One Day - Draco x Hermione
The door creaks as Draco leans against it, his body heavy with liquor and despondency. It’s mostly empty, the shutters drawn, casting the room in a dim light. He spins in a slow circling, taking it in for a moment before he raises his glass tumbler to his lips and sips the bourbon.
It burns his throat as he swallows but he’s grown accustomed to it, and has even begun to favor it over fire whiskey ever since Hermione exposed him to it.
Glass in hand, Draco puts his back to the wall before he slides down, his neck cranked back as he gazes up. He’s tempted to rub his eyes as he reads ‘Granger's things’ written on the sides of the boxes but he can’t be bothered. His arms are too heavy, limbs too tired.
“I don’t mind, you know. If you just got rid of it all.”
Draco sighs heavily, turns his head to the right. “I’d never do that.”
His throat is scratchy from limited use, and he swallows as he stares at her.
Hermione’s legs are crossed at the ankles, her fingers laced together and she gazes at the boxes full of her old things. Her curly hair is loose, falling in waves over her shoulders, splatter of freckles dancing across her face like constellations.
“Keep the photos though,” She continues, then lets out a light laugh. “I was actually quite gorgeous, in our twenties. Though I didn't appreciate it at the time.”
Draco swallows again, grips the glass tumbler hard. “I did.”
“Sometimes you did,” Hermione turns, her eyes soft as she smiles gently. “Sometimes you didn’t.”
Draco gazes at her, feels the tears brimming at his eyes. She looks so alive in this frame of light, lips pouty and pink, brows arched as her brown eyes shimmer. Her face is sympathetic, lines over worry on her forehead. She always looks like this when he sees her now.
“It won’t always be like this.” she says softly. Draco bounces his eyes from her mouth to her hair to her eyes to nose, trying to commit the shape of her to memory.
“Why wouldn't it?” he asks, his voice cracking and he clears his throat. “What would change it?”
Hermione hums, shakes her head slightly. “Time.”
“Time,” Draco repeats. He turns his head to stare at the ceiling, licks his chapped lips. “No, thats…I can really feel the clouds parting, Granger.”
Hermione smiles, her nose scrunching in the most adorable way, the way he had loved so much and it makes him smile as well.
“Yeah, you’re funny.” She whispers, and Draco feels a tear slip down his face. They’re quiet for a moment, and then Hermione shuffles closer, leans her head against his shoulder and if he concentrates hard enough, he can almost feel her.
Raising a hand, Hermione touches his face, her own eyes wet and Draco lets out a shuddering breath, closes his eyes.
“Well,” Hermione says, sniffing lightly. “At least this year you can pass out on your own carpet.”
Draco chuckles humorously, recalling the one year anniversary of her death and how he’d spent it black-out drunk. Hermione shifts, moves her lower half so that she can lay her head on his lap.
“There's not nearly enough in this bottle for that.” Draco replies as he runs a hand down his face, and Hermione nods.
“Then you’ll go down to the offie, and you’ll buy a couple more bottles,” Hermione murmurs, her hair splaying to the side. “And maybe some cigarettes, and you’ll smoke them here which…you’ll regret, cause you’ll never quite get the smell out. And Ginny will call you later. And astoria. But you won’t want to sound sad or pissed so you won’t pick up.”
“That so.” Draco says quietly, and Hermione nods again.
“Which means tomorrow you'll have to call them both, and say you fell asleep early. And your mum, because they would’ve called her too,” she says, her eyes focused on the boxes. “And you’ll feel guilty and hung over and just…shit. All day.”
Draco nods slowly, feels a tear run down his nose. He lets it, blinks and feels it fall. Another quickly descends, following its friend, and he sniffs, his jaw tight.
“And it’ll go on like that,” Hermione continues. “Until it doesn't. Because one day…it won’t”