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Draco almost smiled, and then he caught himself. He was becoming too comfortable, he was letting go. He just nodded and turned back as Slughorn started his lesson. He had to be more careful.
The sky above the Great Hall was a stormy, light grey, and the air was wet. Hermione smiled; it was a perfect library day. Library. The word rang in her head, and her idea struck her again, and she blushed, looking down. When they sat, however, she brought her eyes back up, and there he was, pools of stone, a pale face, parted white blonde hair, and a soft, faint smile. She instantly dropped her gaze again, and Ginny was watching her.
And then she took in a long breath, her mind tumbling. She felt a trill of excitement sitting here with him, separated from the dangers of the outside world. It terrified her to think that she was being so civil with her enemy, that she was so at ease around Draco Malfoy.
This was not something she had ever expected. His actions were instinctual, and he thought to stop himself far too late. She was already in his arms, they’d already touched. Draco instantly backed away, and a blush she’d never seen flared in his cheeks, embarrassment flashing in his eyes before he dropped his gaze. His hands clenched into fists, and his jaw was firm, rigid.
It felt like an eternity, sitting there with her unwavering gaze on him, and then she remembered to breathe, and she hurriedly bent to retrieve the book, blushing as everyone finally looked away. He leaned forward as she was straightening, and she moved slowly, almost stopping entirely when his lips ghosted her jaw, just under her ear, and his voice tickled her skin.
They stayed like that for a little while until the clock chimed half past, and Hermione slowly got up, pausing to look Draco in the eyes. She saw something there, a flicker of happiness before he noticed she was watching and he shut himself off, his grey pools becoming evasive and stony again.
He hated that, though he also liked it in an affectionate way. She liked to fiddle with his ears sometimes, to touch the dip behind them and to rub his lobe in between her thumb and forefinger. She loved everything, the curve of his shoulders, the dips of his neck, the softness of his skin, the—
He pulled the book from inside of his robes, flipped opened to his dog-eared page, and stared at her. She nodded, and he began to read, drowning in the words and forcing them to overpower every other feeling, emotion, impulse. He read until his voice was hoarse and he could no longer feel the frustrated attempts to breach his walls.
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He opened to the end of the book. They’d never finished it, and they never would. As soon as he was able to walk and was released, he would be gone, and he would never see her again. With this thought, he angrily read the first page of the last bit, closed it, and fell into a fitful, tearful sleep.
She smiled, allowing his chiseled face to form in her mind. She missed him, though now she could move on. She wasn’t afraid of being apart from him any longer.
Her screams were enough to break anyone, but Draco was a Malfoy in this house, and so he held fast, grey eyes boring into the scene before him, shoulders tensed and heart ripping. He watched her whole body convulse, his Aunt Bella hovering over her, straddling her waist and carving Mudblood into her arm.
He was still wearing his nice pants and his suit jacket, his black turtle neck and his nice shoes. His hair was still parted and pushed back, and his skin was as pale as ever, but, if one looked closely, they saw the warmth in his eyes, a warmth that had never been there before, a warmth that she had brought.
She glanced over at Draco, and, as if he felt her gaze on him, he averted his eyes to smile at her before returning his attention to Arthur. She’d never felt so lucky.
Hermione couldn’t help but smile. Watching Draco grow as a cold, closed off person his entire life, she never would have expected to find such a caring mother in such a warm home. It surprised her, and she almost didn’t believe it.
She missed the cool feel of his lips almost immediately, though she smiled contently as she felt his nose brush her chin, nudging her head back. He left wet butterfly kisses over her neck, warming Hermione to her very core.
Taking a deep breath, she went around the last shelf, down the length of it, and erupted into the mouth of a private alcove, a haven of warm light and whispered words. At her arrival, a pair of grey eyes snapped up to meet her, and Draco smiled from their couch, holding out his arm to her.
Hermione laughed softly, snuggling into Draco’s warm embrace. They were in Tomes and Scrolls, and, up until then, they’d been separated by their lingering eyes and curious hands, by whispering words and fantastical stories. He held her from behind now, though, having snuck up to her, and he breathed her in, nose turned into her hair, eyes closed to her.
She stepped toward him, fingers skimming over his clad arms and stopping at his jaw. When they parted, a small touch of blood had found its way into his cheeks, and a warmth had crept into his eyes that only she could ignite.
Dinner proved to be just as flawless, though it was kept to that of the hotel for the couple was weary from their afternoon of play-fighting, pillow-fighting, love making, unpacking, and relentless bouts of tickling here and there.
And so they stayed there for hours to come, and they made love once more, to the soft pitter-patter of the dying sky’s tears, to the delicate music graced with haunting ambience, and they were one.
She looked down at the ruined arches, the crumbling rock, and she smiled. There was something delicate about this place, something very beautiful she just couldn’t put her finger on.
Draco stared around at the crumbling arches and the wide expanse of green grass before turning his gaze back to his fiancé. She nodded, and he looked back again, and, as she slipped her hands through his and kissed him on the cheek, she conveyed just what she saw, and he smiled.
The phrase rung in Hermione’s mind, and she smiled. They’d finally decided that they wanted to have kids, especially with Ginny and Anna trying. She just loved the idea of her children being in the same year as her best friend’s.
He knew her, for better and for worse, and he complimented her. They completed one another, as ridiculous as the idea was. He had become one of her best friends, and she loved him unconditionally and irrevocably.
She left him with a quick kiss, and he went to work on the other five. Hermione surprised him by turning on a small radio, and she danced around the kitchen as she cooked. She was just adding the finishing touches when the doorbell rang, and she hurried off to get dressed while Draco went to sit their parents.
The name rung in her ears, and she smiled. Her eyes were flooded with memories, and she watched them flick by, and she was happy. They had grown so much in those little visits, in those short months. She was distantly aware of Anna trying to gather her attention, but she was lost, and she closed her eyes, smiling wider. She would give anything to go back to that time, just that moment, curled in his arms and listening to his soft voice whisper words.
It was something that had been in the back of his mind for a while, especially because he so badly wanted to carry on the tradition that had gone throughout the entire Black family. He liked his name, and he’d always preferred the other-worldly feel that he felt it carried.
Draco watched the memory float in the Pensieve, and he sighed once more before lowering his face to it. He was dropped into the Forbidden Forest, and he looked to his left where Dolohov stood, one hand braced on a tree.
Of course someone had known. It only made sense. Draco’s hands balled into fists again, and he angrily pushed himself up off the floor, sweeping up his jacket as he went. He stepped into the fire and was stepping out again at the Ministry. His steps were quick and purposeful as he passed through the front lobby. He took the elevator and went up instead of down.
He left wet, open-mouthed kisses around her neck. He loved how soft and inviting she was, and he wanted so much of her. He missed being so intimate and close with her.
Files sat there, files of Death Eaters, and they looked as though they’d been recently rifled through. Draco lifted them, skimming through, and there was one glaring file missing. Dolohov. Draco’s heart thumped in his chest as he looked up from the files, frantic. He quickly shoved them back in the drawer and slammed it shut before racing out of the room and down the hall. Ron’s office wasn’t far; they could still be here.
Something inside him snapped, and he quietly slipped out of the room and into Scorpius’. If he hadn’t been so wrapped in himself, he may have never left, and he may have never found his son.
Draco looked down suddenly to find Hermione fast asleep, and he instinctively dog-eared the page, dropped it between them, and closed his arms around her, pulling her close and holding her tight.
He watched as his little son tottered around the tree, sometimes using the branches to steady himself. He continued to walk around it a few more times before he plunged inside, giggling and dancing. He stamped his feet, the only part of him visible, and Draco nearly doubled over before kneeling down and poking a hand through.
The sound of a typewriter came first, and letters clicked through the background. Hermione let out a soft noise when Draco suddenly titled her face toward his, distracting her from the title, and she looked up in time to catch the frame of a dollhouse. The camera slowly panned away, following a trail of plastic animals until it settled on a little girl with a blonde bob in a chair, typing away.
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