In These Silent Days

Chapter 11

Her hair has decided they are going to be late to the St. Mungo's benefit ball. Still in only her slip, she suffers through attempt after attempt at an elegant up-do, determined to do so without any product.

Hermione grabs sections of curls, twists them one way, then the other, but cannot find an angle that looks anything other than bunchy and frizzed out.

She sticks a few pins in her hair, holds some in her mouth, and tries to wrangle more curls into submission, only to be met with defiance. This will need a practical and magical combination to succeed.

"Do you need an extra hand or two for all—that?"

Hermione glares at Draco's reflection in the bathroom mirror and removes all the pins tangled in her hair and between her teeth. He's already dressed, of course: a sleek black tux over which he'll throw an outer robe. Hermione forgets about her hair woes as she openly ogles him leaning against the doorframe.

Draco saunters closer. "I think you do need the extra hands." He volunteers his own for the job, running them up and down her sides, caressing her breasts, then sliding one strap off her shoulder.

"This is not helping."

"I beg to differ," Draco says into her neck. "I'm helping myself."

Despite saying, "We'll be horribly late," Hermione tips her head back, granting him access to more skin.

He pecks her jaw. "Fine, we can finish this later."

"If you'd actually like to help, could you grab my big clip for me?"

"Where is it?"

"Top drawer in my night stand."

She hears the drawer open, rustling as he grabs the clip, then nothing more. It takes another minute of silence before Hermione remembers what rests right beneath that clip.

Draco doesn't move or look up even as she rushes to the doorway. His gaze hasn't left the signed Marriage Dissolution Form. The one she inked on their wedding day declaring her intent to break the union the second the three years end according to the law.

"Eager, are we?" His accusation bites, chilled and sharp.

"It's not—I'm not—"

"Have you got a calendar pinned up in your study with the countdown to your freedom?"

"Don't. This isn't fair. This law isn't fair to either of us."

Draco closes the drawer and faces her. "I am trying. I am trying to give this a real chance. From the very start I have tried."

"And who said you had to?"

Devastation doesn't just flicker across his features—it contorts them. Her unintended cruelty wipes all impassiveness from him and Hermione has to witness the wreckage in his wide, disbelieving eyes.

She swallows a lump in her throat and shakily explains. "I've never hidden how I felt about this situation. No matter what happens with—us—I'm going to keep fighting this law."

Draco steps towards her. "And does it matter at all?"

"What?"

"Us." He presses his advantage and crowds her against the wall. "What was I supposed to think? Can you blame me for assuming that you—that we—?"

Unsure of what she's meant to do to fix any of this, Hermione's hands find his shoulders as he leans in close. Firm hands cup her backside and he brings their bodies flush. With his mouth inches from hers, nose grazing her cheek, he takes a ragged inhale.