Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

epilogue: here's to moments

Draco Malfoy hated the fact that he can't kiss her in public even as she allowed him to hold her hand. It was like hanging a piece of juicy apple and asking him to take a bite but holding it farther and farther as he tried. He doesn't know just what it is with muggle couples and hand holding. It made no absolute sense to him especially now that he knows and Hermione probably knows too that his hand has started to sweat. Draco doesn't sweat, he simply doesn't. Ask anyone. Really.

And besides, hand holding is for children who don't want to part from their parents or for playing hopscotch and whatever could you.

He's no child.

But by the way that she was blushing as he rubbed small circles on her wrist, with colors rising up to her cheekbones just below her eyes, lighting up the freckles that are resident there. He figured that he might not entirely be losing.

Her eyes flitted to meet his. She was wearing some sort of color on her lids, a dark color-- not entirely unpleasant but it drew attention to her eyes. And her lips. There was a shiny, pink tint to them. Again, it draws attention. Bleeding, screaming attention. She was wearing a gray dress, form fitting on top-- and Merlin knows she has assets there-- and thank the Wizengamot that the hem of the bottom reached past her knees because he wouldn't have trusted himself to sit in the dark with her for two hours and not do anything that his mother would not approve of.

And don't let him get started on her wild hair. Fuck his life. The wilder it got the stronger his urge to yank at it becomes. Or the way her skin feels and smells whenever he accidentally touches not just her hand. Just the thought of having to let go of her later in the day set pinprick wheels rolling on his stomach.

Muggle boys looked over there shoulders to get a look at her.

Draco is more than ready to send hexes just because he can and they can't and by Merlin, she's so pretty right now that he is unsure what to do with himself. They are for the first time, normal. Just another couple in the street. Alone. No distractions and he is unsure that without the danger, the Gryffindor in her would still like him.

But who is he kidding?

He's bleeding awesome!

Right?

Right.

R-Right?

----

Hermione Granger hated the fact that whenever they hold hands and step out onto the streets, he always feels like miles away. He barely looks at her, he always looks like he is on the look out for something. Blast her if he is looking for the someone better. Probably someone with nicer hair. More straight than curly. More pale than tanned. More flawless than freckled. More any other girl than her.

She took a deep breath and bit her lip. It tasted like cherry flavored lipgloss. Maybe not nearly enough to get noticed. Girls are looking at him. Girls wearing denim miniskirts in the middle of autumn, wearing lip colors that are darker than blood, girls that will not have to try hard to catch his attention. Girls are whispering in not so hushed tones of how he-- Draco Malfoy-- looks like a more posh version of Leonardo DiCaprio. Of course, if she noticed it, everyone will probably too.

"Draco?"

Steely gray eyes regarded her. His hold on her hand tightened.

"How did you find it?"

He seemed to have regarded her question for a second. It was his first time going to the movies or as he called it 'the muggle picture show' or 'the cheap entertainment for people who don't have magic'. Knowing him, he's probably have constructed a dozen insults to hurl at the experience even before it started.