Happy Birthday, AustereS0uls/draxox
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"Oh, I can think of a few reasons I might not be your type," Hermione said. "There's my embarrassing Muggle birth, our long-standing, mutual dislike, our school House rivalry, that we were on different sides of an actual war, you hate my friends, my friends hate you. We can barely manage a single, civil conversation without aggravating one another. I could go on."
Draco lay on his back with his hands folded behind his head and thought of the reason she didn't name: she didn't say anything about his aunt or her suffering in his home.
"I can see why I might not be your type," he said.
"Oh, yes." Her drawl was amused. "Rich, attractive, popular boys are definitely not my type at all. No one likes those."
"I was thinking more about the Death Eater thing," he said, turning his head to look at her. "And if you think I'm popular you might want to reassess that. Again. Death Eater."
"I can see where that might lose a man some friends," Hermione said, "But I don't think you are one. Were one."
Draco almost goggled at her in the darkness. "Did the war do something to your brain?" he asked after a long pause. "You've seemed to be fine but I know trauma can do some weird things to people. I assure you, I'm a Death Eater. Was a Death Eater. Held my arm out. Got Marked. It was not pleasant so the memory is hard to forget, much as I might like to."
She sounded impatient. "Draco, if someone had held me down in your house and burned that thing into my arm would it have made me a Death Eater?"
"I held my arm out. I wasn't forced," he said, desperate to make her understand.
"There are ways of being forced to do something far more insidious than violence," she said softly. "You were young. Your father was in prison. Your family honor, this thing you'd held as so important your whole life, was at risk." He felt her fingers brush against his and then hold on. "You've been an arsehole and a shite for most of the time I've known you," she said, "But you weren't a Death Eater. Not really. Not like the Carrows were. Not like your aunt was."
Draco Malfoy began to get the feeling that arguing with her was not going to get him anywhere and the idea that maybe one person didn't hate him just for the Mark on his arm, didn't think he was really a Death Eater, was seductive enough that he decided to hold onto it. "Still not popular," he said.
"Eh," she said. "Popularity's overrated. I've never had a lot of friends. People find me grating and pushy."
That was so honest Draco laughed and turned onto his side to look at her instead of the sky, not letting go of her hand. She was on her back but her face was turned to him and with his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could almost make out a look of pleased trouble on her face and he wondered again who was this woman who'd drained his fear by listening to him, who'd dragged him outside, and who somehow managed to turn 'you're an arsehole' and 'I'm grating' into flirtation.
He began to understand why an international sports star had taken her to a dance their fourth year.
"Wait," he said. "Did you call me attractive in this conversation?"
"Also a shite," she said.
"But an attractive shite," he said.
"Well," she said. "I'm not blind. And I have been working with you all day, every day. And eating meals with you. You are not unpleasant to look at."
He reached his hand over and brushed his fingers across her face in the dark. "Your gushing praise is going to give me an inflated ego," he said. "Hermione Granger."
When his fingers brushed over her lips she inhaled sharply and pulled away from him. "I think we should go back," she said. "We'll be too tired to work tomorrow."
"Right," he said. She relit the lantern and he stood up, not making eye contact now that the safety of the darkness had been stripped away. "Thank you," he said. "For listening and for bringing me out here. It's been a long time since I looked at the stars. It helped."
She laced the fingers of the hand that wasn't holding the lantern though his and said, "Friends?"
He looked at the woman standing next to him with that hair and that flame glittering in her eyes again and shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. She looked like he'd slapped her until he reached over and ran his thumb over her mouth again.