Forgive and Forget (Chapter 18)
Chapter 18: Checkmate
Sweet, there is nothing left to say
But this, that love is never lost,
Keen winter stabs the breasts of May
Whose crimson roses burst his frost,
Ships tempest-tossed
Will find a harbour in some bay,
And so we may.
And there is nothing left to do
But to kiss once again, and part,
Nay, there is nothing we should rue,
I have my beauty, - you your Art,
Nay, do not start,
One world was not enough for two
Like me and you.
~ From “Her Voice” by Oscar Wilde
For a few moments, it seemed as if time had stopped.
Narcissa Malfoy remained as cool and collected as any aristocratic, pureblood witch was expected to be, but Draco could feel the rage emanating from her slender frame. She glared at Hermione as if she were an annoying insect that she wanted to squash with her stylish, fifty-galleon shoes. Meanwhile, Hermione stared brazenly back at the older woman, a flicker of anxiety in her eyes.
Draco cleared his throat, an action that drew his mother's attention away from Hermione and fixed it back upon him.
"Draco dear," Narcissa said in a sweet, yet deadly tone, "would you allow me to take you out for a lunch to celebrate your victory? Unless you are too...preoccupied."
She glowered at Hermione once more.
"Of course not, Mother," he said quickly, eager to put some distance between her and Hermione. "Why don't we go to Hogsmeade? I'll go change and meet you outside the front gate."
Narcissa nodded, and with one last malevolent look in Hermione's direction, she began walking briskly towards the front gates of Hogwarts. Once his mother had gone, Draco turned to Hermione.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, but as he prepared to leave, she grasped his hand tightly in hers.
"Draco..."
"Don't worry," he said, giving her hand a brief squeeze. "Everything will be fine."
He was lying and they both knew it, but she merely nodded and watched him take off in the direction of the Slytherin changing rooms. Once inside, he quickly stripped off his Quidditch gear, changed into fresh robes, and splashed water on his face. Then, unable to delay the inevitable any longer, he went to meet his mother outside the front gates.
While the two Malfoys strode down the road to Hogsmeade, a tense silence permeated the air between them. Narcissa held her head high, her elegant black robes fluttering around her in the spring breeze. Her face was as cold and expressionless as stone, but Draco knew that internally she was seething.
"Where would you like to eat?" she asked once they had reached Hogsmeade.
Draco wordlessly led her into the Three Broomsticks. He knew there were more high-class dining establishments in the village, but he thought he would be more comfortable eating at the familiar haunt...or at least as comfortable as he could be given the circumstances. He led the way to a table in a quiet corner at the back of the pub, and was not surprised when his mother curled her lip in disgust at her surroundings. She quickly scanned her chair for cleanliness before sitting upon it with the grace a queen ascending her throne.
Conversation was delayed for a little longer while Draco snagged a passing waiter and ordered two warm butter beers. The beverages were brought out, and for a few minutes, the two of them sat quietly sipping, the tension mounting.
It didn't take long for the silence to start eating away at Draco. At that moment, he realized he had definitely been spending too much time with Hermione and her ceaseless chatter, because the need to say something - anything - was overwhelming him.
"I wasn't expecting you to be at my Quidditch match today," he blurted out finally.
"That much was obvious," Narcissa responded with a smirk.
Everyone always assumed Draco had inherited his trademark smirk from his father, but that couldn't be further from the truth. In fact, as much as Draco resembled Lucius in appearance, his personality was more similar to his mother's. While Lucius had a wrathful temper, Narcissa's icy, calculated brand of anger could intimidate more people than her husband's could. Draco knew this because he often used the exact same intimidation tactics, and he had learned them from the best.
"Why did you come?" he asked. "You've never taken much of an interest in Quidditch before."
"Does a mother need an excuse to support her son in his extracurricular pursuits?" she asked, arching one delicate golden eyebrow at him. "I thought you would be happy to have at least one of your parents attend the most important match of your school Quidditch career. Your father so wished that he could come...though now I'm glad he wasn't there to see the spectacle you made of yourself this morning."
Narcissa let out a weary sigh.
"Draco, I know that your father and I have made your life difficult at times, especially in the past couple of years. But the reason we turned against the Dark Lord was because we wanted you to have a better life, an easier life."
"Life isn't easy," Draco muttered, "and nothing you and Father do can change that for me."
To his surprise, his mother smiled sadly.
"You've grown up so much. You're not a boy anymore; you're a man. You have had to make so many difficult decisions - more difficult than anyone your age should ever have to make."
Draco fell silent, processing her words. It was true that there had been many choices for him to make in the past few years. In that respect, perhaps he and Harry Potter were not that different after all. The difference was that Draco had made all the wrong choices...to accept the assignment to kill Dumbledore, to attempt capturing Potter in the Room of Requirement, to allow his aunt to torture Hermione near the point of death....This last choice in particular still weighed upon his conscience, and he had a feeling that it would be a long time before the memory of it ceased to haunt his dreams.
He glanced up and saw his mother piercing him with her steady blue gaze.
"Draco, what is the nature of your relationship with the Granger girl?"
"I don't know what you're trying to imply, Mother. Hermione and I are just friends."
Narcissa's eyes narrowed.
"Do not toy with me, Draco. I was a witness to your vulgar display in front of the entire school a few minutes ago." She paused for a moment. "Are you...intimate with her?"
Draco nearly groaned out loud at the awkward turn this conversation had taken. He stared down into his mug of butter beer, wishing it contained enough liquid for him to drown himself in.
"I really don't think that's any of your business," he said finally. In spite of his respectful tone, Narcissa reacted indignantly to his statement.
"Draco, you are my son. No matter how old you are, you will always be ‘my business'. Now, if you are sleeping around with that insolent little Mudblood...."
He flinched upon hearing that slur - a reaction that his mother did not fail to notice. The corners of her mouth turned downward in despair.
"It is worse than I thought," she murmured. "You actually care for the girl. Oh Draco, how could you be so foolish? Surely you haven't been laboring under the illusion that you and Hermione Granger could have a future together?"
Draco scowled at her.
"Of course not," he muttered. "I'm not that naive."
"I'm not so sure about that. You are an intelligent young man, but you are not as knowledgeable in the ways of the world as you think you are. If you were, you would immediately realize that the two of you could never be. Think about it, my dear; think about the world you come from. Where would that Mud- Muggleborn fit in?"
"Times are changing," said Draco. "The concept of blood purity is no longer acceptable in most of the wizarding world. Eventually, Pureblood families will have to give in to this new way of thinking, and Hermione will no longer be considered an outcast in our society."
"Some things will never change," his mother persisted. "Your father's position on this matter is one of them. He would never accept that girl into our family; you know this. He may even disinherit you if you decided to marry her someday. You may think your feelings for the girl would compensate for the loss of your family and your way of life, but eventually you would grow to resent her for it. And she, being the high and mighty person that she is, would be eaten up with guilt. The two of you would be all alone with no one to accept or support you."
"That's not true," he said stubbornly. "Her friends accept me."
"Do they? Do they really, Draco?"
He blinked, desperately trying to hide the look of uncertainty that sprang to his face. As usual, his mother didn't miss it for a moment.
"Ah yes, I see," she said, her tone becoming sarcastic. "So Harry Potter is singing your praises and the Weasley family is holding tea parties in your honor?"
"With time...."
"With time nothing. People like Hermione Granger and Harry Potter see the world in black and white. A part of them will always see you as a Death Eater, and they will never forget that you and your family once supported the Dark Lord. Granger's friends may humor her by acting civil towards you and inviting you to their little social gatherings, but you would never truly belong to their world. You would always be considered an outsider to them. And with time, you would learn to resent her for that, too."
Draco wanted to continue arguing with his mother's point of view, but he felt as if he was grasping at straws. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, he could see a grain of truth in her words, and it made his stomach lurch unpleasantly. Upon seeing his pained expression, his mother reached across the table to cover his hand with hers.
"My dear, I don't mean to upset you with all of this," she said gently. "I love you, and I only want what is best for you. I don't want to see you get hurt."
Draco stared at her for a few moments, trying to form an appropriate response to her statement. He could find none.
"I have to go," he said, tossing a few sickles on the table and standing to leave.
"But Draco, I promised to buy you lunch." Narcissa glanced down at the menu lying on the table before her. "Though I doubt this establishment has anything remotely edible...."
Draco shook his head.
"I'm not hungry."
"Very well," she said, rising to her feet. "Then I suppose it would be pointless for me to stay."
Narcissa followed her son out of the Three Broomsticks and onto the sunny main street of Hogsmeade.
"I will see you at the ceremony tomorrow," she said as she prepared to depart.
"What ceremony?" Draco asked, puzzled.
"Draco, tomorrow is the Second of May. Surely you haven't forgotten the significance of that date."
"The anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. How could I forget?" he muttered. Then he gazed quizzically at his mother. "You're planning to be there?"
"Of course. As the only members of the Malfoy family who are free to do so, we will be expected to make an appearance."
"Well, that should be sufficiently awkward," Draco said bitterly. He was pretty certain that everyone present would consider him and his mother hypocrites for attending the ceremony. While he didn't envy his father for being under house arrest, he I>did envy him for having a legitimate excuse to miss the event.
"Nevertheless, it is crucial that we send a message to the wizarding community letting them know that our family has reformed our ways," Narcissa stated.
"What a pretty little lie," Draco said with a scoff, causing his mother to give him a sharp look.
"Draco, I can see your view of the world is changing, and I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. However...some aspects of the world do not change as quickly as we would like."
Her expression softened into one of concern as she continued.
"I can't help but feel that things would end badly if you decided to pursue a serious relationship with Hermione Granger. If you truly care for the girl, you will let her go...if not for your own happiness, then for hers."
Draco merely gazed back at her, trying to keep his expression blank in order to hide the inner turmoil he was experiencing. As his mother withdrew her wand and prepared to Disapparate, Draco steeled himself to ask her the one question that had been weighing on his mind ever since she had first appeared on the Quidditch pitch that morning.
"Will you tell Father?"
Narcissa hesitated, considering her response. Finally, she said, "No, I won't tell him."
Draco couldn't help letting out a sigh of relief, but a frown furrowed his mother's aristocratic brow.
"Draco, I should tell you that your father is not well. His confinement has started to have an effect on his health. It would not be good for him to suffer any further...disappointment."
"Father's disappointment in me isn't exactly a new occurrence," he grumbled.
Narcissa sighed, her eyes full of sadness and affection as she reached out and brushed her son's cheek with the back of her hand.
"Your father is so proud of you, Draco. I know he never says so, but you must realize that he is. And he loves you more than you can possibly know. We both do."
Then she Disapparated, leaving Draco alone with his very troubled thoughts.
When Hermione entered the Great Hall for dinner that evening, a buzz of whispering voices rippled through the room like wildfire. She just ignored it. Being the best friend of Harry Potter meant t she was used to occasionally getting caught in the spotlight (such as the time during her Fourth Year when Rita Skeeter had written that scathing article about her). What she could not avoid, however, were the questioning looks and sideways glances of her friends as she sat down with Ginny, Dean, and Luna at the Gryffindor table.
"So you and Malfoy, huh?" Dean asked after a few moments of awkward silence.
Hermione raised her eyebrows at the dark-skinned boy as she ladled some mashed potatoes onto her dinner plate.
"I suppose you could say that."
"Since when?"
Hermione and Ginny shared a look, and Dean nodded in comprehension.
"You women and your secrets," he said, rolling his eyes. "Well, I probably wouldn't have wanted to know half the things that went on between you and Malfoy anyway."
"I think it's lovely," said Luna, helping herself to a large quantity of pudding. "And the way he kissed you after the match this morning was so romantic."
"I have to admit, that kiss was pretty amazing," Ginny added. Then her pretty face creased into a frown. "But I wonder what his mother will have to say about it."
Hermione's expression darkened.
"I don't know. I just hope she wasn't too hard on Draco."
Draco had been mysteriously absent since he left the school grounds with his mother that morning. Hermione still winced when she thought about how the Malfoy matriarch had caught her and Draco snogging each other senseless on the Quidditch pitch, and she wondered what Narcissa had said to him afterwards. She was sure the conversation had been anything but pleasant, but before she could think about the matter any further, Professor McGonagall rose from her seat and cleared her throat for attention.
"I have a few announcements to make," the Headmistress said once the Great Hall had fallen silent. "First of all, I would like to once again congratulate Slytherin House for winning the Quidditch Championship."
The Slytherins in the room broke out into riotous cheers while the other three houses added some polite applause of their own. Gone were the days when the inter-house rivalries were so fierce that everyone booed the Slytherins' successes. Professor McGonagall waited until the students settled down before speaking once more.
"Secondly, I would like to remind all of you about the important event that is happening tomorrow, May Second."
The room became quieter still as everyone recalled the significance of the date.
"As some of you may already know, Hogwarts will play host to a memorial service for those who were lost in the final battle with Voldemort one year ago. During the service, the Ministry will be erecting a monument on the school grounds to commemorate the battle, and I expect all of you to be in attendance and on your best behavior for the ceremony."
Professor McGonagall went on to make a few additional announcements regarding the schedule for the upcoming O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examinations, to a chorus of despairing groans and long-suffering sighs from the students. When she had finished speaking, the room burst into conversation once more.
"I can't believe it's already been one year since the battle," Hermione mused. She turned to Ginny. "Your family will be coming to Hogwarts for the ceremony, right?"
"Yes," said Ginny. "Everyone except for Fleur, that is."
Fleur had begun her maternity leave two weeks before, and in the meantime, Professor McGonagall had resumed the post of Transfiguration professor. The difficult lesson plans and massive quantities of homework she assigned made everyone wish that they could have Professor Weasley back instead, with or without her raging pregnant-Veela hormones.
"Does that mean Ron will be there, too?" Luna asked suddenly.
"Oh...um, yeah."
Ginny shot an anxious glance in Hermione's direction.
"I suppose he'll be coming with Corianna Warbeck," Hermione said, trying to maintain a casual tone of voice.
"No, he won't be," said Ginny. "Ron isn't dating Corianna anymore. They broke up."
"I see. I suppose she got sick of him and moved on to another ‘boy-toy'? I can't say I didn't see that one coming."
Ginny shook her head again.
"According to what Harry told me, it was the other way around. All I know is that Ron broke up with Corianna, and he said something about it being a big mistake for him to have dated her in the first place."
Hermione had a feeling Ginny wasn't telling the whole story, but at the moment, she didn't feel like pressing the issue. She was too busy thinking about how much had changed since the final battle. At the same time last year, defeating Voldemort had been nearly the entire focus of her existence, she and Ron had been reaching the tentative beginning of their relationship, and she had still considered Draco Malfoy an enemy. Now Voldemort was nothing but a bad memory, she and Ron had parted ways, and she and Draco were....Were what, exactly?
They were obviously more than just "good friends" now. Yet while they sometimes behaved like a couple, she couldn't technically call Draco her boyfriend. They had never even agreed to remain exclusive, though she currently had no desire to be with anyone else, and she had a feeling that Draco felt the same way.
But for how long? she asked herself.
Hermione shook her head to clear it. She had known what she was getting into with Draco; they had both known that anything that happened between them could only be temporary. He had warned her that he could never love her, could never have a future with her, and foolish as it was to do so, she had accepted him anyway....
But she hadn't counted on falling in love with him.
She needed to talk to him. But Draco was still missing and instead of worrying her, his absence was beginning to irk her instead.
"Where is he?" she muttered. She glanced towards the large wooden doors of the Great Hall for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, hoping to see the familiar flash of his platinum hair as he entered the room.
"Who? Malfoy?" Dean asked, overhearing her. "If his mum's as scary as mine is when she's in a strop, then he's still recovering from this morning. Probably went off somewhere to clear his head."
At Dean's words, Hermione had a sudden flashback to something Draco had said the day he first took her to his family's summer home in Dover:
"Sometimes I still come here if I want to be alone for a bit, to clear my thoughts...."
"Of course!" she said, clapping her hand to her forehead. "Why didn't I think of it sooner?"
Her friends stared at her in bewilderment as she leapt to her feet.
"I'll see all of you later," she called over her shoulder as she made her way out of the Great Hall.
Within minutes, she had left the grounds of Hogwarts and Apparated to the Malfoy's summer home. When she approached the front door of the large cottage, she found it unlocked and unwarded, and knew that Draco must still be inside. Her suspicions were confirmed when she slowly opened the door and found the interior lights aglow.
"Draco?" she called out tentatively. There was no response. She wandered through the first floor of the house, but all of the rooms were unoccupied. When she reached the sitting room, she saw that one of the French doors leading to the terrace was ajar and pushed it open.
Draco was sitting at a table on the terrace, staring out over the water. The sun was just sinking below the horizon, tingeing the sky with pink and gold hues. The rose bushes that adorned the Malfoy gardens had begun to bloom, and the air was laced with their delicate musk. With the gentle breeze and the rhythmic sound of waves crashing on the shore, it made for a deceptively peaceful setting. If Hermione didn't know any better, she would have thought Draco was simply enjoying the sunset.
Draco remained motionless as she approached, and if it weren't for his white-blond hair stirring in the breeze, she would have thought he was a statue. She sat across from him, noticing for the first time that his expensive white and green chess set was sprawled out on the table. He had obviously been playing against the game itself, much like a Muggle would play against his computer. His green king piece stood alone on the board with his sword lying at his feet.
"Checkmate," Draco said quietly, breaking the heavy silence. He finally turned to look at Hermione, the sunset casting a mysterious glow in his silver eyes. "I've always thought chess is a strange game, the way the king is never actually captured or killed. He just runs out of moves, runs out of places to escape to...and when he finally has nowhere left to go, the game is over. It's the only game I know of that ends in surrender."
He picked his king piece up off the board and twirled it idly between his fingers. Hermione watched him, uncertain of how to proceed. Draco seemed so distant, so closed off, that it was hard to reconcile him with the man that she had come to know over the past six months. The coldness in his eyes was reminiscent of the old Draco, and that disconcerted her.
"Draco, we need to talk," she said softly.
"‘We need to talk'?" he repeated. One corner of his mouth quirked momentarily, but he failed to pull it into a full smirk. "When will you women learn that those four words make a guy want to run and hide faster than Severus Snape being threatened with a bottle of shampoo?"
Hermione frowned. She knew Draco was trying to cover up the situation with his usual sarcasm, but she wasn't going to let him get away with it this time.
"Draco, what happened with your mother this morning? How did she react?"
His half-hearted smirk instantly turned into a scowl.
"How do you think she reacted?"
Hermione swallowed, her throat feeling as dry as sandpaper.
"Why are you acting this way? What's wrong with you?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"But if I can help in any way - "
"I don't need your help, Granger," he spat, tossing his king piece back down on the table.
Hermione flinched. It was unusual for Draco to call her by her surname these days; the only time he ever did was when he was either angry or teasing, and she had a feeling that he was not in a teasing mood. At the hurt expression on her face, Draco's eyes softened somewhat. He sighed and rose to his feet.
"I'm going to sleep here tonight," he said. "You should go back to Hogwarts."
With that he walked back into the house, effectively dismissing her. Hermione's emotions rapidly shifted from hurt to anger as she shoved her chair back from the table and stood to follow him.
"So that's it, then?" she asked.
"Yes, that's it," he said, making his way through the house and towards the stairs leading to the second floor.
"Draco, I'm not going to let you walk away from me without discussing this first..."
He froze with one foot on the bottom stair and his hand on the banister, turning to glare at her.
"Last time I checked, I don't take orders from you," he said coldly. "I'm not a mindless buffoon like Potter or Weasley. Just do me a favor and leave me alone."
He then continued his ascent up the staircase, with Hermione determinedly trailing after him. She followed him into the cream-and-gold colored bedroom that they had shared during the Easter holiday, watching as he flung open the window to air out the stuffy space. The scent of roses drifted in with the evening air.
Draco ignored Hermione's presence in the doorway and began flinging off his robes and loosening the buttons of his shirt. He then pulled a pair of black pajama bottoms out of a drawer in his dresser and continued to strip down to his boxers. Hermione bit her lower lip, trying to avoid looking at Draco's pale, chiseled body as he removed his clothing. Despite her anger at him and the uncertainty of their present situation, she couldn't help feeling a thrum of desire at the sight of his half-naked form. Once he had donned his pajama pants, he whirled to face her once more.
"Why are you still here? Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?"
"Stop acting like this!" she hissed. "It's not like you."
"Not like me? Clearly, you haven't known me for the past eight years," he said sarcastically, whipping his silk robe out of the wardrobe and shoving his arms through the sleeves.
"That's not the type of person you are anymore. I thought we'd been through this already..."
"You don't get it. I'll never be able to live up to your high expectations. You call me a puzzle as if there's some sort of solution for what I am, but there's not. There's no way to undo all the stupid things I've done, all the bad choices I've made. Dragons can't change their scales, Hermione."
Hermione blinked up at him, his last statement triggering a memory in the recesses of her mind. Where had she heard that phrase before? She seemed to recall Ron having once said the exact same thing, and she found it ironic that the two men unknowingly agreed on something.
"You're wrong," she said, stepping closer to Draco. "People can change, as long as they're willing to put the past behind them."
She gasped in surprise when he suddenly gripped her shoulders, his silver eyes flashing with anger.
"What do you know about it?" he growled. "Perfect little Hermione Granger who can do no wrong...You've probably never made a bad decision in your life."
"You can't possibly believe that."
"Well I do," he continued, his grip on her shoulders tightening to the point where it was almost painful. "You think you can change me, make me a better person? What gave you the right to mess around with my life? I had everything figured out before you came along. Now my mother knows about us. And thank Merlin she's not going to tell my father, because if he found out...."
Draco paused, his breath coming out in hot, ragged puffs against Hermione's face.
"Perhaps, if you explained it to him..." she began.
He let out a mirthless laugh.
"What? Tell my father that I have feelings for a Muggleborn?"
"Of course not," Hermione whispered, suddenly feeling foolish. "You can't even tell me that you love me."
She felt a few tears trail down her cheeks, and at the sight of them, Draco's anger seemed to waver slightly, his voice losing the hard edge it had contained before.
"I told you that I don't know how to love - at least, not in the way that you're looking for." His eyes fell closed. "Why couldn't you just go on hating me like you did before?"
"I couldn't hate the person you've become, Draco. I already told you...I love you."
Draco's eyes snapped open, and he gave her shoulders a frustrated shake.
"Why do you keep saying that?"
"Because it's true," she said, sobbing miserably. "Believe me, it's the last thing I wanted, and I know it's the last thing you wanted, but it's true."
For a few seconds Draco just stared at her, his face contorted in a mixture of anger and some other emotion that Hermione could not discern...pain, perhaps? Then, all of the tension seemed to drain out of him, and he bent to rest his forehead against hers.
"Shit," he muttered. Hermione didn't admonish him for swearing, thinking that the word pretty much summed up their entire situation. With a sigh, he dropped his hands from her shoulders and wrapped them around her torso, pulling her body flush against his and tucking her head beneath his chin.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair as she continued crying against him. "Shit, Hermione, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."
She shook her head, her face buried in the crook of his neck.
"No," she said, "I shouldn't have let things go this far."
She wanted so badly to hate him as she once had, but she couldn't. Although it was only going to make her life - and his - more complicated, she loved Draco, and the only person she could think to hate for that fact was herself. After awhile her tears slowed, and she regained the ability to speak.
"We can't go on like this," she murmured.
"I know."
"Maybe it would be better for both of us if we just...."
Hermione swallowed hard, unable to complete her sentence. She felt Draco tighten his grip around her waist.
"I know," he said, "I know."
"Do you regret it?" she asked, her voice muffled against the warm skin of his neck. "Do you regret ever having been with me?"
Draco stiffened and pulled away so that he could study her face.
"Do you?"
His characteristic method of twisting her question around would have made her laugh under normal circumstances. Instead she gazed up at him steadily, her eyes still blurred with tears.
"No. I don't believe in having regrets."
"The only people who say that are the people who haven't done anything really worth regretting," Draco said with a touch of envy in his voice.
"And you have?"
"Yes, more times than I can count."
Hermione repeated the one question that she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer to.
"But do you regret being with me?"
Draco held her gaze for a moment and then shook his head.
"Why not?" she asked.
He reached up to brush the remaining tears off her cheeks.
"Because of all the choices I've ever made, you were the only right one."
Hermione could find no words to express the emotions that she felt when he said this, but she was spared the need to speak when Draco bent to brush his lips against hers. His kiss was as light as a whisper, and if it was true that every kiss had a meaning behind it, she thought that this one felt like a fond farewell.
She refused to let that be the case.
Hermione pressed her mouth insistently against Draco's, burying her fingers in his silky hair to keep him from pulling away. She needn't have bothered. The moment she tried deepening the kiss, he immediately responded in kind. In a heartbeat his hands were tangled in her curls, his lips moving against hers with an intensity that nearly left her breathless.
A soft moan escaped her lips as she felt his hands leave her hair, her robes being tugged away and dropped on the floor, her blouse being frantically unbuttoned. In Draco's haste to remove the garment, a few of the buttons popped off and fell to the floor, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She was so consumed with desire that she almost forgot the need to breathe.
Draco finally pulled his lips away from hers long enough to murmur, "Just for tonight, pretend that we have all the time in the world."
Hermione recognised her own words from the night they had spent in the handfasting cave. Yet, before she could fully process this fact, he ripped her blouse off her shoulders and bent down to fasten his mouth on her collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark. He moved further south to the tops of her breasts, covering them with fierce, open-mouthed kisses that made her wonder if he was trying to memorise the taste of her skin or brand her with the memory of his touch. Perhaps it was a combination of both.
There was a chaotic blur of pants, socks, and knickers being thrown to the floor as they were both divested of their clothing so fast that Hermione thought it might have been Vanished off of their bodies. Then she gasped when Draco suddenly scooped her into his arms and carried her across the room with a strength that belied his lean frame. As he lowered her onto the bed, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his body down to cover hers. The need to feel every inch of his skin pressed against hers was almost overwhelming.
Quickly, but somehow not quickly enough for either of them, he was inside of her. Neither of them said anything, but it seemed that for the moment, no words needed to be spoken. They spoke another language entirely - one that consisted of gasps and moans, of lips and fingers burning trails over each other's skin - as they rocked together with a single-minded urgency that bordered on desperation.
Hermione clung to Draco, moving with him as he set a steady rhythm that brought both of them closer to the brink of oblivion. It was an experience unlike any of the other times that she had been with him; it lacked the uncertainty of their first time together, or the thrill of their encounters in the school broom closets. It was mournful and slow, tender and fierce, and as Draco pressed his lips to the throbbing pulse point in her neck, she realized that he was not simply shagging her.
He was making love to her.
She closed her eyes, feeling as if her heart was going to burst.
"Hermione," said Draco, breathing heavily with the labor of his movements. She suddenly felt the warmth of his large hand cupping her chin. "Hermione look at me."
She opened her eyes to meet his, and the moment she did so, she felt a tingle spread throughout her body, making her feel as every nerve was a live wire. And she wondered if Draco was right. Maybe something had happened that night in the handfasting cave. Maybe there had been a magical bond forged between them, and they would spend the rest of their lives trying to understand what it meant....
Again Draco gasped her name, this time in a voice that was both possessive and pleading, and at the sound of it, she shattered, curling her hips into his as she came with a keening cry. Draco followed soon after, gathering her body closer to his as together, they rode out the intense wave of physical pleasure and emotional pain.
As their breathing finally slowed, Hermione gazed into Draco's mercurial eyes and realized that she may never fully understand what had occurred between them over the past six months. And for the first time, she thought that maybe she didn't have to figure it out...that maybe this one puzzle she didn't need to solve. All her life she had focused on the intangibles, but the heat of Draco's body pressed against hers was something tangible, and she held onto it like a lifeline as they made love late into the night, until their limbs were shaking and their throats hoarse from their ravished cries...And neither one of them pretended that they had all the time in the world.
A/N: *cringes* Sorry, but you all knew it was coming! I will reiterate once again that this story will have a happy ending for our favorite couple, even if it doesn't look like that now. I promise!
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Sweet, there is nothing left to say
But this, that love is never lost,
Keen winter stabs the breasts of May
Whose crimson roses burst his frost,
Ships tempest-tossed
Will find a harbour in some bay,
And so we may.
And there is nothing left to do
But to kiss once again, and part,
Nay, there is nothing we should rue,
I have my beauty, - you your Art,
Nay, do not start,
One world was not enough for two
Like me and you.
~ From “Her Voice” by Oscar Wilde
For a few moments, it seemed as if time had stopped.
Narcissa Malfoy remained as cool and collected as any aristocratic, pureblood witch was expected to be, but Draco could feel the rage emanating from her slender frame. She glared at Hermione as if she were an annoying insect that she wanted to squash with her stylish, fifty-galleon shoes. Meanwhile, Hermione stared brazenly back at the older woman, a flicker of anxiety in her eyes.
Draco cleared his throat, an action that drew his mother's attention away from Hermione and fixed it back upon him.
"Draco dear," Narcissa said in a sweet, yet deadly tone, "would you allow me to take you out for a lunch to celebrate your victory? Unless you are too...preoccupied."
She glowered at Hermione once more.
"Of course not, Mother," he said quickly, eager to put some distance between her and Hermione. "Why don't we go to Hogsmeade? I'll go change and meet you outside the front gate."
Narcissa nodded, and with one last malevolent look in Hermione's direction, she began walking briskly towards the front gates of Hogwarts. Once his mother had gone, Draco turned to Hermione.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, but as he prepared to leave, she grasped his hand tightly in hers.
"Draco..."
"Don't worry," he said, giving her hand a brief squeeze. "Everything will be fine."
He was lying and they both knew it, but she merely nodded and watched him take off in the direction of the Slytherin changing rooms. Once inside, he quickly stripped off his Quidditch gear, changed into fresh robes, and splashed water on his face. Then, unable to delay the inevitable any longer, he went to meet his mother outside the front gates.
While the two Malfoys strode down the road to Hogsmeade, a tense silence permeated the air between them. Narcissa held her head high, her elegant black robes fluttering around her in the spring breeze. Her face was as cold and expressionless as stone, but Draco knew that internally she was seething.
"Where would you like to eat?" she asked once they had reached Hogsmeade.
Draco wordlessly led her into the Three Broomsticks. He knew there were more high-class dining establishments in the village, but he thought he would be more comfortable eating at the familiar haunt...or at least as comfortable as he could be given the circumstances. He led the way to a table in a quiet corner at the back of the pub, and was not surprised when his mother curled her lip in disgust at her surroundings. She quickly scanned her chair for cleanliness before sitting upon it with the grace a queen ascending her throne.
Conversation was delayed for a little longer while Draco snagged a passing waiter and ordered two warm butter beers. The beverages were brought out, and for a few minutes, the two of them sat quietly sipping, the tension mounting.
It didn't take long for the silence to start eating away at Draco. At that moment, he realized he had definitely been spending too much time with Hermione and her ceaseless chatter, because the need to say something - anything - was overwhelming him.
"I wasn't expecting you to be at my Quidditch match today," he blurted out finally.
"That much was obvious," Narcissa responded with a smirk.
Everyone always assumed Draco had inherited his trademark smirk from his father, but that couldn't be further from the truth. In fact, as much as Draco resembled Lucius in appearance, his personality was more similar to his mother's. While Lucius had a wrathful temper, Narcissa's icy, calculated brand of anger could intimidate more people than her husband's could. Draco knew this because he often used the exact same intimidation tactics, and he had learned them from the best.
"Why did you come?" he asked. "You've never taken much of an interest in Quidditch before."
"Does a mother need an excuse to support her son in his extracurricular pursuits?" she asked, arching one delicate golden eyebrow at him. "I thought you would be happy to have at least one of your parents attend the most important match of your school Quidditch career. Your father so wished that he could come...though now I'm glad he wasn't there to see the spectacle you made of yourself this morning."
Narcissa let out a weary sigh.
"Draco, I know that your father and I have made your life difficult at times, especially in the past couple of years. But the reason we turned against the Dark Lord was because we wanted you to have a better life, an easier life."
"Life isn't easy," Draco muttered, "and nothing you and Father do can change that for me."
To his surprise, his mother smiled sadly.
"You've grown up so much. You're not a boy anymore; you're a man. You have had to make so many difficult decisions - more difficult than anyone your age should ever have to make."
Draco fell silent, processing her words. It was true that there had been many choices for him to make in the past few years. In that respect, perhaps he and Harry Potter were not that different after all. The difference was that Draco had made all the wrong choices...to accept the assignment to kill Dumbledore, to attempt capturing Potter in the Room of Requirement, to allow his aunt to torture Hermione near the point of death....This last choice in particular still weighed upon his conscience, and he had a feeling that it would be a long time before the memory of it ceased to haunt his dreams.
He glanced up and saw his mother piercing him with her steady blue gaze.
"Draco, what is the nature of your relationship with the Granger girl?"
"I don't know what you're trying to imply, Mother. Hermione and I are just friends."
Narcissa's eyes narrowed.
"Do not toy with me, Draco. I was a witness to your vulgar display in front of the entire school a few minutes ago." She paused for a moment. "Are you...intimate with her?"
Draco nearly groaned out loud at the awkward turn this conversation had taken. He stared down into his mug of butter beer, wishing it contained enough liquid for him to drown himself in.
"I really don't think that's any of your business," he said finally. In spite of his respectful tone, Narcissa reacted indignantly to his statement.
"Draco, you are my son. No matter how old you are, you will always be ‘my business'. Now, if you are sleeping around with that insolent little Mudblood...."
He flinched upon hearing that slur - a reaction that his mother did not fail to notice. The corners of her mouth turned downward in despair.
"It is worse than I thought," she murmured. "You actually care for the girl. Oh Draco, how could you be so foolish? Surely you haven't been laboring under the illusion that you and Hermione Granger could have a future together?"
Draco scowled at her.
"Of course not," he muttered. "I'm not that naive."
"I'm not so sure about that. You are an intelligent young man, but you are not as knowledgeable in the ways of the world as you think you are. If you were, you would immediately realize that the two of you could never be. Think about it, my dear; think about the world you come from. Where would that Mud- Muggleborn fit in?"
"Times are changing," said Draco. "The concept of blood purity is no longer acceptable in most of the wizarding world. Eventually, Pureblood families will have to give in to this new way of thinking, and Hermione will no longer be considered an outcast in our society."
"Some things will never change," his mother persisted. "Your father's position on this matter is one of them. He would never accept that girl into our family; you know this. He may even disinherit you if you decided to marry her someday. You may think your feelings for the girl would compensate for the loss of your family and your way of life, but eventually you would grow to resent her for it. And she, being the high and mighty person that she is, would be eaten up with guilt. The two of you would be all alone with no one to accept or support you."
"That's not true," he said stubbornly. "Her friends accept me."
"Do they? Do they really, Draco?"
He blinked, desperately trying to hide the look of uncertainty that sprang to his face. As usual, his mother didn't miss it for a moment.
"Ah yes, I see," she said, her tone becoming sarcastic. "So Harry Potter is singing your praises and the Weasley family is holding tea parties in your honor?"
"With time...."
"With time nothing. People like Hermione Granger and Harry Potter see the world in black and white. A part of them will always see you as a Death Eater, and they will never forget that you and your family once supported the Dark Lord. Granger's friends may humor her by acting civil towards you and inviting you to their little social gatherings, but you would never truly belong to their world. You would always be considered an outsider to them. And with time, you would learn to resent her for that, too."
Draco wanted to continue arguing with his mother's point of view, but he felt as if he was grasping at straws. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, he could see a grain of truth in her words, and it made his stomach lurch unpleasantly. Upon seeing his pained expression, his mother reached across the table to cover his hand with hers.
"My dear, I don't mean to upset you with all of this," she said gently. "I love you, and I only want what is best for you. I don't want to see you get hurt."
Draco stared at her for a few moments, trying to form an appropriate response to her statement. He could find none.
"I have to go," he said, tossing a few sickles on the table and standing to leave.
"But Draco, I promised to buy you lunch." Narcissa glanced down at the menu lying on the table before her. "Though I doubt this establishment has anything remotely edible...."
Draco shook his head.
"I'm not hungry."
"Very well," she said, rising to her feet. "Then I suppose it would be pointless for me to stay."
Narcissa followed her son out of the Three Broomsticks and onto the sunny main street of Hogsmeade.
"I will see you at the ceremony tomorrow," she said as she prepared to depart.
"What ceremony?" Draco asked, puzzled.
"Draco, tomorrow is the Second of May. Surely you haven't forgotten the significance of that date."
"The anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. How could I forget?" he muttered. Then he gazed quizzically at his mother. "You're planning to be there?"
"Of course. As the only members of the Malfoy family who are free to do so, we will be expected to make an appearance."
"Well, that should be sufficiently awkward," Draco said bitterly. He was pretty certain that everyone present would consider him and his mother hypocrites for attending the ceremony. While he didn't envy his father for being under house arrest, he I>did envy him for having a legitimate excuse to miss the event.
"Nevertheless, it is crucial that we send a message to the wizarding community letting them know that our family has reformed our ways," Narcissa stated.
"What a pretty little lie," Draco said with a scoff, causing his mother to give him a sharp look.
"Draco, I can see your view of the world is changing, and I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. However...some aspects of the world do not change as quickly as we would like."
Her expression softened into one of concern as she continued.
"I can't help but feel that things would end badly if you decided to pursue a serious relationship with Hermione Granger. If you truly care for the girl, you will let her go...if not for your own happiness, then for hers."
Draco merely gazed back at her, trying to keep his expression blank in order to hide the inner turmoil he was experiencing. As his mother withdrew her wand and prepared to Disapparate, Draco steeled himself to ask her the one question that had been weighing on his mind ever since she had first appeared on the Quidditch pitch that morning.
"Will you tell Father?"
Narcissa hesitated, considering her response. Finally, she said, "No, I won't tell him."
Draco couldn't help letting out a sigh of relief, but a frown furrowed his mother's aristocratic brow.
"Draco, I should tell you that your father is not well. His confinement has started to have an effect on his health. It would not be good for him to suffer any further...disappointment."
"Father's disappointment in me isn't exactly a new occurrence," he grumbled.
Narcissa sighed, her eyes full of sadness and affection as she reached out and brushed her son's cheek with the back of her hand.
"Your father is so proud of you, Draco. I know he never says so, but you must realize that he is. And he loves you more than you can possibly know. We both do."
Then she Disapparated, leaving Draco alone with his very troubled thoughts.
When Hermione entered the Great Hall for dinner that evening, a buzz of whispering voices rippled through the room like wildfire. She just ignored it. Being the best friend of Harry Potter meant t she was used to occasionally getting caught in the spotlight (such as the time during her Fourth Year when Rita Skeeter had written that scathing article about her). What she could not avoid, however, were the questioning looks and sideways glances of her friends as she sat down with Ginny, Dean, and Luna at the Gryffindor table.
"So you and Malfoy, huh?" Dean asked after a few moments of awkward silence.
Hermione raised her eyebrows at the dark-skinned boy as she ladled some mashed potatoes onto her dinner plate.
"I suppose you could say that."
"Since when?"
Hermione and Ginny shared a look, and Dean nodded in comprehension.
"You women and your secrets," he said, rolling his eyes. "Well, I probably wouldn't have wanted to know half the things that went on between you and Malfoy anyway."
"I think it's lovely," said Luna, helping herself to a large quantity of pudding. "And the way he kissed you after the match this morning was so romantic."
"I have to admit, that kiss was pretty amazing," Ginny added. Then her pretty face creased into a frown. "But I wonder what his mother will have to say about it."
Hermione's expression darkened.
"I don't know. I just hope she wasn't too hard on Draco."
Draco had been mysteriously absent since he left the school grounds with his mother that morning. Hermione still winced when she thought about how the Malfoy matriarch had caught her and Draco snogging each other senseless on the Quidditch pitch, and she wondered what Narcissa had said to him afterwards. She was sure the conversation had been anything but pleasant, but before she could think about the matter any further, Professor McGonagall rose from her seat and cleared her throat for attention.
"I have a few announcements to make," the Headmistress said once the Great Hall had fallen silent. "First of all, I would like to once again congratulate Slytherin House for winning the Quidditch Championship."
The Slytherins in the room broke out into riotous cheers while the other three houses added some polite applause of their own. Gone were the days when the inter-house rivalries were so fierce that everyone booed the Slytherins' successes. Professor McGonagall waited until the students settled down before speaking once more.
"Secondly, I would like to remind all of you about the important event that is happening tomorrow, May Second."
The room became quieter still as everyone recalled the significance of the date.
"As some of you may already know, Hogwarts will play host to a memorial service for those who were lost in the final battle with Voldemort one year ago. During the service, the Ministry will be erecting a monument on the school grounds to commemorate the battle, and I expect all of you to be in attendance and on your best behavior for the ceremony."
Professor McGonagall went on to make a few additional announcements regarding the schedule for the upcoming O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examinations, to a chorus of despairing groans and long-suffering sighs from the students. When she had finished speaking, the room burst into conversation once more.
"I can't believe it's already been one year since the battle," Hermione mused. She turned to Ginny. "Your family will be coming to Hogwarts for the ceremony, right?"
"Yes," said Ginny. "Everyone except for Fleur, that is."
Fleur had begun her maternity leave two weeks before, and in the meantime, Professor McGonagall had resumed the post of Transfiguration professor. The difficult lesson plans and massive quantities of homework she assigned made everyone wish that they could have Professor Weasley back instead, with or without her raging pregnant-Veela hormones.
"Does that mean Ron will be there, too?" Luna asked suddenly.
"Oh...um, yeah."
Ginny shot an anxious glance in Hermione's direction.
"I suppose he'll be coming with Corianna Warbeck," Hermione said, trying to maintain a casual tone of voice.
"No, he won't be," said Ginny. "Ron isn't dating Corianna anymore. They broke up."
"I see. I suppose she got sick of him and moved on to another ‘boy-toy'? I can't say I didn't see that one coming."
Ginny shook her head again.
"According to what Harry told me, it was the other way around. All I know is that Ron broke up with Corianna, and he said something about it being a big mistake for him to have dated her in the first place."
Hermione had a feeling Ginny wasn't telling the whole story, but at the moment, she didn't feel like pressing the issue. She was too busy thinking about how much had changed since the final battle. At the same time last year, defeating Voldemort had been nearly the entire focus of her existence, she and Ron had been reaching the tentative beginning of their relationship, and she had still considered Draco Malfoy an enemy. Now Voldemort was nothing but a bad memory, she and Ron had parted ways, and she and Draco were....Were what, exactly?
They were obviously more than just "good friends" now. Yet while they sometimes behaved like a couple, she couldn't technically call Draco her boyfriend. They had never even agreed to remain exclusive, though she currently had no desire to be with anyone else, and she had a feeling that Draco felt the same way.
But for how long? she asked herself.
Hermione shook her head to clear it. She had known what she was getting into with Draco; they had both known that anything that happened between them could only be temporary. He had warned her that he could never love her, could never have a future with her, and foolish as it was to do so, she had accepted him anyway....
But she hadn't counted on falling in love with him.
She needed to talk to him. But Draco was still missing and instead of worrying her, his absence was beginning to irk her instead.
"Where is he?" she muttered. She glanced towards the large wooden doors of the Great Hall for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, hoping to see the familiar flash of his platinum hair as he entered the room.
"Who? Malfoy?" Dean asked, overhearing her. "If his mum's as scary as mine is when she's in a strop, then he's still recovering from this morning. Probably went off somewhere to clear his head."
At Dean's words, Hermione had a sudden flashback to something Draco had said the day he first took her to his family's summer home in Dover:
"Sometimes I still come here if I want to be alone for a bit, to clear my thoughts...."
"Of course!" she said, clapping her hand to her forehead. "Why didn't I think of it sooner?"
Her friends stared at her in bewilderment as she leapt to her feet.
"I'll see all of you later," she called over her shoulder as she made her way out of the Great Hall.
Within minutes, she had left the grounds of Hogwarts and Apparated to the Malfoy's summer home. When she approached the front door of the large cottage, she found it unlocked and unwarded, and knew that Draco must still be inside. Her suspicions were confirmed when she slowly opened the door and found the interior lights aglow.
"Draco?" she called out tentatively. There was no response. She wandered through the first floor of the house, but all of the rooms were unoccupied. When she reached the sitting room, she saw that one of the French doors leading to the terrace was ajar and pushed it open.
Draco was sitting at a table on the terrace, staring out over the water. The sun was just sinking below the horizon, tingeing the sky with pink and gold hues. The rose bushes that adorned the Malfoy gardens had begun to bloom, and the air was laced with their delicate musk. With the gentle breeze and the rhythmic sound of waves crashing on the shore, it made for a deceptively peaceful setting. If Hermione didn't know any better, she would have thought Draco was simply enjoying the sunset.
Draco remained motionless as she approached, and if it weren't for his white-blond hair stirring in the breeze, she would have thought he was a statue. She sat across from him, noticing for the first time that his expensive white and green chess set was sprawled out on the table. He had obviously been playing against the game itself, much like a Muggle would play against his computer. His green king piece stood alone on the board with his sword lying at his feet.
"Checkmate," Draco said quietly, breaking the heavy silence. He finally turned to look at Hermione, the sunset casting a mysterious glow in his silver eyes. "I've always thought chess is a strange game, the way the king is never actually captured or killed. He just runs out of moves, runs out of places to escape to...and when he finally has nowhere left to go, the game is over. It's the only game I know of that ends in surrender."
He picked his king piece up off the board and twirled it idly between his fingers. Hermione watched him, uncertain of how to proceed. Draco seemed so distant, so closed off, that it was hard to reconcile him with the man that she had come to know over the past six months. The coldness in his eyes was reminiscent of the old Draco, and that disconcerted her.
"Draco, we need to talk," she said softly.
"‘We need to talk'?" he repeated. One corner of his mouth quirked momentarily, but he failed to pull it into a full smirk. "When will you women learn that those four words make a guy want to run and hide faster than Severus Snape being threatened with a bottle of shampoo?"
Hermione frowned. She knew Draco was trying to cover up the situation with his usual sarcasm, but she wasn't going to let him get away with it this time.
"Draco, what happened with your mother this morning? How did she react?"
His half-hearted smirk instantly turned into a scowl.
"How do you think she reacted?"
Hermione swallowed, her throat feeling as dry as sandpaper.
"Why are you acting this way? What's wrong with you?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"But if I can help in any way - "
"I don't need your help, Granger," he spat, tossing his king piece back down on the table.
Hermione flinched. It was unusual for Draco to call her by her surname these days; the only time he ever did was when he was either angry or teasing, and she had a feeling that he was not in a teasing mood. At the hurt expression on her face, Draco's eyes softened somewhat. He sighed and rose to his feet.
"I'm going to sleep here tonight," he said. "You should go back to Hogwarts."
With that he walked back into the house, effectively dismissing her. Hermione's emotions rapidly shifted from hurt to anger as she shoved her chair back from the table and stood to follow him.
"So that's it, then?" she asked.
"Yes, that's it," he said, making his way through the house and towards the stairs leading to the second floor.
"Draco, I'm not going to let you walk away from me without discussing this first..."
He froze with one foot on the bottom stair and his hand on the banister, turning to glare at her.
"Last time I checked, I don't take orders from you," he said coldly. "I'm not a mindless buffoon like Potter or Weasley. Just do me a favor and leave me alone."
He then continued his ascent up the staircase, with Hermione determinedly trailing after him. She followed him into the cream-and-gold colored bedroom that they had shared during the Easter holiday, watching as he flung open the window to air out the stuffy space. The scent of roses drifted in with the evening air.
Draco ignored Hermione's presence in the doorway and began flinging off his robes and loosening the buttons of his shirt. He then pulled a pair of black pajama bottoms out of a drawer in his dresser and continued to strip down to his boxers. Hermione bit her lower lip, trying to avoid looking at Draco's pale, chiseled body as he removed his clothing. Despite her anger at him and the uncertainty of their present situation, she couldn't help feeling a thrum of desire at the sight of his half-naked form. Once he had donned his pajama pants, he whirled to face her once more.
"Why are you still here? Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?"
"Stop acting like this!" she hissed. "It's not like you."
"Not like me? Clearly, you haven't known me for the past eight years," he said sarcastically, whipping his silk robe out of the wardrobe and shoving his arms through the sleeves.
"That's not the type of person you are anymore. I thought we'd been through this already..."
"You don't get it. I'll never be able to live up to your high expectations. You call me a puzzle as if there's some sort of solution for what I am, but there's not. There's no way to undo all the stupid things I've done, all the bad choices I've made. Dragons can't change their scales, Hermione."
Hermione blinked up at him, his last statement triggering a memory in the recesses of her mind. Where had she heard that phrase before? She seemed to recall Ron having once said the exact same thing, and she found it ironic that the two men unknowingly agreed on something.
"You're wrong," she said, stepping closer to Draco. "People can change, as long as they're willing to put the past behind them."
She gasped in surprise when he suddenly gripped her shoulders, his silver eyes flashing with anger.
"What do you know about it?" he growled. "Perfect little Hermione Granger who can do no wrong...You've probably never made a bad decision in your life."
"You can't possibly believe that."
"Well I do," he continued, his grip on her shoulders tightening to the point where it was almost painful. "You think you can change me, make me a better person? What gave you the right to mess around with my life? I had everything figured out before you came along. Now my mother knows about us. And thank Merlin she's not going to tell my father, because if he found out...."
Draco paused, his breath coming out in hot, ragged puffs against Hermione's face.
"Perhaps, if you explained it to him..." she began.
He let out a mirthless laugh.
"What? Tell my father that I have feelings for a Muggleborn?"
"Of course not," Hermione whispered, suddenly feeling foolish. "You can't even tell me that you love me."
She felt a few tears trail down her cheeks, and at the sight of them, Draco's anger seemed to waver slightly, his voice losing the hard edge it had contained before.
"I told you that I don't know how to love - at least, not in the way that you're looking for." His eyes fell closed. "Why couldn't you just go on hating me like you did before?"
"I couldn't hate the person you've become, Draco. I already told you...I love you."
Draco's eyes snapped open, and he gave her shoulders a frustrated shake.
"Why do you keep saying that?"
"Because it's true," she said, sobbing miserably. "Believe me, it's the last thing I wanted, and I know it's the last thing you wanted, but it's true."
For a few seconds Draco just stared at her, his face contorted in a mixture of anger and some other emotion that Hermione could not discern...pain, perhaps? Then, all of the tension seemed to drain out of him, and he bent to rest his forehead against hers.
"Shit," he muttered. Hermione didn't admonish him for swearing, thinking that the word pretty much summed up their entire situation. With a sigh, he dropped his hands from her shoulders and wrapped them around her torso, pulling her body flush against his and tucking her head beneath his chin.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair as she continued crying against him. "Shit, Hermione, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."
She shook her head, her face buried in the crook of his neck.
"No," she said, "I shouldn't have let things go this far."
She wanted so badly to hate him as she once had, but she couldn't. Although it was only going to make her life - and his - more complicated, she loved Draco, and the only person she could think to hate for that fact was herself. After awhile her tears slowed, and she regained the ability to speak.
"We can't go on like this," she murmured.
"I know."
"Maybe it would be better for both of us if we just...."
Hermione swallowed hard, unable to complete her sentence. She felt Draco tighten his grip around her waist.
"I know," he said, "I know."
"Do you regret it?" she asked, her voice muffled against the warm skin of his neck. "Do you regret ever having been with me?"
Draco stiffened and pulled away so that he could study her face.
"Do you?"
His characteristic method of twisting her question around would have made her laugh under normal circumstances. Instead she gazed up at him steadily, her eyes still blurred with tears.
"No. I don't believe in having regrets."
"The only people who say that are the people who haven't done anything really worth regretting," Draco said with a touch of envy in his voice.
"And you have?"
"Yes, more times than I can count."
Hermione repeated the one question that she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer to.
"But do you regret being with me?"
Draco held her gaze for a moment and then shook his head.
"Why not?" she asked.
He reached up to brush the remaining tears off her cheeks.
"Because of all the choices I've ever made, you were the only right one."
Hermione could find no words to express the emotions that she felt when he said this, but she was spared the need to speak when Draco bent to brush his lips against hers. His kiss was as light as a whisper, and if it was true that every kiss had a meaning behind it, she thought that this one felt like a fond farewell.
She refused to let that be the case.
Hermione pressed her mouth insistently against Draco's, burying her fingers in his silky hair to keep him from pulling away. She needn't have bothered. The moment she tried deepening the kiss, he immediately responded in kind. In a heartbeat his hands were tangled in her curls, his lips moving against hers with an intensity that nearly left her breathless.
A soft moan escaped her lips as she felt his hands leave her hair, her robes being tugged away and dropped on the floor, her blouse being frantically unbuttoned. In Draco's haste to remove the garment, a few of the buttons popped off and fell to the floor, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She was so consumed with desire that she almost forgot the need to breathe.
Draco finally pulled his lips away from hers long enough to murmur, "Just for tonight, pretend that we have all the time in the world."
Hermione recognised her own words from the night they had spent in the handfasting cave. Yet, before she could fully process this fact, he ripped her blouse off her shoulders and bent down to fasten his mouth on her collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark. He moved further south to the tops of her breasts, covering them with fierce, open-mouthed kisses that made her wonder if he was trying to memorise the taste of her skin or brand her with the memory of his touch. Perhaps it was a combination of both.
There was a chaotic blur of pants, socks, and knickers being thrown to the floor as they were both divested of their clothing so fast that Hermione thought it might have been Vanished off of their bodies. Then she gasped when Draco suddenly scooped her into his arms and carried her across the room with a strength that belied his lean frame. As he lowered her onto the bed, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his body down to cover hers. The need to feel every inch of his skin pressed against hers was almost overwhelming.
Quickly, but somehow not quickly enough for either of them, he was inside of her. Neither of them said anything, but it seemed that for the moment, no words needed to be spoken. They spoke another language entirely - one that consisted of gasps and moans, of lips and fingers burning trails over each other's skin - as they rocked together with a single-minded urgency that bordered on desperation.
Hermione clung to Draco, moving with him as he set a steady rhythm that brought both of them closer to the brink of oblivion. It was an experience unlike any of the other times that she had been with him; it lacked the uncertainty of their first time together, or the thrill of their encounters in the school broom closets. It was mournful and slow, tender and fierce, and as Draco pressed his lips to the throbbing pulse point in her neck, she realized that he was not simply shagging her.
He was making love to her.
She closed her eyes, feeling as if her heart was going to burst.
"Hermione," said Draco, breathing heavily with the labor of his movements. She suddenly felt the warmth of his large hand cupping her chin. "Hermione look at me."
She opened her eyes to meet his, and the moment she did so, she felt a tingle spread throughout her body, making her feel as every nerve was a live wire. And she wondered if Draco was right. Maybe something had happened that night in the handfasting cave. Maybe there had been a magical bond forged between them, and they would spend the rest of their lives trying to understand what it meant....
Again Draco gasped her name, this time in a voice that was both possessive and pleading, and at the sound of it, she shattered, curling her hips into his as she came with a keening cry. Draco followed soon after, gathering her body closer to his as together, they rode out the intense wave of physical pleasure and emotional pain.
As their breathing finally slowed, Hermione gazed into Draco's mercurial eyes and realized that she may never fully understand what had occurred between them over the past six months. And for the first time, she thought that maybe she didn't have to figure it out...that maybe this one puzzle she didn't need to solve. All her life she had focused on the intangibles, but the heat of Draco's body pressed against hers was something tangible, and she held onto it like a lifeline as they made love late into the night, until their limbs were shaking and their throats hoarse from their ravished cries...And neither one of them pretended that they had all the time in the world.
A/N: *cringes* Sorry, but you all knew it was coming! I will reiterate once again that this story will have a happy ending for our favorite couple, even if it doesn't look like that now. I promise!
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