Side-ship: Narcissa Black Malfoy/Lucius Malfoy
The doorbell buzzed twice, then there was a frantic pounding on the door.
Hermione sniffed, rubbed her eyes and ran a hand through the unruly mess of her hair, wrenched free from the elegant bun Ginny had helped her prepare for Draco's parents' ball. No use for any kind of fanciness for the ins and outs of pureblood aristocracy now.
Getting up, she pushed aside the large wad of used tissue paper, lifting off her comfort blanket and tugged open the door.
Draco was leaning against the doorway, all pale and flushed. He was still in his suit, though there were obvious wrinkles. He was panting, like he'd just run a marathon.
"Draco?" His name fell from her lips like a puff of breath.
Had he run all the way from Wiltshire?
"I—I meant to apparate into your field," he stammered. "But I accidentally spun into that restaurant we always go to in town."
There was a painful jolt in her heart. "You ran a mile from town?" she asked softly.
"I would do anything for you." The deep look in his eyes was going to damn her. She wanted to step closer, to fall in. She wanted to look away.
Instead, she stepped back, allowing him inside. He hung his jacket, removing his shoes, like he had done before a thousand times.
She distractedly snapped the ice-cream-box lid's shut, moving it from the couch to the table. Folding her arms over her t-shirt, she stared at him.
"Why are you here. Draco?" she hoped her voice came across as tired. Empty. Done. Finished.
"Hermione, I'm so sorry for how this evening went," he said hoarsely, thumbing his cufflinks, and she heard what he wasn't saying.
I love you. Don't leave me. I don't deserve you. All insecurities he'd professed throughout their relationship.
She scoffed, voice trembling. "They publicly announced your courtship to Astoria Greengrass, Draco."
He took a step closer, orbiting towards her. She was the sun and he was the earth. "I've never loved any woman but you, Hermione,"—he said her name how a priest would proclaim God's—"and I never will. I would rather die than marry anyone but you."
She took a sharp, trembling breath. She wanted to go cry into her blanket some more. "If that's true, why did it take you fifteen minutes to come after me?"
"I'm done with playing by their rules, trying to show them how amazing you are, when they deliberately choose not to." he hissed, clenching and unclenching his fists. After you left, I announced to everyone that I would not be courting Astoria, that you were my girlfriend and I love you."
She'd been a fool these six months. Her rose-tinted glasses were gone.
"We're never going to work, Draco. I'll never fit into your upper society." she sniffled.
She turned away, but he grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him, their astronomical roles reversed. His arm curved around her shoulder, and the other latched onto her chin, making her look up at him.
"Fuck them," he breathed. "Fuck them all. You're perfect as you are. If a bunch of old, conservationists can't see that, then that's on them."
"But—you'll be disinherited, like they threatened you with—" she hesitated.
He made a noise of profoundly anxious irritation. "What does your heart choose, Hermione? Forget everyone else, forget the world, what do you want?"
She could resist the temptation of the sun no longer, and like Icarus, she flew, fell, into him. Buried her face into his chest, arms around his neck. "You," she said, muffled. "You forever,"
His arms curved around her, moulding them together like a puzzle.
I love you.