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She smelled his rich scent at the nape of his neck. She felt his perfume dance inside of her, as if every pinch of air was celebrating coming back to the home of lungs. He was so perfectly made for her that even the air that surrounded him knew that he was hers.
She glimpsed at the clock over the bedside table.
7h35 a.m.
She inhaled again. His perfume bewitching her once more. She held him closer with her arms around him and refused to move for a bit, resting her nose against his nape.
One, two, three, fifteen breaths later, she pressed her lips to the back of his neck.
"Draco, love," she whispered.
He hummed but didn't move. She snuggled closer, pushing her knees against the back of his thighs and kissed his neck again.
"Love," she said lightly.
He hummed and held her hands tightly against his chest.
"No," he mumbled.
A bubbling smile covered her lips. "I'm sorry, it's," she checked the clock again, "7h45, love." She kissed him once more, inhaling deeply again. It was surely an addiction at this point.
He stretched, moaning, and slowly turned to her. He barely gave her time to take in his face, nestling inside her arms with his head against her chest.
They hugged for a bit. Her hands were around his silky hair. They were breathing in and out in the same rhythm, saying nothing.
It was more than routine.
It was intimacy.
"It's time for you to leave me for the witch coven then?" He yawned. His morning voice was her favourite prayer.
She smiled. "We are not thirteen yet for that, but sure. Yes." He put his hand inside her shirt, caressing her back tenderly.
"You'll soon be thirteen." He kissed her chest. "You'll see."
He gazed at her lovingly, his gentle grey eyes. It felt like a caress to her soul, this love. Slowly, she pushed her head down, brushing a kiss to his lips.
"Morning."
He hummed in contentment, "Morning, love" and tightened his arms around her. They stayed embracing each other for another minute.
7h54 a.m.
"I have to go, Draco." He kissed her chest four times, breathing her in deeply.
"Course, love," he said, slowly releasing his grip.
She left the bed, immediately missing his hands around her.
She got ready in the bathroom, preparing herself as quickly as she could. She finished and he was still in bed. This time, watching her.
He followed her every move. He tracked the way her hands worked around her tights, how she took her hair out of the collar of her pullover, and where her earrings dangled around her ear.
He had a sweet smile.
8h13 a.m.
"What?" She asked, though she knew.
I love you.
He moved his head from side to side. "I love you," he said. Predictably. Truthfully. Lovingly.
She got to the bed, leaning over to plant another kiss over his lips. "I love you too," she said.
She left him with a dopey smile covering his lips.
True to her words, they weren't many.
Only nine women gathered every Saturday morning.
It all started because of Luna. For a while after the war, she stopped speaking. In an effort to try to bring Luna back, Hermione and Ginny started offering to Luna to participate in a hundred different activities under the guise of having Ginny learn Muggle hobbies. She accepted, even if begrudgingly and only through a nod. From colouring, to crocheting, to playing a guitar, they found an excuse to make Luna engage with them. Firstly, from the inside of her own home, to then branching out to Hermione's and to Ginny's.
It wasn't until after their twelfth weekend of activities that Luna finally said a couple of words again.
"Thank you," she said, her voice shaky.
Through tears, enormous hugs, and endless open conversations, they were almost a year in. What first started as a way to bring her friend back, became a group where women could talk. Interact.
Ginny brought in Parvati, who brought in Padma, and so it went.
It was Hermione who brought in books once, and after that, books were their steady companions to discuss different subjects along with a crafty activity.
Intersectional feminism and kombucha making; the importance of a clean cauldron and embroidery; poetry and making brooches were some of the topics they had already covered.
The group meant more to Hermione than she could express. How was community something she craved so strongly when she grew up, and without meaning to, she created her own?
They found themselves meeting every week, in an effort to build something that was theirs. A place for women to discover themselves through respect and empathy.
Another Saturday, sitting over a table with colouring books and pencils in their hands, Parvati asked, "Do you think you've ever felt real love?"
She thought of her morning with Draco. Of her friend Luna, talking about what colour she wanted to try on her hair next. Of the group of women that cared for each other.
An answer had never come up so easily on her lips.
"Yes."