Dramione Diaries | Fluffy Oneshots

13 | beautiful

Hey Granger,

There's something I want to say. It's reaaalllyyy important. Very very important. Don't throw this note away.

Amongst the brown, rectangular dining table, Draco Malfoy looked up from the number of parchments in a pile before him. The ink-dipped quill whisking words in his calloused hand slowly drew into a halt when his eyes, again, deterred to look at the smartest witch he knows sitting across from him.

He couldn't help it. It was habit to look over at her and admire her when he shouldn't. He had done so in Hogwarts at a distance, wistfully staring like she's the night sky full of twinkling stars. Now, he was given the same opportunity at just an arm's length away.

An oversized, white sweatshirt of his took over most of her petite figure. Her hands barely peeked from the ends of the sleeves and he watched comically as she constantly had to push the bulky sleeves up her arm. The neckline of his shirt was stretched in a way that it sagged below one of her shoulder, exposing the small collarbone and smooth, creamy skin that laid just beneath. He wanted to, so badly, walk over behind her and press his lips against her bare skin.

He studied her gravity-defying, brown bush of curls that were brushed up into a messy pony tail that rested on the side of her bare shoulder. Stray strands flowed in the air and framed her face. She had glasses on, black rimmed anti-blue light glasses - as she calls it - that she pushes up against her nose from time to time for her muggle laptop she's currently furiously typing on.

It was such an odd juxtaposition of muggle and pure, tradition and modern, magic and matter, or messy and neat. He, a purebred wizard, had lived among the rich and raised in classy sophistication of neatness and tradition. She, a muggleborn witch, with wild hair and a messy sense of fashion style - an opinion he openly complains about - adapted to the culture of wizardry yet still lived her life in a way where magic was just an alternative. That still confuses him to this day.

Though, to him, it didn't matter if he didn't understand. They were able to coincide within the realm of love and shared interests, arguing about nonsensical things and loving the good sense of one another.

He saw as her face tilted upwards. The light from the kitchen window beamed down on them, casting a glow against her brown eyes. With the sun shining from the side, her chocolate eyes lit into a bright hazelnut-amber color that manages to take his breath away every single time. With the bright tones shining in her eyes, it accentuated the freckles on her light skin. Across her cheekbones and over her nose, freckles dotted attractively and he resisted the urge to lift a thumb and trace them.

Or to lean over and snog her right then and there.

"Draco...," she trailed off as she looked at her muggle laptop confusedly, then looked up at the man who was blatantly staring at her from across their dining table.

"Yes, Granger?" He drawled smoothly, a light smirk lifting the corner of his lips.

She scowled at the surname, "Stop calling me that. It's Hermione."

"Granger sounds more personal."

She frowned at that, but his attentive eyes saw the tint of a slight rose color on her cheeks where her freckles were. "It's been four years since we've married."

His infamous smirk grew, "Why thank you for that information, my love."

"I'm not 'Granger' anymore," she attempted to explain again and rolled her amber eyes at him from behind the laptop screen.

He hummed, toying with the quill between his fingers. "Hermione Granger-Malfoy," he tested her name on his tongue. "Well, it's still there."

She bit her lip, then shook her head. She had too much research to type on the document (she thought it easier to type and print rather than endlessly write with quills now that muggle technology has exponentially developed) for her work at St. Mungo's, she didn't have time to spend bantering with him as usual.

Besides, he'd been calling her 'Granger' whenever he felt like his arrogant self. And it was a habit she knew he didn't have the heart to break since he considered it to be a personal endearment that only he gets to say to her. And it does pretty well at annoying her, much to his enjoyment.

"Draco, I can feel you staring at me."

He lifted a brow, "And so?"

She returned the action, "Do you have something to say?"

He grinned cheekily, "Yes I do."

"Spit it out then."

"I think you're beautiful."

His smirk grew when she saw her cheeks redden infinitely. She was caught so off guard at the suddenness of his complement that she stopped all work, her fingers hovering in the air above the keyboard and her eyes doe-eyed.

"Thanks..." she paused. "You too? I love you...?"

He sniggered at her confusion yet his heart still skipped a beat at her confession.

"I love you too," he continued to smirk. Afterwards, he looked down at the parchments of papers and resumed to marking down notes for his company.

"Is that it?" She asked in an incredulous tone. He never looked up, his eyes trained to the papers in his hands.

Though, his lips remained quirked as he stated, "That's all I have to say."

You're beautiful. Even when your hair is bushier than a bush and birds and insects crawl out of it.

That's all I have to say,

Draco Malfoy