Roses are red
Violets are blue
I don't own Harry Potter
This is sad, but true
For the next two months, that was how they spent their time. At their weekly meetings, Hermione would paint and Draco would sit poised in the armchair, reading aloud from novels by Dickens, Austen, and the Bronte sisters.
Hermione could tell, over the course of their sessions, that Mister Malfoy was quite fond of her. And that thought terrified her. It wasn't that she did not find him endearing; she did - probably too much so, if she was being completely honest. She found herself becoming idle during her time between her painting sessions with the Malfoy heir. Instead of visiting Mrs Weasley and helping out in the kitchens, she found herself lolling about in her room, daydreaming of Mister Malfoy's platinum blond hair; would it be silky between her fingers? And his eyes - oh, how she loved to dwell on the depth of their colour.
Towards the end of the second month of her term at Malfoy Manor, Hermione finally accepted that she had feelings for the young heir - but that did not mean she could act on them. She had done a fine job of avoiding him, even as she returned to her chores in the kitchen. Unfortunately, she had done such a good job of avoiding Draco, that she had become complacent, and should therefore not have been as surprised when he finally ran into her three days after their last session...
"Miss Granger!"
The sound came from above her head as she collided with a solid chest on her way down to the kitchens. She had meant to visit Ginny, and instead found herself in the arms of the man who had taken up residence in her mind.
"Mister Malfoy!" She gasped as she stumbled backwards, pushing herself from his grasp. "My apologies, Sir, I wasn't looking where I was going."
"It's quite alright," he assured her, a slow grin spreading across his face.
"Forgive me," she licked her lips and hoped that he could not hear her heart thudding uncomfortably in her chest, "but what are you doing down here?"
He chuckled at her question; or perhaps at the audacity she had to ask it. "I was looking for you, actually."
"Me?" Her cheeks flooded with warmth and she had to fight the urge to cover them with her hands.
"Yes," he held out a book towards her. "This just arrived, and besides me, you're probably the only one who would appreciate it…" He trailed off as she took it from him and read the gold embossed lettering on the cover.
"Little Women," she read.
"It's only volume one," he explained. "But from what I've heard, it is a tremendous read."
Hermione was unsure what to say to that, so she offered the book back to Draco, willing her cheeks to stop burning. Draco shook his head and she frowned, confused.
"I thought you might like to read it between our sessions," he said. "Then we can talk about it while you paint."
"Oh." Hermione said. She wished she could be more articulate, but her mouth had turned dry. "Thank you," she managed a curtsey.
"You're welcome." Draco flashed her a perfectly white grin and then swept back up the stairs, leaving Hermione reeling on the landing.
By the time she had made it to Ginny, she was unable to contain the mixed soup of feelings swirling around inside of her; she was equal parts excited, confused, concerned, and terrified. Ginny took one look at her blotchy face and steered her on to a stool in the scullery. The red headed maid leaned against the sink and eyed Hermione with determination.
"What is going on?" She whispered. "You've been mad as hops for weeks now!"
"Mister Malfoy just gave me a book to read."
Ginny frowned. "I didn't know you could read."
"Well I can," Hermione said irritably. If she was being honest, she rather wanted to return to her room and begin Little Women.
"I know what this is about," her eyes shifted knowingly from the book to Hermione's face. The brunette swallowed thickly. "You fancy him."
"Excuse me?"
"Admit it," Ginny pushed away from the sink and came to crouch in front of Hermione, her blue eyes dancing with mirth and something akin to mischief; Hermione did not like that look. "You have feelings for the young Master Malfoy!" Ginny had lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, but Hermione still shushed her while glancing around the room as if expecting someone to burst in.
"Lower your voice!" She insisted.
"You don't deny it," Ginny observed, a grin stretching her face impossibly wide. "Do you think he feels the same way?"
"I know he does," Hermione said timidly. A flutter in her chest rose into a beating rhythm of drums as she uttered the words.
Ginny inhaled sharply and then let out a squeal of glee. "Did he say as much?"
Hermione nodded, and Ginny squealed again, only this time at a frequency too high for most human beings to hear. "Stop it," Hermione pleaded. "Please, Ginny. I couldn't bear it if anyone found out about my folly. I could lose my job, and oh - ! Mister Malfoy would be so embarrassed if he knew I'd told you."
"He should be more poked-up that he hasn't asked to court you properly," Ginny was still grinning.
"It wouldn't be proper," Hermione stood from the stool and clutched the book to her chest. "I am here to work for the Malfoy family, not marry into it. He is, and always will be, above my station."
"Pish-posh," Ginny swatted her statement away as if it were merely an annoying fly. "The times are changing, my friend," she said sagely.
"Perhaps for some," Hermione acquiesced. "But not here, and not in this case. Forget I told you anything."
Ginny rolled her eyes, but nodded. She took Hermione's face in her hands and whispered excitedly. "I will not breathe a word to anyone; but know this - I will be praying for you and Mister Malfoy every morning and every night. He needs someone like you in his life; a frail butterfly like his mother will not keep him entertained for long. And you, my dear friend, deserve the grandeur of a well-read lass."
"You're talking nonsense," Hermione stepped out of her friend's grasp, but she was smiling. "I'm retiring to my room until dinner. Please make sure no one disturbs me."
Ginny nodded her assent and then turned back to the sink, a small smile playing on her face.
"What did you think of it?" His voice came from behind her, and she jumped violently as she was dragged out of her day dream. "Sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
He grinned at the way she clutched her heaving bosom, one hand still splayed on the low wall overlooking the grounds. He had seen her from his bedroom window, standing on the courtyard. Briefly, he had wondered if she meant for him to see her; but then he remembered that she was not privy to the layout of the upstairs floors, and therefore could not know the location of his bedroom.
Another thought had formed then, that it was lucky that he did not know which of the servants' bedrooms she was currently occupying...but he had stopped the trajectory of that thought rather quickly; it was improper to think that way about a lady.
"What are you doing down here?" She asked. He frowned at her tone; it was far from welcoming.
"I saw you," he admitted slowly, "from my bedroom." He pointed behind them towards an open window on the third floor. Her gaze followed his finger and then she turned abruptly back to face the grounds without responding. "Are you quite well?"
"I think it unwise to spend time together outside of our allotted sittings." She said in a clipped tone.
"I don't understand?" His smile fell from his face and he willed her to look at him, but she seemed intent on a tree in the distance.
"Mister Malfoy," she licked her lips, a movement Draco caught as he stared at her profile. "I don't believe that it is a secret that I have harbour some less than appropriate feelings for you, and from what I have observed, I sense that they are not entirely unrequited on your behalf."
Draco was shocked; he had never known a woman to be so direct. He forced his tongue from its sticking place at the roof of his mouth in order to reply. "You would be correct."
Hermione exhaled heavily through her nose and squeezed her eyes shut, as if steeling herself for a physically demanding errand. "I'm sorry," she said through gritted teeth. "I need to go."
"Wait!" As she turned to go, Draco stepped forward and grasped her arm. "Please," he tugged and forced her to look up at him. His heart clenched when he saw the regret in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she repeated. "We can't do this."
"Why not?" He breathed.
"Because you can't give up all of this," she waved her hand towards the manor house, "for me." She waved a hand half-heartedly down her body before letting it hang limp beside her.
"Are you mad?" Draco whispered. "I'd give up everything for you in less time than it takes Father to judge me for my hair." At her flummoxed look, Draco clarified; "It takes him no time at all, believe me."
Hermione tugged her arm from Draco's grasp; the feel of his hand on her skin was almost too much for her to withstand. "You would resent me." She hadn't meant to sound so bitter, but she was feeling rather overwhelmed with him so close, and it came out with more bite than she intended.
"You're wrong," he shook his head. "I know that this is incredibly forward of me," he licked his lips and willed himself to stay where he was, rather than stepping closer to her, "but I would like the opportunity to court your properly. Please know," he held up a hand as she opened her mouth to interject, "that should you leave here without me at least trying to tell you how I feel about you, I will regret it for the rest of my meaningless, worthless life."
Hermione blinked up at him, feeling an all too familiar stinging feeling at the corner of her eyes. She had thought that she would do less crying since moving away from her father, but it seemed that she had actually cried more since arriving in Wiltshire.
"Mister Malfoy, I - "
"Shh," he soothed, his other hand wrapping around her wrist again. He stepped closer to her; she had to look up to see him now. "I'm done pretending I don't feel something for you; I can't - I won't - hide it any longer."
"Your parents…" she whispered.
Draco scoffed. "They are the most miserable people I know; please don't sign me over to a loveless marriage and several decades of wondering what if."
"This is incredibly inappropriate," Hermione breathed, though her words held no weight. Draco seemed to sense this and smiled wolfishly at her.
"Would you like me to let go, Miss Granger?"
Hermione glanced up at him, intent on telling him that yes he should let go because she intended to stomp away from him with all that was left of her integrity and pride; but the notion evaporated as she looked into his stormy eyes. Now that she was before him, she could see the melting pools of silver reflecting the soft moonlight. Her breath caught in her throat and she allowed herself the moment to enjoy the way one of his strong arms wound around her waist, tugging her closer. The other rose to cup her face; the skin beneath the pad of his thumb flushed as he ran it along her jaw.
As if he were a hypnotist and she a helpless volunteer, Hermione watched with wide eyes as his tongue flicked sinfully over his lower lip. His gaze dropped to her own mouth, which had fallen open slightly.
His head lowered infinitesimally towards hers, as if he was waiting for permission, but before she could give it, a shrill voice sounded from above.
"Draco!"
They stepped apart immediately, stumbling as they did so. Draco glanced furtively from Hermione to the upstairs windows, his eyes alight with panic.
"Mother?" He called back.
"Where are you, darling?" Narcissa Malfoy's voice trilled through the cool night air, effectively knocking the wind from Hermione's chest. The brunette stumbled further into the shadows and attempted to stifle her heavy breathing.
"I'm in the courtyard," he called back, running a hand through his hair. "I'll come to you presently."
Narcissa did not reply, but Draco turned back to Hermione and whispered; "Wait here, she won't keep me long."
"Mister Malfoy," Hermione hissed, stepping forwards until her face was once again thrown into sharp relief. "We cannot do this, not tonight...not ever." It took all of her willpower to speak the words she knew had to be said. "You broke apart from me as if my touch might burn you the second you heard your mother call your name…"
The obvious hurt in her voice was enough to send white hot panic coursing through Draco's veins; it had been a shock, that's all - he had meant everything he had said before his mother interrupted.
"Miss Granger," he swallowed thickly. "I must go and see what my mother wants, lest she come looking for me…" as if on cue, footsteps could be heard clunking down the stairs on the other side of the wooden doors. "But please, wait for me here and we shall discuss this properly."
He bowed slightly as he hurried from her presence, and Hermione watched with warring emotions churning an ocean inside of her. Of course she wanted to wait for him to return. She wanted to hear him tell her over and over again that he would run away with her, if necessary, and that his life would hold no colour should she deny him. But while Hermione had always envied the heroines in the novels she read, she had always known that she was not destined to become one of them.
The class system was strict, and her father's social standing was abysmal. It would be irresponsible of her to give in to such an impossible idea, knowing full well that when Lord and Lady Malfoy found out their son's heart belonged to a commoner, her reputation and family name would be tarnished. Her father had seen to it to destroy what little respect her mother had garnered, but she could not risk throwing her own hard work away on the romantic whimsy of a bored aristocrat.
Surely that's all this is, her wicked conscience whispered. Mister Malfoy is only interested because you are new and shiny, from London...it wouldn't take long into a courtship for him to realise you do not have anything substantial to offer him…
Tears welled in her eyes as she gathered her skirts and stepped over the low garden wall. She was unsure of where she was going, but she knew she could not be in the courtyard when Mister Malfoy returned.