversation; Granger only ever responded, and never appeared overly enthused when when she did.
But tonight the wizards sat in closer proximity to each other, thoughtless in the way they'd left no room for Granger to slide in when she arrived, laughing away at whatever insipid thing female Weasley said like the insufferable buffoons they were…
He slammed down his goblet without taking a sip. He could feel Theo's stare from several seats down, but that was a wasted effort on the twat's part. Draco hadn't the slightest inclination to slide his attention down the table, if only to keep from watching that simpering baby Greengrass from fawning all over his friend.
He jerked his head to look once more at the grand doorway, his grip around the goblet tightening to find their status unaltered from five minutes prior when he checked: closed. Orange streamers and floating decorative bats undisturbed, indicating no attempted entry…
Eerie, mischievous cackles echoed in the Hall as castle ghosts floated into the hall. Draco suppressed a grimace as he looked back to his plate, deciding maybe Granger had had the right idea after all when he caught the words 'student participation' from the Bloody Baron overhead.
Salazar… No...
Without a glance to Theo that would have explained enough, Draco shoved off the table, stalking to his escape, allowing his billowing robes to be his response to Theo's shocked outburst of objection and bidding to stay.
… For now, at least.
He breathed deep of crisp free air once he guesstimated he'd made at least fifteen lengthy strides out the door. He could make his excuses to Theo later… or not.
But Theo would have to wait, because his hasty exit had left him with the conundrum of where to hide now, if indeed he had no inclination of an immediate confrontation...
Granger. It was really all her fault he was having this mini-crisis. She'd already completed her Charms essay and Potions assignment—he knew because they'd had a verbal spar over both assignments two days ago on perfect rounds.
He sucked a sharp breath, deciding to try the library first… he wasn't certain he could bring himself to searching the Astronomy Tower, even for a missing Granger…
Fate smiled upon him this time, however, and Granger was indeed seated at the head of that far off, out-of-the-way table they occasionally found themselves at at the same time for homework—which was not the same as sharing; sharing implied a certain degree of friendship, of intimacy, and he was far too hesitant (read: cowardly) to label whatever they were on such familiar terms.
His heart came to a stuttering and surprising halt as he took in her petite form, knees drawn to her chest, mass end-of-the-day curls fanned around her shoulders, and it took an unexpected force of will to saunter up to the table… contrive some witty opener...
"You're not working on assignments," he said, cheeks burning as the words flew from his mouth. Full marks for cleverness there, Draco...
"Astute observation, Malfoy," she answered, her words somewhat muffled by the fact she hadn't lifted her chin from her knees.
His mouth opened for a responsive quip, but words failed him as he considered her: drawn and hunched over, a lone book that looked suspiciously like her worn copy of Hogwarts: A History laying open on the table…
"No drawling retort?" Her chin lifted just enough for her to turn and allow her red-rimmed chocolate eyes to meet his waiting gaze.
His mouth turned to ash; he attempted to give a hard swallow, waving over her. "Well," he croaked before clearing his throat like a fool who'd never conversed with a witch, "I had every intention of irritating you by congratulating your remarkable sense of Foresight by not showing at the Feast—the ghosts were chattering far too happily about student participation—but that feels inappropriate at the moment…"
His voice softened as he trailed off. Her face dipped in a sad sort of smile, igniting foreign urges within, like closing the distance between, cupping her cheeks in his hands, brushing his thumb over said cheeks to remove any remaining hint of tears. Ever. Utter vows that she would never cry again if he had any say…
Buggering shite…
His fists clenched at his side, pressing hard into his thighs. The implications of that… When had this…? He drew a sharp, steadying breath, as when knocked in the gut by a bludger. Taking slow and intentional steps to the chair on her right (and not to her), forcing his hands to take hold of the top of the empty chair, lest they act foolishly of their own accord...
"Has the chair offended you in some way?"
When had her voice become so disarming, yet capable of making all of him stand on edge? An anchor to keep him from going adrift… Or had it been this way for weeks and he'd been too fucking preoccupied with himself, with trying to put himself back together, to notice she had been slowly gluing and filling in the gaps between the broken places?
"Not at at all," he managed, loosening his grip, blinking as feeling rushed back into his hands. "I just—" He pursed his lips, sliding his eyes to hers, shocked by the sorrow and bleakness staring back at him, such a stark contrast to how they'd danced and shone on prefect rounds earlier this week…
He inclined his head, starting again. "I'm not sure if we're at that stage where I can ask you what's wrong and can expect an answer from you, but I'd like to be. And I'd very much like to be where I can try to make things right for you, if possible."
That sad smile again; it shot right through him this time. She unwound an arm from her knees, brushing a section of curls behind an ear. "I think we are, and you may, but there's nothing to be done to set things right, sorry to say." A shaky inhale, succeeded by a long exhale. "You'll remember the Headmistress was waiting outside the Potions classroom today…"
A pause until he nodded. "She was waiting for me because… Well, I removed myself from my parent's memories just after coming home from sixth year. I planted in their mind that they wanted to move to Australia…"
Her voice shook now, lower lip trembling, eyes shimmering with brimming tears. She sniffed, tightening her arms around her legs. "I knew there was a chance it would be irreversible—I knew that. It doesn't change that I still hoped…" Draco's heart sank as his hands loosed their grip completely, falling to his side. How could he have ever said such vile things to this incredible witch? How had she been so quick to forgive?
"McGonagall was waiting to tell me that the team of Healers in Australia have decided to let them go." She gasped, eyes falling closed, chin resting on her knees again. "That there's nothing more they… It's time to stop…" She couldn't, or wouldn't, bring herself to finish and buried her face in her dawn knees instead, curls spilling around as a protective curtain.
And Hermione Granger wept. Everything within him tightened and softened as she shook with sobs from the depths of her soul.
And everything at last clicked into place. How she'd been quick to respond there was nothing to forgive regarding their former Headmaster. How she'd thanked him for doing what he could in saving their lives at the Manor…
She understood doing what was necessary to save those dearest to her.
Without thinking, without calculating potential risks or possible detrimental outcomes, he was kneeling at her side in an instant, winding his arms around her, nuzzling his cheek against her chestnut curls., breathing in all that was Granger.
He had no idea how long he held her, how long she allowed herself to be held by him… Time was meaningless when cradling such raw grief. He'd never held Pansy in such a way before, but then again, she'd never come to him for this. Hermione was the first, and by Salazar, he'd challenge anyone who sought to take this role from him.
The witch in his arms slowly came to herself, hiccups and sniffles replacing wracking sobs, and he was forced to loosen his hold to allow her better access to air. Her watery smile was the making and unmaking of him on the spot and he fought every fibre in his being to not bind his arms around her again, bury his fingers in her thick cu—
"Thanks, Malfoy," she said, sliding her legs to the floor, which he took as a nonverbal cue to drop his arms—they obeyed, albeit under extreme protest. She swiped at her eyes several times, carding her fingers through her hair and bunching it all over her left shoulder, leaving the side closest him temptingly bare…
Balls.
He commanded his legs to stand, to create distance between them… She moved to close her book and stand as well, the distance between them lessened now…
"I didn't mean to blubber so," she started, smoothing a hand over a lock of curls again, "but I just couldn't bring myself to force laughter or conversation tonight and I haven't told everyone about… all of it…" She worried her bottom lip a moment, brow furrowing. "I can't put off explaining my absence from Ginny too much longer, but I mean this with all sincerity: thank you, Malfoy. If anyone had to find me in such a state, I'm glad it was you."
His heart clattered against its bony cage as her smile transformed from sad to genuine, eyes penetrating and true. "I sometimes feel like you're the only person who truly understands me this year…"
Her admittance played on a repeating loop in his mind, at a blinding speed at first, stealing all air from his lungs as they exited the library. Their pace settled and slowed, swelling into a sweet crescendo as they came to where their paths would part—she to the Gryffindor Tower, him to the Slytherin Dungeon…
For the second time this evening, compelled by some external bravery, he moved without consideration or care…
And kissed Hermione Granger.
Entirely chaste, pure and delicate in comparison to past snogs that lead to more sensual pleasures… But it set his world on fire all the same. Her lips were soft and warm and she was not pulling away. He tilted his head, cupping her cheek with his hand, pressing just hard enough to remove the chastity element, but refusing to allow his tongue to taste for itself…
This was enough.
For now…
He pulled away, taking up her free hand, eyes locking to hers as he pressed a kiss to her fingers. "Good night, Granger."
He left her standing there, blinking in stunned silence as he made his way down to the dungeons, feeling every bit a new man.
Draco Malfoy was in agony. Pure unadulterated agony.
Saturday life as he knew it had changed forever; he realised he'd developed buggering feelings for Hermione Granger in the span of two months. Two months of Prefect patrols, making eye contact every meal from across the Great Hall and the occasional study shared study time in the library…
Or maybe those had been more often than he'd realised.
Either way, it was semantics now that he'd gone and bloody kissed the witch. And she was avoiding him.
Sunday, yesterday, the day after Hallowe'en, the day after kissing her, he hadn't expected to see her, per se. She was likely still emotional in light of the news she'd received and when the female Weasley hadn't shown to any of the meals either, he'd presumed the witches were together and he would have the chance to have a proper talk with her today—Monday.
He had been worried when the female Weasley had shown up at breakfast without Granger, but he brushed that off as the witch sleeping in after a draining weekend. By lunch time, however, when she had clearly avoided all eye contact with him in their morning block of classes, worry had morphed to panic—which only increased tenfold when she sat with her back to him at lunch.
Panic gave rise to confused frustration in their afternoon block of classes, which all conspired against him to keep him from having to deal with anyone or anything by dinner, and lead him to the library in lieu of the Great Hall when his stomach began rumbling for the final meal of the day.
He had been sitting at their table for hours. Hours. And he'd been quite intentional in selecting this table, if only to finally have her look his way for the first time since he'd kissed her.
The fact he'd been sitting here starving all sodding evening, fruitinessly waiting to catch a glimpse of her wild curls bouncing as she marched about, only served to set him adrift in a sea of agony.
"Gryffindor bravery my arse," he groused to himself, having checked his pocket watch and noting the library would be closing in a quarter of an hour. "I'll corner her in a corridor tomorrow if I have to; I'm not waiting till bloody Wednesday for patrols and give her the chance to have someone take her p—"
"Take it back, Draco Malfoy!"
"Wha—?" His heart seized in his chest as Granger appeared from nowhere, eyes blazing and sparks of gold and red magic igniting at the ends of her curls.
Salazar, she was fucking glorious—if not slightly terrifying...
She moved her face closer to his, pinning him to his seat with the ferocity of her scowl. "Take. It. Back."
He swallowed, mind reeling. "I don—"
"Yes you do," she hissed. "It was a pity kiss and I don't need your pity, so take it back!"
His brow furrowed, intelligent counters dissolving on his tongue… "Pity kiss?" Salazar, that was stupid.
"Don't play dumb with me." Her glowering eyes narrowed, twin daggers poised to strike. "I've spent half the day Sunday and all day today going over it in my mind, replaying everything from Saturday and it could only have been a bloody pity kiss, and, Godric! I don't want another burst-of-emotion, spur of the moment kiss that will lead to nothing… So take it back."
Blink once. Twice. "'Another'?" he queried, buying time to study her face a beat longer. To assess that almost imperceptible tremble in her lower lip, and the almost pained hue in her eyes under the fires of wrath…
"That's quite frankly none of your concern right now, Draco Malfoy," she answered, folding her arms across her chest. "My point is that you kissed me out of pity the other night, and I'd prefer it if just once I'd be on the receiving end of such an affectionate gesture because the wizard wants to, or can't go another sec—"
Her argument was lost as Draco kissed her for the second time, floating both hands out as he rose from his chair. He was honestly surprised she hadn't already pushed him away to expand on her argument, but perhaps he could make his say in all this perfectly clear without using words. One hand came to rest on her neck, fingers winding their way up into her curls, the other cupped her cheek.
Her arms must have unfolded, because something took a soft hold at the elbows of his jumper; it was all the encouragement he needed. His tongue wasted no time in boldly skimming across the seam of her lips and he damn near moaned as her lips parted and she surrendered. She bloody surrendered, her hands dropping and moving up his back, fisting his jumper and pulling him to her…
She was warmth and fire—not a destructive flame that would render him to ashes, but a forging blaze. A fire whose sole purpose was to create… To mold and shape.
He loathed that she slowed her pace and began pulling away, and determined to press his forehead to hers when they broke apart, panting. "It wasn't pity," he rasped, marvelling that her eyes could widen any more than they already had…
"It wasn't?" A thick swallow, which had him shaking his head, tightening his hold, lest she flee from his arms with his declaration.
"I wanted to kiss you." A puffed exhale over Granger's beautiful nose. "I hoped that kissing your hand afterwards would have led to you that conclusion; that's generally the gesture of a man interested in courting a woman…" He felt the flame of her cheeks and claimed her lips a third time, firm, but brief.
Far too brief. He bumped his nose to hers, allowing a silky chuckle. "That second kiss was threefold in its intent: shutting you up, answering my question, and again because I just wanted to. That third one just now was also because I wanted to and was a means of telling you I'd like to continue this conversation in a more private setting." He buried a feral smirk as he pillowed his lips over her bottom lip, basking in her whimper as he bit down on it just before pulling away. "And perhaps make you absolutely breathless as I prove to you that pity has nothing to do with snogging you senseless, Granger."
It was still dark when Draco blinked awake one fine, April morning. His bed was warm, which meant it was one of those blissful nights of the week when Hermione stayed the night. He'd argued that she could stay all the time, stating that Theo would not care in the slightest giving up his spot in the room to settle in with Astoria, but his witch had been firm in wanting to be fair. And before he could counter that he preferred his sheets when they smelled like her, she'd presented him with a set she claimed was her alternate set, and helped him put them on his four-poster bed in the Slytherin dorms.
"Are you awake, Draco?"
Merlin, he'd never recover from hearing his name, his given name, roll off her tongue. Like she had bitten into a piece of chocolate… "Somewhat," he mumbled, skimming a hand over her arm on its journey to rub his eye. "What is it, love?"
A long exhale. "I had that career inquiry session with McGonagall today…"
Draco froze, hand stilling on his face—not at the subject of her admittance, but the tone with which she spoke. "And?" he managed to prompt still.
"And I wondered what you thought of Italy…"
Warmth lit in his chest, spreading down his arms as he gathered his witch closer to him. "Italy?"
"There's a potion master there looking to take on several apprentices, and I know we hadn't discussed the future much, but… I was wondering if Italy sounds like something you'd consider?"
He would have laughed outright for joy, bellowing for the entire castle to hear that Hermione Granger wanted him to remain in her life, were it not for the fact that he was too damn sleepy, because it was still the bloody middle of the night.
"As long as you give me apples, I'll go with you anywhere, love," he settled for, spooning her even nearer from behind. Not for fear she'd slip away, not anymore. But for the simple reason that she let him. That she wanted him to, and that he could.
Tomorrow he would tell her that he'd already had the same career session with the Headmistress, and already expressed interest in the apprenticeship. Perhaps after the stress of N.E.W.T.'s was finally over, he would work up the nerve to tell her he'd already thought of a name for their own apothecary someday. And that he wanted to name their children Scorpius and Lyra…
But for now, he allowed himself the pleasure of drifting back to sleep, his witch in his arms, his heart full, and made completely new.
Thank you all for reading :) Memorised update coming this weekend.