||Now It's Just Us||

Chapter 35

Draco stared blankly at the ceiling of the room. He was on the bed, and Hermione lay next him, faced the other way. His left arm was wrapped around her. 

They had figured out the apparition specifier spell. Hermione had found a small paragraph dedicated to it in one of the books. The paragraph recommended a book to look into to gain more information on the topic, and Hermione happened to have a copy of it from the Hogwarts library. She claimed that Madam Pince had given it to her on her last school day, but Draco liked to believe that she nicked it. So they found what they had been looking for in Portkeys and other Ways of Not So Common Wizard Transportation. They had gone through the thirty pages together, taking in every detail and trying to remember everything at once. Of course it wasn't possible, and after an hour of reading and understanding, they had decided to turn in. 

Draco glanced out the window. The sky was steadily turning lighter as the sun rose, but he knew it was far from being completely morning. 

Hermione stirred in his hold, and her movement ended up bringing her closer to him. He felt his heart swell at the feeling. The fierce desire to protect her at all costs came to him. 

He watched her sleep, her steady breaths and her closed eyes, and the way her lips were slightly parted. The travel clothes she was still in looked uncomfortable to sleep in but she never once complained. Her hands were tucked under the pillow, and her head was positioned such that Draco's arm was nestled in the crook of her neck. She felt like a fragile thing to hold. 

Of course, she wasn't exactly fragile. Maybe she was, but not the kind of fragile which classified her along with pretty china that breaks when it so much as touches a rough surface. No, she was fragile, but in a strong way. She could break, but she could also build herself up again. Not to mention that she punched pretty darn well. She was completely capable of protecting herself. But her kindness and good heart sometimes placed others above herself. He was aware that when faced with a choice, she would easily sacrifice herself to save someone else. 

The thought made him frown. His forehead creased as he thought more about it.

He had lost a lot throughout his twenty one years of life. He had missed out on a lot as well. His father never once played Quidditch with him as a child, never once showed him any form of affection. The only thing Draco prominently remembered from his childhood was that his father had given him everything he asked for. All the toys he wanted, all the books and useless trinkets that Draco wouldn't even bother with now. His father had used his money to satisfy Draco's needs, but he had failed to realise that money couldn't buy affection. His mother had tried her hardest to be there for him. Every time he had cried as a child at his father's harshness, it had been his mother who would come to him and hold him and tell him that she loved him no matter what. She didn't share several of his father's views as well, but never had a say in what Draco was taught. But he didn't blame her, because he knew she tried her best. 

They had never gone on a family picnic together. Never gone to warm family gatherings where the relations weren't snobby and serious all the time. Draco didn't remember ever having a birthday party he liked. There hadn't been any anniversary celebrations, any Thanksgiving dinners full of love and celebration. There had been nobody to hug him goodnight before bed or read him stories, or place a comforting hand on his shoulder when he fell and hurt his knee. At that time, it had hurt. Now, he only longed for those times to come back. He wanted to start over, and maybe he'd be a better person.  

He had lost so much as a child, he didn't want to lose anything else now.

What was his mother doing now, he wondered? Father had come back to the house, he knew. But how were they getting along?