she turned away

by aryatai

[AU, Draco x Hermione] In which Hermione comes to an understanding about picking a college major, being a brat, and the impossibility of fitting in during high school. In the meantime, Harry and Ron text.

this has been 'in the works' for a while now, and i keep meaning to come back to it to revise. it's not as fleshed out of a story as i would like it to be - there are obvious places where i can expand. unfortunately, medical school is a bit all-consuming and it has been hard for me to get into the rhythm that i was in while writing this in the first place, so i decided to just post it.

i am working on this pansy-centric story, that's at like 14k words right now and hopefully i'll get that muse back because i really like what i've written thus far it's just not quite done yet.

thank you in advance for reading. reviews would be lovely.

aryatai.
twentysixteen. june eleven.

---

she turned away

. . .

(8:14 AM) Hermione: WHAT IS THIS CRAP?! TELL ME THIS IS NOT HAPPENING. PLEASE.

(8:14 AM) Hermione: WAKE UP.

(8:15 AM) Ron: god hermione chillax wud u? ts 2 early for this

(8:15 AM) Hermione: RON. IF YOU CANNOT TYPE COMPLETE SENTENCES THEN I REFUSE TO SPEAK TO YOU ANY MORE.

(8:15 AM) Harry: hermione, he DID typ a complete sentence

(8:15 AM) Hermione: WITH SPELLING AND GRAMMAR. GOD, HARRY, YOU HAVE AN IPHONE. THEY HAVE SPELLCHECK!

(8:16 AM) Ron: JUST CHILL ALREADY.

(8:16 AM) Harry: congratz ron that was in perfect english. hermione what's wrong?

(8:16 AM) Hermione: EVERYTHING.

(8:16 AM) Ron: drama queen much?

(8:16 AM) Harry: shut up ron. hermione define 'everything'

(8:16 AM) Hermione: THE FERRET JUST PLACED FIRST IN THE RANKINGS!

(8:17 AM) Harry: wut

(8:17 AM) Ron: srsly?

(8:18 AM) Hermione: Unfortunately, yes! He beat me by five points! FIVE!

(8:18 AM) Ron: dear god the wrld is ending RUN HARY RUN

(8:18 AM) Harry: im sure its just a mistake or whatever

(8:18 AM) Hermione: Harry, do not even try to pretend this doesn't matter. This is Malfoy we're talking about here.

(8:19 AM) Harry: we've always known he was fairly intelligent. even admitted it last year, remember?

(8:19 AM) Hermione: No, I don't.

(8:20 AM) Ron: dont bother, harry, shes just upset cuz shes still in luv w/ him even after the huge mess this sumr

(8:21 AM) Harry: ron, don't talk about it! hermione he wasn't thinking don't get mad at him please you two only just made up from the last fight!

(8:21 AM) Harry: hermione?

(8:25 AM) Harry: . . . hermione?

(8:26 AM) Harry: fuck ron now look what you did.

(8:26 AM) Ron: Y DO U ALWAYS BLAME ME?!

. . .

Hermione Granger was not having a good day.

She had awoken at precisely seven fifty-five and checked her email on her iPhone only see that - surprise - the mid-semester rank lists were up already and - double surprise - she wasn't number one. Her subsequent shriek promptly also awoke her roommate, who threw a pillow at her.

"Jesus fuck, Hermione," Hannah swore, "It's effing eight. On a Saturday."

"The midterm rank list is out!" Hermione hissed. "And I'm second. Second."

"Well maybe if you stopped being neurotic enough to wake up at eight on a Saturday, you'd be first," the other girl grumbled, not nearly awake enough to care. "If you're about to have one of your hysterical academic fits, at least get out of the room first." Hannah pulled her covered over her head, bunching up one end to replace the pillow that had been retooled into a weapon, and went back to sleep.

A bit stunned that Hannah wasn't as interested in her ranking as she was, Hermione sniffed and clambered down from her loft bed. She threw on a pair of sweatpants and hoodie over her underwear and bra, not even bothering with a shirt. Her feet were shoved into flip-flops and her hair got a single combing with her fingers before she snatched her wallet up and walked out the door. Today, as evidenced by the rank list, was one of those days, meaning Hermione was not about to bother being presentable towards a world that was so obviously unfair.

"I can't believe she didn't care," the brunette pouted as she pounded angrily down the stairs of the girl's dorm. The common room, split by the students of the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor house dormitories, was completely empty. She glared at the boy's side stairs before huffing and settling down on a couch instead. She whipped out her phone, furiously texting her best friends.

Ten minutes later, the phone was chucked across the room. She had been aiming for the window, but luckily, her lack of physical prowess sent the phone into another couch, keeping it safe from her rage induced spontaneity. She stalked over and grabbed the phone on her way out the door. Stepping out into the chilly October morning, her flip-flop clad feet protested, but she stubbornly kept walking. Malevolent energy kept her warm and her snarling visage kept the few other students up on a Saturday morning out of her way.

Founded in the early 1800s to educate 'America's future', Hogwarts Academy was located just thirty minutes north of the closest city, surrounded by Hogsmeade, a charming, lazily upscale town. Houses were rich and luxurious, and the townsfolk tilted largely to the upper class. The academy was the premiere private high school in the nation, churning out politicians, doctors, celebrities, and CEOs from its 500 acre campus in the center of town. Admission was selective, tuition was expensive. Hermione, the daughter of two dentists accepted with a full merit scholarship, would have been considered quite well off in any public high school, but here at Hogwarts, she was almost plebian.

This realization had struck her almost immediately upon her arrival to the school, when she befriended the Harry Potter, orphaned son of famous actors James and Lily Potter, tragically killed in a terrorist attack when Harry was still an infant, who had been raised by his godfather, equally famous actor Sirius Black. They had been joined by Ron Weasley, the youngest son of an old political family, whose father Arthur was a Senator and brother Percy was the state Treasurer. Ron's younger sister, Ginny, was the youngest girl to ever be invited to join the US National soccer team.

Still, no matter how out of place she had first felt, this campus was her home now, and walking through its quiet yards calmed her somewhat.

The cafeteria was barren, a scattered few hungover souls huddling in various corners with steaming coffee. Hermione's attempt to smile politely at the lady handing out toasted bagels turned into a grimace, earning her a strange look. Biting into the bagel – blueberry with cream cheese – Hermione retrieved for herself a cup of her own coffee, settling into a random empty table in the middle of the cafeteria. Her toes let go of the flip flops, instead curling into the warmth of her too big sweatpants.

Hermione frowned, looking down. Why were her sweatpants too big? They should fit perfectly. Unless… The bold emerald Slytherin down her pant leg leered at her. Hermione resisted the urge to scream, and only the knowledge that there were, in fact, other people in the room gave her enough control not to simply rip the pants off her. Why why why did she have to grab his sweatpants? She should have thrown them out ages ago.

Except… letting go of her anger for just a second, Hermione fingered the thick cloth, absently remembering the day she had stolen them after…

"Fuck that," she muttered, allowing a scowl to take over her features once again. "I can't believe that annoying, obnoxious, stupid –"

"Talking to yourself, Granger?" someone dropped into the seat across from her with a thump. Hermione only glared, biting viciously into her bagel. Maybe if she glared enough, Blaise would get the idea that she was having a Bad Morning – with fucking capitals – and he would scram without bothering her.

One look at his smirk and she knew it would be too much to ask. It would just continue to be one of those days.

"Bugger off, Zabini," Hermione mumbled, already knowing her kind request would be ignored.

"Now now, Granger, is that any way to greet a friend?" Blaise's voice was cheerful, happy. How could he possibly be happy on this awful, awful morning? "So," he continued, and Hermione already knew what was coming next, "I just took a look at the rank list that was posted this morning. Results were pretty interesting, don't you think?"

His smile was innocent but his eyes were sly, and Hermione knew he was looking for a reaction out of her. Her anger bubbled up, even though she knew, she knew, that the midterm rank lists weren't even worth this anger, but she was tired and frustrated and, and – suddenly, Hermione could feel the all too familiar pinpricks on the edges of her vision. Stuffing the rest of her bagel in her mouth, she stood, willing the tears to stay put until she could at least find some privacy.

A dark hand on her wrist stopped her, and again, Hermione almost screamed in frustration. Unable to talk around the bagel, she settled for glaring at Blaise, trying futilely to yank her arm back.

"Just talk to him, Hermione," his voice was low and serious, his eyes earnest instead of sly, "He doesn't understand what happened. No one does. Please just –"

Finally successful at regaining control of her arm, Hermione didn't stay to listen to the rest.

Stepping outside once more, the wind attacked her bare feet and she let out a hiss of irritation. Bending over, she tucked in the edges of the too long pants between her feet and the flip flop, protecting her skin from the chill. The action distracted her just enough to dissipate the gathering moisture at the corner of her eyes and when she stood, her expression was again resolute and scowling. Another run of her fingers through her mane, even more tangled now from the wind, and she was walking again, shuffling just a little to keep her feet inside their makeshift tent.

The walk back to the dorms was just as empty as the walk to the cafeteria. Hermione took her time, mind whirling, mostly with memories. Gazing down once more at the Slytherin on her legs, she didn't notice the body in front of her until suddenly, she saw feet clad in too familiar, too expensive leather shoes, attached to a body clothed much too nicely for a Saturday morning where everyone was supposed to be hungover and asleep.

"Granger," Draco greeted her, tone even. She stared his lips in an attempt to avoid his eyes, but that soon proved to be a mistake as memories of laughing kisses invaded. Her lips parted to respond, but nothing came out.

"Hermione," Draco tried again. Was that a hint of uncertainty in his voice? Hermione pressed her lips together, steeled herself, and abruptly brushed past him. She was not going to deal with this today, regardless of what Blaise said, no matter how much she just wanted to throw his arms around his neck.

He didn't try to stop her as she walked away from him, eyes prickling once more.

. . .

(6:41 PM) Harry: hermione?

(6:44 PM) Harry: miooneeeeee

(6:46 PM) Hermione: What, Harry?

(6:46 PM) Harry: lunas having a party tonite wanna come?

(6:46 PM) Hermione: Would it KILL you to use spell check?

(6:47 PM) Harry: TONIGHT

(6:48 PM) Hermione: I should really study tonight. We have a Calc test in two weeks.

(6:48 PM) Harry: aww but mione, i haven't seen you in like a week because you've been studying so hard. its fri night, lets go!

(6:50 PM) Hermione: It's been three hours, Harry.

(6:50 PM) Harry: same diff when you didnt evn talk at lunch and didnt raise your hand evn once in class… cmon lets hav some fun

(6:51 PM) Harry: pls come

(6:55 PM) Harry: pls?

(6:58 PM) Hermione: Mmmmm… okay, I guess I can take a break.

(6:58 PM) Harry: YEAHHHH me and ron will be there to get u in an hr

. . .

The rest of the weekend and subsequent week blurred past. Hermione did her best to ignore everyone, including her friends who looked at her like a wounded animal, like they had been since the semester started, and her not-friends like Blaise and Theo who looked at her with indescribable expressions, and him, who looked at her not at all. Instead, she proceeded to complete assignments that weren't due for another month, finish most of her college applications, and completely reorganize her room, twice.

"You're mental," Hannah had sighed the second time Hermione rearranged her bookshelf. "Obviously he must have been the one to break up with you since you're still so hung up over him. Do you want to at least talk about it?"

Hermione, pursing her lips, did not respond.

Still, by Friday, she was a bit tired of being treated like a special snowflake. When Harry's invitation came through for Luna's party, she convinced herself that despite how disastrously epic Luna's parties always ended up, she would put in the effort and go just to show everyone that she wasn't, in fact, a mess.

Eight o'clock rolled around with her best friends being surprisingly punctual. Ron grinned at her, humming quietly as he and Harry took her hands and they walked out of the dorm. Free flowing conversation had her finally relaxing and she had to smile. Her boys would always be her boys. Even if Harry was a bit of a manwhore and Ron had broken her heart in freshman year when he came out of the closet.

Their walk was leisurely. Luna was one of the day students and lived a mere two blocks off campus. Her father also often left her alone in a massive house to go off traveling to wherever. In his absence, Luna's well known eccentricity was overshadowed by her tendency towards throwing crazy, black out, this-would-get-everyone-grounded-for-life-if-pictures-made-it-on-Facebook parties. People never quite figured out what was in the punch, which was potent, and her random desserts were somehow delicious despite their often disgusting appearance.

The house, with its high fence and huge lawn, appeared before them as they rounded the corner. Light shone out of every window, with people spilling out of the doorway onto the porch that wrapped around the house despite the chill. As they stepped onto the porch themselves, Luna found them.

"The punch is in the dining room, as usual," she informed them. "Do be careful though. I think a poltergeist is about tonight. Peeves usually lives in the attic, but sometimes these parties get him excited." With that warning, she disappeared again, floating into the throng of people.

"Did she just warn us about her imaginary poltergeist?" Ron stared after her.

Harry shrugged, walking towards the kitchen, "I think she's mentioned him before. Remember last year they found Millicent Bulstrode, Vincent Crabbe, and Lavender Brown all in the pile in her attic and none of them said they could remember what happened?"

"Weren't they found naked together?" Hermione recalled as she stepped over sprawling legs of people already on the ground. She rolled her eyes. Really, it was only eight. "It's not that hard to imagine what must have happened."

"Well," Harry adjusted his glasses, "they claimed it was the poltergeist. Same thing happened over the summer when Lavender was found with Greg Goyle again."

"So, what, Peeves is code for 'Lavender can't keep her legs closed in public, be wary'?" suggested Ron. His eyes skimmed over the multitude of people. Most of the other guests were seniors like them, but there were a number of students from other grades as well. There was also a blow-up monkey doll making the rounds, but Hermione supposed that didn't quite count as a guest.

"Something like that," Harry's voice trailed off. Noting how his eyes brightened suddenly, Hermione followed his gaze and found Pansy Parkinson talking to her friends, standing near the punch table with her back to them, a back that was completely bare before the curve of her short dress hid anything further from view. Her eyebrows shot up and she leveled her best 'really?' look at Harry.

"She's actually really nice," Harry's voice was defensive. "I have a US History project with her this semester. She comes off harsh, but she's really better than that." Opening her mouth, Hermione only ended up closing it again as she swallowed her words. Briefly, she remembered having the same conversation with Harry last year, only with roles reversed. Who was she to judge?

"As long as she's good to you," she replied, surrendering the fight before it even began. "Just be careful."

Harry nodded, distracted. Beside them, Ron suddenly hollered, having spotted Seamus and Dean, who were preparing something with shotglasses on a ski. "You can't start doing shotskis without me, bastards!" the redhead was suddenly across the room, having leapt over a couch with a number of girls on it. Their startled screams only added to the cacophony and abruptly, Hermione remembered why she didn't come to these parties all that often. Turning to ask Harry what he wanted to do, she realized that he, too, was across the room, with his hand on Pansy's waist.

She stared at them, a bit put out that Harry and Ron had just left her there when they knew she didn't know what to do with herself at these blasted events. After a few moments of awkwardly scanning the room for someone she could talk to that wasn't already preoccupied, she gave up and headed to retrieve herself some punch. With a cup in her hand, she retreated to a small stool in the corner of the main living room, quietly watching Ron get louder and louder as he imbibed more and more alcohol. Harry had disappeared, as had Pansy.

"Didn't you used to like Ron?" the voice of Theo Nott was quiet and casual, as it always was, even when he was suddenly asking random personal questions. Hermione glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes before returned her gaze to Ron. She didn't have anything against Theo; he had always been polite to her, if not particularly warm, before and during everything that happened.

"That was before he came out to the entire school at the annual Yule Ball by being found naked with Ernie Macmillin," she responded dryly.

Theo chuckled, "I remember that. Freshman year. Who knew."

Hermione could only chuckle with him. It really had been quite funny, after she had gotten over the shock and cried thoroughly over her crush. Things had been a tad awkward between Ron and her for a short few weeks, before an argument over some silly shoes had brought normalcy back to their interactions.

"How have you been, Theo?" she asked, politely making conversation.

"I've been okay," was the vague response. "Classes are fine. Blaise is still trying to complete his goal of fucking every girl in our grade." Hermione's laugh at that proclamation was quickly stifled as he continued. "Draco still won't tell me shit about what happened to you two. Care to fill in the gaps?"

Hermione scowled, "There's nothing to say, Theo. Leave it alone."

"I don't want to," Theo said simply. "You guys were perfect before you left for break, and you seemed perfect over the summer if Facebook photos are to be believe, and then suddenly you get back here and then you're not even talking about each other anymore." He frowned, "I've never seen Draco so miserable in his life. He won't come out at all. He's studying all the time now. Which I'm sure you could tell from the rank list on Monday. It's literally been over a month since we've gotten back and nothing has changed."

Looking down at her artfully ripped jeans, which had absurdly cost more than unripped jeans, Hermione picked at imaginary lint. Her casual knitted top that had protected against the October cold now seems too hot. Why did Theo have to remind her of that stupid rank list?

"I just want to know what happened, Hermione," Theo coaxed, voice ever so gentle.

"Fine," Hermione finally spat at him. With one long gulp, she finished the rest of her punch. With the alcohol burning the rest of the way down her esophagus, she pulled out her phone, easily navigating to the email that she should have deleted weeks ago but somehow couldn't find the courage to.

An image of Draco loaded, dressed impeccably in a dark grey suit over a light silver shirt and emerald tie. His posture was straight and proud, and his lips were curved in the crooked smirk that Hermione still saw in her dreams. His arm was angled just so, and attached was a small, dainty hand, leading to a delicate arm, leading to a beautiful, beautiful dark haired girl with flawlessly pale skin. Hermione handed the phone to Theo. "The email is below the picture," she told him, voice tense.

Quietly, he took the offered phone, reading slowly as Hermione waited. She could practically recite the entire thing verbatim.

To: hjgranger

From: lucius

Time: August 26, 2014 9:46 AM

Subject: (no subject)

Miss Granger,

It has recently come to my attention that you have relations with my son, Draco. Most parents would be happy to indulge their son's transient infatuations, but the Malfoys are a prestigious family with many eyes on us and do not have such luxury that may be found in the lower class. While it may be difficult to a child of your background to understand, your school ranking shows you are at least intelligent enough to grasp my meaning when I say I find you wholly unsuitable for my son. Draco is the scion and heir of a multibillion dollar company, and many hopes rest on him.

As you can see from the above photograph, Draco is much better matched by someone like Astoria, an exceptionally well bred daughter of the Greengrass family, whom I'm sure you've heard of. While your ignorance as to your unsuitability prior to this email may be excused, you now have an example as to our expectations for Draco. You cannot possibly be so arrogant as to believe you could live up to these standards.

Despite Draco's affections for you, as his father, I must make decisions that are best for his future, not simply his very temporary desires. Surely you understand that your presence simply drags him down.

With this new understanding as to your position, it is my expectation that you will make the best decision concerning your childish relationship.

Regards,

Lucius Malfoy

President, Malfoy Industries

A low whistle escaped Theo's lips as he finished reading. "He really laid it on thick, huh?"

"I looked Astoria up," Hermione replied, staring bitterly ahead, focused on nothing in particular. Theo reached over, exchanging her empty cup with his almost full one. She didn't even glance at him, raising the cup to her mouth and taking a large gulp before continuing, "She's a world famous model and she's only sixteen. And her family has so much money they could buy a third world country. Meanwhile, here I am a month after my eighteenth birthday and all I can say is I'm ranked first in our class." She laughed, a slightly hysterical laugh that had Theo immediately regretting his gift of punch, "Scratch that, I'm not even first anymore."

Theo struggled to respond. "Did you tell Draco about this?" he finally asked, peering into the cup he possessed. Maybe he did need the punch after all.

Hermione looked away, not responding.

"You didn't talk to him about this," Theo stated flatly.

"What was I supposed to say?" Hermione snapped. "Hey, Draco, your dad thinks I'm not good enough for you, and he's probably right, what do you think we should do? Yeah, that would have been a great conversation."

"So you just left him?" hissed Theo. "Without telling him why?"

"It's not like he ever mentioned Astoria and they seem pretty happy together in that picture," Hermione responded sullenly, not liking how guilt suddenly flooded her stomach. She washed it away with more punch.

"Don't be stupid," Theo retorted. "You know he attends public functions with dates his parents choose for him. If I recall, he offered to take you more than once, but you never wanted to go. You said it would be okay if he took other people. You didn't even want him to tell you. Said you didn't care."

Hermione huffed, hiding her face in her cup for long seconds.

"God, Granger," Theo muttered, glaring at her. "He was fucking out of his mind wondering why you suddenly stopped talking to him. He couldn't figure out what he did wrong. He must have sent you, what, half a dozen bouquets begging you to just talk to him?"

Hermione decided the cup was significantly better company than one of her ex-boyfriend's closest friends. Although technically, as Theo had astutely pointed out that she hadn't spoken a single word to Draco since she had received the email, they hadn't actually broken up, meaning he was still technically her boyfriend.

"Shut up, Nott," she muttered. She frowned at the cup. Two cups of Luna's famous punch and she didn't even feel buzzed? She needed to go lodge a complaint again her hostess. Frowning at Theo's responding snort, she tried to explain, "You don't understand. Draco loves his father. Adores him. Looks up to him. If his father doesn't think I'm good enough, well, what does Draco think?" Ah. That damn prickling again. Was she near her period? Stupid hormones.

Theo just glowered at her, "Y'know, for being ranked first in the class for so long, you sure are stupid." With that parting remark, he shoved the phone back into her hand and stalked away. Hermione attempted to follow him, but the moment she jumped off the stool, her balance disappeared and the effects of the punch crashed down. Instead, she watched Theo's retreating back until she couldn't find him anymore, then shrugged and trudged slowly back to the dining room.

If she had to endure this for another few hours, she might as well not remember it tomorrow.

. . .

(9:21 AM) Harry: yo u up?

(9:25 AM) Ron: dude. too early.

(9:26 AM) Harry: wheres mione

(9:27 AM) Ron: u didn't ttak her back lst nite?

(9:27 AM) Harry: uh i thought u did

(9:28 AM) Ron: i'm still at lunas

(9:28 AM) Ron: i passd out here last nigt

(9:29 AM) Harry: she not there?

(9:30 AM) Ron: nah

(9:30 AM) Ron: u chck her room?

(9:31 AM) Harry: neville just got back to the dorm, said he was there w/ hannah all night and hermione never came back

(9:32 AM) Ron: still cant believ fuckin nevill is getting more action than any1 else

(9:33 AM) Harry: dude we gotta find mione

(9:34 AM) Ron: aight ill com bck to the drm to change brt

. . .

"This must be what eighty feels like," Hermione grumbled as she shook her head groggily, dispelling the remaining tendrils of sleep. Her back ached and her neck felt wobbly. Sniffling a bit, she raised her head to find that she wasn't, in fact, in her own bed, but rather on the couch of a familiar dorm suite that was usually reserved for those students who had a lot of cash on hand.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she groaned, flopping back onto the couch. She was covered in a dark green blanket with a snake coiled on the top. "How drunk could I have been?" she berated herself.

"Talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, Granger," Theo's face popped up from behind the couch over her head. She glared at him and sat up, wincing at how her head spun with sudden vertigo. Fuck Luna's punch. Never again.

Slowly, Hermione turned her neck. This small common room was connected to five different single bedrooms. Theo's door was open, as was the room she remembered to be Blaise's. The other three were closed. A glance at the clock informed her it was almost ten in the morning, which meant Vincent and Greg would probably be at the gym, and Draco…

Hermione blinked at the last closed door. Theo had probably brought her here last night, since she didn't recall seeing any of the others at the party. Had Draco seen her here? Where was he? With a sinking heart, she wondered if he was even in the dorm or if he was in some other dorm.

"He's not here," Theo told her, not unkindly. He was watching her, studying her. "His father wanted him home for the night. Not sure where to, but he said he wouldn't be back until pretty late Sunday afternoon."

Nodding slowly with a kind of relief she wished wasn't there, Hermione swung her legs off the couch, preparing to stand up. The pounding in her head increased and she had to pause, closing her eyes. "Ugh," she muttered. "I'm never drinking again."

"I've definitely heard you say that before," Theo's voice came from in front of her this time, amusement clearly present. She opened her eyes to see a proffered glass of water along with a small bottle labeled acetaminophen.

"You're a lifesaver, Theo," she told him in utter gratitude, downing a couple tablets with a long gulp of water. Leaning back into the couch, she bundled herself up in the blanket, sipping from the glass. "What happened last night?"

Theo grinned at her, "Oh, you should have seen yourself. Stripping in front of the entire class, Granger? Didn't know you were so wild."

Hermione almost dropped the water in horror. "What?!" she shrieked. "Oh my god. Please tell me you're kidding."

A burst of laughter confirmed her suspicion, "Relax. All you did was find Luna's library and start drunkenly lecturing some freshman couple that they couldn't deface the sacred books with their body fluids before I found you. You passed out pretty quick after I brought you back here."

"I hate you," Hermione sighed at Theo, too relieved to be angry, "That was mean."

His face suddenly became serious and he stared intently at her. "No," he said, "mean is what you were to Draco. That was nothing compared to what you've been putting him through."

Hermione grimaced, unsure if the pain was from her stabbing guilt or throbbing headache but not quite wanting to find out. "Don't be dramatic, Theo," she said defensively.

"Granger," Theo stood, still staring at her, "Draco's one of my best friends. If nothing else, you owe him an explanation. Now, that explanation can either come from you, or it can come from me. Your choice."

She looked away, back to the closed door she had stepped through so many times before. She didn't want to confront Draco, didn't want to tell him what had happened. Because confronting him meant talking about it, and talking about it meant admitting her fears that his father was right, that she didn't belong in his world, with him, and what if he thought the same?

"Hermione," Theo insisted. "He deserves an explanation."

Pursing her lips, Hermione knew Theo was right, and her innate sense of fairness bullied her agreement out of her mouth. "Okay," she told Theo. "I'll talk to him."

Her acquiescence earned her a sharp nod from Theo, "I have to finish an essay. I think I heard Potter and Weasley screaming your name earlier."

"Okay," she said as he walked back into his room. She took her time standing from the couch, slowly shaking her head. Luckily, the effects of the pills seemed to have kicked in, and her headache dissipated. Taking a step towards the door, she paused, looking behind her at the closed door.

A brief moment of indecision passed and she walked as quietly as she could to Draco's door, opening it and slipping inside. Okay, I'm a creep, she thought to herself, realizing how weird it was for her to do this, but that didn't stop her from closing the door behind her and just standing there, breathing in the air that smelled just like she remembered, faintly tainted with whiskey after they had accidentally spilled a bottle on the carpet once night.

His bed was made neatly, a gray duvet covering the down comforter she had spent many nights under. The desk was organized, the chair pushed in, and his laundry basket was empty. Hermione felt the tip of her mouth quirk up in a smile – Draco was always a clean freak and she had enjoyed bringing an element of chaos into his room with her, purposely dropping her jacket on the ground and watching his brief flash of annoyance.

On his dresser, a photo frame was face down, and her breath caught. With trembling fingers, she picked it up, setting it right side up, already knowing what she would find. Straight white teeth shining in a smile as Draco, in the photograph and in her mind, handed her a book in the library and she accepted. It was simple memory, one of the earliest of them together, but it was a favorite, and she had been forever thankful that somehow, Harry had captured it on his smartphone camera. Hermione had given Draco the framed photo for his birthday back in June.

That he still had it out touched her heart and all the warmth and feeling she felt towards him came rushing back out from where she had tucked it away out of fear and insecurity. She felt herself relax and her resolve strengthen. She just had to talk to him. They would figure out what to do with his father together. Everything would be okay.

. . .

(10:14 AM) Harry: HERMIONE WHERE ARE YOU

(10:15 AM) Hermione: I'm in my room?

(10:15 AM) Ron: we chckd ther lyk 5 min ago!

(10:16 AM) Hermione: Oh, well, I just got back.

(10:16 AM) Harry: where were u last night?

(10:17 AM) Hermione: Look, I've got a raging hangover right now, so how about you guys chill and come pick me up at my room and we can head to that nice place downtown for brunch?

(10:18 AM) Ron: FOOD YAAAAAHHH

. . .

Hogsmeade was a picturesque suburbia, designed to appeal to the wealthy elite. The town stank of old money, with a small downtown just ten minutes walk from Hogwarts campus filled with small boutiques and pricey restaurants. The shop names were all quite strange – who named their flower shop Dogweed and Deathcap? – but that was chalked up to the fact that these shops had all been passed down in the family from generation to generation. On her first visit, Hermione had also counted nine banks.

Harry, whose parents had lived in the small neighborhood called Godric's Hollow just west of the downtown area, was a favorite of the residents. As they strolled to the Three Broomsticks, the well-loved pub that served an amazing brunch on the weekend, with student specials, the friends were greeted every block by townspeople eager talk to the orphan. With a patience that rarely showed itself elsewhere, Harry greeted and talked to each one while Ron and Hermione walked ahead, not bothering to wait.

"Did you have fun last night?" Ron asked. Harry had been waylaid by an elderly couple who always had a story about his parents.

"Honestly, I don't remember much of it," admitted Hermione. "How about you?"

Ron's expression brightened and he launched into a story of the events of the night, where he, Seamus, and Dean, had played drinking games well into the night. "Someone brought in a ton of cans of silly string," he grinned, beaming at the memory. "It was great. And I think Lavender was found naked again this morning, but this time with the Patil twins. And Blaise."

Hermione choked back a laugh, "Sounds like Peeves got excited again. Did you help clean up this morning?"

"Nah," shrugged Ron as he pushed in the door to the pub. "Luna's got this cleaning service that she pays to come clean up the house after parties. I think some of them actually come to the party too."

The Three Broomsticks Inn was, predictably, full of Hogwarts students nursing steaming cups of coffee and tea as they groaned with hangover headaches. Rosmerta, the buxom owner and hostess of the pub smiled warmly at them when they walked in, ushering them into a corner booth that had just emptied itself. Cups of ice cold water were dropped off in front of them immediately, as well as a pot of coffee. A few minutes later, Harry slid into the seat next to Hermione, smiling apologetically.

"So how was your night?" Hermione raised her eyebrows at Harry. "Or should I ask, how is Pansy?"

Harry's cheeks reddened, and he nervously took off his glasses, looking down as he cleaned them with his shirt, "Pansy's fine."

"Oh, c'mon, man," Ron exclaimed. "Did you get laid or not?"

His glasses clean and back on his face, Harry flushed even further. "Well," Harry said, "I just spent some time with her and brought her back to the dorm. We didn't really do anything."

"What the hell!" Ron stared at Harry in disappointment. "She looked so good last night and you didn't do anything? Are you sure you're straight? Because if you're gay and you didn't tell me that's not cool."

"I didn't want to push," Harry defended. "I don't want to mess this up."

Hermione took Harry's hand, squeezing in reassurance. "That's good," she smiled, "I'm sure she appreciates it."

Ron sighed, putting his head back against the wall behind him, "I have nothing to say to you."

"What Ron means to say," Hermione snorted, "is that you did the right thing and we're proud of you."

"Thanks, 'Mione," Harry smiled at her and she smiled back.

"What can I get for you kids today?" Rosmerta appeared next to their booth. "The usual?" The three nodded their assent. Not even ten minutes later, plates of food clattered onto the table in front of them.

"I swear she's magical," Harry grinned at his steak, cheese, and mushroom omelette. "How else does she know exactly what we want and have it ready for us right when we get here?"

"Maybe we're just predictable," Hermione suggested dryly, cutting into her eggs benedict.

"Whatever, dude," Ron mumbled through a mouth full of French toast. He gestured in front of him where the table of covered with hash browns, sausages, and bacon. "This is delicious."

"You do realize we've been ordering the same thing here almost every other weekend for the past three and a half years," Hermione pointed out.

"Don't fix what's not broken," Harry quipped, pouring himself another cup of coffee. Ron grunted in agreement.

"So where were you this morning?" he asked after they had cleaned off most of their food and were simply resting with their coffee.

"Uh," Hermione hesitated, but then decided that these were her best friends, so she might as well talk to them. "Theo found me last night after I drank a bit too much and brought me back to Slytherin dorm for the night."

"Doesn't he share a suite with Malfoy?" Ron asked absently, still chewing on his last sausage.

Hermione shrugged, "Apparently he's is gone for the weekend."

"Are you ever going to tell us what happened between you guys?" the ginger asked, swallowing the last of his sausage. He sighed in contentment, slouching back into the booth chair and patting his belly. Harry turned to Hermione, a clear question in his eyes. Brushing her hair out of her face, Hermione considered her friends. They had never pushed her to tell them what had caused the obvious break between Draco and her. Their knowledge of the situation was as incomplete as anyone else's – that she had been in a solid relationship for a year, then she had come back from summer break decidedly not in that relationship anymore. Hermione pulled out her phone. If Theo of all people could be told, then her best friends should know too. The email was brought up and passed to first Harry, then Ron.

"What the fuck," Ron swore loudly. "His dad's a fucking asshole."

Harry's face was pinched in obvious anger as well, "Seriously. What kind of person says that shit?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Ron blurted. "Did Malfoy break up with you because of his dad? Because I'll fucking kill him. That fucking prick, he's going to regret –"

"No, no," Hermione hurriedly interrupted. "He didn't do anything. He doesn't even know about it. I-I haven't talked to him since I got the email," she admitted hesitantly, wincing in preparation for their disapproval. She had acted childishly in that regard, no two ways about it. They stared at her in disbelief for long moments until Ron finally spoke.

"You… haven't talked to him since you got this?" he looked down at the phone again. "But, Hermione, you got this email in August! That's two months ago!"

"Well," her voice was small. "I didn't know what to say."

Ron gaped at her as Harry made a strangled noise from the back of his throat. "Hermione," Harry said, "I love you to bits and you're the smartest person in our class, but man, you've fucked up."

"You've beyond fucked up," Ron shook his head. "I mean, I never really liked Malfoy –"

"Understatement," Harry muttered.

"- but you guys were together for months and to just go cold turkey on him without any explanation? That's cruel, 'Mione."

Hermione could practically feel herself shrinking in her seat. Usually, Ron was the one who made inconsiderate and thoughtless decisions, and Harry was the one who made brash impatient decisions, and she was the one who would be there at the end telling them where they had messed up with a smug 'I told you so'. She really wasn't appreciating the flip in roles.

"Why didn't you want to talk to him, Hermione?" asked Harry, who always was the more perceptive of the boys.

Again, she hesitated in her response, this time just trying to find how to put her thoughts into words. "I got scared," Hermione confessed to her best friends. "I got scared and I ran away."

Harry reached over, giving her hand a squeeze. "Don't be scared, 'Mione. We got your back."

"Always," Ron promised. "But – I can't believe I'm saying this – I think you owe Malfoy a talk."

"I'll talk to him soon," Hermione nodded, more sure of herself after reaffirming her friends' support. "This week."

"I think I've seen this girl before," Ron peered more closely at the phone.

"She's a pretty famous model, maybe you've seen some of her work before?" suggested Hermione.

"Greengrass? Daphne Greengrass is in our year, I think Astoria is her younger sister," Harry said. "She's one of Pansy's friends. Daphne, that is. They look fairly similar, is that who you're thinking of?"

"Maybe," Ron wasn't convinced, but he clearly wasn't too worried as he flagged down Rosmerta again. "Do you have any of that awesome apple pie around?"

. . .

Three days ago.

(3:11 PM) Hermione: Hi.

Two days ago.

(3:15 PM) Hermione: Hi.

Yesterday.

(3:49 PM) Hermione: Hi.

Today.

(2:33 PM) Hermione: Hi?

. . .

Talking to Draco proved to be significantly more difficult that Hermione had anticipated. Step one had been find courage, which had taken her two months, as her friends had pointed out, but step two, find Draco, was proving quite the task as well. She had texted him multiple days in a row and shown up at his dorm at least twice, once to Theo shrugging his shoulders and another time to Vincent, who asked for help with his pre-calculus homework. Hermione had done so, spending the next hour teaching Vincent and then Greg how to use basic trigonometry rules, hoping for their blond roommate to appear. Unfortunately, it seemed as if Draco had fallen off the face of the planet.

"He's avoiding me," Hermione concluded dramatically to Hannah, after a week of trying to talk to Draco without success.

"Sure," Hannah said noncommittally, clearly not paying much attention. "Because, you know, he doesn't have the right after you blatantly ignored him for two months."

"How do you even know about it?"

Hannah gave her a pointed look, "You guys were talking about it, loudly, in the middle of the Three Broomsticks on a Saturday morning, which is the one time that pretty much the entire class is there for hangover brunch. No one knows exactly what happened, but pretty much everyone knows what you did."

Closing her eyes, Hermione could only curse into her pillow.

The second week of Draco disappearing off the face of the planet began to pass uneventfully. He continued to not respond to her texts or answer her calls. Even enlisting the help of Theo and Blaise didn't seem to help. He evaded his friends as easily as he evaded her, which was ridiculous considering he lived with them.

"He's avoiding you," Blaise declared, dropping down on an empty cafeteria chair at the table where Hermione was eating lunch with Harry on a Wednesday afternoon.

"I hadn't noticed," she snarked back.

"Yo, Zabini," Ron greeted as he dropped down onto the other empty chair, a tray piled high with food before him.

"Weasley," Blaise nodded as he examined Ron's plate. "Is that pie?"

"Pumpkin pie with peanut butter crust," came the answer, mumbled around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Without a word, Blaise stood, almost running back to retrieve a slice of pie. By the time he returned, Hermione was packing to leave. "I have to go talk to my counselor about college applications," she told the table.

"Most of them aren't even due for ages," complained Harry.

"Halloween is on Friday," Hermione slung her bag onto her shoulder. "And plenty of schools have early admission deadlines on the first of November."

To the side, Blaise and Ron ignored her, too busy competing over who could eat the fastest. Rolling her eyes, Hermione left them there. "Text me later, Blaise! I need help tracking him down!" she called back over her shoulder.

The trek from the cafeteria to the administrative buildings was a fair distance across the academy campus and Hermione found herself wishing that she had pulled out her winter jacket already instead of heading out with just a sweatshirt and jeans. Around her, the trees were brightly flumed, complementing the brick buildings and setting the stage for Friday's big event. Brisk fall winds quickened her steps, crunching on fallen leaves. A few brave souls were tossing a Frisbee around on the quad, but for the most part, the walkways were simply filled with students rushing to their destination.

Scolding herself for not pulling out her winter jacket for the fifth time that day, Hermione looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of platinum blond hair exit the administrative building and start on the path away from her, towards the academic halls. "Draco!" her cry turned into a squeak out of sudden nerves, but she pushed her legs forward, running after him.

"Draco!" she called out again when she was closer. He didn't seem to hear, staunchly walking the other way. Cursing the way her bag slapped her hip, Hermione put forth a burst of speed, reaching forward to grab his arm. The sudden stop had her practically falling into him and Draco swore as he quickly balanced himself again.

"What the fuck, Granger," he shook her hand off his arm, "You can't just go assaulting people in public."

"Why have you been ignoring me?" she blurted out, staring at him. She drank in the sight of him, his cool eyes and pale hair. His lips were twisted in an expression that she knew meant he was trying to decide how to react and the image of his uncertainty emboldened her. "I've been trying to talk to you for over a week! Why haven't you responded?"

The sudden glare made her flinch and she took a half-step back, watching him with wide eyes. Suddenly, observing Draco's tense body, she realized maybe she really had messed up, beyond even what Theo and Harry and Ron had told her, and maybe this wouldn't be solved as easily as she had imagined, with a talk over coffee.

"Why have I been ignoring you?" Draco's voice was low and furious. "Are you fucking shitting me?"

Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to find the words to respond to his anger. "I-I thought you'd want to talk to me, too," she finally said, voice timid.

"Right," unlike hers, his voice was sharp and cutting with an edge of angry sarcasm, "because, y'know, it's okay for you to ignore me for months but when you finally – finally – want to talk, I should just make myself available for you, no questions asked."

"Okay, maybe I was wrong –"

"Damn straight, you were wrong."

"- but could you please talk to me? Please?"

"Wait, did you just admit you were wrong?" Draco's eyebrows rose in almost comical surprise. She was just glad he wasn't glaring anymore, even if it actually hurt her pride to say words like that.

Hermione's hand reached out again but he jerked his arm away from her and she dropped hers in response. "Please," she said again.

His eyes narrowed, "Give me one good reason why I should even bother listening to you."

"Because," she confessed, "I still like you –"

Draco snorted.

"- and I really would appreciate a chance to explain."

Brushing his hair out of his eyes, Draco gave her a level stare, "I called you twice a day for a month, sent you texts practically every hour on the hour, fucking mailed you chocolates and flowers apologizing for nothing, and now, when I decided to give up, you want to talk?" He shook his head and Hermione's heart sank. "No," he said, "you don't get to do that to me Granger. Now fuck off."

Standing in the October chill, Hermione could only watch as Draco stalked away from her.

"Well," Theo's voice came out of nowhere with a dryness that could only mean he had watched the whole thing, "that went well."

"He hates me," Hermione said glumly. "I'm too late."

"Don't be ridiculous, Granger," replied Theo impatiently. "He's pissed off, but he doesn't hate you. You'll have to try again."

"But –"

"I thought you said you still liked him," he looked at her. "Do you or don't you?"

"I do," Hermione confirmed. "But he –"

"So is he, or is he not worth trying again?"

Even caught off guard, Hermione only need a few seconds to answer, a few seconds of remembering how Draco held her hand when her wisdom teeth were taken out and kissed when her cheeks were swollen, how he had tossed Greg out of their dorm for making a lewd comment at her, how his arms had felt wrapped around her waist and how his eyes had crinkled with laughter, "Of course he is."

Theo gave her a satisfied smirk, "Good."

. . .

(6:14 PM) Blaise: Yo, Granger.

(6:15 PM) Blaise: Luna's having another party tonight for Halloween. It's gonna be huge. Everyone's gonna be there.

(6:17 PM) Blaise: Draco said he doesn't feel so great though, so he's gonna stay in.

(6:18 PM) Blaise: But Theo and I and Vincent and Greg are gonna get SMASHED tonight and probably pass out at Luna's. Hopefully not with Lavender.

(6:19 PM) Blaise: Just wanted to let you know so you can warn Weasley that I'm gonna CRUSH him in beer pong.

(6:24 PM) Hermione: Thanks, Blaise. I'll let him know.

. . .

"I have to send in last minute early action applications to a couple schools," Hermione told Hannah after her roommate asked what she was wearing to Luna's Halloween party.

Hannah gave her an incredulous look, "I refuse to believe that Hermione Granger hasn't had those apps done since a month ago."

"Well," Hermione shrugged, "everyone makes mistakes."

After Hannah had finished dressing up as Wonder Woman, pairing up with Neville's Superman, Hermione got dressed as well, pulling on a pair of jeans that were just tight enough to give her hips shape as well as a long sleeve V-neck with a lace camisole that hugged her waist. Simple, but form fitting. Her hair was, for once, behaving itself and she twisted it into a loose bun. A spritz of the cinnamon-vanilla perfume Draco had bought for her for Christmas last year and she was ready to go.

Forcing herself to wait, she left her dorm at precisely nine o'clock, late enough that everyone should be safely ensconced at either Luna's party or some other random place and she wouldn't be noticed crossing to the combined Slytherin and Ravenclaw house dormitories. Once there, muscle memory took her to the suite, and she rapped loudly on the door.

It opened fairly quickly to show a scowling Draco, clearly ready to tell whoever it was that dared disturb him to leave. Annoyance quickly changed to bafflement as he stared at her.

"Hi," Hermione greeted.

The door shut in her face.

A few more minutes of knocking passed before Draco wrenched the door open again and glared at her, "Stop knocking, you annoying girl."

"Let me in," she said, trying to make it sound like a request but not succeeding very well.

"Why should I?" his face was downturned in a very typical Draco pout and Hermione was warmed by the familiarity.

"Because," she told him matter-of-factly, "if you don't, I'll stand here all night knocking and you'll go crazy."

"You're a bitch," he muttered as he opened the door further, letting her step into the suite. She beamed at him. That had gone better than she had dared hope. "Why are you here, Granger?"

"Why don't you call me Hermione?" The answering glower was enough to get his point across, and she dropped the issue, walking over to set herself and her bag down on the couch. "I want to talk, Draco."

"I already told you my feelings on that," he said, still standing, but the cookie was in his mouth and he was chewing.

"Please, Draco," she tried again, tone coaxing. "Just give me a chance."

"I gave you two months of chances, Granger," snapped Draco, "You didn't want them before, why do you want one now?"

"I made a mistake," she swallowed more than just spit.

He snorted, "You never make mistakes. You're Hermione fucking Granger."

"Okay," she rolled her eyes, "we don't have to talk. But why don't you just sit down. Chill with me. I have to send in a last minute early action application."

"I refuse to believe that you haven't had all these apps done a month ago," he raised an eyebrow.

"Why does everyone say that?" she muttered. Pulling out her laptop and attaching the power cord to it, she held out the other end to him. "Plug it in for me, please?"

He grumbled something under his breath, but did so, stringing the cord around the coffee table before the couch and into the wall. Then he stalked into his room, still grumbling, and came back out with his own laptop, throwing himself onto the couch next to her. She raised her eyebrow at his clear petulance, but hid a fond smile. She had almost forgotten how it felt to be with him again.

"Which schools are you applying to?" he asked suddenly, conversationally. She practically hummed with satisfaction; Theo had been right, he didn't hate her.

"Harvard, Princeton, Stanford, NYU, etcetera," Hermione responded. "You know, all those fancy big name schools. And a few smaller colleges, like Smith, Amherst, Middlebury, Wellesley…"

"Do you know what you're going in for yet?"

"No," she drew out the word with a long breath. "I like humanities in general, and I'd love to do something with theater, probably on the producing or writing side, but I don't really know what I would do with that kind of major. I really don't want to take on that much debt without knowing I can pay it off after. So maybe engineering?"

"You hate math," he looked at her. "And you can support yourself with a drama degree, just look at Potter's parents. Didn't you write that play that the drama club is putting on this year? I heard it's pretty good."

"Yeah, well, I need something I can support myself without that much risk," she shrugged, trying very hard not to remember that Draco was obscenely wealthy and so was Astoria fucking Greengrass and of course they never had to worry that their college major needed to somehow make them money immediately. That was a surefire way of making her chicken out of talking to Draco, and she really, really did need to talk to Draco.

To his credit, Draco didn't say anything in response to her reminder that she was probably one of the few people he interacted with that wasn't rich. He simply turned back to his laptop, typing and clicking away at something. They fell into a silence that was not quite comfortable, with a mist of tension, but more amiable than hostile.

"Where are you applying?" she asked after a few minutes, trying to keep the conversation going. She was almost ready with the applications. Just another quick read through and she would be done, and she desperately needed to keep her courage up.

"Yale," he replied absently.

"That's it?" she blinked. "Nothing else?"

"My dad went to Yale," he said simply, as if that was all the explanation needed. "And so did my grandfather. Their business school is named after us."

"Oh," she said, because what else was there to say? Her family certainly didn't have a legacy at any famous schools. Her parents had met in dental school at the University of Rochester, situated in bland, boring upstate New York. They were both only children to blue-collar families and had attended with merit scholarships paying half their way through. When they graduated, they had opened a small community practices a few hours away, even further into upstate New York, and hadn't moved since. They hadn't even been the ones to suggest she apply to Hogwarts – she had done that, all by herself, and had only told them about it when presenting them with her acceptance letter and a financial aid letter at the same time.

Draco's phone on the coffee table vibrated. He grabbed it unhurriedly, giving Hermione a chance to read the name of the incoming text message on the iPhone screen: Astoria Greengrass.

Suddenly, all the doubt, the insecurity came crashing down onto her, and she felt awash with inadequacy. Some small childish part of her had taken over after her talk with Theo, had made her feel brave and unstoppable, made her think that a simple high school romance between a girl and a boy could somehow overcome crazy parental expectations and an enormous class divide. Some part of her had thought that being first in her class among all these privileged people meant something, meant she was special too, just like them, but here she was applying to as many schools as she could for the chance to be accepted, and there he was, an acceptance practically guaranteed because of his last name.

She clicked the submission button on her application, watched the page reload itself, then shut the laptop. "I should go," she murmured.

Draco gave her a searching look, "Didn't you want to talk?"

"Maybe later," she said noncommittally, sliding her laptop into her bag and standing.

He grabbed her wrist, face dark with annoyance, voice tinged with frustration, "What the fuck, Granger? You barge into my life again and insist on talking to me even after I asked you not to, and the moment you get what you want, you fucking leave again?"

"I can't," she choked out, feeling that damn prickling in the corner of her eyes.

"Fucking talk to me," he shook her arm hard. "Don't just fucking ignore me again. You can't just fucking ignore me again."

"I can't be with you," she whispered.

He dropped her wrist, and she could feel the cool air of the dorm wrap around her instead, steadying her with ice. Gray eyes narrowed at her. "Why the fuck not?" he asked.

Rationally, she knew she should just pull out her phone and show him the email, let that explain all her insecurities and worries. And then, if he chose to listen to his father about her, at least they would have closure, instead of endless what-if's circling in her mind. If she spoke now, she wouldn't say the right things, wouldn't be able to express everything properly.

"Because of your family," she heard herself say.

"What wrong with my family?" he asked, still annoyed.

"Because you'll get into Yale just because you're a Malfoy, when I have to apply and hope I get into anything!" cried Hermione.

Draco's lips pressed together, "Are you suggesting I couldn't get in on my own?"

If Hermione had been thinking, she would have noticed the hurt showing in the lines of his lips, but she wasn't thinking about much more than how much she wanted to just go hide in a corner and cry.

"My family name can't get me anywhere. Yours could get you into the fucking White House-"

"I can't get into the White House, don't be absurd-"

"-and your family has so much money it's disgusting –"

"My father worked for that money, what the fuck –"

"-and you could have your pick of girls –"

"And I picked you!"

"- like Astoria Greengrass –"

"Oh my god, is that what this is about?"

"- who also has ridiculous amount of money and just as stupid of a family name!"

Her last words exploded like fireworks above them, raining ash down and making her eyes water. She was gasping, like she couldn't breathe, taking in shaky breath after shaky breath. Stormy eyes watched her, narrowed, but with a hint of uncertainty like he wasn't sure if she was done melting down. Hermione just stared back, trying to ignore that she was crying.

"The Greengrass's are family friends," came Draco's clipped response. "I've known Astoria since she was born, and she's consistently been my plus one to public events whenever she's in the country. Which you would know if you had ever bothered coming to those events yourself. But you never wanted to."

Shame flooded Hermione, heating up her face as her obviously wrong assumptions were brought to light. She opened her mouth, then shut it again, not trusting herself to speak.

Draco continued, "My grandfather founded the family company on a thousand dollars saved up from a summer job. My father expanded it and earned every penny, and eventually I'll do the same. My name is their legacy and I'm proud of it. And I'll have you know I'm fucking first in our class right now, so you can't say shit about me not earning a spot at Yale.

"But if you think my family name is that stupid, then I'll stop subjecting you to it," he finished. "You can leave now."

"A-are you –"

"We're officially broken up, Granger," he spat at her. "Now get the fuck out of my dorm." He grabbed her bag, shoved it into her arms, and turned away. The door to his bedroom thudded shut, leaving Hermione standing alone in the middle of the suite common room, stunned and tear-streaked.

. . .

(4:21 PM) Ron: PARTY TONITE BOIZ

(4:23 PM) Harry: I'm hanging out with Pansy tonight, we're watching a movie.

(4:24 PM) Ron: wtf mate? y u typing weird

(4:25 PM) Harry: Pansy likes grammer.

(4:25 PM) Ron: UR FUKIN WHIPPED BRO

(4:26 PM) Ron: NOT GOING TO A LUNA LOVEGUD PARTY AND TYPIN WEIRD

(4:26 PM) Harry: stfu

(4:27 PM) Ron: ur coming rite mione?

(4:32 PM) Ron: You're coming, right, Hermione?

(4:40 PM) Ron: U CANT NOT ANSWER WHEN I TYP RITE

(4:41 PM) Harry: Calm down, Ron…

(4:45 PM) Ron: I NEED NEW BESTT FRIENDS

. . .

"You know finals aren't until after Thanksgiving break?" Hannah's voice was dry. Hermione ignored her roommate as per usual, keeping her head bent down over her desk as she copied over notes from Calculus. Eventually, Hannah simply sighed and left, the door shutting lightly behind her.

Hermione knew what she was thinking, knew what the entire campus was thinking: that she was pathetic and broken-hearted over finally being officially dumped by Draco Malfoy. The stubborn part of her simmered with denial, but the more self-aware part of her, the part that had suddenly reared its head after that Halloween night, that part knew that no matter how much feminist drivel she insisted on citing, she was well and truly depressed over a boy.

Unfortunately, seeing as this was a new experience for her and her books weren't helping, she had no fucking clue what to do about it. So instead, Hermione kept her head down and did what she did best: study. Even if she got nothing else figured out in her life, at least she could do that.

A few weeks passed of her ignoring the world and the world, aside from Harry and Ron, ignoring her. Theo and Blaise stopped trying to talk to her, Pansy gave her strange looks whenever they passed each other, and Draco pretended she didn't exist. She almost laughed at the sudden reversion to their freshman year, when she had first realized that half her new classmates weren't new to each other, because they had all gone to some fancy private middle school before then and spent summers at each other's vacation houses in Aruba. Almost.

Thanksgiving approached with a hint of winter chills and sunlight carried away by raking winds. Hermione anxiously checked for correspondence from colleges, constantly syncing her email.

Hermione, started an email by her advisor, Professor McGonagall. Please come see me some time over the next week. That was Tuesday morning, the week prior to Thanksgiving break. Tuesday afternoon, Hermione rapped politely on her advisor's door.

"Come in," came the calm voice, sturdy with age and experience.

Hermione opened the door and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "Hello, Professor," she smiled.

Professor McGonagall smiled back, "Hermione. I didn't expect you to come in immediately. I hope I didn't interrupt any plans you may have had."

"Of course not, Professor," Hermione responded. It wasn't like she was doing anything else with her time these days anyways. Hannah had probably been relieved to see her leave the room.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Professor McGonagall gestured towards the seat on the opposite side of the desk. "How are your applications going?"

"They're going well, I think," Hermione said. "I've sent in most of them already."

"Good, good. I had no doubts you would be on top of things," the professor shifted in her seat slightly, picking up a piece of paper with a list on it. "You submitted this list of schools to me a month ago and stated your intention of majoring in some kind of STEM field. Have there been any changes since then?"

Hermione furrowed her brow, confused. It was unlike her advisor to check in on her like this since it was generally trusted that Hermione, of all the students, could manage herself just fine. "No. I think it's likely I'll go into some kind of chemistry, perhaps chemical engineering."

Professor McGonagall paused briefly before speaking again, "Forgive me if this is wrong, my dear, but I have been under the impression for these past years that your interests lie somewhere in the arts. I wasn't aware you were so interested in the applied sciences."

Now it was Hermione's turn to hesitate. "Well…" she drew out the word, taking a second to gather her thoughts, "the future prospects of the arts seem a bit grim. I'll be taking out student loans no matter where I go; I wanted to pick something that would ensure I could pay those loans back."

"Of course, I understand," the professor nodded. "Very pragmatic of you. I am pleased you are taking such thoughts into consideration. Still, you've written two wonderful plays that the drama club has put on these past two years. I've talked to Professor Flitwick – he believes you have real talent and I know you've had the passion for it. That's why you were placed in Gryffindor dorm in the first place. Are you sure you don't want to apply to any schools with a strong drama program? Perhaps Carnegie Mellon? Yale?"

"I… I'm not sure I could get into any of those schools," Hermione bit her lip. The note of insecurity that had crept into that statement was shameful.

Professor McGonagall smiled encouragingly, "My dear girl, I have had the pleasure of advising you these past few years and I truly believe these schools would leap to have you. There is certainly no harm in trying."

"It's a bit late to be asking for another letter of recommendation from Professor Flitwick," protested Hermione weakly.

"Not a problem," Professor McGonagall chuckled, "I think he's had his letter for you written for months, just waiting for you to ask him. Go see him tomorrow morning, I'll let him know to expect you."

A moment of silence passed, but eventually, Hermione nodded, "Thank you, professor. I'll do that." What else was there to say?

"Please do. Thank you for dropping by so quickly, Hermione, let me know if there is anything I can do to help."

And with that, the conversation was over.

The next morning, Hermione found herself speaking with Professor Flitwick, who beamed at her delightedly as he assured her the requested letter would be sent to the colleges immediately. Just as Professor McGonagall had suggested, a letter for her had been written since September. "Just let me know which ones, Hermione," he happily said. "And email me once you send in your application. I still have many old colleagues at these schools, they'll be quite interested in you, I'm sure."

Hermione had simply stammered her thanks and fled.

It was cold outside, but she sat down on a bench anyways, staring blankly at the quad before her. The ground was covered by slightly wilted grass and piles of crunchy leaves. Warm bodies wrapped scarves and thick coats walked briskly along the pathways between buildings. She was curiously detached from it all.

Her mind flashed back to the night in Draco's dorm, when he had ended things between them for good. His father's email was still saved on her phone. There was an ache still present whenever she thought of him, but she told herself again and again that it was for the best. Eventually, he would have turned around and found himself attached to a girl without any family name, without silky locks or a coy smile, a girl whose best trait was her stubbornness and stubbornness was mulish even at its best.

It was for the best, she told herself, watching the world pass by her.

. . .

(10:56 PM) Theo: I told him about the email, since you never did.

(10:59 PM) Hermione: …thanks. Sorry.

(10:59 PM) Theo: Whatever.

(10:59 PM) Theo: Have a good life, Granger.

. . .

That night, she ate dinner with Harry in the dining hall, tucked away in a corner. Ron had met them only briefly, rushing out with a container full of food. The mutterings he left behind about college application essays did nothing to fill in the oddly heavy silence that Hermione felt pressing in around her.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" Harry asked softly after several minutes of chewing without conversation. He was watching her, waiting for her to speak, knowing that pushing would only make her clam up. Hermione wondered when Harry had become so tactful, remembering distinctly the sulky rebellious phase he had been in when they first met over three years ago. She looked at him, at the messy hair and the bright green eyes, seeing for the first time the ghost of adulthood in the tilt of his jaw and the clarity of his gaze. She wondered what he saw looking at her.

Hermione put down her fork, abandoning the green beans and roasted potatoes in front of her. The cup of hot apple cider was only weakly spurting out wisps of steam now. She sipped at it, feeling the warmth spread down her esophagus and into her gut.

"What're you majoring in?" she responded to his question with one of her own.

He blinked at her and his expression turned thoughtful. "I'm not entirely sure yet," he said slowly, "but I'd like to go to a drama school for directing. I've spent so much time with Sirius on sets that it feels like home."

Hermione nodded, not daring to speak as suddenly, the warmth in her stomach curdled into the heat of jealousy. It was so easy to forget when Harry was sitting with her, like they were on totally even ground. It was easy to forget that he wasn't just Harry, he was Harry Potter with all the baggage and glory that came with it. And wasn't that the crux of the matter? That she was just a Granger, which meant nothing, a name without any significance, surrounded by Potter and Malfoy and Weasley and Parkinson and a hundred more names that all had history and wealth and something behind them that she couldn't have no matter how hard she studied.

"What about you?" Harry asked.

"I haven't decided yet," she lied, although something inside her whispered traitorously that it wasn't a lie at all. The decision of her college major had been made quietly to herself at the end of the summer, when she had put aside Draco and his father's email and replaced it with research into colleges and majors. Since coming back to school, her thoughts had been tumultuous but largely centered around her failed relationship. Her career path was already figured out, or so she thought. She would go into a STEM field, find a job, pay back her loans, live a quiet life like her parents. She didn't belong in the world where so many of her classmates had come from, glamorous and ambitious.

"You should apply to drama schools too," said Harry, brightly.

Startled out of her inner thoughts, Hermione could only look at him in surprise.

He looked back at her with bemusement, "I mean, c'mon, if I can apply to drama schools, you definitely can. This school has a lot of brilliant people, but no one's as brilliant as our Hermione."

The smug pride with which he spoke make her lips turn up crookedly, washing away the dregs of her jealously. How could she have such negative thoughts towards Harry, who had never abandoned her, always supported her? Something in her stirred restlessly. The person she had been these past few months, this insecure, doubting mess of girl – when had she become this person?

For the first time, Hermione realized how much power she had given Lucius Malfoy's words, how much she had mulled over them, internalized them. The email had cut deeply into her self-confidence, but she had ignored it, telling herself it was fine when it really wasn't fine, covering it was gossamer cloth like hiding it was enough. She had spent much of her life ignoring words, the teasing of her peers for her hair, her teeth, her bookish ways, and convinced herself she was too strong for any words to injure her. But Lucius Malfoy had struck at the tenderness of a teenage romance and she had been hurt. Too proud of her own independent image and ashamed of her weakness, she had let the wound fester, pushing away the people who could've helped her heal.

"Thank you, Harry," she said quietly. She still didn't know what to do, how to move forward, but at least she knew where she was starting from.

. . .

(8:50 PM) Harry: I want ice cream.

(8:50 PM) Ron: its fckn 9 on mondy r u srs?

(8:51 PM) Harry: Well… Pansy wants ice cream. You guys should come with us.

(8:53 PM) Harry: C'mon, let's go. Hermione, we'll be at your door in five minutes.

(8:53 PM) Hermione: I don't get a choice in the matter?

(8:53 PM) Harry: We've been letting you choose for the past like month.

(8:54 PM) Ron: yah u've ben choosing 2 IGNOR US

(8:54 PM) Harry: So now we get to choose.

(8:54 PM) Ron: DAS RIGHT

(8:55 PM) Ron: wait 'we' = me + u, right not u + pansy?

(8:56 PM) Ron: RIGHT?

(8:58 PM) Ron: GODDMANIT

. . .

Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour was open from noon until two in the morning every day except Fridays and Saturdays, during which time it was open until four. It was conveniently located a mere four blocks from the dormitories. No one else ever seemed to work there except Mr. Fortescue, who had inherited the parlour and the hours from his late father. Hermione had always thought it was strange that someone would pass down an ice cream shop, of all things, and even stranger that Mr. Fortescue insisted on using the British spelling for parlour. Weird British people.

However, even the shop's history wasn't quite as strange as walking behind a bickering Ron and Harry, alongside Pansy Parkinson, who was wrapped up in a beautiful Burberry coat and a thick green and silver scarf. Her boots looked like leather – real, quality leather, not the synthetic type Hermione would buy – and her jeans looked better than any jeans should be able to look and probably cost more than Hermione's entire wardrobe.

She wondered if Pansy knew Astoria Greengrass, wondered if Pansy had ever met Draco's father, wondered if Lucius Malfoy would have sent the same email to Pansy as he did to her. She wondered until she felt her heart ache and then shook her head to dislodge such thoughts from her mind.

"Hi, Parkinson," Hermione started. It sounded lame even in her own head.

"Pansy," was the response.

Hermione looked at her, confused. Pansy stared right back, "Pansy. No one calls me Parkinson."

"Uh, okay, sorry," Hermione muttered, not sure why Pansy even cared – it wasn't like they were going to be friends – but knowing somehow that this was significant, even if she didn't understand how. They lapsed into silence that Hermione found awkward, but maybe that was just her. Pansy certainly didn't seem concerned.

"How're you?" she finally asked, determined to be at least civil just for Harry's sake.

Pansy looked at her disdainfully, "We're not doing this shitty small talk thing. It's a waste of my brain cells and you're probably terrible at it anyways."

Hermione glared back. It's not like Pansy was wrong, but still. "I'm just trying to be polite," she responded stiffly. "For Harry."

"Uh-huh," snorted Pansy. "Harry doesn't need you to be polite for him. He's much better bred."

Her jaw clenched so hard Hermione could practically hear the bones crunch. Of course, that's how it was. "Sorry to taint your presence with my plebian ways," she snapped back. Pansy just sniffed in response. Hermione walked the rest of the way to the parlour in silence, fuming the entire way. Honestly, what did Harry see in her?

At the parlour, she watched in frustration as Harry bought Pansy whatever she wanted, just smiling in amusement as the girl asked for the most expensive sundae on the menu without hesitation. Pansy cocked one imperious brow and he was handing cash to Mr. Fortescue, still smiling. And when Pansy declared she couldn't finish the entire thing, Harry just laughed and finished it for her, even though Hermione knew he hated cookies and cream, which Pansy had gotten.

It was infuriating, obnoxious, and a little revolting to see Harry seemingly bend over backwards to attend to Pansy's every need. But Hermione knew Harry and knew there must be something about Pansy that was more than this.

When she turned her head, Ron was watching her and she knew he could read her. When had Ron, of all people, developed the maturity to do so? "I don't understand why… why her," Hermione muttered, eyes flickering to the couple walking in front of them. "She's loud and rude and demanding."

"She knows what she wants, and she believes she deserves everything she wants," he answered her, as if that explained anything.

Hermione just looked at him, baffled. "So she's spoiled?"

A grin flashed through the dusty streetlight at her, "Absolutely." He slung his arm around her shoulders with brotherly affection, pushing her forward until they were just behind Harry and jostling him and Pansy rolled her eyes and said some caustic comment, but Harry just laughed put his arm around Pansy and they were all one tangle of limbs, laughing and grinning and Hermione had to admit that when she laughed, Pansy was beautiful.

Not that that made her any less of a brat.

The next two days, during lunch, Hermione watched Harry and Pansy from under her lashes, turning Ron's words over and over in her mind, trying to see what was so amazing about Pansy that Harry, who could have any girl he wanted and yet for the last three years had wanted no one for more than a day, was so enamored. She watched and she thought.

She had so many other things to think about, like Professor McGonagall's suggestion, like the way Draco still ghosted through her mind on a cloud of regret, but she found herself watching Pansy, like the other girl could give her the answer to everything.

And maybe she could.

. . .

(11:54 PM) Hermione: Is he in the dorm?

(11:54 PM) Theo: Yes.

(11:56 PM) Hermione: Is it too late?

(12:00 AM) Theo: Probably.

(12:01 AM) Hermione: Don't let him leave the dorm.

. . .

"I thought I told you we were done, Granger," his eyes were storm cloud grey, cool and electric, charged with warning and suspicion. He stood in the doorway, refusing her entry back into his space. Theo and Blaise were playing chess in the common room behind him, as if she wasn't even there.

"I know," she licked her lips.

He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, waiting.

"One last talk," she said quietly. "Just one, and I promise to never bother you again."

He shut the door in her face.

Well, this was familiar.

As she debated with herself whether or not she should try knocking again, the door opened again and Draco stepped out into the hallway, now with an extra layer of cloth around him. He nodded towards the exit, "We can talk while we walk." She followed him out the door.

It was dark out, to be expected since she had just knocked on her ex-boyfriend's door just past midnight. A smattering of lights brightened their path and for a few moments, she just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Her breath puffed out in front of her and her hands were buried deep in her pockets. Draco didn't speak, he wouldn't speak until she did.

"I got scared," she said abruptly. "I got that email from your dad. He said I wasn't good enough for you. And I thought he was right. I believed him and I told myself that you couldn't possibly want me because I wasn't worth wanting when you could have someone like Astoria Greengrass instead."

He had stopped walking in the shadow of the library building, tucked around a corner lest anyone walk by. He leaned against the sturdy brick walls, eyes on her. She felt like a stray wind could blow her over, but instead it simply pushed out her words, the ones she had finally managed to organize into some semblance of a sentence.

"When I first came to Hogwarts, everything was beyond me. Everyone was from some famous family and even Harry and Ron – even they were from a different world. But I told myself it was okay. I told myself that since I was smart, I had at least earned a spot here. And when we were dating, I told myself that you would never date someone you didn't like, so if you were dating me then I must deserve to be here, right?" she took a deep breath. Draco stood stone still, watching her. She didn't really know if she was really talking for him anymore or just because she needed to talk.

"I got that email from your father and it felt like everything was a lie," her voice wavered, just slightly. "I had just been lying to myself, telling myself I was good enough when really, I wasn't anything. And if he saw it, then it was only a matter of time before you did. Before everyone did."

"So I ran," Hermione finally confessed, acknowledging her actions aloud to him, the one she'd hurt the most with her cowardice and pride. "I ran and I left you behind because I couldn't face that maybe he was right, maybe I really didn't deserve you at all." Her voice dropped, "That was wrong of me. I'm sorry."

Somewhere in the background, a car sped by. Across the quad, the streetlight flickered. Draco watched her for long moments before asking, quietly, "What are you going to do now?"

She blinked. Truthfully, she still didn't really know, she just knew that what she was right now was not what she wanted to be. She had run away for so long, but this insecurity, this self-loathing, that wasn't Hermione. And it was Hermione who really mattered, not Granger, like she had finally figured out in the shadow of a spoiled, rude, confident and self-assured woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Hermione, who had dared to break open the shell of her parent's house and fly to Hogwarts. Hermione, who had been at the top of her class for three years with nothing more than fierce determination to prove her worth.

Hermione's eyes met Draco's and she could see him waiting for her to finally, finally figure out what he had figured out as soon as she had opened her mouth.

"I'll get better," she straightened her spine, understanding that this wasn't a promise to him, this was a promise for herself and she deserved everything she worked for. "Even if it is true, it doesn't matter, I'm going to make everyone see that I deserve to be here." She'd make them remember her name, make them admit that she was fucking brilliant and nothing could bring her down.

He gave her a curt nod and she realized there was something in his eyes akin to pride, but the pride was marred by a shadow that she had put there. "You left me," he said softly. "I don't know if I can forgive that."

Hermione nodded, mouth dry. She hadn't expected anything else, but the statement still hurt, like a sharp knife carving its way slowly down her chest. "I'm not asking you too," she responded, just as quiet. "I need to focus on myself right now. Who knows if we'll even be on the same coast next year." Draco nodded and they stood in peaceful silence.

Eventually, he pushed away from the wall. "I'll walk you back," he murmured.

As she was opening the door to the Gryffindor dormitory, cold fingers brushed her cheek. "Yale has a good drama school," he said calmly, holding her gaze for just a moment, and then he was gone, back towards her as he left.

There was a whisper of a promise there, but she found that her heart did not quite leap at his words the way it would have a month ago. Maybe he would wait for her, maybe he wouldn't, but either way, she was okay now and did not need him. Hermione watched him for only a few steps before she, too, turned away and let Draco Malfoy go.

. . .

(1:25 PM) Harry: NEW YORK HERE I COME.

(1:25 PM) Hermione: ?

(1:25 PM) Harry: JUILLIARD BABY

(1:26 PM) Ron: HOLY SHIT

(1:26 PM) Hermione: CONGRATS, HARRY!

(1:26 PM) Harry: YEAHHHHHHHH

(1:27 PM) Hermione: Pansy is going to UPenn, right? You'll be pretty close!

(1:27 PM) Harry: YAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAY

(1:28 PM) Harry: Did you decide where you're going, Mione?

(1:28 PM) Ron: SHE'S GONNA STAY HERE IN THE STATES THAT'S WHAT AND GO TO RICH AND PRISSY YALE

(1:28 PM) Ron: DON'T YOU DARE GO TO LONDON HERMIONE EVEN IF ITS FOR THAT STUPID DRAMA ACADEMY

(1:29 PM) Hermione: Just because I'm so impressed with your spelling, I will consider it.

(1:30 PM) Harry: Don't listen to him, Mione, you're gonna be great wherever.

(1:30 PM) Hermione: Thanks, Harry. You're the best.

(1:31 PM) Ron: WHY DO YOU ALWAYS FORGET ABOUT ME?