Chapter 10

It was past midnight. Hermione had come back to the dance after searching for Draco everywhere. She gave up, finding herself just outside the Gryffindor common room. She walked in, expecting Ron to be on the couch in front of the fire. When she saw he wasn't there, she had made a cup of tea and gone up to his room. She knocked quietly, cracking the door. Ron was nowhere to be seen. She walked over to his nightstand, setting the mug down. She performed a quick warming charm on the tea and turned to go.

Something caught her eye, forcing her to turn around again. There, behind the mug, was a picture. It was taken the summer before sixth year, so happy and carefree. Harry had his arm draped over her shoulders, and they were laughing. They had tanned faces, and their hair was blowing softly. Ron stood on the other side of Hermione, laughing at the camera and turning back to stare lovingly at her. She was utterly oblivious, laughing at something Ginny had said. The sight of it made her stomach turn over.

Now back at the ball, Hermione offered to help clean up and was shooed away by the ball committee, having organized the entire thing. They had tried to do her a kindness, not realizing that some good hard labor would ease Hermione's mind. Agitated and nervous, she wearily walked back to her room.

Draco had gone straight from Snape's office to his room, immediately pouring himself one, no, two, wait, how many was this? He had lost track. After Snape had invaded his head, they had gotten into a screaming match over his safety, Voldemort, and what Draco did and did not have to do. Livid and slightly ashamed, he decided to get hammered. It wasn't until he heard the heavy oak door of Hermione's side swing open that he realized how late it must be. She must have been off comforting Ronald, he thought bitterly. He swigged down his firewhiskey and stumbled towards the connecting doorway.

Hermione was inside, her back to him, making tea. She went through the motions gracefully, as if in a trance. She had kicked off her shoes, her dress unzipped halfway down her back. She paused in the tea making to stretch, running her fingers through her wavy hair. Draco groaned.

She spun around, alarmed. "I thought you'd be in bed."

"Well," he staggered. "It appears; not."

She stood stock still, then slowly bent down to pick up her shoes, never taking her eyes off him. "I looked for you," she said.

His head rocked heavily, though Draco suddenly felt completely sober.

"Before or after you went to him?"

She swallowed. He felt numb.

Hermione seemed to cave in on herself, exhausted. "Draco, I don't have the energy to talk about this just now. Why don't we just go to bed?"

He shook his head. "Did you go to him?"

"Well, yes, but, after I looked for you!"

He laughed bitterly. "Took an awful long time then."

Her face reddened. "For your information, I didn't find either of you until just now."

"Do you want him?"

Hermione blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"Do you want him?"

She stuttered. "N-no, no Draco I don't want him."

Draco slumped down, falling against the wall. "Why are you lying to me."

It wasn't a question, and they both knew it. Hermione's chest was heaving, the moonlight casting shadows across her face. She looked torn, conflicted between the past and the future. Draco had a sick thought, making his stomach churn and the words spill out of his mouth as heavy as rocks.

"Did you fuck him?"

The world stood still. Hermione's limbs seemed to stiffen, her hair standing on end. Her eyes sparked, magic and fear seeping out of her like a sponge.

"Draco," she whispered. "It's not like that. It's; it's just that we're very close and we've had a rocky relationship."

"Did you?"

Draco stared her down, not letting her get away from this one. He wanted to go to her, have her hold him in her arms and make him feel safe. Safe from his future, safe from his past and everything in between. He wanted to run away, protect her from himself and everything that entails. He wanted to love her. He wanted to leave her.

"No," she finally said. She stood taller, squaring her shoulders and lifting her head cockily. "I didn't sleep with Ron."

Draco nodded slowly, suddenly overcome by firewhiskey and exhaustion. The last thing he saw was Hermione running over to him before his world faded to darkness.

Draco awoke the next morning in an unfamiliar room. A light blue quilt filled his vision, white curtains letting in an ample amount of light. The smell of lavender filled the air. He rolled over, craving the feel of her against his skin, then moaned at the empty sheets that filled his hands instead. The door creaked open, as Hermione walked in, stretching her arms to the ceiling. She was barefoot in his t shirt, smudged makeup and curls wild about her face from the night before. She was beautiful.

"I didn't think you'd be up this early," she remarked curtly. Clearly he had done something wrong. He groaned again, throwing his arm over his eyes to shield himself from the sunlight filtering through the room. "What'd I do?" he asked groggily.

"Well, let's see. D'you mean before or after passing out on my floor?"

Draco vaguely recalled Hermione dragging him into her bed, where he then tried to tell her she was awfully pretty for a nerd. Draco shuddered, mortified. "Sorry."

He took his arm away from his face to see Hermione perching on the edge of the bed, watching him. She smirked, trying not to laugh. "What's so funny, Granger?" he asked darkly.

"Ron really packed a punch," she said, giggling. He felt his jaw, rotating it slowly and hearing a pop. He could tell there was a massive bruise. He pushed himself up on one arm, letting the quilt fall down around his waist. The sun immediately began to warm his bare chest, which Hermione's eyes immediately darted to. He held out his other hand, inviting her to take it. She did, moving closer to him on the bed.

Hermione's skin vibrated at his touch. He looked gorgeous in the early morning, sleepy and tousled. He lightly traced her jawline, rubbing his thumb over her lips. She closed her eyes and leaned into his palm. She could feel his every move in the bottom of her stomach, letting out a quivering breath when he brushed down her neck. He leaned closer to her, gently kissing her collarbone. His hair tickled her, making her laugh lightly. He returned her laugh with a deep throaty chuckle, moving up her neck towards her jaw and hovering over her lips. This was the defining moment. There was no firewhiskey, no sleep deprivation to hide behind. No excitement, no in-the-moment excuses. Wide awake, jarringly aware of their decisions. Hermione was scared, hovering in the balance between fond mistake and life changing relationship. It wasn't until Draco pulled back that she realized what her decision would be.

They were kissing as if they had trained for it their entire lives. Like puzzle pieces, they connected and locked onto one another. It was slow, peaceful, and tender. It was terrifying and exhilarating. Hermione opened up to him like a flower to the sun, and he shone upon her in glorious rays of intensity. Unbeknownst to the other, they had both waited for this moment for a long time, replaying it in their heads while kissing someone else, imagining the feel of one another on lonely nights, in the middle of classes and hallways. So long had they hid behind rivalries, blood statuses, and competitions that now seemed so minute.

Hermione laid down onto the bed, kissing him all the while. She pushed him away, earning her a wounded look. She grabbed her shirt from the bottom, pulling it swiftly over her head, exposing herself completely to him. He groaned, grabbing her waist and pushing her back down. She arched her back as he kissed her neck, leaving a trail of fire down her chest. He massaged her, sending her nerves on fire, eliciting moans of pleasure from them both. She kissed his throat, shoulders, chest, anything close to her. She felt like Icarus, overcome by her own joy she was burned by his light. Slowly, their movements became less frantic and more gentle. Draco stared deep into her eyes, and she nodded. No words were needed, no awkward fumbling. They were made to do this, seal their very existence to one another in a way they could never do with anyone else. Draco slid into Hermione, making them both gasp, his face contorted in pleasure as she tilted her head back, breathless at the feel of him buried within her, fitting like a lock and key. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Neither of them were virgins, something they both knew and felt no need to question until the night before. Yet now it didn't seem to matter. Nothing mattered but the two of them.

Draco settled himself within her, completely enthralled by her touch and her beauty. She lay beneath him, glowing as the early morning sun. He stopped, letting their chests rise and fall together in perfect synchronicity. He kissed her, slipping his tongue into her waiting mouth. Thrusting hips and gripping shoulders, they gave their souls to one another as the sun turned to clouds, rain pattering the window. For long, sensual moments the only sound that filled the room was their panting, the rain, and her moans. Draco was on fire, in lust and love with the soul that lay bare before him.

Hermione could feel the build up, his every muscle constricting with her own, and they released at the same moment, as if as a sign from fate.

What seemed like hours later, wrapped around her like a vine, Draco slipped out of Hermione, making her wince. The air around them grew cold, the moment broken by his disconnection. He sat up, burying his head in his hands. As if things weren't complicated enough before, he thought.

He turned back to look at Hermione. She lay on her side, exposed to him in total comfort. She seemed to understand the conflicting emotions on his face, for she reached out, massaging his shoulder till he lay down beside her, where they drifted into a peaceful sleep.

What Hermione didn't know was that Draco had made a promise to himself, a promise that was now irrefutably broken.