The stomach was a weird organ. Why did it twist into knots, ache, clench, swoop, fly, and all those other useless things it did when experiencing emotions? Wasn't that the brain's job? Or even the heart. Hermione didn't think either of them were any better.
She slid the newly cut key into the small box, silver and pearlescent ribbons attached to the top, and then put that box into the top drawer of her dresser. Draco never went into her chest of drawers when he stayed nights, which had lately turned into every night.
Which was what led her to where she was now. With a swooping stomach ache that had butterflies being released into her chest cavity, rendering her breathing shallow and thoughts hazy.
"Are you okay?" Draco said from the doorway, his hand undoing the buttons of his shirt as he looked at her while he prepared to soak the day off his skin in the shower. "Because you have this weird look on your face, and your skin is a little sweaty."
Hermione pressed her palm to her forehead and found it dewy. She smiled and threw off the covers to make a show of feeling hot. She enjoyed the way his eyes roamed her body where she lay, no longer cocooned beneath the duvet. "I got warm, I guess. I was wondering why because it's bloody winter."
"Hmm," Draco smirked at her, causing her chest to tighten and warm fuzziness to bloom up her brain stem so she felt high on his affection. "It's a good thing we fixed that heater then," he shrugged his shirt off, and Hermione let herself enjoy the scene of Draco stripping in her bedroom, his hair dishevelled from the day and his musk tinting the air, "Would you like to get rid of the duvet?"
"I'll be cold without it," Hermione whined, the tone of her voice going up to inflect she was needy.
"Not when I'm under the bedsheets, you won't," Draco grinned knowingly. Hermione wished he would hurry up and shower already. He stepped out of his trousers, ran a hand through his hair, and let out a bone-aching sigh.
Hermione had come to terms with his little mind-reading habit. She trusted that he hadn't been doing it to her like she had assumed, and especially trusted it now because if he had seen what she was thinking, he would have had more of a reaction than simply offering to warm her under the covers. She listened to the sound of the shower, water spraying against his body and the walls, the smell of his shampoo drifting out of the bathroom, into the corridor, and directly to her nose. She inhaled it deeply, loving that Draco occupied so much of her space that she couldn't imagine being without him.
The book she wanted to read had failed to hold her attention tonight because her mind was in a jumbled mess as she tried to figure out the best time to ask him the most nerve-wracking question, which made it feel like the scariest thing she'd ever do. And she had ridden a dragon.
Tonight, they were going to sit in bed and watch the fireworks from her window. It hadn't been their plan, which made Hermione even more nervous than before. Should she ask him tonight, as the fireworks popped overhead, lighting up the sky like colourful lightning and heralding in the new year?
Draco being in fieldwork had changed their relationship so drastically that Hermione felt she hardly ever saw him again. To combat that, she suspected Draco coming over instead of returning home to his beautiful cottage was his way to mediate that. And after their fight, she'd seem more of him than when he had just returned to the assignment.
The weight of that torrid moment in their relationship was like a bruise that wouldn't fade. Hermione assumed it was because it had only been weeks since they had talked things over. And she had decided to trust him. She needed to trust him.
The shower stopped, and Draco emerged from the steam with a dry body and rubbing a towel through his hair. "Do you want to go out?" he asked, stopping his aggressive drying of his hair to look at her. "We can still go to a pub or something; it's not too late."
"It's okay," Hermione smiled. Her bedroom windows were massive, spanning almost half the length of one wall with only a foot of the wall at the base and top. With the curtains drawn back, and magically clean windows, if she stared too long, it felt as though she could tip out into the universe and get lost. Her flat, she was lucky, was located at the top of a gentle hill, so she had a decent view of all the similarly roofed houses disappearing into the distance until the skyscrapers carved out pieces of inky sky. "We have a great view, and we'd be cosy with our champagne glasses and all tucked into bed. And don't forget, we have to go to Theo's party tomorrow afternoon, so maybe partying light tonight would be for the best."
Draco yawned and then prepared to protest again. She watched him retrieve boxer briefs from his dresser drawer and appreciated every expanse of skin he was showing her. Very great view, she thought.
He slipped into the bed beside her, pressed a kiss to her temple and then her lips as she settled into his side and sighed in relief.
"I missed you," he said low, voice thrumming through her down to her toes.
"I missed you, too," she whispered, pressing her nose to his clean skin and breathing him in like he was fresh air.
"What are we toasting with?" he asked against her temple. Hermione could already imagine him with eyes shut, finally letting his body go into rest mode.
"Champagne," Hermione pressed her palm to his chest and felt his slow, steady heartbeat, "though I don't think it'll taste fancy like what you're used to." Draco gave her an indignant scoff.
"Why'd you think I drink champagne?" he said in mock annoyance. Hermione stared at him, eyelids lowered as though the answer to his question was obvious, daring him to admit it.
"Because," Hermione kissed his chin, "You have rich taste."
"I did drink champagne," he admitted. "I don't much like it, though."
Hermione gasped. Then she laughed. "I hate champagne!"
"Then why'd you buy it?" he combed her hair back adoringly. Hermione couldn't admit it was because she had her pressing question. And she was juggling asking him tonight despite their ruined plan. Nope.
"I thought you drank champagne!" she insisted, "I bought it for you."
"For us," he corrected. Stray fireworks were already popping in the distance. Hermione snuggled harder against him, willing his body to melt and adhere to hers just to be closer. She wanted to crawl into his skin with him and let their souls intertwine.
"Happy New Year's, love," Hermione said against his skin. Draco's breath was deep and even, and Hermione knew he had already fallen asleep.
The cottage was so quiet Hermione thought they had gotten the date wrong. But it was a long way from December 31st 2008 to January 1st 2009. They couldn't have been mistaken. Hermione glanced at Draco with confused eyes, and he kissed her temple. Hermione pressed the box against her palm in her purse and wished it was the key instead so she knew the key was in the box and hadn't magically crawled free.
Once they were inside, it felt completely different. Different from the quiet stillness of the outdoors as a fine mist clung to the reflective, almost mirror-like surface of the lake, and different from how it had been last year when Hermione and Draco had shared their first kiss at a party thrumming with people and overflowing with laughter.
There was a scent that immediately hit her. It felt like nostalgia, all her good memories wrapped up in a neat package being inhaled directly into her system, flooding her entire being with happiness. A sense of calm settled over her.
Draco stood behind her, his arms around her shoulders, chin atop her head as they stared around at the quiet calm of the cottage. Hermione had fully expected a party to be happening, and suddenly, her little sequined dress felt very out of place; like she had accidentally come to a family dinner dressed instead for clubbing.
"Where is everyone?" Hermione asked. Draco hummed, his chest vibrating off her spine and warming her heart.
"I thought you'd want some quiet time in the library this year, before the party started," Draco said into her ear. "Come on, there are books calling to you, Granger."
Hermione laughed as he took her hand and began running through the halls, the wooden floors beneath their feet thudding and groaning in their wake.
The library was just as she remembered it. Only now, beyond the elaborately carved doors, the sun did indeed flood every corner of the room, light seemingly bending around the shelves. She could see everything. All the delicate spines, the scent of leather heady and intense in the warm rays, wood and ink mingling into the background. Hermione tiptoed to kiss him before spinning away and taking off, laughter bubbling out of her like a child being let loose in a playground.
Draco thumbed the page over before returning his hand's attention to Hermione's hair. The spirals of her hair curled around his fingers in perfect little coils. Draco especially loved the spiralling baby hair that framed her face. It was soft as silk and always bounced back to its place.
"We should go back," Hermione whispered. Laughter erupted from beyond the door, sharp enough that she remembered they were at a party. The sun was setting, and the entire library was set ablaze in hues of oranges and yellows, broad saturated beams of light washing the browns and greens from every surface. She looked up from Draco's lap and smiled at how perfectly handsome and serene he was – a pensive pinch adorned his eyebrow.
"Are you ready?" he asked. He shifted slightly, then helped her up as she clumsily tried to get up on her own, her body sluggish from laying still for two hours.
"I'm hungry," Hermione giggled, her stomach gurgling up at her in protest.
"Let's go get you something to eat," Draco smiled, getting to his feet and hauling her onto her own. They left their books behind and broke into the electric atmosphere.
Music sounded down the web of corridors, distorting off the walls and ceilings into an odd, ethereal sound that made Hermione feel like she had walked into a fairytale.
People were dancing, hands in the air, various stages of undress – or that was just their clothes, Hermione realised – as the live band threw their heads back and let their wild hair sway with their terrifyingly fast riffs and tempo. Draco commandeered a floating tray and held it up to Hermione so she could select her food.
Éclairs.
Hermione's eyes widened. "Are these..?" It looked like they were from – but they couldn't be. Taking it from the tray, she held it up to her eyes and inhaled. "These are from Paperwhites!" she yelled.
Draco grinned happily, letting the spinning dish go. Another tray twirled around, somehow not spilling any drink on its surface. Hermione's eyes widened at the coffee mugs and tea cups.
The party was filled with treats from Paperwhites. Champagne, wine, and beer still hovered about, but Hermione was finally able to identify the nostalgic scent. Her cafe.
"I called in a favour," Draco said into her ear, his voice raised to combat the music and whooping crowd. A swell of want and happiness overwhelmed her, filling her chest and muddling her brain. She had forgotten about the key in her hazy contentment, but now, all she wanted to do was give it to him. She felt stupid for waiting.
"Draco," she said, suddenly nervous. Her body jittered as she met his gaze, her hand sneaking into her bag. "I-"
"Alright, folks," the lead singer of the band said into the microphone. The sudden lack of instruments made the crowd feel suddenly busy and louder than they had appeared before. "It's almost time," he said dramatically. "Fifteen," he counted, "fourteen, thirteen-"
"What the hell is happening?" Hermione laughed as everyone joined in with the countdown. She turned to look at Draco. But he was gone. Someone's hand slipped into hers, and she found him on one knee, a box in his hand.
"Four," everyone chorused, "three," Draco opened the box, "two," he grinned brightly, "one!"
"Merlin's tit," Hermione swore under her breath as her heart thrashed around inside her chest.
"Will you marry him?" The crowd laughed, shouted, yelled, screamed, hollered.
Hermione looked around at all of them for the first time – and in the setting sun, as the rich oranges and yellows dimmed to a golden sheen, Hermione saw faces she recognised.
Harry and Ginny hugging, Ginny's fist in the air. Pansy, Luna, Neville. Theo hanging onto Blaise, both smiling so wide all she could see were teeth. George and Angelina with their arms slung around each other, absolutely beaming; Parvati, Padma, and Dean all three looking sloshed.
It overwhelmed her. The sheer amount of effort that had gone into keeping this a secret, to gather them all, to coordinate the proposal, to fill the party to the brim with all the parts of their relationship that brought her genuine joy. That the idiot had proposed to her on the day she had decided to ask him to move in with her.
"You planned all this?" Hermione asked him, her throat tight with emotion, her vision already blurring from overwhelming happiness. "You sneaky–" The ring winked at her, twinkling gold in the setting sun. A plain rock, small and beautiful, glinted periwinkle blue against a delicate rose band.
Draco rose now to kiss her, not waiting for her answer as though his desperation to show her how much he loved her had eclipsed everything else. Hermione didn't care how many people were watching; she returned his kiss fervently. The crowd walloped and howled until Draco and Hermione broke away, giggling.
"Yes," she said breathlessly, emphatically, "Yes, of course I'll marry you."