A Wonderful Fortuitous Love

27. Lost

"Deciding whether or not to trust a person is like deciding whether or not to climb a tree, because you might get a wonderful view from the highest branch, or you might simply get covered in sap, and for this reason many people choose to spend their time alone and indoors where it is harder to get a splinter."

— Lemony Snicket

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Working and living with Hermione had been part of the plan. Tolerating her presence wasn't, but that was okay because it made his life easier. Starting to genuinely like her wasn't either, but Draco figured that'd change when the year was up. Sharing friends with Granger and then having a day out together also wasn't, but he'd managed to convince himself that it had been necessary. This time, however, there was no excuse. His first intuition was to blame it on the alcohol, but that was low, even for him. Draco was widely known back in his Hogwarts days for holding his liquor; every Slytherin admired him for it. He couldn't even say it had happened on the spur of the moment either, because it's not as though he'd jumped her mid conversation. It'd been drawn out and slow. Soft and hesitant.

There was no excuse.

He thought, perhaps, if he were to close his eyes it would all go away. Because right in front of him was Hermione, whose hair was badly tousled and lips swollen. And though a part of him thought she looked inviting and... well not horrible, the other simply saw it as a terrible reminder of what had happened. The evidence was right before him.

The sound of her laboured breaths increased when he tried to close his eyes. She was breathing like that because of him. The realisation gave him a weird and not so terrible feeling, which only intensified his anger because he didn't know why he was feeling this way. Or maybe Draco did, somewhere deep down, and he just didn't want to acknowledge it.

When he opened his eyes again, Hermione was no longer ogling him as if thinking he had an answer for what'd just transpired. Her fingertips were pressed to her lips, and slowly she brought them back again and stared. Draco wondered whether or not she was expecting to see some sort of trace of him, left there on her fingertips.

Again, this brought his attention back to her mouth, which was slightly parted. His stomach stirred, thinking he'd just kissed those lips...

Bloody hell! What the fuck was wrong with him?

Angrily, Draco took one giant step away and went to the door, taking the longer way around the sofa just so he wouldn't have to brush past her.

"Draco," she tried weakly from behind. "Don't go. We can – can sort this out and – and t-talk about it?" Her voice broke on the last word. Draco knew if he turned he'd see tears.

So he didn't turn. Because Draco didn't think he could. He thought if he were to turn around and see the dejected look on her face, he would cave in and stay anyway.

And this only made him more furious once again. With himself for letting it happen and her for causing these stupid conflicting emotions. He knew that it wasn't her fault, not really, and that she hadn't planned for this to happen anymore than he had. But damn it, it was still her fault!

The door didn't slam shut, but somehow that was enough to make Hermione flinch. And in the eerily silence that followed, it was also enough for tears to leak down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very small and stupid.

What had they done? Why had it happened? What was going to happen now? What did this all mean? Could she ignore something so big?

Hermione knew some people only saw kisses as just that – just a simple touch of the lips. But she thought so much higher of them. A kiss was something she only ever gave someone she cared about deeply. And for being the boy who'd teased and taunted her in school, he had remarkably soft lips. The way they'd moved against Hermione's had been so gentle and tender. Was it really the same mouth that'd called her a Mudblood for the first time?