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Do You See Me? Do You Know Me? Do You Want Me?	By : margaritama Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 6119 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Do You See Me? Do You Know Me? Do You Want Me?
- 1
Author/Artist Note(s): Written for the Darkest Before Dawn dmhgficexchange. It was a Pinch Hit.

This was kind of a strange one. I wrote then lost it, then wrote it and changed it. Not long (due to time) but I hope the recipient or community enjoys. I do need to be thankful for this prompt because it reintroduced me to one my fave Depeche Mode songs, “World in My Eyes.” I did my best to give you post-Hogwarts, romance, humor all whilst embodying the sensuality of that particular song which would have sent me in a different road were it not for the other requests. The timeline for this is post-Hogwarts and the year is 2007, so they are in their late twenties. I would say Hermione is 27, if I’m not mistaken.

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Monday

The first . . . note . . . came in the form of a majestic Eagle owl, delivered to her office, at the Ministry of Magic, while she was diligently working.

A beautiful scroll wrapped in a decadently vibrant colored ribbon, which seemed to capture blooming heliotrope in mid burst. Long tendrils of the delicate fabric curled at the bottom and bunch together in a perfect heap on her desk as the owl dropped off its burden, hooted then flew away.

Hermione Granger stared at it warily, unsure of her next step. She knew she should open it and her fingers itched to caress the elegant parchment that, undoubtedly, would feel buttery soft, its scent new and fresh. Closing her eyes and steeling her resolve, she reached out and caressed the ribbon, which she just knew was made of the finest and most expensive Japanese silk, dyed in her favorite color, and with a breath pulled it off and unrolled the scroll.

Scanning the contents, she snorted. Looking around her desk for her quill, she scrawled a reply at the bottom then with a swish of her wand charmed the paper to fly back to its owner.

Settling back into her plush leather chair, she grabbed the next file. Magical law was not to be taken lightly, after all; it required her concentration.

She twirled the ribbon with the tips of her fingers, seemingly, absentmindedly.

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Tuesday

She awoke to a small, innocuous package sitting on her counter in her kitchen.

A tea tray laden with her most treasure teacup and saucer, a milk pitcher filled with what appeared to be steamed milk and a sugar bowl topped with perfect miniature sugar cubes sat like a silent witness to the scene. Next to the tray sat her favorite muffins, jam and fresh butter, completing the vignette.

Unfettered by the oddness of the situation, she didn’t wonder who the culprit could be or if an intruder lurked about. Smiling, she knew to be quite alone. Padding over to the tiny cubed packaged, she noticed it was gift-wrapped in a lovely amethyst hued paper she’d once admired at Smythson in Muggle London while perusing for a new diary. She’d been alone during that jaunt.

Unwrapping the present slowly, inside she found a box of tea. Upon closer inspection, Hermione’s eyes opened in surprised realizing this was a rare type of wild rose bud tea. She had only tasted it once during an international wizarding law symposium in China. She’d discovered the delicious tea in a small tea shop off of Nanjing Road in Shanghai. A small pouch of the tea was too rich for her purse but she’d splurged on a cup, relishing the taste. Carefully opening the treasure, she inhaled the fragrant aroma and sighed. Shivers of pleasure ran down her spine.

Looking at the set before her, she grinned. That’s when she saw the small note card, which she snatched up and ripped open. Reading it quickly, she shook her head and dashed to her bedroom in search of a pen (they came in handier than a quill and ink). She jotted back a reply then attached it to her own sweet and beautiful barn owl, Ianthe.

Watching her fly off, she turned to get ready for the day. But first, she’d enjoy her breakfast. No use letting it go to waste, she needed morning sustenance, after all.

In her hand, she gently caressed a piece of the wrapping paper.

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Wednesday

Late in the afternoon, her secretary barged into her office squealing in glee and holding the largest bouquet of flowers, bundled in swaths of lilac-colored tissue, Hermione had ever seen.

Correction, not merely flowers but a bouquet of the rarest lilies known to bloom, and her favorite.

At least, it was her favorite by sight; she’d never actually seen one up close. Hermione adored lilies of any variety but the Calochortus Mariposas lily was a rare species and, as far as she knew, native to North and South America, certainly not Europe or the U.K.

Rising quickly, she took the delicate package from the crushing hands of her overzealous assistant before she destroyed them in her excitement. Hermione examined the florals, of which there appeared to be roughly two dozen, and counted at least four different varieties of Mariposa. She swallowed thickly.

Asking the still hovering subordinate for a vase with water, Hermione searched for the card she was sure would accompany this extravagant gesture. Finding and drinking in its words, she then scribbled out a shaky response. Upon signing her name, the card disappeared suddenly, no doubt back to the sender.

Exhaling a breath she wasn’t aware she held, Hermione turned as her aide came stumbling back in with a vase and water. It was unnecessary, Hermione realized after reading the note, because the flowers were charmed to live and bloom without end.

Collecting her things, she very gingerly gathered the flowers to her bosom and announced to her surprised assistant that she was leaving early. She hurriedly exited the Ministry of Magic and Floo’d back to her flat.

She spent the rest the afternoon lovingly arranging each stem to perfection in an elegant vase her mother had gifted her (both her parents were now safely back home in England, memories restored, thank you very much).

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Thursday

Hermione’s heart nearly stopped in mid-beat when she arrived home after a long, arduous day of law-making to find a square 12x12 silver box wrapped in white ribbon nestled atop her coffee table. Her favorite robe and slippers lay neatly on the couch, ready to envelop her in familiar comfort.

Not known to many, she recognized the wrappings of the box immediately, having seen it once in when her father had given one to her mother only three years prior. It had cost Mr. Granger a small fortune for a teeny sample and her mother had savored its contents with nearly reverent awe. The one in front of Hermione was about quadruple in size.

Dropping her things in front of her fireplace, she Scourgified any floo powder residue from her person and hands, dropped to her knees and reached for the box only to snatch back her hands to wipe away the clammy dampness that covered her palms. Shaking off any nervousness, she pulled it over to her. Biting her lip, she tugged on the ribbon and slid it off to the side.

Removing the top, the inside revealed a plethora of dark chocolate truffles lying on a bed of sugar pearls. Eyes wide as saucers, Hermione’s fingers skimmed the very top of the delicate collection. Her keen mind rifled through the shelved knowledge of research on what she knew.

Called La Madeline au Truffle, it was the most expensive, decadent and delicious chocolate in the world. It started with a ganache base made with an unheard 70 percent Valrhona dark chocolate, heavy cream, sugar, truffle oil and vanilla, then it was surrounded by a rare French Perigord truffle e. Afterward, it was enrobed in another layer of Valrhona dark chocolate and then dusted with fine cocoa powder. It was pure extravagance and outright richness.

And because she just couldn’t help herself, she calculated the math. She knew a gram of these chocolates cost well over one thousand and five hundred pounds. Guesstimating the size of the box, converting to galleons and what lay in front of her was . . . Merlin! Gulping, Hermione shook her head.

Seeing the accompanying envelope, she took out the card already knowing what it would say. While the . . . gesture . . . was beyond her wildest dreams, she wouldn’t give in. Accioing a pen, she wrote out a few brief words, then spelled it to flutter away back to the sender.

Hermione spent the rest of the evening with a glass of wine, her favorite robe gathered around her body, her most comfortable slippers keeping her feet warm and her box of chocolates, reverently guarded. She indulged in one, the first bite sending her into a nearly nirvana-like, blissful, orgasmic state known only to chocoholics.

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Friday

She was accosted, nearly, upon arrival.

“Hiding, Granger?”

Not turning around, Hermione snorted. “Hardly, Malfoy.” She knew the voice, and she knew he would come looking for her.

Of course, she was hiding, but she’d never admit it. Standing away from the glittering lights of the party they were currently in attendance, she was shrouded in darkness and privacy.

“You left your hair down.” His voice was low, husky and deep.

Hermione turned to face him.

Draco Malfoy, wizard billionaire, Ministry poster-boy for redemption, former Hogwarts bully but still smug, snarky prat stood before her. Dressed in expensive robes of the deepest black made, from what she knew to be, of the highest quality lightweight blended wool found in England. His, all but, white blond hair was cropped in long shaggy layers that fell across his forehead and rested just at his nape.

Hermione smiled. “Don’t you look nice, Malfoy.”

She swirled away in her deep violet gown made of long tulle and organza, piled with flowers at the shoulder and tied with grosgrain at the waist. Her hair was wildly tamed around her simply made-up face that accentuated her cheekbones and eyes. His hand on her shoulder stopped her from walking away.

“Don’t make me chase you, Granger. You won’t go far in that gown.” His voice was smooth and filled with masculine smugness.

Twirling back to face him, Hermione stared at him, unabashedly. “But isn’t that the purpose of this little gala.”

Indeed, the Cupid’s Chase Ball was one event where romance was alive and well. Thrown six months after Valentine’s Day, it was meant to celebrate the endurance of love without the fanfare. Every year it was held in a different location. This year, Harry had agreed to have it on the grounds of his new home, which boasted an expansive garden. Hermione had spent the better part of the day getting ready for the damned party. She’d spent it in relative seclusion away from friends and family, knowing she’d be attending alone. More notably, she’d not gotten a single gift that day which left her feeling, inexplicably, irritable.

“Bloody hell, woman, I’ve been chasing all week.”

“Is that what you call those trinkets? Chasing?”

“It’s wooing.”

“Wooing?”

“Wooing!”

“Indeed.”

“You’re behaving like a petulant child. It doesn’t suit you, Granger.”

“Oh, thank you, Malfoy. As if you’d know what suited me and what didn’t.”

“Oh, I know what does and doesn’t suit you, love.”

“Hmm.”

“Granger?”

“Granger?”

“Oh, Granger.”

“Do go away, Malfoy.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t be sore because I won.”

“You didn’t win.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No. You. Didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Want to shag, now?”

“What? You’re a pig!”

“I know. So, can we shag now? My body can do the moving, and my hands can do the soothing.”

“Ugh.”

Turned away from him, she felt rather than saw his hand trail down her bare arm and entwine with hers. Biting back a grin, she allowed her fingers to meld with his. Her eyes fluttered shut as his breath caressed cheek before his soft lips touched her skin.

“Can we stop playing this game now? I miss you, sweet girl.”

Her body relaxed into his as he tugged her closer to his muscular, tall frame. In truth, she missed him, desperately, as well. She and Draco had been dating for two years. When she’d heard of this ball she thought it would be fun to tease her boyfriend. So, she’d decided to “test” his love for her. He had a week to show her how well he knew her, how much he wanted her and how much he loved her. Instead, she’d not seen him once and only heard from him through the missives and outrageous presents he’d sent her all week.

But it wasn’t the actual gifts that touched her. It was the littlest details – ribbon in her favorite color, the tea tray set out exactly as she preferred with muffins from her favorite shop and her favorite type of tea, flowers on Wednesday because she always complained that Wednesdays were so drab and needed something bright and fresh, then finally, the chocolates. The chocolates were a symbol of the deep love her father had for her mother. He’d saved for two years to buy not even a gram of truffles. The look on her mother’s face had made her father beam with joy and Hermione cry with longing to experience that kind of love someday.

Possessive, dominant and overbearingly protective, Hermione knew Draco cared for her but she wanted him to say it. And Malfoy’s notes that accompanied the gifts gave her hope that she had finally found that love, though he’d yet to actually say the words. Monday’s missive read, “Yes, I see you.” Tuesday’s card stated, “Yes, I know you.” Wednesday’s said, “Yes, I hear you.” Thursday’s simple note was “Yes, I want you.”

Nuzzling into his chest, she inhaled his scent. “I missed you.”

A chuckle was her reply. “Did you like my presents?”

“Mmm. They were lovely. You needn’t have gone to such extreme lengths, Draco. This was just for fun.”

His fingertips gently forced her chin up so they could look at each other. “Hermione, you really don’t understand the impact you have on me. I would go to any lengths, any extreme measures, any depths, any heights, for any reason . . . I am sure of us.”

“I love you, Draco.” Looking up into her mercurial grey eyes, Hermione caressed his face.

Nodding and grinning, he pulled away and said, “I have one more gift.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“Sssh, all this talk of emotion has the Slytherin in me desiring to burn and pillage the bloody Hufflepuff crest into the ground. And so help me, Granger, if you tell anyone . . .”

“Oh, you’re secret’s safe with me, Malfoy. No, you’re still the testy, snarky, smug and holier-than-thou prat everyone knows and hates.”

“Good. Now, where was I . . . oh, yes, one more present. Close your eyes.”

Hermione complied. She sensed him rustling about before clearing his throat.

“All right then, you can look.”

Opening her eyes, Hermione at first only saw Draco but a small nod downward had her gaze seeing something else entirely. In his hand was a black box holding the largest ring Hermione had ever seen. It was a purple sapphire jewel surrounded by a halo of glittering diamonds sitting in what appeared to be a platinum setting. Rendered speechless, she could only look up at Draco who was staring at her with hopeful eyes.

“It’s a sapphire, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. It’s your favorite color . . . well, I hope you like it.” Then he thrust it towards her. “Do you like, Granger?”

“Y-yes,” she whispered.

“Do you know what I’m asking, Granger?”

“Yes.”

He swallowed. “A-and will you? You know . . .” He took a moment. “Will you marry me?”

Without hesitation, she answered. “Yes.”

Breaking out in what she could only describe as a boyish grin that beamed with joy, Hermione held out her hand as he placed the ring on her finger. He gathered her in his arms but stopped just centimeters from her lips. Hermione stared at him in slight confusion. Draco stared back, eyes full of an emotion he’d not yet dared to name or had the courage to utter.

And, then, just before he kissed her whispered, “Yes, I love you.”

-fin-

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Do You See Me? Do You Know Me? Do You Want Me?