A month later, the Auror trio found themselves sitting at their usual booth in their favorite pub. They'd just finished a particularly rough case, and drinks were flowing freely as they all tried to unwind.
Draco stumbled into his flat around three in the morning and rubbed his face, groaning at the pounding in his head. His memory of the evening was fuzzy. The last thing he remembered clearly was feeling Hermione's lips against his own, and then he was all alone. He wasn't even sure it was real, to be honest. He sat down on his couch heavily with his head into his hands, trying to push past the alcohol-induced barriers in his mind. He leaned back and brushed his fingers over his lips. It was real; it had to have been.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Hermione's number before his rational side could kick in.
"Hello! You've reached Hermione Granger. I can't answer the phone right now, so please leave a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible!'
*Beep*
"You know, Granger," he began to ramble, "when I was a kid, my life was all mapped out for me. Follow in my father's footsteps, marry into a powerful family, and continue the Malfoy bloodline. I never wanted any of it, of course, but there was something comforting about having it all laid it in front of me. These days, I don't know up from down, and that's mostly your fault."
Draco's words slurred his words from too much alcohol and too little sleep.
"Earlier tonight—yesterday—I don't even know what bloody time it is," he mumbles before continuing his train of thought. "When you kissed me, my heart stopped. I froze and couldn't will my legs to move. I should've reached out, grabbed you tight, and not let you go. By the time I came to my senses, you'd disappeared in the crowd."
He took a deep, ragged breath. "I wanted nothing more than to cup your face in my hands and kiss you back. I've wanted that for months, just to hold you close. But I can't, you know? I'm not a good person, and you? You, Hermione Granger, are an angel and deserve the very best. Which is not me. I don't even know why I'm saying this, but I wanted you to know."
He tapped the button to end the call and closed his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice was screaming that leaving the message was a bad idea—that he shouldn't be sharing these feelings, that they were better left locked away, but he couldn't help the relieved feeling of unburdening his soul. He only hoped that he didn't just ruin their friendship, though.
O_o_O_o_O
I know you never loved the sound of your voice on tape
You never want to know how much you weigh
You still have to squeeze into your jeans
But you're perfect to me
O_o_O_o_O
