She was upset, that much was clear.
Draco wasn't heartless, however much people seemed to think, however much he led people to believe that he was. He liked to think that he had feelings and could sympathize with people, but really he wasn't sure if it was true. Sometimes Draco felt like an empty shell of a human, which sounded lame even to him.
But today she looked upset, and that made him feel bad, even if she was a Mudblood. It looked as if she had actually put consideration into her appearance for once: her hair was plaited, her lips were tinted. And she kept checking her worn leather watch, her fingers tapping nervously.
Madam Rosmerta stopped at her table. "What would you like, love?"
"Um…" Her cheeks turned red. "I'm waiting on someone, thanks."
Draco stared into his butterbeer, pretending as if he hadn't heard. If Blaise or Crabbe or Goyle had been around, he would have sneered. He didn't know why he didn't today. Maybe it was because she looked so pathetic that she was beyond ridicule. Maybe he was only human when he was away from them.
He shook his head. That was ridiculous. Were his emotions around his friends somehow less viable than when he was by himself?
She was upset, that was clear. Red splotches appeared on her face, and he saw her wipe a tear from her eyelashes. She sniffled. Hermione Granger was not someone who would be caught sniveling in public.
"Who are you waiting on?" Rosmerta asked quietly the second time she came around. Her voice was so low that Draco had to prick his ears to listen-he wasn't above eavesdropping. Rosmerta sounded pitying.
"A friend."
"Listen love, why don't I bring you some pumpkin juice while you wait? On the house."
"Okay," she agreed quietly.
"Cheer up, love."
She forced a smile. Draco cringed. Rosmerta sat a mug in front of her.
Hogsmeade was nearly empty today. Half the students in Hogwarts had spattergroit, it seemed. It was rumored that Madam Pomfrey had quarantined the third year Hufflepuff boys' dormitory, where the epidemic had begun. So Draco was in Hogsmeade by himself, trying to avoid the nasty illness, bored out of his mind since classes had been cancelled for professors to assist in the hospital wing.
He wondered who Granger was waiting on. Probably Weasley. He was a git and Draco hated him. He was irritating and dumb and a blood traitor, and worse still he had few redeeming qualities. And if he had just stood up Granger-a low blow, in Draco's book, to anyone-his opinion on the flame-haired prat sank even further. The entire family was made up of imbeciles, cowards, and pains in the arse.
Draco wished he had a girl he could go on a date with-a real date, not just shagging or pretending to like someone to get answers in Transfiguration. He had his own share of experience in both, but not much in dating, which was something purer and almost clandestine. He had, on more occasions than one, snuck into an unused and abandoned classroom with Pansy Parkinson or into the boat house by the lake with Hermani Rashan from Ravenclaw.
She wiped her eyes again, unaware that anyone was watching. Hell, she probably didn't even know Draco was there in the Three Broomsticks. She checked her watch again. He wondered how late Weasley-who he had, without confirmation, determined as the prat who hadn't shown-was. Ten minutes? Twenty?
Maybe he was sick. Maybe the entirety of Gryffindor Tower had been quarantined with spattergroit. Both scenarios were dubious at best, and Draco scolded himself for taking so much interest in the Mudblood's personal life. Surely it didn't matter. He could care less about her. That much he had made obvious throughout their school career.
Still, he felt a twinge of commiseration at her. Pity was not his natural response to anything. His emotions and replies had been honed to perfection in his sixteen years. He should have been indifferent, or repulsed. Not pitiful.
Madam Rosmerta came by again. "Would you like to order yet?" She sounded irritated now.
Granger bit her lip. She looked like she might burst into tears.
The next thing that happened surprised Draco more than anything else.
He stood up and pulled out the chair across from her. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized. "Spattergroit up at Hogwarts-you know how hard it is to get past Madam Pomfrey. Don't worry," he added to Rosmerta. "I don't have it. I'm immune-it's in my X chromosome."
Hermione gaped at him. Draco couldn't blame her. He wanted to gape at himself. He raised one eyebrow at her. He didn't miss the distrust and anger in her eyes. It wasn't unwarranted.
"What will you have, then?" Rosmerta asked.
"Shepherd's pie, please, and a butterbeer."
"And you, love?"
Hermione shook herself. "A butterbeer, thanks." She waited until Rosmerta was gone before facing Draco. "What in the bloody hell are you doing?" she hissed.
"What does it look like? I'm about to eat."
"I don't need your pity, Malfoy."
"I can tell," he answered coolly. "You have more than enough for yourself."
The air between them crackled with tension. "I'd appreciate if you left," she said frostily.
"I'm doing you a favor."
"No, you aren't. You're-you're humiliating me. You'll go and tell all of your friends how pathetic I am-how pathetic that Mudblood is." Her voice was hard.
"Who are you waiting on?"
"It's none of your business, Malfoy."
"What, you can't even call me by my first name?" he challenged.
"Why should I, when you call me Mudblood to my face?" she retorted. Her voice was rising, her face still red.
"I'm saving your arse here, you know."
"No, dammit, you aren't."
"Look," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "It's a win-win situation. You don't have to wait around for whatever prat it was that you were waiting on, and I can eat dinner with you."
"And that's a win-win?"
"Of course."
"It sounds more like a lose-lose," she snorted.
"Okay," he said, exasperated. "Have it your way. I was just trying to do you a favor. Hard to believe someone would want to go on a date with you in the first place."
Her eyes widened with hurt, but Draco found that he didn't care. He pushed his chair in and stood up, wrapping his scarf tightly around his neck before he stepped out into the cold. He kicked a chunk of ice in anger. It skidded down the path and exploded in a cloud of white dust.
How could he have been so stupid?
It began to snow to the point where it was almost impossible to see the path in front of him, but frankly he didn't care if he got lost and ended up wandering the Forbidden Forest.
Bracingly he shook his head. He deserved it. She deserved it just as much. He couldn't even figure out why he'd thought he'd save her from the embarrassment of waiting for an hour for a date who wouldn't show.
"Malfoy!"
He could barely hear it over the wind, but still he turned around. A dark cloak came into vision, snow plastered to the fabric. When he caught sight of her face, he stiffened.
"The fuck are you doing?" he snapped.
She pushed a strand of dark hair out of her eyes as she climbed the ridge to meet him. She didn't say anything for a few seconds.
"Are you trying to be a bitch?" he asked. "Because it's wor-"
"You forgot your money at the table," she cut in. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a few Sickles. "These are yours." She dropped them into his open hand, pulling back her own as quickly as she had offered it.
"Thanks," he muttered grudgingly, refusing to look at her.
"That was a really asshole thing to do," she said quietly. "You didn't-You didn't have to make it seem like a favor."
"Yeah, well. It was."
"It was a mean thing to do or a favor?"
"Both." But his tone wasn't as rude this time. He glanced at her. Her hands were clenched over the sleeves of her cloak. He wasn't even sure she had heard him,
"You just don't know how to be nice, do you?" she asked.
"I've never had much practice at it, no." Not when Lucius expected him to cut up like he had, to be just like he had been.
"You were on the right track, I suppose."
He gritted his teeth. "Listen, Mudblood, I don't care. And I'm not under any impression that you care if I'm nice, either. So just drop it."
"I was waiting for Ron," she said, as if she hadn't heard.
Draco didn't reply.
"I don't suppose he didn't forget." There was so much self-hatred in the sentence that Draco almost stopped walking. Didn't he feel the same way? Didn't he hate himself for being so sociopathic? Did she hate herself for being a Mudblood?
"I don't suppose he did."
They trudged through the storm. Hogwarts was still out of sight. They had maybe a mile left.
"Why were you so...evil to Fred and George at the match?"
Draco's mind flitted back to the match, just a few weeks ago, when he had provoked the Twins and Potter into fighting him. His lip curled but he didn't answer. They were blood traitors. She was a Mudblood. There was no way she understood the way his father baited and goaded him.
"Fred and George are better than you'll ever be." She didn't say it meanly. She said it like a fact, which he supposed it was. "I guess they're better than Ron, too."
"He stood you up. You don't have to give him the time of day. I may not be nice, but I know how to be a gentleman."
This time she glanced at him. They were walking in sync, close enough that her hand unintentionally brushed against his. It felt like an electric charge, as if he had just been hit by a Stunning Spell. If she felt the same way, she didn't show it. "A gentleman?" she scoffed. "You call that-that arrogant cockup at the Three Broomsticks-gentlemanly?"
"No," he admitted. "That wasn't my best work at all."
"I don't think you even know what being a gentleman means."
"Really?"
"I'm almost positive, actually."
"Then kiss me, if you're so sure," he challenged. He had no idea where this sudden boldness had come from. It was as if his amygdala had glitched, his emotions skewered.
"Kissing doesn't have anything to do with being a gentleman."
"You don't know that."
"I'm fairly certain I do."
"How many boys have you kissed then, Granger?"
"Two."
"See, that's not enough to know."
"I'm not kissing you," she answered, laughing.
"Why not?"
"Well, for one you're disgusting and a bully. Two, I just don't want to kiss you. That's an option."
"But you want to kiss Weasley?"
"That's different." She sounded guarded, almost hostile.
"Were you two on a date today?"
"Not a date. Just… Just lunch."
"Oh, my bad. Just lunch. So you don't want to kiss either of us. I see." It came out mocking.
They were close to the school now. Draco almost wished it was farther away. "So you're not going to let me redeem myself?" he asked. Their hands brushed again. This time, it wasn't accidental.
"Fine." She stopped and turned to look at him. "Fine, whatever."
Draco leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead for a long moment. What was the snow for, if not a hidden kiss? Then he stepped back and headed back up the path. "Thanks for bringing me my money, Granger. Hope you work it out with Weasley."