"Did you expect me to rejoice at the inferiority of your circumstances?" He seethed, the words dripping from his sneering facade. He rubbed at his eyes with fisted hands, his normally smoothed hair at odds with itself. She scoffed back at him haughtily, eyes ablaze.
"And THOSE are the words of a gentleman!" She retorted, the ends of her hair sparking as her mouth snapped closed. Draco threw his hands up into the air as if the response to his words would be construed any conflicting way. She continued. "From the first moment I met you,--
"your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feeling of others made me realize that you were the last man in the world I could EVER be prevailed upon to--" She choked out before he interrupted her. He wore the look of a wounded animal.
A thick crease cut between his newly-downturned eyes. Tears pooled in the red-lined rims there. "Forgive me, Granger," he whispered quietly, "for taking up so much of your time." He shuttered before retreating, his black robes billowing behind him in the rain.
--
Many days and nights had passed as the two of them danced around the Manor playing games of avoidance and downplayed longing. He watched her as she waltzed between the bookshelves of the library from the balcony off of his room. She wore her hair twisted up with a creative wand placement, and he wished to pull the magical core from her curly strands and run through them with careful fingers. He imagined the soft curls to smell of her, clean and flowery. And she watched him too, as he strode across the Manor grounds in his riding attire, preparing to -mount his broom. She imagined his strong arms caressing her as he skillfully worked on the wood with careful and precise fingers. They played this game for longer than either would have given the other credit. Until.
Poxy was serving Hermione tea in the drawing room, when suddenly, the small elf went rigid. "Poxy, are you well?" Hermione prodded when the elf stopped moving. With a dramatic clutch at her chest, the tea table went crashing to the ground, hot tea splashing and china shattering on impact. Hermione jumped to her feet, holding the tiny elf to her chest. Over and over, she tried to rouse the elf to no avail. Desperately, she looked up at her surroundings and called out to him. "DRACO! Draco please!"
From his spot in the study, he heard the panicked voice calling to him. Not bothering to throw down his glasses before taking off in her direction, he crashed through the door to the drawing room and skidded to a halt at the sight before him.
Without a second provocation, he gently took the elf's body from her arms. She sat still as tears continued to pool under her jaw. Draco offered a quick once over of the elf. Without a word, he leaned forward once and pressed his lips to the top of Granger's head, and turned on the spot with a cloud CRACK. Hermione sat with her hands in her lap in a heap on the floor next to the soiled tea tray.
After what must have been hours, she rose from her spot. She found herself walking numbly through the drawing room and out into the gallery. Beautiful art adorned the walls there, though she could not bear to take in its beauty. She turned to the vast galley windows, and stilled.
Gaze cast out over the large rose gardens stood the rigid back of Draco Malfoy. She made her way to the empty balcony there. Though he registered her presence, he said nothing.
It was she who finally broke the silence. "How is she? Poxy?" Draco did not look at her. "I was so frightened when she collapsed. My chest ached at not knowing how she recovers." Draco spoke without turning. "How can I ever make amends for such pain?"
Granger paused with cautious curiosity growing in her eyes. Draco continued. "Poxy is in the best room that St. Mungo's had to offer. She has a constant rotation of mediwitches and has the best view of London that the entire top floor of the hospital could buy." She gasped.
"Buy?" She said, voice dripping with incredulity. "Buy," Draco confirmed, eyes stubbornly fixed to the horizon. He watched Granger dab at her eyes out of the corner of his own. "After what you have done for Poxy, I suspect it is I who should be making amends.
He finally turned to her. The corners of his mouth began to draw up into the slightest of smirks. "You must know," he began. "Surely you must know." The confusion etched on her face was evident. She, somehow, did not. He sighed. "It was all for you." The surprise on her face registered, though he pushed on. "I believe you spoke with my kinder aunt last night, she owled me this morning urging me into action. Had Poxy not fallen ill, I would have requested your accompaniment to dinner." A blush crept across her cheeks.
He pushed on. "If your feelings are still what they were before, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed... But one word from you will silence me forever," he rushed. Showing uncharacteristic nerves, he let out a deep labored breathe before continuing.
"If... however your feelings have changed, I must tell you," he turned now to face her fully. She held a breath of her own. "You have bewitched me, body and soul. And," He stepped closer. "I love," he brushed his fingers under her jaw, "I love," he thumbed over her rosy lips,
"... I love you."