Chapter Eight

The sky painted itself pink and yellow, the sun setting gently into the ocean. Draco didn't intend to keep them out so late, but after the picnic (hiring more of those muggles to set it up before arrival) they had such a great time, that he took her dancing. That time, she didn't move away from him, she danced, and he took his joy in the way her hips moved, her feet on the beat, and her heart against his.

They had gone to the local shops, and he bought her a new pair of slippers. They had dinner at a restaurant decorated with strung lights. They walked on the beach then, their shoes in their hands, the sand squishing between their toes. It was perfect, the perfect day. She was perfect.

Hermione wore that smile that lasted all day, the same she wore on their first dates. Feeling bubbling excitement of the rest of their night together, he raised their joint hands and twirled her under his arm. The light caught in her hair and glowed in her eyes. He believed he had never loved her more than in that very moment and he felt a crushing weight on his shoulders, on his heart and he realized why they called it "falling in love," because he was descending right into her. He wanted their souls to crash and the earth to shake under their feet. He kissed her, his fingers tangled in her moonlit hair.

Her smile widened. "What is it, Draco?"

"I love you."

"I do too. I love you."

He shook his head because she wouldn't understand. When he said "love" he meant that she was everything to him. The crushing, the guilt when he thought of how he almost lost her long before he would have missed her. He would have though, he believed that at some point in his future he would be looking for something that didn't exist, a reason he couldn't name. Because her name was "mudblood" and she would have been gone before he knew.

Draco kissed her again, to lose those emotions in her mouth. He hated those emotions, the strength that felt like he would wither. He thought she didn't understand, only she knew. Hermione comprehended the strength long before he had, and she used it as he buried it until he exploded.

"Draco? Are you well?"

Slowly, he nodded. "I..." He decided on the truth. "I just realized how much you mean to me."

She sighed but the smile remained. "You're remarkable."

"Did I ever tell you I was sorry?"

"Yes."

"Vaguely," he told her, because he remembered how he blew past it, wanting her happy again. To avoid the travesties they went through in their teenage years.

"We don't have to talk about this -"

"Because you know how I hate it."

"Well... Yes."

He held her face. "Hermione Jean Granger, I am terribly sorry for my offenses. All of them. I will never forgive myself."

Her hands ran themselves over his. "I forgive you."

Again, he kissed her, holding her so tightly around her waist that he lifted her feet off the ground, and he spun her.

The perfect day.

He contemplated all the different ways they could spend their night in one single moment when they approached the house. All of his ideas that were causing him to stir crumpled and burned.

Harry bloody Potter stood on their step.

They stopped in their walk, and Hermione gasped before hurrying to hug her friend, asking what was wrong, if everyone was okay. Potter, confused, looked past her at him, and there was a glint, something dangerous in his eyes.

"Everyone is fine, Hermione."

"Then why are you here?"

His mouth opened but nothing came out, that stupid look on his face clouding apparently the English language. The most frightening was that Hermione wore a similar look, a name on the tip of her tongue.

Draco went up, his hand on Hermione's back. Part in possessiveness, yes, but mostly for her attention. "Love, I'll welcome Potter in, you put the kettle on?"

She nodded, gathering herself and left them on the step, shaking her head.

Potter turned to him. "What did you do?"

"What makes you think I did anything, Potty?"

His hands clenched into fists, but he leaned back. "I have my sources."

"Don't Auror your way out of this. Get inside before she starts questioning if I killed you out here."

He seized his arm, but let go as quickly. "You messed up, Malfoy."

"Funny, she doesn't remember it that way."

"What did you do?" There was venom in his voice then, but it didn't scare Draco. He had already won.

"I'll tell her."

"She won't believe you."

"What were you to her in those seven years, Malfoy?"

He had him. Draco thought quickly, his eyes finding Hermione's back in the kitchen picking up the whistling kettle.

"I'm not her enemy. I'm yours. You won the war, Potter. Congratulations. But for all the gold in the world, you won't win this one."

"I'd love to make that bet with you. All I have to tell her is that she came to me that night you slept with your subordinate."

Draco grinned, and he saw the contract in Potter's eyes. The slight worry. At least some things hadn't changed. "Go ahead. Tell her how you took advantage of her that night. Then I'll tell her that I didn't do what you said I did, that it was a misunderstanding."

"You'll lie."

"I don't lie. I stretch the truth, but I never lie." For the first time, he spilled it to Potter. "I didn't sleep with Baxter. Nothing happened, she came on to me and Hermione walked in at an unfortunate moment. It was a misunderstanding. But you... You took advantage of her weakness."

"Let Hermione hear you call her weak."

"Let her hear what happened." He nodded to the door, but when Potter didn't move, he grinned the same grin he had when he was torturing First Years in school.

"Sorry, Potter. You had your chance." He bowed him in, and Potter's hand shot out pushing him off the step and into the weeds. His breath was taken from the fall, but Draco didn't retaliate.

He won.

"I'm not giving up," Potter said as he walked in.


Something painful pulled at the edges of her brain. It was instant when she saw Harry. It was so strong that she went temporarily blind, her hand slipping off the counter, and before she fell it came back, like someone turning on the lights. It must have been the sea air, she told herself.

"Are you boys alright?" Hermione scanned Draco and Harry carefully as they came in. Draco looked smug while Harry looked downtrodden.

"Dandy," Draco answered, kissing her cheek.

Harry nodded in consent. Something was wrong. She poured the tea and they sat. It was too quiet, especially for Draco and Harry in the same room, much less the same table.

"Harry..." She didn't know how to phrase the question. Whatever it was, he wouldn't say in front of Draco. So she settled with asking, "is this about work?"

"No... I must go." He stood, the chair scraping the tile.

"Harry, no. What is -" She looked at Draco pleadingly. "Draco, may I please speak with Harry alone?"

Draco kissed her hair, and left his tea, calling over his shoulder. "Take as long as you wish."

Something about the way he said that left her unsettled but she would deal with it later, if she could remember. There seemed to be a lot of things lately that she wasn't remembering.

The side of Harry's profile faced her. He had grown a lot since that little boy she knew. He was more rugged, his face scruffy from a couple of days sans shaving. He was a man. A wizard.

"There's this witch," he began, not once glancing at her. It was easier for him that way, she knew, whenever he was discussing anything personal or painful (most of it being the same thing). "I think I'm in love with her."

"That's wonderful, Harry."

"Yes, it is," he sounded uncertain.

"What are you doing here then?"

"I... Didn't know what to do about it?"

"Why don't you ask Ginny?"

"I... I wanted a second opinion."

"I think you should tell her."

His head bobbed up and down. His hair was messier than usual, as if he truly had not ran a brush through it. "Okay."

He was lying, she knew he was. "Harry -"

"I gotta go. Thanks for the tea." He was absent-minded, he walked out the front door, not seeing anything around him. She chased him out, but there was a crack, and he was gone.

There was that pulling at her brain, a constant ache. She felt a little sick, and she swayed to the bedroom. Draco peered at her hopefully over the bed, but his smile slipped.

"What's wrong, love?"

She sat on the bed, her fingertips to her forehead. Something was wrong. "I must be tired."

"It was a long day," he agreed, pushing her shoulders onto the bed. "I'll make you feel better." His lips were on her neck and the pain subsided. The more he touched her, the more she forgot about it, the more it became a discomfort, like sitting in those library chairs but now - like then, it was worth it, every throb, if she could feel more of him.


Over and over the waves crashed. Constant, never changing. Unknowing to what laid beneath them and the world that grew and fell in and around. He ached to be something like that. He thought he was near, that the war had done him in sometimes, like he was on the brink, and there were days where it hurt. Everything hurt too much, a touch on a burn that never healed.

He turned back to Hermione's house, and the bedroom light went off. It was salt in a wound, and he took a deep breath. He thought of going home and he thought of drawing papers up on Malfoy, but of what? Harry had no proof. That was always his problem. He thought of talking to Ginny, but he nixed that as quickly as it came, because he knew what she would say.

"Harry, you go back and you tell her what happened!"

He couldn't and Ginny wouldn't understand. Neville wasn't dating Parkinson and Parkinson hadn't done something to him... Hermione didn't act uncomfortable, and she should have. It wasn't her, there was a film there. It was like she didn't remember him.

Malfoy poisoned her. That much he knew, but how to get her back without damaging her? He wasn't a Healer.

There was only one thing he could think of, and that was to play along with him. He would win Hermione back.

He traveled down the beach, recalling a hotel he heard of on his way there. It was supposedly too grand for his tastes, but it would do until he could get Hermione home.