One.
She’s rubbing her hands together, letting out a breath, and the puff of air she lets out mingling with the cold. She hears the crunch of leaves as he approaches and throws more wood onto the fire.
“Fucking hell, could Potter and Weasley hurry up?” he bites, sitting down beside her on the log, but there’s no real anger in his voice.
“I casted a warming charm around the area,” she tells him, still rubbing her hands together.
He grunts, holding the locket — hocrux hanging from his neck. Harry and Ron went deeper into the forest, checking for any signs of snatchers or anyone and anything that could potentially harm them or blow their cover. They’ve been setting up wards, too. The hunt for Hocruxes is wearing everyone down.
“Where’s your gloves?”
She looks at Draco and gives a shrug, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I lost it on the way here.”
He lets out a noise, “You have almost fucking everything inside that bag of yours, but you couldn’t even bring an extra pair of gloves?” he asked in annoyance.
She rolled her eyes, stuffing her hands inside her jacket. “Extra pair of gloves aren’t on my top list of concerns, Malfoy.”
It was cold, she didn’t know the day anymore, but she knew the climate. The temperature. Fucking freezing, Draco had told her. Warming charms didn’t do any good, really.
“You should stay inside,” he tells her, bumping her head with the shoulder it laid on.
“It’s fine, Draco. It’s just a pair of gloves. It’s not like my hands would freeze off,” she retorts, poking his chest.
She hears an annoyed noise from him and she just smiles at him. His shoulders move as he stretches his arms, before removing the leathered gloves from his hands. Removing her head from his shoulder, thinking he was going to rewear his gloves more comfortably, she shifts in her weight and sits back straight.
The gloves land on her palm, however, and she gives him a confused look. “Your hands would get cold, Draco.”
He gave her a look that didn’t leave any space for questioning. She just stared dumbly at the gloves before he murmurs something under his breath, Brightest Witch of Her Age couldn’t even figure out how to wear damn gloves . She’s about to tell her that she knows how when he softly and slowly grabs her hand and slips it in the gloves. He does it to both of her hands.
She feels the roughness of the material and the little holes it bore because of being used almost every day. She clenched her fist, welcoming the warmth.
“You think they’re about to be back soon?” he asks her, bringing his hands back to his lap.
She shifts her weight again, leaning her head against his shoulder, “I would hope so, I’m getting tired. I can’t keep watch for another hour,” she tells him tiredly.
He hums, “I’m sleeping on the bed this time, Granger. You sleep on the floor.”
She scoffs at that, before grabbing his hands. She wraps her gloved hands around his and holds him tight. She doesn’t want him to get cold.
Two.
“Want to play 20 questions?” she asks him, as they all sat outside, the fire cackling.
He nods. They always did this whenever they needed to be awake but couldn’t fight off the sleep. She does it with Harry, with Ron, with Draco. They do it all together, sometimes she does it alone.
She gave a soft smile. They were all tired and drained. It was the final night before they all moved to another location, one where Harry figures a Hocrux might be. They all agreed to keep watch for an hour before Hermione and Draco switched with Harry and Ron. Hermione admits she misses the youth she once had with them. Now, it was all battered with the worries and fears of war.
“20 questions. To keep us awake for another hour,” she tells him softly, bumping his shoulders.
Across her, Harry is looking through maps and books while Ron is silently munching a piece of bread beside Harry.
“Hmm, sounds fun,” he says sarcastically.
She slaps his shoulder, “Indulge me.”
She was asking him his 17th question as she racks her brain as to what she could possibly ask him.
“Not wanting to waste any question, no?” he asks her, grinning at the look on her face.
She rolls her eyes. “Any secret you want to tell me?”
“It’s not a secret if I tell you,” he says smartly and she groans.
“Ha ha, didn’t know that. Now spill.”
He is quiet for a while. She waits for his answer, but Harry calls them.
“‘Mione, Malfoy, you could head inside the tent. Ron and I would keep watch,” Harry says, closing the book he held.
She nods, standing up, approaching her 2 best friends and kissing their foreheads. She waits for Draco before entering the tent and warmth immediately envelopes her.
She is about to sit on the chair, removing her boots, when he suddenly speaks, catching her off guard.
“It’s nice,” he says out of the blue.
She pauses and turns to look at him, “What is?”
He smiles, “You want to know a secret? It’s nice being friends with you, Hermione Granger.”
Three.
The sky is dark pink as the sun sinks before her. She is at the Astronomy Tower, sitting at one of the ruined spots, her legs dangling in the air.
The War was over. Harry Potter had won.
She smiles wistfully, running her hand through her hair. She would never forget the screams of victory and the hugs and tears she had shared with Ron and Harry the moment they all found each other in the middle of the Great Hall.
As much as she wants to celebrate, she’s exhausted and tired. She’s been running on fear and anxiety, along with not more than 3 hours of sleep the past months. She wants time for herself. She realizes she can have that now.
She’s alone for how long, she doesn’t know, until someone sits beside her and she knows it’s him before she sees him.
“You’re here,” he says.
She nods, looking at him. Draco had a scar running from his temple down to his cheekbone. Blood dried up on the corner of his lips and he was bruised. A faint smile is on his lips. She thinks he’s beautiful.
“You found me,” she tells him softly, not looking away.
They sit quietly beside each other, the peaceful silence settling between them.
“Can you believe it?” she asks him, running her hands through the rough patches where they sit.
“It’s over now,” he tells her.
She smiles, nodding, and before she knows it she’s crying. “It is. Fuck, it is. Harry did it, we did it,” she tries to tell him, but it is muffled as he pulls her to his chest.
“We did, Hermione. We did.”
He doesn’t pull her away, she stays there against his chest.
“What are your plans?” she asks him with a watery voice.
“Hmm. I’ll visit the Manor first. Kingsley says they need to check the Manor for any remnants or artifacts since he stayed there. They asked if I could…,” he trails off, and she hears an uncertainty in his voice.
Draco Malfoy was brave, walking away from everything he believed in.
She nods, “I could go with you, if you’d want.”
He hums against her, “What about you? Any plans?”
“Not really. I think it's time to heal. I need that. And… I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out yet,” she tells him honestly. She hasn’t had the time to even think about what she would do once they did win, once it’s all over.
He nods, and suddenly pulls away. He gives her a soft smile, before kissing her forehead. He lingers there, she intertwines their fingers together. He looks at her then, a gaze pinning her to where she is and she swallows a breath.
“Thank you,” he tells her. “For being a friend.”
For believing in me, for trusting in me, for helping me, for being with me.
Four.
Ron and Harry are her best friends. Draco could be a best friend. He was something she couldn’t define.
Being with him during the war, seeing and learning life through him, along with Harry and Ron, shifted something in her.
Draco is a friend, she settles for that definition. A friend she wants to keep forever.
Five.
He kisses her on her birthday.
They are now 23, and Hermione is sure she’s in love. But she doesn’t say anything — doesn’t let him know. He’s always been a constant part of her life. In the War, in the healing, in the moving on.
He takes her out to dinner on the night of her birthday, just like he always does when they are both free.
They ate in an Italian restaurant near her flat. The food was great, but talking to Draco Malfoy was greater.
He walked her back home, and they stopped at her porch as she looked at him.
“Thank you for tonight, Draco,” she tells him, smiling.
He gives her a smirk, “Was it the Italian?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Maybe.”
They stand outside, staring at each other. She’s about to say goodbye when he suddenly steps closer, enclosing his fingers around her hand.
“Let’s play a game, Hermione,” he says quietly, Hermione almost missed it.
Confused, but a smile on her face, she nods, not really knowing what to say. “Okay.”
“20 questions?”
She snorts at that, “Really?” she asks in amusement.
He just shrugs and tells her like the old times . She smiles at that, crossing her arms. He signals her to go first, and she tries to think of a question.
“Did you have fun tonight?” she asks him, as she sits down on one of the steps.
He follows suit, his laughter ringing in the air. She pushes him playfully. She didn’t have any questions she wanted to ask, really.
“I did,” he says smiling. He grows quiet then, and Hermione was about to remind him that it’s his turn to ask when he spoke. “Would you let me kiss you?”
She almost snaps her neck when she looks at him. She gives him a look of surprise, and he just smirks at her.
“What?” she says dumbly.
“I’ll count that as a question, Granger,” he says, poking her nose. “Although it isn’t your turn yet. Will you let me kiss you?”
He asks her again and she thinks really, there’s nothing to lose. It’s not like she hasn’t imagined this before. Doesn’t want it.
So she nods slowly, and tentatively says a yes.
He lets out a breath, which sounds like a sound of relief, really. “My turn again, yes?” he says and she doesn’t even fight him on that.
He inches closer, their faces inches apart. They’ve been physically close to each other even before, but this time, without the war, this time they’re both 23, she allows herself to really look at him. He was beautiful in the moonlight.
“Am I more than a friend to you, Hermione?” he whispers in her ear, his lips lingering there.
She unconsciously grips his shoulder because she feels like drowning. Was he more than a friend? She thinks back to all the moments spent with him. At this point, he is her lifeline.
She pulls away, and he looks at her, gaze heavy. She bites her lips before intertwining their hands together slowly. The feeling was different this time. He lets her, and Hermione feels all the weight off of her shoulder.
“You are,” she tells him honestly.
His smile rivals the sun and then he kisses her. She then decides that nothing is better than kissing Draco Malfoy.
Six.
They date for 3 years, which seems like the past 7 years of their life, really.
He proposed on a cold winter night as they were walking through the snow.
Hands intertwined, scarfs muffling their voices, he tells her he’s thankful her hands keep his warm. She laughs at that, thinking about one of the moments with him shelved in her brain — he gave her his gloves to keep her warm. She asks jokingly if that was all she was to him. He smiles at her, telling her she was his friend, his lover.
She didn’t get the chance to reply when he told her in the cold Marry me . His face looked like he had thought of the most brilliant idea ever. She looked surprised, and he grabbed her face with gloved hands, running his fingers along her cheekbones. He asked her, Will you marry me? You’re everything to me.
She says yes. What else would she say?
Seven.
She wakes up, stretching her back, and her hands accidentally hit something solid. She hears a groan beside her and she suppresses a smile, turning on her side to look at him.
His hair was plastered all over his forehead, his features soft and calm. She smiles at him, running her hands through his hair. It was sweaty.
His arm around her tightens, pulling her closer, “Hermione…” he murmured against her neck sleepily.
She kisses his forehead, gripping his arm around her, “I love you,” she tells him.
He opens his eyes groggily, blinking a few, before finally looking at her properly. His grin is lopsided as he pulls her on top of him and kisses her soundly.
His fingers run on her spine, and she almost moans at the way he was kissing her neck.
“Draco,” she whispers when he bites her neck.
“I have you the whole week,” he tells her, before licking the column of her throat and kissing it.
“I’m looking forward to it,” she says raspily, before pulling away, setting back down on her side. She wanted to, really, but she was still sore.
He seems to notice because he laughs, lazily wrapping his arm around her shoulder, “Later?” he asks.
“Yes, I’m still sore, you prat,” she tells him.
He smirks at her, “Well I did promise and vowed to give you mind-blowing sex every time.”
“And our friends didn’t need to know that!” she says at him, laughing.
She remembers his vow, it was hard not to. Promises of forever and keeping her safe. Promises of love and apologies and making up with her whenever he messes up. Promises of pleasing her and sex, which she groaned and rolled her eyes at, while their friends laughed. Gratitude for loving him. Gratitude for being with him since then. Thankful that she led him to see the light, and later he told her she was the light. Lucky that she was his wife now, his lover, his friend. He tells her, finishing it off, that it was beautiful, fulfilling, and nice.
Indeed, it was nice.