We made it, guys. Oh my god. I've been dreaming in this chapter for nearly 3 years. And now it's going to go into your eyeballs and brains.
I'm nervous. Can you tell?
I hope it's everything you dreamed it would be.
All my love to Graceful Lioness.
February 19-20, 2018
The PyeongChang Winter Olympics
Under any other circumstances, Draco would have been perfectly relaxed and content in his current state. He and Hermione both sat, legs stretched out across the bright blue bedspread standard to all athletes competing in the Pyeongchang Olympics. Surrounding them were the crumpled wrappers of a half-dozen snacks they'd found at the local convenience store and dared themselves to try.
It should have been fun. He and Hermione should have laughed together when they discovered that the fish-shaped crackers tasted like squid and fought over the chocolate-covered cheese puffs that were somehow delicious.
Instead, they'd taken a few bites each and let the leftovers sit untouched near the foot of the bed. Judging by the pallid colouring on Hermione's face, the snacks hadn't done any favours at helping her stave off her usual pre-performance nausea.
"That was a mistake," Draco grumbled as he adjusted himself on the bed to lie down. "Shouldn't have gotten so many."
Hermione hummed in response and lowered her body to lie beside him.
"You doing okay?" he prodded, turning his head so he could see her profile. Her lips were turned downward, and her eyes looked a bit glazed over. "Need to sleep? You didn't take a nap today, so I thought maybe you'd adjusted to the time zone."
Hermione shook her head. "That's not it."
That made sense. They'd already been in Korea for over ten days and their internal clocks had finally adjusted four days in.
But something was clearly off, and he wasn't sure if it was just her nerves or something more. Draco watched the rise and fall of her chest, and though his own nerves were already off the charts, the knot of anxiety in his stomach tightened further still.
He rolled so he was lying on his side, facing her. "Okay." Reaching out, he rubbed her arm in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "What's going on, then? Because there's definitely something."
Hermione sighed and rolled onto her side as well. Her eyes pierced his, and he could feel a sense of worry pouring off of her in waves. "I just can't shake the feeling that something's going to go wrong. Like four years ago."
Draco pursed his lips. "I had a feeling that was it."
"I just—" Hermione looked just past him as she spoke, above his ear and toward the blank expanse of wall by the window. "—it feels like a lot more pressure than last time. We were expected to do well last time, sure, but there's all this talk about us making a great comeback. And when that journalist asked us yesterday about our lack of momentum going into the Olympics, it just kind of… I don't know. It got to me. The pressure. And being the flag bearer in the Parade of Nations was such a huge honour, but it only made that pressure worse, I think."
Carrying the Union Jack in front of the world had definitely been a huge honour. Hermione was certainly right about that. His heart had swelled with pride and disbelief when the leadership at Team Great Britain asked them of all people. Them!
But still, it was easy to see how that honour added to Hermione's nerves.
Draco kept moving his hand up and down her left arm as he searched internally for the right way to respond to his partner's anxiety. The journalist in question had been a part of a larger pre-competition interview they'd done. And while many questions centered around training and this year's routines, a great deal more focused on their great blunder four years ago, Hermione's injury, and subsequent abstention from most of this year's regular season.
"All the other teams have been performing for months," one journalist had explained when called on. "They are carrying momentum from the season into the Olympics. But for you, this is your one shot. Your make-it-or-break-it moment. How do you feel about that?"
Draco wasn't sure what words came out of his mouth, but he'd managed to reply. Something about feeling prepared despite their bumps in the road. Hermione hadn't responded at all, and had been rather quiet for the rest of the interview.
Her melancholy made sense now.
From the moment they stepped into the arrivals lobby at the airport, they'd been inundated with flashing cameras and screaming fans. Some were fans Draco recognised from competitions in Japan. There were also countless new faces holding homemade signs, sobbing, shoving photos for him to autograph in his face.
It was… overwhelming to be sure.
So many people had their hopes set on the two of them doing well. If the questions journalists kept asking them were any indication, many people had been following their roller coaster of a journey since the Sochi Olympics and viewed them as underdogs of sorts.
That's not exactly how Draco had always pictured his professional image would be. When he was younger and dreamed of being an Olympic athlete, he'd imagined how all others would find him intimidating and the clear winner from the start, always destined for gold.
God, he'd been so haughty as a child. Hell, he'd been that haughty even a few years ago.
A few years ago, he'd have been embarrassed to be considered an underdog of all things.
But given what he'd experienced since Sochi—the moments of reckoning that had shaken his very foundation—he was more than happy to be called an underdog if it meant he and Hermione would take to the ice tomorrow in front of the world.
Because tomorrow would begin their redemption.
In front of him now, Hermione still looked like the perfect picture of misery.
"I feel it too," he offered, hand still on her arm. "The pressure. But we're going to be okay. Even if we come in eighth place again—and I don't think we will—we'll be okay."
She sighed again, rolling onto her back. Draco's hand fell naturally to her stomach, and he left it there. Hermione didn't seem to mind.
"I know," she murmured. "It's still… a lot. It feels like every moment we've ever spent together has led us to this moment. That… ugh, that sounds too dramatic."
Hermione shook her head and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Draco sat up as well and joined her. Their pajama-clad legs touched.
"You're not being dramatic, Hermione," he chuckled. "That's exactly what this is. It's understandable that you're nervous. I'm nervous, too." When Hermione's frown didn't disappear and her brow didn't lift, Draco decided to switch tactics. "But, tell you what," he said, turning to face her and curling one leg under him. "Just to be sure, let's run through a checklist. I know you like those."
This cracked the first smile—the twitch of a lip.
"Right. First. You have all your gear? You didn't leave your skates back in England, did you?"
Hermione gave a soft chuckle. "No, Draco. I have them right in my closet."
"Good. Second. You're not feeling sick?"
"I'm not."
"Third. I'm here. That's half of what we need right there."
"Har har."
"Fourth. Your calf?" Draco raised his brow as Hermione flexed and pointed her foot.
"Good as gold. Viktor checked it this morning."
"Then see? You've got nothing to worry about. All that's left is to skate our best and see what happens."
Hermione shook her head. "What on earth happened to the pretentious little boy I started skating with seventeen years ago?"
"Oh, he's still in here," Draco assured her. "He's just gotten a little more mature."
"Ah, well." Hermione shrugged with a smile. "I did miss him calling me a tutu-wearing ninny."
Draco groaned. "Are you ever going to let that go? I was eleven and hated that my parents sent me to ballet lessons without telling me why. I wasn't upset with you. I was just… tetchy."
"Nope. Sorry. I think I'm going to hold on to that forever."
Draco might have been annoyed had Hermione not been laughing. She was in dire need of a distraction, and if he needed to be the punchline to make that happen, then so be it.
"Did I ever tell you that I got curious about The Princess Diaries once you mentioned the film to me?" He watched as one of Hermione's eyebrows arched. "I basically forced Dobbs to find the DVD for me so I could watch it."
"Oh, Dobbs! How is he? You haven't mentioned him in ages."
Draco chuckled. "He wrote to me not too long ago, actually. Turns out, he quit after the last Olympics. He said something in his letter about not being able to stand the way my parents talked about us any more. So he left. And according to him, he's done his best to watch as many of our competitions as he can on the telly."
Tears formed at the corners of Hermione's eyes as she listened. She was actually crying over his childhood butler.
He truly didn't deserve this wonderful, empathetic woman.
"Anyway, I watched that movie and I finally understood something about you."
"And what was that?"
Hermione blinked and tilted her head, and somehow, the air around the both of them changed.
"That you were like Mia. The hair. The desire to be seen. The fact that you really were a princess."
Although she shook her head, Draco could see her cheeks redden slightly. The goal hadn't been to embarrass Hermione, but this seemed to be a safe avenue that would keep her away from her nerves.
"Now you're just being ridiculous, Draco." Hermione stood from the bed and walked toward his closet, where she needlessly started to straighten items on shelves. "I can see some of those things. The hair, obviously. I had self-esteem issues for sure. But I… never entertained any sort of fantasy that I was a princess."
Her voice had begun to vibrate, and Draco knew it was only a matter of time before her anxiety returned in full. He had to steer her back… back to him.
"You may not have," he interjected, standing and crossing the room toward her. "But I did."
This gave Hermione pause. She turned from the closet and stared. "You… what?"
"I thought you were a princess of sorts. I was entranced from the moment I saw you dance at the studio in that black leotard of yours. I saw you through a window on my first day, and would you believe it? It actually gave me butterflies."
Hermione's eyes were wide as saucers now.
"You're joking."
"I'm not. I swear. And besides, I haven't even gotten to the first time I saw you skate."
"The first time you saw me… Was that my audition?"
"It was."
Struck by a sudden bit of inspiration, Draco reached for his phone and did a bit of searching on his music app. When he found what he needed, he pressed play and set the phone down on his bedside table.
Soft piano filled the room as Draco stepped back toward his best friend of seventeen years. He had to remember to breathe as he took her hand and held her in the right frame for a waltz.
The way Hermione looked up at him nearly made him forget to breathe. Cheeks rosy. Lips barely parted. Brown eyes shining.
As the orchestra chimed in with the piano, he moved his feet. Forward, step, step. Back, step, step.
"The very first time I saw you skate, it was to this song." He led Hermione around the sparse room in a simple waltz, his eyes never leaving hers. How had he never told her about this memory? "I remember being so completely enchanted with you that I didn't know what to do with myself. Compared to every other girl I saw skate, you looked like you were born to be on the ice. You looked so confident out there. So natural. Like you were floating."
"I might have looked confident, but I was actually nervous as hell," Hermione admitted as they continued dancing.
"Well, that's how you came across to me. Like… a real princess. That's what I thought at the time, actually."
It was his turn to flush.
Draco's ears burned but he wasn't deterred. He released his right hand from the small of Hermione's back and lifted his left to walk her through a spin. She followed his lead, whipping her head around so her eyes stayed latched onto his.
"I might have only been eleven years-old, but from the moment I saw you skate, I knew there was something special about you. Something perfect. Perfect for me." Draco swallowed. Perhaps he should have been the one with nerves, admitting all this. But this was Hermione. His Hermione. And talking to her… looking at her… being with her—he was home.
There was only one thing left to say, then.
"It took me years to figure this out, probably because it all happened when I was a kid who didn't know what it all meant or how it was supposed to feel, but looking back, I think that moment—watching you skate for the first time—was when I fell in love with you."
He'd spoken of his feelings to her many times, so he didn't expect it at all when Hermione had such a strong reaction. Breaking the waltz frame, she fell into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself close to him.
She didn't say anything as they stood, hugging. She simply buried her face in his chest and held him close. Draco could feel her steady breathing and used that rhythm to calm the nervous beating of his own heart.
This was what they both needed the night before their Olympic performances began. To breathe and be there for each other. To connect.
If they did that, then these next two days would be nothing like their experience in Sochi. Or at least, that's what Draco hoped.
After a few good, long minutes passed, Draco tilted his wrist to see the time.
"Hermione," he murmured into the top of her head, "it's nearly nine o'clock. We should probably go to sleep. Big day tomorrow. Early start."
He felt her nod against his chest. She sniffed once. "Yes. Bed."
They probably could have gotten away with sleeping in the same bed. God knew, Draco could have used the comfort. But more than any promises they had made to each other, they had a routine—one that they'd been following for months. One that did not involve sleeping in the same bed. And given that the next two days were the biggest in their career, it was probably best that the routine didn't change.
"I'll just—" Hermione gestured to the door. "I'm down the hall."
Draco nodded. "I'll see you in the morning? Six o'clock?"
The two stared at each other for several ticks. So much was left unsaid. They both knew it. But there would be time to talk. Years, if they were lucky.
Just, after the next two days.
With a small wave and a wistful smile, Hermione disappeared into the corridor, leaving Draco alone with the soft sounds of the orchestra still playing the waltz echoing around his empty room.
Although he woke up sporadically during the night, Draco awoke feeling relatively well-rested. He followed his morning routine, rising before the sun, and met Hermione in the corridor at two minutes past six.
Their breakfast was quiet and perfunctory. After breakfast, they grabbed their skating gear and made their way over to the arena on a bus with other athletes. They chatted amicably with Fleur and Roger, who both looked like they wanted to vomit from nerves. Hermione also looked a bit green around the gills.
Viktor and Severus met them there and helped them get ready in one of the large backstage areas. Although Hermione was the one who typically received all the help from Viktor, he had them both run through a series of stretches to prevent injuries before double-checking the status of Hermione's calf.
"You're good to go," he reported after moving her leg in what appeared to be every possible angle. "Keep stretching until you're reading to go on. Stretch when you get off the ice, too. Keep it limber for tomorrow."
Severus had them run through the trickiest of their Short Dance lifts three times.
He then declared them ready.
Hermione promptly threw up.
For the Short Dance competition, performance order was random. But the higher their score was today, the later on the roster they would perform in tomorrow's Ice Dance Final. Out of the twenty-four pairs competing today, only twenty would advance.
Draco tapped his feet on the floor as he waited for their turn—eighteenth—while Hermione attempted to distract herself with a book. As far as he could tell, it only worked so much. By the time an hour passed, she started pacing.
He was grateful when their group number was called so they could stop their nervous tics and do their six-minute warm up on the ice. When they stepped into the open air of the arena, they were greeted by a roar of applause, and for the first time that day, Draco saw a smile light up Hermione's face. They ran through a few sequences of their Short Dance and skated around the perimeter of the rink a few times before the announcer politely asked everyone but the Turkish pair to remain on the ice.
The rest of their wait time was spent just backstage, jumping and breathing. Hermione did some last-minute stretches and just before their time, they breathed in sync and repeated their usual mantra.
Hearing their names called by the announcer in English, French, and Korean was strange and wonderful. Even more strange and wonderful was the way Hermione looked at him as they took their place on the ice. She'd already gotten into character—the flirty woman who had him wrapped around her little finger. Her eyes told him that she was ready to begin.
As they'd rehearsed so many times, Luck Be A Lady started with the whining of an orchestra, followed by the crooning voice of Frank Sinatra. Hermione skated around him, teasing him with her eyes as her fingertips grazed his shoulder… his cheek… his hand…
Draco played the part of man trying to convince this flirty woman to stay by his side, pursuing her and her bright red dress across the ice in his suspenders and high-waisted pants looking every part the desperate, love-struck man.
This particular dance kept Hermione pulled close to his chest through the swing dance, and as they made their way through the routine, he could feel how much Remus's presence had helped them. Every touch and look kept Draco on his toes, like this fictional woman actually would.
And so they skated through the routine totally ensconced in the world they'd created. Every movement was in sync, every twizzle precise. Even the lifts felt perfect as they executed them. The music moved from bold and brash to soft and lyrical and then back again, all in the span of two minutes and forty seconds.
Somehow, in that span of time, Draco got swept up in the pure fun of it all. Because that's how it felt. Fun. Like they were out on the ice as kids again, smiling through every routine. Like that's the whole reason they were out there: to have fun.
It was magical.
By the time Frank started changing keys, signaling the start of their final sequence, Draco couldn't stop grinning and neither, it seemed, could Hermione. The more she smiled, the more it made him want to smile right back. There were two more lifts to execute: the bold rotational lift, followed by the stationary lift that carried them into their final pose.
Draco passed Hermione around his torso in head in time to the brass instruments before leading them to the center of the ice. There, he spun in a circle, holding Hermione perpendicular to his body as Frank Sinatra belted out his final note.
When the song finally ended with Hermione dipped deep in his arms, no one needed to tell him how well they'd done. He knew, somehow, that they'd just done one of their best Short Dances to date.
Remus had told them specifically that he wanted people to remember this performance, and judging by the way the crowd was cheering, Draco was sure that they would.
He and Hermione, still grinning, hugged each other before taking their bows.
The grinning didn't stop, even as they left the ice, Hermione hugging a pleased Severus while Draco dove onto the soft barrier in pure elation. It didn't stop when he collected his water bottle and took grateful sips. It didn't stop when Severus clapped him on the back and led them to the Kiss and Cry Station.
Their grins only got wider when their scores were announced.
83.62 points. A world record.
Tomorrow, they'd be performing late again.
Tomorrow, they might have a shot at the podium.
Hope flared in his chest like it hadn't in months. They actually stood a chance—a real chance at walking away with a medal. Draco forced himself to think that same thought over and over in his head, trying to make it feel more real. A glance at Hermione showed that she was also struggling with disbelief. She was blinking rapidly with furrowed brows as she processed it all. But when she looked up and their eyes met, he saw the same fire that he'd seen when they were kids, the day he'd seen her skate to The Princess Diaries Waltz and they'd been matched.
Hermione wanted to win. So did he. And now, that was a very real possibility.
Still, they were only halfway through their Olympic journey. There was still one more performance to give tomorrow. As much as Draco wanted to throw his hands in the air and grab a bottle of champagne to celebrate, it wasn't time yet.
Four years ago, they'd been in this same position: on top of the world after performing their Short Dance. That was before everything came crashing down around them. Before he dropped Hermione in the middle of their Free Dance.
There was still plenty of time for mistakes, but this go round, Draco was going to make sure that they didn't happen.
Severus asked them to do one final run-through of their Free Dance in the practise arena that evening after dinner. He and Hermione took to the ice, with both Viktor and their coach watching. In the three months they'd been rehearsing this number, it had quickly become Draco's favourite performance to date. He wasn't entirely sure if he could fully articulate why. Perhaps it was the way they'd incorporated acrobatic techniques into the lifts. Or perhaps it was because he'd never felt so close to his partner during all the early mornings and late nights at the rink.
All Draco knew was that every second of this dance felt like fate. With the way their bodies moved perfectly in sync, there was no way it could be anything but fate.
"Thoughts?" Draco asked between sips of water when the music faded and they made their way back to where their coach was waiting for them. "Lay 'em on us. What do you have on that clipboard of yours?"
Severus looked down his nose at Draco before turning his clipboard around. It was blank.
"If the judges don't put you on that podium tomorrow, I'd say they're certifiably insane." Severus's eyebrow twitched as he offered a rare smile. "The whole routine is the kind of thing that you dream of seeing on the ice. The midline non-touch step sequence in particular was sublime."
"Did you… just offer us praise?" Draco nearly coughed as he choked out the words. "Has the world gone upside down or something?"
"I am merely giving credit where credit is due. And… it is due."
Draco shot a smirk at Hermione. "Are we sure this is the real Severus Snape here?"
Severus placed his empty clipboard onto a nearby bench and scrunched his face up for a moment, as though he was bracing himself to smell something unpleasant. When he spoke, however, there was nothing unpleasant about his words.
"When I took this job, coaching you two all those years ago, I did it because Lucius and Narcissa were old acquaintances. I am not ashamed to say that I was not interested in a personal capacity. After the kind of career I had on the ice, coaching two little brats who weren't even old enough to join the junior leagues wasn't exactly my preference." He paused and smirked. "I did not want to be stuck as a kiddie coach until I croaked."
Beside him, Hermione giggled.
"But I have to say, despite the fact that the two of you probably shaved a few years off my life with all you've put me through, being your coach for the past seventeen years has been the honour of my life."
Severus didn't get teary-eyed like some other people might. Like Hermione was now. His voice didn't waver and he didn't reach out to embrace them. He simply made extended eye contact, first with Hermione, then with him.
Although he didn't say another word, his eyes spoke for him.
I want you to succeed. I care about you now.
Draco privately wondered if Severus had just used his lifetime quota of kind words.
"Right, then. Off to bed, the both of you. I don't need to tell you how important tomorrow is."
There was an air of finality in Severus's words that Draco had learned long ago was not to be negotiated. Their coach departed for his own accommodations while he and Hermione packed up their skates.
Their trek back to the Olympic Village was brisk and nearly silent, though not in a way that made his toes curl with discomfort. It was comfortable, walking beside Hermione in the dark stillness of the mountains. A few athletes were out and about. Some were clearly drunk, partying after their own events wrapped up. Several languages danced past Draco's ears as they made their way into the high-rise complex.
Tonight would be much the same as last night. They'd sleep separately, doing their best to get any sleep at all. They still had to stick to the routine. Any deviation was still out of the question.
"See you at six?" Hermione asked as they stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the fourteenth floor. "Breakfast then bus over, like today?"
Draco nodded. "Sounds good to me."
They fell silent again, the mechanical sounds of the elevator moving upward and its steady dings after passing each new floor filled their ears instead. Faintly, outside some floors, they could hear the sounds of people having fun, singing or chatting or listening to music.
What a strange, wonderful place to be—this microcosm where people from all over the world had come together to compete. Draco wanted to soak in everything about these days like a sponge. The sounds, smells, sights, textures, tastes... so he could always remember what it felt like to be on the precipice of greatness at the Olympics.
It was such a massive thing to take in and process.
The elevator dinged one final time and the doors opened to reveal a quiet corridor.
The closer theys stepped toward their rooms, a new thought floated through Draco's mind. Somehow, this particular thought seemed even bigger than his dreams of Olympic gold.
Tonight, he and Hermione would part ways in front of their rooms. They would brush their teeth alone, shower alone, and sleep alone. Tomorrow morning, they would wake up alone.
But Draco knew, deep inside, that this would be the last time.
Tomorrow, regardless of the outcome, the pressure would lift. Their career would continue on their terms. Or… not. Whatever they decided, it would be up to the two of them. Together.
Tomorrow, Draco wouldn't have to say goodnight outside of Hermione's door. He'd keep her in his bed not just tomorrow, but for as long as she'd let him.
They'd never have to be apart again.
That was the thought that kept Draco calm as he squeezed her hand and went into his room. It was also that thought that helped him to drift off to sleep peacefully.
The roar of the crowd from just beyond the doors was deafening. Even with all the insulation muffling it, Draco knew that the audience was going wild for Fleur and Roger's routine.
He shifted his weight back and forth between his feet and tried to keep his breathing steady.
He also tried not to think about the fact that the legacy of their career would be decided in the next ten minutes.
Beside him, Hermione stretched her calf one last time.
They'd been backstage for over three hours waiting for their turn to skate. Having the highest score going into the Free Dance competition meant that they were performing last. The judges would have seen every other couple before them, and they were scheduled to be the grand finale.
Draco struggled to remember how to breathe.
When Severus appeared at the door to usher them into the arena, Draco forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. Hermione took his hand and squeezed, and they stepped into the open space together.
Fleur and Roger were already making their way to the Kiss and Cry station while several young skaters went around picking up flowers and stuffies that fans had thrown to them. French flags littered the stands as their friends took their place in the corner to receive their scores.
But that was not his concern. Not yet, at least. Right now, the only thing—the only person he needed to focus on was right in front of him.
"How are you doing?" he asked as she removed her blade covers.
"Good. Ready. You?"
Shallow breath in. Shallow breath out.
"Same. Ready. Are you nervous?" Draco ducked down to remove his own blade covers.
Hermione furrowed her brow for a moment, as if considering. She then reached to her left to unscrew her water bottle. "You know, I actually don't think I am. At least… I don't think so."
After taking a sip, she set the bottle back down and took a tentative step toward him. Sensing her intentions, Draco wrapped his arms around her. Her head laid against his chest, and he knew she was listening to the rapid thumping of his heart.
Standing together like this, the noises all around them seemed to fade away. He tried to tune them out, at least. In the back of his mind, Draco knew that there were probably cameras on them. He knew that there were fans recording this interaction on their phones. But he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when his whole world was in his arms. He had a feeling that Hermione felt the same.
"I don't feel nervous because I know I've got you," she murmured into him. "I'm ready to show the world who we've become."
Draco pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "And what's that?"
"Us."
It was such a small word, so unassuming and obvious, even. But Hermione was right. He was ready, too. Ready to be part of an 'us.'
Draco leaned down and covered his mouth with his hand to offer them a bit of privacy. "Just us?" he questioned, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
She nodded, loving eyes trained on his once he'd pulled back. "Just us."
Around them, the crowd started cheering. French flags began waving in earnest. Fleur and Roger's scores were likely just announced, and they probably did well.
It was time.
Severus gave them a solemn nod as one of the Olympic workers opened the barrier for them. As they skated out to the center of the ice, French flags were replaced with Union Jacks. Draco wasn't entirely sure how it was possible, but the arena seemed even louder than it had for their predecessors.
Somewhere in this crowd were his parents, though he chose not to dwell on that.
Somewhere, there was a young child who would see them perform and demand ice skating lessons.
Somewhere, Hermione's mum was out there, waving a homemade poster like always.
Somewhere, though Draco couldn't exactly say where, her dad was there as well. He might not have been in the stands, but he was there in the smile that radiated off Hermione's face as they took their positions.
She looked incandescent in her lilac-coloured dress. And her hair… never before had she wore it down to skate. It was always in a bun. Always. Until now. It fell across her shoulders in wild curls underneath a half-ponytail. It was impossible not to be completely enamoured by her.
The second they were off the ice, he would tell her.
But for now…
A hush fell over the crowd as they were announced in all three official languages.
In the silence that followed, Draco swore he could hear their heartbeats echoing across the ice.
The song started like it always did, with a lone man's voice carrying across the room.
Draco took a step toward Hermione, and the story began.
He took the lead at first, starting them off slowly. He was the one pursuing, but his touches were tentative. They took their first lap around the ice with Hermione purposefully looking away, avoiding his desperate pleas of love.
But the moment she finally turned her head, he led her into the first lift, hoisting her and spinning.
It was then that their eyes truly met for the first time. And it was also then that Draco knew this dance wasn't just a performance for today. It was the same dance they'd been doing since they were eleven years-old. Their lives together were one, never-ending dance, and as he looked into Hermione's eyes during that lift, he could see their whole lives laid out before them, full of longing and hope and love.
By now, he knew that he was mouthing the lyrics, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Let the world know he was singing to Hermione. Let them all know exactly how he felt.
So why don't we rewrite the stars?
Maybe the world could be ours tonight.
Draco's hand cradled Hermione's face in his palm, and to him, it felt like the most intimate moment they'd ever had on the ice. More than any sultry number they'd performed. More intimate, even, than their God Only Knows routine.
Because this moment—this whole performance—was all about them. Their story. Draco felt raw vulnerability stretch across his skin as they started another lap around the ice, but that was exactly how he needed to feel to show his true connection with Hermione.
And then the verses changed. The shift in their skating was subtle, but noticeable to anyone really looking. No longer was Draco the one pursuing with desperate longing. Hermione, instead, began to push back against him.
In this story—their story—Hermione was the one to keep them from being together. Yet, although her arms kept them firmly apart, her eyes were soft and deep and full of the same desperate affection.
They'd danced just outside each other's peripheries for years, and that's exactly what they did now, always close but never close enough to be satisfied.
When they finally connected again, it was into another, bigger lift sequence, Draco passed Hermione around his body, and despite her hesitation, she clung to him as though her life depended on it.
The song only built from there, and Draco could feel the chills coursing through his body. They were identical to the chills that he felt months ago when he heard the song for the first time with Hermione by his side.
The moment Hermione's blades touched the ice, they built toward their twizzle sequence. Draco's heart was beating in his throat. He heard nothing but the song, saw nothing but Hermione. His whole world was here on the ice. There was nowhere else—nothing else but this moment.
All I want is to fly with you…
All I want is to fall with you…
So just give me all of you...
He and Hermione were perfectly in sync. The connection Remus had talked about… it was completely palpable, permeating every muscle, every bone. They were moving together, breathing together as one.
Their skating sped up and Hermione leapt into his arms for their keystone lift. Her blade landed on his thigh and she balanced there for a moment, lifting her arms and leaning her neck back in a way that looked so graceful, so effortless, Draco knew that anyone watching them now would be just as enchanted as him. He passed her overhead and held her aloft. Even from this strange vantage point, she radiated beauty, every inch of her.
As if on cue, the crowd around them erupted. The sounds of cheers carried across the music, and it only drove his concentration more. They were so close. This had been the moment when they had failed four years ago, and Draco would be damned if that happened again.
But in his heart, he knew it wouldn't. Gazing up at Hermione, she truly looked like she was flying, arms outstretched and gliding on the air. Draco's thighs burned as he sank deeper in his stance, but he remained steady.
When Hermione dismounted and her blades touched the ice once more, Draco felt a wave of relief and euphoria crash over him. This was the kind of moment he lived for on the ice. The moment where it all went right, when everything lined up to create something flawless.
Even if they didn't win, this was their triumph. It was better than any medal around his neck.
Draco couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face as they transitioned straight into the final stretch of the song.
They weren't keeping their distance anymore, but instead, their bodies were pulled close as they traveled around the ice. He felt the muscles in Hermione's back shift beneath his fingertips as he led her around one final loop.
They finally came back to the centre of the ice, Draco pulled Hermione into one final lift, rotating on the spot and sinking down as he cradled Hermione in his arms. When he stood again and placed Hermione on her feet, the song began to fade away, reduced only to a single, feminine voice.
Draco pulled Hermione close for the final pose. He leaned his forehead against hers, her hands clasped in his.
And then it was over.
It took a bit for it all to sink in. His chest was heaving, as was Hermione's. But they didn't move away. Not yet. Draco could feel Hermione's hot breath mingling with his own, and for what felt like several long seconds, it was all they could do to stay just like that, staring into each other's eyes, searching, reaching for the truth of the moment.
The truth was this: They'd done it. They'd actually done it. Skated in the Olympics and done it, not for the fame or the glory, but for themselves.
And they were met with thunderous applause for it.
Before Draco could even think about what was supposed to come next, his arms closed around Hermione's waist and he pulled her into a tight hug. He heard her gasp slightly when their bodies collided, and knew that the reality of it all was likely still sinking in for her. He shut his eyes tightly and buried his face in the crook of her neck, and he felt her do the same. They were practically clinging to each other, searching for an anchor in this new world.
When he pulled back, she was shaking, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in disbelief. Her hands came together to cover that mouth, but even though he couldn't see her smile, he could see it in the way her eyes shone.
It was then that he knew. They both knew. There were no numbers yet, but there was a shared exhilaration circulating between them.
Draco couldn't help himself. He took a step back and whooped for joy, throwing his whole body into the feeling.
Hermione still stood there, mouth covered, eyes searching his for confirmation that this was real. That it was actually happening. That they were standing in the middle of the Olympic ice rink surrounded by the wildest applause they'd ever received, and they'd somehow pulled it off. Together.
In one swift movement, Draco closed the gap between them, lifting Hermione off her feet and pulling her into the tightest hug he'd ever given her. She laughed in his ear. His hand traveled up her bare back to find refuge at the base of her neck. He cradled her head as though she were the most precious thing in the world.
Slowly, Draco's mind became more aware of reality. The cries of the crowd were growing louder in his ears. He saw dozens of gifts flying all around his head as fans tossed them onto the ice. They had to take their bows, but he wasn't quite ready. Not yet.
After pulling back and grinning like idiots at each other one last time, Draco leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Hermione's cheek. Before he did something stupid and actually kiss her, he stepped back, twirling Hermione so they could perform their bows.
As they made their way to each direction, Draco couldn't help but notice that nearly everyone was on their feet.
They made their way back to the edge of the ice, and even from a distance, he could see Severus giving off an energy unlike anything they'd ever seen before. Their coach actually looked excited.
Another burst of euphoria overtook Draco. He skated just ahead and threw the soft barrier open with a growl. To his surprise, Hermione dove right into Severus's arms. The man seemed a bit taken aback at first, but seemed to welcome the affection easily enough.
They were led over to the Kiss and Cry Station as a silly pop song filled the arena. Draco took grateful sips from a water bottle with one hand. The other held fast to Hermione's hand. Their fingers laced together and didn't break apart, even when they sat down on the bench in front of a camera that would broadcast their reaction to the world.
He hadn't been nervous before, but his stomach chose now to roil with anxiety. This was it.
Draco wasn't sure what else to think.
Hermione's hand was his anchor, keeping him from floating away into the vast unknown that would come once the scores were called. There were so many unanswered questions. So much he hadn't figured out, regardless of whether a medal was in their future.
For the very first time, he felt the tendrils of fear tighten their grip around him.
But just as that fear came, it washed away. Hermione's free hand rested on his knee and squeezed. It was as if she was trying to tell him that it would all be okay. That they'd be fine, no matter what numbers were called.
Draco's heart stuttered inside his chest.
No matter what happened, they'd finally be free. Free to just be themselves, together.
That, in of itself, was worth more than any gold medal. To finally have Hermione in his arms. To be able to belong to each other without reservation.
He reached over and squeezed her knee and they shared a small smile.
The female voice began to speak above the crowd.
"Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy have earned in the Free Dance… 122.43 points."
The crowd around them erupted.
Draco squinted up at the display screen, trying to make sense of the numbers.
"They have achieved a total of 206.05—"
Beside him, Hermione's hands flew to her face as she gasped.
Draco leaned further forward, as if this would somehow help him hear the announcer.
"And they are currently in—"
Deep breath.
"—first place."
"Yes!" Draco cried as he leapt to his feet. He slammed his hands down onto the barrier before lifting Hermione off her feet from where she still sat on the bench. They clung to each other once again, and Draco couldn't tell who was shaking more.
He knew there were cameras on him, recording his every move, but he simply didn't care.
They had done it. A gold medal. A fucking gold medal.
And it was all thanks to the incredible woman in his arms.
As the announcer told that the ice dancing event was now concluded, Draco finally let Hermione down, though his eyes never left hers.
And as much as they had to do in the next few minutes, all Draco could think of was kissing her.
Not caring who would come after them with a clipboard or whistle, he took Hermione by the hand the moment he knew the cameras weren't facing them any longer. She briefly shot him a confused look, but followed him nonetheless. Together they bobbed and weaved past reporters and other skaters until Draco found one of the doors that led backstage. Without stopping to think or even to breathe, Draco pushed the door open, pulling Hermione inside after him. The moment it shut behind them, he wrapped his arms around her once again.
"We did it, Draco," Hermione whispered to him, their foreheads touching much as they had at the end of their dance. "I can't believe it. Gold. Oh, I just can't… I can't believe it."
There were a thousand things Draco could have said in that moment, each more cliché than the last. But words weren't enough for this moment. Words couldn't capture what he needed to express.
And so, without delay or hesitation, Draco's hands cupped Hermione's face. Although he had just been touching her, this touch felt worlds apart. Her skin was so soft beneath his fingertips.
He gently stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. All the while, his eyes never left hers. He was almost afraid that if he looked away or even blinked, all this would fade away. It felt like the kind of dream that he would try desperately to recall only seconds after waking.
But it wasn't a dream. This was all very, very real. They had won the gold medal. But more than that, they were here, together, and their deadline had finally expired. There was nothing stopping them from closing the gap they'd put between themselves for four years.
Terror swooped in Draco's stomach. But it wasn't the kind that made him freeze up or have doubts.
No, this was the kind of terror that he was meant to feel right before he made the biggest leap of his life—like diving off a steep cliff into the unknown. But then, perhaps it wasn't terror after all. Because Hermione wasn't blinking either, and in the depths of her eyes, Draco saw the only thing he needed to know that he was home.
Love.
Love, love, love.
"I love you." The words slipped easily from his tongue. "And I'm going to kiss you now."
Hermione's "okay," barely slipped from her tongue before his lips descended on hers. They were just as soft, just as warm as he remembered. Pliant under the pressure from his own lips and oh, so sweet. Draco's heart thumped erratically inside his chest, giving into the utter wildness of the past few minutes.
What. A. Journey.
Describing those dances was really difficult and I hope I did it justice. I wanted you to all to be able to create as much of a routine in your minds as possible.
And is that an emotional Severus I spy?
THEY KISSED. I screamed to myself when I wrote that last little bit.
This note is all over the place.
If you would like the link to the Subtle Perfection version of Luck Be A Lady, the link is still in my profile.
Just two chapters left. How? Didn't I JUST start posting this?
Thank you all for your continued love for this weird little fic idea. Your encouraging words mean the entire world to me.