Draco was an early riser by all accounts: he liked to get his day started and well on its way early on, hating the feeling that sleeping in gave him, as if he was wasting away his day before it even began. But this morning, perhaps for the first time ever, he wanted nothing more than to stay in bed. Which might have something to do with Harry, his arms still around Draco, his hair tousled on the pillow under him as he snored placidly.
Watching him sleep, his mouth slightly agape and the faint snores issuing from it, Draco smiled softly in endearment. This wasn't the first time Harry had woken up in his bed, but it was the first time Draco had woken before him, as Harry usually slipped out with the first hints of the sunlight to avoid their getting caught. And seeing him in his most vulnerable, most natural state —and feeling his arms around him, which had likely stayed there the whole night—, Draco felt nothing but the utmost bliss. But it was bliss laced with pain— pain as he remembered this was his wedding morning, which meant this was their last time sharing a bed.
Perhaps out of the melancholy of the thought, Draco reached for Harry's cheek and stroked it gently. Harry shifted slightly under his touch, burrowing deeper into the pillow and pulling Draco closer to him. Draco's heart swelled in his chest at the reaction the lightest of his touches had evoked, and wanting more, he pressed a kiss to the tip of Harry's nose. Now Harry's eyelids fluttered, and he let out a sleepy sigh as he was roused from his slumber by Draco's little kiss.
"Good morning," Draco whispered, his kiss now landing on Harry's forehead.
"Good morning," Harry mumbled drowsily, smiling at the touch of Draco's lips. "Ready to get married?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," Draco sighed, bringing his head down slightly so he'd be eye level with Harry once more. "Thank you for coming by last night," he said, reaching for Harry's hand under the covers and squeezing it. "I don't know how I could've pushed myself to do this without you."
Harry squeezed back. "I could say the same to you. Thank you for letting me in last night. I don't know how I could get through today without you."
Facing each other in bed, they smiled, a mix of sorrow and love in their eyes, relishing in the shared warmth of the bed under the covers and the touch of their hands.
"Hey, what time is it?" Harry said all of a sudden, scrunching his nose as he looked at the brilliant sunlight already pouring in through the gaps in the curtains.
As if in answer, a rhythmic knock came at the door. "Master Malfoy?"
"Damn it, it's Keane," Draco grumbled, his grip tightening around Harry's hand. He didn't let go, but only twisted his head toward the door to call back: "Yes?"
Keane's voice was muffled coming in through the door from the hallway. "I'm sorry if I woke you sir, but I was wondering if you might open the door? Your father has asked me to come dress you, and the florist is here with an arrangement for your lapel."
Draco gritted his teeth. "Not yet, Keane, give me a moment! I've just woken up and I would like to shower and freshen up a little before I get in my suit."
"Of course, sir, I'll come back in a half hour," said the valet. Draco's chest deflated in relief when he heard the footsteps start back down the hall, but the tension came back when he heard them return to the door. "By the way, Master Malfoy, I'm sorry to ask— but have you seen Master Potter? His godfather is asking about him, and the door to his guestroom is locked."
Draco felt Harry stiffen around him, seized with the terror that had also taken ahold of him. "Er..." he began, unsure of how he would get out of this one. He decided that the crassness his father was known for might do in this case: "Why would I have seen Potter, Keane? I told you, I just woke up, meaning I haven't left my room— what, do you think I might have seen him while I was sleepwalking? Or that he might be in here?"
Harry's eyes flew open at that last bit, and Draco almost chastised himself for adding it, but he'd done it as a measure of security: by ridiculing Keane, he would make the very possibility of Harry being in his room (as he indeed was) seem just as ridiculous.
And it worked. "Of course not, sir," Keane blubbered. "Well, I'll stay on the lookout. And I'll be back in a half hour, sir, just like we said."
"Excellent," Draco called back. This time, the footsteps headed down the hall and did not come back, and Draco and Harry loosened a bit once they were out of earshot. Knowing it was time to go, they disentangled from their embrace, Harry reaching for his glasses on the nightstand.
"You locked your guestroom?" Draco said incredulously.
"Why? Would you rather they come in and find it empty?" Harry defended himself, setting the glasses on his nose.
"How are you going to get back in, idiot?"
"Oh," Harry frowned and looked pensive behind the lenses. After a brief pause, he shrugged. "I'll just tell anyone who asks that I came down for a pre-breakfast snack and locked myself out. I'll say I was wandering about looking for the housekeeper so she could open it up for me, which will explain why I'm coming from here."
"It just might work," Draco said, slipping his feet into his slippers and picking up his robe from the floor to wrap it hurriedly around him, the pants staying discarded.
"It better," Harry said, hopping a bit awkwardly as he struggled to pull his pants back on. Once achieved, he too put on his robe lopsidedly and walked to Draco's side of the bed, where he sat.
"Make sure no one sees you," Draco bade him.
"I will," Harry said, leaning to kiss Draco. The kiss was brief, their goodbyes having being said already, and did not allow itself to linger longer than it had to. Still, it sent the familiar warmth coursing through Draco. "I'll see you at the altar."
"Put your suit on right, Potter," Draco said, joking so he wouldn't give into the impulse to cry that had started to build at the back of his throat.
"I'll make sure to screw up my bowtie just for you," Harry quipped back with one foot already out of the door. He peered into the hallway to make sure no one was around, then hurried out, kicking the door shut behind him.
Draco forced himself to tear his eyes from the door where he'd left and pull himself from the bed that still smelled like Harry, his feet not feeling entirely his own as he dragged them to the bathroom to take that shower he'd fended off Keane with— that shower that was the first step of the wedding preparations, the beginning of the end.
Hermione awoke to an overwhelming sensation of warmth. There was her bare skin under the covers, shrouded in the lingering warmth of two bodies sharing a bed for a whole night. There was the daylight filtering through the red velvet curtains around the bed, still closed and bathing the whole bed within in a reddish glow. And there was —perhaps most importantly— the warmth of Ron around her, beside her, his arms still holding her, the warmth emanating from him sinking into her own skin.
Ron was awake already, and when he felt her shift slightly he pulled her in closer, resting her head on his chest and moving one of his arms from her waist to hold her hand. He turned his head slightly to press a kiss to her forehead.
"Good morning," he said, pulling away so she could see him, and perhaps it was the reddish light or the shadows of the velvet curtains closed around the four-poster that gave Hermione the illusion that all his freckles had shifted as he smiled.
"Good morning," she said, her features breaking out into a yawn that Ron found adorable. "Have you been up long?"
"Some ten minutes or so," Ron said, the hand around her back starting to rub it in smooth, loving circles. "I've just been watching you."
"Me?"
"You're even more beautiful when you're asleep, Hermione Granger. That big bushy hair of yours splayed all over the pillow, your face when you sleep, the pace of your breathing, how you curl a hand between your cheek and the pillow... Plus, you drool."
"I do not!" Hermione said indignantly, raising her head from Ron's chest to glare at him.
He shook with laughter. "You do, too. It's rather a shame, because I was just thinking that this would be the perfect sight to wake up to forever— if it weren't for the drool."
"So the drool's a dealbreaker, then?"
"Totally," Ron said, but he only pulled her closer, so that she was almost half on top of him. With the new shift, his mouth was close to her ear, and he whispered: "Who am I kidding, Hermione Granger? I'm head over heels for you. I would give anything to wake up like this every morning for the rest of my life, with you in my arms."
"Even if I snored?" Hermione played along, lifting her head a bit so it hung over Ron's face as she looked at him.
Ron looked away for a second, as if to think, and then looked back at her, igniting a spark in her chest when his blue eyes met hers. "Yes, Hermione, even if you snored. Especially if you snored, because that would mean I'd have a lifetime of material to tease you with—"
"Oh, shut up," Hermione said, lowering her face to his to kiss him. Ron welcomed the kiss, his lips moving slightly to fit better to hers. As they kissed, he brought her now fully on top of him, relishing in the weight of her on him and the feel of her chest pressed against his. His hands closed around her back, holding her in place on top of him, the kiss continuing all the while. When they broke away, Hermione used her hands to suspend herself slightly above Ron, without opening the gap between their bodies all that much.
"You mean it, though?" she whispered. "A lifetime?"
Ron raised his head from the pillow to kiss the corner of her mouth. "A lifetime wouldn't be enough for me, Hermione. I want you to drive me mad, the way only you know how to, the way you've been doing since I met you, for at least two or three eternities."
Hermione smiled as she kissed him again, their lips meeting fully now, her hands tangling in his hair while his roamed around her back, one settling over her bum and the other continuing to run lovingly up and down her spine. Hermione kissed him deeply, not caring for either of their morning breaths, her tongue meeting Ron's as both of them tried desperately to infuse as much passion as they could into some of their last moments together. Being like this, tangled in Ron's arms and lips, Hermione almost forgot that it might be the last time— and that was just how she wanted it, in what little time they had left.
Their kiss was broken abruptly by the sound of the door opening as someone rushed into the room. Hermione stiffened on top of Ron, both of them listening intently to whoever it was that had walked in— and praying, to every higher power, that whoever it was didn't think of slipping the bed's curtains open.
"Good morning, Lady Granger!" the person said cheerfully, the voice coming from by the window. There was the sound of fabric chafing against itself and then a burst of sunlight so great that, even buffered by the thick curtains, Ron had to squint. "It's time to start getting you ready!"
Something in the sunny voice sounded familiar. "Cathy?" Hermione asked.
"Yes, milady!" Cathy chirped back.
"Where's Maisie?"
They could now hear Cathy puttering about the boudoir desk, her shadowy outline blurry through the curtains. "She's finishing her breakfast. She sent me up to make sure you were awake, but she'll be here before you know it!"
If that was supposed to be reassuring, it wasn't. Hermione clenched her jaw. Beside her, Ron was immobile, his lips pursed and his breath slow and shallow to avoid making any noise or giving any indication that he was there, just a curtain away. The sounds Cathy was making stopped suddenly, and both Ron and Hermione froze with terrified anticipation: had she spotted them? Is that why she'd gone so quiet? Were they about to see the shadow of a hand inching closer to the curtain before yanking it open and shattering everything beautiful they'd built last night?
"Milady, why is your dress off the mannequin?" came Cathy's voice, and Ron clamped a hand over his mouth to disguise the sigh of relief that escaped it. Cathy had clearly seen the dress where it lay on the boudoir desk —it was, after all, impossible to miss— and crouched beside it. Ron was thankful he'd had enough foresight to kick his discarded clothes under the bed before he'd gotten into it: if he'd left them piled out, doubtless Cathy would've spotted them too.
Hermione, too, was relieved, and tried to keep her voice as close to neutral as she answered. "I tried it on last night. I suppose I was sleepy, and didn't think to put it back onto the mannequin."
"Oh," Cathy said, a touch of lament in her voice. "But it's all wrinkled now, milady..."
"Oh, that's a shame," Hermione said, but her eyes glimmered with anything but shame for the dress. Ron knew that look, and knew it meant she was ideating something. "I don't suppose you could be a dear and run it downstairs so Norma can steam it, Cathy? I can take a bath on my own meanwhile, just to save us time."
"Are you sure, milady?"
"Yes, absolutely. When you're done, just bring it up and knock and I'll open the door for you."
"Right away!" Cathy said brightly, always happy to feel helpful.
Still, Ron and Hermione didn't move an inch until they heard her bound out of the room, the dress in tow, and the door close. Only then did Hermione burst out of the bed's curtains and hurry to lock the door as Ron moved to close the window's curtains that Cathy had thrown open.
Both sighing with a mix of relief and terror, they turned to one another, the room again entirely their own— but now no longer feeling invulnerable. The warmth had drained from the scene, and as Hermione stood facing Ron, she only felt the cold dread of knowing what came next.
Ron did too.
He crouched by the bed and dug out his clothes from underneath, hurriedly pulling them over himself as Hermione could only stand by and watch. When he had dressed, he stepped toward Hermione, still nude and looking at him from beside the bed. Ron let his eyes move over her figure one more time, stepping closer as he took in the outline of her shape. "Bloody hell, Hermione, you really are beautiful," he whispered, holding her shoulders and pulling her into a kiss.
When they withdrew, they both started to feel the tears pool at their eyes. "Ron—" Hermione started.
"You don't have to say anything," Ron said, rubbing her shoulders reassuringly, trying to keep himself together as well.
"How I want it to be you," Hermione said, crushing him into a hug that he returned with just as much fervor.
"There's only you for me, Hermione."
"And you for me, Ron," Hermione said. She was crying in earnest now, but it wasn't like the desperate sobs of their kiss by the gravel path: it was a quiet, resigned sort of crying, the way one cries from heartbreak but knowing there is nothing more to be done about it.
"I'll be at the wedding," Ron said, stroking her hair and struggling to keep his voice from cracking. "I'll be in the back, sitting with the house staff. Spare me a look when you walk in, will you? My eyes will always be on you." He kissed the top of her head. "You'll be a beautiful bride."
"But I won't be yours," Hermione said, still clinging to him.
"Hey, we had last night, didn't we? A wedding night of sorts?"
"It was truer than my real one will be."
"It was the only one I'll ever have."
Hermione then pulled away to pierce him through with a look. "Ron, don't say that. I want you to be happy, and there are plenty of wonderful girls—"
"They're not you, Hermione," Ron said, and now the tears broke through. "How can you say that? How can you say you want me to be happy without you, when you know I could never?"
"But Ron—"
"No," he said firmly, holding her wrists. "I said there's only you for me, Hermione, and I meant it. And that means I'll always be around, if you— y'know, if you ever feel like running away or anything."
Through his tears, he gave her his characteristic roguish grin, and Hermione couldn't help but smile as she saw it.
"Now go on, get in that bath," Ron said, nodding toward the bathroom door with his head. "You'll want to be squeaky clean for Cathy."
A small laugh escaped Hermione's lips, dying on them just as soon as it had left them. "I love you, Ron," she said resolutely, her eyes fixed on his.
"I love you too," Ron said, kissing her lightly one last time.
Hermione didn't try to keep the kiss going longer than she knew they must. Instead, she merely watched, tears flowing down her cheeks, as Ron opened the window and stepped out, giving her one last look and mouthing 'I love you' before he began the surreptitious climb down.
And now she was alone. She looked at the window through which Ron had disappeared, at the bed with the curtains still drawn around it, and at the bathroom door. In her head, the resolve solidified, swallowing back any hesitance. She knew what she had to do.
Cathy tapped her foot against the floor and held back an impatient sigh. She had been waiting outside the door to Hermione's room for hours now, cradling the (now wrinkle-free) dress in her arms. She had knocked on the door a few times already, to no avail. She must still be in the bath, she told herself. Of course, Cathy, it's her wedding day— she can take as long as she wants in the bath! That notion had comforted her for a bit, and she had been happy waiting for Hermione to get out of the bath, but after the first hour she'd begun to fidget. After all, the dress had taken a good half hour to get all the wrinkles out, and she had been in the bath all that time too, hadn't she?
Maisie had joined her about forty-five minutes in. "Cathy? What are you doing out here? Why aren't you in there helping the lady get ready?"
"Door's locked," Cathy said, slumping against the wall to give her aching back a respite from standing up. "She's in the bath."
"In the bath?"
"She went in when I took the dress down to Norma."
"That's one long bath," Maisie said, raising her eyebrows.
"She's getting married, Maisie, she can take as long a bath as she likes."
"A little heads-up would have been nice, is all," Maisie grumbled, and settled against the wall on the other side of the door, mimicking Cathy. But she had relented, and they had waited together for another hour.
At some point, Cathy's boredom had morphed into worry. "Maisie, something's got to be wrong with her. The bathwater must be cold by now, right? Who'd sit in a cold bath that long? What if something happened to her? What if she slipped on the soap as she was getting out, and she hit her head on the way down, and she's bleeding out, and—?"
"You're such an alarmist," Maisie scolded her, but the worry was beginning to show through her face as well. "Let's give her ten more minutes. If she's not out by then, we'll knock. But we can't just enter like that— it is never well to intrude upon a lady's privacy."
Cathy blushed, remembering how she had just barged into the room that morning to open the curtains, without knocking. Likely she had startled Lady Hermione. She hoped she wouldn't mention it to Maisie or the housekeeper, because then she'd be in big trouble.
The ten minutes went by at a turtle's crawl, and Cathy almost jumped when they were up. "Should we knock now?"
"Yes," Maisie agreed. With Cathy, still holding the dress, peering from behind her, Maisie turned to the door and rapped on it twice. "My lady? Are you in there?" No response came, and Maisie knocked again. "My lady, it's Cathy and Maisie. It's getting late, and we should be getting you dressed and ready by now." Again, no response. Maisie knocked one more time, but the doorknob showed no sign of opening. "My lady, we're coming in!"
Subverting all notions of propriety, Maisie twisted the doorknob and let herself and Cathy into the room.
The room was quiet and seemingly empty, the four curtains still fallen around the bed. Cathy walked to the mannequin to slip the dress back on over it to keep it from wrinkling. Aside from the window, which was open, everything seemed as she had left it.
"Suppose she fell asleep?" Cathy posed, eyeing the bed. "It seems like it might be easy to doze off in that bed."
Maisie didn't say anything, but stepped toward the bed and pulled the drapes slightly to look in. The bed was unmade, but Hermione wasn't in it.
"Check the bathroom," she told Cathy. With the bathroom door just a few steps away from the mannequin, Cathy was there in a second. She held her breath as she twisted the doorknob, half-expecting to see a pool of blood on the tiles and Hermione's body splayed by the tub, bleeding from the head. And from the gasp that she let out when she finally opened the door to the bathroom, Maisie nearly thought that was the case.
"What is it?" she said, hurrying toward the bathroom. "How badly is she hurt?"
But Cathy remained mute, gone sheet-white in the face. "She's not here, Maisie," she eked out when Maisie was at the door and it was plain for her to see as well. "She's not here."
"I can see that," Maisie said dully. Her grip on control, the seniority she'd held as a chambermaid over the rookie Cathy, was evaporated now as she was presented with a scenario she'd never imagined and, frankly, was not prepared to deal with.
"What do we do? She's not in her room, and she's not in the bath, and she's supposed to get married in a few hours—"
"Let's alert Lady Amelia," Maisie suggested, back in her senses. "She might know what to do."
The two chambermaids rushed out of Hermione's empty room and rounded the corner down the hall to Lady Amelia's room. They knocked and waited to be accepted in, but practically tumbled into the room when they opened the door. Lady Amelia was in the process of being buttoned into her gown by Norma, her lady's maid, who had probably gone straight up to dress her mistress after taking care of her daughter's wrinkled wedding dress.
"What is this about?" hissed Lady Amelia, glaring at the two maids. Norma didn't look too happy to see them both again so soon, either.
Maisie almost forgot to curtsy before she addressed the lady of the house. "Milady, we're sorry to barge in, but we can't find Lady Hermione."
"What do you mean you can't find her? She should be dressed right now!"
"She told me she was in the bath, milady," Cathy chimed in, "but we waited for a good hour and a half, didn't we Maisie?, and she didn't come out, so we went in to check that she hadn't fell or hurt herself, and the room was empty, and she wasn't in the bath—"
Lady Amelia closed her fist, an evident command for Cathy to stop her rambling. Cathy shut up promptly. Lady Amelia turned to Maisie, who had managed to remain the calmer of the two. "Go downstairs and ask Gramsley to get the servants to look for her. Sweep the grounds, sweep the house, but make sure she's found."
Maisie had curtsied and was prepared to exit the room and do as she was told, when she bumped into Orlando right as she was about to exit. He was already in his tuxedo, but the jacket was off and draped over his shoulder and his bowtie undone around his neck.
"Morning, Maisie," he said brightly, and for the second time that day Maisie almost forgot to curtsy before him. "Mother, I heard noises from my room. What is this all about?"
"Your sister is missing," Lady Amelia spat the words.
Orlando raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Well, it certainly puts a damper on any wedding when the bride can't be found. What are we doing about it?"
"I'll have the maid ask Gramsley to enlist the servants to sweep the grounds and the house."
Something sparked across Orlando's eyes, something none of the women in the room could name but which anyone who remotely knew Orlando might mistake for mischief. It was a glimmer of ideation, and it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. "Stick to the house," he told his mother, his voice almost imperceptibly more measured. "Why waste energy on the grounds? I know Hermione, and she's probably just hiding in the library or in one of the parlor rooms. But really, mother, I would advise that you sweep every inch of this house before you devote even a smidge of energy to the grounds. That smidge would be a waste."
Lady Amelia wavered, but ultimately decided to trust her son. "Fine, then. Tell Gramsley to get the servants to search the house. I want every pillow turned over, every corner scouted. I don't want a square foot to remain unsearched. And tell him not to bother with the grounds until all of the house has been searched."
"Yes, milady," Maisie curtsied and dashed out of the room. Cathy lingered for a moment longer before she came back to her senses and followed Maisie down after a prompt little curtsy.
With the maids gone and her orders in progress, Lady Amelia turned back to the mirror, grumbling as Norma showed her the necklaces she might use to accessorize. "Really, Orlando, can you believe it? Your sister choosing today of all days to play this little prank on us?"
Orlando shrugged. "Well, I can believe it, considering she didn't want to get married in the first place."
Lady Amelia glared at her son. "Not you too, Orlando. Don't you start arguing with me on this."
Orlando raised his hands. "I won't, mother. It wouldn't be any use, anyway. I'll go find father and the Malfoys to let them know of the situation and enlarge our little search party."
Without waiting for a response from his mother, he turned back down the hallway and started knocking on the doors of the relevant guests, more out of a healthy desire to instigate mischief than a desire to help Lady Amelia in her search.
The house was alive in a question of minutes, servants of all kinds scurrying in and out of the rooms in search of Hermione. Harry, whom Orlando had fetched before anyone else, was only pretending to look for Hermione, hanging back around Orlando and joking while the rest of the house turned itself upside down. The truth is, neither of them had too much interest in Hermione being found and the wedding going through, and both found it rather entertaining to see Lady Amelia and Lord Malfoy losing their cool as the prospect of a timely wedding kept sliding farther and farther away from them.
At last, after an hour and a half, all the servants congregated back in the main hall, all having arrived to the same conclusion: Hermione was nowhere to be found, at least not anywhere in the house. Most distraught of all was Cathy, who had greatly looked forward to seeing the dress she had gone to so much trouble for put to use.
Gramsley walked like a dog with its tail between its legs up to Lady Amelia, who was standing in a circle at the edge of the hall next to her husband, Orlando, and the three Malfoys, to inform her of the conclusions. "The lady Hermione is nowhere in the house, milady."
Lady Amelia looked as if she'd swallowed an unusually large lemon. Gramsley proceeded cautiously: "Shall we move on to the grounds search?"
"What use is it?" Orlando stepped in before his mother could command it. "A full sweep of the grounds would take at least four hours, and the wedding is supposed to be taking place in one. The only rational solution is to call off the wedding, or postpone it, until we can find Hermione."
The same thing was becoming abundantly clear to Lady Amelia. "Send an envoy to the parishioner to say the wedding is off, and another to the inn to inform the guests," she said sourly.
"Right away, milady," Gramsley said, smart enough to take his leave before Lady Amelia exploded.
Lady Amelia turned to the Malfoys, a combined look of shame and desperation on her face. She was afraid that Lucius would consider himself slighted by Hermione's little disappearing act and back out of the wedding, taking with him the only certain prospect Hermione had ever had. "I'm sorry, Lucius. I did not account for this."
But Lucius, eager as he was to stifle the budding scandal of his son, was not about to back out that easily. "It is of no matter, Amelia. Just a hitch in the way. But the girl will be found."
This exchange, however, was interrupted by the sound of crying coming from somewhere in the circle. Beside his mother, Draco was weeping, his face hidden in his hands as he shook. "Oh, you poor boy," Lady Amelia crooned, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You poor, poor boy."
And sure enough, to anyone standing there, Draco's tears might be interpreted as desolation for having been abandoned almost at the altar, for his bride having run off scant hours before she was due to become his wife, and everyone felt sorry at what horrible thoughts might be swirling inside his head. But Draco was weeping with joy, joy that he wouldn't be marrying Hermione that day, and all he could think about in that moment was how badly he wanted to run to find Harry.