Chapter 4

Hermione sat with her back pressed against the base of the couch, an open text book splayed across her outstretched legs. The book, though, held none of her attention. She could feel Harry and Ron slipping away from her, knowing it was her fault for being less than attentive towards them. And for what? So she could spend a few private nights talking to Draco Malfoy? Tomorrow she would talk to them, she decided, she needed them.

"You're supposed to sit on the couch, Granger," she heard Draco say as he walked over to sit beside her on the floor.

"So then why are you sitting on the floor with me?" she retorted, cocking an eyebrow.

Draco tilted his head, pretending to think over his answer. "I'd hate for you to think that I expect you to sit at my feet. Even if I am the Draco Malfoy."

"Your modesty knows no bounds," she muttered, turning a page in her book.

"Talk to me," Draco murmured, nudging his shoulder against hers. She shook her head. "Is it about your friends? It seems like it's been awhile since I've seen you with them."

"We're friends, right? You and me?" Her voice sounded so small in her ears, fearful of what he might say. The fear ebbed when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. "Why can't Harry and Ron see in you what I see?"

"Really, we're having this conversation again?" he asked, disdain dripping from each word. Silence fell over them, neither having the courage to break it. "You know how kids always have grand dreams of what they'll be when they grow up?"

"I wanted to be an astronaut," Hermione told him, only to receive a strange look of inquiry. "They travel into space, walk on the moon. It was a really exciting possibility when I was six."

Draco nodded in agreement. "I wanted to be my father. You were right that night when you said I felt a need to model myself after him. I can remember seeing the mark on his arm since I was young. It was colorless back then, since the Dark...since Voldemort had disappeared, but I could still make out the design where it was raised against his skin. He told me it was a sign that we were better, above everyone else, and that for some reason excited me. I didn't know what he did or even what a Death Eater was back then. I just wanted so much to be like my father."

A hand wrapped around his left wrist, pulling it away from him. Hermione lifted back the sleeve of his robes to reveal his own dark mark. He flinched as her cool fingers traced the scarring of the brand that marred his flesh.

"Grotesque, isn't it?" he asked, his eyes tracing the movement of her fingertips.

"Maybe on someone else," Hermione reasoned, "but not you."

Something unlike he'd ever felt before took over his senses. His right hand moved up to cup her cheek as he leaned in to capture her lips. A small squeak of surprise vibrated against his lips, causing him to smile a bit, before she reciprocated his actions. Their movements were slow, savoring the feeling of one another, neither wanting the moment to end.

"I'll talk to them if you want me to," Draco told her when they finally pulled away.

Hermione shook her head, and moved to stand up. "It's no use. You're the bad guy, remember?"

A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips as Draco, too, stood up. His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her thin body against his. "I thought you said I wasn't the bad guy anymore."

Hermione drew her arms around his neck, pulling him closer for another kiss. "I don't think you are, but Harry and Ron are stubborn."

"Or stupid," Draco murmured against her lips. "Funny how often that line is blurred."

Hermione laughed, but agreed with that assessment. It couldn't hurt to have them all talk. Maybe her friends would finally understand the change of heart Draco had had. Or they would hex him into oblivion and never speak to her again for deigning to have anything to do with a Malfoy.

"What are you thinking about?" Draco asked, a blonde eyebrow raising, as the back of his hand stroked her cheek. It colored slightly under his touch.

"I was thinking that maybe we could have lunch with Ron and Harry tomorrow," Hermione decided. "It might not be so bad. Luckily for you they don't know how to transfigure people."

Draco released a nervous laugh, but agreed to lunch knowing she'd be by his side. The next day was to be a Hogsmeade day.

A breeze whisked through the air, the clouds covering the sun; the day was cold enough for snow. One hand held the top of her coat closed around her throat, while her other wound through Draco's arm for support. The pair was only too happy to reach the warmth of the Three Broomsticks. At a table in the back, just to the right of the fireplace, sat Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Ron caught sight of them first.

"What's he doing here?" Ron demanded, pushing back his chair to stand to his full height. Harry tugged on his arm to make him sit, but the angry redhead jerked it away. "No, Harry. What happened to having lunch with your best friends, huh, Hermione? You go days, weeks even without seeing us outside of classes, you hang around with Malfoy, and now you decide he's part of our group?"

Hermione sighed, holding tightly to Draco's arm to keep him from running. "Draco and I are friends. The war is over, Ronald. There are no more sides. It would be nice if we could all get along with one another."

A stare-down ensued between the two friends. Harry, eying one then the other, turned his attention to Draco. He stood, stuck out a hand, and said, "Have a seat. I'm starving."

Three sets of eyes landed on Harry, his hand still extended toward the blonde. A small smile crossed Draco's face as he accepted the handshake before pulling out a chair for Hermione. Ron sat, arms across his chest, with a scowl on his face throughout their meal. Harry and Hermione, at random times, would open their mouths as if to say something before closing it again, nothing coming out. Draco spent most of the time staring at his food or checking to see that Hermione was still seated next to him. Their time together was awkward, to say the least; quiet tension resonating as no one knew what to say.

"That was the most painful experience of my life," Draco commented as they watched Ron and Harry exit the pub.

"I really hadn't anticipated it being that way," Hermione responded, resting her forehead against her arms that were crossed on the table top.

Draco laughed as a comforting hand slowly rubbed the brunette's back. "I did," was all he said. Hermione turned her head to shoot him an inquiring look. "I did," he reiterated. "You can't honestly expect the three of us to get along right off the bat. They're still mad at me for the things I've done over the years."

"I've gotten over it," she mumbled. "Why can't they?"

He offered her two words - "bad guy". The young witch groaned, pushed out her chair, and walked away. Draco watched in a stunned silence as she retreated. With a sigh, he threw a couple of galleons down on the table and followed her.

"What did I do?" he asked, running after her, the cold breeze stinging his eyes.

Hermione whirled around when his hand clutched her arm. She wanted to slap him as she had in third year. She wanted to yell at him. Instead she hugged him, her arms tightly wound around his neck. "I can't stand it anymore. I really need you to stop saying that."

Draco sighed, his arms slipping around her waist. "Just because you don't see me that way anymore, doesn't mean your friends have quite figured it out for themselves."