Glad Day
Written by - FicklePen
You can find them here! - http://www.fanfiction.net/u/961154/
One Shot
“If I survive,” he drawled suddenly, pulling her back from her musing, “I want you here in this room naked and waiting for me in that bed.” She looked at the large double bed he was pointing to behind him.[HGDM.]
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Author's Note: Became an infinitely huge Harry Potter fan only recently and found myself wishing that Draco and Hermione would fall for one another; luckily for fanfiction, I can make that happen! - evil grin - :) Reviews are welcome, as is concrit. So please, sit back and enjoy this tale of forbidden love.
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Title: Glad Day.
Rating: T
Warning: Brooding story with a hint of hope.
Summary: He was a Death Eater and she was an Auror. . . But their love transcended all boundaries. A deeper look into an unfathomable relationship. Hermione x Draco.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, that honour belongs to JK Rowling. BUT if I did, I would make it a priority for Hermione and Draco to madly in love... Le sigh. Lyrics at the end also don't belong to me - obviously :)
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o 0 o Glad Day o 0 o
By FicklePen.
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“It's tomorrow.”
Twin gems of hazel scoured the darkening horizon, giving no indication of hearing the deep tenor that spoke at her elbow. “A glad day.” She smiled softly at her words; sadly. “This is it, isn't it?”
“It is,” he murmured.
“The final battle.” A heavy sigh fell from her lips as she turned to face the man standing beside her at the open window of their place. Their private, secluded, secret place.
If anyone was to find out that they were here, together. . . It would be both their heads in the hangman's noose. But such was the plight of the forbidden. How could something so pure as the love between two people, be denied? The concept was utterly ridiculous and yet. . . They would meet tomorrow at the battlefield, on opposing sides. They would meet as enemies but whilst she fought for the Light, he - he would turn against his own kind and fight for her. For them.
It was wrong that he despised everything that her blood stood for, but she knew that he would fight for her tomorrow because that was the danger of love. Once it began, it grew to encompass all things; once he began to care for her, he would ultimately begin to care for everything around him. Love was funny like that. It was a pity he didn't seem to realise that. As it was a pity that her love for him equalled her hate of what he had been.
Countless wizards and witches were dead because of him, before he had come to her, before he had begun that long dark journey down redemption's road. She loved him for who he was and not what he had done in the past, but that love wasn't enough to absolve his sins. So perhaps. . . Perhaps tomorrow would be the day that he could reclaim and redeem himself. Perhaps.
She stood back and studied him, taking in his weary countenance and the limp but exuberant shock of silvery blond hair that framed his face. Gods, she loved his hair. It was an entity unto itself.
His calm and regal expression gave no indication of the flustering sensation caused by Apparating. There was never a time she had seen him look unruffled in the recent years gone by. It seemed as if every emotion that could linger upon his face had slipped to the ground and shattered like fragile glass. It rendered him numb towards outside gestures, but she knew better. Though there was nothing on the surface, it hardly bothered her, for she knew that a wealth of emotion lay hidden beneath the fortress of his stoic, pale features. And when those grey eyes encompassed hers, they spoke more than a thousand words could ever convey.
“If I survive,” he drawled suddenly, pulling her back from her musing, “I want you here in this room; naked and waiting for me in that bed.” She looked at the large double bed he was pointing to behind him.
Though she was indignant at his cave-man mentality, she almost grinned at the sight of his lip curving upward in amusement. Not much amused him these days but she was glad to see it. It gave her hope. “How romantic,” she snarled huffily, folding her arms.
He snorted and before she could protest, he had pulled her close and trapped her within his long, lean arms to brush a delicate kiss against her temple. “I am anything but romantic, Granger. You know that.”
The amusement from his words fled as he observed her own haggard appearance. Without another word, he swept her up and carried her to the unmade bed, laying her down without preamble, without a word.
She frowned and sat up as she caught him watching her strangely. “What is it?” Her voice quivered, a deep sense of foreboding creeping down her spine.
He held back a sigh.
How could he tell her? Nothing could have prepared him for the words he was about to utter, because he knew that to say them to her would be undeniably stupid and irrevocably damaging. But still, he had to. It was in his very bones to tell her truth; to speak of his wishes.
He sat beside her and found that she was staring at him for the longest time, her hazel eyes like bottomless wells of still sadness. Had her eyes always held that deep, almost immeasurable sink of mourning? She looked so remarkably different from the young vivacious woman that had left Hogwarts three years prior.
He drew his gaze away forcibly and observed their surroundings. The amber rays of the sun that currently painted the room, diminished to a ruby red glow as it slowly sunk behind the snowy mountain tops. The French villa they were residing in, cocooned them from the outside world and secreted them away from where they truly were; unplottable, untraceable.
But on this night, they couldn't hide what they were to one another. They couldn't hide the truth that she was an Auror and he, a cursed Death Eater. Regardless that he was now a spy for the Order, he had once willingly joined the Dark Wizard's ranks and that would always remain as a barrier between them. Whether she acknowledged it or not.
Silver moonbeam eyes sought her face once more and he regarded her silently. At this moment, even she could not hide her true feelings.
Within her eyes, there was no denying the black, boiling hatred for what he had been, entwined with selfless, soul-deep love. Pain, degradation and horror swayed hand in hand with a sighing girl-child's heart that leapt for joy at the mere sight of his face and the thought of his touch. It was all inextricably woven, heart-breaking love and thunderous hatred - and he had earned every ounce of both.
Yes, it was clear that she hated him as much as she loved him. Through her steely gaze he caught a flicker of that hatred, of that infinite love. And he saw the world repainted through her eyes. He saw the monster he had been and he saw the man he was now.
A life-time of sorrow and regret could not erase the deeds he had done, the people he had murdered. But it was a testimony to her goodness that the depth and breadth of her heart - her beautiful, pure heart - could reach across the chasm he had dug between them. . . Reach across the hatred, and embrace the man he was desperately trying become.
He knew his next words would not be received well.
“I don't want you to fight tomorrow.” It was a command, because he still hadn't learnt how to make a request. As he predicted, storm-clouds brewed within the depths of her eyes.
“I beg your pardon?” Her voice was cold, frozen like a sheet of ice upon a bleak lake.
“I don't want you to fight tomorrow,” he repeated patiently, blandly.
And then, she did something unexpected.
He watched in awe as a pale tear rolled down the curved expanse of her bloodless cheek. A twinge echoed in his heart. It was another ladle into the endless ocean of tears she had shed because of him. He reached out and wiped the offending tear away almost reverently. “Promise me, Hermione. Promise me that you won't fight?” He was deadly serious. He never said her name unless he was upset.
Hermione saw that it took every ounce of conviction for him say those words. And it only hardened her heart further. She swallowed, unable to dislodge the tight ball in her throat. “I can't — ”
“—No!” Draco interrupted savagely, gripping her chin. “It won't be like the other battles. The Dark Lord himself will be there and your acquaintance with Potter,” he spat the name with distaste, “will make you a target.”
“I'm not letting Harry fight without me!” She pushed his hand away. Her expression grew soft as he glared fearfully at her. “I'm not letting you fight without me.”
He blinked with resignation, reigning in the wayward emotions caused by his outburst. “If you fight tomorrow, I'm a dead man. I can't concentrate on the battle and protect you as well. You know I'm right.”
Hermione felt herself shutting down at his words and she knew what she had to do. “I can protect myself. But. . . I promise,” she mumbled roughly. “I promise, Draco.”
He looked at her shrewdly before blinking in disbelief at how easy it had been to persuade her.
It was a lie, of course, but he didn't know that. She simply didn't want to fight this night; their last night before fate and destiny would claim ownership of the battle tomorrow. What he did not know would not hurt him, and through his sagging shoulders, she could tell he was relieved by her acceptance. She almost snorted. He should know her better by now, but he was naive and frightened enough to take her words at face value simply because he wished to believe that she would keep her word.
“You promise?” He asked again, fumbling for confirmation.
She nodded slowly. “Yes, I promise.”
Draco closed his silver eyes and reached out for her.
Words were abandoned between them for the remainder of that night.
He drew her close and kissed her deeply, drinking the goodness from her lips like fine wine as he pinned her to the bed - beneath him, beneath his love. Eventually their clothes fell away, pooling onto the floor beside the bed. Heat suffused with skin and the temperature rose between their bodies like molten lava bubbling upwards in a volcano of passion and desire, of lust and unbreakable, unwavering love mingled with regret and palpable hatred.
They moved as one, frantically, desperately. . . And she smiled secretly as she gazed up at the dark ceiling beyond her lover's toned, flawlessly white shoulder. He would be angry when he found out. Terribly, frightfully angry. But she hoped that they would be able to laugh about this in the future. Laugh at her recklessness, at her head-strong ways, at her unwillingness to obey orders - his orders. She hoped, fervently, that tomorrow would bring the end of the darkness that consumed their lives.
Tomorrow would be a day of reckoning, and she would be there to witness their triumph - or their failure.
But none of that mattered right here, right at this very moment.
The pleasurable sensations within her grew as it always did when he touched her. The world fell away and nothing remained save for them; their bodies wound together like the tangled roots of a twin sapling, growing stronger by the minute. Their hearts twined like the gossamer strands of two silken spider webs meshed into one another, inseparable.
Yes. Tomorrow would be a glad day, a fine day.
She sighed, smiling like the sun dawning on a new day, as she trapped their one last perfect moment, suspending it in time like a summer flower caught in a crystal paperweight.
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If all of the strength
And all of the courage
Come and lift me from this place,
I know I can love you much better than this.
Full of grace, My love…
-Sarah Maclachlan.
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Fin.
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