Hello everyone! Welcome to my first HP fanfic, cowritten with N. Y. S. (she did the Draco parts, and is an amazing writer who I'm honoured to work with). We did our best to stay in canon, but I think a few characters who technically died in the Battle of Hogwarts ended up mysteriously 'resurrected' as we went. This is a Draco/Hermione fic, so if that's not your ship, please play nice. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as we're having fun writing it! :)
Far From Over
Chapter One
Draco had arrived to board the Hogwarts Express sans his parents. He wasn't alone in this, but the reasons behind the missing parents of most students was more morbid than his own. Only his mother had chosen to send him off that morning, a soft kiss to the forehead that Draco had had to bend his knees to accept from her. She would stay behind with Lucius, who hadn't bothered to come see his son off to his last year at Hogwarts. Not that Draco had expected anything less of his prideful father. It hurt, though, that once again his mother had chosen to support his father rather than her own son, even in this small thing. He pushed such thoughts aside as he gazed at the familiar platform, with its smells and sounds he knew so well.
His luggage had already been whisked away to be put on the train, so all he possessed on him was his wand and a black leather satchel slung across his chest at the shoulder. He kept his head low, not wishing to meet the eyes of the people around him. He knew even now, after a year had passed and the dead had been buried, the war still weighed heavy on his peers. He was mostly ignored, which suited him just fine. He made his way towards the train, as he didn't have his usual group of friends to greet; they were either dead or had chosen not to return. The ones who did come back seemed not to want to associate with the likes of Draco.
A commotion caught his ear, and he looked up to see an increasing group of students near one of the doors to the train. Draco was sure he recognized who was at the heart of it. It had to be the Golden Trio. He couldn't stop his eyes from rolling at the moniker. His curiosity piqued but his heart just wasn't in it—this year he would keep his head low and just get through the year. Even as he thought it, he caught a glimpse of the three. Potter was still short but had grown over the year, stoic yet friendly. Weasley, a hand scratching at his neck modestly, but over all pleased to see his friends. And...and Granger. Draco faltered in his step, barely acknowledging the yelled "Wotcher, Malfoy!" from behind him.
Something was different about Granger, something that caught his eye. She had grown too, but before Draco could get a really good look at her the train whistle filled the air, drowning out all noise on the platform, and the students were called to board the train. He looked away and hurried towards the train, hoping he'd find a compartment to himself. Stiff shoulders met him as he made his way down the thin corridor of the train. The first Draco thought was an accident, the second, likewise, but by the third Draco realized the trend. After that he gave as good as he got, not to be cowed by anyone. His mistakes were large and looming but Draco would be cursed if he let everyone beat him down. He was still a man, after all, albeit a greatly humbled one. Like a glove, he felt his old sneer settle itself comfortably on his face, an impenetrable mask. The shoulders came less frequently after that.
Hermione Granger stood among the throngs of Hogwarts students both old and new, her fingers nervously clutching her school bag. Returning to Hogwarts to finish out her 7th year had always been part of the plan after the war, though she had to admit she was a little surprised Harry and Ron had decided to join her (though she suspected Mrs. Weasley had been a factor in both their cases, she wasn't a force to be taken lightly when she set her mind to something, and a little thing like both boys being "adults" in the wizarding world and not under her rule any more, wasn't going to stop her.) The group of them had met at King's Cross, seen off by George and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley (as Ron's older brothers were all at work) as well as Hermione's own parents. She hoped that Mr. Weasley hadn't pestered them too much about the workings of flashlights and the like after she'd left.
She'd trooped through the barrier at platform 9 3/4 along with Harry, Ron, and Ginny, who was starting her 7th year as well. Ginny had ribbed Ron a great deal over the fact that they were in the same year now, and pointed out that he couldn't treat her like a little kid any more (not, Hermione thought privately, that Ginny had put up with Ron's teasing since her fourth year anyway, but she was having way too much fun bugging him about having 'failed' a year to stop now—despite Ron's repeated shouts of "For the last time, I didn't drop out of school, I was fighting You-Know-Who with Harry and Hermione!")
The general celebrity of their group, along with Ginny, Neville, and a handful of other students who had played key parts in the battle, hadn't dimmed much in the past year. The first year students crowding together with their parents or older siblings stared at them with wide-eyed awe, and many of the older students returning to classes called out greetings as they passed, or stopped to talk for a few minutes. Next to her, Ron rubbed the back of his neck, his ears faintly pink at all the attention, though Hermione could tell he was enjoying the praise. Harry, now old hat at being treated like he was a superstar, took the crowds in stride, nodding and grinning easily, though Hermione could see that he looked tired underneath it all. The whole ordeal had been hardest on Harry of course, and she knew he'd much rather just go back to being a normal teenage boy. As for herself, Hermione was looking forward to returning to the normalcy of study and learning. She'd always been hungry to learn new things, and she couldn't wait to finally start studying the intricate potions and complex spells that came along with her NEWT year.
The train whistle blasted its warning siren and there was a surge toward the train doors. Hermione grabbed hold of the back of both Harry and Ron's robes and gave them a tug toward the shiny red train, helped along by the press of students. "Come on!" she cried, giving them both a shove. "If we don't hurry we'll get stuck in the compartment next to the loo, and you know you don't want to spend the next six hours with that smell, Ron."
As they pushed their way through the crowd, a flash of blond hair caught Hermione's eye. She hesitated for a moment, hardly able to believe who she was seeing: Draco Malfoy had decided to return to Hogwarts as well. He was striding quickly along the platform, his tall, lean form cutting a path through the crowd by presence alone, unaccompanied by any of his friends. She wondered if none of them had decided to return to school or if they still branded the Malfoy's as cowards for turning their backs on Voldemort in order to ensure their own survival, no matter the cost. As Malfoy shouldered his way past a glaring fourth year boy a few students ahead of her—the look on his face daring anyone to say a single word to him one way or the other—Hermione knew that no matter his faults, there was one thing Draco Malfoy would always be, and that was a surviver.
There was a surprising number of students returning to Hogwarts, Draco thought, as he pulled open yet another occupied compartment on the train. This one held a mixed group of second and third years, by the looks of them, all frightened once they realized who the tall figure was standing there, looking in at them. He quietly slid the door closed and moved on to the next. Just as he reached for the door, a figure stood in front of him, blocking his way. "Look what's crawled out of the pits of Azkaban to terrorize us again," sneered a boy, whose face was familiar but not enough to conjure a name.
Draco pulled his shoulders back, already feeling the students behind him beginning to press against him, urging him forward. He held his ground. "I'm sorry," Draco said, cold eyes flickering disinterestedly up and down the boy's frame as if he were only worth not even half a moment of Draco's time. "I don't have the displeasure of knowing who you are." Draco made to move on but the boy held fast.
"Oh, but we all know you, Malfoy," the boy's voice picked up, bouncing around the cramped corridor as if he'd used some sort of spell to enhance it. The students behind Draco were taking an interest, no longer pushing him along as they had been before. Now they hushed, and the weight of their eyes fell heavy on his shoulders. The boy seemed bolstered by the attention of his peers. He smirked, arms sliding to cross his chest. "Suppose we'll have to teach you a lesson, what do you think guys?" It was only then that Draco noticed two other boys flanking the original. Draco felt his stomach twist. So much for keeping his head down. The world seemed set on bringing the worst out of him.
"Don't want to go making threats you can't see through," Draco said darkly. He flicked his wrist and his wand slid smoothly from its holster into his waiting palm.
"He's got his wand!" he heard whispered behind him, and the crush of students seemed to collectively step back. They had all forgotten that this was the same Draco who'd surrendered to the side of light, who'd foiled every one of his plans to bring Death Eaters into Hogwarts, whose side had lost the war. All they saw before them was a Death Eater with a wand. The students before him were undeterred. The presence of his wand egged them on, and Draco heard the snick of their own wands sliding into their hands.
Draco stepped forward again, and just as he'd guessed, the leader stepped into him, pushing Draco back. Draco answered with a rough shove of a forearm into the boy's chest, the movement trapping his two goons behind him. The quickness of the movement caught everyone off guard. He heard screams behind him and students from both sides seemed to fall towards the four of them. In the commotion Draco cast a Disillusionment Charm and pushed past the yelling boys who'd confronted him. The Charm worked, until he bumped into someone. A girl, short and petite, a sixth year Draco recognized. Her eyes alighted on him but before she could speak Draco flicked his wand stealthily at her, a Confundus Charm hitting her with a spark. Draco wasted no time, he moved on and Confunded everyone who came into contact with him, the flow of students thinning out until he found himself at the end of the train. He slipped easily into an empty compartment, most students having not made it this far, and closed the door behind him. He then fell with an uncharacteristic gracelessness into the waiting seat, his body leaning forward until his head fell into his hands.
Draco had known this year would be a tough one, but he hadn't expected this, not so soon. He could only imagine how the rest of the year would go, students only growing more bold in their dislike of him. It seemed Draco would have to fight for every inch of his redemption.
And he knew he deserved every second of it.
There was a commotion down the train corridor, and Hermione stood on tiptoes to try and see over the heads of the press of students. At only five feet five, she was significantly shorter than a lot of people, especially the boys, and she had to struggle to make out what was going on.
"Oh, but we all know you, Malfoy," a snide voice cut across the babble of students, and Hermione's eyes landed on the back of Draco Malfoy's head.
He was standing rigidly in the middle of the crowd, his shoulders stiff and his back very straight. He muttered something sharply back at the boy, a Ravenclaw seventh year Hermione had seen play against Harry and Ron at Quidditch, though his name escaped her, but it was too low for her to make out. Whatever it was, it was quickly followed by someone shrieking "He's got his wand!" and general panic and scrambling to try and back away. Though because the corridor was so packed with students trying to find compartments with their friends, there wasn't much space for anyone to go anywhere at all. The result was a lot of people bumping into walls and stepping on feet. Hermione was knocked backward by a terrified first year boy and stamped on Ron's foot, causing him to yell in pain.
"Oh! Sorry, Ron!" she said quickly, turning to give him an apologetic look.
"Was that Malfoy?" Ron demanded, sounding ready for a fight. "What the bloody hell is he doing back at school? Couldn't get into Durmstrang?"
"Shush, Ron!" Hermione snapped, turning back to the arguing boys only to find Malfoy had disappeared in the chaos. The Ravenclaw boy—Michael Corner, that was his name—and two sidekicks, reminiscent of Crabb and Goyle, were glaring around the corridor as if expecting to find Malfoy hiding under someone's cloak. "It can't be exactly easy on him—I mean, people like him—to return to regular life after...well, after—"
"After spending seven years being a complete and utter git?" Harry supplied. "Hermione, I know his family helped at the very end of the war, but that doesn't make up for the abuse they heaped on people before it. Malfoy can't be expecting to have an easy run of it this year." He pulled open a compartment door and followed Ron inside.
Hermione hovered anxiously in the corridor for a moment. Most of the students had filtered off into compartments of their own, but in the next compartment over from theirs Hermione could hear Michael ranting about how Draco Malfoy no longer ruled the school and that no one should let him, or any other Slytherin, try and throw their weight around that year. He went on for several minutes, egged on by his friends, their voices carrying loudly through their not-quite-closed compartment door, but Harry soon called over to her, asking what was so fascinating in the corridor, and she stepped back inside, closing the door behind her, blocking out Michael's threats.
She hoped there wouldn't be trouble when they all got to the castle. Now that Voldemort was gone she'd been banking on a stress-free school year—well as much as one could be in their NEWT year—and she didn't want old rivalries springing back to life. If some ridiculous squabble caused her to fail a class, well, she'd put the knowledge of 'best in her year' to more vindictive use than the professors up at the school would probably like.
Draco hadn't intended to fall asleep. Somewhere between thoughts of surviving the year and what had happened earlier on the train, he had closed his eyes and let sleep take him. He had only awoke upon the slowing of the Hogwarts Express, its great length coming to a squealing, steamy halt. They had arrived at Hogwarts. The earlier excitement of starting a new school year and possibly starting over had been swiftly swept away, and all that was left was a rising sense of foreboding. Draco would have to do better than just keeping his head down. He would have to be all but invisible. If only I had Potter's invisibility cloak, Draco thought, his mind flashing back to the memory of years ago, a young Draco Malfoy spotting a pair of severed feet lying upon the floor of the train. He remembered the triumph he had felt at smashing the git's nose in. Now, the memory was a bitter one that left a sour taste in his mouth. If he'd been half as smart as he'd believed himself, he would have taken the cloak and kept it. In hindsight he was glad he hadn't. It would be one more thing that he would have to relinquish; his wand and his pride already in the hands of the light.
Draco gathered himself, his wand waving unconsciously to rearrange his mussed hair. Not that anyone would see him, as he followed up the spell with another Disillusionment Charm. He listened to the sound of excited Hogwarts students making their way off of the train, but didn't join them. Instead he'd let the majority of them spill onto the waiting platform. That way his chances of bumping into anyone would lessen by more than half. "Oh, but we all know you, Malfoy!" The words came to him unbidden and he gritted his teeth. His past would be his own worst enemy, but that was a burden Draco would have to bare. He'd only himself to thank. Well, himself and the pressure from his parents, more accurately his father. But he wouldn't dwell on that.
It seemed that most of the students had cleared out, for the footsteps of others were distant. He stood and slid open the door to his compartment and poked a silvery-blonde head out into the corridor. He was right. He stepped back and grabbed his bag then entered into the corridor proper. He walked quietly down the length of the train, his gait unhurried. He was in no rush to find himself in the battery of bodies outside. He thought, again, of the Trio and wondered why none of them had come to his rescue. He hadn't expected some sort of grand show of camaraderie from the three, but Draco had thought that at least he and Potter had settled upon sort of...tolerance of each other. Draco hadn't thought that the Saviour would let anything like bullying carry on at Hogwarts, not even of Draco. Weren't Gryffindors famous for their sense of fairness or some such rot? Not that Draco expected to be saved at every turn, no. Just his luck that the Trio had decided to stop meddling right when Draco might have need of them.
All too soon Malfoy found himself looking out at a teeming crowd of Wizards, Witches and Wixes all headed slowly toward carriages, or, in the case of the First years, towards boats. Draco looked at the carriages and swallowed at the sight of the steeds that bore them. Too leathery and skeletal to be mistaken for horses, the Thestrals tethered to the carriages stood solemnly in pairs at the front of each transport. Every now and then one would stomp a hoof, the sharp clack of bone on cobblestones barely audible over the din of voices. They were ominous, even to Draco, who had lived with the horror that was the Dark Lord for years. The mass of students began to thin and Draco made his way towards the carriages, steering clear of the gaunt creatures. One made to nip at his sleeve, his Disillusionment Charm meaningless in those black, fathomless eyes. He deftly side-stepped those questing. He was so distracted and unnerved by them that he hardly noticed when he arrived at the only carriage that held an empty spot he could slide into.
It was with terrible dread that he saw this carriage held three very familiar faces. Absently he wondered Why me? It seemed that respect, or maybe fear of the three had kept these seats vacant. But, save climbing aboard one of the boats along with the first years, this was Draco's only option at gaining access to Hogwarts. Maybe they won't even notice me. Draco thought as he carefully stepped up to the carriage. Maybe I could climb in without any of them paying any mind. But that idea was quickly thwarted when Draco reached up, his foot settling on the step and the carriage tilted with the weight of his body. He felt his Charm slip from him as he drew their attention.
He lifted his head, his expression carefully blank as he pulled himself the rest of the way into the carriage. "This is the only available seat," he said, his words defensive despite his efforts at coming off as impervious at his lack of options.
Hermione turned her head in surprise as the carriage suddenly lurched to the left and she slid a few inches across the empty bench she'd been stretching out on. On the other side of the carriage Harry and Ron were absorbed in an argument about a Quidditch match they'd gone to see last week and neither of them turned to see what had caused the tilt. It was several seconds before Hermione could form words. Draco Malfoy was climbing into their carriage. He was seating himself next to her. Two things he would have died rather than do willingly not so long ago.
"This is the only available seat," Malfoy snapped, his voice defensive as he folded his tall form onto the bench, a defiant glare slicing across the small space at Harry and Ron, who'd broken off mid-debate about whether or not Puddlemere United had fouled the Chuddly Cannon's in the final two minutes of the match, to gape at him.
For a few seconds no one said anything, then Harry nodded slightly at Draco, and Ron, next to him, seemed to swallow back something scathing. "Malfoy," Harry acknowledged, his voice cool but not antagonizing, and Hermione watched as Malfoy's face relaxed the tiniest bit.
"Potter," he returned, his voice smooth as ice, but tempered, as Harry's seemed to be, by the unspoken desire not to start trouble. She watched as Malfoy cut his eyes at Ron, "Weasley," —Ron's mouth tightened, as if he expected an insult to follow this address— "Granger." he finished, angling his body so that he faced her head on.
The civilness in Draco Malfoy's tone and mannerisms was jarring. Hermione felt her body lean unconsciously away from the penetrating stare of Malfoy's grey eyes. Why was he looking at her like that? As if he could see straight into her soul? She blinked first, and averted her gaze. "Malfoy," she forced herself to say, keeping her voice cordial.
Outside the carriage there was a series of whinnies and then the thestrals jerked into motion, sending the carriage lurching forward and throwing Hermione off balance and rather gracelessly into Malfoy's right shoulder. She let out a startled squeak, more out of surprise than any sense of injury, because just as she made contact with Malfoy's body his arms shot up, catching her shoulders and gripping them firmly, holding her back so that she wouldn't fall right into his lap.
Time seemed to stand still then. Somewhere behind her, Hermione could hear Harry asking if she was ok, followed quickly by Ron's indignant shout that Malfoy let her go and keep his hands to himself. He did so at once, pushing her back immediately, and shifting his body so that he was sitting squashed up against the far wall of the carriage, as far away from her as he could get.
"S-sorry," she muttered, feeling her cheeks heat in embarrassment—from tumbling like a second year with no experience riding in the carriages, she was sure. But as she turned quickly away from all three boys, looking steadfastly out the carriage window, Hermione couldn't help but replay the last few minutes over in her mind. Malfoy had reacted with lightning reflexes, but he hadn't jumped out of her path and let her face plant on the seat, or worse, the gritty carriage floor, or even just shoved her away from his person with a look of disgust. He'd caught her, and his touch had been…well…not exactly gentle, but steady.
And there had been something in his eyes when he did so.
The silence around them stretched thick and tangible. Draco could feel the moment hanging there in the air, a fragile thing. His body stiffened as they stared and it was just on the edge of his tongue to say something, anything to break the silence, but then Potter spoke. It was only his name, his tone neutral enough, but it broke the spell. He greeted Potter in turn, then Weasley and last, Granger, her name spoken more softly than he had intended. He barely noticed as she leaned away, putting distance between them.
He felt bound again, but this time by a much more pleasant feeling. He couldn't look away, instead finding himself lost in Granger's gaze. Her eyes, how had he not noticed them before? Beautiful and alive—she looked away and Draco could breathe again. He inhaled, confused at what he was feeling. He didn't like it.
The carriage jarred harshly, jolting Draco, and it was only the quickness he'd gained from many Quidditch practices that allowed him to catch Hermione about the shoulders before she'd tumbled onto his lap. Draco's hands held on a moment too long, and in that moment he felt the slightness of her frame. She was small in his grasp, delicate. He knew from experience, though, that Hermione packed quite a punch, despite her looks. He found himself letting go with an exaggerated hastiness at the sound of Ron's loud voice cutting through his thoughts. He pushed himself as close as he could to the other side of the carriage, rubbing his hands. They tingled with an energy he couldn't explain. He felt it spreading up his arms, over his shoulders, down his chest until it nestled warmly in the pit of his stomach.
He could see her blushing prettily, but he averted his eyes, wary of the small bit of peace they'd established only moments before. Weasley, acting more like his name sake than usual, looked ready to pounce. Potter's eyes flickered between he and Granger but said nothing. The silence was back, this time even weightier than before. Draco forced himself to relax, his hand lifting to smooth back his hair. The gesture settled his nervous and he looked around, noting that they still had at least ten more minutes of this torturous ride. He would almost rather walk than endure it, but he had made his decision and so would manage.
"I have it on good authority that Puddlemere did foul the Cannons last week. The referee was paid off, so he didn't call it," Draco said into the silence, hoping to start back up the conversation he had interrupted. Weasley was hesitant to reply, but the subject of Quidditch was just too tempting to ignore.
Potter, his eyes cutting to Weasley, spoke before his friend could, maybe sensing the belligerence of Weasley's reply. "And what is your 'good authority', Malfoy?"
Draco raised his hand, gesturing into the air at nothing in particular. "My fa-" He stopped short, deciding that mentioning Lucius Malfoy was not a good idea. "I know the team captain of the Puddlemere's. They play well but they're rotten, the lot of them."
"I knew it!" Ron exploded, startling Draco, but he covered his jump of surprise with a shrug. The two Gryffindor's fell into conversation again, but he still felt their eyes on him.
Draco sneaked a glance at Hermione, who seemed to be avoiding looking at him. He wondered if she had felt it too, that hint of… something. Draco would have to analyze it later, but for now he tried to enjoy the fragile accord the three of them had come to.
The final ten minutes of the carriage ride seemed to drag on forever. Harry and Ron argued back and forth over Quidditch, even allowing Malfoy to throw in the odd comment on the match—though Ron still refused to look at him when he did so, he did begrudgingly respond, seeming unable to help himself when his favourite team was the topic of conversation. As for herself, Hermione spent the remainder of the journey curled up on the seat, her legs tucked under her, staring resolutely out the window and watching the huge castle draw closer. Though she refused to look at him, she was very aware of the Slytherin boy's presence behind her, his eyes on her back.
There was something different about Draco Malfoy this year. It wasn't exactly easy to put into words, she thought to herself, but there was… something. Being unable to define the thing she felt unnerved her. Hermione was used to knowing everything—well, almost everything—and the things she didn't know she could look up in the library. But this, well, it wasn't something she felt she'd be able to find in a book.
It wasn't that Malfoy was cowed. Just because Voldemort was gone and the Death Eaters were once again a taboo subject, it didn't mean that he'd lost all his swagger—that seemed to be ingrained in the very way he held himself. It was more that he seemed to be trying to channel his energy into something else. He hadn't picked a fight with either of the other boys, or made a snide comment about her being muggleborn—let alone a 'mudblood'—which was a small miracle in itself. He'd been, for Malfoy, almost nice.
She became aware then that the carriage had stopped moving, and uncurled her petite body from the bench, turning toward the door. Ron's lanky form was ducking out of the carriage door, Harry bent over behind him, ready to follow, their weight jostling the carriage a bit as they jumped down. Malfoy was still sitting on the far side of the bench, waiting for his turn to exit, and when he noticed her getting up he moved back slightly, gesturing at the door with one elegant, long-fingered hand. "After you, Granger. Don't want to keep the rest of the Golden Trio waiting, do you?"
The comment was probably meant to come off as sarcastic, but there just didn't seem to be much effort put into the words, Hermione thought. With a muttered, "Um, thanks," she awkwardly scurried past Malfoy's piercing eyes and out into the dusky air, leaving her satchel forgotten on the seat behind her.
The evening was cool, a brisk wind seeming to sear straight through her cloak while tossing her long, dark brown curls into her face. Hermione pushed her hair impatiently out of her eyes as she hurried to catch up with her friends. She could hear Ron moaning longingly about the coming feast and how it was the only thing that made up for missing Mrs. Weasley's cooking while they were at school. Harry started in on how much he was looking forward to the new Quidditch season. He wasn't team captain this year, since he'd left school to hunt horcruxes, but he, Ginny, and Ron had all received owls from the present captain assuring them of their old positions should they wish to return to the team as seeker, chaser and keeper—which they had spent a good deal of their summer owls to her reminiscing about. She felt a happy smile curve her lips as they made their way up the path to the front entrance, queuing at the grand front doors with hundreds of other students waiting to enter the castle. She was finally back where she belonged.
The wind howled past once more and Hermione reached for her bag to pull out the long red and gold knit scarf she'd folded neatly inside for just such an occasion—though the days in September were still pleasantly warm and crisp, the nights could run cold. However, when she reached for the leather satchel she expected to find hanging at her hip, nothing was there. She glanced around the crowd of students milling around their small group, many turning to call greetings to her and the two boys, wondering if her bag had slipped off her shoulder accidentally and she hadn't noticed. She was just wondering if she should make a dash back to the carriages and see if she'd left it on the seat when she spotted Malfoy striding along the side of the path. He was clearly visible due to the wide gap most of the other students afforded him as he walked, even his fellow Slytherins—identifiable by their own silver and green scarves that several of them had pulled on for the short walk up to the castle—cast him sideways looks as they passed. But this wasn't what caught her attention; it was the fact that Malfoy had her missing bag slung over his shoulder alongside his own.
"Go on up to the castle, Harry," Hermione said quickly, not wanting the others to notice that Malfoy had her bag. She didn't think he'd done anything to it, but she thought it better not to draw Ron's notice either way. "Save me a seat at the feast. I forgot something in the carriage."
Harry hesitated. "Do you want us to go back with you?" He started to turn and Hermione quickly waved him off, noticing Ron starting to look over his shoulder too.
"No, it's fine," she said hastily. "Ron'll starve if you do. And you don't want to miss the Sorting. I'll be quicker if I go back alone."
Leaving her two best friends to continue on, Hermione turned back to the crowd of students pressing forward, and began to try and force her way in the opposite direction. As she drew nearer to where Malfoy was walking, he finally noticed her too, and came to a stop a few feet to the side of the crowd, to wait for her. By the time she reached him, Hermione felt nervous. Her stomach was fluttery and she found she wasn't sure what to say to the boy staring down at her. She reached up and twisted a long curl of her hair around one finger, an action that she only fell into when she was at a complete loss for words.
Upon arriving at Hogwarts Draco almost let out a relieved sigh. Listening to the two idiots before him gab on about Quidditch was starting to get under his skin. The sport held a special place in his heart after falling into hard times at home, what with Voldermort skulking the halls of the Manor. Sometimes Quidditch was his only refuge when the Dark Lord's mood turned more precarious. Draco would find the Daily Profit, tuck himself into one of the Manor's more remote rooms, and fall into the pages of the latest sports report. These moments were treasured but equally soured by the reason behind the need for them. He could feel the well of conflicting emotions surging up to struggle within him. And these two dunderheads weren't helping in the slightest. How could they know, anyway, that their current theme would cause him irritation? Not like it would matter. Draco doubted any of his feelings would be considered, whether he voiced his opinion or not. He was sure the lot would be surprised to find that he possessed any such emotions at all. Nevertheless the ride was finally over, and so ended the conversation on Quidditch. The two Gryffindor boys barely spared him a look as they pulled themselves out of the carriage. And before Granger! They probably took their cues from garden Trolls, thought Draco with a sniff as the two exited.
He expected the same careful rebuff from Hermione, but when she moved to exit herself, her gaze turned to acknowledged him. His own polished upbringing kicked in. He raised his arm, hand gesturing for her to proceed him with a flair he'd gleaned from the many etiquette lessons drilled into him. "After you, Granger. Don't want to keep the rest of the Golden Trio waiting do you?" he said, reaching for the ways of the Malfoy he used to be in defence of those keen eyes of Granger's. But he could tell the words fell short of the Ice Prince of past. Her reply was brief, the inflection giving away her distress. Draco wanted to say more, but she was gone and he could hear her footsteps growing distant on the cobblestones.
Draco allowed himself a sigh this time. He didn't know what it was that had sprung up between the two of them. Was he the only one feeling it? Or was Granger falling prey to the curious energy between them as well? Draco pulled on the cuff of his sleeve, smoothed a hand down the front of his robes, all in an attempt to regain himself once more. He'd slid his bag over his shoulder and pushed himself across the bench of the carriage to leave, when his hip collided with something beside him. He looked down and realized Hermione had left her bag behind in her haste to escape him. The corners of Draco's mouth quirked up; if this wasn't a sign that he was alone in the way he had felt for her, what was? He was sure he was making a fool himself, only working towards creeping Granger out.
He grabbed the bag and stepped down and out of the carriage. The night was a brisk one despite the weather having been fair hours earlier. The sun hung low and orange to the left of the castle, obscured by thin sweeps of clouds. In a few minutes time the sky would give way to the moon and stars, casting them all in their soft, twinkling light. Draco didn't much like the darkness of night, too many bad memories of rituals and meetings in which the innocent were tortured, blood spilled.
His eyes searched the crowd before him, but Hermione was gone. He placed her bag on his shoulder too, a shiver coursing through him as the chill of the night blew against him. He pulled out his wand and cast a Warming Charm around him, almost shivering again as the warmth swept in to replace the crisp air. Quickly he Disillusioned himself again and found his path a hard one in the rush of students. No one saw him and so no one thought to avoid treading on his fine leather shoes, or to move out of his way to avoid colliding with him. The older students paid no mind to the sensation of bumping into an object or entity unseen, familiar as they were with the oddities inhabiting the halls of Hogwarts. The younger years, however, squealed or shrieked when they collided with what they thought to be a person, only to turn and see nothing there. Draco found no small pleasure in this and would have continued on in this way, but his appreciation for not only his dignity, but for the refined craftsmanship of his shoes, forced him to step out of the rush and cancel his Charm.
He fell back into the tide still alert for any signs of Granger so that he could return her bag. Finally his eyes alighted on her as she approached him. He tipped his head at her and stepped aside so that they could meet without the flow of students jostling them. She reached him and again there were no words between them. She played with her hair almost nervously. Draco wondered at the feel of those strands. Were they soft and smooth as he imagined?
He drew himself up, a smirk playing on his lips. "Need something Granger?" he challenged gently. He looked down at the two bags resting against his hip. "Oh, you've come back for your bag, haven't you." He removed said bag, noticing for the first time that it was heavy, no doubt laden with texts. It was another testament to the hidden strength of one Hermione Granger. Draco leaned in as if to share a secret, his mouth close to her ear. "Next time try not to be in such a rush. It was almost rude the way you charged out of there, as if I were one of Hagrid's ungainly beasts." He pulled back and handed her the bag. She took it quickly, their hands brushing in the exchange. Draco felt that spark again where their skin touched. He pushed the offending hand into his pocket.
Malfoy straightened to his full height as she slowed to a stop in front of him. Hermione watched as his lips curved into a faint smirk, a teasing challenge on his face rather than the customary sneer she had expected. This had the effect of making Malfoy's normally severe features—sharp cheekbones, penetrating grey eyes, Roman nose—look softer, almost friendly. "Need something, Granger?" he asked, sounding faintly amused, a challenge underscoring his words as if he was waiting to see how she'd react to him having possession of her bag. "Oh, you've come back for your bag, haven't you?"
He shifted the satchel off his broad shoulder then, and held it out to her, his smirk still daring her to say something. As he held out the bag she couldn't help noticing the way the muscles in his arm flexed, barely seeming to strain under the weight of the heavy satchel; Hermione needed both hands to lug her bag around, and it dug into her shoulder when she carried it on her body (though that was her own fault, she just couldn't take the chance that she'd leave some important book in her trunk and need it for class, even now she'd over-packed, wanting to start her reading on the train early). Seeing Malfoy handle her bag with such ease sent a little shiver skittering down her spine—for a svelte boy (Could she still call him a boy? They were both 18 now, and, if she was honest with herself, Malfoy didn't carry himself with the same sort of manner that other boys his age did…) he definitely possessed a hidden strength.
While she was still struggling to form a semi-polite response to this question—at least thank him for not leaving her satchel in the carriage, which he really would have had every right to do—he suddenly leaned toward her, his lips abruptly right next to her ear, his hot breath tickling her neck. She went absolutely still, feeling her eyes grow wide with shock.
"Next time try not to be in such a rush. It was almost rude the way you charged out of there, as if I were one of Hagrid's ungainly beasts."
He spoke in a low voice, as if sharing a secret, and he was so close to her that Hermione was sure none of the passing students could hear what he said. Standing there in the growing dark, there was something…well, if she had to put a word to it… almost seductive about Malfoy's tone, and she could feel her cheeks blaze. What the hell was he playing at? Was he getting off on making fun of her in this way? Malfoy pulled back, the smirk on his lips more pronounced than ever as he arched a blond eyebrow at her, holding her bag in front of her face, waiting for her to take it.
The arrogant git, she thought fiercely, trying to avoid looking at Malfoy as she reached up and snatched her bag from where it dangled from his right hand. Her fingers brushed against his and she yanked her bag quickly back toward herself, grunting as she took a stomachful of textbooks in her haste. Malfoy raised a second eyebrow at her, but said nothing—though it looked as if he were trying not to laugh. He slid his hands casually into the pockets of his robes, eyeing her.
"Hagrid has an appreciation for the…well, exotic," she snapped, irritated at the uncomfortable feeling that had settled over her, and trying to ignore it. "But that doesn't mean his creatures are beastly."
"Are you saying I'm exotic, Granger?" Malfoy asked, his lips twitching, and she blinked at him in surprise. Was he teasing her? Or was he—no. She cut that thought off before it could form. This was Malfoy. He did not flirt with the likes of her.
"I appreciate your returning my things," she forced herself to say, hugging her satchel to her chest and staring down at it as she spoke. Malfoy's hand had been warm and dry, and she was visited with a fleeting thought of what it might be like to have him take hold of her hand for a purpose that didn't involve the transfer of school things.
Now where had that thought come from? she wondered, feeling a jolt of shock race through her veins. This was Malfoy! Draco Malfoy. The most evil boy she'd ever known. The boy who'd tried his very best to kill or destroy everyone she held close! But that had been before the end of the War. Before he'd realized maybe he was on the wrong side. Ugh. Why was she so mixed up right now?
"You didn't need to trouble yourself," she added quickly, trying to drown out the chatter in her own head. "But, well, thank-you." She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eyes, trying not to show how shaken she was by her inner thoughts.
The smirk had faded from Malfoy's lips as she rambled, and she found him watching her carefully, an unreadable look on his face. "No problem, Granger," he said smoothly, no trace in his voice now of whatever it was she thought she might have heard before. There was a long pause, then Malfoy inclined his head in the direction of the Castle, and Hermione noticed that most of the students had made their way up the path and there were only a few stragglers hurrying up the steps. "We'd better get up to school," he said, brushing past her and starting to stride up the path, his long legs carrying him quickly toward the entrance. He glanced over his shoulder after a few steps, almost as if he was expecting her to follow him, maybe even walk with him.
Hermione cleared her throat, shaking her hair back out of her eyes as she tried to regain her composure. "Y-yes, of course," she said, drawing in a shaky breath and starting to walk, keeping a few paces behind Malfoy. "Harry and Ron will be waiting for me." A few paces ahead of her, she thought she saw Malfoy stiffen, but he recovered quickly and kept walking, and soon they were both crossing the threshold of Hogwarts, joining the handful of remaining students hurrying through the doors to the Great Hall.