Summary: One-shot, rather short song ficlet based on Suzanne Vega's Caramel. Draco/Hermione. "I don't need love Draco. I need you." PG.
A/N: Reviews are welcome.
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"It won't do
to dream of caramel,
to think of cinnamon
and long for you.
Hermione's eyes fluttered open and regarded him; a devil pretending to be an angel. She had sworn that the first time would be the last, and the time after that was "the last" too. After the third tete-a-tete, her argument became less convincing. Hermione couldn't understand the magnetism he possessed at first. It was something born of his cunning, his sneers, his hate. And there was power there, if she could make one who loathed her a possession, sexually speaking.
It won't do
to stir a deep desire,
to fan a hidden fire
that can never burn true.
There were worrisome moments though. He would sometimes give her looks which spoke of reluctant caring. She couldn't help but return those. When he looked at her with such ardor words lost their meaning. "Mudblood," "Ferret," "Hate," "Pain," "Wrong," were but letters strung together, lacking meaning and purpose. None of it mattered. But the tone of his voice let her know that she was his and that possession went both ways.
That was how it started. Hermione Granger owned Draco Malfoy, and it was enough. The power in that notion was awe inspiring. It was narcotic in effect, to a powerless young girl. Powerless, standing next to the Boy Who Lived, and a red haired best friend.
I know your name,
I know your skin,
I know the way
these things begin;
Powerless, Hermione Granger had her wits, her books, and her Malfoy.
"Are we in love?"
The intensity of his eyes were unbearable. Never had she seen them so naked, bold with emotion. Hermione struggled to collect herself.
"I-I don't know."
Draco looked disappointed. She kissed him, begging her lover to dismiss the uncomfortable notion.
But I don't know
how I would live with myself,
what I'd forgive of myself
if you don't go.
"I don't need love Draco. I need you."
'Then you have me."
She smiled.
"I know."
Hermione rose slowly and drew a fist full of green silk around her; an act of psuedo-modesty. Draco watched her as she stood up, and smile quietly at him like a Greek goddess.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked with uncertainty.
So good-bye,
sweet appetite,
no single bite
could satisfy...
Every night they were together he worried. Every night before she left he would ask her the same question, and her answers would vary unbearably.
"Yes."
She had a bundle of clothes in her hand and disappeared behind a bathroom door.
Ten minutes later she was dressed. An eternity later she was gone.
But I don't know
what I would give of myself,
how I would live with myself
if you don't go.
"Hermione, I love you."
Draco stared at the patterns on his ceiling, stark naked and morose.
It won't do
to dream of caramel,
to think of cinnamon
and long for you."
- Suzanne Vega, Caramel
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THE END.