Wholeheartedly.

"Love me now," Hermione pleaded. "As you wish to. As you seek to. Love me as though you have never loved anyone else."
"Why should I?" Draco questioned, his stare penetrating into her, desperate for her to tell the truth. Desperate for her to say the words he so desperately wanted to hear. Though, only from her did he want to hear them – only in her voice could he tolerate it, could he love it. He had pined and pined for the words to be said, as though he were tethered by rope around his waist, and one light tug would pull him from the cliff side and onto safe, flat ground again. He was convinced Hermione, and Hermione only, could save him. In fact, he believed it so deeply and long enough that he had convinced himself it to be true, and he therefore couldn't believe anything else. Only that she was to live for, to serve for. Only that she was the one. And the one she shall be forever.
"Because I love you." Hermione whispered, the sentence floating around him - soft and twirling- almost saccharine, but nevertheless she had said it.
"And one would say that is enough?" He questioned.
"Most definitely."
He sighed, "How am I to know you are being truthful and honest?"
Draco had no doubt she was telling the truth – right from the very depths of her soul, and constantly whirring mind. Though, he had some sick part of him wanting to hear more.
More.
More.
More.
He wanted more. He wanted Hermione to pour her fucking soul into it, and he was half tempted to sneak into her mind – the walls lowered – and find out for himself what she really thought and felt. He was desperate and starved. Though Hermione was brilliant, he believed wholeheartedly, it meant her mind was constantly focused on something other than him, and now he finally had her mind – a trapped mouse in a corner – he now finally had her attention, and it meant the truth.
Wholehearted truth.
"Well, if you love me like you say you do, my word is gold in your eyes, and music to your ears." She said softly against his ear. "But, know this – I promise, wholeheartedly, to never lie to you; to never break what has been built; to never step on freshly sowed seeds." Hermione paused, though frequent and rushed puffs of air lightly brushed against his skin. "And if I did, know that I would never be able to live with myself – the knowledge of causing such pains, such aches, do they therefore bestow themselves onto me, I'm sure. For, if I did deceive you, I would hate myself forever. Even in afterlife, I will live with my mistakes, and perhaps they'll be forgiven by whatever Gods roam up there but certainly, they will not be forgiven, nor forgotten, by me."
He only said, "I believe you. Wholeheartedly. Forever."
There was a palpable silence, then.
A comfortable silence, no less.
They only stared at each other. Every inch of their faces had they scoured. Every inch did they know as though it were their own, looking into a mirror.
But then Draco added, "I shall believe you for however long I love you; and I believe I will love you forever." He heard – no felt – her breath hitch at that, and he relished in the feeling of finally having her devout attention. He smiled. "In years to come, we will be forgotten, and our presence will bear no mark on this earth. But it is so that I believe the potency of my love for you will remain on this earth, this sphere of soil and rock and soul, and in doing so, it will teach people to love just as I have to you – wholeheartedly and forever."
She smiled, placing his hand on her cheek she said, "But don't you hate me?"
Draco watched her, the way her expression changed. The way her lips tilted just so into a frown, or the way the skin around her eyes became loose, no longer taut and creasing from her smile.
He stroked his thumb against her cheek, "How could I?"
"There are many ways, Draco, only you pretend to ignore them."
"No." He said sternly. "In my eyes, they do not exist."
"And in others?"
He held her face in his hands now. "To Salazar with others. What does it matter?"
She frowned deeply, her brow furrowing. "It matters to me."
"No one hates you, Hermione." He said, pushing a curl away from her face. Laughing softly, Draco added, "They can't. It's impossible to hate you. Your brilliant mind. Your hair – though many may still have complained about it getting everywhere and in the way – is a part of you. Books and sugar quills, a hatred of quidditch and an undeniable obsession with libraries and literature: it's all you, Granger. Unequivocally, that is you. It is who you are. Nothing can change who you are." Then, softly – tenderly – Draco whispered against her temple, "And I love you, will love you, wholeheartedly and forever."