A month. Thirty days trapped in a gilded cage with the boy who'd once called her a Mudblood. Hermione traced the cool glass of the penthouse window, watching the vibrant dance of car lights far below. The view was breathtaking, yet it felt like a cruel reminder of the freedom she'd lost.
Across the cavernous living room, she sat engrossed in a book by a crackling fireplace. It was their first attempt at a shared evening activity since the Ministry's decree. Despite the crackling fire and the city's symphony playing outside, the silence in the room hung heavy and suffocating.
A sigh escaped her lips, a wisp of frustration swirling with a surprising undercurrent of… something else. Was it loneliness? Boredom? The unsettling feeling of being constantly on guard, even in her own home? Maybe it was all of the above.
The sound of footsteps behind her made her turn. He stood in the doorway, his usual smirk replaced by a hesitant frown. The sight of him out of his element, his posture uncertain, sent a jolt through her.
"Darling," he said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard, not the usual crisp, arrogant tone she had come to expect, but a murmur laced with something unidentifiable—hesitance, perhaps, or something even more unfamiliar.
His Malfoy drawl, the one that always carried an air of superiority, was conspicuously absent, replaced by something… gentler. She blinked, caught off guard by his tone. He never called her that unless he wanted to be insufferably smug, so this sudden tenderness immediately set her on edge.
"Of course," she responded cautiously, suspicion lacing her voice despite the polite veneer. Still, curiosity flickered beneath her defenses. She gestured towards the emerald-green sofa by the window, her hand lingering awkwardly midair before she withdrew it, unsure if she even wanted him sitting so close to her.
He hesitated briefly, his silver gaze flickering to her hand before he walked over with deliberate slowness, like a predator mindful not to spook its prey. He didn't take the furthest seat, nor did he choose the one beside her. Instead, he settled across from her at a distance that felt too close for comfort but not near enough to breach decorum. The air between them grew dense, fraught with unspoken tension, the kind that prickled at her skin and made it difficult to breathe normally.
"What's on your mind?" she asked, doing her best to keep her tone neutral, though her voice softened despite herself, mirroring the unexpected gentleness in his. If this was some kind of ploy, she didn't want to tip her hand too soon.
He inhaled deeply, as if steeling himself for something unpleasant. His gaze flicked downwards, settling briefly on the intricately woven rug beneath their feet before lifting to meet hers. His eyes were… different. The cool gray she was used to seemed warmer, tinged with something she couldn't quite place. Was it… vulnerability? No, surely not. Malfoys didn't do vulnerable. And yet, there it was, flickering in his expression like a fragile candle flame struggling against a draft. For a brief second, it unsettled her more than his usual smugness ever could.
"This situation…" he began, his voice low, almost a rumble. He exhaled slowly, as if weighing each word carefully. "It's been difficult, hasn't it? For both of us." He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlaced as if anchoring himself to the moment. "A month. An entire month of being bound to each other by law, by name, by this… arrangement."
She stiffened slightly at the word arrangement, the bitterness of reality seeping into her veins. He wasn't wrong. It had been a month since they'd exchanged vows under duress, a month of cold silences and forced civility. Yet, hearing him acknowledge it aloud stirred something strange within her—an unease she couldn't quite shake. Was he genuinely trying to bridge the chasm between them, or was this some twisted game designed to make her lower her guard?
"And yet," he continued, his voice dropping into something more intimate, more raw, "we've barely spoken beyond pleasantries. We've existed side by side, but not together. This… this isn't what I envisioned when I thought of marriage, not even close."
Her heart skipped a beat. She wasn't sure what shocked her more—the fact that he admitted their current reality wasn't ideal or the way he said marriage, as if it held some kind of significance beyond the contract they had signed. His words hung in the air like a delicate, fragile thing, waiting to shatter or be grasped.
"Darling?" The term echoed in her mind, lingering like a misplaced note in a discordant melody. It felt strange, foreign, like a silk glove hiding a steel blade. Draco Malfoy, the same boy who had once sneered at her mere existence, was now addressing her with endearments. What game was he playing? What was his angle?
She straightened her posture, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. "I didn't realize you were so invested in our… partnership," she said, her tone carefully measured, not quite biting but not exactly warm either.
He smiled faintly, though there was no mockery in it this time, only something that looked suspiciously like weariness. "I won't pretend that I wanted this in the beginning," he admitted, voice steady. "But I'll also admit that it's not just obligation keeping me here anymore."
Her breath caught involuntarily, and she cursed herself for the reaction. Malfoy was skilled in manipulation; she knew that better than anyone. Letting herself be drawn in by his sudden charm could only lead to disaster.
"And what, pray tell, is keeping you here?" she asked, arching a brow, her voice carrying a hint of challenge.
"Maybe I don't want us to 'hate each other' forever," he said simply, leaning back against the sofa, arms spread casually along the top. His eyes gleamed with a mix of sincerity and something else—something deeper, more dangerous. "Maybe I want to see if we can build something better."
She didn't have a response for that. The flutter in her chest returned, unwelcome and unnerving. This was dangerous territory, and she wasn't sure she was ready to navigate it.
The idea was as preposterous as hippogriffs tap-dancing.
She leaned back against the plush green sofa, arms crossed tightly over her chest as if to keep herself grounded. The entire conversation felt surreal. A month ago, she wouldn't have imagined Malfoy proposing anything remotely resembling peace, let alone a honeymoon. Yet here they were, discussing sunlit coasts and turquoise seas as if their lives hadn't been shaped by years of animosity.
Still, something gnawed at her. She tilted her head, her gaze locking on his, sharp and scrutinizing. "You've been oddly… agreeable lately. More patient. More… everything. Why?"
His brow arched, a flicker of amusement passing over his features. "Should I apologize for not being the irredeemable git you're accustomed to?" His voice retained a hint of that old Malfoy arrogance, but there was something else beneath it—a softness she wasn't used to.
"I'm serious," she said, leaning forward slightly. "You don't strike me as the type to suddenly play the role of doting husband, even in a forced marriage."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that seemed more vulnerable than calculated. "Hermione, I could pretend I'm doing this entirely for your sake, but that would be a lie. The truth is, I don't want to spend the rest of my life locked in this cold war with you. Whatever this is between us, it's exhausting. I'd rather try something different. Something… better."
Her heart gave a strange flutter at the sound of her name on his lips. It was the first time he'd said it without mockery or condescension, and for reasons she couldn't quite comprehend, it unsettled her.
"And a honeymoon is your solution?" she asked, voice laced with skepticism. "Running off to Italy won't magically fix anything."
He smiled faintly, but there was no humor in it. "No, it won't. But it's a start, isn't it? A chance to get away from the expectations, the watchful eyes, and everything else tying us to this... situation. Out there, we can just be ourselves. No Ministry orders. No pretense."
She looked away, her mind racing. Was this truly a chance to reset, to see if they could coexist without bitterness? Or was it another elaborate scheme, a trap disguised in the guise of a romantic escape? She didn't trust him, not fully. But there was a small, insistent part of her that was curious. Curious about whether there could be something beyond the hostility that had defined their relationship.
"Alright," she said finally, her voice quieter than she intended. "We'll go. But don't think for a second that this means I trust you."
His lips twitched in a half-smile. "I wouldn't dream of it, darling. I'll take what I can get."
The word darling sent a spark of irritation through her, but she let it slide. For now.
"Just to be clear," she added, fixing him with a stern look, "if this turns out to be a disaster, I reserve the right to hex you and Apparate home at any moment."
"I wouldn't expect anything less." he leaned back in his chair, feigning ease, though Hermione could easily see the telltale tension in his shoulders and the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the armrest. His attempt at nonchalance wasn't fooling anyone, least of all her. "I'll take care of the arrangements. We'll leave by the end of the week."
She remained silent, digesting his words, before something nagging at the back of her mind surfaced. "Malfoy," she began, her tone measured yet curious, "why do you keep calling me darling?"
Malfoy, who had momentarily turned his gaze toward the open window, paused. The soft evening light cast a warm glow over his profile, highlighting the sharp planes of his face. Slowly, he turned to meet her eyes, his expression contemplative.
"Because I cannot call you love, Hermione."
Her brow furrowed, caught off guard by the unexpected candor in his voice. "Why not?"
Leaning forward, she clasped her hands in her lap, feeling as though something significant was unraveling between them. Draco rose from his chair, pacing a few steps before turning back toward her. His movements, though measured, betrayed a flicker of unease.
"Because love feels… inadequate," he said quietly, the usual smoothness of his voice tinged with something raw. "It suggests something deep, something earned. And we're not there, are we?"
She blinked, momentarily stunned by his answer. The honesty in his tone disarmed her. This wasn't the arrogant, snide boy she'd known in school; this was a man standing before her, stripped of pretense.
"So, 'darling' is just… what, then?" she asked, her voice softer now, though still laced with curiosity. "A placeholder?"
His lips quirked into a faint, almost rueful smile. "Not meaningless. It's… a bridge. A way of showing you that I care. Even if we're not yet at the point where I can say love, calling you darling is my way of… trying."
She studied him, her expression guarded but thoughtful. There was something about the way he stood before her—tense, hesitant, as if waiting for her reaction—that made her heart lurch in an unfamiliar way.
"And where exactly do you think this bridge leads?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. Her attempt to keep the conversation light faltered when she noticed the way his gaze softened.
"To a place of… understanding," he said after a pause, his voice quieter now. "Maybe even trust. And, if we're fortunate, something more. Affection, perhaps."
Her breath caught slightly at his words. Affection. It was such a simple word, yet it carried a weight that made her pulse quicken. Was this his way of reaching out, of offering her something beyond the confines of their forced marriage?
"Affection," she repeated slowly, as if testing the word on her tongue. "You think we could get there?"
His eyes didn't waver from hers. "I hope so." There was a vulnerability in his voice that caught her off guard, a rawness she hadn't expected. "Look, I know this isn't what you wanted. It's not what I envisioned either. But we're here now. And I… I want to try."
His admission hung in the air, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. There was a sincerity in his voice she couldn't ignore, and for the first time, she felt the tiniest crack in the walls she had so carefully built around herself.
"I suppose…" she started, hesitating slightly, "I suppose trying wouldn't hurt."
His eyes widened slightly, as though he hadn't expected her to agree so easily. A spark of hope lit up his features, and she found herself momentarily captivated by the boyish look that crossed his face.
"Really?" he asked, the surprise evident in his voice.
"Don't get too excited," she added quickly, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "This doesn't mean I trust you or that I'm suddenly okay with all of… this." She gestured vaguely around the room, as if to encompass the entirety of their peculiar situation. "But… I suppose we could try to find some common ground."
He exhaled slowly, as though he had been holding his breath. "That's all I'm asking for, darling. Just… a chance."
The term darling didn't sting as much as it had before. In fact, it sounded almost… comforting. Hermione frowned at the realization but chose not to dwell on it.
"And for the record," she added, standing up and smoothing her hands over her skirt, "if you do anything to make me regret this, I will kill you."
Of course it means everything, I want to call you LOVE, because that's what you are, stupid girl.
She glanced up at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "I want to try too.
Malfoy nodded, reaching out to gently take her hand. "Anything for you darling."
For a moment, they sat in silence.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For suggesting something fun."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later that evening, they found themselves seated across from each other at an elegantly set dining table in the penthouse, a single candle casting a soft, flickering glow over the polished wood surface. The warm scent of freshly baked bread and rich sauces filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of lavender drifting in from the open balcony doors. The ambiance was undeniably romantic, though neither of them dared to acknowledge it aloud.
The dinner was a masterpiece—perfectly seared scallops, handmade pasta drizzled with truffle oil, and a selection of vibrant Mediterranean vegetables, all artfully arranged on fine porcelain plates. It was clear that Draco had spared no effort in recreating the experience of a high-end Italian restaurant, likely as a trial run for their upcoming honeymoon. Hermione couldn't help but be impressed, though she kept her expression carefully neutral.
As they ate, the initial stiffness between them began to thaw. Perhaps it was the exquisite food or the mellow glow of the wine they shared, but conversation flowed more naturally than it had in weeks. The earlier tension from their discussion seemed to have dissolved into something softer, something tentative but promising.
He took a slow sip of his wine, the crimson liquid catching the candlelight as he swirled it lazily in his glass. His gaze lingered on her, thoughtful but not intrusive. "So," he began, his tone lighter than usual, "what's one thing you've always wanted to do but never had the chance?"
Caught off guard by the question, she blinked, setting down her fork. She gave it genuine thought, her fingers toying with the stem of her wine glass.
"Horseback riding," she said after a moment, a small smile curving her lips. "I've always wanted to learn. There's something about the grace and power of a horse that's always fascinated me. Though," she added with a playful glint in her eye, "I suppose riding a dragon during the war might count."
This woman is a minx, riding a dragon, I really really hope to wank to that fantasy in the shower later. Me as the dragon obviously.
Draco raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Ah yes, thank you for breaking into my family vault and riding off on a dragon. Quite classy, Granger. Very subtle."
Hermione chuckled. "I'm not really sorry, to be honest. If anything, it was one of the more memorable parts of my life. And your security system? Bit of a letdown."
He crossed his arms, mock affront plastered on his face. "A Gringotts break-in on a dragon isn't exactly something you prepare for during vault design, darling. Next time, I'll make sure to add 'dragon-proof' to the list of requirements."
Hermione laughed, the sound light and genuine, a rare moment of levity between them.
"Well, in any case, riding a dragon was thrilling," she continued, grinning, "but I imagine horseback riding would be slightly less… life-threatening."
Draco chuckled again, shaking his head. "Definitely counts as riding, though I suppose horses are less likely to burn down a countryside mid-ride. I'll give you that."
She raised an eyebrow. "Horses also don't hoard cursed goblets or try to melt your face off with fire."
"Fair point," he conceded, still smirking. "Though you never know, with my luck, I'd end up picking the one horse with a personality as fiery as yours."
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her grin. "And with your luck, it would also probably refuse to listen to you unless bribed with diamonds."
"I could handle that," Draco drawled, swirling his wine. "Besides, we could actually make horseback riding happen. There are stables not far from here. We could arrange a day trip."
She blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the sincerity of the offer. "Really?"
"Of course," he said, shrugging. "Think of it as our first honeymoon activity. No dragons, no vaults, just you, me, and some temperamental horses."
Her eyes lit up despite herself. "That sounds… lovely," she admitted. "I'd like that."
He leaned forward, smirking. "I'll even let you pick the horse first. Though if you choose the prettiest one, I reserve the right to mock you mercilessly."
"Deal," she said with a laugh, raising her glass. "Here's to horseback riding—without dragons, flaming treasure, or cursed jewelry."
"To horseback riding," he echoed, clinking his glass against hers. "And to not getting bucked off."
The idea of them galloping through the countryside together, bickering over whose horse had the better temperament, felt absurdly amusing. And for once, absurdity didn't seem so bad.
They fell into a comfortable silence, the soft glow of the candles casting flickering shadows on the walls. The distant hum of the city outside provided a pleasant backdrop, but for once, it felt as though they were in their own little world. She swirled the wine in her glass, stealing a glance at him. For the first time in a long while, she felt something close to ease—like they were two normal people sharing a pleasant dinner, not two stubborn individuals trapped by a decree neither of them had chosen.
He reached for the wine bottle and topped off both their glasses with a casual grace that surprised her. His usually guarded demeanor had softened, as though the layers of Malfoy arrogance had been temporarily peeled back. She took a sip, savoring the rich flavor, and leaned forward slightly.
"What about you?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "What's something you've always wanted to do?"
He paused mid-sip, arching an eyebrow at her. "Always wanted to do?" he echoed, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated air of contemplation. "Well, doll, I've always dreamed of opening a shop that sells overpriced cauldrons and terrible coffee."
She snorted into her wine, barely managing to keep it from spilling. "Oh, very funny. I mean something real."
He chuckled, setting his glass down. "Alright, alright. If we're being serious… I've always been fascinated by the Northern Lights. I've read about them, seen pictures in books, but I've never actually experienced them."
Her expression softened, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "That sounds incredible. I've always wanted to see them too. There's something magical about the idea of standing beneath that vast sky, watching the colors dance."
He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly in mock suspicion. "Are you saying we should go together? Because that sounds dangerously close to a second honeymoon."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn't falter. "Maybe. After all, who better to suffer through freezing weather with than my least favorite Malfoy?"
"Least favorite? You wound me, darling," he said, clutching his chest dramatically. "And here I thought I was growing on you."
"Like a fungus," she retorted, biting back a grin.
He chuckled again, this time a softer, more genuine sound. "Alright, fungus or not, it's a deal. We'll plan a trip to see the Northern Lights someday. It's a date."
She froze for a split second, the word "date" echoing in her mind. Was it a joke? An offhand comment? Or was there something more to it? She chose to play it safe, raising her glass with a smirk. "A date with freezing cold, hypothermia, and probably you complaining the entire time? Sounds delightful."
"Complaining?" he repeated, feigning indignation. "I'll have you know I am an excellent travel companion. I bring charm, good looks, and a talent for finding the best wine anywhere."
"And an ego the size of the Northern Hemisphere," she added dryly, clinking her glass against his.
"True," he admitted with a grin. "But it keeps things interesting."
Their conversation drifted into lighter topics—terrible Ministry meetings, bizarre magical creatures, and a particularly disastrous potion he'd once brewed at school that nearly singed off his eyebrows. Laughter came easily, surprising them both. The barriers they'd so carefully maintained seemed to dissolve, replaced by something fragile.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A week later, they arrived in Amalfi, and the Italian coast was even more magnificent than anything Hermione had ever read in her well-thumbed tourist guides. The sky stretched endlessly in a brilliant shade of blue, mirroring the glistening azure waters below. Pastel-hued buildings perched on the cliffs, their vibrant facades glowing under the sun, creating a picture-perfect scene that felt almost unreal.
Standing on the balcony of their hotel room, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The scent of the sea filled the air, mingling with the fragrance of lemon groves nearby. She gripped the railing, her eyes tracing the horizon where the sea met the sky. "It's more beautiful than I ever imagined," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the gentle crash of the waves below.
Behind her, she heard the soft tread of his footsteps. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her waist, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. The warmth of his body against hers was strangely comforting, a stark contrast to the cool breeze coming off the water. "I'm glad you like it," he said softly, his voice carrying a tenderness she wasn't used to. "I thought you could use some time away from... everything."
She leaned into him, savoring the moment. Peace wasn't something she had felt in a long time, but here, with the sun on her skin and his arms around her, she allowed herself to believe, if only for a little while, that she could have it. "Thank you," she said quietly. "This... this is lovely."
He smiled, his breath warm against her ear. "Anything to see you smile," he whispered, his words lingering in the air like the sea breeze.
Over the next few days, they explored the town together. She found herself gradually letting down her guard, the initial tension between them replaced by something softer, something she couldn't quite name. They wandered through narrow cobbled streets lined with quaint shops and cafes. Draco, ever the connoisseur, insisted they sample every local delicacy they came across—from freshly baked focaccia to gelato in every imaginable flavor.
One afternoon, they found themselves in a small, ancient cathedral perched on the edge of a cliff. The interior was quiet, the air cool and filled with the faint scent of incense. Hermione wandered down the aisle, her fingers grazing the worn wooden pews, while he stood at the back, watching her with a quiet intensity.
"It's peaceful here," she said, her voice echoing softly in the empty space.
He nodded, stepping closer until he was beside her. "Peaceful and timeless," he agreed, glancing around at the faded frescoes and high arched windows. "Like stepping into another world."
She turned to him, a faint smile playing on her lips. "You're surprisingly poetic."
He shrugged, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Italy brings out my finer qualities."
She laughed, the sound light and genuine, and for a brief moment, she forgot about the complicated history between them. In that moment, it didn't matter who they had been or why they were here—it only mattered that they were.
As the sun set that evening, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, they shared a quiet dinner on the terrace of their hotel. The sound of the waves below and the soft strumming of a street musician's guitar drifted up from the town below, creating an atmosphere that felt almost magical.
He poured them both another glass of wine, his movements unhurried and graceful. "To new beginnings," he said, raising his glass to hers.
She hesitated for a moment, then clinked her glass against his. "To new beginnings," she echoed, a flicker of something hopeful stirring in her chest.
Later, as they walked along the beach under the starlit sky, she felt a strange mix of emotions—contentment, curiosity, and something else she couldn't quite name. She glanced at him, who was walking beside her, his hands tucked into his pockets, his expression thoughtful.
One evening, as the sun set over the horizon, they sat at a seaside restaurant, the gentle sound of waves creating a serene backdrop.
"Darling," he said, his tone serious yet tender. "I know this isn't how either of us envisioned our lives. But I'm committed to making the best of it, with you."
She looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "I appreciate that. And I can see you're trying. Maybe... maybe this doesn't have to be as difficult as we thought."
He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. "We'll take it one day at a time. Together."
She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Together."
As the days passed, they found a rhythm, discovering new layers of each other's personalities. His unexpected kindness and her growing trust created a fragile yet hopeful bond.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The last night of their stay, they stood on the balcony, bathed in silvery moonlight. The sea stretched out before them, its dark surface rippling gently under the night sky. Hermione leaned against the railing, lost in thought, while Draco stood a step behind her, his hands buried in his pockets, shoulders tense with unspoken emotion.
He cleared his throat softly, drawing her attention. When she turned to face him, he wasn't the composed, self-assured man she had grown accustomed to. His expression was open, vulnerable in a way that caught her off guard.
"Hermione," he began, his voice low but steady, "there's something I need to say, something I should have said a long time ago." He paused, as if gathering courage. "Darling, I know I've made more mistakes than I can count. I've been cruel, arrogant, and blind. But the worst of it is, I hurt you, and for that, I'm truly sorry."
She didn't respond right away, her silence heavy with unspoken memories. The weight of their shared past hung between them, as palpable as the cool evening air.
"I—I've changed," he continued, his voice faltering slightly. "Or at least, I'm trying to. Being with you, seeing how strong, how compassionate you are... it makes me want to be better. Not just for myself, but for you. For us."
A flicker of something crossed her eyes—hesitation, perhaps disbelief—but she stayed silent, giving him the space to continue.
"There's something specific I need to apologise for," he said, his voice trembling now. He took a deep breath, his grey eyes darkening with the weight of his confession. "The night in my family's drawing room… when Bellatrix tortured you… I didn't do anything. I just stood there. I watched, and I didn't lift a finger to help you. I was a coward."
Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't expected this—hadn't expected him to bring up that night. The memory surged forward, vivid and painful: Bellatrix's cold, triumphant laughter, the white-hot agony of the curse carving into her skin, and his frozen figure in the background, pale and terrified.
"I—I was terrified," he said, his voice breaking. "I was afraid for my parents, afraid for myself. But none of that matters, because you were suffering, and I did nothing. And I hate myself for it. I've hated myself every day since."
She turned fully to face him now, her eyes bright with unshed tears. His words were raw, stripped of the usual veneer of sarcasm or pride. For once, there was no mask—just Draco, laying himself bare before her.
"I can't undo it," he whispered, his voice thick with regret. "I can't go back and be braver. But if I could, I would. I would give anything to take away the pain you felt that night, to have stood up to her, to have done something."
She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. "That night was one of the worst of my life," she said quietly. "I can't forget it. I can't forget what she did, and I can't forget how you stood there, doing nothing. You were part of it, whether you wanted to be or not."
His face crumpled, and he looked away, unable to meet her gaze. A tear slid down his cheek, but he didn't bother to wipe it away. "I know," he murmured. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I had to tell you. I had to let you know how sorry I am."
For a long moment, there was only the sound of the waves crashing against the shore below. Then, to his surprise, she reached out, gently brushing the tear from his face.
"I saw the fear in your eyes that night," she said softly. "You were just a boy, caught in a nightmare none of us could escape. It doesn't excuse what you did—or didn't do—but I understand now. You were scared."
He looked at her, hope flickering faintly in his eyes. "I should have been braver," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "But I swear to you, Hermione, I'm not that boy anymore. I will spend the rest of my life trying to be someone worthy of you, someone you can trust."
Her heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. Forgiveness wasn't easy—it wasn't something she could give lightly—but in that moment, she saw a man burdened by his past, desperate to make amends.
"I can't promise to forget," she said slowly. "And I don't know if I can fully forgive. But… I believe you've changed. And I believe you want to be better."
A single tear rolled down his cheek, and this time, she didn't wipe it away. He took her hand in his, squeezing it gently but firmly. "Thank you," he whispered. "For even considering giving me a chance. I don't deserve it, but I'll earn it. I'll spend the rest of my life proving that to you."
As they stood there, hand in hand under the moonlit sky, the past didn't vanish. The scars of war, both visible and hidden, would always remain. But in that quiet moment, a fragile but genuine hope took root. It wasn't a promise of happily ever after—it was something far more real: a promise to try.
And for Hermione, that was enough. For now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning felt like the beginning of something new—a tentative but hopeful chapter in their lives. The pale, golden light of dawn seeped through the sheer curtains, painting the room in soft hues of warmth. She lay awake, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as thoughts swirled in her mind, thoughts she had been avoiding for weeks but could no longer ignore. Among them was the list—the one Draco had given her months ago, detailing things they would need to discuss as they navigated their reluctant partnership.
Her heart thudded softly in her chest as she turned on her side to study him. He was still asleep, his expression unusually serene, a stark contrast to the guarded, stoic demeanor he so often wore during the day. There was something disarming about seeing him like this, unburdened by expectations or memories. But this wasn't about sentimentality. This was about something she had been thinking about more and more lately: children.
Her chest tightened at the thought. It wasn't that she had suddenly decided she wanted children immediately—it was the idea of them having a child, and the countless questions it raised. How would they raise a child together, given their tumultuous pasts? Could they truly build a family, given everything they had been through? And, more pressingly, did he even want children, or was that something he had simply included on the list because he thought it was expected?
With a quiet but steadying breath, she reached out and gently nudged his shoulder. "Draco, wake up, please."
He stirred, blinking blearily as he adjusted to the soft morning light. His brows furrowed slightly as he turned toward her, his voice still rough with sleep. "What's wrong?" he murmured, concern flickering in his gaze. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she reassured him, pulling the covers a little tighter around herself. "I just… I've been thinking about the list you gave me. There's something important we need to discuss."
At the mention of the list, he sat up, instantly more alert. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, his expression shifting from groggy to attentive. "Alright," he said, his voice steady now. "What specifically?"
She hesitated, momentarily unsure how to phrase what she wanted to say. But this was Draco—directness was usually the best approach. "I want to talk about us," she said slowly, meeting his gaze. "Specifically, about us… as a couple. And what that might mean for the future.
He's cock never been so fully awake in his life either.
She hesitated for a moment, unsure how to begin, but this was Draco, and if there was one thing she had learned over the years, it was that directness was the best approach with him. "I want to talk about us," she said, her voice steady but with a hint of nervousness. She looked into his eyes, grounding herself. "Specifically, about us… as a couple. And what that might mean for the future."
His expression shifted slightly, his brow furrowing in thought, before he gently let go of her hand and sat up, drawing the covers up with him. His voice was soft, yet his words held the weight of something important. "I understand. What exactly is it that you're thinking?"
She took a deep breath, steadying herself before responding. "I don't know exactly, but I've been thinking a lot about what's between us, and where we're heading. These past months, there's been so much confusion, so many things left unsaid." She hesitated again, looking at him, gauging his response. "I need to know that we're on the same page. That we want the same things. And that we're doing this for the right reasons."
He looked at her intently, his gaze softening with understanding. He reached out and took her hand again, his touch gentle. "You mean you want to know if I'm really in this," he said quietly. "If I'm really committed to… to us?"
She nodded, feeling a weight settle on her chest. "Yes. I need to know that you're not just here because it's convenient or because of a promise we made. I need to know that you're here because you want to be. And that I'm not just a... a duty or a responsibility." Her voice faltered at the end, and she quickly swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to keep her emotions in check.
His eyes softened, a fleeting flicker of something like regret passing over his features. He leaned closer, his fingers gently brushing against hers, a tender gesture. "Hermione," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "I can't pretend to be perfect, and I know I've hurt you in ways that you'll never forget. But I am here because I want to be. Because I've never wanted anything more than to make things right between us."
She bit her lip, fighting back the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "But is that enough?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Can wanting to be better really make up for everything that's happened?"
He paused, his brow furrowing as he thought. His gaze never left hers. "I don't think there's a quick fix for that," he said, his voice low and serious. "I know I've done things—horrible things—that hurt you, and there's no way to undo them. But I'm not that person anymore. I want to be someone who can stand by your side and show you that I'm worthy of your trust. I want to be someone who makes you feel safe, not afraid."
Her heart ached at the rawness in his words, and for a moment, she didn't know what to say. She had never expected an apology from him, not one so heartfelt and vulnerable. "Draco…" She exhaled softly, her voice shaking. "I don't know how to trust you completely again, not yet. And I don't expect everything to change overnight. But I need to see that you're not just here because it's what's expected of you. I need to see that you're really trying. For us."
He nodded, his expression serious, and squeezed her hand, his voice quieter now but filled with sincerity. "I'm trying, darling. I'm trying more than you'll ever know. I can't promise that everything will be easy, but I promise that I'll keep trying. I'll be here, and I'll show you every day that I'm here because I want to be here. I'll earn your trust, even if it takes a lifetime."
He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of shyness and longing. "On a scale of one to ten, how comfortable would you say you are with me physically?" he asked, his voice hesitant.
She felt her cheeks flush as she considered his question. "Maay… maybe four," she replied, her blush deepening.
He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "Can I kiss you finally? I've been dreaming about these swotty lips for longer than I care to admit," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Hermione," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
She turned to face him, her eyes searching for him. There was a mixture of longing and hesitation in his gaze, mirroring her own emotions. "Draco," she replied softly, the sound of his name on her lips sending a thrill through him.
Fuuuck he wanted to his my name from her mouth for eternity.
They laid there for a moment, the silence thickening around them. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, his hand gently cupped her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in anticipation.
Without another word, he leaned in, closing the distance between them. His lips met hers in a soft, tender kiss, and she melted into his embrace.
His lips tasted like spearmint and candy apples.
The world seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in each other, years of longing and unspoken feelings finally finding release.
They pulled back slightly, their foreheads resting against each other as they caught their breath. She looked into his eyes, seeing the same vulnerability and affection mirrored back at her.
"I've wanted to do that for so many years now, you cannot even imagine how long I've been waiting to taste your lips." He confessed, his voice husky with emotion.
She smiled, a tear escaping her eye. "Me too," she whispered, her voice filled with relief and happiness.
He pulled her into another kiss, deeper this time, sealing their unspoken promises and newfound connection. Their kisses become frantic yet still filled with emotion. Snuggled together in bed, they savoured each other's taste as if it were their first breath after emerging from the depths of a long underwater dive.
They knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but in that moment, they found solace in each other's arms, knowing they were no longer alone.