It was one of those nights. The rain poured outside of their homely cottage, wind blew from side to side making tree branches occasionally brush against the closed windowpanes. It was the perfect night to curl up in a bed and just sleep. If only it were so easy.
Hermione Granger lay in bed… no. Hermione Weasley lay in bed attempting to sleep. It is correct. She had fulfilled the whole Wizarding World expectations and married her fellow war hero and Hogwarts sweetheart, Ronald Weasley.
They had exchanged vows barely three months ago. It had been a small ceremony involving only family and friends. Obviously her friends were her family now that the war was over, and she had failed to restore her parents' memory. She still felt a void during her whole wedding ceremony just thinking that they weren't there. She had received comforting and heartwarming looks and touches from her now husband and their best man.
Harry Potter. The boy-who-lived, knew how she felt. Her parents, although alive, had no memory of her existence whatsoever. Their losses were similar. Then again, everyone had lost at least someone in the war.
Of course the media found a way to sneak into their ceremony long enough to get a few pictures of the newlyweds for the Daily Prophet. They had stayed long enough to get a rise out of Harry too. Harry Potter being the epicenter of the war was sick of the media. He could not stand it. Several law-suits had caused the Daily Prophet to cease their obnoxious articles only temporarily. Harry would have to give in eventually. In the meantime, he would kick them out with more than threats from his best friends' wedding.
Hermione chuckled at the memory of Harry's red face as he pointed his wand warningly to the more than frightened photographer, who dissaparated in a moment's notice. She became aware that she had made a noise loud enough to disturb her sleeping husband and looked up to see if she had.
He remained asleep and she let out a sigh letting her mind wonder once again. Her head rested in the piece of skin between Ron's shoulder and his chest; while her hand lay carefully on top of his inflating and deflating stomach. A strong arm wrapped her shoulders keeping her close to him.
She always let her mind wonder at this time of night. It was the only time when she could truly set herself free. She glanced once more at the sleeping figure beside her and felt nothing but painfully guilty. It wasn't like she didn't love Ron. She did, very much in fact. His heart was so big and she felt welcome in it. He never failed to make her smile, and he always had something nice to say to her. His embrace was something beyond words. The way his strong arms seemed to go on forever around her always comforted her. She was happy.
Well, no. To say she was happy was definitely an overstatement, but to say she was satisfied was an understatement. She was somewhere in between. CONTENT! She was content.
She couldn't put a finger on what was wrong with her relationship with Ron. He loved her, she loved him. She should be ecstatic instead of just happy, let alone content. What was she missing?
It was only at night that she would ponder over this. It was only at night that she would allow herself to close her eyes and picture even if just for a second, his gray eyes and bright blonde hair. She immediately scolded at herself for always letting her train of thought end with him. What was it about Draco Malfoy that had her breathing heavily just with a fraction of a thought about him?
Of course she knew she was lying to herself by saying it was a fraction of a thought. She thought about him a lot. Only at night, though. It was only when her husband had long ago drifted away to sleep and their empty cottage was drowned in silence, that she began to think about him. During the day she was immersed in her marriage. She laughed and kissed her husband dearly. She was affectionate and caring, but it was all a mask. It was only at night that she could remove that mask and truly let herself free.
She knew it was wrong, of course. That was where all the guilt came from after all. Her hands trembled when she thought of it, and her throat closed up making it hard to breathe, and thus the heavy breathing. Ron was everything a husband was supposed to be and she felt horrible for thinking it was not enough. What was he missing?
It was a question which she had often asked herself without successfully answering.
On this particular night, Hermione thought about Draco in a way that she hadn't allowed herself to do so before. She remembered. The first time she looked at him and realized she had feelings for the boy; the first time he had uttered her name, their first kiss…
Ron removed his hand from where he had it curled around her shoulders as he stirred in his sleep, making Hermione snap out of her Malfoy-filled thoughts. Hermione would have believed he could hear her thoughts had she not known he was not a good legilimens. So she rolled around in bed facing the ceiling and watching as Ron gave his back to her.
She sighed and rolled to her side, giving her back to him as well, a single salt-water drop touring down her cheek. Her thoughts of longing for Draco Malfoy kept her awake for as long as she had married. She felt weak for not being able to keep him away from her mind. Everything at night revolved around him. She could even smell his scent some nights, feel his touch, see his eyes, taste his breath... What could she do? He owned her thoughts.
She let herself smile before her heart broke. The guilt ate her up mercilessly, clawing at her insides and ringing in her ears. But before that, her mind was briefly at peace, letting her fantasize on what could've been, and embracing the full swing of her longing. So she gave herself the task of enjoying her brief blissful remembrances before the cold unforgiving guilt hit her.
She let herself drift off to sleep thinking of him. Her dream that night was a reflection of her thoughts. A memory…
It was finally over. Her last day at Hogwarts was a bittersweet experience. She was graduating and even though Harry and Ron weren't with her (after the War, they had been accepted in Auror training), she had had a more than satisfactory senior year. And it was all because of him.
Draco Malfoy of all people had made her last year at Hogwarts one of the best years of her life. They had of course, started wanting to rip each other's head off, but with time they found they had much more in common than they expected. After several heated discussions ending in passionate kisses they had given in. He showed her he was over his prejudices. And she showed him she was able to let go and have fun every once in a while. They never ceased to fight, and sometimes they remained without speaking to each other for days. They had never publicly acknowledged the state of their relationship, because there was no relationship in the first place. Hermione was not with Ron at the moment but everyone could see it building up. And Draco, well, he was known for being a ladies' man. So they had never even uttered anything close to commitment; not to each other, or anyone else. Nobody even knew about them. Nobody would ever know.
Whatever it was, they were both aware that it would be over once they graduated. That was the reason that Hermione was grieving out on the balcony, wearing her grey tulip dress on her graduation night instead of inside, having fun at the party. She had feelings for him and she cursed herself for being so stupid in allowing so.
He found her there. He wore all black as usual and he made his way to her silently, making her gasp in surprise when he first spoke.
"Aren't you glad?" he said. An amused smirk twisted in his face as he saw her jump.
"Glad? What about?" she tried to say nonchalantly but failed miserably. He chuckled and her heart skipped a beat or two.
"Graduation, Granger! Of course, leave it to you to be sad about ending school." He put his hand inside his pocket and looked at the ground. His registered smirk never left his features.
"Hey!" she said bumping her fist to his shoulder playfully. "Just so you know I am in fact glad it's over" she continued with just a bit of spite in her tone. He caught up instantly.
"Don't lie to yourself Granger." They both turned to face each other feeling the tension build up with her poorly disguised comment. "You're addicted to it; you won't know what to do with yourself once it's over," his expression was now somewhat tense. She knew they were not talking about school anymore.
"Just so you know, I have many of plans regarding my time post-graduation." She could feel her cheeks burning and her palms sweating as they curled into fists on each side of her body. Her heart thumped violently against her chest.
"I'd ask you to share if I had any intention on listening," he said, smirk back in place. She sighed and turned to walk back inside but felt him grab her elbow and spin her right back around.
"What?!" she said.
He caught her eyes in his, sending shivers down her spine. His look was almost desperate, somewhat pleading, but she couldn't quite figure it out. Then he let out a sigh and she knew.
She knew what his eyes were saying: 'it would've never worked out,' 'it will be easier to hate each other,' and 'this is probably goodbye.' She gave him a knowing look. She could feel the tears starting to build up behind her eyes but she fought them and just kept on staring into his piercing eyes. She had to fight even harder to restrain herself from kissing him senseless right there. She knew she loved him then. And she knew she always would.
Right then it dawned on Hermione, what was missing with her husband; because the look she and Draco had shared that night, alone, held more passion than her entire relationship with Ron. There was nothing wrong with Ronald Weasley. Nothing, except for the fact that he was not Draco Malfoy.
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Draco Malfoy sat up on his bed after waking up abruptly. His blonde hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead; his chest was pounding with the furious and rapid beating of his heart; his breath was quick and erratic and his hands were balled up in fists. His eyes scanned the room rapidly until they fell upon the naked body beside him. He groaned.
Astoria's blonde hair was spread underneath her sleeping head. She seemed undisturbed by his sudden wakefulness. That relieved him. He did not need her asking what was wrong without him knowing how to answer that.
Everything. Everything was wrong.
He stood up and picked up his boxers from the floor, putting them on. He shot one last glance at her sleeping fiancée before heading to the library. The Malfoy Manor had been restored and he had inherited it later on, after his parents' death. He tried not to think about them, which was nearly impossible as he currently inhabited the place where all his memories of them had occurred.
He was planning to sell it, but the only pleasant memories from his childhood, all involving his mother and not Lucius, kept him from doing it. Instead he was looking for a more modest place to live with his soon to be wife. Meanwhile, though, he rather enjoyed spending most of his time abusing the Manor's library.
He must have read every book at least once, his favorites were so worn out that he considered buying new copies; but there was something about a worn out book that soothed him. There was something about reading and spending time in this place that gave him peace of mind, made the painful pulling at his chest, cease. Did he dare to admit to himself what it was? NO, of course not.
He was what the dictionary may define as a pathological liar. He lied to himself mostly, however, in order to keep the lies he told to himself believable, he felt obliged to lie to those around him. Which basically were just Astoria, Blaise and Theo. Fortunately for him, keeping his emotions deep inside of him was a very registered Malfoy trait he had generously inherited.
He prided himself on the fact that he could be having his heart shrinking inside his chest without even so much as a twitch of his face to give him away. He had mastered the art of concealment and had started to believe he was okay himself. That was until nights like these came.
These dreams he had, not so often, made him remember everything he was miserable for. And he often found himself sweating in the middle of the night, trying to forget his previous mishap. Yes, a mishap. That was what it was, an unlucky accident he had allowed to happen by letting his guard down and thinking about her before he fell asleep; even if just for a second.
He tried to remember what it was that triggered it on this night. He remembered having a conversation with Astoria about their engagement. That was it. That had done it for him. He recalled the events building up to his proposal and cringed. He allowed himself to react only in the library, at night, while being alone.
Argentum had just delivered the Daily Prophet in his hands at the breakfast table. He pet his eagle owl and gave him a treat before it flew away.
"Why do you let it stand on the table like that?! It's gross, I'm having my breakfast," Astoria had complained. He waved a dismissal hand at her before turning to his newspaper.
He froze.
WAR HEROES' VOWS EXCHANGED IN NUPTIALS LAST NIGHT.
Below the front page headline was a picture of her. There stood Hermione Granger, wearing a breathtaking white dress, tangled in the Weasel's arms. She smiled awkwardly obviously uncomfortable with her picture being taken. The Weasel pecked her cheek happily and gave an excited 'thumbs-up' to the photographer. As much as he hated the guy, he could not blame him for being so ecstatically happy.
He read through the article carefully, getting each detail of their ceremony and reception, catching a photograph of a not-too-pleased Potter.
Astoria glanced at the paper and snickered. "Finally! It took them long enough right sweetie?" He smirked in return lowering his eyes to the photograph once more before turning the page, her face burned to his skull.
He had slipped a small, square, black velvet box across the breakfast table two days later.
He sat, legs sprawled before the sofa in the library, head hanging and staring at the ceiling. He told himself he needed to get it out of his system before dawn. He needed to get her out of his system. So he gave himself the task of thinking about her as much as he could until there was nothing left to think about. He would never admit it to anyone but himself, but seeing that article had broken him. He had spent days mourning her. She wasn't dead and he was both aware and thankful for that, but the sharp pain and strong pang in his chest told him otherwise. That day, he had found comfort for the first time in his family's library.
He loved her.
It was not a mere infatuation caused by spending time with her. No. it was much stronger than that because it had remained long after they had said their last goodbye. He had pleaded her to stay with him. He hadn't actually worded it but his eyes had told her he was willing to give his pride up for her. His family traditions, even. She was the only one who managed to get an expression of emotion on his face.
Her eyes apologetic in return had turned him down. He wanted nothing more than kiss her, and take her with him the next day. Hell, he would've married her right then! But he knew better. He knew that it hadn't meant the same for her. She didn't feel the way he did.
She would never know. He would never tell her. She failed to understand that she had carved her name in his heart leaving no room for anything or anyone else. She had been his ruin. His despair had been complete the moment he laid eyes on that bloody article!
He had been an idiot! He had let her in and she had taken permanent residence inside his mind. She made his head twirl with frustration, intrigue and fascination. His mind had never been more boggled. Whatever was about her that was making him slowly, torturingly, and mercilessly lose his head. Was it her vanilla and coconut smell? Was it her tender and soft skin? Was it those big, round, chocolate, brown eyes that seemed to look right through him? Was it the way her lips parted slightly when she thought too hard? Was it the way her brow furrowed when she disapproved of something he was doing?
It was all of it. All of it and more.
How did he end up here? How was it that he now adored what he had hated before? He ended up gripping fistfuls of hair and pulling just hoping to feel something else; something different than this agonizing and paralyzing pain that ate every inch of his sane being, a different kind of pain. Physical pain was easy to endure compared to this madness.
He remembered then when it all started.
Heading back to the Head's common room after patrol, Draco was feeling particularly annoyed. He had found a couple of fifth year Ravenclaws making out in the Potions classroom. Of course they would choose the dungeons to hide their indecencies. Fifty points taken from their house would have to do.
As he slid inside the common room he found it dimly lit by the fireplace. It was late and he wondered what Granger could possibly be doing outside of her bedroom. He was not at all surprised when he found her curled up by the fireplace with a book lying beside her head. She was asleep.
"What a loser…" he muttered under his breath. He thought about carrying her to her bedroom, but he was NOT her friend. Why would he do that? Instead he grabbed a cushion from the sofa and threw it to her head.
She shot up immediately sending the cushion straight to the fireplace causing it to ignite in flames. Her expression was priceless and he smirked to himself. Her head turned in every direction making her bushy hair bounce in its place. Draco could've sworn it had a life of itself.
Her eyes finally focused on him. Her eyes went from confused to burning angry in less than a second.
"What the hell Malfoy?!" she voiced a little louder than he expected. He did not falter though.
"Well, I thought I was doing you a favor unless of course you like sleeping on the floor and waking up covered in ashes from the dying embers, you ungrateful witch!" His eyebrows shot up as he looked at her incredulous.
"Of course you had to do it in the least appropriate manner, didn't you?" her cheeks were pink now, obviously realizing he was right. She stood up and walked straight to him. She looked at him from head to toe, and back to meet his stare. "What did I expect really? You have no knowledge whatsoever of the word politeness."
"Politeness? What about you huh? I don't recall you thanking me for waking you up!" She was merely inches from him now and the flickering light from the flames made her lips look quite red. He shook his head and directed his gaze towards hers before she could notice his sudden hormone-induced faux pas.
"THANK YOU? YOU ACTUALLY WANT ME TO THANK YOU?" she was screaming now.
"Well you're so big on the whole politeness thing, that it seems like the right thing to do!"
That's when he saw it. For just a second her eyes drifted towards his lips, and he caught her. She seemed as distraught as he had felt when he did the same thing just a while ago. But it was gone as soon as it had come, mimicking his actions. She straightened her back then and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
He took a step forward and leaned in so that their noses were almost touching. He never broke eye contact. He had intended to make a smart remark regarding her sudden speechlessness but her proximity got him distracted.
It must've been the lighting of the place, or the fact that it was so late. He must have been so tired that his judgment was not clear; but the next thing he knew he was closing up the distance between them. His hands somehow found the line of her jaw, his thumbs rubbing her blazing hot cheeks as his lips massaged her own hungrily.
She stood still for a moment before he felt her give in. Her hands grabbed the collar of his shirt as she pulled him even closer. By the time both of them had come to their senses they were panting heavily staring into each other's eyes.
Draco recognized realization in Hermione's eyes as he found it himself. Without uttering another word he walked to his bedroom and slammed the door shut.
That was the first of many arguments to end in similar ways. Eventually they had come to an agreement and no longer needed to fight to start up a snogging session. That didn't keep them from fighting, though.
Draco looked out the window to the pale orange light filtering through the curtains. He sighed deeply thinking of her once more before he made his way back to his bedroom, so the woman he was going to marry wouldn't drown him with questions he would refuse to answer. With that, he held up the wall around him once more, placing the familiar, emotionless mask on his face until the next slip of his mind towards her.