We're really coming down to it, aren't we?
As to what happens in this chapter, let's just say that a select few of you are psychics. And have been for a long time.
I hope you all enjoy this 10K word chapter. We're ticking closer to the Olympics!
Love to Graceful Lioness!
Early November 2017
The early-morning click of a burner was the metronome of her life's rhythm. The sun had yet to rise, but Hermione was already awake and preparing for another busy day. Coffee was brewing in the bright red Smeg machine that Mum had gifted her for her birthday, and she stood watch over the stove, preparing porridge for two.
Draco was supposed to be stopping by at any minute. They had plans to eat together before heading to the rink for their six a.m. start. Despite the most intense training Hermione had ever experienced, she and Draco had been focusing on taking care of their bodies more than ever this season. Every meal, every nap, every exercise felt, to Hermione, like a gamble. If she ate strawberries with her porridge, would it somehow impact her ability to skate better that day? What would serve her more: a short twenty-minute kip backstage or twenty more minutes spent running lift sequences? And if she did those things, would that somehow impact her chances to get onto the podium in Pyeongchang?
If not for Draco, Hermione would have been feeling overwhelmed for months. Had they been years younger, he would have been the one obsessing over their path to victory. But somehow, their positions had been reversed. He was the one keeping her calm, reminding her to take small decisions in stride.
As if on cue, she heard the telltale sound of a key turning in her front door. After glancing at the pot to make sure it wouldn't burn in the two minutes she would be away, she strode to the entry to greet her skating partner.
"Morning," Draco called as he opened her front closet to hang up his black peacoat. "Did you hear the news?"
"News?"
"About the Grand Prix Final."
Hermione felt her stomach drop at the mention of the season she and Draco had given up to accommodate her injury.
"Er, who won?" She led Draco back to the kitchen, where the porridge was bubbling away. She stirred the pot while he retrieved two mugs and filled them with coffee, as was their routine.
"Fleur and Roger. No surprise there. You've seen their routines this year." He shrugged and handed her the blue floral mug she'd picked up in Helsinki.
She accepted it with a half-smile. "Good for them."
They sipped in silence for a moment until Hermione turned back to the stove to divvy out the porridge.
"Are you… okay?" Draco asked as he fetched spoons from the flatware drawer. "You seem upset."
"I'm not upset, at least about the results. Fleur and Roger deserve to do well. I guess, I just wish…" She trailed off as she set two steaming bowls into the table. Draco sat and offered her an empathetic look. He reached for her hand when she took her place beside him. "I just wish we could be there, competing with them."
"I do, too."
They both took bites of their breakfast, soaking in the anxiety. After another sip of coffee, Hermione swallowed and voiced something that had been on her mind for a while. "I also wish we were more prepared than we are. I mean, our Short Dance is okay. But our Free Dance—"
"It needs work."
"It's a mess."
Hermione raised her eyebrows when Draco opened his mouth, likely to try and convince her that their Free Dance, set to Vivaldi's Four Seasons, was on its way. And the sight of her skeptical face, he shut his mouth quickly.
They continued to eat in silence.
"How are you feeling today?" Draco asked once his bowl was considerably emptier. "I'm a little sore, myself."
Hermione rolled her shoulders, as if to test the waters. Yesterday had been an off-ice day. They'd spent several hours working with an acrobatic coach from Cirque du Soleil, refining lift techniques and practising newer, bolder lifts than they'd ever attempted. After coming home, she'd covered herself in ice bags before settling on the couch to watch telly.
"Oh, much better than yesterday afternoon. I'm really feeling those glute exercises, though."
She watched as Draco's eyes drifted briefly downward. His cheeks coloured slightly and he responded with a quiet, "Me, too. Cirque du Soleil is no joke."
She chuckled. "You've got that right."
Hermione scooped the last bite of her porridge out of her bowl, handing it to Draco as he stood. "And your leg?" he asked as he carried their dishes to the sink.
She flexed her calf, testing her range of motion. "It's good, I think. Still no pain."
From over by the sink, Draco smiled back at her. "Good. That's good. You ready for a full day today?"
Hermione nodded. "Yeah. Definitely." She stood and gathered her duffel bag from the entranceway as Draco put his coat back on.
Until a couple months ago, they had been taking it easier, abbreviating their rehearsals to not over-exert Hermione's leg. As she'd gotten stronger and more confident, they'd stayed on the ice longer and longer until now, when they were doing nearly full days of nonstop training.
Hermione was drained, but her heart was full and hopeful. They were on a precipice of something great, she could just tell. With just a little more effort, a little more time, they'd have a solid chance of getting on that podium.
Draco's silver Audi was parked out front, and Hermione climbed into the passenger seat. He started the car and pulled onto the street. One of his hands sat on the wheel and the other reached over to the passenger's seat to grasp Hermione's right hand.
Some top-forty song was playing on the radio. Above them, street lamps flashed orange as they drove past in yet another steady beat that made up her life's rhythm.
Draco's fingers laced through hers.
They'd started holding hands quite a lot, especially in the moments they had alone.
After Severus left the rink and their voices were the only ones that echoed around the arena.
In quiet evenings, when they were both too tired to move from the couch, her hand found his, and they sat in content silence while they comfort-watched some film or other.
When they went out, too. Not on dates. Because they wouldn't date. Couldn't date.
Not yet.
They took walks in the park. Attended the ballet. Went to the cinema.
Although she loved the ballet, the latter was her favourite. In the dark anonymity of a cinema, they could hold hands without fear of a paparazzi spotting them. There, Draco's fingers would skim her skin, running up and down her bare forearm. Though his touch was light, his fingers made her feel as though her skin was alight. Sometimes, she was the one reaching for him instead. When her own fingers trailed up his arm, touching the soft hairs there, she could also feel when a great shudder flooded Draco's body, goose pimples spreading across his skin and shivers shooting up Draco's spine.
Even in the dark, there was no mistaking the bulge in his trousers.
The temptation was there, each time, plain and open and there for the taking. All Hermione would have to do was reach a little farther, just beyond his arm, and press gently. It would be easy. In the dark, no one would notice, surely. She could just… unzip him… pull out that part of him that was once so familiar.
He could do the same. His hands weren't far at all from the apex of her thighs. He could rub those his fingers against her knickers. Maybe he could push them aside, sink those same fingers inside of her.
Films played on the screen, but the possibility of a whole different story played like a film in Hermione's mind.
She could stroke him to completion as he pumped his gloriously long, thick fingers inside of her. Fingers that held her steady, kept her safe, and had given her the greatest pleasure. She and Draco could find bliss together, sitting together in the dark.
It would be easy. Yet, for all the temptation that crossed Hermione's mind, she and Draco never moved their fingers beyond hands and forearms. It was an unspoken agreement from their conversation all those months ago.
Not until the Olympics.
It would all come to a head in just over three months.
Then they would be free.
But until then, holding hands in Draco's car on the way to the rink was as intimate as they allowed themselves to be.
On the ice, though, all that went out the window.
"You're not holding her tight enough," Severus complained from his spot beside the rink during their third run-through of Luck Be A Lady, their Short Dance number. "Draco, really pull her in close. I shouldn't see a single bit of space between your bodies, yet, what am I seeing?"
Draco's hand, splayed on her back, pushed her forward a bit until her breasts were pressed against his solid chest.
Had they not been doing this for years, Draco would have surely blushed scarlet.
It was a fun routine. Severus suggested the music in an uncharacteristically eager moment that summer. Eager, of course, in the sense that he'd sent them each an email at around two-thirty in the morning.
This is it, the message read. No greeting. No signature. No explanation. Just those three words and the song file.
From Severus, that was practically jumping for joy.
It turned out to be a good idea. The song was seductive, yet timeless. Suggestive, yet classy. Draco really leaned into the acting as they developed a storyline for the dance.
Had it been any other season, Hermione would have been fully enjoying every minute on the ice. She'd have been smiling as much as Draco. But this season's return to the ice was accompanied by a far darker cloud than normal.
Although the pain in her calf had largely subsided, her first couple of months back on the ice were painful in another way. Vivid flashbacks plagued her vision and her muscle memory when they attempted lifts. They'd begin the lifts well enough and pass through all the necessary steps successfully. But then when it came time for Hermione to dismount, it all fell apart.
The moment her blades touched the ice again, it was almost as though she could feel her muscle tear, feel the panic overtake her again.
Sometimes, Draco was fast enough to catch her when her knees gave out.
Other times, she collapsed onto the ice, groping her calf to chase some phantom pain.
Hermione always apologised over and over when this happened, cheeks burning with shame for causing yet another delay in their training. Severus grumbled and accepted those apologies, but Draco refused to hear a single one.
"Please stop saying you're sorry," he'd say as he pulled her back to her feet. "You're okay. We'll just run it again. Do you need a minute?"
He was patient, time and time again. It didn't matter how long it took, how often they stopped. Even when Hermione groaned with frustration at herself, burying her face in her hands, he was always right there, whispering reassuring words to her each time.
Hermione could have kissed him for all the empathy he showed her each time she wavered.
She didn't kiss him, of course. But she could have.
More healing came with time, and after so many months spent on the ice, the frequency of the flashbacks faded and they were able to more fully immerse themselves in rehearsal.
On this particular day, they pulled into the car park as the dashboard clock illuminated 5:52 as the time. As usual, Severus's black sedan sat in the spot just to the left. However, today there was also a third car. Normally, the car park was empty at this time of day, save for the two usual vehicles.
"Did Severus invite someone, do you reckon?" Draco asked as he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. He shot a look at the green hatchback and furrowed his brow. "Technical coach? God knows we need some work."
Hermione shrugged. "Could be. Only one way to find out."
Their guest was sitting beside Severus on a bench just outside of the rink when they stepped through the double doors. Whereas their coach greeted them with his usual terse nod, this man stood and extended his arms, offering a warm smile from beneath shaggy, honey-coloured locks and a matching moustache.
"Hermione! Draco! I haven't seen you in so long," Remus cried in welcome as they made their approach. "It's been, what? Ten years?"
"Something like that." Draco grinned as he reached out and the men clasped hands. "Good to see you, sir."
After Remus shook Hermione's hand as well, she and Draco sat down on a metal bench near the changing rooms to put on their skates.
"Why do you think Remus is here?" Draco whispered as he tightened his laces. "He and Severus aren't exactly fond of each other."
"Well, he's helped us before," Hermione reasoned, reaching for her second skate. "I can only really think of one reason why he'd be here." She raised her eyebrows in a pointed way.
Draco sighed. He tugged on his second skate well. When Hermione looked up from adjusting all her laces, she was surprised to see a flush spreading across his cheeks.
"What's gotten into you?" She nudged his ribs with her elbow. "You look like a tomato."
"It's nothing." Draco cleared his throat. "It's just… last time Remus helped us with our skating, that's when we started… well, you know."
Hermione did know. Remus had told her to look at Draco like he was a filet mignon. He'd been the one to place the idea in her mind that their relationship needed more intimacy. And from that suggestion, she'd asked Draco to sleep with her.
Thus began a web of complex emotions Hermione was still untangling.
Still, she wondered why Remus was there. The two of them were no stranger to intimacy. Not after nearly seventeen years skating together, several of which were spent in each other's beds. Hermione liked to think they could pull off the act of seduction or attraction with relative ease.
It wasn't like it was hard. Especially when she had regular daydreams of dragging Draco to the nearest dark corner and having her way with him.
"Well, clearly Severus has his reasons for inviting Remus." Hermione stood on her covered blades. "We could definitely use the help. This year feels… off and you know it."
She helped Draco to his feet and they made their way back to where the two older men were standing.
"Right." Remus clapped his hands together. "As I understand it, your Short Dance is near completion. What about your Free Dance?"
"Their Free Dance is nowhere near ready." Severus filled Remus in with his usual abrupt coolness. "The choice of Vivaldi feels overdone and is not medal-worthy. The storyline of the dance is also shaky at best. Even with the time constraints, a good part of me wants to scrap it entirely and start fresh."
Hermione's eyes grew wide at the admission and a glance to the side showed Draco mirroring her expression.
"Start… fresh?"
"Severus, it's November." Draco stepped forward, eyes now narrowing. "That window of opportunity should have ended this summer."
"Nonsense." Severus waved him off. "It would have been summer if you were competing in a full season. This year, you're only in the Olympics. We've got time."
Hermione could see the suspicion in her partner's eyes. She reached forward and patted his back in what she hoped was a reassuring way.
"Let's keep our ears to the ground," she suggested after a moment. "In the past, we've known when the song choice and routine were a good match for us. It felt right. Maybe we'll get inspired soon?"
Draco ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I guess. Yeah. Ears to the ground."
"To me, it sounds like—" Remus spoke up, cutting off the hopeless pit the tone of the conversation had started to take. "—you've been putting a lot of pressure on yourselves for this performance."
He paused, eyebrows raised in expectation as he looked between the two ice dancers.
When Draco pursed his lips, Hermione answered. She surprised herself when a forced laugh came out with her words. "Well of course we have." She shifted her weight back and forth between her feet, trying to keep her muscles loose. When Remus didn't respond immediately, her discomfort set in, and with it, the full weight of everything that was riding on this one performance. The words started flowing from her, and they didn't stop.
"Not only is it another Olympic year, but because of my injury, we only have one real shot to compete this year. And on top of that, this is probably our final season."
As she spoke realisation washed over her. She'd had vague thoughts about the meaning behind this—their last season, but she'd never put them into words. Not until now.
It all seemed so… real.
The sinking feeling in her stomach now doubled when she thought about the state of disarray their Free Dance was in.
Across from her, Remus nodded along, his mouth set in a grim expression. "Just as I thought. Well, Severus invited me here today to work with the two of you to see if we can't let the two of you breathe again."
At the mention of his name, their coach stepped forward. "Through no fault of your own, the two of you have been stiff for months. Part of it is your injury, Hermione, but part of it is simply because the two of you have skated together for so long."
Beside her, she noticed Draco's head tilt slightly. "I would think that would play to our advantage," he questioned, crossing his arms. "After nearly seventeen years skating together, Hermione's my best friend. There's no one I'd rather skate with."
"That's not what's being called into question, Draco." Remus reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's no doubt that you and Hermione are incredibly close. But the longevity of a relationship between people doesn't always translate to chemistry in a performance. Sometimes, that chemistry can become stale, even lost over time.
"And that's why I'm here," Remus went on. "To help you two relax and really work on your intimacy out on the ice. Because, by the sounds of it, you two could use some support."
Hermione wasn't sure why, but the offer made her feel like crying.
"Oh-kay." Remus clapped his hands again. "Let's see what you've got so far for your Short Dance." He motioned for them to get out to the ice and they obeyed, removing their blade covers and stepping onto the rink.
Hermione took her place beside Draco, her hand placed lithely on his shoulder. Severus swept over to the sound booth and counted them off.
She'd had the choreography memorised for months. Although she hadn't regained full trust in her muscles, her muscle memory hadn't failed her once. This year was no exception. The moment the sound of strings filled the arena, she began to skate in circles around Draco, hitting her pose when the brass instruments blasted a single note.
This dance started off slow, introducing Hermione as a temptress who had the unfortunate habit of leading Draco on, whether he wanted it or not. Thus began his two-minute and forty-second pursuit of her around the ice.
By the time they danced the final steps to the routine, they were supposed to feel a sense of accomplishment, but all Hermione knew was that something still wasn't quite right. The dance, itself, felt fine. But it just felt… flat.
"Well—" Remus smiled between pursed lips. "—that was decent. I can see how hard you've been practising. Your form is very precise."
"Thank you," Draco breathed between sips of water as he leaned on the barrier. "It's taken a while to be able to get it to this point."
"That may be true, Draco. But precision isn't enough for an Olympic-level performance. You can do better. Most people remember the Free Dance, but when you skate at Pyeongchang, I want people to talk about your Short Dance as well." He glanced down at a clipboard in his hands. "There's a lot of potential there. So much potential. And what I see right now is a lack of connection."
Hermione frowned. "Lack of connection? I'm not quite sure I understand."
This seemed to be the exact words Remus wanted to hear, because he responded with a soft smile. "I want you two to think of the best moments you've had together. The moments that have meant the most—the moments when you were performing your best and really touched people. Because you have."
Flashes from the past flew past her eyelids: The dance competition they'd snuck off to as teens; the gala performances that had made audiences laugh; their performances of All That Jazz that had won them many accolades and ignited a flame in their relationship that nearly made her combust.
And then there had been last year. Nearly every time Hermione stepped onto the ice to perform their God Only Knows routine, it was as though the whole world held its breath. She and Draco existed in their own universe when they performed that song. There was no acting—just real, raw honesty and pain and love and that's what audiences took away from it. Their connection had been palpable.
And while this performance was good like Remus said, he was absolutely right about what it lacked.
Connection. Chemistry.
Their partnership had been so focused on healing and subsequently, not re-injuring, that the artistic elements of their performance had fallen to the wayside.
Gratitude filled Hermione's body as she glanced over at Severus, who still stood by the sound booth, arms folded as he watched them. It had been his idea to bring in Remus, so he must have connected the dots as well. Their coach always was so observant, and even if he didn't show much affection or shower them in praise, he did what was necessary to help them to succeed.
"I know what you mean," she finally managed after a minute of silent contemplation. "Our performances are at their best when our chemistry is there. And right now, it feels like it's missing."
Remus smiled and shook his head. "Not missing. Just… buried, I think. And I'm here to help you find it."
After they had removed their skates, he led the two of them to the dance studio and warm-up room behind the rink. Although Severus had declined to watch last time, he followed this go-round, taking a seat in a metal folding chair in the corner.
Draco and Hermione stood in the middle of the room on a tumbling mat. They'd left their skates and shoes behind, and wore only socks on their feet. It felt strange and especially vulnerable, but not in an entirely bad way. She and Draco had hung out in socks many times, but it had always been away from the ice and dance rehearsals. They'd foregone shoes when they were alone together, perhaps cuddled on the couch to watch a film or when they padded around their once-shared flat early in the morning.
It was surprisingly intimate to have witnesses to them in this state of… could she call it 'undress'?
Draco's brow crinkled a little when he took his place across from her, as if to ask if she was okay.
She tried to answer with the tiniest movement of her head.
If confusion or worry showed on her face, Remus didn't seem to notice. "All right, you two. Let's start with the eyes. Last time I worked with you, we did this exercise." He smirked at Hermione. "And you had particular trouble with it. Couldn't stop giggling."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I was eighteen. I hadn't experienced—" She cleared her throat. "—romance."
"Well, I don't want to make any assumptions, so I'll ask. Have you experienced romance now, Hermione?"
She gave a small nod while trying to avoid blushing or looking at Draco. "I have."
"That's good. Should make my job easier. Go ahead, then, both of you. Look at each other like you want the other person. Like you would do anything, just to have a bite."
"Like I'm filet mignon?" Draco's lips quirked upward in an amused smirk as his eyes found Hermione's.
She immediately lost her fight to not blush.
Tilting her head down slightly, she looked up at Draco through her eyelashes and offered him a shy smile.
"Good, good." Remus stood a metre back from the mat and gave directions. "Hermione, in this dance, you are the flirtatious one. Draco is chasing you. You need to tease him. Lead him to you."
Hermione was objectively bad at flirting. She knew this to be a fact. During the brief time that she'd tried to date other men, she'd never felt comfortable with batting her eyelashes or trying to be subtly seductive. And with Draco… she never felt like she'd had to properly flirt with him. Seduce him. It just… happened. Naturally. No special tricks or 'come hither' stares.
So to be trying to throw flirtatious glances at Draco now just felt strange. She didn't feel like giggling, no…
Her insides were flipping instead.
The way that Draco was looking at her… every inch of him looked hungry. Like she was the filet mignon.
Her insides weren't flipping. No, they were burning.
She wanted to make Draco burn, too. To make him feel just as breathless, just as out-of-control as she did in this moment.
It wasn't until Remus coughed that Hermione remembered that they were definitely not alone. She gulped for the air that had been missing from her lungs and tried to blink away her lust. Glancing beside her, she found that while Draco's gaze had lost some of its intensity, the hunger was still there.
Hermione licked her lips and tried to focus on their guest.
"Much better," Remus said with a grin on his face. "You've come a long way in the last decade."
"I should certainly hope so," Severus spoke up from the corner, where he still sat, stiff-backed in the chair.
"When I watched your Short Dance, I noticed that your touches, while accurate and safe, were merely perfunctory. If you wanted me to feel a spark from your touch, alone, I did not."
Touch? Was that what they were going to work on next? The flipping sensation returned.
"That should be your goal," Remus continued. "From the moment the clock starts until you hit your final pose, every touch—every brush of a hand—should have an electricity to it. Each and every person watching you dance should know in their bones that the two of you were always meant to skate together.
"Touch can go stale, sometimes. As I said earlier, the two of you have been skating partners for nearly two decades. Sometimes, the body needs a reminder of what it means to touch. How to touch. Draco?"
Draco's head snapped up, and Hermione could have sworn there was the faintest hint of a blush splashed across his cheeks. "Yes, sir?"
"I want you to touch Hermione. Start with her face, and move your hand down her arm. Go on."
With a brief nod, Draco stepped a bit closer and reached up. He placed his palm against her cheek and began to brush down her neck and shoulder. His hand had just passed her elbow, when—
"No. No no no."
Draco withdrew his hand quickly, as if burned.
"She is a woman." Remus spoke as if it wasn't obvious. "Touch her as if she is precious to you. Not as if you are spreading jam on toast." He paused and turned. "And Hermione."
It was Hermione's turn to snap her attention to Remus.
"You need to feel the energy Draco is sending and direct him when he touches you. Touch is not something felt by one person alone. It needs to be felt by both of you. Each touch… it tells a story. Try again."
They both nodded at Remus and stepped back toward each other. This time, the hunger in Draco's eyes was paired with another feeling. He looked earnest. Full of longing.
With a quick lift of his eyebrows, he seemed to ask, "May I?"
She smiled in response, and Draco lifted a hand toward her face.
Why was she shaking?
From the moment Draco's fingertips caressed her cheeks, Hermione knew this touch was different. There was something incredibly tender about the way he brushed her few stray hairs behind her ears before gently cupping her cheek with his palm.
Hermione's shaking immediately stopped and she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed.
This was right. This was home.
She breathed a lungful of air slowly, purposefully, through her nose. Although Hermione couldn't feel his heartbeat, she knew that his heart was pounding against his ribcage to the same heavy staccato mirrored in her own chest.
It was the most they'd touched since they'd decided to stop sleeping together nearly four years ago. Sure, they'd performed lifts and done fairly physical warm-ups together, but there was something different about this.
Draco's eyes followed his hand as it trailed down her face, over her jawbone, and down the slender column of her neck. She shivered when his fingers traced her pulsepoint. He paused only briefly there, pressing gently.
She tilted her head, giving him better access to the side of her body and he responded by trailing his hand farther, to her shoulder and down to the dip in her waist.
How many times had he touched her there to lift her? These were the hands that had supported her—quite literally—for years. They'd held her, given her pleasure, and cared for her in her darkest hours.
She loved these hands. Loved him.
Hermione knew, then, what was so different about this touch. It was intimate. So deeply, desperately intimate. Touching, not for pleasure or for purpose, but to connect. To feel.
In her mind's eye, they weren't in the dance room anymore. They weren't even at the rink. Hermione wasn't sure where they were, but it was somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. Somewhere where time didn't matter and the Olympics didn't matter either.
Somewhere they could simply… be in love. Could touch each other with ease.
When his hand reached her hip, her breathing hitched.
Draco must have heard, because his grip on her suddenly tightened. No longer was his touch ghosting over her silhouette, but rather, his hold on her was very real and solid.
Draco was standing so close that Hermione could feel puffs of his hot breath against her skin. She could smell the distinct scent of his cologne: sandalwood and bergamot. She'd picked it out, herself, several years ago.
Combining those sensations with the pressure of Draco's fingers on her hips, Hermione pulse sped up even further. She rubbed her thighs together, trying to chase friction she would not find.
Remus had directed him to touch her like a woman, and Draco was certainly following through.
Had this been a private moment, she wondered if Draco would have closed the diminishing gap between them. Would they finally crack and break the rules they had set for themselves? Hermione wasn't sure she would have had the self-control.
But this moment was not private.
Remus and Severus were watching them reforge this connection. In an instant, Hermione remembered herself. Reality flooded her senses as fast as her face reddened.
When Draco drew back, she was left with a cool sense of loss.
His breath, his scent, his fingers… it had only been a few moments and yet she already craved them desperately.
"Very good." Remus's voice cut through the haze of desire coursing through her consciousness. "That was… excellent. I could really sense the connection between you two."
Hermione's eyes tore away from Draco's to find both their guest and coach looked a little pink around the edges.
Embarrassment bubbled up inside of her, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, "I'm so sorry, Remus. Severus." She grimaced, burying her face in her hands. "That was—"
"Exactly what you needed," Severus interrupted, standing from the folding chair. "As… personally uncomfortable as it was to witness such—" he coughed, "—intimacy, this is what your dance has been missing. You two have unmatched chemistry, and if we can get that to translate to the dance, then I am fully convinced you've got a strong shot at a placement on the podium."
Remus had them run through the touching exercise a few times more. Each time Draco touched her body, he was very careful with his hands, making sure to keep them away from her more sensitive areas. Yet, that did not stop him from brushing the edge of her breast with the heel of his hand.
In that moment, Hermione was immensely grateful that she was wearing a zip-up over her tank top. If not, she was certain that everyone in the room would have seen how Draco's touch was affecting her.
Remus also occasionally directed Hermione to be the one to touch Draco. This was, somehow, even more intense of an experience because Draco's eyes never left hers as she trailed a nimble hand slowly across his chest. He looked like a man possessed when her fingers dragged down his neck. By the seventh go-round, Hermione was quite convinced that this had to be a form of torture and that their coaches were serious voyeurs.
When they were finally cleared to return to the ice, Hermione felt relief coursing through her veins as she breathed in the crisp air in the arena once again. The dance room had started to feel stifling.
This time, when Severus told them to take their places in the center of the rink, Hermione felt her whole body vibrate with potential energy.
Every touch needed to tell a story. It needed to show just how much of a strong connection they had.
As Hermione circled Draco to the whining of violins, she knew there was only one story to tell: their story.
As Draco pursued her across the ice, it was their story.
As he pulled her to his chest to begin their swing dance sequence, it was their story.
As she held herself taut while Draco passed her body around his back, it was their story, too.
Each time Hermione felt his hands on her back, at her side, or anywhere on her body, it was as though a bolt of lightning rippled across her skin. And although she was focused on the routine, she could still smell that cologne, still feel his heavy breath against her skin.
When Frank Sinatra carried his final note to its conclusion, both Hermione's and Draco's skin shone with sweat and their breath came in short, sharp pants. They stayed frozen in their final pose for several seconds past necessity, hungry eyes never leaving each other.
Draco was close. So close. If she just pushed herself up one or two inches, they could finally chase the pleasure they'd been dancing around for… how long had it been? Hermione didn't have the patience to calculate if it had been minutes of years.
But before they could do something stupid, Remus called out to them.
"Much, much better! Wow! I could really feel the energy this time."
Severus seemed pleased as well, granting them a rare smile.
As Draco righted her on her feet, it occurred to Hermione that for the first time in seven months, she hadn't been thinking about her calf. Not once.
While they basked in their first success, Hermione noticed with a fluttering stomach that Draco hadn't let go of her hand.
"I have a surprise for you," Draco said two hours later as he slipped on his trainers on a bench near the changing rooms. "I think you're going to like it."
"Does it involve a nap? Or maybe a nice, long soak in a tub?" Even though she'd already stretched out thoroughly, her calf muscles ached from heavy use. She had plans to ice them as soon as she got home.
Draco chuckled.
"Oh, you think I'm kidding?" Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder. "Because I'm not. That is exactly what I want right now."
"Well lucky for you, my surprise is happening later this evening. So you've got a few hours to relax before I'll come knocking on your front door."
He must have wanted to take her on a not-date tonight. Hermione narrowed her eyes at her partner. "Are we going somewhere?"
He shrugged, a smile creeping up the corners of his lips. "You could say that. I have… a special opportunity for us."
"Special—?" She raised her eyebrows as comprehension flooded her. "You know, after knowing you for this long, I should just stop being surprised by the opportunities you come across."
Draco shrugged, a faux look of humility crossing his face. "What can I say? I know people."
Hermione snorted. "Right. Stop being a prat and tell me what I'm supposed to wear for this… special opportunity."
They'd been staring into each other's eyes for hours on end, yet somehow, the way that Draco's reverent gaze swept over her in appraisal made heat spread all across her body. She knew her cheeks were likely stained a deep red.
"How about your black dress? The one you wore to the Athlete Honors dinner last month."
Thinking back on that particular evening, Draco hadn't been able to take his eyes off her all night. The dress he was talking about was simple, with long sleeves. Its greatest virtue, though, was in its length. The dress stopped mid-thigh, giving her arse a perfect shape. Even she had stopped to admire it in her bathroom mirror.
"Black dress? I can do that."
"Pick you up at five, then? Our… event is at seven and I'd like to grab dinner first."
They said their final goodbyes to Severus and Remus and headed for the double doors. Draco held one side open for Hermione and they both exited into bright midday light. The drive home was relatively quiet, if only because they were both exhausted and in need of a shower and a kip. By the time Draco pulled up to Hermione's flat, her eyes were more than a little droopy. Still, she managed to unbuckle herself and open the door.
As soon as she was out of the car, she turned around and leaned forward to confirm details.
"Pick up at five. Wear my black dress. Anything else?"
Draco shook his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. "That's all you get to know for now."
If she had any more energy, Hermione might have fought him for more information, but for now, her bed was calling.
Six hours passed in the blink of an eye. One moment, Hermione had been collapsing face-first into her pillow. The next, she was leaning into her mirror, mouth gaping as she put on mascara.
As promised, Draco showed up on her doorstep at five o'clock on the dot. He was wearing a suit and carrying a bouquet of blue and white flowers.
Her heart beat a heavy thump as she put those flowers—morning glory and lily-of-the-valley, according to Draco—in a vase. His eyes never left her as she bustled around, cutting the stems off and putting the vase under the tap.
"You look stunning," he murmured with a kiss on the cheek when she finally set the flowers on her kitchen table. "I love this dress on you."
"I could say the same about your suit," she responded, grabbing the dark, sequined clutch she planned to use for the evening. "It's not often I get to see you in trousers that aren't the stretchy kind."
Draco snorted as they headed toward his car. "I thought you liked my stretchy trousers?"
"Well, I don't mind them, seeing as they allow you to do your job, but—"
"But you don't love them?" Draco started the engine and offered a fake pout. "What about the velvet ones?"
"Especially not the velvet ones."
The drive to wherever they were going wasn't particularly long. They stopped to grab a quick bite at an Italian restaurant near the mystery venue. They talked and joked over wine and pasta. Hermione felt a natural warmth fill her cheeks as she imbibed a glass and a half. Draco spent the entire meal with his arm stretched across the table, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.
For a not-date, it felt very intimate. Far more intimate than any of their other not-dates had been. Perhaps it had something to do with that day's training, and perhaps it had something to do with the wine, but Hermione found that she didn't really mind toeing the line in the sand they'd drawn.
By the time they split the check and made their way out to the street, Hermione was practically chomping at the bit to get Draco to admit where they were going. She'd already struck out on several guesses, including a jazz club, art gallery, and laser tagging.
The last one had been a joke. Mostly.
It wasn't until they stood in front of a small, unassuming building bookended between a hair salon and a hamburger restaurant that Hermione began to get suspicious.
"After nearly seventeen years together, and now's the time when you finally decide to murder me? Bit of an odd choice, isn't it?"
Draco chuckled. "There is to be no murdering here tonight. I promise."
"Ah, but you say nothing about tomorrow morning."
"Just… come on, Hermione." With a teasing smile, Draco led her up the concrete steps and opened the glass door, which had been covered by blinds.
She had expected to see some sort of strange performance space or something else off-beat. What she didn't expect was a well-lit, warm-looking lobby with a cheerful teenager standing behind a snack counter.
"Hello," the girl greeted with a smile. "Mr. Malfoy?"
"That'd be me."
"Feel free to pick out anything here. I'll start the film when you're settled in your seats."
Hermione blinked. "Film? What film?"
"Well, I just so happen to know that you've fancied Zac Efron ever since that unfortunate musical came out back when we were staying at the dormitory. You wouldn't stop singing those infernal songs for months."
"High School Musical was a phenomenon and you know it." Hermione folded her arms and then froze. "Wait. Are we watching what I think we're watching?"
She'd seen the trailer for the new film coming out this Christmas and hadn't expected to see it until after the Olympics. Watching newly-released films wasn't exactly on her priority list for the next few months.
"I got us an advance-screening of The Greatest Showman, if that's what you're wondering."
Hermione wasn't normally one to get overly-excited about things, and she certainly wasn't the type of girl to squeal or shriek when she did get excited. This was the exception. Jumping up and down, Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth.
The two of them picked out snacks—popcorn and a pick and mix to split, before choosing reclining seats in the centre of the otherwise empty cinema.
The employee must have watched them take their seats, because within a minute, the lights had dimmed and the screen lit up with the beginning of a trailer.
"How on earth did you manage to get an advance screening of this?" Hermione whispered between handfuls of popcorn. "This is supposed to be one of the biggest films of the season."
Draco shot her a self-congratulatory smile before popping a fizzy strawberry from the pick and mix in his mouth. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
After a handful of trailers, the film started, and Hermione nestled deeper into her seat. Beside her, Draco set the bag of pick and mix aside and extended his hand across the armrest. His palm faced upward in an invitation and Hermione gladly took it, lacing their fingers together as the circus performers began to sing.
The movie was fun and imaginative, and Hermione was certain within the first ten minutes that she wanted to download the soundtrack as soon as she got home. The love story between P.T. Barnum and his wife was incredibly sweet, and she found that she could relate to the devotion between the childhood sweethearts.
But what really caught her eye was—
"How much acrobatic training do you think they did for this movie?" she whispered when Zendaya and Zac Efron saw each other for the first time.
"I'm not sure, some of those moves look an awful lot like what we learned with Cirque du Soleil."
Draco's thumb brushed over the back of her hand as the movie continued to play, leaving goosebumps trailing up her arm. Her mouth was suddenly feeling a little dry.
Perhaps it was the popcorn.
"Do you think we could pull that off?" Hermione's breath caught in her throat when Draco's mouth brushed the shell of her ear.
Maybe it wasn't the popcorn, after all.
"Oh, definitely," she managed through a small cough. "We, uh... did a lift similar to that a few years ago."
"Hmm."
His thumb continued to trace patterns absently on the back of her hand to the point that Hermione had a little trouble concentrating on the film. They'd spent hours holding hands—years, even. She knew what those hands were capable of. How they knew every inch of her body.
Hermione had never been more grateful that cinemas were dark places, because she was absolutely sure that her face was, once again, flushed. Because apparently, there wasn't a limit to the amount that one could blush in a single day.
She tried to think of something—anything that could distract her. The film was good, yes, but not fast-paced enough to keep her mind from wandering into dangerous territory. She needed something bigger that she could actually focus on.
The first thing she landed on was their still-elusive Free Dance. Vivaldi created beautiful music, but if they were going to feel the energy… the magic that they felt on the ice today, they needed to pick something that would ignite the spark between them. Would highlight the connection that they had shared for years. And Vivaldi just wasn't going to cut it.
At this point in their career, they'd skated to so many songs, it often felt like there wasn't much left to choose from. At least, nothing that gave Hermione the feeling in her gut that this song was meant to be. She'd felt it last season with God Only Knows, and while she knew that their song this year probably wouldn't be so personal, it still needed to have an impact.
Hermione frowned, reaching with her free hand for more popcorn as her anxiety spiked. She wanted a distraction from what Draco's thumb was doing to her, but this wasn't what she had in mind.
The film it was, then.
Hermione's heart stirred when the cast sang an anthem of sorts. It was a compelling part of the plot, the inclusion of so many people who were different. And perhaps that was the part of the film that spoke to many.
But to her, the further into the story they got, the more she was attracted to the subplot about the aristocrat's son and the acrobat. From the moment they caught each other's eyes, there had been a spark—a moment of that elusive magic they were always chasing in their performances. The plot was nothing more than fun and romantic until a scene when the two tried to attend the theatre together.
They were seen by Zac's on-screen father. The man clearly disapproved of everything Zendaya's character stood for and made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that associating with her was shameful.
It hit a little too close for comfort.
Zendaya's character ran away in that moment; she did what Hermione had thought about doing many times when faced with the intimidating presence of Lucius Malfoy. But so often, she had just stood and taken the insults, much as Draco had.
It was then she realised that Draco had stopped stroking the back of her hand. She could hardly even hear him breathing. His whole body had actually gone stiff, and when she glanced beside her, she watched his throat bob while his eyes were trained on the screen.
Although she couldn't be certain, she had a sneaking suspicion that he, too, was thinking of the years they'd spent under his father's thumb. The pain he'd put them through.
And then, months ago, the way they'd finally confronted that toxic man and removed him from their lives.
In the film, Philip told his father off and chased after Ann.
In real life, it had taken years for both she and Draco to stand up to Lucius. It took years to begin to undo the damage he'd done to both of them. Even now, they were still damaged. Still overly-cautious. They tiptoed around each other, careful not to cross lines, when they should have been able to dive into each other's arms without reservations.
All of the would-have-beens flashed through her mind as a new song began.
From the first line of that song, Hermione's focus snapped to the screen. She wasn't sure what it was—the melody, the rhythm, the lyrics, the acting—but something about it made her heart stutter to life. A wave of goosepimples erupted across every inch of her skin.
Adjusting her posture in the seat, she leaned forward and drew her breath in slowly, taking in the moment. Zac Efrom and Zendaya were practically dancing around each other on stage, and everything about them was electric.
But it wasn't until the second verse started that Hermione got that feeling.
The feeling she got when she knew.
Magic.
She squeezed Draco's hand. Her own hand was practically vibrating. When she turned her head, she found him staring at the screen, too, mouth agape and eyes filled with wonder.
He squeezed back.
For the rest of the film, Hermione could hardly sit still in her seat. All she could think of was calling up Lee the very first second she could and getting in a dance studio to get started. Because this was it. The song they'd been waiting for.
And somehow, miraculously, it had fallen in their laps.
They held onto each other's hands for the rest of the movie, their grip so tight that sometimes she began to lose the feeling in her fingers.
The last thirty minutes of the film were excellent, but all Hermione could think of was getting up and talking with Draco. They could have, of course. They were the only ones there. But somehow, Hermione knew this was a conversation they needed to have without distractions or potentially being overheard by a teenage employee.
By the end, Hermione was itching to leave. She jumped to her feet the moment the lights faded on, throwing her coat on over her black dress. Draco also bundled up in a hurry, and the two of them thanked the teenager with a generous tip before spilling into the crisp night with breathless smiles on their faces.
Part of Hermione wanted to blurt, right then and there, the idea that was bursting at the seams of their minds. She was practically vibrating with excitement to say something all the way across the car park.
As they climbed into the car, Hermione opened her mouth to finally put a voice to her wonderful idea. But before she could say anything, Draco placed his hand on hers again. The touch gave her pause.
"Wait until we're home. We don't want someone to accidentally overhear us."
His voice was low, in the same baritone timbre he used to save for their most intimate moments. It sent a shiver up her spine in the most delicious and forbidden ways.
Even though Hermione wanted nothing more than to gush about their newfound discovery right then and there, she held it in.
"Okay," she whispered, settling into the warmth of her seat. "Home."
Draco didn't specify whose home they were going to, but Hermione didn't have to ask. They had only ever had one home, the two of them. Apart from the dormitories, of course, but she severely doubted they were going there.
As they drove, Draco's hand reached over and rested on, not her hand, but her thigh. At first, Hermione thought it must have been a mistake. But when he did not flinch or draw away, but instead, begin to trace his fingers from her knee to the hem of her dress, she was left with no doubts about Draco's intentions. Or, at the very least, his affections.
His touch didn't detract from her mounting excitement about the song. She practically counted the minutes in her head until they would be standing on the front step.
They'd go in together and come up with a plan. They'd talk some more and then…
Draco's fingers brushed just under the edge of her dress.
Hermione's heart thudded in her chest.
Draco parked shortly after and led them both up to the front door. Although she couldn't be entirely certain, she thought she could hear Draco's heart thudding, too.
The moment the door was closed behind them, he pulled her body flush with his in the entryway. His hands were at her waist and their faces were only inches apart. The blush she'd tried to think away at the cinema came back in full-force.
Draco's face was as red as Hermione imagined hers to be, his eyes shining and his grin extending from ear to ear.
"Hermione," he breathed, his hands pressing into her side.
"Yes?"
She looked up at him, and was certain that he could hear her heartbeat. It was so loud.
Why was it beating so loudly?
"This is it. Our final song. We found it."
"We found it," she repeated, her grin widening.
They could have jumped into plans at that moment, but it suddenly occurred to Hermione that they could easily talk about it tomorrow. There would be time to talk. Plenty of it.
And right now, she wasn't sure she wanted to talk.
What she did want was for Draco to pull her closer, to touch her in all the ways that today's rehearsal had promised and teased.
Because now, they had no audience. There was no Remus or Severus there to watch and comment. No one but themselves to witness their real, true intimacy.
It was just them.
It had always been just them.
She wanted to close the space between them and press her lips to his, wanted to satisfy the hunger that had been gnawing away at her all day.
She wanted Draco. Wanted him so badly that she felt as though she was burning from the inside out. And when her eyes found his, she saw that he, too, was filled with the flames of desire that would only be stoked if she kissed him.
Draco's hands trailed up and down her body, his fingers digging into her sides. In her mind's eye, Hermione could imagine the way those fingers would cover every inch of her body as he guided her to the nearest surface. A wall, perhaps. Or the couch. Then, he'd press his full body into her and she'd finally feel the sweet pressure that her body had sorely missed.
Against her thigh, she felt the stirrings of Draco's arousal.
How long had it been since they'd done this?
Nearly four years, a voice inside her head answered.
"Draco." Her voice came out as a moan when she said his name. "Draco, I—"
"I know," he murmured, leaning even closer.
Draco's mouth danced before hers, lips parted, breathing heavily—panting, almost. His eyes dropped to her own mouth, and she knew then, that he was at war with himself.
If he kissed her now, their promise to themselves would be broken. They wouldn't be able to hold back. Hermione knew it, and even without asking, she had a feeling that Draco knew it, too.
That would be it. Just another inch and they'd crash into each other again.
Or…
They could wait. They could restrain themselves. It was only three more months.
Three more months and then that mouth would be hers. Finally.
Draco's hips canted once against hers before he pulled back with a shudder. "Fuck," he muttered as he tried to untangle himself. His mouth was still dangerously close to hers, and their breath mingled. "I want to, Hermione. I want to so much. You have no idea."
"I do, actually." Hermione chuckled and reached up to run a hand through his hair. "I want to as well."
"But we shouldn't."
"No, not yet. It'd be too much of a distraction and..." Her voice trailed off as Draco closed his eyes to the feeling of her hands in his hair. She coughed. "And we have to focus right now."
"Not yet," he agreed, opening his eyes and removing her hands. "Focus." With one final glance down at her, Draco finally pulled back, separating their bodies.
They were still in the entryway.
"Do you… want to come in?" he asked after a minute of trying to take stabilising breaths. "We could… watch something? Have a drink?"
Hermione shook her head. "I… don't think that's a good idea. Not that I don't want to," she asserted.
"No. Right. Of course."
"It just…" The blush returned in full once again, but by now, Hermione was through finding it embarrassing or trying to make it vanish. "If we sit on the couch together in the state we're in right now…"
She cleared her throat and straightened her dress. It had bunched up slightly in the places where Draco had grabbed her.
Draco scrubbed his face with his hands and breathed out a lungful of air. "So… can I drive you home, then?"
The corners of her lips twitched upward. "Yeah. I'd like that. Thanks."
"Maybe on the way we could talk about our dance."
"Sure, yes."
"I won't try to kiss you again."
"I won't try either."
Draco nodded. "Okay, then. Let's get you home."
As Hermione leaned against the passenger wide window of his Audi, she knew that the vibrator sitting in her bedside table wouldn't be enough tonight. She was craving Draco more and more these days, to the point of near-combustion.
But she could wait. She wanted to wait. There was so much to look forward to in the next few months. So much work ahead of them, especially now that they finally had a song selection for their Free Dance—one that made her practically shake with anticipation. She didn't want thoughts of what awaited her after the fact to blind her to the rush of preparing for the Olympics.
Because now, for the very first time, it really hit her.
They were going to the 2018 Winter Olympics.
Before, there had always been a knot of dread that accompanied thoughts of competing in the Olympics. Perhaps it was due to her injury, or perhaps it was because she had never felt so ill-prepared in her life.
Perhaps it was a bit of both.
But now, things were falling into place. Her calf was getting stronger each day. They finally had a song for their Free Dance. And her relationship with Draco… it had never been better. Healthier.
Hermione allowed herself to feel a true thrill course across her body, setting it alight.
This was going to be their year. She just knew it. And what a good feeling it was, especially for this year. Their final year—the last season they'd ever compete.
She wanted to savour every second. Soak up every single moment.
Hermione reached her hand across the center console of the car, placing it palm up just beside Draco's knee. He glanced down for a moment before taking it with a soft smile.
She was going to try and enjoy every single thing about the next few months. Even the tough parts. Because when it was all said and done come the end of February, she wanted to know that when she and Draco stepped off the ice for the last time, they'd be going out together, with nothing but good memories.
A small handful of you have been asking and wondering and postulating and even suggesting that Rewrite The Stars would be the perfect anthem.
Well guess what?
I've had this song picked out for this moment for 2 years. So to those of you who took a shot in the dark, good job!
As to the other song, Luck Be A Lady, I've actually edited it myself to fit into the 2:40 time frame required by the ISU for the Short Dance. To take a listen, check my profile, like you did for God Only Knows.
Things are really heating up for Draco and Hermione. I wanted the tension to be off the charts in this charts. Did I succeed?
Anyway, I hope this chapter adds a bit of joy to your day.
Take care, everyone! xoxo Biscuits
