These Dark And Hollow Nights

Chapter Twenty-Two: Desirous

Chapter Twenty-Two: Desirous

Draco’s POV

Only one word could describe how Draco felt when he and his mother left Zabini Manor later that night, after everyone else had gone home, and that word was lucky. He felt like the luckiest person alive. He doubted that even Felix Felicis would have had the same effect. 

Kissing Hermione had been one of the best moments of his life. Actually, it probably was the best moment of his life. He couldn’t remember a time when he felt so… free.

‘So?’ His mother asked when they arrived home.

Draco had to blink a few times before he realised that she was staring intently at him, waiting for something. ‘So, what?’ He asked.

She sighed. ‘So, did you tell her how you feel or not?’ She asked.

He was not a man who was easily given away by an expression, but he felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and knew he was blushing. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I did.’

‘And?’ His mother was beaming, hoping for good news. ‘What was her reaction?’

He didn’t answer. He was still replaying the moment in his head, remembering her face when he had said he loved her. She’d never said ‘I love you’ in return, but the answer had been clear in her expression. He could see it in her face. ‘Well, I kissed her,’ he said after a minute. ‘And she kissed me back.’

‘Did she say how she felt about you, or not?’ She asked.

He nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, looking away. ‘She told me she loved me too.’

She looked like she might die of happiness. ‘I told you she loved you back, didn’t I? I told you,’ she said.

Draco rolled his eyes. ‘Mum, you’re embarrassing me. Can I please go up to bed? I’m exhausted,’ he said. ‘And I wanted to send her present.’

She nodded, still grinning ear to ear. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘You are going to be happy,’ she told him, and there was no denying that she was sure of her words. ‘You deserve her, you know.’

He couldn’t say anything, because he still didn’t think he did. Instead, he smiled, kissed his mother on the cheek, and went upstairs to bed.

After he mailed away Hermione’s Christmas present—he’d given Astoria hers at the Ball—, he got ready for bed, and turned over the events of the night in his head. It had gone better than he’d thought it would. He was ashamed to admit that he’d almost expected Hermione to slap him. She might have a long time ago. But she was not the girl he remembered in his head. Not the very brave, very stubborn third year that would have rather hexed him before she spent a minute alone with him. But Hermione was different now, and so was he. Although, she was responsible for his changing. He doubted that anyone else could have broken the ice that was around his heart, but she had. She was the only person who was stubborn enough to try. She was the only one brave enough to get close enough to change him.

And that was why he loved her. Not because of who she was, not because she was beautiful and caring and gentle, but because she was brave enough to get close enough to him without running away, because she was everything he wasn’t. She was strong enough not to turn away from his scars, brave enough not to be afraid of the danger, not to fear what other people thought, and she had enough compassion to heal the darkness that Lucius had left in him. She was his savior, and he couldn’t have changed if it were not for her.