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*** HERMIONE ***
I spent every night for the next week sleeping only for minutes at a time, listening for voices or footsteps outside, listening for the inevitable mob that would surely arrive on my doorstep, but so far, there had been nothing. I had lay in the dark each night, curled in a ball, refusing to turn the lights on. My terror in regards to the thunder was suddenly outweighed by the fact that I was scared that if someone was on their way, they would find me easily if the cottage was the only house on cliff that was lit up in the middle of the night.
I crawled out of bed the following Saturday when the first rays of morning light made their way around the curtains, wrapping the comforter around me and padding softly down the stairs. I tip-toed across the room and, as had become my normal routine, peeked out the curtains; the morning sky was still hidden by the grey clouds, but at least the rain had stopped.
And there was no one. No reporters, no friends, no one whispering and pointing. There was no one.
After my run-in with Malfoy, I had expected to be overrun the following morning with those same people who had been hounding me and had been the reason for my stealthy departure from the city. I had assumed that he would have proudly informed the world of my whereabouts. I had assumed that he would have been laughing and enjoying my misery from his hiding place on top of the hill, but it was almost a week later and my solitude remained intact.
I shook my head, confused. I had expected to have to leave, to find somewhere else to hide, and I had actually been ready to leave at first light the morning after my stunned discovery that he was my neighbour. But he had been true to his word, and had clearly not told a soul.
I flicked my wrist at the fireplace – my one concession to my "no magic" rule. I had never been good at lighting fires the muggle way, and I couldn't be bothered to take the time to learn. The fire roared to life and I stood in front of it, warming my toes. I stared into the dancing flames, instantly mesmerised by the graceful swaying and flickering of the red and orange and yellow hues as the fire took hold of the logs.
Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy was my neighbour.
Draco Malfoy was living just a few hundred meters away from me.
Draco Malfoy, who I had instantly assumed the worst of, had left me thunderstruck with his sincerity on the beach.
I had seen the figure descending the stairs and running along the beach and had stood watching for the ten minutes it took for him to cross the sand and reach the rocks at the opposite end of the beach. He had hardly paused as he turned and ran back the way he had come. I waited for what I thought would be long enough for him to make his way back up the stairs to his house before I pulled on my coat and made my way out to the deck.
I had clearly not seen him run back past as I reached the stairs and made my way down to the beach. I had closed my eyes as I stepped onto the wet sand; I already loved the feel of it on my bare feet, and was already hating the day that I would have to leave. It was why I had returned to the beach. I had asked the water to help me and I had decided that I would return every day until that happened.
But when I had asked the sea for something beautiful in return, Draco Malfoy had been the very last thing I had expected.
The image of him swam through my head. His own look of astonishment when he registered that it was me who was standing in front of him, a look that quickly turned to concern when he asked if I was okay. And then his reassurance - that I hadn't believed - that he wouldn't tell a soul where I was. His actions had been the complete opposite of what I had expected from him.
I had expected sneering. I had expected laughter at my lack of knowledge of my philandering ex-boyfriend. I had expected him to be the purist, muggle-hater that I first knew. I had expected him to take great joy in my heartache. What I had not expected was for him to reassure me, to let me know that he was just nearby if I needed anything. It was not the Malfoy I remembered.
I saw the unfamiliar kindness in his eyes, the concern etched across his face. It wasn't unnerving, just very unexpected.
I shook my head, as if the motion would clear the vision of him from my mind, and moved into the kitchen. I wasn't much for coffee, but after yet another restless night, I knew that tea wouldn't cut it. I set the percolator to brew, and shuffled back to the window.
I stood staring at the house on top of the cliff. Why had he come here? It was isolated, completely hidden, and after witnessing this never ending storm, no one in their right mind would want to live here. But then maybe that was the point. What was it that he had said on the beach? That if he told people where I was, they would know where he was. I guess it made sense for him to be alone.
Pansy had told me that he had gone through his own personal hell at the end of the war. At his trial, Lucius Malfoy pointed his finger at everyone else to save his own arse, including his wife and son. I remember the devastation on Draco's face at his father's betrayal, the moment of realisation that his father was exactly what everyone said he was. And I was sure that he had been as followed as closely as I had; only his torment had lasted longer. His picture had been everywhere, reports varying from outright hatred to indifference to sympathy.
And when I had been given the job to liaise with them, I had deliberately avoided him whenever I could. Not because I disliked him, I had put all that behind me, but because I had no idea what to say to him. I had felt like I should comfort him and tell him that he was nothing like his father, that he should just ignore all the whispers and scorn and live the best way he knew, but I thought he would think me some weirdo and tell me not to interfere in his life. So I stayed away, avoided him wherever possible and dealt only with Pansy and Blaise. But each time that I did see him, the anguish never seemed to leave his eyes.
The percolator beeped, letting me know that the coffee was ready. I grabbed my jumper from the couch pulling it over my head, and with my coffee in hand I headed out to the deck. I curled myself into the deck chair and pulled my knees to my chest and dragging my jumper over my bare legs – something my mother always scolded me for. I wiggled my toes on the edge of the chair, smiling at the memory.
I missed my parents, not as much as I used to, their absence had become a more subdued ache as the years passed. And I had tried not to let myself think about them over the course of the past few weeks, because if I did, I was sure that my already broken heart would not survive.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath; I wouldn't let those thoughts creep into my mind. The sun was out for the first time in a week, the air was still cool, but not unbearable, and I had planned to enjoy it. I wouldn't bring myself down again with thoughts of things I couldn't change. I sipped my coffee and looked out over beach. In the short amount of time that I had been staying here, it already felt like home. I had discovered that I liked the solitude and the peace, and I definitely loved the beach, especially the water.
I had been down to the beach each day, some of those days even in the rain, and I had managed to rid myself of some of the tension that had built up within me. I'd watched Malfoy – like a stalker - as he ran past on the beach each morning. It had become like a comfort of some sort to know that he was close by, but I still waited until I was sure he'd left for work before venturing down my own steps.
I actually wanted to see him, to thank him for being true to his word, but I was still luxuriating in my solitude and wasn't quite ready to interact with anyone just yet.
Besides I wasn't sure I was still over the shock of seeing him running along the beach, looking like an ordinary, everyday person. I may not have even recognised him if he hadn't looked up at me. His blonde hair was hidden beneath a black beanie, and he was dressed in running clothes.
Tight running clothes.
A tight thermal shirt that showed off his broad chest and tight running pants that showed off his arse.
My head jolted back, Gah! Where the hell had that come from!?
I felt my face heat up at the thought. I had watched him as he smiled and walked away from me, and my eyes had instinctively drifted lower.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and I wondered why it was I was actually having these thoughts about him. A month after a horrific break up was definitely not long enough to be thinking about Draco Malfoy's arse in such a way. And having had only one interaction a week before with my childhood tormentor was definitely not long enough to be even thinking of him as anything more than my neighbour.
Besides, what if something did happen between us out here in the middle of nowhere, and it ended up a complete disaster?
What if we did have sex and it was terrible? It was bound to be. I mean, my sexual experience was limited – to say the least. The thought of sleeping with someone else sent nervous shivers through me. It scared me to think I would have to admit to having limited knowledge about such things, (sex being something you couldn't learn from a book), and it scared me even more that I would have to admit it to him.
I was sure that he was the exact opposite. I was sure that his sexual escapades would have been the stuff of legend, that he would have had women throwing themselves at him. He was young, successful and ridiculously good-looking...who wouldn't want a piece of that?
No! No, no, no. I told myself. It had only been a month since I walked in on Ron with his pants around his ankles; it was most definitely not appropriate to be having such thoughts.
But then, Ron hadn't cared that he was still with me when he decided to shag every woman who smiled sweetly at him in passing.
So did it really matter that I was thinking about Draco's arse?
I bit my lip and glanced up at Draco's house. And I was surprised to see him sitting on his balcony. He lifted his hand and waved. After a few seconds, I smiled and waved back.
My heart beat quickened.
No. It didn't really matter at all.
***** DRACO *****
The weather was still cold, but the sun had finally broken through the clouds. It had been a week since I had first seen her on the sand, her devastation evident in her face. I hadn't seen her outside since, although I knew she was still at the cottage. It had taken two days after our chance meeting, but the curtains were now opened daily and I caught the occasional glimpse of a figure in the house.
I wanted to go down there, to say hello, ask how she was, but I didn't want to drive her away. So I had dutifully gone to work each day, hating every moment of it and watching the clock until it was time to leave. I had never kept regular working hours until this past week, usually staying until long after everyone else had left and arriving before the sun was up. But this last week, I had been unable to focus on anything other than her. I hoped that no one suspected anything, but I guessed if they did, I would simply tell them that, yes, a hot piece had moved into the cottage and let them assume what they liked.
I stood at the kitchen counter staring into space. I knew that she didn't need me – or want me – to protect her, but I had an overwhelming desire to do so. She was the only person that had ever made me feel this way. And it was why I now hated Weasley more than I ever did. He had ripped her apart.
I had loved that she had always been forceful, and determined, and resilient and I hated that he had turned her into a shell of her former self. Even in my fleeting moments on the beach with her, all I had seen was a fragility and a vulnerability I didn't think possible in her. She was a stark contrast to the Hermione Granger that had been my greatest nemesis at school.
And I had no idea why I thought it was my responsibility to comfort her, she had friends who knew her much better than I did, and surely they had attempted to do so. But she had come up here and isolated herself, so maybe they hadn't comforted her as much as driven her insane.
And I knew the feeling. The fact that she was within an arm's reach of me, was driving me insane. I was staring into space, with my stomach in a thousand knots, trying to understand the mass of thoughts that were gnawing away at me.
And my head was clouded with thoughts of her that were completely inappropriate. Thoughts of her lips pressed to mine; thoughts of me pressing her into the mattress on my bed, of pressing my chest against hers and feeling her hardened nipples against me, of the gasp of pleasure that would have surely left her as I ground my cock against her.
I scrubbed my hands over my face and let out a frustrated growl. It was getting ridiculous, my constant fantasy, my constant lack of concentration, my inability to focus on anything but her. I'd been restless and uncomfortable, barely sleeping, and my cock had been almost constantly hard in the week since I'd seen her on the beach. I shouldn't have been thinking of her with that appendage, but it seemed that my cock had taken over all rational thought, and having her in such close proximity only made matters worse.
I sighed and shook my head. All my bravado when leaving the office early on Monday having left me the second I stepped out of the floo, and I'd spent the week just staring out the window and watching the cottage. What I needed to do was put my spine back in place and go down and see her. What was the worst that could happen? She could tell me to fuck off and slam the door in my face.
Or, she might have forgotten my deplorable behaviour during our school years and invite me in.
I made coffee and stepped out onto my second floor balcony, sitting at the small table that I had placed there in order to not look like I was stalking her, but at the same time would enable me to see directly down to the deck of the cottage. I glanced out over the water and once again I found myself pleased that I had built my house here. The air was crisp and clear, the water had a calming effect, and the near private beach was perfect. Even on cold days, the view was spectacular.
But I was yet again distracted. My attention to the view I loved so much was fleeting and instead I became focused on the small deck on the house several hundred meters down the cliffs. I watched while I sipped my coffee, hoping that today would be the day that she would finally emerge.
And then my heart leapt when the door of the cottage opened and she stepped out. She sat in the deck chair and pulled her knees to her chest, and looked out over the cliffs. She sat motionless for several long minutes before turning and looking up at me. I raised my hand in a simple gesture of acknowledgement, and I smiled when she finally returned the gesture.
This was the first time I had actually seen her in the week that had passed. She'd not ventured down the stairs to sit on the sand, had not even been out to her deck – not when I had been at home in any case. It appeared that she had dived even further into her self-imposed exile. But maybe this was the turning point. Maybe she was telling me she was ready for me to talk to her.
Or, maybe I was being an egotistical idiot and she truly didn't want to see me. But then I noticed that her face was still turned in my direction and she was still looking up at me, and I immediately wanted to see her face, wanted to know exactly what she was thinking. Was she smiling? Or scowling? Or was she simply confused that Draco Malfoy, the same Draco Malfoy that treated her like dirt at school, had been concerned about her wellbeing? Or was she having the same thoughts about me as I was having about her?
I laughed and shook my head. That was a reach. Up until a month ago she was happily ensconced in her life with Weasley. I wouldn't have even been a blip on her radar. I was sure that, other than any Ministry dealings, she would never have given me a thought.
But maybe this was my chance. My chance to prove that I was no longer the same spoiled, sullen brat that she once knew. This was my chance to let her see who I had become, and it was my chance to let her see my feelings, and hope that she would come to feel the same way.
I sat up straighter in my chair and downed the last of my coffee. I stared back at her and decided that tomorrow I would take a chance and go to her.