Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love

“Yes – of course – you’re right. These are my family rings.” He paused, took a breath, and continued. “And I’d – what I’m trying to say – badly – is that I’d like you to be part of my family. Or – for me to be part of yours. Or for us to make a new one, together – or any iteration you’d like. What I’m trying to ask is – if you’d give it a go with me–”

His voice caught. Now she was beginning to understand. Her lips parted. A few snowflakes drifted down and caught in her hair, on the rose, and left melting kisses on her cheek.

“Potter and Weasley asked me what my – intentions were, with you,” continued Draco. “And I hadn’t an answer – didn’t know I had any. But I do. I want to be with you – in whatever capacity you'll have me.”

Now there were tears in her eyes.

He forged ahead – it was too late to turn back now. “I love you – I adore you – I want us to be together. Together-together. I, frankly, would like to spend the rest of my life with you, but we can do stupid dates first, or a proper courtship, or – an engagement (though I rather think that we got engaged in March, as much as you would deny it) – or anything you’d like.”

She gasped out a sob that was, somehow, also a sound of delight. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“Yes – I am. If you want to – obviously – but I would also be happy simply being with you – whatever that might mean – whatever you’d like it to mean. I don’t bloody know – I’m rubbish at this. Something about you reduces me to a blithering fool. I realise asking for the rest of our lives is probably too much, too fast, so–”

“Yes,” said Granger.

“Yes?” repeated Draco. “You – want to?”

After all, fire loves her darkness. After all, the sinner loves his angel. Autumn, laughing, dances her leaves into the high skies of her winter. The moon spins in gyre after gyre, chasing his beloved sun.

“I went on a date with that stupid gardener!”

He loved her.

She made him understand the word

She trailed off as Draco seated himself next to her.

“What about a certain window ledge?” asked Draco.

It took her a moment, but Granger gathered his meaning, and went pink across the cheeks. “I’m not sure I remember that one.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Right. I think you were dreaming.”

He missed her so very much

It was Samhain night. The dead were living and the living went, again and again, to their little deaths.

Draco closed his eyes and sighed, as though he were only sighing and not, you know, breathing in Granger just out of the shower. Soap, squeaky clean skin. What a pity that he couldn’t lean forwards and press his face between her breasts and inhale.

Granger in a glass.

Fuck.

Draco wanted someone to twirl his hair, but her hands were occupied with a spirited description of some sort of fungus.