"Tell me," she breathes.
Her intoxicating eyes are half-lidded, expectant, and Draco finds that the words do not come. The drowsy morning sun cascades through the window, washing her with its golden hues. It's like the colour was made for her very existence, as cliche as it sounds. A sun-kissed goddess at his bedside and he is nothing but a dutiful devotee, blessed by her mere presence. He'd never particularly understood the concept of religion– his grandfather's odd occasional preaching about the muggle concept nor the ancient relics stowed away in some corner of the Manor. But by Merlin, something about her made him want to drop to his knees and pray anyway. Draco caresses her face, simply holding her.
The Golden Girl herself.
The moment feels too fragile to exist. Too delicate to divine into this world. He's terrified to even breathe.
"What are you so afraid of?" The words hover in the breath of space between them and he tilts his head forward, resting his forehead against hers. Does she notice the way his hands still tremble as he cups her cheek? For once, the creeping shadows of the war aren't to blame. No, this reaction is far too real and human for that.
Today he is just an ordinary man, no trace of a haunted past. Just a man who shakes, nervous, in the face of the woman he loves.
Love. He is sure that this is what it must be. He's spent so long running away from that word but now that it's finally caught up to him, it bears none of the burden Draco thought it would. He only feels a keen sense of relief.
Hermione Jean Granger.
Slowly, almost achingly slow, he bridges the gap between them. Her lips are soft as they press against his. Regardless of how this conversation will go, at least he will have this. This quiet moment in a lazy morning, vulnerable and stripped bare.
A last lingering figment of something undeniably real.
He could give her a speech, something grand and bold to truly express himself. Draco ought to find the words and make sure they are eloquent and poetic, everything worthy of her.
"You terrify me," he whispers instead, as he pulls away. That's the honest truth of it all. She has always been and will always be the reason for his ruin. It is an irrefutable truth of the universe, of this he is sure. He's always been weak in the face of her reality. Even now, some habitual part of him searches for a box—stark white with a golden trim.
It doesn't exist, not anymore.
There is a room filled with shelves that touch the sky. These shelves used to be filled with boxes under lock and key.
They're empty now.
A fresh start. No walls to hide behind. No strings to tuck away, not anymore.
A new beginning.
Draco Malfoy unravels.
"Must I always be the brave one?" she teases. Draco can hear the smile in her voice and his heart thumps in his chest, loud enough that he wonders if perhaps she could hear it. How long has his heart been beating for her?
"Be gentle with my feelings," he murmurs, gazing into her eyes. He reaches up, lightly tugging an errant curl. "I've been dreaming about this for a long time."
"Being in my bedroom?" An arch of her eyebrow, that same mischievous gleam in her bright eyes. Her face is flushed, a lovely blush staining her skin. A flicker of something akin to pride bursts in his chest. He did that.
Hermione. Hermione. Hermione.
"Being yours." Inevitability.
"Is that so?" Hermione's hands grip his shoulder as she shifts, adjusting her position. Looking at him like he has always wanted.
YOU ARE READING
And She Was Golden
Fanfiction[Dramione Fic] Their eyes meet just for a fraction of a moment, and that's all it takes. All his boxes and walls come crashing down. He's always been weak in the face of her reality- no matter how furiously he would deny it. Breathe in. Draco Malfoy...
