Chapter 13
After Marcus left, Hermione returned to the bedroom to find Draco waiting for her. He sat on the bed, his head against the wooden headboard behind him. Wordlessly, he moved over so he was in the center and patted the space beside him. She joined him and allowed Draco to fold his arms around her. They laid together quietly, listening to their breathing as time passed.

Finally, she said, "I like being with you."

Draco sighed as he tugged on one of her curls. "I wouldn't hate you if you picked him," he told her. "He's more of a gentleman than me. He might be better for you."

"You might be right," she agreed. Her fingers toyed with the buttons of the white dress shirt he wore. He always seemed to be overdressed, but she found it comforting. It was a decidedly Draco thing to do, and she liked it. "Could be boring though."

Draco chuckled. "Haven't you had enough excitement in your life?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Not the good kind," she replied. Silence descended once more. Head on his chest, Hermione listened to the steady thump thump thump of Draco's heart. The reassuring thrum sped up as she asked, "Will you tell me about Daphne?"

His arms loosened, but Hermione held onto him. "I should go," he mumbled. Slipping away from her, he dismounted the bed and made for the door. He was halfway down the hall when she caught up with him. "Why do you know about that?" he demanded.

"Marcus told me," she replied. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry, Draco."

In that moment, he seemed to deflate. The anger was gone. Now he looked defeated. "How much did he tell you?" he asked.

Hermione took his hand and led him back to the bedroom. She took a seat at the foot of the bed and persuaded him to join her. "He told me she married Adrian because her parents wanted her to," she replied.

"So, then you know I was supposed to marry Astoria," he said flatly. From the corner of his eye, he saw her nod. "Daphne's nothing like her. You might not remember her. She was always really quiet, but smart and kind. I used to have these horrible nightmares during seventh year. Most of my housemates wouldn't speak to me, either because of my proximity to...him or because I'd failed my task.

"I remember one night I'd fallen asleep on the sofa in the common room after I was locked out of my room," he continued. He still held Hermione's hand, and squeezed it occasionally to make sure she was still there. "I dreamed about this muggle family who'd been tortured and killed in my dining room, and woke up screaming bloody murder. When I opened my eyes, Daphne was beside the sofa stroking my cheek to calm me down. It happened night after night, and finally she started sleeping with me on the sofa."

"Did the nightmares stop?" Hermione asked.

"Most of them did," he answered. "And the ones that didn't, well, Daphne was there to calm me down."

"You loved her," she said softly.

Draco loosened his grip on her hand, but didn't let it go. "Yeah, and she loved her inheritance more than me," he replied bitterly.

Hermione wrapped her free arm around Draco's and rested her head on his shoulder. With another whispered apology, she tightened her hold on his hand. She was finally beginning to understand Draco. He'd been hurt once at the most vulnerable time in his life, and it was a burn he could not sustain a second time.

And then she thought about Ron. On again, off again for years, she often felt herself guarding her heart before it could break again. Their friendship had often been strained by clashing personalities; held together only by Harry and his need for them. Ron had often teased and insulted her, but he had been good to her too. He had a protective nature, and he could be loving when the mood struck. But she rarely felt truly loved. Maybe, she thought, that was why she had agreed to Draco's no strings attached relationship.

But now, Draco wanted strings. He wanted a relationship. He wanted her.

Draco's voice roused her from her thoughts, and she realized she had been quiet for too long. "You should go back to him," he said. "To Marcus."

She pulled away, stunned. "You don't mean that," she replied, her voice a mix of shock and anger. Her hands and arms slipped away and she rose from the bed.

Draco remained seated, his eyes trained on her clenched fists. "He's better for you," he said. "He already has feelings for you. He wants a relationship."

"You did too," she reminded him.

He shook his head. "Yeah, but Marcus can give it to you," he replied, his voice soft and hopeless.

"The night of Theo's party, when you interrupted us and dragged me back to your flat, he never came after me," she told him. "Not the next day or the day after that. He never said a word about it. If he cared the way you say he does, hell even the way he says he does, wouldn't he have come by to make sure I was alright?"

Draco rose to his feet. "I would have," he murmured.

"I know," she replied, smiling as she took hold of his hands. "You know I won't hurt you. You know that, right?"

"You've done it before," he said, his lips forming a hesitant smile. "As I recall, I was a sweet, innocent third year, merely standing around when you marched up and slapped me."

Hermione laughed as he pulled her closer. "Your concept of the past is slightly twisted, Malfoy," she replied. Her expression grew more serious though. "You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you now though, right? I won't do to you what Daphne did. There's no inheritance to keep us apart."

Draco nodded briefly. "That not entirely correct," he admitted, holding her tightly. "And I know you're not Daphne. But you're not the one with an inheritance or a betrothal."

"So, if you don't marry Astoria, you kiss your money goodbye?" she guessed, and received a confirming nod in reply. "And if she marries Ron?"

He shrugged. "I'm free."