Chapter Song: PILLOWTALK
The fireplace crackled gently in the background. Their home was finally quiet. For the first time in weeks, there was no sound of footsteps running through the halls, no books being slammed open, no arguments about potions homework, or enchanted music echoing from upstairs.
Mia was staying at Harry and Ginny's for the weekend, and for the first time in what felt like forever… it was just the two of them.
Hermione sat curled on the edge of the couch, wrapped in one of Draco's oversized jumpers, legs bare and tucked under her. Her hair spilled messily around her shoulders. Her skin still held the warmth from the bath she'd just taken, scented faintly with lavender and sandalwood. She looked up from her tea as Draco stepped in from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, collar slightly loosened.
Their eyes met.
The tension hit like a wall.
Not of anger, or fear — but of everything unspoken.
The long days.
The hatred she had weathered.
The near-loss.
The victory.
The ache.
The craving.
And now… the space to feel again.
"I forgot what silence sounded like," Hermione whispered, placing the cup on the table.
Draco crossed the room, slow and deliberate, his silver gaze never leaving hers.
"I haven't forgotten what you sound like when you breathe," he murmured, "when you laugh. Or when you say my name like it's the only word that matters."
Hermione stood slowly, heart pounding, eyes searching his. "And what do I sound like when I miss you?"
Draco didn't answer.
He cupped her face instead — fingers trembling slightly — and kissed her hard.
It wasn't soft.
It wasn't slow.
It was a kiss full of want, of need — of the kind of passion born from survival and stubborn love. The kind of kiss that said, we're still here.
Hermione gasped into it, her hands gripping the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Draco groaned low in his throat, pressing her back against the wall with a thud. His hands slid down her thighs, lifting her with ease as she wrapped her legs around him.
"You're mine," he growled against her jaw, his voice thick. "And I'm never letting anything take you from me again."
She gripped his shirt, tugging it over his head, breaking their kiss only long enough to whisper, "Then take me. All of me. Like you mean it."
And Merlin, he did.
They stumbled back toward the bedroom, kissing between ragged breaths and whispered confessions. Her jumper slipped from her shoulders as he laid her down gently, reverently, like she was still breakable — and she pulled him into her with a heated laugh.
The night was messy.
Laughter mixed with moans, and firelight danced on bare skin and tangled sheets.
Draco kissed every scar she hated.
Hermione touched every part of him like she was rediscovering him again and again.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was real.
It was them.
And when they lay in silence hours later, her head resting against his chest, their fingers entwined — Hermione whispered into the dark:
"I don't need the world to love me, Draco. Just you."
His lips pressed into her hair.
"You've always had me, Granger. Even when I was too much of a coward to say it."