Mudblood. The word tasted like bile in his throat. But, he'd said it and now the word was out there for all to hear, and he desperately wanted to take it back. Why? Why should he care if one muggle-born's feelings were hurt? Why should he care if he caused pain and tears to someone whom his family had taught him was no good? But he did care. He cared very much.
Hermoine Granger was so angry, he was afraid she would hit him again. But instead, she just spun on her heels and stomped off towards Ron Weasley. As soon as he was alone, Draco Malfoy slid down the wall of the corridor and put his head in his hands. Six years he'd tormented her. Why? Because he loved her. And there was no way he could say it. Or show it. Or admit it. Draco mentally slapped himself for being such a git.
"Just tell her, you moron!" He said to himself. But he knew he couldn't for if he did, she'd laugh at him. Or think he was trying to prank her, "I ruined my chance. I ruined my chance because I was immature." He hung his head again.
"Mr. Malfoy." A shrill, but slightly caring voice rang out down the previously abandoned hallway. Draco jerked his head up to see Professor McGonagall standing in front of him. When she saw his red and puffy eyes, and the faint tear tracks down his cheeks, she softened and said, "Step into my office."
Thankfully, the Transfiguration professor's office wasn't too far from where he'd confronted Hermoine, so no one saw him in his sorry state. Why he had willingly gotten up and followed the teacher, he didn't know. Maybe it had all finally gotten to be too much. With his 'mission' to complete and wanting Hermoine so much it hurt, maybe he'd finally snapped.
Professor McGonagall told him to sit in a chair and gave him a cup of jasmine tea. The aromas calmed him for a moment, but then he caught a whiff of lilacs from somewhere and his mind trailed back to the one he loved. How her hair smelled like lilacs and old parchment when she whipped it around to stomp away from him; how her fingers were covered in ink stains from her quills; and how her brown eyes looked just as beautiful when she was laughing with her friends, as when she was yelling at Draco. His silver eyes swam in hot tears and Professor McGonagall's desk went out of focus in front of him.
He must've looked pretty miserable because McGonagall, who obviously didn't like him very much, stood, walked over, and sat down in the chair next to him. She placed a comforting hand on his back and for the first time, called him Draco. "Draco, what's going on?" When he didn't respond, she tried again, "Whatever it is will stay in the strictest confidence." When Draco still didn't answer, she started guessing, "Problems at home? Problems in school? Problems with other students?"
"It's complicated, and sort of foolish. And," he paused, "my own fault."
"I don't think it'll be too foolish. I used to be your age, so I've experienced all the teenage problems." She smiled a little.
Draco finally sat up straight and looked the aged professor in the eyes, "I like this girl. Every time I'm around her, I feel like the floor's been dropped out under me and I forget to breathe. But she hates me. And it's all my fault. I know it is, 'cause for six years I've been a complete, pardon my language, a complete ass."
"Draco, pardon my language, but you sort of an ass." McGonagall smiled jokingly. Draco recognized the joke and decided not to get angry, in fact, it was kind of funny. He laughed a little, but it turned into a hiccup, "Now," McGonagall got up and went back around to behind her desk, "Your problem is easily fixed. The only thing you can really do is apologize, and tell her your feelings. I know it's not the 'macho' thing to do, and you'd rather just keep teasing Ms. Granger, but it'll be easier if you just say sorry."
Draco's mind spun a million miles an hour. How did she know? "How did you—?"
"Please, I'm an educator. I know what a teen in love looks like. And you've had that look on your face in my class every day since Year One."
Draco blushed. He was that obvious? "I guess you're right." He said quietly. Then he thanked the professor for her time and exited the office quickly. He was on a mission.
Hermoine was surprised when a letter, dropped by one of the school's owls, landed on her breakfast plate that morning. Who would be writing to her from inside the school?
"What's that?" Ron asked through a mouthful of eggs.
"I don't know." Hermoine turned the letter over and her name glittered in elegant green ink handwriting on the front, "But, for some reason, I think I recognize the handwriting." She tore it open and the same regal handwriting had written:
Astronomy Tower, tonight at 9. Please come alone, I have to tell you something.
Who needed to talk to her so late at night? And what could they need to say that couldn't be said in front of other people?
"You're not going, are you?" Ron asked; reading over her shoulder.
"Ron, that's rude!" Hermoine held the letter away from Ron's prying eyes, "And yes, I'm going!"
"What do you think they have to tell you?" Harry asked, the letter now pointing at him.
Hermoine let out a sigh of exasperation at her friends' nosiness, "I guess I'll just have to find out." She stood up and left the Great Hall in the direction of the library.
Draco looked at his watch. 9 o'clock. She'd be here any minute. He pressed himself back in the shadows, hoping to remain hidden so that she wouldn't run when she saw him. He had to do this, or it'd eat him alive until he did. The door opened and Draco crossed his fingers, hoping it was her. Hermoine Granger stepped out into the moonlight on the tower and closed the door behind her. It took all Draco's concentration not to gasp at the sight of her. Her skin glowed radiantly in the moonlight and her hair was ruffling in the breeze; sending its comforting scent over to Draco. She walked over to the railing and leaned on it, looking out over the grounds of Hogwarts.
Draco stepped delicately and silently from the shadows and walked up until he was only a few feet behind her; close enough to touch her beautiful satin skin, "I'm glad you came," said, as he followed her gaze out over the school grounds.
"I thought maybe it'd be you. I recognized the handwriting from that note you wrote me last year about how stupid my hair is." Hermoine stood directly in front of him and he suddenly had the feeling that the whole world was falling away, "What do you want?" She asked calmly, but sternly and warily.
"I can't do this anymore. All these insults and harsh words; they're not… civilized. So I want to apologize." He held out his hand and smiled in what he hoped was a friendly way.
Unbeknownst to Draco, Hermoine had been practicing, and mastering, Legilamency. And she intruded into his mind. Immediately, he closed off all of his emotions for her, besides remorse. If she were to know how much he cared for her, he'd be the one to tell her, "Alright. I believe you. And I forgive you. But there's more, more that I'm here for. So what is it?" She didn't look as stern or harsh anymore, but curious. It was a cute look.
Draco dropped his still un-shaken hand and stepped away. He blew out a long sigh and ran his fingers through his white-blond hair; dislodging the perfect style he'd achieved only thirty minutes ago. How was he supposed to say it, "This is hard." He said extremely quietly. Hermoine put a hand on his shoulder; the touch electrified him and gave him courage. He whirled around and grasped her firmly on the shoulders, "I love you." Then he leaned down and kissed her soft, pink lips. Draco was too scared to go any further, so he pulled away, stepped back, squeezed his eyes shut, and braced himself for the slap.
A slap that never came. Draco opened his eyes to see Hermoine standing in the same spot he'd left her in, touching her lips softly. She looked at him and smiled slightly. She took one step towards him, but stopped short when the all-too familiar voice of Harry Potter filled the tower, "Ron, don't!"
Draco turned to see Ron Weasley materialize out of thin air, and Harry close behind; they'd been under the invisibility cloak the whole time. Ron ran up to Draco and pushed him, "Leave her alone, Malfoy!"
Draco stumbled backward under the force of the red-head's shove; his legs caught a viewing bench and he toppled over onto his back, a small 'ouch' escaping from his lips. He just lay there, deciding not to push his luck. If Hermoine didn't love him back, then there was no use fighting back. He shut his eyes and fought back the urge to yell in defeat, embarrassment, and pain.
"Ron, I think you killed him." Harry said, sounding slightly impressed as he loomed over Draco.
"Oh crap! Did I?" Ron rushed over and Draco sensed how close the ginger's face was to his own. Maybe if he just faked it for a while longer, they'd leave him alone to pitch himself off the Astronomy tower. Why would she love him back? He'd been foolish to think she would.
"No, wait, I saw him breathe." Harry said.
"Damn…" Ron sounded disappointed.
"Thanks." Draco muttered, standing up, "I'm glad to know my death is on the top of your Christmas list." He brushed himself off and stamped out of the room.
Draco ran down the stairs and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He barely heard the pounding footsteps behind him, until a sweet, familiar voice call out his name, "Draco! Wait!"
He turned to see Hermoine chasing him down. She didn't even stop when she'd reached him; she just ran straight into his arms and kissed him passionately on the mouth. At first, Draco was stunned, then he gave in and kissed her back. Fireworks were going off all around him and all he could smell was the lilacs and old parchment of her hair. And that's all he ever wanted to smell for the rest of his life.