Draco's Angels

Could It Be Real?

A/N: Okay, so I know this took forever, (also I realized that I haven't done an Author's Note on here before!), but I hope that the wait was worth it. Also, if anyone uses fanfiction.net and would like to read my story there, it is there on my profile. Same username! Enjoy!

Hermione's eyes fluttered open, sunlight streaming through the window. She stretched, her back, and various other joints, cracking. She sat on the floor, leaning against her door. Her memory caught up and she remembered what had happened the evening before. She stood slowly, her body sore from her strange sleeping position. It was very quiet in her flat this morning. Too quiet.

"Leslie?" Hermione opened her door and ran to her daughter's room. She burst through the door to see Draco in the rocking chair with Leslie.

"I figured you needed your rest, so I took care of her through the night." He slightly looked up at her through his thick lashes, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, as if it was his job. Was it his job? Hermione couldn't figure out why, but it felt right. Seeing her baby girl in his arms was like an ethereal vision. Like something straight out of a dream. Almost like something that she didn't deserve. Did she deserve it? After how horribly she had treated the father of her child when he wanted to help, how selfishly she kept her daughter — no, their daughter — to herself with no thought of his feelings. This was too much. What had possessed him to stay with them? A gift that she didn't deserve sat in front of her face, taunting her heart to the breaking point.

Draco heard a heart-wrenching sob, lifting his head to see the mother of his child spin around and disappear. He didn't catch a glimpse of her eyes but he knew that there were tears spilling over onto her pink cheeks. As much as she had been mean to him, he didn't want to see her hurting. Her warm brown eyes held so much emotion and, whether good or bad, they transferred the feelings on to him. The child in his arms stirred and he gazed down at his daughter. Hermione's daughter. Their daughter. Together they had created this beautiful being from nothing. One night of passion, a night of mistakes, a night of no decisions. At least there were no decisions on her part, no doubt she was drunk. Draco could still remember that entire night clearly. He had wanted her then and he wanted her now.

Everything about her made Draco melt. Every sweet smile, the way her eyes lit up, her wild hair. He couldn't resist her. He loved every little thing that she did, how she looked, the way that she talked, her bravery, her intelligence. Suddenly, Draco realized. He loved her. He loved Hermione Granger. There was no denying it now. Now that he had come to this revelation, he didn't know what to do about it. There was nothing to do but keep it to himself. Surely she didn't love him, she couldn't. She had turned him down; she scowled at him all day and night. However, she had worked with him to provide the best for Leslie, their beautiful baby girl. That could just be a love for Leslie, but she could have the best without Draco moving in.

But her tears, Hermione's sobbing last night, and after every fight. The way that she looked at him while he held their daughter. These signs all lead towards her loving him, or having some positive feelings for him. His thoughts drifted through fantasies as his daughter fell asleep in his arms.

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Hermione sat in a pool of tears. She was once again leaning against the door to her room, holding it shut to hide herself from the outside world. All of the insults she had hurled at him ran through her head. He didn't deserve those titles, or that abuse. He was just a boy stuck in his father's dark shadow. Who was she to tell him who to be? Who was she to tell him who he was? Hermione tried to imagine Draco with a different personality, but she couldn't. It simply wouldn't be Draco. She didn't hate his arrogance, she admired his self-confidence. He was vulnerable, too vulnerable. His cool, tough exterior was not how he felt inside. Not after the horrible year he had endured when he was 16. Hermione didn't know enough about his childhood to judge his actions on that. In fact, he probably had a very good one.