Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger

Word Count: 1,194 words

A/N: inspired by talk me down by troye sivan

She was late. By the time she realized the time, she was still elbows deep in work and it was fifty minutes past. She left everything and clocked out, barely waving a goodbye to her colleagues and cut across a couple for the Floo. She called out her address in the stunned face of the pair and was home in less than five seconds.

She ducked out of the fireplace, hoping she would be able to change before he noticed she was even home late, but he was perched on the sofa, a glass of wine in one hand, and another stroking a sleeping Crookshanks. She froze on instinct and he gave her a small smile.

"Welcome back."

She winced through her teeth, "Hi. I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly. You were busy with work and I just sit around the place all day."

"Well, you just came back from your mission." She shook her head, "I said I would be back early for dinner."

"Give it a rest, sweetheart. You're home now." He beckoned her towards him and since when could she resist? He smelled of parchment, or linen and snapdragons. She closed her eyes when he gave her a kiss on her forehead.

"How's work?" His large hands massaged her stiff shoulders and she melt against him, her cheek on his crisp shirt.

"Tiring. I have files scattered around my office like confetti."

"You and your disdain towards filing cabinets. I bought you five just last month."

"I did color-code them and store them in, I just don't bother piling them back in when I'm doing a big case."

He snorted. "Substitute don't bother with too lazy." She scrunched up the back of his shirt to retaliate. He laughed at that.

"I've cooked dinner. Want some?"

She stared up at him in mock surprise. "You cooked? Are you sure it's not takeaway?"

"From your Thai place? We've been eating that for the past week, no thank you." He laced his fingers through hers and pulled her towards the kitchen. Crooks gave a whine as he patted him over the head.

The smell of spaghetti mingled with the smell of lilies on the kitchen counter. A bottle of white wine was breathing beside her glass, their best silverware and her birthday china patterned prettily against the lace tablecloth. The silver Malfoy dragon of a candle holder was sitting proudly in the middle, a silver candle lit.

"Wow. What's the occasion?" She jested, putting an arm around his waist.

"Shut up. I spent an afternoon getting it all fancy and posh."

"The Malfoy way." She interjected and he rolled his eyes.

He guided her to her seat and pushed her forward to the table and laid a kiss on her shoulder.

"Such a gentleman." She jokingly cooed as he rounded the table to the stove for their meal.

"I always have been." He answered, taking a plate covered with a dome. She giggled when he tried to use his heel to turn off the heating board and failed. She waved her wand and it snapped at his foot.

He raised a brow before going back to the table, "It's nothing fancy, but for this occasion, reminiscence is needed."

"You mean the time you nearly burned down my kitchen making char-grilled meatballs?"

"My hand was burned, not your bloody kitchen." He muttered with narrowed eyes at her gleeful tease. She bit her lip and rested her chin on her wrist as she surveyed him, head to toe decked in his formal wear just so he could lift the lid with flourish and present her with his homemade meal.

"I give you, meatballs and spaghetti in tomato sauce." He declared, so proud of himself. When he noticed she wasn't even looking at the food, he leaned over and accepted her kiss. When he pulled back, she grabbed at him, but he was rounding over and seated across from her. "Are you busy tomorrow?"

He shook his head once. "No."

"You mentioned going to your parents' for a visit? We could go tomorrow."

He gave a tight-lipped smile, "We should. Mother and Father would like that."

She was transfixed how the single candle lit him in ways that made his face a timeless sculpture: the shadows across his sharp cheekbones, his white-blonde hair almost illuminating a halo over his head, his grey eyes like swirling mercury, his pale fingers lacing together and his chin resting on them, surveying her as she took her first bite.

She chewed, and swallowed hard before she smiled at his anxious face. "It's delicious. I'm just messing with you."

He threw his hands up in surrender. "You got to stop doing that! The first time I cooked for you you did the same thing and nearly made me threw the whole pan out the window because you look as if you hate it."

"You've cooked enough times and I've eaten your food more than enough for you not to worry about that anymore." She swirled another forkful and put it into her mouth, exaggerating a bit for his bemusement. She rolled her eyes and nodded towards the wine.

She waited until he refilled her glass before asking: "How's your head? Does it still hurt?"

He rubbed at the back of his head absentmindedly, "Nah, I put some ice on it and took some of your pills so it's doing fine."

"You'd better go to St. Mungo's for a check up. Harry said you might have a concussion."

"Potter this, Potter that." He mumbled and she kicked him under the table.

"Anyway," his calves held her legs to stop her from kicking his shins again, "It's your birthday in five days. What did your friends plan this year?"

She tightened her fork. "Nothing as far as I know. I haven't seen Ginny for a while."

"You shouldn't take so many cases all at once. Get someone to help. You have bags under your eyes, love." The way he looked at her made her shiver.

"You should eat; it's delicious." She made to get some onto her fork, but he was filling up the wine and held it to her by the stem.

"A toast, if you will, to the brightest witch of her generation. May her work be as prestigious as the start, and to the never-ending strive towards the greater good!" She didn't know whether to smile or laugh or maybe she should cry.

"To you, the light of my world, may there not be a day passing without me telling you just how lucky I am to be in love with you." His voice was low, a murmur as soft as the wind, as gentle as a kiss on the cheek.

"Happy anniversary, Draco." She whispered, let her wand roll off her hand. She simply let the glass in front of her fall into the empty abyss.

She could hear it splitter into pieces on the floor along with her heart.