The honeymoon

A month. Thirty days trapped in a beautifully furnished, suffocatingly pristine cage with the boy who had once called her a Mudblood. Thirty mornings waking up in a bed that wasn't hers, in a home that wasn't hers, beside a man who—despite his unrelenting politeness—still wasn't hers.

Hermione traced her fingertips along the cool glass of the penthouse window, watching the vibrant chaos of London unfold below. The city pulsed with life, its neon signs flickering like stars caught in an urban galaxy, its streets teeming with people who had no idea that she, Hermione Granger, the girl who had once been so certain of her future, had found herself married to Draco Malfoy.

The view was breathtaking, but it only served as a cruel reminder of the freedom she had lost.

Across the cavernous living room, she sat curled up with a book by the fire, attempting—and failing—to lose herself in the words. The warmth of the flames licked at the edges of her solitude, but it did nothing to ease the suffocating silence that stretched between them like an invisible chasm.

This was their first attempt at a shared evening since the Ministry's decree. It had been thirty days of sidestepping each other, of stolen glances when they thought the other wasn't looking, of conversations that never lasted beyond necessary formalities.

A sigh escaped her lips, barely audible over the crackling fire. It wasn't just frustration that curled in her chest; it was something deeper, something she refused to name. Was it loneliness? Boredom? The exhausting feeling of always being on guard, even in what was supposed to be her home? Perhaps it was all of the above, tangled together in a tight knot just beneath her ribs.

The soft sound of footsteps behind her made her turn, her body instinctively stiffening.

He stood in the doorway, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. Instead, there was something hesitant about the way he held himself—his posture less poised, his expression almost unsure.

The sight of him out of his element sent a jolt through her.

"Darling."

Her breath caught. Not because of the pet name—he had used it a hundred times before, always laced with smug arrogance or teasing condescension. But this time… this time, it was different.

His voice—always so crisp, always so calculated—had lost its usual edge. Instead, it was softer, lacking the drawl of superiority she had come to expect. It was almost careful, almost… tender.

It set her teeth on edge.

He never called her that unless he was being insufferable, which meant either he had done something terribly wrong or he wanted something. She narrowed her eyes slightly, forcing herself to appear composed.

"Of course," she responded, the politeness in her tone laced with barely concealed suspicion. She gestured toward the emerald-green sofa across from her, though the movement felt awkward, uncertain, as if she wasn't sure whether she wanted him to sit that close.

He hesitated briefly, his silver eyes flickering to her outstretched hand before he moved forward, each step deliberate—like a predator mindful not to startle its prey.

To her mild surprise, he didn't take the furthest seat. Nor did he choose the one directly beside her. Instead, he sat close enough that she could feel the heat of his presence, but far enough that it was still… respectable.

The air between them grew dense, charged with something unspoken, something tangible.

She shifted slightly in her seat, suddenly too aware of the way his fingers tapped idly against the armrest, the way his gaze drifted over her face as if searching for something.

What's on your mind? she wanted to ask, but the words caught in her throat.

Instead, she forced herself to keep her voice neutral. "Is there something you needed, Malfoy?"

He inhaled deeply, as if fortifying himself. His eyes flicked downward, settling briefly on the rug beneath their feet before lifting to meet hers again.

And that was when she saw it.

A flicker. A hesitation. A quiet, uncertain vulnerability in the depths of his gaze.

It unsettled her.

Malfoys didn't do vulnerable. Malfoys were all sharp lines and practiced masks—they were untouchable, indestructible, always in control.

And yet, there it was. A crack in his armor, flickering like a fragile candle flame struggling against a draft.

Her pulse jumped—not in fear, not in anger, but in something else entirely.

She had spent years knowing Draco Malfoy in only one way—as her enemy, as the boy who had sneered at her from across classrooms, as the coward who had stood frozen in the war when it mattered most.

But this man, this version of him, sitting across from her now?

She wasn't sure who he was yet.

But for the first time in thirty long days, she was starting to wonder.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if shedding an invisible weight, before meeting her gaze with a rare kind of sincerity. "This situation…" he started, voice low and steady, each word measured, carefully placed. "It's been difficult, hasn't it? For both of us."

His tone wasn't laced with the usual arrogance, nor was there any trace of sarcasm. Instead, it was raw, stripped bare of pretense, as if he was feeling his way through the conversation just as uncertainly as she was. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlaced like a man bracing himself before stepping onto a thin sheet of ice. "A month," he murmured, almost to himself. "An entire month of being bound to each other by law, by name, by this… arrangement."

She stiffened slightly at that word—arrangement—as if hearing it spoken aloud made it feel all the more suffocating. The reality of their situation seeped into her bones like an ache she couldn't shake. He wasn't wrong. It had been a month of cold silences, of tense breakfasts where every clink of cutlery felt louder than it should, of moving around each other like two planets caught in the same orbit but never quite colliding. Yet, hearing him acknowledge it so plainly sent a strange ripple through her.

Was he truly trying to bridge the chasm between them, or was this just another calculated attempt to make her lower her guard?

"And yet," he continued, his voice shifting—dropping into something more intimate, something heavier. "We've barely spoken beyond pleasantries. We exist side by side, but not together. This…" He paused, his jaw tightening as if the words were harder to say than he expected. "This isn't what I envisioned when I thought of marriage. Not even close, darling."

Her breath hitched, and she wasn't sure what unsettled her more—the quiet weight of his words, or the way he said marriage as if it meant something more than just a contract they had both been forced into.

His words hung between them, delicate and fragile, poised to either break apart or become something real.

"Darling?"

She tensed at the endearment, the sound of it feeling out of place, like a silk ribbon tied around a blade. Malfoy had called her many things over the years, but darling had never been one of them. There was no trace of mockery in his voice, no teasing lilt, and that made it all the more unnerving.

She straightened her spine, her expression carefully neutral as she studied him. "I didn't realize you were so invested in our… partnership." Her tone was cool, deliberately detached, yet there was no mistaking the edge of challenge beneath it.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I won't pretend I wanted this in the beginning," he admitted, and for once, there was no bravado in his voice. "But I'll also admit that… it's not just obligation keeping me here anymore."

The words hit her like a slow-building storm, unexpected and impossible to ignore. Not just obligation.

Her fingers curled against the armrest as she forced herself to stay composed, though her pulse betrayed her, thudding traitorously in her throat. Malfoy was skilled in manipulation—she knew this better than anyone.

Letting herself get drawn in by whatever new persona he was crafting could only lead to disaster.

She lifted her chin slightly, arching a brow. "And what, pray tell, is keeping you here?" Her voice was measured, but there was an unmistakable flicker of something sharper beneath it—a test, a challenge.

His silver eyes gleamed as he leaned back against the sofa, arms stretching lazily across the top. He looked effortlessly composed, but there was something in his posture—something barely perceptible—that suggested this wasn't as easy for him as he wanted her to believe.

"Maybe I don't want us to hate each other forever," he said simply.

The words should have sounded casual, almost flippant, but they weren't. There was weight in them, a quiet honesty that made her chest tighten.

"Maybe I want to see if we can build something better."

The flutter in her chest returned, unwelcome and unnerving.

Her mind screamed don't trust him, don't trust him, don't trust him— but her heart hesitated.

Because for the first time since this nightmare began, Draco Malfoy didn't sound like he was playing a game.

And that was more dangerous than anything.

The idea was as preposterous as hippogriffs tap-dancing.

Draco chuckled, the sound low and amused, but there was no real malice behind it. "Wouldn't expect anything less from you, darling." He smirked, but there was something softer about it now, something that lacked his usual bravado.

Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't snap at him. That, in itself, was progress. Wasn't it?

She leaned back against the plush green sofa, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest, as if to physically hold herself together. The entire conversation felt surreal. A month ago, if someone had told her she'd be sitting here, discussing honeymoons and potential affection with Draco bloody Malfoy, she would have hexed them into oblivion. And yet here they were, talking about sunlit Italian coasts and turquoise seas like two normal newlyweds. As if their lives hadn't been shaped by years of animosity.

She inhaled deeply, her gaze shifting from the floor to Malfoy, watching as he leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the armrest. He was nervous. That realization sent a strange thrill through her. Draco Malfoy—the embodiment of cool arrogance and effortless charm—was nervous.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You've been oddly... agreeable lately," she noted, tilting her head as she scrutinized him. "More patient. More… everything. Why?"

His brow arched, amusement flickering over his features. "Should I apologize for not being the irredeemable git you're accustomed to?" His voice held the faintest trace of his usual arrogance, but beneath it was something different. Something hesitant.

"I'm serious," she pressed, leaning forward. "You don't strike me as the type to suddenly play the role of devoted husband, even in a forced marriage."

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair in a gesture that felt more vulnerable than calculated. She had never seen Malfoy look so unguarded before, and it unnerved her.

"Hermione, I could pretend I'm doing this entirely for your sake, but that would be a lie." His voice was quiet, deliberate. "The truth is, I don't want to spend the rest of my life locked in this cold war with you. Whatever this is between us, it's exhausting. I'd rather try something different. Something… better. A honeymoon perhaps."

Her heart stuttered—a betrayal of her own instincts.

She shouldn't have cared. She shouldn't have been affected by the way he said her name without mockery, without the usual clipped Malfoy condescension. But she was.

"And a honeymoon is your solution?" she asked, crossing her arms again, her voice laced with skepticism. "Running off to Italy won't magically fix anything."

He smiled faintly, but there was no humor in it. "No, it won't. But it's a start, isn't it? A chance to get away from the expectations, the watchful eyes, and everything else tying us to this... situation. Out there, we can just be us. No Ministry orders. No pretense."

She looked away, her thoughts tangled. Was this truly a chance to reset? To see if they could coexist without bitterness? Or was this another calculated move, a trap disguised as a romantic escape?

She didn't trust him—not entirely.

But a small, insistent part of her was curious.

Curious about what could be hiding beneath the layers of smirks and aristocratic arrogance. Curious if there was something more.

"Alright," she said finally, the word feeling heavy on her tongue. "We'll go. But don't think for a second that this means I trust you."

His lips twitched in a half-smile, but his eyes were serious. "I wouldn't dream of it, darling. I'll take what I can get."

The way he said darling sent a sharp prickle of irritation through her, but she let it slide. For now.

"Just to be clear," she added, fixing him with a sharp look, "if this turns out to be a disaster, I reserve the right to hex you and Apparate home at any moment."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." He feigned ease, but Hermione easily caught the tension in his shoulders, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the leather armrest. His attempt at nonchalance wasn't fooling anyone, least of all her.

"I'll take care of the arrangements," he continued, watching her carefully. "We'll leave by the end of the week."

She remained silent, digesting his words. There was something nagging at the back of her mind, something she couldn't ignore.

"Malfoy," she began, tone measured, "why do you keep calling me darling?"

He had turned toward the open window, seemingly lost in thought, but at her question, he stilled. The soft evening light cast a golden hue over his profile, highlighting the sharp planes of his face. Slowly, he turned back to meet her gaze, his expression contemplative.

"Because I cannot call you love, Hermione."

Her brow furrowed. That wasn't the answer she expected.

"Why not?" she asked, clasping her hands in her lap, sensing that something significant was unraveling between them.

He stood, pacing a few steps before turning back toward her. His movements were measured, his usual effortless grace intact, but there was a flicker of unease in the way his fingers curled at his sides.

"Because love feels… inadequate," he admitted, his voice quieter than before, tinged with something raw. "It suggests something deep. Something earned. And we're not there, are we?"

She blinked, momentarily stunned. She had expected deflection. A smirk. A joke. But not this. Not honesty.

"So," she said slowly, cautiously, "darling is just… a placeholder?"

His lips quirked slightly—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.

"Not meaningless," he corrected gently. "It's… a bridge. A way of showing you that I care. Even if we're not yet at the point where I can say love, calling you darling is my way of… trying."

She studied him, her expression guarded. There was something about the way he stood before her—tense, hesitant, as if waiting for her reaction—that made her heart lurch in an unfamiliar way.

"And where exactly do you think this bridge leads?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"To a place of… understanding," he said, voice quiet but certain. "Maybe even trust. And, if we're fortunate, something more. Affection, perhaps."

The word hung between them, delicate but heavy.

Affection.

Such a simple word, yet it carried a weight that made her pulse quicken. Was this his way of reaching out? Of offering something beyond forced civility?

"Affection," she repeated slowly, testing the word. "You think we could get there?"

His eyes never wavered from hers. "I hope so."

The vulnerability in his voice caught her off guard, a rawness she hadn't expected.

This wasn't Malfoy as she had always known him. This was something else. Something real.

She hesitated, exhaling softly. "I suppose… trying wouldn't hurt."

His eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn't expected her to agree so easily. A flicker of hope lit his features, a boyish look she wasn't accustomed to seeing on him.

"Really?" he asked, the surprise evident in his voice.

"Don't get too excited," she quipped, though her lips twitched slightly. "This doesn't mean I trust you. Or that I'm suddenly okay with all of… this."

He exhaled slowly, as though he'd been holding his breath. "That's all I'm asking for, darling. Just… a chance."

The term darling didn't sting as much this time.

In fact, it almost sounded… right.

She frowned at that realization but chose not to dwell on it.

"And for the record," she added, standing up and smoothing her hands over her skirt, "if you do anything to make me regret this, I will kill you."

Of course it means everything, I want to call you LOVE, because that's what you are, stupid girl.

She glanced up at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "I want to try too.

Malfoy nodded, reaching out to gently take her hand. "Anything for you darling."

For a moment, they sat in silence.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For suggesting something fun."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening, they found themselves seated across from each other at an elegantly set dining table in the penthouse, a single candle casting a soft, flickering glow over the polished wood surface. The warm scent of freshly baked bread and rich sauces filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of lavender drifting in from the open balcony doors. The ambiance was undeniably romantic, though neither of them dared to acknowledge it aloud.

The dinner was a masterpiece—perfectly seared scallops, handmade pasta drizzled with truffle oil, and a selection of vibrant Mediterranean vegetables, all artfully arranged on fine porcelain plates. It was clear that Draco had spared no effort in recreating the experience of a high-end Italian restaurant, likely as a trial run for their upcoming honeymoon. Hermione couldn't help but be impressed, though she kept her expression carefully neutral.

As they ate, the initial stiffness between them began to thaw. Perhaps it was the exquisite food or the mellow glow of the wine they shared, but conversation flowed more naturally than it had in weeks. The earlier tension from their discussion seemed to have dissolved into something softer, something tentative but promising.

He took a slow sip of his wine, the crimson liquid catching the candlelight as he swirled it lazily in his glass. His gaze lingered on her, thoughtful but not intrusive. "So," he began, his tone lighter than usual, "what's one thing you've always wanted to do but never had the chance?"

Caught off guard by the question, she blinked, setting down her fork. She gave it genuine thought, her fingers toying with the stem of her wine glass.

"Horseback riding," she said after a moment, a small smile curving her lips. "I've always wanted to learn. There's something about the grace and power of a horse that's always fascinated me. Though," she added with a playful glint in her eye, "I suppose riding a dragon during the war might count."

This bitch is a minx, riding a dragon, he really really hopes to wank to that fantasy in the shower later. Him as the dragon obviously.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Ah yes, thank you for breaking into my family vault and riding off on a dragon. Quite classy. Very subtle."

Hermione chuckled. "I'm not really sorry, to be honest. If anything, it was one of the more memorable parts of my life. And your security system? Bit of a letdown."

He crossed his arms, mock affront plastered on his face. "A Gringotts break-in on a dragon isn't exactly something you prepare for during vault design, darling. Next time, I'll make sure to add 'dragon-proof' to the list of requirements."

She laughed, the sound light and genuine, a rare moment of levity between them.

"Well, in any case, riding a dragon was thrilling," she continued, grinning, "but I imagine horseback riding would be slightly less… life-threatening."

He chuckled again, shaking his head. "Definitely counts as riding, though I suppose horses are less likely to burn down a countryside mid-ride. I'll give you that."

She raised an eyebrow. "Horses also don't hoard cursed goblets or try to melt your face off with fire."

"Fair point," he conceded, still smirking. "Though you never know, with my luck, I'd end up picking the one horse with a personality as fiery as yours."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her grin. "And with your luck, it would also probably refuse to listen to you unless bribed with diamonds."

"I could handle that," Draco drawled, swirling his wine. "Besides, we could actually make horseback riding happen. There are stables not far from here. We could arrange a day trip."

She blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the sincerity of the offer. "Really?"

"Of course," he said, shrugging. "Think of it as our first honeymoon activity. No dragons, no vaults, just you, me, and some temperamental horses."

Her eyes lit up despite herself. "That sounds… lovely," she admitted. "I'd like that."

He leaned forward, smirking. "I'll even let you pick the horse first. Though if you choose the prettiest one, I reserve the right to mock you mercilessly."

"Deal," she said with a laugh, raising her glass. "Here's to horseback riding—without dragons, flaming treasure, or cursed jewelry."

"To horseback riding," he echoed, clinking his glass against hers. "And to not get bucked off."

The idea of them galloping through the countryside together, bickering over whose horse had the better temperament, felt absurdly amusing. And for once, absurdity didn't seem so bad.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the soft glow of the candles casting flickering shadows on the walls. The distant hum of the city outside provided a pleasant backdrop, but for once, it felt as though they were in their own little world. She swirled the wine in her glass, stealing a glance at him. For the first time in a long while, she felt something close to ease—like they were two normal people sharing a pleasant dinner, not two stubborn individuals trapped by a decree neither of them had chosen.

He reached for the wine bottle and topped off both their glasses with a casual grace that surprised her. His usually guarded demeanor had softened, as though the layers of Malfoy arrogance had been temporarily peeled back. She took a sip, savoring the rich flavor, and leaned forward slightly.

"What about you?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "What's something you've always wanted to do?"

He paused mid-sip, arching an eyebrow at her. "Always wanted to do?" he echoed, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated air of contemplation. "Well, doll, I've always dreamed of opening a shop that sells overpriced cauldrons and terrible coffee."

She snorted into her wine, barely managing to keep it from spilling. "Oh, very funny. I mean something real."

He chuckled, setting his glass down. "Alright, alright. If we're being serious… I've always been fascinated by the Northern Lights. I've read about them, seen pictures in books, but I've never actually experienced them."

Her expression softened, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "That sounds incredible. I've always wanted to see them too. There's something magical about the idea of standing beneath that vast sky, watching the colors dance."

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly in mock suspicion. "Are you saying we should go together? Because that sounds dangerously close to a second honeymoon."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn't falter. "Maybe. After all, who better to suffer through freezing weather than my least favorite Malfoy?"

"Least favorite? You wound me, darling," he said, clutching his chest dramatically. "And here I thought I was growing on you."

"Like a fungus," she retorted, biting back a grin.

He chuckled again, this time a softer, more genuine sound. "Alright, fungus or not, it's a deal. We'll plan a trip to see the Northern Lights someday. It's a date."

She froze for a split second, the word "date" echoing in her mind. Was it a joke? An offhand comment? Or was there something more to it? She chose to play it safe, raising her glass with a smirk. "A date with freezing cold, hypothermia, and probably you complaining the entire time? Sounds delightful."

"Complaining?" he repeated, feigning indignation. "I'll have you know I am an excellent travel companion. I bring charm, good looks, and a talent for finding the best wine anywhere."

"And an ego the size of the Northern Hemisphere," she added dryly, clinking her glass against his.

"True," he admitted with a grin. "But it keeps things interesting."

Their conversation drifted into lighter topics—terrible Ministry meetings, bizarre magical creatures, and a particularly disastrous potion he'd once brewed at school that nearly singed off his eyebrows. Laughter came easily, surprising them both. The barriers they'd so carefully maintained seemed to dissolve, replaced by something fragile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, they arrived in Amalfi, and the Italian coast was even more magnificent than anything Hermione had ever read in her well-thumbed tourist guides. The sky stretched endlessly in a brilliant shade of blue, mirroring the glistening azure waters below. Pastel-hued buildings perched on the cliffs, their vibrant facades glowing under the sun, creating a picture-perfect scene that felt almost unreal.

Standing on the balcony of their hotel room, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The scent of the sea filled the air, mingling with the fragrance of lemon groves nearby. She gripped the railing, her eyes tracing the horizon where the sea met the sky. "It's more beautiful than I ever imagined," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the gentle crash of the waves below.

Behind her, she heard the soft tread of his footsteps. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her waist, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. The warmth of his body against hers was strangely comforting, a stark contrast to the cool breeze coming off the water. "I'm glad you like it," he said softly, his voice carrying a tenderness she wasn't used to. "I thought you could use some time away from... everything."

She leaned into him, savoring the moment. Peace wasn't something she had felt in a long time, but here, with the sun on her skin and his arms around her, she allowed herself to believe, if only for a little while, that she could have it. "Thank you," she said quietly. "This... this is lovely."

He smiled, his breath warm against her ear. "Anything to see you smile," he whispered, his words lingering in the air like the sea breeze.

Over the next few days, they explored the town together. She found herself gradually letting down her guard, the initial tension between them replaced by something softer, something she couldn't quite name. They wandered through narrow cobbled streets lined with quaint shops and cafes. Draco, ever the connoisseur, insisted they sample every local delicacy they came across—from freshly baked focaccia to gelato in every imaginable flavor.

One afternoon, they found themselves in a small, ancient cathedral perched on the edge of a cliff. The interior was quiet, the air cool and filled with the faint scent of incense. Hermione wandered down the aisle, her fingers grazing the worn wooden pews, while he stood at the back, watching her with a quiet intensity.

"It's peaceful here," she said, her voice echoing softly in the empty space.

He nodded, stepping closer until he was beside her. "Peaceful and timeless," he agreed, glancing around at the faded frescoes and high arched windows. "Like stepping into another world."

She turned to him, a faint smile playing on her lips. "You're surprisingly poetic."

He shrugged, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Italy brings out my finer qualities."

She laughed, the sound light and genuine, and for a brief moment, she forgot about the complicated history between them. In that moment, it didn't matter who they had been or why they were here—it only mattered that they were.

As the sun set that evening, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, they shared a quiet dinner on the terrace of their hotel. The sound of the waves below and the soft strumming of a street musician's guitar drifted up from the town below, creating an atmosphere that felt almost magical.

He poured them both another glass of wine, his movements unhurried and graceful. "To new beginnings," he said, raising his glass to hers.

She hesitated for a moment, then clinked her glass against his. "To new beginnings," she echoed, a flicker of something hopeful stirring in her chest.

Later, as they walked along the beach under the starlit sky, she felt a strange mix of emotions—contentment, curiosity, and something else she couldn't quite name. She glanced at him, who was walking beside her, his hands tucked into his pockets, his expression thoughtful.

One evening, as the sun set over the horizon, they sat at a seaside restaurant, the gentle sound of waves creating a serene backdrop.

"Darling," he said, his tone serious yet tender. "I know this isn't how either of us envisioned our lives. But I'm committed to making the best of it, with you."

She looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "I appreciate that. And I can see you're trying. Maybe... maybe this doesn't have to be as difficult as we thought."

He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. "We'll take it one day at a time. Together."

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Together."

As the days passed, they found a rhythm, discovering new layers of each other's personalities. His unexpected kindness and her growing trust created a fragile yet hopeful bond.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The last night of their stay, they stood on the balcony, bathed in silvery moonlight. The sea stretched out before them, its dark surface rippling gently under the night sky. Hermione leaned against the railing, lost in thought, while Draco stood a step behind her, his hands buried in his pockets, shoulders tense with unspoken emotion.

He cleared his throat softly, drawing her attention. When she turned to face him, he wasn't the composed, self-assured man she had grown accustomed to. His expression was open, vulnerable in a way that caught her off guard.

"Hermione," he began, his voice low but steady, "there's something I need to say, something I should have said a long time ago." He paused, as if gathering courage. "Darling, I know I've made more mistakes than I can count. I've been cruel, arrogant, and blind. But the worst of it is, I hurt you, and for that, I'm truly sorry."

She didn't respond right away, her silence heavy with unspoken memories. The weight of their shared past hung between them, as palpable as the cool evening air.

"I—I've changed," he continued, his voice faltering slightly. "Or at least, I'm trying to. Being with you, seeing how strong, how compassionate you are... it makes me want to be better. Not just for myself, but for you. For us."

A flicker of something crossed her eyes—hesitation, perhaps disbelief—but she stayed silent, giving him the space to continue.

"There's something specific I need to apologise for," he said, his voice trembling now. He took a deep breath, his grey eyes darkening with the weight of his confession. "The night in my family's drawing room… when Bellatrix tortured you… I didn't do anything. I just stood there. I watched, and I didn't lift a finger to help you. I was a coward."

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't expected this—hadn't expected him to bring up that night. The memory surged forward, vivid and painful: Bellatrix's cold, triumphant laughter, the white-hot agony of the curse carving into her skin, and his frozen figure in the background, pale and terrified.

"I—I was terrified," he said, his voice breaking. "I was afraid for my parents, afraid for myself. But none of that matters, because you were suffering, and I did nothing. And I hate myself for it. I've hated myself every day since."

She turned fully to face him now, her eyes bright with unshed tears. His words were raw, stripped of the usual veneer of sarcasm or pride. For once, there was no mask—just Draco, laying himself bare before her.

"I can't undo it," he whispered, his voice thick with regret. "I can't go back and be braver. But if I could, I would. I would give anything to take away the pain you felt that night, to have stood up to her, to have done something."

She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. "That night was one of the worst of my life," she said quietly. "I can't forget it. I can't forget what that bitch did, and I can't forget how you stood there, doing nothing. You were part of it, whether you wanted to be or not."

His face crumpled, and he looked away, unable to meet her gaze. A tear slid down his cheek, but he didn't bother to wipe it away. "I know," he murmured. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I had to tell you. I had to let you know how sorry I am."

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the waves crashing against the shore below. Then, to his surprise, she reached out, gently brushing the tear from his face.

"I saw the fear in your eyes that night," she said softly. "You were just a boy, caught in a nightmare none of us could escape. It doesn't excuse what you did—or didn't do—but I understand now. You were scared."

He looked at her, hope flickering faintly in his eyes. "I should have been braver," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "But I swear to you I'm not that boy anymore. I will spend the rest of my life trying to be someone worthy of you, someone you can trust."

Her heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. Forgiveness wasn't easy—it wasn't something she could give lightly—but in that moment, she saw a man burdened by his past, desperate to make amends.

"I can't promise to forget," she said slowly. "And I don't know if I can fully forgive. But… I believe you've changed. And I believe you want to be better."

A single tear rolled down his cheek, and this time, she didn't wipe it away. He took her hand in his, squeezing it gently but firmly. "Thank you," he whispered. "For even considering giving me a chance. I don't deserve it, but I'll earn it. I'll spend the rest of my life proving that to you."

As they stood there, hand in hand under the moonlit sky, the past didn't vanish. The scars of war, both visible and hidden, would always remain. But in that quiet moment, a fragile but genuine hope took root. It wasn't a promise of happily ever after—it was something far more real: a promise to try.

And for Hermione, that was enough. For now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning felt like the beginning of something new—a tentative but hopeful chapter in their lives. The pale, golden light of dawn seeped through the sheer curtains, painting the room in soft hues of warmth. She lay awake, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as thoughts swirled in her mind, thoughts she had been avoiding for weeks but could no longer ignore. Among them was the list—the one Draco had given her months ago, detailing things they would need to discuss as they navigated their reluctant partnership.

Her heart thudded softly in her chest as she turned on her side to study him. He was still asleep, his expression unusually serene, a stark contrast to the guarded, stoic demeanor he so often wore during the day. There was something disarming about seeing him like this, unburdened by expectations or memories. But this wasn't about sentimentality. This was about something she had been thinking about more and more lately: children.

Her chest tightened at the thought. It wasn't that she had suddenly decided she wanted children immediately—it was the idea of them having a child, and the countless questions it raised. How would they raise a child together, given their tumultuous pasts? Could they truly build a family, given everything they had been through? And, more pressingly, did he even want children, or was that something he had simply included on the list because he thought it was expected?

With a quiet but steadying breath, she reached out and gently nudged his shoulder. "Draco, wake up, please."

He stirred, blinking blearily as he adjusted to the soft morning light. His brows furrowed slightly as he turned toward her, his voice still rough with sleep. "What's wrong?" he murmured, concern flickering in his gaze. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she reassured him, pulling the covers a little tighter around herself. "I just… I've been thinking about the list you gave me. There's something important we need to discuss."

At the mention of the list, he sat up, instantly more alert. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, his expression shifting from groggy to attentive. "Alright," he said, his voice steady now. "What specifically?"

She hesitated, momentarily unsure how to phrase what she wanted to say. But this was Draco—directness was usually the best approach. "I want to talk about us," she said slowly, meeting his gaze. "Specifically, about us… as a couple. And what that might mean for the future.

He's cock never been so fully awake in his life.

His expression shifted slightly, his brow furrowing in thought, before he gently let go of her hand and sat up, drawing the covers up with him. His voice was soft, yet his words held the weight of something important. "I understand. What exactly is it that you're thinking?"

She took a deep breath, steadying herself before responding. "I don't know exactly, but I've been thinking a lot about what's between us, and where we're heading. These past months, there's been so much confusion, so many things left unsaid." She hesitated again, looking at him, gauging his response. "I need to know that we're on the same page. That we want the same things. And that we're doing this for the right reasons."

He looked at her intently, his gaze softening with understanding. He reached out and took her hand again, his touch gentle. "You mean you want to know if I'm really in this," he said quietly. "If I'm really committed to… to us?"

She nodded, feeling a weight settle on her chest. "Yes. I need to know that you're not just here because it's convenient or because of a promise we made. I need to know that you're here because you want to be. And that I'm not just a... a duty or a responsibility." Her voice faltered at the end, and she quickly swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to keep her emotions in check.

His eyes softened, a fleeting flicker of something like regret passing over his features. He leaned closer, his fingers gently brushing against hers, a tender gesture. "Hermione," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "I can't pretend to be perfect, and I know I've hurt you in ways that you'll never forget. But I am here because I want to be. Because I've never wanted anything more than to make things right between us."

She bit her lip, fighting back the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "But is that enough?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Can wanting to be better really make up for everything that's happened?"

He paused, his brow furrowing as he thought. His gaze never left hers. "I don't think there's a quick fix for that," he said, his voice low and serious. "I know I've done things—horrible things—that hurt you, and there's no way to undo them. But I'm not that person anymore. I want to be someone who can stand by your side and show you that I'm worthy of your trust. I want to be someone who makes you feel safe, not afraid."

Her heart ached at the rawness in his words, and for a moment, she didn't know what to say. She had never expected an apology from him, not one so heartfelt and vulnerable. "Draco…" She exhaled softly, her voice shaking. "I don't know how to trust you completely again, not yet. And I don't expect everything to change overnight. But I need to see that you're not just here because it's what's expected of you. I need to see that you're really trying. For us."

He nodded, his expression serious, and squeezed her hand, his voice quieter now but filled with sincerity. "I'm trying, darling. I'm trying more than you'll ever know. I can't promise that everything will be easy, but I promise that I'll keep trying. I'll be here, and I'll show you every day that I'm here because I want to be here. I'll earn your trust, even if it takes a lifetime."

He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of shyness and longing. " On a scale of one to ten, how comfortable would you say you are with me physically?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

She felt her cheeks flush as she considered his question. "Maay… maybe four," she replied, her blush deepening.

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "Can I kiss you finally? I've been dreaming about these swotty lips for longer than I care to admit," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

" Hermione ," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

She turned to face him, her eyes searching for him. There was a mixture of longing and hesitation in his gaze, mirroring her own emotions. " Draco ," she replied softly, the sound of his name on her lips sending a thrill through him.

Fuck, he wanted to hear his my name from her mouth for eternity.

They laid there for a moment, the silence thickening around them. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, his hand gently cupped her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in anticipation.

Without another word, he leaned in, closing the distance between them. His lips met hers in a soft, tender kiss, and she melted into his embrace.

His lips tasted like spearmint and candy apples.

The world seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in each other, years of longing and unspoken feelings finally finding release.

They pulled back slightly, their foreheads resting against each other as they caught their breath. She looked into his eyes, seeing the same vulnerability and affection mirrored back at her.

"I've wanted to do that for so many years now, you cannot even imagine how long I've been waiting to taste you." He confessed, his voice husky with emotion.

She smiled, a tear escaping her eye. "Me too, actually" she whispered, her voice filled with relief and happiness.

He pulled her into another kiss, deeper this time, sealing their unspoken promises and newfound connection. Their kisses become frantic yet still filled with emotion. Snuggled together in bed, they savoured each other's taste as if it were their first breath after emerging from the depths of a long underwater dive.

They knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but in that moment, they found solace in each other's arms, knowing they were no longer alone.