Chapter Seven

Magical Eves

A purple-colored Cordyline (more commonly known as Dragon's Tongue) rested on the pillow greeting her roused body. She grinned at the different kind of flower he left for her there and the meaning he knew she'd catch from it.

Like every morning she dressed, and opened the door to find and hug him, however, he was already there across the hall in front of his own door.

"You don't give me much of a choice," he drawled, his eyes moving upwards, hers traced his path instinctively.

Hanging on the door frame was a mistletoe. She only saw it for a sheer second before he palmed her cheek earning her attention, kissing her lips. "Morning, love."

"Morning," she breathlessly sighed. "How did you sleep?"

"A little rough. It's difficult having you right across the hall and not able to be with you - don't fret, I won't ask you to change your mind."

He didn't know, but it tore at her too. She wanted to be with him, to know what it would feel like, for them to be skin to skin and nothing between them, to see and feel every bit of him. It would be a stamp on their relationship, that they belonged only to each other.

She didn't have a reason for why she refused him. The right moment wasn't substantial. It was because she was scared, and it was irrational. Draco hadn't been with anyone either, that she knew for sure. It was one of the ways he had attempted to gain her trust, in a spell that lit his hands and shown them clean.

"I have a surprise for you," he proclaimed happily, the change of subject drawing her out of her pondering.

"You don't have to surprise me every day. Being with you is enough."

"Humor me," he said leading her downstairs, where the sight of a thousand golden twinkling lights lit the mantle of the blazing fireplace; the branches of the fir tree in the corner. Cranberries and popcorn strung it, tiny green and gold lit balls creating an ethereal glow in the dark lounge. One gleaming present sat under it on a satin green rug, but it was Draco who she looked to, the image shining in his eyes.

It overwhelmed her, the gesture, the work. It was astonishing that just then that it would occur to her, but it did. Draco Malfoy truly did love her.

"You didn't have to go through all this trouble."

"It wasn't trouble, Hermione. I like doing this for you. I want you to be able to remember this. To know that I wasn't such a bad person."

"I know you're not -"

"But where's the evidence," he said roughly. "The kisses? I can kiss anyone, I can tell anyone I love them, give anyone a book. This is your proof, too, that I'll do anything, and my commitment will be proof as well. I won't have you ashamed of me."

She choked, "how can you think that I'd be ashamed of you? We hide because we must. I love you, Draco. You know that. Stop trying to prove something because I'll never doubt you. Ever."

Suddenly, he kissed her, his hand on her cheek pulling her to him. He tangled his fingers in her hair behind her neck tugging her head up for better access to her mouth. He tasted her lips, her teeth and her tongue. He tasted all of her, and for her, there was no better sensation. He was a savor of clean mint and she drunk him in.

When he withdrew she moaned from the lack of contact. She gathered her thoughts quickly, and smiled. "Tomorrow's Christmas. Every eve my parents would read me a story. I brought a book along with me. I'd like to read it to you."

He nodded, and she ran up the stairs to fetch it. On the bottom of her wardrobe was the plain brown book, the binding holding the words, Magical Eves. Every magical story there was on the night before the holiday.

Draco was reclining on the couch when she returned. He stretched open his arms and she cuddled in next to him, her entire frame against his. The book's binding cracked with old use, and she read the first page, bringing them into a different world, even from a muggle's perspective. The snapping of the burnt wood and licks of the flames lulled them further into the pages, and into a dream-like state.

He combed her hair, his nose buried into its locks. Within three stories of time she felt his breath slowing and evening. She peered up through her lashes to see the fringe of his white tresses brushing his violet lids , his lips slightly parted. He was beautiful.

Carefully Hermione shifted up sliding the woven blanket over them. She settled back into his arms as they enclosed her securely. She placed her book to her chest and barely kissed his lips, gentle with the pressure to not wake him.

A hidden chime echoed through the bottom portion of the house announcing that midnight had arrived. Lying her head on his shoulder, she whispered to his neck, "happy Christmas, Draco."

Slumber was sweeping over her and through the line that separated her dreams from the reality surrounding her, she heard Draco whisper back, "merry Christmas, my lioness." His lips, warm on her heated forehead trailed over her hairline, down her temple, and over her cheek. The book clambered to the floor.

Gradually she was brought out of her dormancy, her heart kicking hard on her ribs, threatening to break them. She reached to touch his lips, and felt them on her skin. Skin to skin. It was what she wanted, and why was she waiting? It was wasteful when she had him right there, in the perfect moment.

As if he was reading her mind he assured her, "you don't have to, Hermione. We can sleep right here together and I'll be content."

"I want to."

His voice was gravel. "Say it one more time."

"I want you."

"I'll never deny you." His lips crashed on hers, and so did his hands that gripped her sides, possibly bruising them, but she didn't mind. She grappled his back, tearing at the shirt, a layer between them.

It was supposed to be soft and sweet, that was what Hermione shamefully read, but that wasn't sufficient. Nothing about them had been soft and sweet, they were fire and ice, they created smoke and weak puddles. They melted one another, and they melted into each other, their clothes falling to the floor with the book.

She felt his bare chest, his bare hips. The fire cast over his face earning him a sickly tinge, but the sweat that soaked his locks grazed her neck as he planted pecks along her shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione."

"Merry Christmas, Draco."

The book was opened on an ending page to a long and adventurous story. The ending paragraph read: She said goodbye to her lover in a wave, her heart heavy as she watched his form disappear. She should've known he'd vanish in a puff of smoke as all ghostly apparitions did, for he was a ghost, and most imperative, he wasn't hers. He never could be, they were of two different worlds that couldn't be, but they were at crossroads, and she vowed to join him soon.