Meet Your Match

17. Too Close Too Fast

Draco was frowning.

Even in his sleep, he carried a heaviness that she longed to lift from him. Hermione brought her hand up and gently brushed the hair back from his eyes. She let her finger rest on the crease between his brows. She traced over it, thumb ghosting down the bridge of his nose, but it only deepened at her touch.

Was it her? Was she part of the weight? Could he feel it, too? Something like the irresistible pull of the tide, sweeping them out into treacherous, crushing depths.

Her fingers slid over the side of his face, across his cheek, to the corner of his mouth. God, he was so beautiful. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to cover those down-turned lips with her own until he lost himself in her. Until he forgot everything he’d ever had to worry about.

But she didn’t.

She got up and dressed, closing the door quietly behind her as she left.

***

Draco woke up feeling uneasy. He was immediately aware that Granger wasn’t in the bed with him. Even with his limited experience, it was readily apparent that she was a sound sleeper. This was not a good sign.

He rubbed his hands over his face as his eyes adjusted to the morning light. The previous night had been incredibly intense. He’d felt just as overwhelmed as Granger had looked. She’d been nearly asleep on her feet by the time he got her out of the shower, drying her hair with a charm and dressing her in another t-shirt while her eyelids drooped.

He looked over and smoothed his hand across her empty pillow. He was surprised to feel that it was still warm. He heard a sound from the kitchen then, and he realised he could smell coffee brewing.

His head fell back onto the pillow. It was possible she had just woken up early, but something about the way she had reacted last night unsettled him. Maybe he’d said too much, been too blunt.

He sighed. Holding back wasn’t going to do either of them any favours. He wasn’t about to lie to her, and if she couldn’t accept who he was then it was better to know sooner. The more time he spent with her, the harder it would be when she left.

That thought got him moving. He might as well talk to her before writing the whole thing off. He admired his shocking maturity as he hauled himself into the bathroom.

When he emerged from his room, he saw Granger leaning over the counter, reading with a mug in her hand. She was dressed in jeans and a sleeveless top, and he wondered which articles of clothing she’d Transfigured to make them.

She looked up and smiled when she saw him. That was something, at least. “Good morning,” she said.

“Morning,” he answered, entering the kitchen and grabbing a mug for himself.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said in reference to the coffee.

“Not at all,” he said as he poured a cup. She was silent as he added cream and sugar. He leaned back against the counter and looked at her.

When she met his eye again, his stomach dropped. He knew this look, and he immediately hated being on the receiving end of it. She was nervous, unsure of herself, hesitant.

He could tell she was steeling herself to speak, so he sipped and waited.

“I’ve been thinking...”

His stomach was at risk of falling through the floor.

“I think I need a couple of days... a little space.”

God, he fucking hated that word. He swallowed before speaking. 

“Okay.”

He’d tried to keep his tone even, and you would think with only two syllables that he could do it, but she practically winced.