AN: Okay, apologies have to be made because this feels like the longest I've made you guys wait for an update! I've just been incredibly busy, probably the busiest I've ever been! I finished sixth form and my A-Levels just before the summer, then I worked for six weeks on a summer programme for teens, THEN I went on an impromptu holiday to Spain with one of my colleagues and then I found out I got into Oxford University to study English Language and Literature (!!!). I'm blown away. I really struggled this year with my exams and I thought that was it for my dream but I've somehow done it. I wanted to share it with you because you guys have been my biggest encouragement for my writing and I feel like I owe a reason as to why this chapter is so incredibly late!! I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you for inspiring me and encouraging me to write. You keep me motivated. I truly admire you all.
Chapter Thirty One- The Burrow
It looked to grow from the earth up; a tower of rickety and uneven bricks risen from the ground, stacked several stories high, windows dotted about randomly and shedding light, absorbing and then reflecting the sunset, into which four or five chimneys disappeared. There was more light radiating from under the front door, seeming to make the entire house glow and pulse with warmth. Laughter spilled from the kitchen windows and a kettle whistled shrilly.
Around the sloping grounds were fat, brown chickens, dark shapes moving through the shadows of the evening, clucking and fretting. The small yard in front of the house was mainly vegetable plots and large cauliflowers and carrot leaves were guarded by grisly looking gnomes, bearing teeth and ceramic weapons. Extending around the side of the house, the garden opened down into a wide, overgrown field, sitting on the lawns of a lazy river which trundled by, tripping over stepping stones that led to what resembled an orchard, though it was surrounded by high trees, making it difficult to tell. Makeshift Qudditch hoops poked out from between the foliage and apples hung heavy and ripe from the branches. An invariable number of sheds stood, or rather, leaned precariously, about the back garden, wind whistling through the wide cracks, padlocks tinkling like bells.
In the front yard, buried in the dirt, was a lopsided sign, which simply read, THE BURROW.
"Relax," Hermione murmured as they stared up at the house. "Harry invited you for a reason."
Scathingly, Draco retorted, "Yes. You."
They were still a little windswept from their apparation, patting down hair and straightening their clothes. The last of the summer sun was warm on their cheeks, causing Draco to roll his sleeves up, whilst the breeze that tickled through the undergrowth had Hermione fidgeting to pull her summer dress down.
She rolled her eyes and jabbed him in the side, causing him to jerk away from her. "No. Because times have changed."
Draco looked away, eyes refocusing on the building in front of them. He muttered sulkily, "It doesn't even look like it could stand without magic."
A sharp thwack at the back of his head shut him up.
"Do try not to make such comments in the presence of our hosts, Draco. It's impolite," said Narcissa, pursing her plum-coloured lips and pulling her gloves off, one finger at a time. "Now, I do believe we have a party to attend."
She stalked past the pair of them, stopping only to knock on the decrepit barn-door. They followed her dumbly.
"Don't be nervous," Hermione whispered, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
Draco swallowed, eyes trained on the door, chest slow and heavy. "What do I have to be nervous about? Our families only hated each other for my entire life."
"The Weasley's aren't like that."
"I dread to think-"
But before he could express what so horrified him to consider, the front door was flung open, the orange light of the kitchen mingling with the muted palette of dusk and Molly Weasley was upon them.
"Hermione! How lovely to see you," she pulled the younger girl into a tight hug, rubbing her back heartily, swaying them. Hermione closed her eyes, shoulders dropping, melting into the mother's embrace.
Molly stepped back and Hermione's arms fell limp by her side. The Weasley matriarch beamed, cupping her face. "Harry and Ron are inside, dear. They're so excited to see you."
Hermione glanced back, and it seemed it was only then that Molly noticed the other two guests standing in her front garden. Her eyes widened slightly and she fumbled for something to say, wiping her hands on the apron around her waist.
Narcissa, ever the practised lady, stepped forward and smiled. "Mrs Weasley, it's a pleasure to be invited to your home."
That was all it took for Molly to melt out of her momentary surprise and she patted the brickwork and said, "Well, it's not much, but it's home."
"It's lovely," beamed Narcissa.
Molly seemed to swell with pride and she hurried the two women indoors, hastily kissing Narcissa on the cheek when the other woman greeted her formally, moving to follow them in when she turned back.
Draco swallowed, freezing, a deer caught in headlights.
"Draco." Molly smiled and she was on him in an instant, enveloping him in her arms, tugging him down to her height. He tensed, breath catching in his throat. "I'm very glad they exonerated you."
"I wouldn't call it that," he managed to get out, though he brought his hands up to pat her awkwardly on the back.
"Anything that isn't Azkaban is a pardon. You have to know that. Nobody blames you here, love."
Draco's hand faltered and he caught Hermione's gaze over Mrs Weasley's shoulder, framed as she was by the kitchen light, looking like some ethereal angel sent to keep him on track. She smiled slightly at him before she disappeared inside and he let himself relax, head slumping onto Mrs Weasley's shoulder, holding her back, clenching his eyes shut.
It was only when she tapped his back did he move, saying softly, "Come now, dear, the food will be burning. Let's get you fed," and Draco stepped back hurriedly and followed her into The Burrow.
The inside was no less peculiar than the outside, he realised, eyes taking in the circular downstairs, from the copper pots and pans hanging overhead to the two stoves working overtime and the long wooden table decked with enough mismatched chairs for the entire Weasley clan. On the far side of the kitchen was a doorframe but no door, through which an endless stream of voices spilled and Harry emerged quite suddenly.
"Hermione?"
The grin broke out across his face as he came towards them, wrapping Hermione up in his arms before she could even reply. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, squeezing him tightly, breathing him in. "Happy Birthday, Harry."
She felt the warm rumble of his chest as he muttered, "I've missed you. Thank you for coming."
"How long has it been?" she asked as he set her down.
There was a slight stubble clinging to his jaw and his hair had curled around his ears but he didn't look tired. She was struck suddenly that it didn't matter how long it had been, it was too long regardless and she'd missed him. She'd missed her best friend.
Harry seemed to feel it too for he pulled her in for another hug, arm wrapped loose around her shoulders, chin resting on her head. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned into him.
When he let her go, he gave her another smile, full to brimming with all his sweetness and love, before his eyes snagged on something over her head and she stepped aside to let him greet everyone else.
Narcissa's face relaxed, her lips curving into a much more natural smile. "Harry," she greeted, folding him into her arms as soon as he got close enough. She was not a short woman and so Harry could lean his head against hers as they embraced.
"Narcissa. I'm so glad you could make it."
"Nonsense," she smiled again when they released one another. "I wouldn't miss a good party for the world. It's been a terribly long time since I was invited to one."
Harry smiled at her, though it was lopsided and bordering on sad, so he offered to take her coat, folding it over his arm. He returned once he'd hung it in the cupboard by the stairs, shaking Draco's hand as the younger Malfoy and Mrs Weasley came into the kitchen.
"I have someone I want you to meet," said Harry, not looking at either Malfoy, but leading the way through the kitchen and into what appeared to be the living room, if the number of settees and chairs and cushions was anything to go by.
Harry crossed the room, stopping just in front of the windows, where a woman stood with her back to them, looking out into the garden. He cleared his throat. "I believe you two know each other quite well."
The woman turned and Narcissa faltered; the polite smile slipped from her face, eyes wide and tearing, plum lips grappling for something, anything, to say to the sister she hadn't seen in decades.
"Andy?" she whispered.
Andromeda inhaled sharply. "Cissy?"
Narcissa all but fell into her older sister's arms, trembling hands painstakingly mapping out the kind, brown eyes of her childhood, the lips that always used to know what to say to make her laugh and to cheer her up, the wrinkles that had set in during the interregnum of their relationship. But she was instantly recognisable as her favourite sister, despite the marring of age.
"Gamma, gamma!"
Narcissa shot around, eyes wide, watching as Mr Weasley entered the room, struggling to hold onto the squirming and wriggling child, who all but launched into his grandmother's arms when he got close enough.
"Teddy," lulled Andromeda, smoothing down his hair. "Did Arthur take you to see the gnomes?"
But the child was preoccupied with her jewellery, twirling his hands around her long necklace, and darting his eyes to her face to see her reaction. Andromeda caught her sister's expression and smiled softly.
"Teddy, this is Auntie Cissa. Say hello please."
The baby giggled, pretending to be shy, burying his face in his grandmother's chest and peeking out at her. Narcissa leaned closer and tickled his tiny knuckles, but her smile cracked and faltered when she looked at her sister.
"I'm so sorry about your daughter," she whispered.
A tear slipped from Andromeda's eye, falling slowly down her cheek, and she reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. Narcissa felt suddenly like a little girl again, lost and small, guided by her big sister, safe at last. Home.
oOo
Draco faltered when they were led into the living room, suddenly short of breath, claustrophobia making him stumble backwards. Every seat was occupied and the eyes fell on him instantly. During the war, he'd become quite good at taking inventory of the room and the people within it, and instinct had him grappling for names to add to the faces.
Closest to them was an impossibly large man with muscled arms decorated with moving tattoos of dragons and magical creatures Draco had only read about; he was heavily freckled and tanned, but there was no mistaking him for a Weasley, even if Draco didn't think he'd ever met him personally. Beside him on the settee was who Draco knew to be Bill, owing to the fading scar across his face, and the companionship of his pretty Veela wife, who was bouncing an equally blonde and pretty baby on her knee, cooing at her. On the big olive-green armchair in the corner sat another Weasley child, though Draco had a much harder time placing him, and only, by manner of elimination, managed to discern that it must be George, the surviving twin, for the man sitting on the chair arm was clearly Percy, whom he recognised from Hogwarts. Finally, his eyes fell on Ginny and Ron, who had jumped up to greet Hermione.
Draco felt like he was drowning with all the eyes on him, as Hermione was swept into hug after hug, conversing easily with every Weasley as though they were her family. That's because they are her family, a snide voice reminded him and he lingered in the doorway, not wanting to intrude.
Ron, oblivious as ever, didn't even give him the chance to feign shyness.
"Malfoy!" he bundled over, pulling him into a bear hug, slapping his shoulder as he released him. "How've you been!"
Draco glanced about the room, seeing the eyes of Ron's brothers flit away from them. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Can't complain. What about you? Hermione says you've been quite busy in the office?"
Ron's eyes widened dramatically and he ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he sighed. "Even a year on, we've still got some of Voldemort's sympathisers trying to stir things up. Think they thought we'd have let off by now but we haven't had a break. It's been full steam ever since the war ended. Sometimes, it feels like we're still fighting."
He laughed but Draco shook his head. "We'll never stop fighting, Weasley. Not really. There'll always be something-"
"Draco."
He cut off, turning to see his mother holding her hand out to him, beckoning him over. Muttering some half-hearted excuse, Draco ducked his head, crossing the room to see her. He didn't think he could face the expression on Ron's face. His stomach felt heavy as lead but he managed to make it to the window without hurling or collapsing or being swallowed by the garish rug covering the floorboards.
His mother was beaming, positively glowing, looking as youthful and free as he had ever seen her that he stopped in his tracks. She took his hand and tugged him closer, pulling him down to kneel at the side of the chair and said breathlessly, "Draco, this is your cousin, Teddy, Aunt Andromeda's grandson."
His lips parted. The woman in the chair beside his mother's, Aunt Andromeda, resembled his mother only faintly on first glance, looking much more like Bella, but when Draco blinked, her hair had grown several shades lighter, laced through with silver, and her eyes were a coffee colour, similar but darker to Hermione's. She had a kinder face, mellow eyes, laughter lines, evidence of a happy life, which made her look nothing like Bellatrix at all.
"Hello, Draco," she smiled. She didn't sound like his mother, nor Bella. Her voice was warm and rich, throaty from a lifetime of laughter. "I don't suppose we've ever met. I came to visit you once when you were a baby but I doubt you remember."
Draco swallowed. He shook his head slightly but a giggle drew his attention and he could only stare as the child on his Aunt's lap squealed in delight, his mousy brown hair draining of colour, lightening at an alarming rate, until it was as blond as Draco's own.
Narcissa gasped, squeezing her son's hand. "Oh, he likes you. Draco, look."
But before he had chance to grapple for a reply, Mrs Weasley appeared suddenly in the doorway, cheeks pink, hair wild, wiping her hands on her apron. "Food's ready!"
The group made their way from the living room, through the kitchen and back outside, following her to a long table she had decorated and set in the garden, surrounded by levitating lanterns, the food lining the centre like it always did at Hogwarts.
Harry dropped her a hug and kiss on the cheek as he passed, murmuring his thanks, which a flustered Molly half-heartedly waved away.
Draco stayed back, waiting for the party to seat themselves, noticing his mother's hand was still encased in her sister's.
"Draco."
His eyes sought her out. Hermione beckoned him over, gesturing the place next to her, which he took gratefully. His mother sat beside him, Andromeda on her left. Harry and Arthur headed and footed the table as birthday boy and patriarch respectively.
There were plates of beef joints and gammon steaks, chicken wings and turkey, surrounded by smaller bowls of golden roast potatoes, jugs of gravy, dishes overflowing with peas. There were massive Yorkshire Puddings, black puddings, new potatoes, mashed potato. The dinner guests dived on the food and the meal was underway.
"Oh!" Hermione gasped suddenly, hand delving into her bag to procure a small white and spotted rubber duck, which she presented to Mr Weasley, leaning across the table to pass it to him. "As promised."
Alight with childlike wonder, the Weasley patriarch accepted the gift with painstaking care, holding the object on the palm of his hand and inspecting it closely. "Why, Hermione, you truly are my favourite guest."
Hermione laughed a little, catching Draco's frown. She lowered her voice, "Mr Weasley is interested in Muggles so I try to bring him something from the Muggle world every time I come visit."
Draco raised his head in understanding, eyeing the duck, which was now floating in Arthur's wine glass much to Molly's annoyance, with evident distaste. "And what is the function of that, exactly?"
"Bath time companion."
"Bath time- what?! Muggles need companions for baths?"
But Hermione just tipped her head back and laughed at the incredulity in his voice and the conversation was dropped.
"Honestly, Narcissa," exclaimed Molly, leaning over the table to pile Draco's plate high with a second helping. "What have you been feeding this boy? He's all skin and bone!"
Narcissa smiled, her lips tight, her eyes sad, though her chin remained poised and high. "I'm afraid I haven't been around to do much mothering."
The table fell quiet. Even Teddy seemed to feel the change in the mood for he stopped chattering and sucked his thumb.
Molly paused and then leaned further so that she could rest her hand on Narcissa's. "You're here now. That's what matters."
Draco passed his plate willingly to her, letting her fill it up. Before he tucked in, he noticed her do the same to Harry and Ron and felt a rush of fondness for the mad woman.
oOo
They sung Harry Happy Birthday, after Ginny had slapped a plastic cone hat around his chin, and Teddy had been passed along the table to perch on his knee. The toddler squealed in delight, raking his fingers through the icing on the cake, much to Harry's amusement and Molly's chagrin.
Draco found himself laughing along, knee bumping into Hermione's, her tinkling laugh ringing in his ears, causing him to turn to her. Just past her, he caught Harry's gaze and the other man grinned at him, the lanterns above their heads dancing in his eyes.
oOo
They retired to the living room, blissfully full, chatter lulling, resuming their seats. Draco perched on the windowsill by his mother's chair, watching as Charlie conjured wisps of dragons to entertain Teddy and Victoire on the floor.
His mother reached behind her to touch his wrist. He looked down at her.
"Draco, be a dear and make your aunt and I some tea, won't you?"
He pulled himself up to his full height, brushing her shoulder with his fingers as he passed her.
Molly grabbed his wrist on his way across the room and said, "I'll have one too, since you're making one, dear. Oh, Arthur, do you want a tea? Does anybody want a cup of tea?"
The kitchen was empty when he entered, quiet crashing down around him. Draco moved over to the kettle, noticing with a jolt that it was a Muggle contraption and thanking his stars that Hermione had shown him how to use one. He flicked the switch and looked around for some cups, sourcing them in the cupboard above his head, adding the teabags and pouring the water once the kettle whistled.
"This used to be the start of a joke."
Draco's head shot in the direction of the voice, spoon slipping through his fingers and clattering against the cup.
George stood in the doorway, leaning against the cupboard. His head was tilted slightly, which only added to his lopsided appearance, the gaping emptiness on the left side of his head where his ear should have been owing to the origin of such a fact. He wasn't quite as devilishly carefree as Draco remembered him being at Hogwarts; the former Weasley twin's hair had been cut short, visibly shaved off, so all that remained was a buzz of orange, little cuts scabbing and interspacing the uneven spikes. He stood with his long, gangly arms folded across his chest, though his hands shook and his shoulders were drooped, white shirt untucked from his jeans.
Draco couldn't stare at him for long, turning back to the task at hand. There was something about George's sunken eyes, the ghost of a forgotten grin haunting his lips.
He continued, voice raising, "Malfoy and his mum come for dinner..."
The joke was open-ended. No punchline followed. Draco swallowed and glanced at him to find that George was still standing on the other end of the kitchen, as far away as possible whilst still standing in the room.
"How'd it end?"
George huffed a laugh, scratching his chin. "Very differently to this. You're not as slimy nor as gittish as I remember."
Draco choked on a laugh, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms. "Thanks. I don't think many of us stayed the same."
A shadow flitted across George's face and Draco sobered, grappling for an apology. His eyes squeezed shut. "I didn't mean-"
"No, you're right. No point sugar-coating it. Everything's different now." George moved further into the kitchen, dark blue eyes clinging to sink and pot and plate, scraping over the remnants of his childhood home as though each memory pained him. He chuckled but it was bitter. "Even if everything looks the fucking same."
Draco stared at him. He wondered if he was as unrecognisable to himself, if he looked in the mirror and didn't immediately recognise the haunted man with the naked head and naked soul staring back. He wondered if, like Draco, he didn't like who he was faced with. Or if maybe George looked in the mirror and saw his brother.
George scratched at his head, ran his palm across the top of his skull. "It's easy to forget and then Draco fucking Malfoy and his mum comes for dinner and I remember that the world's off its rocker and everything is different now."
Draco tried to smile. The kitchen was deafening in its peacefulness, the light spilling in from the sunset outside, blinding. The world seemed a little garish, a little bit too much. "I'm sorry," he somehow managed to get out.
George stared at him. His eyes flicked away. "Your tea will be cold."
Draco turned away, taking as many cups as he could carry, wordlessly levitating the others to lead the way. The kitchen was silent and he didn't look back as he crossed it, footsteps quiet but audible on the stone.
"Thank you, Malfoy."
Draco froze in the doorway, eyes suddenly blurring, fist clenching so hard he could feel his fingernails stinging his palm around the scorching handle. He had the urge to run, but his legs remained rooted, heavy and unmoving. His breath shook as it left his mouth.
Despite his better judgement, he looked back.
George hadn't moved but his eyes were pink underneath, his cheeks pale, starkly white against the shock of his freckles. He took a shuddering breath. "For coming to Fred's funeral. I didn't know if I imagined it but that hair's a dead giveaway."
Draco swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry," he said again.
George nodded. "So am I."
oOo
It was nearly dark when he escaped outside for some air, relishing in the stillness of the night, breathing freely for what felt like the first time that evening. Hearing voices, Draco ducked against the side of the house.
"-could've stayed here! You know you're always welcome here!"
It was unmistakably Ron's voice, the incensed and incredulous tone recognisable from a mile away.
"I know that!" Draco tensed. Hermione continued, voice strained, "I was perfectly content to stay at home-"
"Don't give us that." Harry was tired and quiet in comparison to his friends. "Don't act as though it didn't kill you to be there without your parents. I've been there, Hermione. I know how it feels. I know it's agony."
There was silence. And then- Hermione's small voice, "I thought I could cope."
"I just don't get why you went to him instead of us," said Ron.
Draco swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He pressed his back closer against the brick.
"I didn't plan on going to anyone," she replied irritably. "He found out and offered me a room at the Manor. Not even a room, an entire wing. Said I wouldn't have to see him if I didn't want."
"So you've been bunking with Malfoy?"
"The Manor isn't the same place it used to be," said Harry quietly. "You can forget what happened there."
"Can you?" demanded Ron. "Can you, Hermione?"
"I can," she said softly. "I actually feel at home there. Or as at home as I can, all things considering."
Draco heard the smirk in Harry's voice when he said, "And the size of the library helps, of course."
"Of course," she laughed. Then, after a moment, "Draco helps too."
He felt his heart speed up in his chest, blood pounding in his ears, and willed for it to tame itself so that he could hear the rest of the conversation, but Ron only sighed loudly and said, "I know."
"I'm heading back inside," said Harry. "You coming?"
"Yeah. It's getting cold."
"Hermione?"
"No, you go ahead. I'll be in soon."
Muffled footsteps came closer and Draco pressed himself flat against the side of the house, hoping to somehow disappear into the early night shadows as Harry and Ron passed by, disappearing round the corner and into the kitchen. His breath left his lips as a shaky exhalation.
Bracing himself, he rolled his sleeves up, wiped his hands on his trousers, before stepping away from the house. He spotted her figure instantly, down by the riverbank, summer dress fluttering around her legs.
"Fancy seeing you here," said Draco when he got close enough, smiling down at her.
Hermione tipped her head up to look at him, smile soft and lazy on her lips, and wrapped her arms around herself. "I think it's safe to say Teddy likes you."
Draco grimaced. "Children don't tend to like me. I don't know what to do with him."
"It's sweet," she said, smiling to herself, eyes cast out over the river.
"It doesn't matter anyway. It's not like I'm ever going to have kids of my own."
Her head shot to him then and he froze.
"You wouldn't have kids?" asked Hermione, suddenly serious.
Draco frowned. "You would?"
"Well. Of course. I always assumed I would."
"Really? You always struck me as a lonely old spinster who'd keep the exclusive company of books and cats."
This time, he managed to dodge as she moved to hit him.
"That's horrid!" she gasped but Draco could only laugh at the affronted expression on her face.
"Would you rather I lie to you, Granger, to make you feel better?" he asked, faux-solemnly.
Hermione gaped at him, stuttering over an answer, before she managed to cry, "That's beside the point! You shouldn't be thinking such cruel things anyway!"
"Not all of us can be patron saints who only think pure thoughts, Granger."
"Why don't you want kids anyway?" she asked after a moment.
Draco pressed his lips into a thin line. Eventually, he said, "I think I've done enough damage for one lifetime, don't you?"
"Don't speak like that."
He didn't reply. He didn't know how if he was to speak any differently.
"I received a letter from McGonagall just before we came here," began Hermione hesitantly. Draco looked at her, but her eyes were cast over the garden, soaked in the very last of the summer sun.
"Oh? She's not had you spying on me, has she? That sounds like something the old bat would do-"
"She offered me a job."
His head shot to her, only to find that she was now watching him, eyebrows furrowed, teeth worrying the seam of her lip. Instinctively, Draco reached out, thumb pulling her lip free. "Don't do that."
He hadn't noticed but he'd stepped closer, so that not even the stragglers of fading light could escape through the space between them. His fingers lingered on her jaw.
"Why not?" she whispered.
"Might scar."
"Scars heal."
His eyes flicked between both of hers. "You know that's not true."
Draco didn't move away but he dropped his hand and she seemed to breathe more easily. He cleared his throat and tried to steady himself. "What job?"
"Arithmancy Professor," replied Hermione, sounding entirely unaffected but her voice was a little too loud for the quiet of the night. "She apologised for being so last minute but said that she struggled to find anyone over the summer. And I got the highest marks ever recorded in the N.E.W.T."
He rolled his eyes. "Shock."
She smacked him but there was a small, proud smile on her face, making her cheeks and eyes glow. Draco couldn't quite control the smile from curling his own lips.
"Do you have any more details about your placement yet?"
His face drained and he stepped back, stumbled, and said, "No. I haven't heard a thing."
Hermione frowned, face crumpling in disappointment, and he tried to ignore the pang in his chest. She took a deep breath, shoulders rising high, and said chirpily, "Well, at least you'll be put out of your misery tomorrow!"
"Yes," he replied, "hopefully, with a well-aimed Avada-"
She punched his arm hard before he could finish. "Don't joke about that! It's not funny!"
"Jeez, Granger, I wasn't joking!"
Hermione huffed, shaking her head, her long, lion's mane of curls thrown over her shoulder. Her lower lip protruded out in a sulk and Draco, having stared at her, awaiting her mood change, flicked it when she remained adamantly silent and unwilling to talk to him.
He laughed when she jerked away, eyes narrowing into a scowl as his laughter only got louder.
"I can't believe I willingly agreed to spend another year with you," she huffed.
Draco smiled at her and her nose wrinkled. "You look pretty tonight, Granger," he blurted out before he could stop himself.
Hermione blinked at him, then a blush the colour of the deepest sunset blossomed across her skin, colouring her cheeks, stretching down her neck. She stared at him, her eyes flicking between his, lips parted as though a breath had snagged at the back of her throat.
He wished he was braver. He wished he was someone else, standing in front of the girl he liked, with the courage to kiss her goodnight. He reached up and brushed a curl away from her face.
"Goodnight, Granger," said Draco quietly, and he left her standing in the dawning moonlight because he couldn't bear to face her, the constant reminder of everything he couldn't have but could have had if only he'd been better.
"Goodnight, Draco."