Chapter 3
That night, she dreams of him. Her stoic man, if she can call him hers now, who feels so much yet expresses so little.
She dreams of their future, of travel, of lazy days reading in the garden, of their continuing adventures in Muggle London.
She dreams–
Hermione rockets upright, panting.
Frantically feeling the bed to her left, she accidentally jabs Draco in the ribs and he flinches awake.
“Granger? Salazar, what time is it? Is something the matter?”
He turns on the light and they both blink at each other in stunned silence.
“Draco, I’m sorry to wake you, it’s just that, well–I love you. I realized we’d done all that talking and gone to bed and I hadn’t said it.” Hermione reaches out a hand to cup his cheek and he leans into her touch. “I love you, Draco.”
He smiles blearily and kisses her palm. “I love you too.”
~~~
When she jolts awake for the second time that night, Hermione knows that something is amiss.
The sheets next to her are cool and empty.
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she stands, following the path of moonlight that spills through the open balcony door.
Draco stands facing the yard, wearing nothing but his sleep shorts.
“Draco? What are you doing out here?”
The October air bites at her skin and she crosses her arms over her chest.
His skin is cool to the touch when she places a palm on his bicep.
“Hermione?” Draco blinks down at her.
“What’s going on? Why are you outside?”
He sighs, looking out at the trees. “Trying to stay awake.”
“Why?”
Silence falls over them as he continues to stare, breaths slow and even. When it becomes clear that his answer will take more than a few moments, Hermione summons her wand and casts a mild warming charm over them both.
Sliding her hand through the crook of his elbow, she leans gently against him.
She takes a dozen deep breaths, then a dozen more, and then even more after that.
“I thought-” he clears his throat, voice hoarse from sleep, “Nobody has ever said that to me. It must be a dream, and if it’s a dream, I never want to wake up.”
Hermione replays his words in her mind, his own sleepy logic and her half-awake mind making comprehension more difficult than it should be.
“Draco, what do–” and she understands. The moment of clarity is equal parts painful and gorgeous. “Draco.”
He looks down at her, silver eyes moist with unshed tears. “It’s too good to be true. I don’t deserve your love.”
She smiles softly, reaching up to run her thumbs over his cheekbones. “You have it, regardless.”
“Hermione, I–”
“Close your eyes.” When he complies, she lifts his left hand from his side and brings it to her lips. “Tell me what you feel.”
“You lips.”
Bringing his hand to her chest, just over the beat of her heart, she asks again.
They repeat this until both his hands rest softly at her waist.
“I’m real,” she whispers against his lips, “I’m real, and I love you, and I will still love you when you wake up tomorrow.”