Chapter Text
Her first thought as sleep faded into consciousness was that she was uncharacteristically warm. A halfhearted attempt to roll over proved futile as well; some unknown force held her firmly in place. A few seconds of intentional thinking brought her mind slowly to full wakefulness, and willed her senses to assess her current environment.
The force that had rendered her motionless was definitely the long body of the man whose bed she currently was in; although, after the many nights they’d spent sleeping in the same space, this was the first time they’d woken up this close, with no air between their skin. Draco’s arms encircled her torso, holding her so tightly to his chest that she could feel the barrier of sweat that had formed where their skin met. She could feel the fine, blonde hair where his leg was hiked up over her hip, effectively pinning her lower body in place as well. There was a desperation in the flexing of his hands against her skin and the way his muscles tightened reflexively when she tried to shift her position.
“Draco,” she whispered into the dim light, trying again to wiggle her body.
“No.” His reply was muffled into the pillow.
She tried again, only to feel his grip tighten once again. “Draco,” she grumbled, struggling to pry his fingers off of her stomach.
With a series of deliberate movements, Draco easily maneuvered Hermione to lay flat on her back, his body draped over hers. His elbows rested on either side of her head, propping his chest up, and Hermione’s vision was filled with him as he hovered above her.
These were the moments that took her breath away: Draco Malfoy, blonde hair falling around his head, his eyes silver and darkening with promises of pleasure to come, lips soft and inviting, and his undivided attention on her .
“Pardon me for wanting to enjoy every moment in my witch’s company,” he said quietly. He turned away from her for a moment, and Hermione immediately felt the loss of his eyes on her body. He must have been reaching for his wand, because a moment later a breath-freshening charm filled her mouth with the subtle sweetness of spearmint.
Hermione couldn’t help the quiet sigh that fell from her lips. “You are absolute perfection, Draco Malfoy.”
His gaze returned to her, a slow smile spreading on his lips. “I may be a gardener now, Granger, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost all of my manners.”
She huffed a small laugh which quickly faded as she looked up into Draco’s face. His eyes, now fully swirling silver, were fixated on her mouth. Suddenly self conscious, Hermione moistened her lips with her tongue. When his pupils flared in response, she swallowed tightly.
His body shifted above her as his head lowered towards her face. His eyes returned to hers, holding her frozen in place with their intensity, with their need for her to be here, with him, in this moment.
The puff of his minty breath against her lips.
Eyes that darted back and forth between hers, searching for something that she couldn’t name.
Warmth and a sense of rightness that filled her lungs with every stuttering inhale.
Choices that in this moment seemed impossibly easy to make, like they weren’t even choices at all.
Finally, Draco claimed her, drawing her lower lip between his teeth and biting gently at the flesh. Her responding whimper egged him on, as his tongue began to trace languidly along the seam of her lips, waiting for her to open for him. She let him linger there for a moment, basking in the intimate familiarity of him.
But the need that was building under her skin became too much, too impatient for him, and she parted her lips, inviting him in and reciprocating each prodding push and pull of him as the kiss deepened. They were past the point of exploring; their tongues were instead revisiting their favorite dance, one they now knew by heart.
Hermione’s hands began to wander, the aching want that filled her demanding that she touch him, that she feel the perfection of the dips and swells of his body under her palms. She gripped his biceps, tracing her fingers down the wiry muscle of his forearms before reaching around to the broad expanse of his back, trailing her hands down the smooth skin there until she reached the firmness of his arse, digging her hands in and pulling his hips against hers.
Draco’s low moan was swallowed by their kiss as she felt his cock begin to swell against her naked hip. She shifted underneath him, desperate to align their bodies, to feel the sweet relief of his touch between her legs.
His mouth wrenched away from hers, his breath hot and labored against her lips. Reaching down between them, he perfectly aligned himself so that his hard length rested against her center. A cry escaped from her lips when his hips gave an experimental thrust, perfectly nudging his cock against her covered clit as it slid along the cleft between her lower lips. At her response, the motion repeated, and Hermione felt the curling arousal begin to concentrate in her lower belly.
She craned her neck up toward him to resume their kiss, but Draco retreated from her. When she whined as she tried again, Draco’s hands came up to cradle the sides of her face.
“Please,” he panted, a quiet desperation in his voice as he looked at her. “Please just let me watch you, I…fuck, Hermione, seeing you like this…”
And so her head dropped back to the mattress, her breathing growing more labored as the heat continued to build. Each pass of his cock moved with greater ease as it grew wet with the moisture between her legs, slipping perfectly against her. She couldn’t control the whines and mewls that fell from her mouth as he continued to wind her tighter and tighter, bringing her closer to the release that she knew, that she trusted , he would deliver.
Draco watched her, his eyes darting across her face like he was afraid to miss a single expression or moment. Like he was sustained by her pleasure.
Words fell from his lips as he looked down at her, words that began quiet and controlled, but as his movements grew more frenzied, a string of nonsense filled the air around them, a chorus of “Stunning; Hermione; Mine.” His voice washed over her, fueling her ascent and setting fire to her skin.
“Fuck,” she cried, hands clinging to his shoulders. “I’m so close…so…so…fucking…close.”
Draco growled low in his chest, maintaining his rhythmic thrusts and lowering his mouth to her ear.
“Are you going to come for me, witch?” he breathed against her skin.
She opened her mouth to reply that yes, she was going to come for him now , but her body beat her to the finish line. Her spine arched off of the bed as her orgasm swept through her body, wave upon wave of bliss that left her sweating and shaking in the aftermath. And the whole time, hovering above her, he watched, entranced, as she rode the pleasure that he had wrung from her body.
An exhale shuddered from her chest, and she brought her hands to his cheeks. “Draco,” she breathed, his name enough to say all that she needed to in that moment.
Draco’s eyes never left hers as he shifted his hips once again, aligning his hard, slickened cock with her entrance. For a moment he waited there, suspended, staring down at her. His face was flushed and sweat already beaded along his upper lip.
Hermione lifted her hips, her body ready for him, but Draco held her in place. “Don’t rush me, Hermione,” he warned.
She stilled, waiting, the anticipation reigniting the hum under her skin. Her breath, still struggling to recover in the wake of her orgasm, stirred the long strands of hair that hung down between them.
When he finally entered her, it wasn’t a claiming thrust that took her breath away. No, Draco pushed inside of her with an unexpected gentleness, the deliberate slowness of someone who is savoring their favorite meal. It took seconds for him to be fully sheathed inside of her, until his pelvis met hers and he released a shaking exhale as his body stilled above hers. After a few more breaths, he began to move: withdrawing himself until only the head of his cock hovered inside of her, before filling her again in a measured, unhurried thrust.
Hermione was overwhelmed with the sensation of him, the painfully slow rhythm he maintained between her legs making her aware of every place where their skin met, every ridge on his cock that caught on the sensitive flesh inside her.
“Look at me, Hermione.”
She hadn’t realized that her eyes had fallen shut, but she obediently opened them, looking up to see Draco staring down at her. His irises had been completely overpowered by his dark pupils, and his mouth hung open in unconcealed pleasure. His body moved patiently above her, continuing the steady rhythm of his cock dragging in and out of her.
“Don’t,” It sounded like Draco forced the word out through clenched teeth. “Don’t ever…fuck, Hermione… I can’t…I…” His movements stuttered to a stop.
“Draco,” she pleaded, the sudden absence of friction pulling a frustrated whine from her. “Don’t stop.”
Draco resumed, his thrusts now harder, deeper, more urgent. “I can’t fucking say no to you,” he growled against the skin of her neck. Hermione met his movements, rolling her hips and flexing her inner muscles around him.
Words were no longer necessary as they surrendered to their bodies. Hermione was aware of nothing beyond what was building between them, the crescendo that sang through her blood as Draco fucked her into his white sheets. He seemed equally lost, the masculine grunts that grew less controlled as each minute passed filling her body with such vicious want that Hermione felt herself grow frantic beneath him. Her fingernails clawed at his back, her teeth and tongue tasting the skin at the base of his long neck, while he returned the onslaught as one hand plucked and pinched at her nipples while his mouth kissed and bit at her jaw. They fed off of each other, Hermione driving Draco and Draco driving Hermione higher and higher until she actually imagined that it could last forever.
When the ending came, when every nerve exploded in a tsunami of pleasure, and Hermione’s body shook and jerked below him, Draco followed with a guttural roar that held nothing back, his hips slowing as he came deep within her. And in that moment, under the comforting weight of his body with the harsh puffs of his breath against her neck, Hermione made a choice.
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Hermione could practically hear her heart pounding in her chest. She reached for the plain, white mug that sat in front of her, finding just enough enjoyment out of it to justify continuing to drink it rather than pouring it out. It just wasn’t the same as his coffee.
She sat at the table with Harry, Ginny, and Ron in a configuration that was achingly familiar after many years of a shared life. They were alone, sitting at a simple, metal table that sat on a little stone patio nestled in the middle of the gardens. They all sipped at cups of coffee and ignored the tray of scones that Ron had pilfered from the breakfast buffet. Her friends watched her, careful expressions on their faces. They were obviously waiting for her to say something.
She needed to say something. She should say something. But it was all so much, and she felt like she was barely clinging to the illusion of control as it was. Eager for a distraction, she took a long drink of the disappointing coffee. Not his.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Of course it was Ron who broke the silence, unable to wait a moment longer. “You know that I support you, ‘Mione, but this is crazy. It’s completely mad.”
Hermione let his words sink in for a moment before glancing over at Harry and Ginny. Harry, predictably, wore a carefully guarded expression that betrayed none of his thoughts. Ginny’s face was more readable: slightly pained, apologetic.
“Are you sure?” The red-headed witch looked at Hermione as if trying to see through her skin and bones to find some inner truth.
“Am I sure?” A frustrated laugh came bubbling unbidden from her chest. “Of course I’m not fucking sure! I’m a control freak who is crippled by making decisions and terrified of disappointing others.” She took a steadying breath out through her nose. “And now I’ve gone and set myself up to have to make a choice that will impact the rest of my life!”
“Hermione,” Ginny started.
“No, I don’t think any of you can possibly understand the hours that have gone into this choice, the constant fear that I’m making a mistake, that I’m abandoning the people who have given me so much!” Hermione’s chest was heaving with the myriad of emotions that swirled through her.
“If that’s how you feel,” Ron began, his voice rough. “Then shouldn’t you make a different choice? Aren’t choices supposed to be easy when you’re making the right one?”
Hermione turned to glare at him. “I don’t know if this is the right thing, Ron. I don’t know if I’ll ever know if this choice is the right one. But for now, at this moment in my life, I can’t imagine making another.”
Harry cleared his throat, drawing their attention to him. “What did Kingsley have to say?”
“He was unsurprised and supportive of whatever my choice was. I told him that I’d send him an owl this afternoon when I’d made my final decision.”
“Are you sure,” Harry continued, a careful edge to his voice that he typically reserved for professional settings. “That this choice is for you, Hermione, and not for him?”
She sighed. Him . She shouldn’t be surprised at the question. It was a valid one. “I won’t sit here and pretend that he is irrelevant, that he doesn’t matter to me and to this choice. But you have to see that it’s about more than that. It’s about me finally choosing myself after all of these years of giving and giving and asking for nothing in return.”
Ron snorted a harsh laugh. “You make out your life in England like it’s some terrible burden, ‘Mione. Is it really so bad, living with your best friends, surrounded by people who love and care about you?” He shook his head, a rueful frown on his lips. “He’s changed you. I don’t care what you say, but this crush has somehow gotten you to --”
“Damnit Ronald, I’m not quitting my job and leaving England because of some crush on Draco Malfoy!” Hermione shouted, her words hanging suspended in the air around them.
At that moment she saw a flash of blonde, and watched as her wizard passed them by, seemingly oblivious to their presence. Her heart constricted as she watched him walk away, and felt a thousand tiny truths click into place in her mind.
She turned back to her friends, but her glare was focused on Ron, the man who had held her heart for so many years, who had treasured it in his own way, who had never quite fit. “That man, who you are so quick to brush off as some passing joke, has overcome more than any of us could ever imagine. He has been surrounded by darkness, by cruelty, and yet he has found his way to forgiveness and somehow still has the most kind and caring heart that I have ever known. He is good, so good, and he stood by me as I found the good and the happiness within myself that I thought I’d lost.” She looked over at Harry and Ginny, who were still watching her with guarded expressions. “You all are my family. That is the simple truth. The three of you found a way to help me survive for all of those years when I wasn’t sure how to get through the day. I would never blame you for my own struggles, and I love you all, so much.” She felt a burning in the corners of her eyes, and reached a hand up to wipe at the unshed tears that gathered in her lashes. “But Draco helped me remember how to live, and held my hand while I healed. He helped me find the tools to save myself, and once the pieces were starting to come back together, I finally looked up and saw him . He’s… well, he’s everything, and I can’t pretend that I don’t love him fiercely and unapologetically.”
Silence followed in the wake of her confession. She looked between the faces of her friends: Ginny’s eyes glistened with tears but a genuine smile curved her lips, while Harry, his face still impassive, nodded slowly. Ron was obviously trying to conceal his true feelings under the veil of a frown, but Hermione couldn’t miss the shadow of hurt in his eyes.
She exhaled. “I’m going to owl my official resignation to Kingsley. I’ll find you all later to say goodbye, alright? And, I’m not really leaving you. I don’t think I could ever do that. I’ll just be one quick Portkey away.” She gave her friends a strained smile before turning and walking into the gardens and back toward the cottage.
Her footsteps were quick, driven by clarity and purpose. She didn’t waste a second smelling the fragrant blooms that dipped into the path or picking a ripe strawberry from the patch beside the largest plum tree. No, she had a clear list that she was following:
Owl Kingsley.
Find Draco.
Tell Draco.
When she reached the cottage, she ran up the steps, nudging off her sandals and hurrying up the stairs. Without thinking twice, she went to Draco’s room, not bothering to sit as she penned the quick missive to the Minister for Magic with the quill and parchment that Draco kept neatly on his desk. Folding up the parchment and stashing it in the pocket of her cut off denim shorts, she quickly replaced the items on his desk before hurrying back the way she came.
This time she ran, ignoring the pieces of gravel that got stuck in her sandals as her feet pounded along the winding paths. Her breaths were heavy but there was a lightness that filled her body, a visceral relief at having made a choice. More than that it was that she’d finally made this choice, the one that had been looming over her for weeks now.
At the flash of blonde, Hermione skidded to a stop. He was moving away from her, his head ducking to walk under low branches on a path that branched away from hers. She rerouted, walking quickly toward him, unable to stop her smile at the sight of him.
“Draco!” she called as she approached. He was wearing the same white t-shirt she’d watched him put on that morning while she lounged in his bed, and his hair was pulled up off of his neck into a low bun, revealing the almost-bronze skin of someone who worked in the sun.
He glanced back over his shoulder at her, wearing an impassive expression. “Hey.”
“I want to tell you something,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I --”
“I know.” He sounded resigned, and his eyes didn’t look up from the ground as he turned to face her.
Hermione furrowed her brow as she looked up at him. “You know? How…but…” Suddenly, uncertainty flared within her. She’d assumed that she knew what he wanted, that she’d read his words correctly that he… “I thought you’d be happy,” she confessed, ashamed at how small her voice sounded in her own ears.
Now Draco’s face mirrored her confusion. “Happy? You’re kidding me, right?”
What is happening, Hermione thought frantically, her mind whirring, trying to catch up with whatever shift or change she had missed, trying to track down the clues and pieces that could make it all make sense.
Draco began to pace in front of her, anguish clear on his face. “The bloody joke of it all,” he continued, “is that I can’t even be angry that you’re brushing this off as a crush because I’m so fucking livid that after everything, after every conversation we’ve had and how much you’ve changed and grown, you’re still going to keep doing that job that is destroying you!”
A piece clicked into place. “Wait, Draco,” she tried to interject.
“This world keeps taking from you, Hermione, and you just let them! You have given them enough, and unless all of this is a lie, you are happy here. Bloody hell, I’m probably wrong, but you seem like you are at peace here. Even if I’m not a part of the picture, haven’t you learned to choose yourself? I know that it isn’t the career or the meaning in life that you are used to, that you seem to need, but could this be enough for you? Could your contentment be enough?”
“I --”
A dark, rueful chuckle fell from his pursed lips. “And here I was, thinking that we’d agreed, that we would tell each other the moment our feelings changed. I’m the one who assumed from the beginning that it was all real and moving toward something, but I guess I’m the fool who fell for the Golden Girl when it was just a crush.”
“Shut up, you stubborn idiot!” Hermione couldn’t contain the outburst any longer, striding up to the wizard who looked like his world had just come crashing down around him. “Of course you overheard my sarcastic quip about not leaving my career for something as juvenile as a crush, while missing the next bit where I very loudly informed my friends that you are quite possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and that without you I never would have found the strength to walk away from something that I’ve been told all my life that I’m supposed to want, when in reality all that I could think about when I was back there was finishing the research I’d started with the man that I love!”
Draco’s chin jerked up, gray eyes sharp as he stared at her.
“I talked to Kingsley before I left. I told him that I needed to think, that I wasn’t sure if I was going to come back. And look!” Hermione pulled the folded letter from her pocket, waving it in the air between them. “I’m doing what I’ve always been too afraid to do! I’m picking the unpredictable outcome, the unknown that simultaneously fills me with terror and excitement.”
Still he stared, his body frozen as if he’d forgotten how to move.
“I’m staying, Draco.” She softened her voice as her eyes searched his for any sign that her words were being heard. “I’m stopping the endless race of chasing what comes next and slowing down to embrace what I’ve found here. I don’t know if this is where I’ll be forever, but for now, it feels like I’m supposed to be here, with you and the others. I want to finish the research, to finish what we started.”
Draco took a step back from her, his boot-clad feet stumbling slightly. His eyes were wide and bright, and he reached up a hand to cover his open mouth as he shook his head. “You’re fucking with me.”
She took a tentative step closer to him, close enough that she could smell the cedar that always clung to his skin. “I’m not,” she articulated carefully. “I promise.”
“Hermione, if you’re not, I swear to --”
“Draco. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”
A choked sound wrenched from his throat as Draco buried his face in his hands. Hermione closed the final distance between them, wrapping her arms around his body as he leaned heavily into her shoulder. She held him tightly, hoping to provide a fraction of the comfort that she’d found in his arms as she felt the moisture of hesitant tears soaking her shirt, his strong back shaking with silent sobs.
They stayed like that, and Hermione had no greater sense of the passing of seconds or minutes, content to simply be in the moment with him. His breathing evened, slowed, until the rise and fall of his shoulders mirrored her own steady breath.
When Draco took a step away from her, she felt his absence acutely. But she gave him space, watching his masculine hands wipe away the lingering tears that clung to his flushed cheeks. He looked up to meet her eyes as he cleared his throat. “Fuck you, Granger,” he grumbled, his voice ragged.
Hermione huffed out a quiet laugh. “You don’t mean that, Malfoy.”
He chuckled. “No, I absolutely bloody don’t.” His arms opened to her -- an invitation -- and she took the few steps into his all-consuming embrace. Now his arms encircled her, tugging her tightly against his chest as his hands traced softly up and down her spine. “You said something,” he began, speaking against the crown of her head.
Tilting her chin up, she was barely able to see his face, much less make out his expression. “I said lots of things,” she replied carefully.
“Yes,” he agreed. “But you said something that we should talk about.”
She smiled into his t-shirt. “And what was that?”
“You’re enjoying this,” he accused, and she felt his hands tighten against her back.
With a gentle push against his claiming hold, Hermione created just enough distance between them so that she could look up and see his face. He looked down at her, his expression guarded, although his eyes still held the bright clarity left in the wake of recently-shed tears.
She reached her hands up to tangle in his hair, uncaring that she was messing up the bun that currently held his hair out of his face. With a gentle pull, his face lowered until it was merely inches from hers.
“I love you,” she finally whispered, watching the moment the words touched him. Draco’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a slow exhale as his lips curved up into a smile.
“I love you too, witch,” he replied, his eyes opening to meet hers.
They looked at each other, smiles growing wider as each second ticked by, eyes alight with all of the little truths that they shared in that moment.
“I hope you know that I’m never going to forgive you for making me fucking cry, Granger.”
Hermione’s wide smile naturally morphed into a loud laugh as Draco scowled down at her, doing a terrible job of concealing the genuine mirth in his eyes. “You do realize that witches are terribly attracted to emotional sensitivity, don’t you?”
Draco’s undignified grunt as he tucked her against her side only made her laugh more, and she was nearly doubled over with giggles as he steered them in the direction of the main Estate building. “Come on, Granger,” he said with a reluctant laugh. “Let’s go find you an owl.”
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In the overwhelming heat of the early afternoon sun, everyone gathered on the front drive of the Casa de redenzione to say final goodbyes. Unlike the day before, there was no breeze to offer any relief from the Italian summer, and, in spite of attempted cooling charms, everyone was sweating profusely through their already-minimal clothing.
Hermione stood off to one side with Harry, Ron, and Ginny.
“You know that we’ll love and support you no matter what, right?” Harry asked, looking intently at Hermione through his slightly fogged glasses.
She offered him a smile. “I know, Harry.”
“And you have to write,” Ginny added, her furiously blinking eyes poorly disguising the tears that had gathered in the corners.
“Of course I’ll write,” Hermione reassured the younger witch as she gave her a fierce, but quick hug. “And you have to come visit.”
“Twist my bloody arm!” Ginny grinned at her. “I think I can convince my coach to fund me spending the off-season in Italy if I tell her about the carbo-loading potential of the Italian diet.”
They all laughed at that. Hermione looked over at Ron, who still wore a soft frown. “Goodbye, Ron,” she finally offered.
He gave her a pained smile as he pushed his hair back off of his forehead. “Goodbye, ‘Mione.”
An alarm from someone’s wand sounded, alerting the group to the fact that it was time to depart. Hermione gave her three friends one last wave as they joined the rest of the group who had traveled from England in the short trek to the Portkey point.
Each step that they took away from her, each step that she could have been taking alongside them, felt like the clock chimes marking the final seconds of a life, or the hinges creaking as a door closed. Her choice was made: she’d sent her letter to Kingsley, and she’d spoken to Andromeda, who had enthusiastically confirmed that Hermione was still welcome to reside with them for as long as she continued to contribute.
Their figures grew smaller as they approached the wards at the edge of the property. Hermione felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, and without looking back, she leaned into the comfort that she knew, she trusted, would be there.
“You alright?” he asked, whispering the words against her ear.
Turning her back on the now distant group, Hermione smiled up at Draco, at his gray eyes and arched brow and regal nose and soft lips that looked down at her with uninhibited affection.
“Oh, hello Hermione!” Luna’s voice chimed from behind Draco. She stood at the base of the stone steps with Pansy, Theo, Neville and Blaise, who all turned to look at her.
“Well fuck me bloody sideways,” Pansy called as Hermione, followed closely by Draco, walked over to join the group. “Glad to see you got some sense knocked into you, Hermione.”
“Blaise, you owe me a bottle of the 2014 Giacomo Conterno,” Theo said, grinning at Hermione as Blaise groaned into his hands. “It’s very, very expensive and very, very delicious.”
“Ignore them,” Neville said, pulling her into a sweaty hug. “I’m so proud of you.” The words were quiet, just for the two of them. Hermione felt her chest swell with pride, aware that from anyone else she would have found the words patronizing. But from Neville, from her dear friend who had always seen her, those words meant the world.
As a unit, the group began to move toward the gardens, following the path that would lead them back to the cottage. Draco walked by her side, his hand occasionally brushing against hers, as they listened to the familiar music of Pansy and Theo bickering about dinner.
“Cheese toasties are not a complete meal, Theo!” Pansy admonished. “You’re not a bloody child!”
“But it’s my wedding weekend and cheese toasties are delicious!”
“Your wedding is over and you’re a married man! Neville, control your husband, please!”
“You seem like you have it perfectly under control, Parkinson.”
“Children, all of you!”
_______________________________
They sat side by side on the picnic table, dappled moonlight filtering through the sweeping willow branches that surrounded them. The heat from the day had barely faded with the darkness, and there was still a sticky heaviness in the air. Even the smoke from his spliff seemed to move sluggishly, hanging in a low cloud above them.
Hermione’s bare leg brushed against his denim-covered thigh. Her attention was currently on her tattooed forearm, which had begun to itch almost violently in the past hour. She gave in, scratching lightly against her skin.
“How does it feel?” Draco asked.
“Itchy, but like it’s supposed to be there.”
There was a crackling hiss as he took a long inhale from his spliff. “I still can’t believe that you did that.” One of his hands circled around her waist, his thumb snagging into one of her belt loops.
“What can I say,” Hermione said with a smile. “I occasionally dabble in doing unpredictable things.”
She felt the soft exhale of Draco’s laugh against her skin as he pressed his lips deliberately to her temple. She leaned into the touch, content and at peace.
“So what do we do now?”
Her question was met with momentary silence. Glancing up at Draco, she caught the end of his shrug.
“Now we live.”