“I’m going to leave now.”


Draco’s eyes looked away from the fire, moving over the woman standing in the doorway of the library. Without betraying any of the emotions that were currently fighting him for control, he said, “Fine.”


“If I’ve left anything, I’ll let you know.” Hermione’s voice was strong, matter of fact, determined. Only if you listened very closely did you hear the crack in the façade. She buttoned up her coat and removed her leather gloves from the pocket, busying herself with putting them on, reluctant to leave.


A part of her, the optimistic part that still believed in fairy tales and love, had hoped he would stop her. This was a drastic move on her part, but it was necessary. She couldn’t stay if she didn’t mean anything to him. She and Draco had been involved for a little over a year, since they’d run into each other in Diagon Alley and somehow ended up having coffee together. He’d been the same rude, arrogant prat she’d known for seven years at Hogwarts, the ten years since graduation and the end of the War not changing his attitude in the slightest, but there had been something in his eyes, in his voice, that had drawn her to him. They’d had coffee, making idle chit chat as they caught up on the five years since they’d last met, and she’d found herself reluctant to let the meeting end.


That had been the beginning. It hadn’t been dating, really, but they had met several times for coffee or lunch. Then he had kissed her one evening and everything changed. She’d kissed him back, neither able to ignore the attraction that had been building since that chance encounter in Diagon Alley, that might possibly have existed during their latter years at school. Their relationship had become sexual and six months later he had invited her to move in with him. No words of love were ever spoken. No mention of a future beyond what their plans might be for the weekend. They were lovers, but he was constantly on guard around her. The only time he seemed to relax, that he let her really see him, was when they had sex. It was fleeting, a change in his eyes, in the way he touched her, a brief moment that made her believe he might very well care about her, too.


She’d stupidly fallen in love with him over the last year and had convinced herself that he could love her, that he would eventually let her in, that he’d let go of the barriers he kept around his heart. It had been a foolish dream, a silly romantic belief that she could change him, that she could teach him about love and that he would want her in his life for a real relationship and a possible future. They shared a bed, they shared meals, they even had conversations about a variety of topics, but it was no longer enough. She wanted to be loved, to have a connection with him that extended beyond the bedroom.


Unfortunately, he didn’t want the same thing. He was content sharing her bed but he didn’t want to share her life, to take a risk by loving her. That much had been made evident when she’d forced him to talk to her earlier. She’d told him what she wanted, how she felt, and he’s simply looked at the fire or studied the flames of the candles, his face impassive and cold. When she’d finished, he’d finally looked at her and she’d known that it was over. He hadn’t said a word, it hadn’t been necessary. She’d realized that he had no intention of loving her, that she hadn’t meant anything to him, that she’d spent a year with a man who saw love as a weakness and had no desire to change.


She’d gone upstairs and packed, refusing to cry, refusing to yell and scream and force him into showing any emotion even if only anger. Her packing was methodical, losing herself in a routine as she bravely carried out her threat to leave if he couldn’t give her what she wanted, what she needed. Now she was facing him one last time, her resolve wavering as she looked at him. He had never been shown love, had no idea what it was like to feel such unconditional emotion, and she was leaving him because she was tired of trying to penetrate the shell he kept around his emotions. She felt as if she was giving up, as if she wasn’t fighting hard enough for the man she had grown to love, but what was the point in fighting for someone who didn’t want you?


Maybe he could love if he wanted and he just chose not to love her. He could share his body, his home, but he couldn’t share his heart. What if it wasn’t that he couldn’t love, what if he just didn’t love her? That thought caused her heart to twist as she fought the urge to fight, to force him to tell her he would never love her instead of simply remaining silent. Hearing the words from him would be enough to end any dreams or romantic thoughts she might have in regards to Draco Malfoy. Why didn’t he say anything? How could he just sit there looking so unaffected when she wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry?


“Where will you go?”


“I’m not sure,” Hermione said honestly, having not gotten that far in her plans. To be completely truthful, she had hoped that he would stop her from leaving. She didn’t expect words of undying devotion or love, knowing he wasn’t likely to say such things with any sincerity any time soon, but she had wanted a sign, an indication that he cared and wanted her in his life, that he wanted to consider a future with her that went beyond sex and casual friendship. One word from him and she’d have been willing to stay and fight, to try to make things work, to know that he could eventually love her. She had hoped that the threat of her leaving would scare him in much the same way that leaving him scared her, but he had called her bluff.


God, if any of her friends could see her now they probably wouldn’t recognize her. Hermione Granger was the logical one, the one that didn’t dwell on romantic nonsense and thoughts of love and marriage and children. She couldn’t believe she was actually leaving Draco because he didn’t love her when their relationship had been more about companionship and sex from the start. It was hypocritical of her to blame him for not loving her when she hadn’t intended to fall in love with him. She met his eyes, looking away quickly when she saw that he was looking at her as if she had simply said ‘it’s raining outside’ instead of ‘I’m leaving you and our affair is over’.


“You could stay.”


Her head rose at his words. He was looking at the fire again, his profile to her, a single nerve in his cheek twitching beneath her gaze. Hermione sighed, “I can’t. I want more, Draco, and you’re unwilling or unable to give me what I need.”


“I never considered running away a Gryffindor trait,” he sneered as he looked at her, his eyes flashing with anger before again becoming cold.


“I’m not running away, Draco.” Hermione moved closer to him, leaning down and brushing her lips against his gently. Pulling back, she whispered, “I love you.”


“Just go, Hermione,” he muttered before getting to his feet and turning away from her.


“Take care of yourself,” she said softly before she left the room. She couldn’t prevent the tears from falling as she stepped into the cold night air. Looking at the sky, she let the rain fall across her cheeks, her silent tears flowing steadily. Hermione pulled her coat tighter and started down the stairs to the sidewalk. Looking back at the house one last time, she was surprised to see Draco standing at the window.


His eyes met hers through the glass. She watched through her tears as he pursed his lips and blew on the window pane. The cold from outside met his warm breath, his finger moving within the cloud he had created. His eyes never left hers as he wrote, his hand finally moving to run through his pale blond hair as he stepped away from the window and out of sight. Hermione read the words he had written, surprise flashing in her eyes.


‘Please don’t leave me.’ They began to evaporate and she wondered if she had simply imagined them.


“Stay.”


She hadn’t heard the door open, her arms tightening around her body as she looked at Draco, oblivious to the rain as she met his eyes. She shook her head, not even bothering to conceal her tears. “I can’t.”


Draco walked down the stairs to her, his hand tracing her cheek as he whispered, “Please?”


“Why?”


“I need you,” Draco said simply. He couldn’t give her words of love, couldn’t make promises he might be unable to keep, but he also couldn’t lose her. He didn’t know about love, the emotion completely unfamiliar and not something he had ever really believed existed, but he had grown fond of Hermione and was selfish enough to want her to stay. He enjoyed their discussions, liked sharing his evenings and weekends with her, and loved having her in his bed. Being with her made him happy, even if he was unable to convey his happiness unless they were having sex, in which case he tried to tell her with every touch and caress that she meant something to him. He had assumed that was enough, never considering her as the type that wanted romance and poetic words.


When she’d told him she was in love with him and that she was leaving him because it hurt too much to be with someone who couldn’t love her, he’d been so surprised he hadn’t been able to say anything. Then he’d decided that she was playing a game, threatening to leave in order to get him to admit to the weakness of caring about her. He’d grown angry, believing her above such deception and subterfuge. He still thought she had threatened to leave in order to get him to make some sort of declaration of emotion, but his anger had faded when he’d seen the unshed tears in her eyes and realized that she hadn’t been lying about loving him. He’d never been loved before, not even his parents caring about him as more than a possession, in a way, and it scared him to death to realize she knew him better than anyone, good and bad, and still loved him.


“I’m not sure that’s enough,” she confessed quietly, moving her hand to push a lock of hair away from his forehead.


“I’m not going to lie and say I love you, Hermione. I respect you too much to lie to you,” Draco said. “I like having you in my life, the sex is amazing, and I care about you. Isn’t that enough? I thought you were happy with me.”


“I am happy with you,” Hermione sighed. “It’s complicated, Draco. I love you and I just want you to love me, too.”


“I don’t believe in love,” Draco admitted softly. He took her hand, placing it against his heart, looking into her eyes as he asked, “Will you help me believe?”


Hermione slowly nodded, her lips curving into a loving smile as she whispered, “Yes.”


The End.