Spellbound (Dramione Smut Story)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Draco

The bed was warm, but the air around it was cold. Hermione's body beside me was even warmer than the sheets that covered her. I turned over on my side to press myself against her back as my mind slowly began to focus. Hermione gave a great sigh and curled around my arm. The skin of her stomach was soft.

I opened my eyes and looked through her hair at the tip of her nose. I was perfectly content to stay put until she woke and savor the feel of the moment. Although the night before had ended in ecstasy, our romance wasn't guaranteed a happy ending. If Harry and Ginny couldn't make it, who was to say we could? Especially since our romance involved lawyers and gossip columns.

Hermione's nose began to whistle at her every inhale. With a smile, I curled down around her and lay my face on the top of her head. Regardless of where we would end up and how we would get there, I counted my blessings, listing Hermione as one of them. I would leave this specific morning untainted by fears of the future and Harry Potter. I slowly fell back into a peaceful sleep.

The next week, I leaned over the bathroom sink and gazed at my jacket's cuffs. I wasn't ready. I had lied to Hermione a thousand times over the course of the past several days by promising her I wasn't scared, and by ensuring we would come back home in a few weeks. Our trip to London was only to be a nightmarish vacation. Should we return, we would close up the house and pack up my things before moving into a lavish apartment in downtown London like the couple of powerful, wealthy wizards we were. That was a dream that I hoped would soon turn into reality. But hope doesn't go hand in hand with certainty, and it hardly ever sidles up next to reality.

I looked up into the mirror and found my hunched posture accented by the nervous blue bags that hung above my cheekbones. My hair was combed over to one side and glimmering white, and a green tie slithered down the front of my shirt in between the sleeves of my black jacket. The only sign of distress was my body language.

"Draco?" My already churning stomach lurched as I heard Hermione's sweet voice down the hallway. "We should probably get going. Nixon said The Prophet  got a hold of the story and printed it this morning. He expects they'll send a journalist of their own, and plenty of other people will show up. We may want to get through before they clog up the entrances."

She appeared around the door frame in a creamy rose colored blouse with a frilly collar matched with dark red dress pants and black heels, her hair pulled back in a bun. I straightened my back and attempted to reset my features, but I had been too late. Hermione moved forward and looped her arm around my elbow, gazing up at my cheekbones and stroking my jacket with her fingers.

"Are you alright?"

I looked at her concerned reflection and shook my head. Beside her, I did look like a villain. She was classic and beautiful, accented by bright colors and smiles. I was robed in black with only my white hair to contrast it. I looked stark and intimidating; I looked like the sort that preyed on Hermione's kind.

"How am I going to win against Harry Potter?"

Hermione leaned her head against my shoulder and snaked her hand down to mine. "You'll tell the truth. The whole ordeal is silly, Draco. Why would I be working with you if you had taken advantage of me?"

"Money?"

"Definitely not."

"That's what all of the columns are saying."

"Well, the columns are wrong. And offensive. Did they really say that?"

"Yeah, a few."

"I don't need your money."