She sat on her back patio, gazing at the stars and remembering.
...remembering all those years ago with him.
...remembering that forbidden love that added a smile to her 'hello' and a bounce to her step.
"Granger," he would whisper, suddenly right behind her. She loved the fact that he could sneak up on her. Not many could, and for some reason she couldn't pinpoint, she found that attractive.
"Ready for our date, snuggle bunny?" he whispered as he slid his arm over her shoulder.
She stifled a chuckle and whispered, "Snuggle bunny? What would your friends say if they heard you say that?"
"Don't know, seeing how I don't have any friends." Hermione's face dropped.
"Oh don't give me that face. You're better than a friend to me, Granger."
"Whatever you say, Malfoy. Now where are we going on our date?"
"You'll see."
They made their way through the castle silently, keeping to the shadows and lesser known passages. If they didn't know better, they'd swear there wasn't another soul in the entire place.
Malfoy eventually led her to the Room of Requirement, as Hermione expected he might. What she didn't expect was the sight that greeted her inside. Instead of the typical date setting, it seemed as if they had just stepped outside. The floor was covered in grass, and where she knew the walls should be, all she could see were luscious, green trees. She stepped inside and gasped as she looked up. Instead of the ceiling she found stars, just like the night sky.
"Malfoy, it's..." Finding she had no words to say, she looked over at him, her heart plummeting to her stomach when she noticed his lopsided grin. It transformed his features, and she wished she could always see that grin instead of the usual sneer.
"Come on, Granger. Don't just stand there. Crookshanks got your tongue?"
She slugged him in the arm, trying to cover up her grin.
"Ouch! You're dangerous, you wench. Come sit," he said, tugging her arm as he walked towards the blanket in the center of the room. "Make yourself comfortable."
As they stretched themselves out on the blanket and she snuggled herself into his arms he began pointing out different stars and constellations. Hermione of course already knew everything that he pointed out to her, but she kept her mouth shut as he shared with her something he obviously loved.
She turned her head to watch as his face lit up with excitement. He was so at ease, so comfortable lying with her and gazing into the sky. He pointed out his favorites with boyish enthusiasm. She inhaled slowly, taking in his masculine scent and storing it in her memory for later.
"And that one is- Granger, take a picture if you must. You can stare at me later. I'm trying to show you the stars!"
Hermione blushed and quickly turned her head towards the ceiling once more.
"That one is-"
"Draco," she finished.
They turned their faces towards each other again, astonishment on his and peacefulness on hers.
"Yes. How did you know?"
"I've known for ages," she admitted. "I looked up the constellation when I first met you as a First Year. It intrigued me."
"Oh."
"Have you always loved stargazing?" Hermione asked.
"Yes. My tutor started taking me up to the tallest tower of Malfoy Manor every week when I was just five years old. I find the stars so fascinating. So free..." He sighed and looked back up at the night sky. Hermione could see the tortured thoughts infiltrate his mind once more.
"I've always found constellations rather dull myself," she said, trying to ease his tension. "It must be dreadfully boring for them, floating around in nothingness without anyone to talk to for millions of miles."
"Hermione!" he exclaimed, sitting up to threaten a tickling match. "Draco is anything but dull!"
"Well no, not the constellation," she said with a sly grin sliding onto her features.
"Oh really? Dull? How's this for dull?" he questioned her, tickling her ribs until she was gasping for breath.
Hermione, never one to give up, gasped "Still dull!"
Draco stilled for a moment, looking into her eyes. Hermione thought she would melt under that gaze. His silver eyes seemed to be on fire. Slowly, he moved his hand up to her jaw, and began rubbing his thumb in circles.
"I'll just have to remedy that then, won't I?" he whispered, leaning closer. Hermione was barely able to make her mind remember to what he was referring when his lips touched hers in the most gentle, loving kiss she had ever received.
They kissed for what felt like hours. Never was the kiss urgent, hasty, or hurried, but slow, deliberate, and as if every stroke was meant to express something much deeper.
Hermione slowly pulled herself back to the present, recalling how Draco had remained a perfect gentleman the whole time. She recalled their last conversation, as he explained that it was the end, that he was going to do something he wished he never had to, but he had no choice. He wrapped his arms around her, planting one last kiss upon her lips as one tear slowly rolled down his cheek. She remembered feeling it couldn't be true, it couldn't really be the end of something so perfect. She remembered shivering as he pulled away, thinking she would never be warm again. She remembered as he pulled his cloak off of himself and wrapped it around her shoulders.
She remembered him looking into her eyes, tears welling up once more as he said, "It's always been you. It will always be you."
She remembered how he kissed her forehead.
And she remembered as he whispered into her ear, "I'll never love another," before dropping his arms as he walked away.
She remembered the sob that escaped his lips when he turned the corner, and she remembered sinking to the floor as tears silently poured down her own face.
Shaking her head, Hermione blinked away the tears that were presently blurring her eyes, four years later. She held her finger up and traced her Draco in the sky as the feelings and memories of that night rushed back and threatened to overtake her.
"Goodbye, Draco," she whispered, pulling up the cloak in her lap and taking in his smell one last time. "I miss you."
She walked over to the hole she had dug earlier that evening, dropping his cloak into it after one last squeeze. It felt appropriate to bury it, knowing that she could never go back. Knowing that she would never go back. Slowly she filled the hole, crying all the while, wishing that he was not a Montague and she was not a Capulet. But unlike Romeo and Juliet, their story would not end in death. It would end only with the death of their love.
She walked away, not looking back and not allowing the tears to fill her eyes once more. Looking down at the ring on her finger, she smiled as more recent memories came to mind. Ron on one knee, so nervous he could barely stutter the words out. It was endearing. And she would be happy with Ron. Really.