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Draco was still wary of taking their relationship public. Hell, he was sometimes uncertain about their relationship when they were alone. All his life his only loyalty lay to his family, and by dating a muggle-born, Hermione Granger to be specific, he might as well rip their hearts out with his bare hands. Granger was where his loyalties lie now, and it scared the shit out of him.
She had been wonderfully understanding, which was just another painful reminder that he probably didn't deserve her.
So when another Friday night rolled around, a stormy one at that, and he asked her if she was content with a night in, she had said yes. Like she had for the past two months.
"It's storming anyway. I don't really fancy going out in the rain." she said mindlessly as she kicked off her work shoes.
He smirked. Only dating for two months and already she was treating his flat as her own. He rose off the couch to greet her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind an burying his face in the crook of her neck. He hummed against her neck, the vibrations tingling against her skin.
"Th-"
"Draco if you say thank you, I will not hesitate to hex you." she warned, her voice stern.
They both knew he had said thank you more often in the past few months than he had in his entire life. She was sick of hearing it, and he couldn't help it when those two words tumbled out of his mouth.
She twisted in his hold, and faced him. He noticed the slight tiredness in her eyes, telling him that she needed a night in. Loose curls had fallen from her bun, framing her sharp cheekbones. She smiled at him softly and planted the briefest of kisses on his jaw line. He felt his eyes flutter close, a small sigh escaping his lips.
Hermione pulled back, studying him. His eyes were still closed until he felt her absence. Her tenderness had ceased the ever-going battle in his mind. His skin burned where her lips had just been. But slowly, his eyes fluttered open again.
"How does take-out and movies sound?" she asked.
Draco smiled down at her. She was gazing intently at him, her head cocked to the side slightly.
"Alright then."
She stood on her toes to kiss his nose before letting go of him and picking up her bag.
"Good, then you won't mind calling in dinner while I shower?" she said with a wink and a playful smirk.
But she had started to walk away before he could even respond. He heard the bathroom door click shut and the faint sounds of running water. Draco shook his head and began searching for the menus. He found it incredibly difficult to decide on a restaurant. They had always cooked up to this point, and they had never discussed their take-out preferences.
He hadn't realized he was merely staring at the different choices until he heard Hermione call his name.
"Draco?"
His neck snapped up, and he whipped around. From where he was standing, he had a clear view of her standing in the bathroom doorway. Her honey curls were now sticking to her shoulders, and he tried hard not to focus on the towel wrapped around her damp body.
"Hm?" was all he could muster.
"I, erm, forgot to pack an extra pair of clothes. Could I borrow some of yours?"
He swallowed hard, wondering if any sound would come out when he spoke. She blinked, droplets of water now clinging to her fresh skin.
"O'course." he said finally.
Hermione smiled at him. "Thanks."
He watched as she quickly grabbed her things and darted to his before she reached her destination, he shouted from the kitchen.
"Wait! Do you like chinese?"
Hermione bit her lip and found herself smiling. Draco seemed to have that effect on her. Making her smile for no reason.
"Yes, I do."
Her friends were determined to insist that Draco wasn't worthy of keeping their relationship on the down low, now matter how many times she insisted she didn't mind. If she was completely honest with herself, she wasn't ready for everyone else to know yet either. If Harry and Ron's initial reactions were any indication of how others would react, she was perfectly content keeping this a secret. Normally her Gryffindor courage would get in the way and she would blaze through the halls of the Ministry and anywhere else she pleased with Draco by her side, but there was too much at stake. She was brave, not stupid. And this was a time to be logical.
Hermione picked out a plain white cotton shirt and was pleasantly surprised when she found a pair of sweatpants in his bottom drawer. She never would have guessed a Malfoy would own such a casual piece of clothing. She brushed through her tangled, wet curls with her fingers having forgotten a brush as well.
Draco was lounging on the couch when Hermione re-entered the living room. Her hair had formed a wet patch on the back of her, well technically, his shirt and hung limp at her shoulders. She looked around for him, and smiled when she found him spread out on the couch, arms behind his head. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed she had found his only pair of sweatpants. Exactly how did she look so beautiful in a baggy shirt and sweatpants?
He scooted over to make room for her as she laid down next to him, throwing an arm over his waist. His fingers moved in slow circles against her shoulder.
"How much longer until dinner?" she mumbled into his shirt.
She felt him shrug. "Another thirty minutes."
She huffed and sat up again, staring around aimlessly at first. Draco frowned, lacing his fingers in hers. She squeezed his hand before letting go and rising from the couch. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched her walk to the kitchen.
"Care for some wine?" he heard her ask.
There she goes again. Treating this like her flat. The new muggle contraption she called a television that sat a few feet in front of him was daily proof of that.
He never answered her question and she brought him a glass anyway. He took the glass of dark red liquid, smacking his lips after the first sip. He watched as she took a small sip, closing her eyes and smiling afterwards. There were several things they could have done in those thirty minutes, but instead they just talked. Conversations with her were always mentally stimulating, it was one of the many things he loved about her. Yes, love. Somewhere between the short conversations at work, the letters sent written in codes and nicknames, the coffees sipped in semi-silence and eventually their days spent together, he had fallen in love with her. He had no idea if she knew, and part of him was desperate to tell her, but they had only been dating for two months. The last thing he wanted to do was send her running.
Sometimes he got lost in her eyes; burnt honey speckled with light golden flecks. Sometimes he got caught up in the way her hand felt in his, warm and small. Secure and firm. And sometimes he got trapped in her entirely. The way she spoke so confidently or went on a breathless rant if she was fired up. Or how she looked when she slept, and the way she fit so perfectly against him. As he watched her sip her wine and stare out the large bay window, it dawned on him again that there wasn't a single thing he didn't love about her. Having her here with him, in his white shirt and sweats, all wet hair and clean skin, made him feel whole. Like there was never this gaping hole in his chest, empty and cold. She was warm and soft and strong and loving.
The sound of his doorbell ringing brought him back to reality. Hermione had already set down her glass and grabbed her bag for money. He heard her exchange a few words with the delivery man before she shut the door and the smell of chinese food wafted through the flat. They fixed their plates in silence before settling on the couch and starting the movie.
Conversation was light and the silences were comfortable as they ate. He refilled her wine glass and carried their plates to the kitchen. She was waiting for him with tired eyes and a lazy smile. When he sat down, she fit herself underneath his arm, leaning on his chest with her arm across his waist again. She listened to his steady heart beat and timed her breaths with his.
Neither minded having this secret all to themselves for the mean time. They didn't need the world to know how much they cared for one another, loved one another, though neither had uttered those words yet. They knew how they felt about the other, and all they needed were those silly little things; lingering stares, blushing cheeks, damp hair on cotton shirts, strong hands on olive skin, to constantly remind them of the unspoken love they shared.