Well Timed Confessions
The night had blurred into a dream—glittering chandeliers casting golden light over swirling gowns, the rich hum of conversation, and the soft clinking of champagne glasses. But now, as midnight approached, all that faded into the background for Draco as he twirled Hermione around the dance floor, her laughter ringing in his ears like the sweetest melody.
His hand fit perfectly against the small of her back, guiding her effortlessly through the waltz as the final dance of the evening began. Around them, couples moved in time with the music, but he only had eyes for her. The way her curls cascaded over her bare shoulders, the way her eyes sparkled under the candlelight—she was breathtaking.
“I never expected the year to turn out this way,” Draco murmured, his voice low so only she could hear.
Hermione tilted her head up at him, curiosity in her gaze. “For better or worse?”
His lips quirked, but his expression was serious. “Better,” he said, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the fabric of her gown. “Much better.”
Something in her softened, her fingers tightening slightly where they rested on his shoulder. “I think so too,” she admitted, voice gentle.
The music slowed, and murmurs spread across the ballroom as the grand clock near the entrance began to chime the approach of midnight. The crowd stilled, excitement crackling in the air as everyone turned toward the countdown, voices rising in unison.
“Ten… nine… eight…”
Draco’s heart pounded, though not because of the new year. He looked down at Hermione, at the way she smiled slightly, oblivious to the war raging inside him. He had waited long enough.
“Seven… six… five…”
His pulse roared in his ears.
“Four… three…”
“I love you.” The words left his lips with absolute certainty, his voice steady, unwavering. “I’ve always loved you, Hermione. Ever since third year, when you punched me in the nose.”
Hermione froze in his arms, her eyes widening in pure shock, lips parting—but before she could say anything—
“Two… one… Happy New Year!”
The room erupted into cheers, glasses clinking, laughter ringing through the air. But Draco heard none of it.
Because in the very next second, he cupped the back of Hermione’s neck and pulled her into him, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss.
She stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, but then—then she melted, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as she kissed him back just as fervently. The world disappeared around them, the sounds of celebration fading as all that remained was the warmth of her, the way she fit so perfectly against him.
He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, but when they finally broke apart, her breath was unsteady, her lips swollen from his.
She looked up at him, something new and raw and beautiful in her expression, and then—soft as a whisper, as if it was the easiest truth in the world—
“I love you too, Draco.”
And for the first time in his life, everything felt right.