Deserving

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm flickering shadows on the walls of the common room. Outside, the snow continued to fall gently, the world beyond the castle seeming miles away as the warmth of the room enveloped them. The scent of pine from the Christmas tree still lingered in the air, mixed with the faint aroma of Draco’s cologne and Hermione’s floral perfume.

Hermione and Draco sat together on the sofa, a thick, plush blanket draped over them. They were both in their pajamas now—Hermione wearing silk boyshorts and a lacy tank top, a heavy robe thrown over her shoulders to ward off the chill. Draco, always meticulously groomed, wore black silk long-sleeve pajamas, the cuffs of his pants neatly pressed, with his initials embroidered on the pocket.

They were quiet now, both absorbed in their new books that Narcissa had gifted them earlier. The tension from the morning had long faded, replaced by a comfortable silence between them. The crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of pages turning were the only sounds that filled the room.

Hermione shifted slightly, turning the page of her book but not really reading it. Her mind wandered back to the locket that Draco had gifted her earlier that day. She hadn’t asked much about it before, caught up in the emotions of the moment, but now, curiosity nagged at her.

“Draco,” she began quietly, glancing up from her book, “you never really told me about the locket.” She traced her finger over the delicate piece of jewelry, which now rested comfortably against her chest. “What’s its significance?”

Draco glanced at her over the edge of his own book, his gaze thoughtful. He set it down on the armrest beside him and shifted his body slightly so he could look at her more directly. His fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket as he took a slow breath, contemplating his words.

“It’s an ancient Malfoy heirloom,” he explained, his voice low and measured, as if choosing each word carefully. “It’s been passed down for generations, though I’m not sure of its exact origins. But what makes it so special is that it’s enchanted.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Enchanted how?"

Draco smiled slightly, his gaze softening. “It conjures a picture of whoever the wearer desires to see. A real, moving image, like a Pensieve, but only of that person. I wanted you to have it,” he continued, looking down at the locket in her hands, “because I thought... well, it could help you see your parents whenever you want. Or your friends, whenever you need them.”

Hermione blinked, her heart swelling with emotion at his words. It was more than just a thoughtful gift; it was something that would allow her to feel close to her family again, even if they weren’t physically present. She swallowed the lump in her throat, unable to find words immediately. Finally, she whispered, “That’s... really kind, Draco. Thank you.”

He shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable with the gratitude. “It’s nothing. You deserve it.”

But then, a sly grin tugged at the corner of his lips, and his tone shifted, playful and teasing. “And,” he added, eyes glinting mischievously, “if you ever want to see me...” He paused dramatically, leaning a bit closer to her, “You can always do that too. Just keep it above the belt, Granger,” he winked, his voice lowering a bit.

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the amused smile that tugged at her lips. “Oh, please,” she said, though there was a faint blush creeping up her neck. “Like I’d ever need a picture of you.” She smirked, tilting her head at him. “But thank you for the offer. I’ll try to keep it above the belt, as you say.”

Draco chuckled, a rich, warm sound, and in that moment, his teasing expression softened. Something in the air between them shifted—there was no longer any trace of the playful banter, only a quiet understanding, an unspoken connection that seemed to grow with every passing moment.

Without saying another word, Draco leaned closer to her, his hand reaching up to gently cup her cheek. His fingers brushed through her soft curls, his touch sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. The warmth of his hand against her skin felt like an anchor, steadying her, even as her breath caught in her throat.

For a long, suspended moment, Draco held her gaze, his eyes filled with something more intense than words could convey. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her softly, as though testing the waters. His lips were warm, gentle against hers, and the pressure was tender, inviting.

Hermione’s breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as the kiss deepened. The world around them seemed to disappear—there was only the fire, the warmth of Draco’s touch, and the steady rhythm of their hearts beating in unison. His hand remained at her cheek, his thumb gently stroking her skin, as though memorizing the feel of her.

When the kiss finally broke, Draco stayed close, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing heavily but slowly, savoring the moment. He smirked just a little, his voice low and teasing once more. “Well, Miss Granger, now you have a picture of me.”

Hermione smiled, her eyes still closed, her heart still racing from the kiss. “I think I’ll keep this one,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, as she nestled closer to him under the blanket.

Draco’s fingers threaded through her hair again, pulling her just a little tighter against him as he smiled, a rare softness in his expression. “I’m glad you like it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple.

And for the rest of the evening, with the fire crackling beside them, the world outside forgotten, they simply stayed there together—quiet, content, and utterly at peace in each other’s company.