Iniquity

December 5th, 2000

When Pansy shows up at his flat after a particularly grueling shift, Draco thinks he can just combust from frustration. Granger is due any minute, and he did not particularly want Pansy colliding with her. He feels it can possibly become a messy incident, and he deeply wants to avoid that.

"Look, I just want to talk," Pansy pleads, her bob bouncing as she looks up at him, hands pressed together.

"Not a chance," he replies, crossing his arms. "Hermione will be here momentarily, and I'd rather you not be here when she arrives." At the mention of the Gyrfindor's name, Pansy tenses, her eyes narrowing.

"Fine," she huffs, taking a step back. "Tomorrow?" Draco gives her a pointed look and she sighs. "I just want to put the past behind us. We can still be friends, honest. I've actually been seeing someone else recently, but I want to make sure there's no bad blood between us."

At the revelation of Pansy seeing someone else, he curls up an eyebrow. "Interesting. That bit about you 'not giving up on me' was a bluff, perhaps?"

Pansy rolls her eyes, and he notices her nibbling ferociously on her bottom lip. "I suppose," she replies, her voice quiet. "I'm just protective of what's mine, Draco."

"I'm not yours, Pansy. Not anymore."

Aside from her mouth, she stills, her dark eyes wide and sweat is beading at her hairline. Draco cocks his head to the side, giving her the once over. She looks rather ill when he really peers at her. Her normally perfect hair is uneven, the ends slightly frayed, and her mouth is chapped, her forehead and brow damp.

"I know, I know," she mumbles, her voice stranded, and before he can question her more, she Apparates away.

-

"I swear, Susan is an absolute wonder. I don't know how she can smooth-talk a 100-year-old wizard into purchasing not one, not two, but three copies of the same book," Hermione laughs.

Draco leans against the headboard of his bed, watching her naked post-sex form riffle through his dressing drawer and slip on one of his tops. He wants to tell her he cannot possibly focus on a bloody thing coming out of her mouth when she looks absolutely delectable in his clothing, the hem of the shirt resting just below her buttocks and the sleeves a few times too large for her arms.

"She's a protege," Hermione continues, scooping her massive curls into a pile atop her head. "I think hiring her was one of the best decisions Mayjoy has made."

"You mean one of the best decisions you have made," Draco interjects, watching as Hermione climbs back into bed, leaning into his side. He presses a light kiss to her hairline, and she intertwines their fingers together in her lap, curling her legs under her.

"Draco..." she says, her voice soft as she strokes his hand. "I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. You've grown quite tremendously since our time at Hogwarts and...well, you've really changed. You're a massive help at the shop and I actually..." she pauses, and he knows she's searching for the correct terminology. "I actually enjoy spending time with you. I have...fun. A lot more fun than alcohol or random hookups could ever give me."

He tries not to ponder on the idea of Hermione's previous partners, as he has no leg to stand on in that department, but he secretly hopes she finds him better than any of the men that came before him.

"Good. I'm...glad," he replies awkwardly, and she turns her face to press a soft kiss to his chest. He sniffs, wrinkling his nose at the smell of wine still present between them, but ignores it when she snuggles into him even further.

They stay like that, wrapped in each other's arms, Draco burying his face into her honey-sweet hair until sleep overtakes her. He can tell she is asleep by the change in her breathing, the soft sighs drawing out and her hand is limp on his chest. He holds his breath, afraid that if he moves, she'll awake and gather her clothes and this perfectly mundane moment will end. Craning his neck so that his eyes focus on the slightly peeling paint of the ceiling, he realizes he doesn't want it to end, not now, not ever. He'd empty the rest of his finances if it meant she'd stay every night, pressing her small frame into his side, her wild curls covering his ability to see.

Slowly, Draco casts his face downward, trying to take a peek at the sleeping witch beside him. Lifting his left hand, he cups her cheek gently, rubbing his thumb beneath her eye. The tenderness he exudes to her almost shocks him; he never thinks he can ever feel this strongly to a female, much less the female he bullied relentlessly as an addocsent. The thought makes him shudder.

"What time is it?" she asks sleepily, her lashes opening.

Noticing his palm on her face, she looks between his hand and his expression, a smile tugging at her mouth. "Hermione..." Draco says, and her brows lift at the use of her name. He pauses, takes a breath, then opens his mouth again. "I am so terribly sorry. I don't think I can ever express how sorry I am."

She gives him a quizzical look, and presses her lips to his wrist and his breath catches. "For what?"

Flashes of Hogwarts run through Draco's mind. The name calling at the Hogwarts Express, taunting at the bleachers during quidditch matches. He hears her screams as his aunt cut into her flesh, the obscene words forever etched into her arm, and he grimaces.

"For everything," he replies, his voice low. "For not being a decent fucking person. For watching you get tortured, for verbally torturing you all those years ago. I didn't know better, but I should have, and...I'm sorry."

The apology tastes like ash in his mouth. It wasn't enough; words could never be enough to mend the pain he had caused her for all those years. It could not erase the evil he had done, the harm he had allowed to happen. He should be thanking his lucky stars she even lets him get this close to him.

"Thank you," she replies, eyes watching him cautiously. "That means...a great deal."

They fall silent, Hermione's eyes stuck on his face as he avoids her gaze, instead staring intently at their hands. Leaning forward, she cages his face with her fingers, forcing him to look at her and she laughs lightly. The sound is sweet, like church bells on Easter morning. He hopes he can hear it again.

And then she kisses him, her lips a mix of wine and sleep, and as he kisses her back, his hands moving into her hair, he thinks he can almost drown in her if he tries.