Secrets and Masks

64. Don't make promises that you can't keep ...

12th April

They could have been doing this for months - that was Hermione's first thought when she woke up the following morning.

She felt him before she opened her eyes. Felt his thick arms cocooned around her, his chest gently rising and falling against her back and his chin resting protectively on top of her head.

The sofa wasn't big enough for one person and yet, somehow, they'd made it work. Somehow, they'd managed to get into a dozen different positions and angles and managed to lose themselves in each other all night, and then, when they were spent, managed to find the space to drift off together, naked and curled in each other's arms - all from one little old sofa.

She heard the fire crackling and hissing gently as it burned in the fireplace beside them, and listening to it while she was tucked up in his arms ... she could have died right in that moment and been content with it.

She kicked herself for not letting him sleep in the same bed as her sooner. Tried not to think about all the times they could have done this if she'd not wasted so much of it, if she hadn't been so stubborn.

Falling asleep in a Death Eaters' arms, Merlin, what her younger self would have thought. The sofa wasn't the same as sharing a bed - no, it oddly felt like more than that. Sort of proved that they could be happy anywhere. Could be content and make themselves comfortable, nothing else mattered, as long as they were together...

A dreadful pain twisted through her heart.

If only they'd had more time ...

Moving very slowly, she untucked her head from underneath his chin and swivelled around until she was facing him.

She wondered how his face would change over the years.

Would he grow his hair out as he aged like this father? She hoped not, she liked it when pieces fell into his eyes, but she couldn't imagine him with long hair. His hair was already almost completely white, it couldn't possibly change colour when he grew into an old man? No, no maybe not, but she could imagine him with wrinkles. Not a lot, just a few, little cracks at the corner of his eyes like someone had cracked marble. What did her mum used to call them? Was it Laughter lines? Yes, she could imagine him with those. She thought they'd suit Malfoy - Draco, she corrected herself internally. She'd just confessed that she loved the murderous demon, it was about time she used his given name.

She looked down at his hands. The skin there was so perfect and smooth, she couldn't imagine it with age lines or -

"Go back to sleep, Granger." Draco didn't open his eyes and his voice was low and husky enough to make her toes curl.

"Are you ever going to call me Hermione?"

He sucked his teeth and thought about it for half a second. "No."

She looked up at him and even though she smiled, she couldn't help but think about what his life was going to look like after the war.

She wondered if he'd go back to live at Malfoy Manor or if he'd travel. He'd said he wanted to travel with her, but after she died, would he still want that? Or would the thought of exploring one city after the other be tainted for him like it would've been for her? Would it have been like opening an old wound? A reminder of what could've been and the life they could've had together? She hoped not - she wouldn't want to ruin that for him.

She wondered what he'd do for work or if he'd even work at all. He didn't need the money, even if the Order seized every asset and galleon he'd been awarded during his service for Voldemort, his family's wealth had always been enormous. He'd be fine - Astoria, maybe not so much, she'd probably have to cut back on the amount of Ruby and Diamond necklaces she brought herself - but Draco would be fine.