Chapter Nine;
Draco sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and looking out the window. He was looking at the trees, and thinking about nature, and how it was so beautiful. It was a bit out of character for him to think about such things, but Mother Nature had given the world so many beautiful things, it was strange to think about.
He sighed, and put his mug down, tugging a hand through his hair out of frustration.
Weaslebee was cheating on Hermione. He had seen it on the front page of the Prophet. There was a picture of Weasley kissing some blonde in front of the Eiffel Tower. Why would someone do that to Hermione? Who would sink so low?
He had only noticed the ridiculously gaudy engagement ring on her finger the week before, and he realized that it had to be from Weasel. How could she not be engaged to him? Draco knew about their past. The whole Wizarding world did. It was all over Witch Weekly and WQ and event the Prophet was keeping track of the "Two thirds of the Golden Trio" who were "hopelessly and irrevocably in love with each other." It was bloody ridiculous. But he decided to act like the ring wasn't even there, to save himself from heart break.
Draco knew that he was falling back in love with Granger. But that was never his intention. He had been out of the country for so long, playing it safe and lying low, trying to keep himself as well as the people that he loved safe, and then the break out happened. Hermione was the first one he thought of to go to go help him. He needed someone that he could trust. He needed someone he could go to who he knew would help him. His father was shut up in Azkaban, having embezzled millions of Galleons from the Ministry, and his mother was in a right state of depression.
And it's not like Hermione was cheating on Ron. They hadn't done anything. They had only ever fallen asleep with each other, that was innocent. Nothing was going on between them at all. Even though their feelings for each other were returning without the other's knowledge.
Draco didn't understand how Hermione could stay with someone like Weasel. He wasn't right for her at all. He wasn't her type. He was arrogant, and a show off, and he wasn't intelligent. Hermione needed someone that could challenge her intellectually as well as physically. Not someone who didn't know the difference between water and Verituserum.
He sat back in thought, and took another sip of coffee, searching through his mind to remember when he had first noticed that she wasn't 'just another Mudblood' who wasn't worth his time. He supposed it was after she had punched him in the face, but he wasn't sure. There wasn't an exact, defining moment. It had grown through the years of her being smarter than he.
A Muggle-born being smarter than a Pureblood in magic was unheard of in his house. And that was why he fell for Hermione Jean Granger.
Because the Slytherin prince didn't always want to please his parents.
So, when they were selected as Head Boy and Girl, when they returned their sixth year, he made it his mission to fall in love with her, and for her to fall in love with him. And he succeeded. By the end of the year, they were so in love with each other, that nothing could tear them apart. Not even their friends. Not that their friends knew. It was kept a secret for the most part.
He was wondering how long he could hide his newly stirred feelings for her.
"Draco?" Hermione asked, walking out of their room and rubbing sleep out of her eyes. He had let her sleep late, because she had looked excessively tired recently, and she desperately needed the rest.
He scrambled to hide the newspaper from her, and stood up, holding his arms out for a good morning hug.
"What was in the Prophet that you're trying so desperately to hide from me?" she asked, not paying attention to his outstretched arms and walking to the kitchen table. He slid the paper out of her reach.
"Nothing." He said, a little too quickly. "So, do you want some breakfast? I'm rather good at making cereal –"
" No." she said, cutting him off. "I would like to read the paper, though. Can I see it, please?"
"There was nothing interesting, love. Only the International Quidditch League scores."
"I'd like to see for myself, thank you." She said.
"Don't you have a book?" he asked, picking up the paper and folding it under his arm. He didn't want her to get hurt because of one person's stupidity.
"Draco Abraxas Malfoy you give me that paper right now." she said, her eyes flashing with anger. She didn't like to ask twice.
"But love –"
"Give it. To me. Now."
He sighed. "Don't say I didn't try to warn you."
Hermione took the paper from his hand, and looked at the cover page. Ron was pulling the blonde towards him again, and their lips were locking in an embrace so passionate that no one would be able to doubt they were in love. Hermione's eyes instantly filled with tears, and she ran out of the room, covering up a sob, but just barely doing so.
Draco shook his head. He had tried to protect her, but she ignored him, as per usual.
He decided to stay in the kitchen, and let her be alone for a while. Usually that's what she needed when she was upset, time to think. Time to be by herself, and not worry about showing her emotion around others. He knew the Gryffidor Princess well.
And he was right.
"I never expected this from him." She said, sitting across from Draco. "I thought he would just leave, not cheat."
"Well, you know Weasley. His mind is an enigma only other Weasleys can decode."
She laughed drily. "Probably."
"Cheer up, love." He said. "At least you don't have to worry about feeling guilty for leaving him. He's shacking up with someone new already."
Her eyes filled with tears again.
"Wrong thing to say. What I meant is that, you're both in love with another person. You don't have to feel bad about it now. You can leave him now, and he'll never know that you're in love someone else. You can leave him for cheating on you."
"How do you know that I'm in love with someone else?"
"I don't – I just – I just assumed –"
"And what happens when you assume?" Hermione said with a smile.
"It makes an ass out of you and me." he said, hanging his head. He had lost anything that was letting him dare to hope with that simple sentence.
