If you want to catch snipets and teasers for upcoming chapters or new works as I release them, follow me on tumblr! Dowling17. Cls2256 is the best, that is all. I'm too excited to wait until Saturday so here, my lovelies.
The breath from my lungs is gone as I look up the man I would've least expected at my bedside. My mouth has gone dry, and I lick my lips in a desperate attempt to keep them from chapping. My heart starts to race in my chest as I struggle to choke out a simple sentence.
"C-can I help you?"
My heart beats a strong imprint against my sternum as I wipe my clammy palms on my t-shirt. My breathing is erratic as if I've just run a marathon. Slowly, as if I'm a white-tailed deer about to be startled by a hunter, he enters my room. Surely, he can hear my heart pounding— It's loud enough I'm sure the whole world can hear it.
I observe his hair— still the same white-platinum blonde as when we were kids. His face isn't as pointy as I remember it being; age has squared off his jaw just enough to give him a less pretentious appearance. My breath gains some sense of regularity at the sight of his eyes, however, gray— like steel. I never expected to find such comfort and warmth in such an icy color. His robes match the color of his eyes and compliment his fair complexion perfectly. My eyes roam over his body and how the material is perfectly tailored to him. He's still tall and lean, but there's some definition of his muscles visible even in his clothes. I can't help but wonder when Draco Malfoy became so attractive— has he always been this handsome? Had his putrid teenage personality detracted from all the beauty I now see?
He looks at the stack of books I purchased early today with a hopeful expression.
"You- you remembered something?" he asks, looking between the stack and me a few times.
"What? That I like to read? That this is some secret code that I'm in love with you? I must have always been then, hmm?" I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes for good measure.
My sudden lash out was a symptom of my frustration. I'm angry- angry about what has happened to me, angry that I don't remember, and angry he's expecting me to remember. Doesn't he understand how hard this is for me? Doesn't he realize how frustrated I am that I can't remember and that I'm trying with all my might to recall something—anything, but the memories aren't coming?
I watch his heartbreak in his eyes as my venom-laced remark stabs him in the chest, I instantly want to suction my words back inside. Immediately, the warmth fades from his eyes. His steel gray irises turn sharp and cold as if he's pushed all feeling inside a box at the far reaches of his mind. His harden expression fades slightly, however, as he sits at the edge of my bed. I observe nervously as he searches my face... but for what is he looking for? A shred of memory to return? He smiles ever so slightly now, chuckling under his breath as he speaks softly.
"Every Sunday, we stop by Ralph's Bookstore. We have quite an exquisite library, I must say."
For a moment, I can imagine it all. A library with bookshelves lined floor to ceiling, large elegant armchairs that we'd curl up into next to a gently crackling fire. We'd have hundreds upon thousands of books, and he'd never tell me it was a waste when we ran out of space.
Sunday mornings would be spent roaming the bookstore to then spend all evening reading together. He'd be completely content with this routine, instead of exasperated like Ron would have been with me. We would swap books and compare thoughts, and we would consider it an entire day well spent together. I can picture us, hand in hand, as we peruse through our library to re-read our favorites. He'd likely never ask me why I wanted to read Hogwarts: A History for the millionth time; he would understand why I loved it so much.
Tears fill my eyes. Despite being able to imagine this life in complete vivid detail, it did not feel like my life. Imagining spending this time with him was not a memory coming forward, despite a strange knawing of want at my core.
It's just a fantasy, Hermione...
The life everyone, including myself, is expecting me to remember seems almost too good to be true. It would appear I have everything I've ever wanted and dreamed of. My sense of practicality tells me there's no way I have all that everyone is telling me— one person can't have this good of luck.
"I- I don't remember, I just needed some books, that's all."
I hide my face by pretending to be more interested in my room than this conversation. I try to understand that he is hurting, but I'm unable to soften myself.
"I just- I just thought you might have remembered. that's all..."
He sighs and reaches out, and it angers me further. Doesn't he realize how hard this is on me, too? I slam my book on the nightstand with impressive force, causing him to flinch in surprise.
"I DON'T! I don't remember anything!" I barked. "I don't remember you, us, or even- even," my voice trails off into a whisper, and I continue. "- even myself. I was apparently living out my dreams, and it's all gone. A shoo-in for Minister of Magic, a seemingly exquisite library of my own, an entire life, and it's gone,"
I grip my hair with both hands exasperatedly; my voice breaks with panic, confusion, and overwhelming emotion.
"Don't you realize how frustrating this is? How everyone expects me to just remember a life that seems too good to be true? That I'll touch an engagement ring or a stack of books, and suddenly everything will be like it was? I WANT to remember, I WANT these missing eight years back, because I'm confused, frustrated, and— and—"
I take a deep, shaking breath, attempting to choke back the hot tears now stinging my eyes.
"-I'm scared." I finish on an exhale. "I'm trying to remember, I really am, but it's not coming back to me. So could you not push me, Draco? Could you please give me a little room to breathe?"
His gaze searches mine for a minute, appearing to be looking for the right words to say. I hold his gaze with forced confidence until he simply nods, then looks away. I take a deep breath, and then sit down, my voice returning to a much calmer, more even tone.
"How did this even happen? I remember forgiving you, I do. We were kids, and you believed what you did because of how you were raised, but how did we get here? I don't remember us even being friendly. Ginny told me how things started, but emotionally what happened? The last I knew, I was with Ron."
His eyes search mine once again, and I suddenly feel exposed. I feel as if I'm being x-rayed under his gaze or on display at a zoo. He sighs and reaches for my hand. Just as I begin to withdraw, a warmth spreads throughout me. I can't explain it, but it's the most comfortable I've felt since waking up. As he rubs small circles with his thumbs, I feel myself wanting more. What's wrong with me? How could I ever think such a way about Draco Malfoy? The idea that there is truth to a life I can't remember makes me feel dizzy.
"Ronald is still... in denial, I presume it could be called, over our relationship. There was love there, but from what you told me, it just wasn't enough. You were – are – driven, brilliant, and goal-oriented. You wanted different things. He wanted a big family and to start right away. You weren't ready for that, and he took it personally. It turned into fighting often, and you broke it off because you felt trapped. I'm convinced it's a big reason why you didn't want to marry me until you became Minister of Magic. You're, of course, still friends-" a bitter expression crosses his face, "but with him running the Hogsmeade branch, there's not much to be said of him being around."
I smile sheepishly, admitting guilt through my expression. Everything Draco said sounded very much like me and lined with what Ginny had told me.
"I can see that," I admit, with a sheepish laugh.
"Oh, Granger." He moans, almost unintelligibly, seeming unaware I even heard him.
"Do you love me?" I blurt out.
Why I asked this, I'm not sure. Was I looking for a reason to find my supposed 'happy little life' not as pleasant as everyone makes it seem? Was I looking for an 'out,' so to speak?
"More than I could ever tell you." He breathes.
This statement is hard for me to process... Draco Malfoy really loves me? Harry tells me I love him. Could we really be that in love? Maybe we are, perhaps that's why I feel such immense comfort from his thumb stroking the top of my hand.
Anxiety grips my chest once more—there has to be something, a catch of some sort. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, the love of the century? No way. My brain couldn't logically find a way for this to be possible. If only I could remember something...
"...what about your parents?" I ask. Undoubtedly, the Malfoys wouldn't be thrilled with their son's choice of partner. "They don't mind you're marrying a muggle-born?"
"My mother adores you. You're strong, loyal, proud, smart. Everything a Malfoy lady needs to be."
His eyes twinkle as he speaks without hesitation. I almost laugh, expecting this to be a joke, but judging by the smile on his face, he doesn't seem to be kidding.
"What about your father...?"
Draco's smile fades, and he looks uneasy.
"He doesn't hate you," He starts slowly. "He's proud I've found someone like you, but it's... harder for him to let go of the principles of which his whole life was built but, he supports me in my desires. A future with you is what I desire," he confesses. "I always imagined a love like my parents had for each other, and I found that in you. You encouraged me, and I encouraged you— your dreams were my dreams and vice versa. We wanted all the same things in life and intellectually stimulated each other as well. You were – are - all I ever wanted in a lover."
His eyes shine, and I find myself lost in the world he's describing. Our world.
I don't realize I'm leaning towards him before he matches me. His hand is in my hair, and his lips are on mine, and I experience a warmth I would have never expected. His lips are soft, his skin like silk. The scent of peppermint washes over me, clouding my mind and preventing me from recoiling. His tongue explores my mouth, and he moans. The sound snaps me out of the haze- what am I doing? I retreat as my hand flies to my lips, thoughts fly through my brain faster than I can process. What on earth just happened?
"I must have misread, I apologize. I won't, again, if you don't want..."
I stare at him dumbly as my heart pounds once more. He takes a deep, shaking breath before his grey eyes pierce mine.
"I want you to come home, Hermione. I think you'd do better off to remember at home- our home. For you to go back to work instead of hiding at Potter and she-Potter's house." His face falls into a stoic mask as if prepared for the worse. I don't know why, but I find myself whispering,
"...Okay."
Okay! Okay? Okay. My mind races as I try to figure out where that came from. Why would I agree to go home with him? It feels like nothing makes sense, but that kiss...
My hand reaches up to my lips again, and my ring catches my eye, reminding me that it's where I'd be without this accident in the first place. This life, this seemingly perfect life- maybe it is mine. I can't seem to pinpoint the logic as to how this became my life, but the way he just made me feel— the only rationale behind that is that this MUST be my life.
I feel my blush creep up as I replay the kiss in my mind, which only makes me imagine the more intimate things we've likely done before. My breathing becomes heavy at the thought of our home, our bed...
I shutter a wave of confusing desire, and my thoughts flicker to Ron and his reply to my owl.
I'd love to see you. Tuesday, after work.
I glance and find Draco already slipped out of my room. I take a breath and put my already fatigued brain to work, thinking about my apparent 'fiance.' In my mind, he feels like a caress that slickens my palms. I think of the dreams that don't feel like dreams. The latest being merely the way his eyes flash like molten steel as he says to me, 'I love you, Hermione.' as a lover would to another.
I should tell him about Ron. It's the proper thing to do.
I shake my head, brushing off the fear of what Draco might think.
Ron's one of my closest friends. I wouldn't even think about saying anything if I were meeting Harry, why should Ron be any different?
I start to pack and, despite my subconscious knowing that Ron is very much different than Harry, I resolve to not mention our meeting to Draco.
I'm not hiding anything, I tell myself as I fold my favorite periwinkle sweater, we're just two friends catching up after an accident. After all, it has apparently been years since we were together.
Still, a shred of doubt pangs in my chest as Draco's words echo in the back of my mind.
Ronald is still in denial.