“The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman is seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It’s the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows & the beauty of a woman only grows with passing years.”
— Audrey Hepburn
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Draco closed his eyes, heart drumming nervously in his chest. On the count of three, he'll open them and have his eyes land on the woman he’ll spend the rest of his life with.
One.
Two.
Three.
His eyes flew open and travelled up the marble staircase to see Granger.
He blinked rapidly, thinking maybe he’d just mistaken Ophelia for Granger, because, really, the woman was hard to recognise without that nest of hair. But no, it was definitely Hermione. No other woman would be doing what she was.
She was bending over, cursing under her breath and fixing up the straps of her heels. Natalie was both disapproving and agitated from having the limelight stolen from her daughter. When Granger straightened up again, she looked them all over with her brows furrowed. Then, as if thinking something was hanging out, glanced down at her chest. Draco smiled slightly at her obliviousness.
Narcissa caught her eye when she stood up properly and shook her head. “Hermione, darling, could you step aside for us?” She made a sideways motion with her hands.
“Hm?”
“There’s someone behind you,” Natalie said impatiently.
Ganger did a little glance behind her and let out a startled, “Oh!” She quickly, well, as fast as she could in those heels, darted down the staircase, and then into Draco’s view was Ophelia.
She had light blonde hair just as her mother, only shorter and shinier. It was a real golden shade – much more livelier than the Malfoys blonde, and it came out to a nice flick at the ends, barely reaching her shoulders. She had an upturned nose, and lips that were coated in a shimmering peach lipstick. Her skin was flawless; there was not a dimple, freckle, mole, beauty spot, nothing. Her frame was petite, her height only just reaching up to Draco’s shoulder, though he thought her heels added some height. Her green eyes were flittering from her mother, to Narcissa, Granger, and finally to Draco. Repeatedly they did this, seemingly unsure where she should look. Draco presumed she didn’t really what to stare openly at him the way he was to her.
His summary of Ophelia was that she was quite pretty, maybe even beautiful. She could also most certainly pass for a Malfoy.
What puzzled him what that he didn’t feel any better about her appearance. Draco wasn’t as shallow as he used to be but, hell, he was still Draco Malfoy. He thought maybe how she looked would somehow make this whole ideal that much easier (it didn’t).
“Ophelia,” Natalie said, almost bursting with excitement, “this is Draco. Draco, this is Ophelia.”
Draco almost rolled his eyes. Way to state the obvious, lady.
“How do you do?” she asked timidly, stretching out a reluctant hand.
He took it with hesitance of his own. When her smooth frail hand was in his own, he felt it tremble.
That was when it dawned on him. Ophelia was just as frightened about this as he was. Perhaps he should have considered her feelings from the start, but he never had. He always somehow pictured Ophelia to be the very definition of calm, and when her eyes met his, he realised that she had been thinking exactly the same thing.
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A Wonderful Fortuitous Love
Fanfiction"You see, Draco Malfoy, without your sarcastic replies to endure each morning and that arrogance only you could carry, I find myself somewhat missing you." Draco thought the biggest problem living for a year under the same roof as Hermione Granger w...
