Twenty-Eight

"I don't want to talk about it anymore."

It hurt, from the second she'd left his side, it hurt. But he understood, and while he wanted nothing more than for her to forgive him and move on, he knew that wasn't fair. She needed time. He needed patience. And for now, they both needed rest.

"Okay," he said. "Another time then." He waited; she didn't say yes, she didn't say no. "Get some rest, Granger."

"Good night, Draco."

He woke to find her still asleep beside him, wrapped in his dressing robe, the dark grey silk spilling like water down her arms and across her waist. She looked more at peace than he'd ever seen her before. Unworried and unbothered.

She stirred under his gaze, her warm brown eyes blinking open to stare at him in puzzlement. As she sat up, the confusion cleared away.

A faint smile graced her lips. "Hi, Draco."

The sound of his name off her tongue did things to him he could neither explain nor understand.

"You'll join me for breakfast?" he asked.

She nodded.

It was likely the last clear morning they'd have. Autumn had settled in to stay, and it was already cold and crisp out, but when she insisted on having breakfast in the gardens, Draco didn't argue. He merely lent her one of his coats and put warming charms on their tea.

He watched her apprehensively over toast, eggs, and sausage, trying to determine where he stood with her.

Merlin. He'd never forget the way she looked at him the night before, right before she kissed him, before she pressed herself against him, all before she recoiled and looked at him like he was something monstrous.

Perhaps he was.

He couldn't fault her anything. As he watched her now, her cheeks pink in the chilled air, her hair a mess of curls, knotted at the nape of her neck, his black wool coat burying her up to her ears and down past her fingertips, he wanted to kiss her once more.

"So what happens now?"