Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters of the book. They are the property of J.K Rowling, and are not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only / Also, I'm not native in english so please let me know of any errors and please review!
Hermione paced down the hall to get to her Aritmancy class, carrying her books close to her chest. There were dark shadows underneath her eyes and her shoulders slouched. Last night hadn't been pleasant, she'd woken up in cold sweats, heart racing and breathing fast. Plagued from the nightmares she'd experienced since coming back to Hogwarts, she absentmindedly stroked her arm where Bellatrix had carved in the letters. Mudblood. She wasn't alone in suffering from the aftermath of the war. Pain was written on the faces she met in the halls of the castle. No one had been spared in the war. Everyone had lost someone. The faces of Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Mad-Eye and Dumbledore flashed before her eyes and she sighed deeply.
"Why the long face, Granger?" Hermione heard a familiar voice sneer in front of her. Her head snapped up and she glared at Malfoy, standing in front of her.
"I thought you and the weasel would be joined at the hip by now. You're not telling me that you finally decided to dump that pathetic excuse for a man?" he asked, cocking his eyebrow in mock surprise.
She gave him a deadpan stare.
"Last I checked, Malfoy. My relationship is none of your concern", she said in a clipped tone, brushing past him.
Draco clicked his tongue, watching her continue her stride down the hall. She'd looked so sad when he'd approached her and as much as he hated to admit it, the sight had pained him. He had difficulty wrapping his head around his newfound obsession with the Muggle born witch. He thought it had started that fatal day at the Manor when his satanic aunt had tortured her. He closed his eyes remembering Hermione's screams and felt a catch in his throat. Anger flared in him, but the target of his anger wasn't Bellatrix. It was him, Draco. While Hermione was tortured, he'd just stood there. However, when he'd watched the scene from the shadows, something had broken inside him and he'd cried out in anguish. But his cries had been drowned by Hermione's screams and the howls from Weasley. If his aunt hadn't stopped the second after, he was certain that he would have snapped and killed the psychotic bitch.
Draco opened his eyes and stared down the hall, but Hermione was no longer there. No doubt, she'd hurried off to next lesson. Always too eager to learn. Skiving off Potions he spent the hour before lunch practising in the Room of Requirement. His practices were ferocious. They had to be, because next time anyone tried to hurt her he would be there to stop them. And there would be a next time, he was certain of it. The war might be over but disgruntled death eaters had regrouped in the aftermath just waiting for their opportunity to strike. He knew this, because Lucius was one of them.
The silence in the Great hall was telling. There must have been at least a hundred students having lunch in there which normally would've meant there be a bustling energy, laughter, elevated conversations and…
But things aren't normal, Hermione reminded herself. There would be a while before Hogwarts felt like home again. The laughter that usually lingered in the Hall had died down during the war. She looked down at her untouched plate. Shepard's pie. It used to be her favourite, but now she couldn't bring herself to eat it. As she put down her fork, she felt her skin prickle from someone watching her. Again. She'd experienced this feeling so often these past months that she was accustomed to it, figuring it was a consequence of the war.
"You need to eat Hermione," Ron scolded her, slumping down on the chair opposite hers. Harry taking the seat next to his. Hermione gave them a bleak smile, relived by their company, but Ron continued to frown at her.
"You know I worry about you, I barely ever see you eat or sleep and every time I see you, you look like you're about to break," he said.
Harry nodded in agreement, taking a bite of Shepard's pie from the plate that had appeared before him. Hermione reached out her hand and put it on top of Ron's, watching his face relax.
"I know you do and I'll try to shape up I promise", she said sincerely, silently hoping she would. She hadn't been happy meeting her reflection in the mirror that morning; her normally fresh and dewy skin close to translucent and the bones prominent underneath her skin.
"Good," Ron said, tucking away a tress of her hair.
Draco watched them darkly from the shadowy corner where he stood. The roar of jealous anger in his chest overcoming him he felt his muscles go rigid. His eyes were lingering on her hand resting on Weasley's and he was aching to pull him away from her, knowing he had no right to feel this way. Weasley had, after all, been Hermione's friend. He'd protected and cared for her while he, Draco had been busy bullying and degrading her and worst of all, done nothing to stop her being tortured by his twisted aunt.
The anguish in his chest grew stronger and he forced himself to look away from the couple. If there was a silver lining to his hell, it was that Ron and Hermione had at least stopped snogging each other in public. The first week after they'd all return to Hogwarts had been excruciating with him accidently walking in on them embracing each other all over the castle. He bit back the bile in his throat when images of their entangled bodies flashed before his eyes.
Resuming to study them, Draco saw Hermione laughing at something Harry had said, and longed to hear her laugh and being the one to induce it.
Fat chance there, he thought bitterly. His feelings towards her might have changed significantly these past months, but he was sure her feelings towards him were the same as ever. He remembered her calling him evil and vile. And she'd hit him straight in the face in their third year. How could she ever like, or even tolerate him?
Although, he thought broodingly. The same could've been said for him. It was less than a year ago that he'd considered muggleborns mudbloods and filth - not worthy of walking alongside real wizards and witches. He still had difficulties wrapping his head around his then-ignorance and hatred.
Draco had become disillusioned during his brief time as Death Eater, working closely to The Dark Lord and the others had showed him that what his father refused to see: that it was all lies. Voldemort had been a demented, cruel shadow of a human careless to the lives of his followers. His arrogance and incapability to love had caused his downfall. Dumbledore had been right all along
Hermione knew that her and Ron's decision to end their relationship had been the right one. They weren't compatible – she knew this. But those blissful weeks of snogging had temporarily distracted them from the tragic reality in which they lived. And she missed that. She sat in a chair in the common room with her feet slung over the armrest and a book resting in her lap. Crookshanks was sleeping on the floor beside her. Lacking the concentration needed to finish next week's homework, she glanced out the window. The night was clear and starry and she reasoned that a stroll around the grounds would help sort her thoughts. Getting up from her seat she tossed the book to the side. It was late, but security at Hogwarts had been lax ever since Dumbledore's demise, so sneaking out of the castle wouldn't be a problem.
She shrugged into a light jacket and left Gryffindor Tower, smiling at the fat lady snoring in her portrait as she went. Pushing open the heavy gates to the grounds she breathed in the crisp autumn air. It wasn't logical, but she felt more relaxed out here – alone in the dark – than inside the warm castle. She pulled her jacket closer around her, starting making her way down to the lake.
Draco couldn't believe his luck. Leaving the Room of Requirement after a late-night practice he'd seen Hermione running down the stairs. It looked like she was heading out. He couldn't believe it; Head Girl Hermione was about to break curfew. He guessed time was about midnight and she couldn't possibly be allowed out in the grounds at this time, shuddering at the thought of her alone in the dark outside. Unguarded. Vulnerable. Helpless.
Hurrying to close the door to the room he scurried down the stairs after her. He watched her push open the gates before mirroring her movements. Now she was standing with her back against him, looking over the grounds. She was so close, if he reached out he could touch her. Feel her.
But she couldn't know he was there. Soundlessly, he stepped into the shadows next to the gate. She looked more relaxed out here. Perhaps her relationship with Weasley suffocated her, he thought hopefully. But then he felt a twinge of irritation at Weasley for not being there. Didn't he have any qualms about letting his girlfriend outside in the dark where dangers lurked in every shadow?
Very responsible, fuck-wit.
Hermione was heading down to the lake now and Draco shadowed her, watching her settle herself on the grass by the water he saw her face in the moonlight. He drew in breath. It was astounding to him that he's ever considered her mundane, his eyes moving greedily over her features, the pointed chin, full lips, high cheekbones, her unkempt hair and bright almond-shaped eyes.
He felt he could watch her forever, when he saw something making his heart freeze. There was something moving towards them from the other side of the Whomping Willow. He couldn't make out its shape but the way in which it was slouching towards Hermione felt foreboding. Without thinking he ran from his hiding place, landing himself on top of her with his hand pressed over her mouth. He saw her eyes widen in fear, he wanted to explain but couldn't risk it. So instead he dragged them across the mud to the place where he'd hidden, pointing to the shapes now standing at the exact spot where Hermione had sat. And he could tell she saw it too. They realized who they were when they heard the croaky meow from Mrs. Norris. Filch and his wretched cat.
Panting, they watched the man and his pet return to the castle. Draco with his arms still wrapped around Hermione, inhaling the scent of her chestnut hair. It smelled like sugar roasted almonds. Damnit to hell. Soon, he thought, he would no longer be able to restrain himself around her.
She stirred in his arms as they watched the gate close behind Filch, breaking free within a second after. She rounded on him.
"Malfoy, what the hell are you playing at? Did you follow me here?" she demanded, her hair wild around her narrow shoulders.
He sighed and closed his eyes for brief second. Lying to save one's neck came naturally for a Slytherin.
"Of course I didn't", he snapped "Why would I? Get over yourself. I was out for a walk and wasn't exactly pleased to find you here".
Hermione glared at him. The excitement had brought colour to her cheeks and he thought she looked quite intimidating. He'd planned to end their conversation here but his curiosity urged him on.
"What were you doing out here alone, anyway?" he prompted, in what he hoped was an accusing tone.
Hermione considered his question with narrow eyes, chewing on her lip, forcing him to stifle a groan as his eyes fixed on her bottom lip. He felt a twinge below his navel and it took all his restraint not to grab her and taste those lips.
"Why do you care?" she asked in a voice drenched in suspicion.
"I don't," Draco said coolly "Just making conversation, Granger. Now if you'd excuse me – I'm done here".
"Fine," she said crossing her arms over her chest.
He didn't like leaving her out here alone. But if she was suspicious now, it was nothing to what she would be if he offered to walk her to the castle. They were, after all, supposed to loathe each other.
"And your welcome by the way," he said causally over his shoulder as he made to walk back to the castle.
Hermione was fuming. She stomped up to the castle thinking about Malfoy- that annoying ferret, leave it to him to destroy her midnight walk. Although technically it would have been destroyed by Filch if Malfoy hadn't helped her hide. Only, she wasn't sure it constituted as help when it involved someone crashing into you and pressing their cold hand over your mouth. He'd hurt her lip. She could still taste the blood. And on top of everything else he'd insulted her.
Nothing new there, she thought. He really was vile. She'd thought he would've been sentenced to Azkaban after the war, what with his known involvement with the Death Eaters and all. But no, he'd been pardoned by the Wizengamot due to his young age and the spy work he'd supposedly donefor the Order before Voldemort's downfall. In the least, she'd expected him to be shunned here at Hogwarts. But no, when he strolled through the gates last September people had greeted him like nothing happened. She figured as long as you were filthy rich, well-connected and devilishly handsome you'd get away with just about anything. Devilishly handsome? She stopped in her tracks right before the portrait of the fat lady. Well, objectively speaking he was handsome. She recalled the image of him as she'd rounded on him by the lake. His stately figure, his marble skin, grey eyes and blond combed hair…no his hair had been dishevelled and there'd been mud on his face. But yes, objectively he was handsome. Only that didn't necessarily mean she thought so, did it?