I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters.
by Ridley Silverlake
It was late in August. Summer was coming to an end, and soon they'd be heading back to Hogwarts where he'd have to start calling her a Mudblood, and she'd call him a "foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach" once again.
"I should have taken you roller-skating as well," Hermione said.
Draco simply looked at her from the corner of his eye and smiled as she walked with her head up so she could look at the stars.
Today Hermione took Draco to the theatre, and then they had a picnic at the park where Hermione said she'd spent almost every afternoon in as a child.
It had been a long day, but Draco had to admit he had fun doing only Muggle activities for that day. The past few weeks consisted mostly of watching Quidditch matches, and having lunch or dinner together somewhere in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade—most of the time, after having drunk Polyjuice Potion, as they didn't want to be spotted by anyone they knew.
Hermione stopped walking for a moment. Draco looked behind him and watched her take her shoes off.
"These have been hurting me all day," she laughed.
"I told you not to wear such high heels," Draco said, taking Hermione's shoes and holding on to them so he could hold her hand, afraid of not knowing when his last chance would be.
The street lights flickered on, the yellow lights hitting Hermione's face so Draco could clearly see just how beautiful she'd grown to be over the years—she had less freckles, her hair was less bushy, and her two front teeth weren't as huge as he used to tell her they were.
Then the one thing Draco had been wishing would never come hit them on their faces, then their arms. Next thing they knew, they found themselves walking under heavy rainfall. That was when Draco knew that this was surely the last time he would be able to hold her hand. He should have expected it sooner when he felt cold wind breathing on his neck—the first sign that summer was about to end.
None of them spoke, but they both knew this was the end of it, they just couldn't find it in themselves to say it out loud. So they did all they could for now—keep holding on to each other's hand.
Draco tightened his grip on Hermione's hand. They walked silently with their hands intertwined, and the hem of Hermione's skirt kissing the wet cement beneath it.
"Listen," Draco broke the silence.
"I know, Draco," Hermione shook her head with a doubtful smile. "But no. We can't."
"We've talked about this." Hermione stopped walking to look at him.
Draco looked away and continued walking, pulling her to follow. "Forget about it then," he said, looking down.
They did talk about it the first time they had lunch together in Hogsmeade, but that was before he knew his feelings for her could possibly grow stronger. Though he understood why they couldn't continue doing this—his father would blow up if he found out he'd been going out with a Muggle-born; and Hermione's friends would never accept it, knowing they had mutual hatred for each other.
All this was just a summer affair, and both of them knew the deal: The moment summer ends, so does their little secret, and they would go on as if nothing ever happened.
If there was one thing Draco learned the past few weeks, it was that not all beautiful things lasted.
They reached Hermione's house, the place he wished they'd never get to.
"Well," Hermione faced him. "I guess this is it."
"Yeah" was all Draco could get out.
"Thank you, Draco," she smiled, "for the past five weeks. I don't regret any of it. I hope you know that. We just can't risk anything anymore."
"I know," Draco said, looking her straight in the eyes. Then the one thing his conscience had been telling him not to do, escaped his mind as all the emotions rushed to his head. He let go of Hermione's hand and dropped her shoes to the ground so he could touch both sides of her face. Hermione wore a worried look, but Draco paid no attention to it. Then he bent down and pulled her into a soft kiss.
This hadn't been part of their deal, but Draco was sure he was allowed to imagine a moment like this, and this was definitely not how he imagined their first kiss would be—not under the rain, and not right when they were supposed to start forgetting about each other. But this was real life, and it couldn't all be perfect. The thing is, it was. It was perfect. If anything, he was thankful that no matter how it was happening, he had his lips on hers and she didn't resist one bit.
One last brush of her lips on his, and he felt her pull away. He opened his eyes and saw her smiling. He gave her a lopsided smile in return, and let go of her.
Hermione picked her shoes up from the ground. And before stepping up on to her porch, which would finally shelter her from the rain, she gave Draco a hug.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Before Draco could reply, she had walked to her front door and turned the doorknob.
Knowing she wouldn't turn around anymore, he crossed the street and started to walk away not only from Hermione, but from the undoubtedly great summer he'd spent with her.
Before leaving everything behind for good, he looked back. He saw her standing on her porch, looking right at him. He wanted to smile at her for the last time, but something had caught his eye—tears. She was crying.
He saw her wipe the tears off her face, and then she did the one thing he thought she wouldn't do all summer. She took her wand out.
Draco knew then what was coming next.
He felt a tear roll down his face, the warmth of it opposing the cold raindrops on his skin.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and, despite all the noise the rain was making, he heard her mutter, from across the street, silently. "Obliviate."
Author's Notes: My cries! ;_;
I've said millions of times that I wasn't a fan of Dramione, and that Romione was my OTP. But I got this idea for a oneshot and thought it'd be perfect for Dramione. So I wrote it, and all I can say now is that I think I'm going to start reading more Dramione fics. :D
(I wonder how Hermione's going to deal with the Ministry, what with her underage magic.)