Chapter 7
The jig is up, Draco thinks.
His new phone is in Hermione’s hand, and there is a combination of hurt and confusion all over her pretty face.
She knows now that he is not normal. That he’s not a good person, that he’s been pretending. Hermione will ask about the wizarding world, and he will have to tell her who he is—who he really is.
And she will hate him.
It seems that part is already starting. Hermione shoves the phone into his chest, her lower lip wobbling.
“You’re married?” she asks, sounding on the verge of furious tears.
It takes him an actual, full second to comprehend what she said.
“What?” Draco asks, appalled. “No! No, I’m not married—”
“Then why do you have a second phone?” Hermione asks, wiping her face angrily. “A girlfriend, then? Hiding my contact somewhere she won’t see my name pop up when I text you— God, I’m so stupid!”
“Stop,” he says, catching her hands—which she’s flailing miserably, caught between wiping her eyes and throwing her fists down in anger. “I’m not married. I don’t have a girlfriend. I would never—Jesus—I would never hide you.”
She laughs without humor, her eyes teary.
“Then what’s with the empty phone?” she asks miserably. She swats him on the chest, furious, turns from him with her hand over her mouth.
“Hermione,” Draco says, his voice soft and sad. “Look at me.”
She does.
Even crying, her eyes red and her cheeks blotchy, she is beautiful. Draco is a monster—how much pain has he inflicted in her life already? And now this too?
“I’m not married," he says. "And I don’t have a girlfriend. But—“
“Promise,” Hermione interrupts. “Swear that you’re not married. Swear to me you’re single.”
“I—“
Draco has no idea how to say that’s really not the part you should be worrying about, so he just says:
“I promise. I swear. I’m single.”
Hermione takes a heaving breath and wipes her cheeks. Already she seems less distraught, and when she looks at him again her eyes are apologetic.
“Okay,” she says. “I’m sorry. You probably think I’m insane…”
“No. What? No—you’re not insane,” Draco says. He really hopes for her sake that she never meets a man who is actually married, because she is far too trusting. “I’m single, but—but I still haven’t been totally honest with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not who you think I am,” Draco forces himself to say. He looks down at the floor because he can’t stand to see the softness leave her eyes. “I'm not a good person. My—my family—“
“Stop,” Hermione says.
Her voice is firm—almost angry—and he stops talking. He will do whatever she asks.
“I don’t want you to tell me anything that you’re not ready to,” Hermione says.
“I… don’t think that you would feel that way if you knew what I was about to tell you.”
“Listen,” Hermione says. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I don’t want to know anything you’re not ready to share.”
He can’t stop a disbelieving laugh from escaping him.
“You don’t want me to feel uncomfortable,” Draco repeats to himself. He drops to a seat on the couch, runs his hands through his hair, then puts his face in his hands. “I have to tell you.”
“I don’t want you to.”
This is not going at all how it needs to. Draco is just going to have to come out and say it.
You know me already, that’s what he’ll open with.
You know me, and you hate me. Like, really hate me. You’re missing your memory! We should go to the authorities. They will explain it better than I can. And if you don’t mind, it would be very nice if the last thing I saw before a life sentence in Azkaban was your face.
“You know m—“ he says, at the exact same time that Hermione says:
“I don’t care what it is.”
“Erm…”
“I don’t!” she repeats stubbornly. “So if you think you’re doing it for my sake, well—don’t think that. I’m being selfish, okay? I like you a lot and—and if there’s something that’s going to put an end to that—I’d rather know later. Not now. I just... I want more time with you first.”
What is he supposed to do?
Her eyes are pleading.
“Okay,” he says. He is not capable of saying no to her, not when she looks at him like that. “Alright.”
“Whatever it is can wait," she says softly. "Maybe tomorrow, alright? Or the day after... Or next week. Not right now. Because right now, I want to do cute shit with you.”
“I—what? Yes. I’ll do whatever you like.”
“Good,” Hermione says.
She plops on the couch next to him.
“Now you’re going to come over here and kiss me," she says firmly.
Well, he’s going to hell, and that’s fine.
Draco leans in and kisses her—she doesn’t need to tell him twice, her eyes are still red from crying and what he wants more than anything else in the world is to kiss her better. His hand is on her cheek and she rests her own, much smaller, palm over it.
“Now,” she whispers, her breath fluttering across his lips. “Now say: ‘I like you very much, Hermione. Enough to not break your heart right now.’”
Draco leans his forehead against hers, squeezes his eyes shut
“I like you very much, Hermione,” he says, and behind every word he hopes some part of her hears: I’m sorry. “So much. Enough to not break your heart right now.”
~
They cuddle on the sofa and watch a movie, which is some kind of muggle miracle captured in a box or something.
Hermione is holding his hand, her fingers intertwined sweetly with his, and every once in a while Draco sneaks a look out of the corner of his eye to see their hands together, on her lap.
He can’t believe it.
The guilt roiling in his stomach is terrible, but it’s impossible to feel bad for too long, what with Hermione gently resting her head on his shoulder. What with her whispered comments about the movie, and the soft, tingling kisses she gives him on his ear and neck—then how she giggles when he can’t hold back a shiver.
He worries that it is sort of painfully obvious, the fact that he hasn’t had sex in years.
Not that sex is important to him in this situation. Whatever is going on with Hermione feels almost holy—and he supposes there is some religious undertone with the fact that he’s certainly going to be eternally damned for this—and though she is beautiful and she teases him like crazy and her lips are soft… he doesn’t need more from her.
But it would be nice if she didn’t realize he was pathetically craving her every touch. Or that when she kisses him right there on his neck he…
Draco shifts away from her a little, his cheeks hot, and tries to readjust his trousers.
They finish the first movie, then start another.
Hermione's blinks grow slower and her yawns more frequent.
“Stay here with me?” she mumbles, when the second movie finishes too.
The sun is starting to peek out over the trees. Draco can see the silhouette of the sunrise out there, in the distance—framed by the white curtains in Hermione’s kitchen.
He kisses her temple.
“I should go back," he says quietly.
“Don’t.”
“Alright.”
She smiles up at him—wide, shining, even as her eyes droop sleepily.
“You’re very nice to me.”
He kisses her forehead.
“In the bed with me, okay?” she sighs, standing up and stretching. “Even though I know you’re going to ask to sleep on the couch.”
“Whatever you want.”
He follows her into the bedroom and they get under her covers, even though both are still in their clothes from the party. He assumes this is because she doesn't want to undress in front of him, and he's happy to make her more comfortable. Maybe he will learn how muggles clean fabric tomorrow, so he can help clean her bedding.
Her blanket is white and marshmallow-y, the pillows smell like her. All of this is paradise. Hermione clings to Draco and buries her face in his chest.
She falls asleep in his arms.
Let me keep this, he thinks, sending up the entreaty to whichever deity is in charge of his life. I will be good for the rest of my life. Anything. Just let me keep her.
~
Hermione wakes him up the next morning with kisses on his lower stomach.
Draco jerks away, alarmed and aroused, still half-asleep.
“Good morning,” she says with a sly smile, resting her cheek on his abdomen. “You have great muscles.”
He is hard, he realizes in a panic.
Oh god, he is so hard.
Does she know he is hard?
He doesn’t want her to feel his erection—it’s only centimeters from her face—this is so fucking embarrassing—
Hermione smiles wider and then, as though reading his mind, drops her head and plants a sweet little kiss right over his trouser zipper, her doe eyes innocent and fixed on his.
He exhales sharply, seeing spots, and his hips jerk up in response.
“Ungh,” he grunts. “Holy fuck—”
“You sound so sexy when you’re horny…” she giggles, nosing at his trousers.
This is insane. He is literally going to come in his pants if she doesn’t stop. And he is pretty sure that she will not find that sexy.
“Hermione,” he gasps, trying to keep his eyes from rolling back as she kisses him over his trousers once more. “Come back up here. You’re going to make me—”
“You're big..."
His cock jerks in response and he groans—he should have masturbated before coming to see her last night, but he never would have anticipated this happening—
She looks up to see his reaction then laughs, resting her head on his stomach with a smile.
“Look at you,” she whispers, her face adoring. “You’re so sweet. I think you’re the only man in the world who wouldn’t be ripping my clothes off right now.”
Draco rubs his face, tries desperately to regain some control.
“Come back up here,” he repeats, then laughs when she pouts. “Come on. Come here, let me kiss you.”
She finally relents, crawls up the length of his body and tucks herself into his side, offering her mouth to him for a kiss.
“So what is it?” she asks, after they’ve kissed and she’s nuzzled him and he’s smiling like an idiot. “How come you’re not jumping my bones?”
“I just—it’s just been a while. And I want to make it good—and special. For you.”
She smiles at him, wide and beautiful.
“It will be,” she giggles, kissing him on the jaw. “But we can go slow. I think it’s romantic.”
She rests her head on his shoulder and kisses his collarbone, then turns her eyes up to look at him again.
Her irises are honey-brown. She’s looking up at him like he hung the moon. Draco touches her cheek, then her mouth, then her chin.
“You’re perfect,” he says quietly. “Everything should be perfect for you.”
"Sweet talker," she says, but her eyes sparkle with joy. "How about you and I go scrounge up some perfect breakfast then? I'll make you my cheddar scrambled eggs."