A/N at end
Draco shifted gears just as the bike's engine started to whine. Cresting the hill, he jammed down on the accelerator and flew over the top of his favorite rise. The bike wriggled a little in mid air and he smiled as he thudded to earth.
Not many things could make him smile these days, so he'd take what he could get.
The village came into view and he savored its warm lines. The umbers and ochres were deeper than earlier in the summer, and the late August sun slanted at a lower angle, tinting the scene with a touch of melancholy.
Or maybe that was just his mood.
He leaned into the final curve before town. It felt so strange to be the last one left. Even Blaise had left this morning, on his way to his mother's end-of-summer concert in Paris. Draco had been with him at the villa the last couple of days, but now he was alone again. And with one more night before he Portkeyed back to Britain in the morning, he wanted to see the village. Even if he knew it would be painful.
He braked as he entered the narrower streets, the bike purring beneath him. Looking around as he drove, he was almost paralysed with how much he would miss it, all of it. The crumbling stucco, the bright flowers in window boxes, the washing hung on lines above. The quiet of the bookshop and the noise of his bike. Smoking with Theo, teasing Lavender, laughing with Blaise. Everything with Hermione...
The summer already felt like a sweet but faded dream.
Turning down a familiar lane, he spotted the cafe. Watching its warm windows and bustling tables as he passed, Draco could hardly bear the fact that Hermione wouldn't come swinging out the door and hop up behind him with a kiss and a laugh. Or that he'd never visit her there again, fluster her as she waited on a customer.
He looked away with a frown. He'd have his coffee somewhere else.
Finding a shady spot, Draco parked the bike and walked slowly into the square, surveying its worn cobblestones as he made his way to the bookshop. There was a novel he wanted to pick up. Something Hermione had recommended weeks ago that he hoped would be a distraction the next few days in the safehouse. He smiled faintly—maybe they could discuss plot points and themes when they saw each other again. His smile faded. If they saw each other...
The trattoria came into view and Draco glanced over. He could almost see them there that first night they'd all eaten together at the table under the tree: Theo amused and Lavender a bit sly, Hermione looking at Draco with suspicion and Draco already trying desperately to tamp down his attraction to her.
Why had he wasted so much time fighting it?
He shook his head and jammed his hands into his pockets; he remembered his reasons but he couldn't really understand them anymore. What was between Hermione and him seemed inevitable now—his attempts to evade it futile. And even if the fear was still there, it was nothing to what they'd had. Nothing to falling in love.
He knew that now and he wouldn't trade it for anything.
Draco kicked at a loose stone as he walked out of the square. He did wonder what their future held, though. He hated most of the answers.
He approached the bookshop and, calling hello, pulled open the door. Then he stood and chatted to Agata about fake plans and his fake life as he tried to pay for his book, which she insisted on making a gift.
Gods, what if he really were doing nothing more than going off to a muggle university? Or simply finishing his seventh year of school? What if it were that normal and easy? A familiar sense of the unfairness of it all swept over him and he said a hurried goodbye, kissing Agata's powdery cheek and calling, "Ciao," before she could see the bitterness—or the tears—in his eyes.
He blinked them away as he left the shop, wanting to keep moving and doing, the idea of brooding alone over dinner suddenly unappealing. His steps carried him quickly back to the square and across it, then up another familiar street.
It wasn't long before he was in front of her flat.
He fingered the house keys in his jacket pocket—collected one by one from the others as they'd left—and looked up at the sunny facade. The third floor windows shone in the early evening glare like blind eyes, as if knowing she wasn't there had rendered them blank and lifeless.
Had he been heading here all along? Probably. Although he should probably keep walking. Stick with the original plan of dinner in the square and nothing more. Back to the villa for a swim and an early night before the next, horrific part of his life started.
But no.
Because it seemed he was grasping the handle to her building door, taking the steps to the third floor two at a time, unlocking the flat, stepping in.
It had been a while since he'd been able to resist anything when it came to her.
Draco pulled the door shut behind him and stood in the utter silence. The air was warm and close, watchful somehow, as if the flat were a living thing lying dormant until its next occupants arrived. He looked around. Every surface was neat and orderly and there was a faint tang of lemon in the air. Muggle cleaner, he realised with a ghost of a smile.
He started forward, one hand running over the back of the sofa as he looked into the kitchen. All tidy and tucked away there too. No radio playing or pot bubbling. Although something in the quality of the light made him flash to a memory… of sitting at the table one sunny afternoon, watching Hermione at the counter while she pressed coffee in the cafetière. She'd been laughing, telling him something Lavender had said. He'd reached out and grabbed her when she'd tried to pass by. Pulled her down and kissed her. She'd tasted like the almond biscuits they'd been eating.
His gaze dropped to the floor. It had all been so lovely.
And it was almost like it had happened to someone else.
Draco breathed against the ache in his chest and left the kitchen, wandering down the hallway, still not entirely sure what he was doing.
He reached the doorway to her bedroom and paused. Could he enter here, where the memories were thickest and most sweet? Again, he was powerless not to, his fingers grasping the handle of her door and pushing it open impatiently.
It didn't smell like lemon here. No, it still held some trace of her. A scent that brought not only images rushing back, but feelings and desires too. He stood and closed his eyes, reliving the first night, the day in the rain, the last night. Then he sat down, shoulders bowed, on the bed.
How was he going to do this?
How was he going to put one foot in front of the other and leave this place? Walk into his new life and keep walking toward danger and fear and sorrow? What if he walked away instead? Found a way to reach Hermione and take her with him? They could hide in some far corner of the world—under a glamour or maybe just in plain sight...
But no. He knew she'd never agree to it. And he didn't think he could do it either. Not anymore. Something had shifted. It wasn't that he'd turned noble overnight. It was just that he knew he couldn't live in a world in which she was never safe and they were never accepted.
He dropped his head into his hands, scrubbed them over his face, then looked up.
It was time to go.
Time to box up this summer in a place in his mind only he could reach. Like a perfect, smooth stone he could take out and hold in his hand. Look for the glints of bronze and gold in its depths.
He pushed up and shoved his hair off his forehead, forcing his mind to practical thoughts of dinner and packing and where to store the bike at the villa. He moved fast to the bedroom door, reaching for the handle and intending to go quickly down the hall and out of the flat.
But a movement caught his eye, a slight flutter on the back of the door. He paused and looked, although he knew already what it would be. Something had been wafting her sweet scent around the room.
His hand darted up and the silky scarf slithered off the hook into his fingers. He stared at it—just a simple strip of deep blue—for a long moment before balling it up and pressing it to his face and inhaling deeply. The fabric held not just her perfume, but the essence of her—in the sunshine, eyes teasing as she'd laughed and stuffed it into his pocket.
Draco took a deep, shuddering breath.
He knew he shouldn't take it. He shouldn't have anything of hers on him. He should let it stay here, a mute testimony to what they'd had, the perfect summer they'd shared.
He watched the silk glide through his fingers once more before starting forward and pushing out of the room.
Draco didn't linger in the flat now. He strode through quickly, closing and locking doors, impatient to be gone. To be out in the warm evening air in the crowds of people who now gathered in the square. Living normal lives free of his particular flavor of sacrifice and pain.
Later, after he'd made himself eat and then linger over a final coffee, he climbed on the bike again. Directing it along the smooth, twisting roads, he accelerated out of town and into the twilight, toward uncertainty, dread and sorrow. And as he rounded toward the last curve to the villa, he touched a hand to his pocket, where a small corner of deep blue fabric fluttered in the wind.
A/N: Thank you so MUCH for being on this journey with me. I hope you enjoyed the story and I thank you for your reviews, follows and favorites. I also would like to thank my beta, granger_danger for her hard work on, and invaluable contributions to, this fic - as well as Pacific Rimbaud and The Static Hum for their help and encouragement.
This story has an 8th year sequel, called Falling Dark, which I am actively planning and writing right now! I also am publishing the first chapter of Falling Dark TODAY as a sneak peek. So please head over to my list of works and check it out. Follow or favorite if you would like to be informed when I start posting the rest of the story - probably in the next month or so and then as I write it thereafter. Much love to you all! xoxo ~ SM