I'm back! This is a story I wrote for the Houses Competition.

House: Slytherin, Class: Charms, Category: Drabble, Wordcount: 880, Prompt: [Genre] Romance

Disclaimers: This fic deviates from canon a little, in a classic 2D way

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Hermione Granger had always considered herself curious. She loved to read, enjoyed music, and was passionate about learning — and those things tended to require a bit of curiosity. So, when the tall blond boy entered the classroom for the first time, wearing a cold expression and soft warm gloves, there she was. Curious.

He didn't appear all that engaged in what went on around him, but he did seem intelligent. He answered the questions in class with a slick voice and an air of general disenchantment with the rest of reality.

She wasn't one to compare herself to others, but this boy…

For one, he had things. They were beautiful things. A silver ring on his finger, adorned with a family crest perhaps. Several jumpers that were surely not up to school code, and yet no teachers seemed to pay him much attention regarding the matter. Quills upon quills, in a variety of colours, scents, and feathers. She was certain that he had one of a white peacock tail.

She had one or two quills, of simple build. Her robes looked a little shabby next to his, even though they were newly purchased that summer. And her books were thumbed through — though, again, that was not due to their quality, but the rate at which she had sped through them. She was not put together like he was.

Then there was the way that he spoke. A little too harsh sometimes, a little too soft others. Never quite appropriate for the level or depth that she thought was right for the moment.

Too harsh to teachers, certainly.

Nevertheless, there was something about this boy, this Draco Malfoy. Something that really intrigued her, in spite of his brashness, his money, his behaviour. Yes, sometimes he did act as though he was above everyone else. But then she would see him later that day, coaxing Mrs. Norris out from the shadows with a tin of tuna, and scrubbing her ears with his bejewelled knuckles. Speaking softly, tenderly.

It had been years now, since she had first met him, when he stumbled through the Hogwarts Express, aiming for decadence and elegance, and only managing to remain a gangly pre-teen. They were young, then. And life had been strange.

The truth is that she had a crush on him. It had probably started long before she even recognised the signs in herself. Feeling hot and flustered when he spoke, feeling hot and flushed when he looked at her, feeling downright inflamed when he handed her ingredients in potions, and practically exploding into a fiery furnace when they would touch hands, or arms, or —

None of that mattered, though, of course. She couldn't ignore the usual drama. He was a Slytherin, she was a Gryffindor; forbidden love is hard to find because it's hard to maintain.

She could certainly wish, a little.

She could certainly dream.

But then came the war, and she didn't know Draco Malfoy. Not really. She, Harry, and Ron disappeared around the country searching for Horcruxes, and Draco — like the rest of his Slytherin brethren — returned to their huge mansions, their rings and things, and their beautiful otherworldly lives.

Life didn't happen in the way that she expected.

Draco followed her. When they were caught up in the mansion, he stared at her across the floor, pinned beneath Bellatrix Lestrange. He followed her out of the house, grabbed a hold of her arm, desperation in his eyes, wanting to be torn away from his home, his status, his riches, his life.

At Bill and Fleur's, after Dobby had been buried in the sand, and Harry was turning away from the ocean and back to his role in the war, Draco pulled her aside and explained. He explained how beautiful he thought she was, how breathtaking; how her intelligence, her strength, and her strict adherence to a moral code had been so utterly mind-shattering for him. How he was completely intoxicated by her.

She sunk into his kiss like she was falling into her own dreams.

Swift, sudden, deep.

So when Voldemort came, and the castle was destroyed, Draco was there. Shivering but holding steady beside her. They were like the first waves crashing against an empty shore on the dawn of midnight; born of possibilities. And they were like the moon that chased those same waves.

Glittering, in a world of dark.

It was later, almost an eternity later, that they held hands over the dead. Draco held her as she cried over friends, and she squeezed his hands as he silently confronted his parents. She imagined that the Malfoys were too surprised by her presence beside him to even think to denounce their son at that moment, too busy being afraid that he could have died in the last few months.

Later still, she murmured her love into his shoulder, as he finally wept.

When all his tears were spent, the feelings of being overwhelmed had passed, and silence had fallen, he cradled her face, kissed her nose, and uttered confessions of love. Sweet and nonsensical as words often are after years of holding back everything you've ever wanted, and of putting on a brave face rather than showing your true self.

Finally, in each other's arms, they could rest.

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Thank you for reading!