Chapter Text
His laugh was her favorite sound. There was something carefree about the way Draco threw his head back against the pillows, his eyes sparkling in the dim candlelight. Hermione wished she could bottle up that moment and hold it in the palm of her hand, or close to her heart, where no one could take it from her.
The sheets of her bed smelled like sweat and them; proof that she belonged to him before anyone else. Draco’s hands knew every dip of her hips and curve of her breasts, and his tongue had tasted every inch of her more than once.
His . Hermione was his before she could be anyone else’s, in every sense of the word. The proof of it was seared into her skin – an invisible brand that bound her to him, forever.
As she settled down with her chin on his chest, Draco’s eyes wandered to the window. Beyond the stained glass, the moon had reached the highest point in the sky, about to begin its descent back to the horizon. She knew what he was going to say before his hand fell to her shoulder.
“I should get going.”
Hermione traced a finger along the dip in his collarbone as she whispered the same question she asked him every time.
“Why?” Their eyes met, mercurial grey and burning amber. If only she could keep him there until the sun came up. He might stay, then, if he saw her in the morning light.
“You’re getting married in…” Draco’s voice trailed off as he glanced at the clock on her bedside table. “Ten hours.”
“So?” She drew idle shapes on the skin above his heart – their initials, a star, something that could be a snake if painting lessons hadn’t been a waste on her.
“Princess–”
“Don’t call me that.” Hermione laid her palm flat above his heart, feeling. Memorizing. “Not in here.”
Draco sighed and laid his head back against the pillows on her large four-poster as his hand slid down her back.
“It’s who you are.”
“Not to you.”
“To everyone.” Hermione huffed, and the faintest of smiles graced his lips. “Let’s not ruin this, yeah? It doesn’t have to end in a–”
“It doesn’t have to end at all.” Hermione shifted as Draco pulled himself to a sitting position, resting his back against the headboard. “We could do it, you know. Make a run for it.”
If they left now, no one would notice they were missing until morning. They could be well into the forest by then, heading South where they could hire someone to take them across the Channel. By tea time the next day, they could be in France. And he would keep her safe, just like he had his whole life. Draco was more than an armed guard – he was her friend, her lover.
“They’d behead me and bring you back here,” he deadpanned. “We can’t–”
“Draco–”
“Hermione–” He sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them, she knew the choice he’d made. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
“If I refuse to sleep?” She countered, a last ditch effort. Draco laughed, but it didn’t sound as lovely as it had before.
“Come here,” he whispered, beckoning her back onto his chest. Hermione complied, only because it was her favorite place to be. With her cheek resting above his heart, their hands threaded together above the blankets, and his arm wrapped around her, she was safe.
Once she was comfortable, Draco whispered the incantation that plunged the room into darkness. He rubbed soothing circles over her shoulders, and ran his fingers up and down her spine, coaxing her to relax. Willing her to sleep – to let go.
“I love you,” she whispered into the moonlight room. Draco’s hand paused, but only briefly.
“I know,” he said. “Believe me, Hermione. If it wouldn’t cost me my head, I’d shout it from the Astronomy Tower.”
“Just whisper it,” she said, nuzzling closer, trying to press herself as tight to his bare chest as possible. “For me.”
Draco leaned forward to place a kiss to the crown of her head. Hermione would never say anything, but she felt the tear that slid down his cheek and landed on her nose as he laid back against the headboard.
“I love you, Hermione.” More quietly, he added, “And I’m sorry this was all we could have.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she whispered back. “It was everything to me.”
“You are everything to me,” Draco said to the ceiling. “I’ll always be here. You know that, don’t you?”
It was Hermione’s turn to leak red hot tears onto his skin. Draco didn’t move to wipe them away. She didn’t know if that made it better, or worse.
“I know,” she managed to choke out. He squeezed her hand.
“Now sleep, Princess.”
Hermione hated that her eyes were already growing heavy in the comfort of his embrace. There were so many things she still had to tell him – like the fact that she’d been lost before he reminded her that there was more to life than duty and decorum. Draco had shown her that slow dances beneath trees were sweeter than waltzes on a ballroom floor, and that the title of Princess meant nothing when the one she loved was little more than a commoner.
He’d loved her since they were children, always knowing she’d never be his. And she would love him well after they’d grown up, never giving up on the idea that, some day, she might belong to him again.