8:05 AM
Hermione sighed and tried to roll over, but something, or rather someone stopped her. She groaned, opening her eyes.
Sunlight blinded her vision temporarily, and she yawned before taking in her surroundings.
There was one arm flung over her body, coming to rest on the sheets next to her. The other arm had been slipped through the gap between her head and shoulder.
She squinted, trying to recognise the arms and place herself.
The person-whose identity was still in question, breathed out heavily, ruffling the hair on top of her head. She was a bit fuzzy, and her brain hadn't woken up yet so she tried to think hard to get it going.
It took a while, but she eventually remembered where she was, and with whom.
Draco Malfoy.
So that was the hand's owner.
She smiled softly as she remembered—just, their conversation from last night. The bonus was, in his sleepy state that he had been nice, and even made her giggle.
This was a nice change from all the tension, taunting and insulting that had been going down—between their random kissing sessions that was.
She carefully turned around in his arms, her actions causing her body to become even closer to his as she slipped one arm under her pillow, propping her head up a bit more and placing the other awkwardly in the small space between them. Studying his face, she allowed her eyes to wander over it, taking in his peaceful look and graceful features. Soft eyelashes rested on his high cheekbones, and his pale face was content, his lips parted softly as he steadily breathed.
She frowned, trying to classify what had happened, to put it into a category.
Just days ago, she and Malfoy had still been unfriendly. Even though she, Harry and Ron had saved his and Goyle's lives, flying them from the burning Room of Requirement.
He had changed, though almost imperceptibly. It was as though now that Voldemort was gone he didn't have to prove to everyone that he was a Mudblood hater, and the name had not been uttered in the hallways as they passed each other and exchanged the usual insults.
It hadn't been mentioned in their cosy little stay in the broom closet, but she was pretty sure that the whole experience had brought out the worst, and then the best in them. It was still surprising to her that the insult hadn't passed his lips, and he'd even ceased classifying her as 'Muggleborn'. Maybe, Malfoy was letting his purist upbringing go.
She had seen the nicer, lighter side of Malfoy in the past couple of days. And she liked it.
Confusing was one, very unfitting way of putting it.
It could even be compared to a rollercoaster ride. More like whiplash, though. A shock that had made them collide and then bounce back off each other, still rubbing their heads.
And somehow-she didn't know how, they had ended up in each other's personal spaces. Not once, but thrice.
'Four times, if you count now.' her inner voice reminded her.
And, strangely for her all the times they had, she remembered enjoying it. Though she didn't want to admit it.
She was scared, to put it simply. Scared of the change between her and Malfoy, scared of the emotions it was bringing up. And scared of the fact that he wasn't the same old petulant eleven year old anymore, but instead a slightly caring young man.
Malfoy was a vast unknown. And even though parts of her wanted her to discover those unknown parts of him, she was too scared. Too unsure of herself.
She had just broken up with Ron but a month ago, and it seemed almost too soon to be hurtling head first into something that might not be anything, let alone romantic.
Ron. Sigh. She missed him dearly, but only as a friend. A best friend, a part of her everyday, Hogwarts life.
Their relationship had reduced to struggling attempts to rekindle the moment of romance that had been thrust upon them in the final battle. And it seemed that though they were connected, right now they couldn't bring that spark back.
It also came down to the way they behaved together. When she was busy, or interested by something else, such as a fascinating book he would get slightly grumpy, and jealous. A snarky comment about her book-loving or as he had come to call it, religion, would upset her. Books were a sore spot for her.
Even though she had friends, and a fantastic knowledge of magic, (and everything else) she constantly needed something new to read about, to absorb. And because she hadn't really had friends until the bathroom incident in first year, books had been her lifeline.
Ronald Weasley would never quite get her, or understand where she was coming from. And for that reason, she had given up trying.
To Ron's credit, he had given it everything he had. And she could walk away knowing that their romantic relationship hadn't failed for lack of trying, more for lack of spark. At least, they had been able to return (somewhat awkwardly at first, but slowly) to their former status of best friends.
It also wasn't a good time for them to try and build a relationship, when they were still fixing things themselves. Ron had to deal with the deaths in the family, she had had to go to Australia and begin the process of finding her parents, and all three of them had to not only deal with the grief of close friends dying, but the instant fame that seemed to appear one day. Everywhere she went in public, there were cameras. And of course with fame, came the rumours.
She frowned and sighed softly, picking at a loose thread on the sheets.
"What in Merlin's beard do you think you're doing?" a voice asked, thick with sleep. She jumped, startled out of her thoughts as she brought her eyes up to meet Draco Malfoy's now very open ones.
"I—." she stared at him, shocked, unable to think of a response.
"Well?" he asked, raising a slender eyebrow.
"Well what?" she snapped, irritated already.
"Why are you lying there looking comfortable? Shouldn't you be up or something, instead of lying there invading my personal space?" he asked. Hermione glared at him.
"I have every right to be lying here looking comfortable. You're the one who bloody hogged all the covers and then insisted that we share your personal space!"
"I did not! How dare you accuse me of such a thing."
"Why you lying prat!"
"So are you going to get off my arm now? I've lost all feeling in it." he asked simply. Hermione glared.
"I told you last night you couldn't blame me for this in the morning!"
"Well, I can certainly blame you for a sore arm from holding up heavy covers for however long it took you to make up your mind. And now I can blame you for ruining my perfectly good mood after the first normal sleep this week, and a numb arm from having you lie on it all night." he growled.
"You're insufferable!" Hermione cried, smacking him on the chest.
"You should talk." He growled. Hermione glared, rolling over, out of his embrace and flinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She then stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.
8:15 AM
Hermione fumed as she turned on the shower. How dare he!
He was being a right insufferable git! Blaming her.
Just because he showed her a tiny spot of niceness didn't mean he could rip her head off in the morning.
She growled, stepping into the stream of hot water that was pouring from the shower and closed her eyes, calming herself down by thinking of Ron and Harry, and books, and bouncing ferrets...
After she pulled herself from the hurricane thoughts circling her brain, she stepped from the shower, took a towel from the rack dried herself and turned to find her clothes sitting by the door, and silently (again) thanked the room.
She then dressed and emerged, sending a glare at the back of Draco's head as he sat on the couch reading. She went over to the table, getting two leftover crossaints from yesterday and sitting down, ignoring him.
Shortly afterward, she felt him walk past and heard the bathroom door shut. The sound of the shower turning on soon followed, and she stopped glaring and focused on not cutting up her breakfast into crumbs.
Ten minutes later, the bathroom door opened and he emerged, fully dressed and towl drying his hair with a smirk.
"Ready to go, Granger?" he asked, casually leaning against the door.
"What, where?" she asked, dumbfounded, forgetting her anger.
He clicked his tongue.
"For the smartest witch in Hogwarts, you sure can be slow. Home, Granger. Where else? The Quidditch World Cup?"
"You figured out a way?" she raised her eyebrows to study him.
"Yeah, I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier. It won't take long to do, or be difficult either. So let's go."
"What, as in now?" she asked, wide eyed. "I haven't even got my trunk!"
He chuckled.
"I know, and neither have I. I hope you're good at disillusionment charms, Granger, because we're going to go get our stuff."
"Of course I am!" she huffed, pulling out her wand as he put down the towel.
"And don't even think about jinxing me." he warned. She smiled innocently.
"Wouldn't dream of it." she replied, before murmuring the spell and doing the correct wand movements.
He disappeared almost instantly, the only clue to his whereabouts a shimmering blur of an outline. She smiled, proud of her own spell casting skills and cast it over herself, feeling the cool feeling of the spell taking hold.
"Granger?" he called from across the room. She stayed silent, weighing up the pros and cons of getting revenge on him. However she decided against it, for now.
"I can just barely make you out." he said, looking in her direction as she moved. She went up to him and tapped him on the shoulder, realising as body contact was made that she could see him as if there was no spell. However, when she pulled her arm back he disappeared again.
He spun around slowly at the tap on his shoulder.
"Where are you?" he asked softly.
"Here." she said brightly.
"I still can't see you very well." he admitted. She smiled.
"I know, that's the point," she huffed "But, you can if I—" she put her hand on his arm "Do this." she finished, smiling.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Impressive." he commented.
"I think it's a good idea if we stay in contact while we're wandering the deserted halls. Perhaps, holding hands?" she suggested.
"No way am I holding hands with you Granger. You might eat it or something." he grumbled, scowling.
"How else?" she glared at him. He glared back.
"Fine. Have it your way, you stubborn witch." he growled, holding out his hand for her. As Hermione took his hand, she couldn't understand why she was worrying about how her hand felt; was it sweaty? Or too dry?
"Can we leave before Christmas?" Draco asked, interrupting her thoughts.
"Let's go then! Where first? I hadn't moved my trunk out of my room yet."
"Me neither. Gryffin-dork common rooms coming up! Hope I don't catch dumb." Draco chimed, pulling her out the door and allowing her to guide him towards the Fat Lady's portrait.