Blinding State of Affairs

Chapter Thirty-Three

The thick blankets Ginny gave her came in handy as decent padding while they rested near the fire. Hermione had set in another log and turned off the lights. Pillows from the loveseat were plush enough for them to sleep against. Draco was pleasantly surprised with how beautiful it felt despite them being on the floor during a blizzard.

Hermione was reading a book out loud as the rested comfortably close to the fire. "Granger," Draco whispered after the chapter ended.

"Yes?"

"What is your favorite color? All this time you knew mine, but I never asked yours," he murmured, his fingers running over the thigh tucked over his lower abdomen.

"Purple, like the deep color before the sunsets. Not the lavender before, but the almost violet of the night greeting the day," Hermione sighed.

"Do you give me such vivid detail on purpose? Is that so I can visualize what I will never see again?" he inquired, letting his fingers doodle invisible circles on her leg.

Hermione maneuvered closer hooking her leg around his thigh closest to her. "Maybe it started like that. I am not sure. Somewhere I went from a logical examiner to a romanticized observer," she murmured, placing the book on the other side of him.

"That is pretty," he exhaled with a smile.

"Well, it isn't like I was trying," she giggled, and he ran his fingers through her hair.

"I know, but I love that about you, Granger. You always have that part of yourself that adapts just a tad for someone you care for," he told her, and she trailed her fingers over his shirt.

"What about you Draco? You have any silly secrets you would like to admit?"

Draco laughed and exhaled. "I had a horrible fear of goats as a child. My mother had a couple of them when I was a boy. They acted like aliens, and I was worried they were going to eat my clothes." He declared, and she laughed loudly.

"Goats? Like cute little goats?"

Draco snorted. "I didn't think they were cute."

"Well, what else?" Hermione pried, and he grinned.

"I used to pretend that I was a wizard. I had this stick for the longest time and cast spells on different things. My mother even bought me these robes to wear. My father was so discouraged by my imagination that he took the robes from me one day and cut them up in front of me." He mumbled, and Hermione frowned.

"I am sorry your father was so horrible to you," she murmured and he leaned to kiss her forehead.

"He is gone, I have come to forgive him for his misdirection. If I don't then I will never be free from him." He said, and her head bobbed.

"Just remember you are not the product of his abuse, you are a survivor," Hermione reminded him, stroking his cheek.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked as his leg shifted against her.

The woman huffed as she pivoted her hips. "Yes," she mumbled.

Draco grinned boyishly. "Granger." She inquisitively sounded before he pressed her down to the floor. "Let me help you?" he asked, and her eyes grew.

"Draco?" her voice quivered just a fraction, but he heard it in detail.

"You are stubborn, a bit of a pill at times, and your lines in the sand never make sense. Let me give you a bit of relief, so you don't pop from all the tension you are building," he declared as his fingers ran over her body to her hips.