Redemption
a/N: Alright, so I've got a few ideas I'm toying with, and this chapter is set up so that any of them can work properly. I want to thank everyone for reading, and hope you all have a great day!
Chapter Four: Little White Dress
It was a Saturday night. Saturday, meaning that Draco Malfoy had been home and residing in the same closed space with Hermione for approximately one week and one day. Somehow, the pair had managed to avoid one another thus far, given their last confrontation shortly after his arrival. And as the young Witch prepared for her night out with her friends, she breathed slowly and shallowly at the thought of spending the next six months in the same space as him. Everything had ended so harshly and abruptly before, and she knew Draco better than to just assume that he was going to forget the past—especially after their confrontation the week previously.
Really, she was just ticking down the hours until he'd question her about her motives, and blame her for things that weren't really her fault at all. She sighed heavily, placing a small diamond stud necklace around her neck and staring at her reflection in the mirror that occupied her bedroom. She'd managed to get her mass of curls under control, and the soft strands of loose curls framed her face and spilled across her shoulders. She wore a simple white frock that dipped slightly at the chest, accentuating her cleavage. She picked up her bottle of rose-scented perfume and spritzed it on her chest, dabbing at it as she gave herself a final glance over.
She was going out with Ginny, Harry and Ron to dinner in order to celebrate Harry and Ginny's engagement. She figured that dressed nice without overdoing it would do the job just fine, but still, she wanted to make sure she looked decent enough so that he couldn't make some crude comment as she was leaving. Hermione made her way to the entrance of her bedroom, stepping through the frame and closing the door behind her. Her short black heels sunk into the carpet as she made her way across the entrance room, determined not to look at Draco, who was seated on the couch, reading.
He looked up from his book at the sight of her, his eyes taking in her general appearance before shrugging and returning to his novel. She exhaled in relief, clutching her stomach with the realization that maybe—just maybe—he was going to refrain from being a git tonight. As she reached the front door and grabbed her clutch, however, she realized that such dreams were far too overreaching to be realistic.
"I was under the impression—" He said coolly with Hermione's back facing him, and she heard the sound of crinkling paper, as though he were turning a page in the book he was reading. "—that white was only to be worn as a symbol of purity in women. Last time I checked, you were anything but."
"Malfoy," She spat, turning around on her heel to face him. He was still staring at his book, his face virtually expressionless. "You're the only man I've ever…well, you know…and I suggest you keep your crude comments to yourself!"
A hint of a smirk tugged on the corners of Draco's mouth, but he still continued to keep his eyes glued to the book in front of him, refusing to meet her gaze.
"Given the outfit you're wearing," He drawled casually. "I assume that you're hoping to change that tonight. Best remind Weasley when he's pleasuring you that you're a woman, and not an all-you-can-eat buffet."
Hermione wretched, rolling her eyes and scoffing in disgust. He always had to make some vulgar comment about her—if she had to handle this for the next six months, she'd find another way out of the marriage. Damn her guilt to Hell, this was unbearable!
"Oh, go to Hell!" Hermione shrieked, opening the door with fumbling hands. She stepped out into the hall of the complex and was about to shut the door behind her when she heard Draco snicker.
"I'm already there, Hermione," He called, and she slammed the door, blocking him from making any more commentary.
"Are you sure you've got to put up with him for the next six weeks?" Harry asked, probing at the lone meatball on his plate of spaghetti. The four friends had made reservations as a dimly-lit and high end Italian restaurant for the occasion, and the talk kept drifting back to Draco's sudden reappearance, much to Hermione's dismay. Ron made a low snort of annoyance at her side, and Hermione picked up her glass of wine, taking a sip and letting the fruity liquid slip down her throat before she dared reply.
"Don't worry about it," She said shortly, waving her best friend off with the gesture of her hand. "I've got everything under control."
Harry raised his eyes to stare at Hermione, a concerned and uncertain look inhabiting his bright green eyes.
"Just drop it, Harry," Ginny whispered, elbowing her fiancé and giving Hermione a reassuring grin. Hermione returned the friendly gesture with a weak smile, attacking the lasagna in front of her with her fork. She picked up a piece of the pasta and put it to her lips, chewing thoughtfully. She didn't want to talk about Draco—not tonight. She wanted them to have one night of fun; discussing the marriage plans and reflecting back on their days at Hogwarts.
"Still a rotten git, if you ask me," Ron grumbled, twirling his fork and inhaling a large mouthful of spaghetti.
Hermione's hand tightened around her cooking utensil, and she turned to glare at Ron, not wanting to hear another tirade about how displeased he was with Malfoy. Despite the fact that he'd been acting like a royal arse ever since he'd arrived, Hermione still felt the need to defend him. Call it her pride for being married to him or the defenses she built from when the two were intimate, she found the anger boiling underneath her skin at her friend's insult of her Pureblood husband.
"Fortunately, Ronald," She spat through clenched teeth. "No one asked you what you thought."
Ginny shot Ron a warning look, and cleared her throat, deciding it best to change the subject.
"So," Ginny began, setting her fork down and pushing aside her half-eaten salad. "Harry and I were thinking about having a small wedding. What d'you guys think?"
Ron shrugged indifferently, slumping down in his seat and pouting. Hermione had a feeling he was going to act so detached for the remainder of the evening, so she perked up, pushing her troubled marriage thoughts from her mind.
"Oh, Ginny, I think that sounds lovely!" Hermione exclaimed, sitting up and cutting off a piece of her lasagna. She forked the helping into her mouth, forcing a smile. "But, I don't think Mrs. Weasley will be too pleased with it. You're her only daughter; she's going to want to go out with a bang. Besides, you're not just marrying anyone, Ginny—you're marrying Harry, and to her, that's a huge deal."
Ginny groaned inwardly, running a hand through her brilliant red hair.
"Don't remind me," She said in exasperation. "Mum acts as though she hasn't got six other kids. All she says is 'Ginny this' and 'Harry that.' It's as if she's never been to a wedding before!" Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and busied himself with finishing up the remainder of his food, not wanting to get involved in Ginny's family matters. Hermione chuckled to herself; Harry was always so wary that he was going to upset Arthur and Molly when concerning their daughter, and typically grew quiet whenever one of them was discussed.
"Well," Hermione continued thoughtfully. "You could always try talking to her. It couldn't hurt." Ginny shrugged half-heartedly, clearly not convinced. Hermione sighed and took two more bites of her lasagna before pushing the plate away, too full to even attempt to finish what was in front of her.
The waiter came with their check, and once the four had finished divvying up the bill, Hermione looked up from her purse to notice that her three friends were staring at her apprehensively.
"What?" She asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the movies with us?" Ginny asked, shifting in her seat. Harry nodded his head solemnly and Ron just looked at her, an intent gaze settled on his face. Slowly, Hermione's eyes met with each of her friends, and finally, she shook her head.
"No, I'm sorry, I can't," She declined. "I have some filing to do at home for work, and tonight's the only time I really have to do it." Hermione watched as Harry and Ginny exchanged a look of concern, but she chose to ignore the fact that she'd caught them. She slid out of the booth after Ron, turning to offer Harry and Ginny a forced congratulatory smile. She held her arms out and wrapped Ginny into a hug, squeezing gently before turning to Harry, who pulled her into a sisterly embrace. She pulled back and smiled at both of them, her lips curling upwards as she said, "I'm so happy for the two of you. If anyone deserves some happiness and peace after the mess of a War, it's the two of you."
Ginny smiled sheepishly at her, and Hermione turned to leave, nearly bumping into Ron. She nodded her head towards him and deigned to give him a one-armed hug, not sure exactly what sort of friendly terms the two were on. Ron, after the disappearance of Draco nearly a year ago, had tried to pry back into Hermione's life. After several failed attempts and Hermione's insistence that he move on, the youngest male of the Weasley clan had grown undeniably bitter and cross towards her in all social situations.
After bidding her friends goodbye, Hermione exited the restaurant, turning a sharp corner and ducking into an alleyway. Looking around to ensure that no one was watching her, she Apparated to the pub closest to her flat. She walked inside with trembling limbs, seated herself at the bar, and rubbed her aching forehead.
The bartender made his way over to her, polishing a glass as his eyes slid over her figure. She threw him a warning glare and stood straighter, shaking her hair from her eyes.
"And what can I get for you?" He asked. "Martini? A tonic?"
Hermione fished around in her purse, grabbing a wad of money and slamming it down on the table.
"I want vodka straight up. And keep them coming."
Hermione had downed a handful of shots of vodka, and was suddenly gripped with nausea. She paid the barkeep her final bill for the night and left the pub, staggering in her heels as she went. She'd gone into the bar with the idea of forgetting all about Draco and her problems, but the more she succumbed to the alcohol, the more she thought about him. He invaded her thoughts and permeated her mind; he overwhelmed her, and she bitterly realized how aggravating that was. Damn him! Who was he to invade the privacy of her thoughts like that?
Too tipsy to Apparate, Hermione made her way back to the flat on foot; staggering over herself every few feet or so. She cursed herself for wearing heels, and when she finally made it to her apartment building, sighed in defeat and trudged up the stairs, a dull pounding overwhelming her head.
Reaching her door, she struggled to find her keys from inside of her clutch and then fumbled with the lock. Finally getting the door opened, she staggered inside of the apartment, yawning and kicking off her shoes. The sudden desire to curl up in bed and go to sleep enveloped her, and her clumsy movements were due more so to the fact that she was tired rather than the fact that she was tipsy.
She flipped on the light and slipped out of her dress, running a hand through her curls and preparing to find a fresh pair of pajamas to slip into.
At least, that was the plan until her eyes turned to the sitting room, and she saw a pair of grey eyes set on a cruelly amused, pale face staring at her with interest.
Bugger. She'd forgotten Draco was there. How could she have forgotten? He was the entire sodding reason she'd left her friends in favor of the bar in the first place!
Hermione watched Draco's eyes rove over her, and she looked down, suddenly realizing she was only clothed in a pair of knickers and a bra. Gasping, she bent down and retrieved her dress, shielding her body from him and swallowing heavily.
She watched nervously as Draco stood and slowly walked towards her, his lips turned upwards into the slightest whisper of a smirk.
"I must say, I didn't think you'd take my hint about wearing white to heart."
She tried to glare at him or bite back a stinging retort, but found herself unable to do so. She just stared at him with wide, saucer-like eyes, unable to do anything. Unable to breathe. Unable to focus on anything but the dip in his lips and the way they curved.
"I—I forgot…" She trailed off, realizing she more than likely didn't make any sense. Draco sniffed, his nose wrinkling slightly.
"You're drunk," He stated, disappointment lacing his tone. "I thought you'd stopped that."
Hermione shook her head slowly, the movement sending a dull ache through her neck. She nibbled on her bottom lip, at a complete loss for words. His masculine scent wafted up her nose, and she greedily inhaled—she remembered it too well: the smell of cologne and firewood. It was intoxicating, and Hermione licked her dry lips slowly.
Draco shifted closer to her, and lifted a hand to grasp the fabric of the dress she was holding. He gently pried it from her hands and balled it in his fists, tossing it to the floor.
"I told you," He said, his voice suddenly sounding faint. "Not to wear white."
Hermione leaned forward, her eyes fluttering closed and her lips parted in anticipation. Her breath shuddered, and her head grew dizzy as she waited for his response. Just when she was beginning to feel foolish for even thinking he'd make any sort of move in the first place, she felt a pair of lips brush against hers. They were soft, sweet, and excruciatingly familiar. The fire in her abdomen ignited, and she pressed her lips harder against his. His mouth opened on command, and their tongues twisted together and struggled for dominance. Hermione wanted to memorize it—every inch of his lips against hers. The soft texture of his mouth; the way his lips molded to hers. A soft moan escaped her lips, and Draco broke his lips away from her, staggering back with a heated glare in his eyes.
"I—I thought you didn't care anymore," Hermione slurred, stumbling forward. Draco jerked back and hissed, the sound terrifying in the dark and silence of the spacious flat.
"I don't," He spat. "Now go the fuck to bed and leave me alone, Mrs. Malfoy."
She stared at him, her chest heaving with anger, hurt and confusion. Her breath came out in rasping wisps, and tears began to blur her vision.
"Fuck you," She croaked, her lips trembling.
"You already have," He answered coolly, taking a step back. "Several times, I might add."
She choked back a sob at his response and made her way towards her bedroom, snatching her dress off the ground and shielding herself again, her tears spilling over and coating her cheeks.
"I hate you, Draco," She wailed in her intoxicated state, throwing the door open clumsily. "Get your damn sentence repealed—I don't care what you do after that. I hate you." With a short hiccup, she slammed her door shut, locking it and slumping against the door. She slid to the ground and fished her wand out of her purse, placing a Silencing Charm on her room.
In her solitude, she began to cry. Despite everything he'd said and done, she just couldn't bear to hate him. And maybe that was the reason she sobbed so mercilessly for the remainder of the night—because she cared too much to do so otherwise.