Author's Notes: Time for some romantic payoff. An end to dithering! Or, at least, to dithering on this particular issue...
Yes, this is a week early because I am on holiday from the 12th-20th August, and I preferred to publish this chapter early rather than late. Chapter 10 will be posted two weeks from now, on 22nd August.
9. Can't Hold Out Forever
Hermione found that she had surprisingly little time to herself over the weeks that followed. In her own reality – or the world of her memories – she had always spent quite a bit of her time alone, despite her close friendship with Harry and Ron. Now, though... now it seemed like she always had something to do and someone to do it with. If she wasn't in a lesson, she was studying or writing an essay or just relaxing in the common room with Lavender, Neville and Draco. It was wonderful to finally feel like she belonged somewhere, but the constant presence of her friends did make it hard to look into possible solutions for her predicament.
Not that she had any great hope of finding anything in the Hogwarts Library. There was already an Unspeakable on the case, after all, and even he had yet to make any major breakthroughs, despite the reams of interesting information he had found deep in the hidden archives of the Department of Mysteries. It was very unlikely that she would be able to find an answer before Sirius did, she knew that, but her pride demanded that she at least try to do her own research. Doing nothing would be too much like giving up. And one thing anyone who knew her at all could say was that Hermione Granger never gave up, no matter how difficult the problem might be.
More than anything, she refused to give up simply because she was so very tempted to do so.
It was so tempting to pretend that this was normal, to allow herself to be a part of this world, to embrace the friends she had found here. Even though she missed Harry and Ron more than she would ever have imagined – an ache like someone had torn her heart out of her chest – she knew that there were people she'd miss here if – no, when she went back. That wouldn't stop her from leaving if the opportunity ever presented itself, but it would make things more difficult. Knowing that she couldn't have everything, that she would lose what she'd gained here if she did manage to find a way home... it was an unpleasant thought and she preferred not to dwell on it.
Fortunately – or not – there were so many available distractions that she didn't have to. Chief among these was the impending Triwizard Tournament, which was causing just as much of a stir as she remembered from her fourth year. She would have called it déjà vu, if not for the fact that she knew that she actually had seen all of this before. The people considering entering the Tournament were different, as this was two years later, but the reactions were practically the same. She felt like she'd heard most of the conversations before, and on several occasions only just managed to avoid revealing her knowledge of the Goblet of Fire.
It was all very strange, and even though she'd made peace with the differences between this world and her own, the Tournament continued to bother her. A big event like that, a significant event, one that should have happened already but hadn't – it was enough to give her a headache. She hadn't enjoyed her fourth year all that much, and the Tournament had been at least partly responsible. Well, that and Ron's inability to fathom that other people didn't always think and feel the way that he would have, had he been put in the same position. The idea of Harry putting himself forward for more attention had seemed thoroughly ridiculous to her, whatever Ron thought, but being caught in the middle of that stupid argument had worn her down. Of course, it had probably been worse for Harry.
That thought made her wonder if he would be mysteriously chosen again. After all, Voldemort had to be aware of how he had died – or been defeated– even if no one else was, so he would probably want Harry's blood for his rebirth just as he had in her own world. And the Tournament was late. The only way she could account for that was if it had only ever happened as a result of that plot, which must have taken two more years to develop here. She didn't know why that was – perhaps it was connected to the uncertainty surrounding Voldemort's disappearance here – but then again, perhaps the timing didn't really matter. Not when they were facing what might well be the start of the second rise of a great and terrible Dark Lord.
Whatever the truth behind it, she had to decide what she was going to do. Harry was still insistent that she should enter the Tournament, though she wasn't really sure why it mattered so much to him. Perhaps he wanted to prove some point about the worthiness of Muggle-borns to the delightful Slytherin bigots. Which... well, while she didn't exactly like the idea of being used, she did like the idea of showing up the pure-blood fanatics. Or maybe he thought that he could make up for years of secrecy by openly cheering her on now. Whatever the reason, he wanted her to do it, and she was seriously considering it. She was conscious of a thirst to prove herself, alone rather than as one of Harry Potter's friends – and, besides, she did want the chance to examine the Goblet of Fire, and entering her name would give her a prime opportunity.
As the day approached when the candidates from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would arrive, Hermione found that she was oddly sorry that Viktor would not be among them this time. He'd been a good friend to her during that turbulent year, a refuge from the insanity of Harry's life and the confusion of her new feelings for Ron. Their romantic relationship would never have lasted even without the distance and complications, she knew that now, but if she had kept up her correspondence with him, they could have remained friends. She would have liked that. And in this world she would never even have the chance to meet him.
If – no, when – I get back, I'll write to him.
His presence might have proved to be a complication, of course, since Viktor had been the first boy she'd ever kissed – and, even if this version of him didn't know that, she could hardly have forgotten. She had more than enough to worry about on that front without her ex-boyfriend from a parallel dimension showing up for the year. Not that she had an actual relationship to be threatened by it. Despite what Professor Snape had said about the uncertainty of everyone's future, she had as yet made no move to act on her feelings. The thought of doing so worried her, triggered her deep fears of doing something both wrong and highly irresponsible. And she had no idea what could have motivated Snape to give her such – or any – advice about her personal life; it was strangely at odds with his usual professionalism, almost suspiciously so.
Still, Hermione was honest enough to admit, at least to herself, that the main reason that there was nothing between her and Draco was because he hadn't asked her. She might be convinced that it would be a really bad idea to get involved with him, but she was still a teenage girl, and part of her was wondering what on earth was taking him so long. It was stupid; she ought to have been relieved that his restraint was saving her from a difficult decision, but instead she felt almost offended by it.
The heart wants what it wants, her mother had told her once. It seemed like singularly unhelpful advice, especially coming from her very practical mother, and in a fit of sarcasm Hermione had added a rider: and it usually wants the worst thing possible. Perhaps she was just unlucky, but this had always seemed to be the case for her. A boy from another country. Her indifferent and emotionally stunted best friend. And now a boy from a parallel dimension – or whatever this was. If she carried on like this, next time she'd fall for a Death Eater or a serial killer or something of that kind.
She sighed, nearly going so far as to roll her eyes at herself. She was being ridiculous, and she knew it. There were so many more important things that she ought to be worrying about. This should not be a priority at all. And yet she couldn't help thinking about him, tugging at the already pulled thread and wasting valuable time. She hated herself for her weakness, her lack of resolve, the sheer stereotypical girliness of it all. Lavender – the other Lavender, the one who was not her friend – would think like this, she was sure, but such thoughts did not belong in her head. They just didn't.
"Hermione?" Of course it was Draco. She looked up and tried to smile. None of this was his fault, after all. "Are you alright? You went all quiet and you've just been, I don't know, staring into space, really."
"Oh, right." She shook her head and sat up a bit straighter, trying to hide how uncomfortable she felt. "I was just thinking, I suppose."
Draco smiled just a little wickedly. "So I assumed. Knut for your thoughts?"
Hermione tossed her curly hair back, affecting a disdainful expression. "My thoughts are worth at least a Sickle." She was probably more surprised by the joke than anyone else. Draco only laughed, then pulled a silver coin out of his pocket and spun it on the surface of the small table between them. "You actually got one," she said, looking at it, her voice betraying how badly she wanted to laugh. "I was just thinking about the Tournament. Ha – I mean, someone said that I really ought to enter, and I was... wondering what I should do." It was a good excuse, and in any case it was partly true.
"Hm." Draco frowned thoughtfully; at least he was taking it seriously. "If you want to do it then you definitely should. You'd be a great Champion."
"I probably wouldn't be chosen," Hermione said, trying unsuccessfully to picture herself as a Champion of anything.
"Well, then you have nothing to lose by putting your name forward, right?" Damn Draco for being so logical, and for highlighting how irrational her own thoughts on the subject were.
"I suppose not." She sighed. "It's just that... well, not entering and thinking that you wouldn't have been chosen anyway is kind of different from actually not being chosen. Does that make sense?"
Draco nodded. "Of course it does." He shifted slightly in his chair. "It's like how actual rejection hurts more than thinking you probably don't have a chance. So you don't ask even though you might end up happier if you did. That sort of thing. Right?"
"I hadn't thought of it that way, but yes, now you mention it I guess it's similar." His choice of analogy was rather telling, she thought, and it gave some sort of answer for the question of why he hadn't said anything to her yet. Though why he thought he might be rejected was a mystery to her – surely he'd noticed that she teased him more than anyone else? And that he was the only person who could incite her to make an innuendo? He was so confident and self-assured in most things that this apparent insecurity puzzled her. Although it was working in her favour, wasn't it? Or so she would have thought, but then she heard herself say, "Alright, then, let's make a deal: if you ask your question, I'll put my name in for the Tournament."
Draco looked startled. "I – what? It was hypothetical, an analogy–"
He was cut off by Lavender laughing at him. They had both nearly forgotten that there were other people around, absorbed as they were in their very interesting discussion, but now they were forcibly reminded of that fact. "You already know that she's at least twice as intelligent as you are, Draco, so I don't see how you think you can fool her. I'd recommend just doing what she says; that's usually the best thing to do."
By this point, Draco's cheeks had gone remarkably pink, and from the heat of her own face Hermione assumed that she looked rather similar. "I'm certainly not going to follow her advice with an audience," he said, with a pointed glare at Lavender. His mock-disapproving gaze then swept around to take in Neville, Seamus and Parvati, who were also sitting at their table, not even trying to disguise the fact that they were listening eagerly.
"Spoilsport," Parvati scoffed, but the glint in her eyes gave the lie to any appearance of disappointment.
"Though it breaks my heart to deny any pleasure of yours, Parvati, I like to at least pretend that my private life is private." Draco waited for the derisive snorts to finish before he continued. "And yes, I know that nothing is private in a boarding school. Let a man dream, can't you?"
Hermione had noticed that he was carefully avoiding looking at her throughout this little drama. If only everyone else had done the same! But no; they were all determined to stare at her, it seemed, which was almost more awkward than the conversation itself. Suddenly desperate to be anywhere other than her usually comfortable common room, she drew a book out of her bag and stood up, clutching it to her chest.
"I just remembered that I need to return this book. Madam Pince will kill me if it's overdue." While this was probably not literally true, the librarian did take lending books very seriously. An overdue loan was likely to result in ruptured eardrums.
She made to leave, and it was at this point that Draco stood up as well. "I'll come with you; it's far too immature in here for my liking."
This drew a roar of laughter. "Oh aye, and I'm sure that's your only reason," Seamus called out, but Draco rolled his eyes and pointedly ignored the attempt at smart commentary.
Hermione turned to look at Lavender, who smiled warmly at her. Obviously she approved – though, equally obviously, that was not going to get her out of being teased mercilessly. "If you want to come, I don't mind." A round of childish giggling this time. "Yes, very funny." She tried to scowl and glare, but a faint snort escaped her instead, and she knew that she had to leave before she lost her dignity. With one last dismissive head toss, she crossed the room to the portrait hole, still holding the book tightly.
Once they were in the corridor, Draco said, "That wasn't very subtle."
Hermione shrugged. "I wasn't really trying to be subtle."
"Ah." Draco ran his hand through his own hair in a rather self-conscious gesture. "So, uh... Hermione..."
She hated to interrupt him, especially now, but it had to be done. "Draco, I was telling the truth about the book. If you do want to talk – especially if it's likely to be a long talk – it might be better to wait until after I've dropped it off at the library. It is rather heavy, you know." This was true; in fact, she was beginning to regret having taken it out of her bag.
Draco stared blankly at the book. "Oh. Right." He pulled at the collar of his robes, looking intensely uncomfortable.
Her smile was more of a smirk than anything else. "You're nervous."
"You're making me nervous," he snapped back, then looked away as if he hadn't meant to say that, as if he didn't quite dare meet her eyes. It was strange, as he'd never seemed all that awkward around her before – and surely he couldn't have any doubts about the answer he was going to get? Hermione's earlier words were completely true; she hadn't been subtle at all, not even at the beginning. He had to know how she felt. Didn't he?
"Am I? I never did before." The attempt at playfulness only seemed to make him more flustered.
"I know, it's just... just..." He shook his head. "Let's take your book back."
The library was almost empty when they arrived, only fifteen minutes before it closed. Madam Pince sniffed over the returned book and made a muttered comment about "cutting it a bit fine", but Hermione ignored her. Over the years, she had heard more or less every rant and lecture in Madam Pince's arsenal, many of them more than once. And besides, it was hard to care about an almost-late book – which was not at all the same thing as a late book – when she had something far more interesting to think about. Namely, whether Draco would explode from embarrassment before he could ask her the question she suspected that he wanted to ask.
She didn't have long to wait. As soon as Madam Pince had wound down her talk about the importance of punctuality, they left the library with a shared sigh of relief. The corridor outside was as deserted as anywhere in Hogwarts ever was, silent but for the whispering of the portraits and the quiet hum of student chatter filtering in from the rest of the school. It was the closest they were going to get privacy, short of ducking into a broom cupboard, which Hermione absolutely refused even to consider.
"So, that's the book dealt with," she said, a questioning note in her voice.
"Right." Draco swallowed audibly, and Hermione was about to tell him how silly he was being when the words tumbled out of him. "You've been... different, ever since we came back from the summer holiday."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat, then made up for it by thudding heavily in her ears. "Wh – what?" Of all the things she'd expected him to say, that hadn't even been on the list.
He scowled, though he seemed more annoyed with himself than with her. "God, I'm terrible at this. I mean, you're still you, obviously, but it feels like something's changed. I don't know what, exactly, but I... no. There's no way to finish that sentence without offending you, is there? All I wanted to say is that I hadn't really looked at you before, you know? Not properly. Or... maybe I had, but I hadn't really thought about you. Not in that way. But now it's like... like you're all I can think about. Well, I mean, not literally, of course. Sod it all, that's such a cliché–"
"Draco." Relief and elation coursed through her body, warming her blood.
"Yes?"
"Shut up."
Before Draco had time to do any more than look puzzled and slightly hurt, Hermione moved closer to him and reached up to touch his face. He let out a long, shaky breath and looked down at her, eyes full of wonder and disbelief – and she took the opportunity to slide her other hand up to the back of his head and gently guide his lips to meet hers.
She could feel his surprise at the action, but he was definitely willing to go along with it. Somehow his arms were around her, and the hand that she had rested on his flushed cheek was now on his hip. The kiss deepened. His teeth grazed her lip, his tongue brushed against hers and sent a shiver through her body. She pressed against him, and his arms tightened around her, pulling her closer. Hermione was fairly sure that she wasn't getting enough air, but it didn't seem to matter. Breathing was overrated. His lips were fierce and demanding on hers, their bodies were melded together, and she could think of nothing else but what was happening and how it made her feel. It was beautiful, glorious, and she suddenly understood exactly why on her rounds as a Prefect she was always catching couples doing exactly the same thing.
When they finally surfaced for air, Hermione asked, a little smugly: "Was that what you were trying to say?"
Draco laughed rather shakily. "Yeah. Pretty much that, exactly." He was still looking at her with wide eyes, as though he was afraid that she might disappear if he blinked. "Trust you to know when to use a practical demonstration instead of words."
Hermione snorted. "I'm not really any better at talking about my feelings than you are." She gave a soft, rather knowing smile. "And anyway, sometimes a demonstration is more fun."
"That is a very good point," he said, before leaning forward in an obvious attempt to draw her into a repeat performance. With great reluctance, Hermione forced herself to put a hand on his chest and take a slight step back.
"I... Well, we can't have two Prefects caught kissing in a corridor, can we?" It sounded stupid even to her own ears.
Draco rolled his eyes at this, but his face relaxed from a frown into a rueful smile. "Yep, definitely still the same Hermione." He stepped back – and although this was what she'd wanted him to do, she still felt an irrational stab of disappointment. Then he grinned, a sudden, devilish, almost hungry grin that made her breath catch in her throat. "So... should we find some place that isn't a corridor, then?"
She didn't even have to think twice.
When they did finally return to the common room – a few minutes before curfew, once again staying just the right side of the rules – they were treated to a circle of near-identical smirks and raised eyebrows. Lavender made a clicking noise with her tongue and, in a patently insincere voice, said, "Well, returning that book took an awfully long time, didn't it?"
"We both know you're not stupid, Lavender." They were not words she would ever have imagined saying only six weeks ago, but now they seemed all too natural. "It was never really about the book."
Lavender smirked. "Oh, wasn't it? You do surprise me, Hermione." She stretched out her limbs in a rather exaggerated fashion. "I am so tired all of a sudden. Perhaps we should go up to our dorm room?" There was a gleam in her eyes that told Hermione exactly what her friend meant by that. Somehow she doubted that it would be all that restful for her. In this world or any other, Lavender was still an incorrigible gossip.
"I should probably finish this History essay before I even think about going to bed," she said, trying to sound as apologetic as possible. At least this Lavender understood that schoolwork had to come first.
True to form, she offered, "I could help you with it, if you want. I've already done mine." There was a very faint trace of smugness in her voice; it was rare for her to be more organised than Hermione in anything.
Hermione reached into her bag, which was exactly where she'd left it, and pulled out a tightly wound scroll of parchment. "It's mostly done, but it'd be good to get a second opinion on a couple of passages." She began to unroll the essay, and then looked up at her friend. "Thanks, Lavender. I'll try to get it done quickly so you get a chance to interrogate me before you fall asleep."
"Interrogate?" Lavender's eyes were wide with mock-innocence. "I would never."
"Of course not."
Lavender then rather spoiled the effect by grinning. "Oh, I'm sure you want to tell me all about it anyway." She opened her History of Magic textbook to a heavily annotated page. "Anyway, here – I found this section really useful."
At this point, Seamus laughed and reached over to thump Draco on the back. "Let's leave these two to be boring," he said, winking at the girls in an attempt to take the sting out of the insult. "And you can tell me all about it."
Draco snorted but allowed himself to be led away from the table. As the two boys left, Hermione heard him say, in a mock-refined tone, "Now, Seamus, you know a gentleman should never kiss and tell." She wanted to groan out loud at the knowing look on Lavender's face; she was definitely in for a grilling now. Draco could be very annoying when he wanted to be.
And that thought reminded her that, according to the deal she'd made earlier, she now had to enter the Triwizard Tournament. Harry would be pleased. She wasn't sure whether she was pleased, though. Still, it was only a matter of putting her name into the magical Goblet. And she probably wouldn't be chosen anyway. So, really, what was there to worry about?
