Chapter Text
Draco is aware there is a running list of everything that’s wrong with him.
It’s a list Pansy curated over the years, contributed to by his dear friends Blaise and Theo. He knows the works are there- grating personality, ability to brood, and penchant for sour moods. He also knows that his being a former death eater has made the cut and on the whole isn’t blind to his faults.
Still, Draco argues that he’s spent most of the summer improving himself so he can develop a good relationship with the students who’ve chosen to stay at Hogwarts for one more year. He gets along with them now, able to share meals and jokes with them when their schedule permits it.
It’s a refreshing sort of feeling, not having to keep his head down in the halls. If his new found personality and beliefs have curried favor for him amongst the other students, then why on earth is Hermione Granger still hellbent on hating him?
It’s a puzzling thing. She scurries off at the smallest interactions, her brows furrowing deep enough to cause creases in between her forehead.
She barely spares him a glance even in group settings. His jokes never land with her, her mouth remaining tight when everyone else is erupting in laughter.
He wonders if it’s his demeanor, maybe the way he approaches her. But he swears he’s gentle about this. He swears he’s already apologized, flowers in hand, that he’s made efforts to find her when she’s studying in the library and that he’s offered countless times to accompany her when she walks in between classes but she keeps denying him like he smells bad, or worse, like his hair might be coiffed wrong.
And he could pretend it doesn’t bother him, but it does. Because he wants to be Hermione’s friend. He wants to make her laugh the way Dean Thomas does. He wants to study next to her in the library. He wants to argue with her about the uses of dragon’s blood. He wants to see her smile, at him, when he says something funny.
He wants to glance over at the stands during a quidditch game and see her cheering for him. Blaise points out that friends don’t daydream about twirling their fingers in each other's curls.
Whatever, Draco thinks. There’s something he wants from Hermione Granger. He’ll do everything he can to get it.
Classes in eighth year go slowly, the days taking on a languorous quality so that the students can’t tell the days apart. Draco thinks they’ve earned it, the sweetness of syrupy days where the only thing to worry about is exams instead of menacing dark lords.
If things hadn’t gone the way they did, he supposes he would have spent most of his seventh year like this, staring at the curls that cascade down Granger’s back. He can’t take his eyes off the shape, each curl diving into a direction of its choosing.
Neither can he take his eyes off of her face, scrunched up in concentration while she works on her draught of living death with Ernie Macmillan. Granger’s doing all the work, her hands flying to and fro to get the draught done in time. Ernie’s bumbling about as usual, too incompetent of a partner for the likes of Granger.
Draco thinks if it had been him, Granger wouldn’t be doing all the work. They would have been a great pair. He would have gotten the work done and he would have also made her laugh and well, if their hands brushed together every now and then—
Blaise elbows him sharply when he forgets to stir. “Mate, seriously.” His friend chastises him. “Stir the fucking cauldron,” he hisses, snapping his fingers in front of Draco’s face.
Draco narrows his eyes at his friend. “I missed it once,” he retorts but at the flash of bright brown eyes from his periphery Draco can’t help but turn to stare back, and he falters.
Granger’s looking over her shoulder at him, wondering about him and Blaise, probably. Draco coughs awkwardly and finds that his eyes flit down immediately while he stirs, as if he can’t let her catch him doing anything wrong.
Blaise gives an indecent snort beside him. “If you wanted Granger to be the one to chastise you, you only needed to ask.” he drawls and at that Draco sharply elbows Blaise in the stomach. Whatever Blaise is insinuating, he’s not ready to face it yet.
He keeps his eyes on the cauldron and tries to ignore Granger, and makes good on that task until he sees her walking the halls outside after Potions.
He really knows he ought not to surprise her. She’s flighty in a way that only applies to him, like she still fears he’d turn a wand on her. The thought curls in his gut the wrong way, makes him second guess if he should approach her at all.
But his body doesn’t know the difference between what he should and shouldn’t want, and suddenly he’s falling into step with her in seconds, sidling up to her as quietly as he can.
“So, Macmillan.” Draco begins, trying hard to make sure his tongue doesn’t get stuck in his throat. “Not that great of a partner?”
He looks down and Granger’s already looking up at him, her eyes wide, her cheeks tinged just the slightest pink. Shit. Should he not have begun by insulting Macmillan?
Draco loses his confidence just slightly, but then Granger is coughing and shaking her head, and he squints to see if that’s really the beginnings of a smile on her face.
“He’s just a little behind, is all.”
Draco can’t help but snort with dry amusement. “Behind enough that you gave him a bunch of ingredients to work with even though they were never needed for the draught?”
Her eyes flick up to him then like she’s been caught and the flush on her cheeks deepens into crimson.
“You— how did you know that?”
A smirk slowly spreads across Draco’s face. Finally, he thinks. Some sort of middle ground with her.
“Granger,” he leans in close, just enough that she has to pull back to look at him. “You think I wouldn’t know the difference between a sopophorous bean and a transfigured edamame? Very, very nice try.”
She squeaks. Literally. The sound catches Draco off guard, makes a hum of laughter bubble up in his throat.
Godric, she’s cute. He wants to pull her closer, maybe tuck her into the crook of his arm. He already has a quippy remark lined up when he hears someone call his name from across the courtyard.
He turns and sees Pansy and Theo waving him over. He makes a pained expression and ignores them, ready to win Granger over, but when he turns, she’s gone, only thin air and the scent of her orange perfume leaving a trace.
Most of his attempts to befriend Granger wind up much the same. He says something quippy, she blushes and in the blink of an eye, she’s gone.
He’d tried it again once during dinner, when he sidled up to her at the shared table for the eighth years. He made a joke about the potatoes, and then she was off, mumbling something about transfiguration homework she’d probably already finished.
Draco begins to wonder if he’s coming on too strong, but as he observes Granger’s demeanor in the shared common room with her other Gryffindor friends, he notes her ease, the way they can approach her with a joke without her flying across the room.
He barely even notices Pansy pushing a bottle of butterbeer into his hand.
“You have to do something about that, Draco. It’s putting everyone off.” She says matter of factly like she knows something he doesn’t.
“What?” he stammers, putting the bottle to his lips so he can take a swig.
Theo groans as he sits next to him on the settee. “How do you not know what we’ve all known for months? You fancy her.”
Draco chokes, sputters really. “Who?”
Blaise flops into Pansy’s lap across the rug and stares up at Draco. “Do you not have eyes? Are you willingly being obtuse? You fancy Granger. Please, do us all a favor and sort it out. All you do is stare at her during potions and I really can’t sacrifice my grade with Slughorn for your little crush.”
Draco feels indignation rise inside of him because he doesn’t- he can’t possibly-
Rich laughter erupts across the common room and his eyes zero on her immediately. Granger’s draped across the edge of the opposite settee with Dean Thomas leaning into her over something he’s said.
She’s clutching her stomach like she’s got a stitch in her side, like Dean Thomas is the funniest person alive. Quite the tableau, the pair of them. How sick.
Draco’s fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle.
“Someone’s jealous,” Theo whispers in a sing-song voice, to which Pansy can’t help but snicker.
“Oh Draco, you poor thing.” Pansy pats his knee and squeezes it, like it’s meant to alleviate the sick feeling in his stomach.
“I don’t fancy her.” he says through gritted teeth.
And when his fingers curl near his thigh and the bottle of Firewhisky Dean Thomas reaches for erupts into shards seconds later, Draco swears he still doesn’t fancy Granger.
Macmillan comes down with something a few days later, leaving Granger to finish up the draught by herself. She seems at peace without her partner, moving to a beat that no one else in the classroom can hear.
She’s wonderful at potions, Draco realizes. Something in the way she works on the ingredients and has all her ducks in a row before brewing, her deft fingers knowing just how to manage without anyone else by her side.
It’s hard not to watch her, even harder not to stare. He reaches for the flagon of liquefied sloth brain and in his haze misses, the flagon shattering against the floor.
Granger turns to look at him then and in the split second that passes her soulful eyes keep him from looking away. The sloth brain seeps into the cracks of the floor and distantly Blaise curses but Draco just can’t look away from her, can’t seem to wrap his head around the idea that he’s got her attention for once.
“Are you alright?” she whispers and as if under a spell Draco nods.
“Yes. Fine,” he manages, his throat coming up thick.
She’d spoken to him. It had been the first time she’d initiated anything at all.
Draco bites down on his tongue to avoid squealing. Granger seems content with his answer and turns away, only he must have distracted her, she makes the mistake of an additional counter clockwise stir in her cauldron and the draught all but explodes, thick fumes coating the classroom in seconds.
A chorus of groans erupts throughout the room. Draco valiantly abandons his cauldron and a grumbling Blaise to rescue Granger from the mess, gently wrapping his hand around her waist to pull her back.
Her back makes contact with his chest and he momentarily ignores the soft, “oh,” that falls from her lips so he can angle her away from the sputtering cauldron.
“One second,” he says softly to the top of her head as he belts his arm around her waist. Deftly, he lifts his wand with his other hand and casts a wordless augamenti to calm down the bubbling draught.
The lick of flames dies with his spell and in an instant the cauldron empties, the thick fumes breaking apart just enough for the rest of the class to breathe.
Granger, rather stunned, remains where she’s standing, pinned to his side. He looks down at her briefly and feels a rush of embarrassment, because did he really have to act so knight-in-shining-armour-ish about it?
Draco releases her consciously, corralling his emotions as he puts his wand down. “Are you… alright?” he mirrors the question as he looks at her.
Granger looks up, clearly flustered with the way her blush spreads into the skin that hides behind her collar. “Yes. Er- thank you, Malfoy. I— I was distracted.”
She bites on her lower lip, clearly embarrassed and Draco has to look away then, unable to deal with the image of her looking so delectable like that.
“Right. Of course.” he makes to step away, only, she’s got bits of the potion in her hair. “Actually wait, your hair…”
Maybe his body knows something his brain doesn’t because Draco steps into her space so easily, it feels like second nature to be this close to her.
His hands go up, picking out dried bits and things from her hair, and he gently sets his wand upon her to help her sort things out. She’s so receptive of his help that Draco can’t help but look down at her, his eyes noting the shape of her mouth, the open expression in her eyes.
She isn’t flinching away for once and the thought does something to Draco’s chest, until his hand delves a little too deep in her curls at the top of her head.
Granger jerks away in an instant, her back hitting the stone tabletop. “I— you can’t do that.” she says sharply, like he’s burned her.
Draco drops his hand, suddenly feeling like he’s hurt her. He steps back in alarm and looks away sharpish, an apology already on his lips when Granger suddenly disappears, leaving nothing, not a trace.
Draco stews in thought for days. Maybe stews isn’t even the right word. He’s in agony. Somehow he’s wrenched the gap between him and Granger so much wider than he’d found it.
She refuses to speak to him, refuses to even look his way. He can no longer find her in her usual spot in the library and since the potions disaster, she’s switched tables and has refused to so much as glance back at him no matter how many futile attempts he’s made to drop flagons and ingredients on the floor.
Over dinner one night, Pansy lobs a buttered roll at him. “Draco, for fuck’s sake. Either walk over there and talk to her or eat your dinner. You’re drooling into your soup!”
He frowns deeply and looks down at his soup, already cold and forgotten in the haze of his thoughts. “Why won’t she talk to me?” he half whines.
Blaise groans dramatically. “Oh godric, here we go. Next thing you know, he’ll start waxing poetic about her eyes.”
Draco shoots him a cold glare but Blaise remains undeterred. “Draco, and I say this with love, you are in over your head. You fancy Granger, that’s the only reason why you’re acting this way. Pansy,” he nods to her pointing a finger in her direction. “We ought to do a checklist. Desperate to get her attention?”
Pansy mulls it over and nods, resting her chin on her hand. “Very much, yes.”
Blaise snaps his fingers. “Staring at her every chance he gets, even when it can potentially damage my standing as a reputable student?”
Pansy runs her tongue over the point of one canine. “A stretch, but yes. He stares at her over dinner, across the common room, even across the courtyard when she’s literally a stone’s throw away.”
Blaise pretends to check an imaginary list. “Makes ridiculously disgusting jokes to get her attention and yet can’t really say much beyond uh-uhm- uh- G-g-g-granger-”
“Alright, fine!” Draco hisses, elbowing his friend sharply in the stomach. “Yes, fine. I do… fancy her. She’s- she’s just..” the words don’t even come.
There’s too much to say about Granger and he knows if he lets anything else slip he’ll never hear the end of it.
He rolls his lips inwardly and fights to let out a sigh. Pansy flashes him a deeply delighted grin. “There you have it. Now that you’re being honest, you do know the only way to get over this is to let her know and find out how she feels, right?”
He mulls it over and decides it would be easier to befriend a hipogriff.
“Right. And confessing how I feel to her will be so simple, won’t it Pans? Seeing as Granger is just dying to talk to me.” He’s aware he’s sulking, but it can’t be helped. He just wants one conversation where nothing feels stilted or awkward. Would that be so bad?
Pansy tuts and thwacks him over the head with another buttered roll. “Pansy, seriously!” Draco grumbles, brushing crumbs off his head.
“We’re planning a weekend of swimming down at the lake. Granger will be there. Use the moment to your advantage and let it out. If she likes you, good! This will all be over and we never have to see you sulk into your soup again for Granger related reasons. If she doesn’t…” Pansy shifts her shoulders, the corner of her lip quirking.
“Well then we’ll be a little more sensitive to your sulking.” Blaise and Theo nod sagely.
“Yes,” Theo grips his shoulder, squeezing it for good measure. “For approximately a week, and then we’ll tolerate it no longer.”
The dreaded weekend rolls around and though the day is warm and the air is balmy, Draco can’t help but feel grey inside.
He’s thought about what to say to Granger over and over but every rehearsed speech falls flat. He isn’t even sure he can corner her amongst all the other eighth years.
What if she likes to swim so much that she barely gets out of the water? Or worse, what if she hangs around with Dean Thomas so much that Draco can’t get a word in edge wise? He gnaws on his lip the whole walk down to the lake, letting his friends’ chatter go unnoticed.
Who cares about the next quidditch game or whether Neville has made attempts to snog Pansy in the secret passageways behind the tapestries? This is his one chance to talk to Granger. If he fucks it up, he’s never going to live it down.
The distant chatter of students grows louder as they near the lake. Already Draco can see people in the lake splashing about, making the most of the rare sun they’d gotten.
Neville saunters up to them, eyes wide as saucers over Pansy’s little polka dot outfit. “Very nice, Parkinson.” he says in a low tone, scooping up their friend in a tight embrace.
Draco winces, looking away. He doesn’t want to feel jealous over something he can’t possibly have with Granger, though he’s thought about it multiple times.
Pansy giggles, pressing kisses into the crook of his neck. “Did you fix up the thing we talked about?” Pansy whispers, carding her fingers through Neville’s hair.
“Already done, princess.” he replies, pressing a kiss to her nose.
Blaise pretends to retch behind Draco. “Disgusting. You lot are so gross. Nott, mind stabbing me in the eyes? I really don’t want to watch more of this.” Theo bows pretentiously then attempts to tackle Blaise.
Pansy wrinkles up her nose and sticks her tongue out. “You’re just jealous. Draco, she’s over there.” She nods over to the edge of the banks and Draco looks over, heart stopping at the sight.
Granger’s perched along some of the smooth stones near the banks of the lake, wearing a butter yellow swimsuit that clings to her in all the right places. His mouth goes dry and all of his thoughts leak out of his ears, his brain jumping straight into the lake. He can’t think. He can’t even breathe.
Neville chuckles lowly beside him. “I set her up with a rare book on plant taxonomy in Puglia. She’s going to be occupied the whole afternoon.”
Draco sputters, staring at Neville in disbelief. “You- what? I didn’t- did Pansy tell you anything?”
He feels mortified that Neville of all people would know his feelings for Granger but Neville just shakes his head, clapping his shoulder roughly.
“She didn’t have to. You do know most of us can see you ogling her in class right?”
Draco’s voice comes out high and if his chest puffs out, well, he can’t help but protect his ego somehow.
“I do not ogle her!” he insists but Neville’s already walking away, Pansy in tow, the two of them giggling over their shoulders at Draco’s indignation.
He stares up at the sky and curses. If it’s painfully obvious to everyone else, there’s a very high chance that Granger’s aware too.
He steels himself, tries to push down thoughts of Granger avoiding him precisely because she’s aware of his attraction.
He remains where he is for a few moments, just taking her in. She really is beautiful. Everything about her- the way her hair is pulled back into a bun with her wand to hold it in place, little tendrils of her hair hugging lovingly against her cheeks.
Her brows, furrowed in concentration over Neville’s book, the dainty way she crosses her ankles even as she’s perched on the stones.
Draco realizes that he’s done for as he finally plucks up the courage to walk over. She could curse at him, tell him to walk away and he would but that would never change the way he felt for her.
“Hello Granger, may I join you?” he says in a low voice so as not to scare her off.
She startles just a bit, straightening up to look at him. “Yes, of course.” She gestures to the banks and Draco settles himself down below the stones where she’s sitting, the angle forcing him to look up at her.
Godric- the view of her tanned legs sends his mind into a tailspin. She looks down at him for a few seconds and it’s then Draco realizes that he’s got nothing else on except swim trunks.
Shyness over how pale and thin he is overcomes him- he was never really one for swimming and the English weather didn’t allow much sun.
“Ah— I was hoping to get a tan,” he jokes, though his tone is unsure.
Hermione flushes a little, closing her book and resting it against her lap. “You could use it. Though I did hear pale white ponce is all the rage these days.”
Draco laughs in spite of himself. “So she makes jokes then,” he teases lightly, feeling his shoulders drop with a little ease.
Hermione bites back a small smile. “Sometimes, when the company inspires it.”
He can’t help but huff, amused at this sudden openness. “Glad to be of service. Anything to get you to smile at me.”
The sudden confession catches him off guard. He hadn’t meant to spout that so early but it’s already too late to take back; he sees a flush of crimson peak against Hermione’s cheeks.
“I— sorry. That was rather…”
“It’s fine. You’re… fine.” Hermione finally says after a few moments, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Silence persists between them after that and the oppressiveness makes Draco bite his tongue.
He watches Seamus cannonball a few times over the opposite banks when finally he takes a deep breath and speaks again.
“Granger, listen I—”
“Malfoy-”
Their eyes meet and she bites her lip, worrying it between her teeth. “Sorry, you go first.” she finally says, nodding to him.
Draco’s pulse spikes momentarily. It’s now or never.
“Have I done something to offend you? I mean, I know my general demeanor in recent years has been quite horrible and you’re really not inclined to forgive me. I was just wondering if… I crossed a line a couple days ago and that’s pushed you away.”
He thinks back to that day in potions and has to close his eyes for a bit, the sunlight dancing across the backs of his eyelids as he imagines how he’d pulled her into him to protect her from the sputtering cauldron. Maybe he’d really been too forward.
“I’m aware I’ve been a little withdrawn from you these days.” she replies. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he drops his chin to his chest, and stares at the water lapping up the banks.
“It’s fine. You’re not obligated to want to talk to me.”
“Draco.” She chides him softly. He stares up at her again. She said his name. Not Malfoy. Just… Draco.
He wishes he could tuck away the memory forever, keep it somewhere safe so he can watch it again and again.
“It’s not your fault. Really. It’s just… me. And I do.”
He looks up at her rather dumbly. The light is catching behind her, streaming in through the gaps between her arms, cascading over the tendrils of her hair.
She looks bathed in sunlight and it makes her skin gleam, like polished bronze. Beautiful. Delectable.
“You… what?”
“I do want to talk to you. All the time, in fact.”
“Oh.” it’s not so much a sound but a breath of air, pushing out of his lungs and into the space between them. It feels like he’s breathing for the first time, some silent acknowledgement that Draco hasn’t fucked it up, that she’s not offended or disgusted by his mere existence.
And all the time too at that— fuck. Just… fuck. Hope is dancing around inside his chest. Now or never, he thinks. His mouth twitches upward slightly as he tries to gather up what confidence he has left.
“Hermione,” he draws out her name, lets the syllables roll off his tongue. “I know this may seem odd and out of the blue, but I…I think over time I’ve developed a unique fondness for you. The kind of fondness that keeps me from thinking about anything and anyone else.”
He keeps his gaze on her and tries to decipher her reaction as she tilts her head at him, still worrying that lip between her pearly white teeth.
“I think everyone’s caught on… which says something. So I figured, I really ought to mention it to you in case someone beats me to the punch and tells you that I ogle at you or something. Which I don’t,” he speedily corrects, ignoring the way his pulse is stuttering in his chest. “It’s more of… just me admiring you. When you’re not looking. Which is most of the time.”
There’s a beat of silence that passes between them. Hermione has the gall to look bashful, as if she were the one who’d said the dramatic things he did.
“I know, Draco. No one’s told me, but I have caught you staring sometimes.”
“You have?”
“Several times. I don’t mind it, by the way. I think it’s rather endearing.” she chuckles softly.
Endearing. He could tear at his chest and give her his heart in the blink of an eye. Sparks of hope dance along his veins.
She lets her hand drop between them and Godric help him, Draco can’t resist the pull. He lifts his own hand and lets it brush against the backs of her knuckles, the touch gentle but electric all the same.
He prays she doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t.
“You’re not inclined to like me back. There’s no compulsion there, I promise.” he lies, hoping she takes pity on him and decides otherwise.
Hermione hesitates, rolls her lips inward. She doesn’t shy away from the touch, which Draco catalogues as Progress, but something in her eyes tells him that the other shoe will drop any minute.
“Draco… you don’t want me to like you back. Trust me.” She sighs and lets her eyes drift to their hands, she turns her wrist and captures his fingertips, turning his palm up to face her.
It’s so strangely intimate that his neck begins to grow hot. He’s never been this close to her before, not like this. It isn’t even about the way she’s dressed, though he has to admit the way the swimsuit clings to her body is doing something to his gut.
It’s just that for once- for the first time this whole year, she wants to be near him. Wants to talk to him. Wants to acknowledge that he exists. He can’t get enough. Godric, he wants her. In the best and worst way possible. And she’s telling him he shouldn’t.
She presses her thumb to his palm as if she’s trying to study it, furrowing her brows at the lines on his skin. Her thumb skates up his wrist and presses into his forearm, where he’s glamoured his Dark Mark. He flinches slightly but Granger doesn’t move away, just traces over the area even though she can’t see the outlines of the most humiliating thing he’s gotten himself into.
“Why wouldn’t I, Granger?” he finds his voice again after some minutes, moving up to sit next to her on the stones.
She keeps hold of his forearm in her soft hands, and he can’t resist the urge to lean into her now that she’s not averse to it.
“You’re you. Do you know what it’s like to see you every day? The way you are when you study, when you’re with your friends, when you’re alone, even. It’s very hard not to be drawn to you. And I imagine I’m not the only one who feels this way. You’re…” he shakes his head, unable to find the words. “Something else entirely,” he whispers.
“Draco, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” she replies, voice low, her eyes angled down. She stops tracing over his arm.
“I… I have a lot to sort out.. Maybe when I’ve got it figured out but for now.. it’s for the best.”
For a long moment, Draco’s useless for anything except staring at her. What she said sounds a lot to him like no, not ever. He knows he’d be a fool to push her on and he vaguely understands where she’s coming from. She’s been through a lot. And to even entertain the idea of being with someone like him… after everything his family put her through. He gets it.
He ignores the sounds of other students playing about in the lake, pretends he can’t see anyone else in the periphery and focuses on the moment, on her.
“Okay.”
She breathes out and looks up at him, brown eyes searching his deeply. “Okay?”
He nods, pretends to brush it off. “I understand. Pale white ponce is not your thing.” She wrinkles up her nose at him and his heart lurches.
“Draco, don’t say that.” she chastises him, frowning.
“Why not? I don’t take it against you. Really, Granger.” he shrugs, though it hurts to do so. He gestures to the lake where their other classmates are off swimming and having fun. ”Why go for paper white when you’ve got tall, dark and handsome in droves?”
When she laughs, she tips her head up and the sound feels like it spreads throughout the whole forest. Like it bounces off the lake and shoots straight into his heart.
Draco has a hard time fighting his own laugh despite it all, and an even harder time trying not to stare at the line of her throat, all the way down the dip in her chest where the swimsuit splits into an adorable small yellow bow.
“You are so ridiculous. I’m partially rejecting you and you’re making jokes. Who are you and what have you done to the sulking Draco Malfoy I’ve known all my life?”
He chuckles then and pulls his hand from hers, lets it slip behind her so he can lean in even closer. He’ll never get to do this again, so why hold back now?
“That version of me has left. Some girl in third year punched him clean out of my body and he’s been gone ever since.”
She erupts into a fit of giggles. It feels and sounds like sunshine. Draco tilts his head, studying her face. He wishes he could kiss her.
“Can I… will you indulge me, a bit? I just want to do something I’ve thought about for a long time.”
Hermione mirrors him, tilting her head too. “What is it?”
He takes a steady breath and lifts his other hand up, letting it gently brush against her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed.
“Don’t run away. Just this once.” he mutters.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and she nods. “Not this time, no.”
He lets his thumb skate over the soft skin of her cheek, tracing the bone. She’s warm under his touch. Soft and sunkissed. Slowly, he pulls closer, ignoring the sound all around them and the sheer possibility that they’re watching him make a move on the girl he’s been nursing a crush on for a while now.
“Just…” he whispers, unsure of how to go about it. He tips his head slowly, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.
It’s just a taste of something he can look forward to if she’ll change her mind in the coming months, but he doubts it. A promise of what he’ll never have.
She sighs softly at the contact and it gusts over his lips. She’s sweet, and he can taste lemon in the air.
Gods. He should really be awarded for his self restraint. Draco’s thumb moves down, traces over the line of her jaw. “I just wanted to know what it would be like.” he says against her mouth, not kissing her, just far enough away to feel her linger.
“It’s okay.” she replies, her hand coming up to fit against his neck, her palm warm and welcome against the curve of his shoulder.
Heaven and hell in equal measure.
"It’s okay.”