𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐃 | ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ

Chapter 17

I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING: What the fuck?

If I realized that I'm in love with Hermione, and she's obviously infatuated with me—how does she end up back with Ronald Why-Don't-You-Just-Die-Already Weasley?

Excellent question. We're almost there. But first: a science lesson. What do you know about frogs?

Yes. I said frogs.

Did you know that if you put a frog in boiling water, he'll jump out? But, if you put one in cold water and heat it slowly, he'll stay in. And boil to death. He won't even try to get out. He won't even know he's dying. Until it's too late.

Men are a lot like frogs.

Was I freaked out by my little epiphany? Of course I was. It was huge. Life-changing. No more strange pussy. No more stories for the guys. No more Saturday nights. But none of that mattered anymore. Honestly.

Because it was too late. I was already boiling—for Hermione.

That whole night I watched her sleep. And made plans...for us. The things we'd do together, the places we'd go—tomorrow and next weekend and next year. I practiced what I would say, how I would tell her my feelings. I imagined her reaction and how she would confess she felt the same way. It was like a movie, some horrible chick flick that I would never go see. The dashing playboy meets the take-no-prisoners girl of his dreams, and she snags his heart forever.

I should have known then that it was too good to be true. The best things usually are: Santa Claus, the male G-spot, heaven—the list is endless.

You'll see.

oOoOoOo

We're walking down Fifth Avenue. Instead of wasting precious time driving across town to Hermione's apartment, we stopped at Saks on the way to work, where I bought Hermione a new black Chanel suit. Can't have her doing the Walk of Shame into the office, now can I? When she was trying on clothes for me, I swear, I felt just like Richard fucking Gere in Pretty Woman. Hermione even bought me a tie.

See?

Then she insisted on stopping by the lingerie department to replace the panties I'd so erotically destroyed. I put up a good fight over that one, but I lost. You ladies ought to know—going commando? That's sexier than leather and lace and whips and chains all put together.

We stop by Starbucks and grab some much-needed caffeine. As we walk back outside, I pull Hermione close. I cup her cheek and kiss her. She tastes like coffee—light and sweet. She pushes my hair back out of my eyes and smiles.

I'll never get tired of looking at her. Or kissing her. Pussy whipped, thy name is Draco Malfoy. Yeah I know. It's okay. I don't mind. 'Cause if this is the Dark Side? Sign me up. Seriously. Don't be surprised if I start skipping down the street singing, "Zip-a-Dee-fucking-Doo-Dah." I'm that happy.

Hermione and I turn the corner. Holding hands and smiling at each other like two idiots who popped one too many antidepressants. Nauseating, isn't it?

We need to stop here for just a minute. You should look at us. How we are right here, right now—hand in hand. You should remember this moment. I do.

We were...perfect.

Then we get to our building. I open the door for Hermione and walk in behind her.

And the first thing I see are daisies. Large white daisies with cheerful yellow centers. Some in vases on the security desk, others in bunches tied with ribbon. Some are scattered singly all over the floor, random petals here and there. In the middle of the lobby is a circle of even more daisies. In the center of that circle, is Ron Weasley. And he's got his guitar.