Hope

Disclaimer: I live in my world. I play in hers.

Every other time it had been hard and fast.

This time was different.

This time soft words were murmured, promises they both knew could never be kept were made, and at the end, she wept because she knew that the happiness they had found, this idyllic peace, could never last.

She had never been sure exactly why that night had been different.

Perhaps it had been the conversation with Remus.

Perhaps it had been what she had done.

Or maybe, things had been headed to this place all along, and that night things finally came to a head.

He had walked through the door of the dingy hotel room and frozen.

His eyes had gotten dark, the silvery orbs nearly consumed by the dark of his pupils.

He’d swallowed. Hard.

He stepped forwards, one step toward her, then another.

She stood still, shaking a little under the intensity of his stare.

He took a final step, now close enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek, hear the rapid beating of his heart, so close to her own.
He’d swallowed again and searched her eyes before asking
“Is it true?”

She was losing herself in his eyes, in the hope she saw in them. She wet her lips before whispering “Every word.”
The look in his eyes was indescribable.
He reached up, and framed her face with his elegant, aristocratic hands, bringing his forehead down to rest gently on her own.
“Hermione.”
She’d stiffened at little at that, he rarely called her by her first name and he had never said it like this before. He’d said her name like a promise, like a prayer, and he was breaking her heart.
He leaned forward just a bit more, just enough to put his mouth next to her ear as he whispered “I love you, too.”
That night had been a night of soft touches, whispered endearments, it had been a night to remember.
She’d undressed him slowly, wanting to make each moment last a lifetime. He had stood, submitting to her attentions, knowing that she needed to do this.

It was only when they stood before each other completely naked that he reached out to touch her again. His arms wound their way around her body and pulled her in close. She felt the warmth of his skin as she wrapped her arms around his back, feeling warm and safe and lost and confused all at the same time.
Slowly, so slowly she almost didn’t realize that it was happening, he had started to move them towards the bed.
As he gently lowered her down she had whispered his name, frightened.
“Shh. I know, baby, I know.”
He positioned himself on top of her, bracing most of his weight on his elbows, not moving, just looking at her, as though he were trying to memorize the planes of her face.

It wasn’t until she said his name once, twice, more forcefully the second time that he seemed to come back from wherever he had gone. He’d smiled his heartbreaking, heartbroken smile. That smile that it seemed he’d only ever smiled for her. It had reached all the way up into his eyes, lighting them and making him seem alive.
In response she tilted her head up until her lips met his.

In the past their kisses had been violent and passionate. He would invade her mouth with his tongue, as though reassuring himself that she was there, that she was his. But not this time. This time he made love to her mouth, gently caressing her lips with his own. It had started slowly, ever so slowly, a mere meeting of their lips. It had progressed with an agonizing slowness. He’d gently opened her mouth with his tongue, stroking her mouth with his own, and she’d tried to advance the kiss further, to deepen it, but he’d pulled back and started the process all over again, and she’d growled at him, but he merely chuckled in her mouth and continued at the same pace.
His hands began to move, one sliding smoothly up and down her side, while the other rose to cup her cheek.
Finally, finally, his hand made its way down to her leg, and traced its way inward. He’d lifted his hips ever so slightly and allowed slipped his hand between their bodies.
When he cupped her mound she broke away from the kiss, gasping.
His hair hand fallen into his eyes and he looked for all the world like a fallen angel, but there was nothing angelic about the movements of his hand.

“Hermione. Hermione look at me.” His voice had invaded the fog of her mind, bringing her back to earth despite what his incredibly talented fingers were doing to her.
He’d locked eyes with her, his thumb stroking her cheek as the fingers of his other hand gently tweaked her clit and slid shallowly into her. She could see it in his eyes, that he was enjoying this slow, sensual torture. He was loving every minute of it, and more than that, he loved the fact that she loved it too, regardless of whether or not she would admit it.
He continued to move his hand with the same agonizing slowness, and she felt herself rising, higher and higher, nearing her peak but never quite reaching it.

Then she began to beg.

She pleaded, reached tears and still, his hand continued at its same pace, at times even slowing until it neared stopping, just to see her eyes flash.
Suddenly he was moving, his mouth found its way to her breast and his hand was moving, pumping in and out of her, his thumb on her clit, and her body was humming with the pleasure. Just as she thought she wasn’t going to be able to stand any more of it, her world exploded in a riot of color.
“Draco. Draco. Dracodracodraco…” his name had been the only coherent thing she’d been able to say and he’d gathered her into his arms whispering “I know, love, I know.”
He’d held her until the shaking had stopped, while she had said “I love you.”, more times that she could count.

As she wound her was out of her haze she became aware that his hands were moving on her again, this time with a familiar urgency. She’d responded to it ardently, with all of the passion in her soul.
They’d both cried out as he entered her. He stayed in her, not moving, holding as still as he could, and it had become another moment to hold on to, to keep safe for all those nights when there would be no making memories, for all those nights the memories would be the only thing keeping you warm.
He started moving against her, a well known rhythm, one that had never failed them before. Somehow, even that same rhythm felt different. Sweeter, softer, meant to last.
Draco was grinding his teeth at maintaining the pace and Hermione was throwing back her head in ecstasy, meeting every thrust of his hips with hers. She could feel him holding back, but she was nearing the point of no return and she wanted him to come with her.
She’d started to work her internal muscles, giving him no choice but to follow. He’d fought it for a few moments, but he eventually acquiesced, tumbling with her into the forgiving darkness.

When it was over he held her close, ready to stay like that the entire night, but she’d shook her head and said “No, again. Its not enough.” She’d said the last part nearly in tears.

And again they had.
Again and again until they fell, shaking into one another’s arms, too tired to do anything but push themselves as close together as possible.

They had fallen asleep still entwined, him still buried deep inside of her.

That night had been the first time for them. The first time they had been together completely, no holds barred, no more barriers. No longer the pureblood and the Muggle-born. Just Hermione and Draco. Just in love.
That night had been the first night. And the last night.


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That night had also been the night Hermione got pregnant.


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Hermione wrapped her arms around her middle as she watched her daughter playing on the swings. She remembered that last night with Draco, remembered all of those moments. There had been a time when Draco had been what she’d lived for, when he’d been the only thing keeping her sane. Now she lived for their daughter. She lived to honor his memory, to honor his death to save them all. He and so many others had died so that she could live. She’d wanted to die after his death. After that final battle. They’d had one night together, one night of perfection after so many of pain. One night that they wouldn’t regret. One that would be theirs forever because they could no longer make any more memories.

Now she lived for her daughter. Their daughter. She had his grey eyes and her curly brown hair and enough stubbornness to out do them both and some day she was so much like her father it hurt. She bore his name, a name that was now something to be proud of, and Hermione had changed her name to Malfoy as well, no longer able to bear to hear “Granger.”, if he was not the one saying it. Hermione had given her daughter Draco’s last name to continue the line, but her first name was different, it was what they had fought for, what she now had the right to. What she now lived for, because of.

Hope.