Draco stared at Hermione from across the room, his breathing rapid. She was staring back at him, biting on her lower lip. He could barely see the rise and fall of her chest. Their living room was dimly lit, and a storm was raging outside. He was trying not to focus on the way the lightning lit up her eyes, brown and full of fear. He was livid with her, yet he wanted to rip her clothes off and have his way with her.
She nervously played with her fingers and stood uncertainly behind the sofa. Her blood red dress accentuated her every curve, and it was taking every ounce of strength Draco had to not press his lips against hers. The lights flickered, and they continued to stare at each other. His blood was still boiling, oh yes. How could she still look so damn beautiful to him when she had made him so fucking angry? Of course, she didn’t do it on purpose.
“Draco…” she said softly. If he hadn’t been watching her lips, he wouldn’t have known she had spoken.
He didn’t say anything though. He simply continued to stare, silently memorizing the features of her face, though he knew them all by heart. Her bushy eyebrows, and her pale pink lips. The way her nostrils flared when she was angry or scared. Her chocolate brown eyes, and her smooth, pale skin. The way her jaw flexed when she wanted to say something, but held her tongue. He knew it all already, but memorizing it again, kept him from exploding on her.
“Draco.” She said a bit more firmly this time, regaining her composure. She started to walk around the couch, coming towards him.
He watched her every move intently. Half livid, half mesmerized by her fluid movements. She slowly approached and stopped merely inches from his face. She was brave, to approach him when he was this angry. He could smell her perfume, and it filled his nostrils. Roses. He had bought it for her for Christmas two years ago; their first Christmas together. She raised a hand to his cheek, and he felt her cold fingers caress him. Tears welled in his eyes, but he remained firm.
“I won’t forget about this Hermione.” He said softly, but angrily.
She looked down, and removed her hand from his cheek. “I don’t expect you to. Can we just talk about it though?”
These words pushed him over the edge. He stepped back from her and let out a cry of rage.
“Talk about it?! You want to TALK ABOUT IT? Talk about what, Hermione? The fact that you went and made such a big decision without me? Without considering how I’d feel, and hell, even what I wanted? Huh? No, you didn’t. Because all that matters is what you want.” He yelled, and he saw her flinch as he threw the Daily Prophet in her direction.
He was breathing heavy and it felt good to finally say something. He recomposed himself before looking over at her, and he could see the tears falling silently down her cheeks.
“I was scared. I was absolutely terrified and I panicked!” she retorted. She was not going down without a fight, he knew that very well.
He sighed. “We could have been scared together. You know I wouldn’t have been mad at you about this Hermione. You know me better than anyone. We would have been in it together.” He said, calming down now. He walked towards her, so that they were both standing in front of the couch.
The storm was getting worse now. The walls were shaking, and the room was being lit up by the lightning. They hesitated to continue their conversation as the lights flickered again, and another clap of thunder sounded.
“I’m sorry…” she said, looking down at the floor. “I know you wouldn’t have been mad. I just…it was the first thought that came to my mind, because I knew I wasn’t ready for this. I should have considered what you wanted. I know saying sorry isn’t going to change anything, but it doesn’t change the fact that I am sorry. I am.”
He could hear it in her voice that she was truly sorry, and deep in his heart he knew that. His anger was practically diminished now, and he stroked her arm lightly.
“We could have had a baby, Hermione.” He said, his voice cracking.
She looked up at him with her big brown eyes, still wet with tears. “I know…” she whispered.
As Draco looked at her, the woman he loved, he knew that he would forgive her. Of course he would. He loved her too much to hold a grudge. He searched her face for something more, and slowly saw a smirk form on her lips. He knew what that meant. And sure enough, Hermione pulled him down onto couch, and their lips found each other. The lights flickered once more, and went out. Hermione’s and Draco’s bodies intertwined in the darkness of the room, forgetting all that happened.