Remain Nameless

Chapter 30

Draco could hardly dare believe it, but his efforts had not been for naught. He held in his hands the reward for many months' back and forth with McGonagall, the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and finally, the Ministry.

The finals steps left for the Hermione J. Granger Fund for Students of Non-Magical Parents to become a reality were two measly signatures and then the official Ministry sign-off. The first signature line released the apportioned funds from the designated vaults at Gringotts and would be signed by Draco. It would be the first ever use of his gold fountain pen. However, some nifty spell work on McGonagall's part would make the signature read as "anonymous benefactor" to anyone but Draco or any person he chose to tell. Draco admired the brilliant play on the Fidelius Charm applied solely to a signed document—an impressive bit of creativity from his former transfiguration professor.

The final signature line awaited the ink of the executor of the funds and Executive Director of the entire charity. This person held complete control over the use of every single Knut pertaining to the initiative, since all donations came from private accounts, not the Ministry. Hermione would sign here.

With July about to come to an end, once Hermione gave her blessing the program could go into effect for next year's incoming First Years. Given the timeline, McGonagall suggested holding the first fundraising gala in either September or October to kick things off properly, capitalizing on the beginning of the new school year.

Draco could finally tell her everything tonight. Except he had more on his mind than her fund. No, tonight Draco wanted to finally say out loud what he'd been feeling since April, or perhaps even before then. Hermione deserved to know before he blurted it out at an inelegant time. Again.

He felt nothing but a cringing mortification any time he thought back to that fateful night when he'd angrily shouted a rather important declaration into her face. The next time Draco put his voice behind those words it would be deliberate and sincere, not on the heels of the complete unraveling of his emotional stability.

While yes, he'd said "I'm in love with you," to Hermione, to Draco a clear separation divided "I'm in love with you" from "I love you." Perhaps his inexperienced treatise on love may seem peculiar to others, not that he'd ever deign to explain this to anyone else, but it helped him to categorize his feelings for her as fact, not belief.

To be in love meant to be a slave to an ideal, surrendering one's rational mind to an alluring concept that could potentially border on obsession. Draco had long given up sycophantic devotion to ideals of any kind.

To love meant a choice. One he'd not made before Hermione. She ought to know that for Draco, loving her was a conscious decision, deliberately made.

Not in love. He loved. He loved her.

And gods, he'd failed her in so many ways at the outset of their relationship, the least Draco could do was make this special for her. Three words. Just three words.

Those three little words threatened to attach themselves to every stupid sentence he uttered. They hung in the back of his throat and on the tip of his tongue, waiting to strike out the second he let his guard down. No matter how trite, how innocuous the statement, those stubborn words put up quite a fight to be heard.

"Pass the sugar." I love you.

"Good morning." I love you.

"No, I wasn't lying when I said there were no more blueberry scones. There were no more blueberry scones because I purchased the last one for myself." I love you.

"Granger you can't seriously be considering presenting this to the Wizengamot." I love you.

"Fine, I'm mature enough to concede that Potter was less of a twat the other night, happy?" I love you.