The Smolder
Draco checked his watch as he paced in front of the fireplace, waiting for Hermione to return home.
“Okay, let’s go over it again,” he muttered. “Heartfelt apology, check. Casual run-ins, check. Smolder, check. Work in the fact that I freed my elves, check. Get on a first-name basis, check. Make her friends, whom I relentlessly bullied for years, love me; check. Make her cat, who somehow hates me more than her friends, love me; check.”
At that moment, Hermione emerged from the floo.
“Oh,” she exclaimed as she wiped ash off her skirt, “Hi, Draco.”
Draco had a plan for his confession. He had, after all, spent the last six months meticulously checking off the steps he had laid out to try to convince Hermione to upgrade their relationship from a friend she sometimes fucked to her exclusive lover who she spent the rest of her life with consistently fucking. But, when he saw her, he simply blurted out, “I love you.”
Of all the reactions he had anticipated, he was not prepared for her to peck him on the lips, roll her eyes, and say, “Finally! I love you, too.”
“I-wha?”
“I’ve known about your plan for a while,” she confessed, “though I thought you were still on the smolder step.”
“I perfected that months ago!” he argued, slightly offended. “The first time you invited me into your flat was after I flashed you my smolder.”
At this, Hermione burst out laughing.“I invited you in because I thought you were constipated and too embarrassed to ask to use the loo!” she explained between giggles.
Draco pulled her into a hug to hide the pinkness tinging his cheeks as he mumbled, “Just another thing I love about you- how quickly you can humble a man.”