Hermione
She squashed the impulse to double-check his work. It didn't matter. It was done. It wasn't quite midnight, and suddenly, the enormous pile was down to a few formal offers from various institutions, and as he'd pointed out, they wouldn't re-open until mid-January anyway, so there was no rush to reply.
It was done.
He was addressing the final envelope. That blocky, familiar print, almost childish in its plainness...
So tall. Bent over the table, like a broken umbrella, or a collapsible camp chair; long limbs folded at odd, languid angles...
He had an awkward, lanky grace... like he still hadn't adjusted to his own height... and that constant movement, always jogging a foot, or fidgeting with something, rocking back on one leg of his chair, or tossing something up and catching it over and over again...
Backyard quidditch had improved drastically as a spectator sport.
He'd settled into the idea that he was ok at it, and a lifetime of flying, obsessing over the Cannons, and trawling through Quidditch Today had somehow jumped to the fore; all that anxiety stripped away, and now he looked like he belonged on a broom. Like, in the air, he could occupy as much space as he needed- there was nothing to bump his head on or trip over... those long limbs just unfolded and he had this casual way of flying, like he was just sort of draped lazily over the broom... Harry and Ginny zipped around, speedy and light, and Ron would just reach out and pinch the quaffle... he had wingspan...
The idea of being wrapped up in him, and just closing her eyes... just... letting go and letting that warm, slightly punch-drunk feeling wash over her...
He was rubbing the back of his neck, a habitual gesture that made her wonder if ducking to fit through doorways had neck-crick consequences... and she was staring again...
Argh, he was so... Ron. Insecure, fiercely protective, unthinkingly callous and flippantly kind the rest of the time... charismatic and completely unaware of it, strategic, even with homework... and with that intriguing double quality to his personality; vibrant and extroverted, but if you found him alone, in the moment before that lopsided grin flashed, there was that intense, serious expression... distant and deep... eyes you could drown in...
She rubbed her face with her hands to hide the fact that she'd been staring, but he'd finished stacking the letters and the blush was chasing its way from his neck and ears to his face...
... eyes you could drown in...
It was too much.
Confronted with the possibility of something actually happening, she felt a bolt of anxiety and beat a hasty retreat, seizing on the first thing she thought of when her eyes dropped back to his long fingers fidgeting with a bit of the old quill she'd pulled out of her hair earlier...
"Your scars have gone,"
"Huh?"
Bad choice. She didn't want to have to say it. The little pale lines, scattered like confetti across his hands, the little marks that were a constant reminder of how betrayed she'd felt, and how, how, vengeful... they were gone.
"The... the birds. I- sorry. I don't know what I was- Sorry."
"Oh," He folded his hands over each other, almost like he was embarrassed she'd noticed. "Yeah... I um..." He scratched his ear and and a look of resolve crossed his lobster-red face. "You were so mad... I... um... I kept them as a reminder not to piss you off like that again..."
What?
He looked really uncomfortable now.
"I wasn't sure what I'd done wrong..."
She knew her eyebrows were up near her hairline.
"...but I guess... it makes sense if you... I dunno- fanciedmebackthen..."
Her face felt hot. Great.
She couldn't look at him at all now. She picked up the beaded bag and started stuffing the textbooks back into it, trying not to re-live the awful visions of Lavender astride him in the common room, bangles clinking as she ran her painted nails through is hair and stuck her tongue down his throat... eurgh!
"You look mad,"
She snapped the beaded bag shut.
"Well, you didn't have to choose the living embodiment of a nineteen-fifties pin-up girl, did you? I mean, she's all- hair and cleavage!"
He looked comically startled for a moment, and then that lopsided grin resurfaced.
"You're really shrill when you're jealous,"
"I am not- argh! Ron, I'm really tired, please don't-"
"Ok, ok, ok," he held his hands up in defeat, "Quick topic change: I've been... meaning to ask. These brain scars, on my arms... you don't think they might be... um... magical, or... whatever?"
"How do you mean?"
He shrugged, back to uncomfortable again, tapping the edge of an envelope on the table and rotating it between taps.
"I just... dunno. With Draco... that whole legilimency-occlumency thing... took Harry ages, and I thought... I haven't tried it since then... but it was... not easy, but like. I could do it."
She sighed. Typical that he would look for some external reason for being good at something.
"I think if the scars had any kind of power you would have noticed before now- and Madam Pomfrey would have warned you if she thought there was anything to be concerned about... but I can look into it if you like-"
"No, no, don't go all... research project about it, I just... wondered... if you'd come across anything,"
"Oh. No." She paused, too tired to want to go into it now, but too curious not to mention it, "Will you... tell me about it? Not now, but some day?"
"Eh?"
She couldn't help but smile. He hadn't even noticed.
"I know you don't want to talk about it- you weasel out of it every time it comes up, and that's ok, but... you just called him 'Draco', so... I'm curious..."
He ruffled up his hair, pulling a face.
"I dunno what the etiquette is about mind reading..." He gave a reluctant grin as her eyebrows shot up and he realised what he was saying, "Yeah, ok. Look, short version is, he's really good at Legilimency, so I didn't see anything really personal, except maybe the bit with his imaginary friend... I saw a bunch of memories from when he was a kid, and at Hogwarts, and when-" He cut himself off, a sombre expression taking hold.
"When what?"
He just looked at her for a moment.
"The manor. Look, I still think he's a slimy, two-faced piece of shit, but..."
She waited.
He sighed and it was like he let go of something. He visibly deflated.
"I think... if he'd had a way to stop her without endangering himself or his mum... I think he would've. I always kind of thought he got off on being evil... but... I dunno. Seems like maybe he just... likes feeling powerful... and was... trying to be like his Death Eater dad... I dunno. He's not a good person..."
Darkness chased behind his eyes. That brooding look.
"I did something," he said, "When he busted in the second time... I, um..." he ruffled his hair again, "I maybe shouldn't've... argh, whatever, it's done now."
He was playing with the handle of her half-empty mug of tea.
"You don't have to tell me,"
He scrubbed at his hair again.
"Nah, I should though."
He paused again. Gathering words, she thought.
"So... That's how they survived, him and his mum, minds like steel traps. Everything compartmentalised and separate. What I saw... they were real memories, but it was like... almost like he'd prepared a file in advance. Like he was showing me real stuff to distract from the fact that there was stuff he didn't want me to see. So... I kind of... copied him?"
Taking tips from Malfoy. Unprecedented.
"So... you showed him...?"
He shrugged.
"Nothing much. I mean... I guess to me, it's just normal stuff. You know, like... hanging out with you and Harry and playing exploding snap; mum fussing when I was sick; dad tucking me in and reading me a bedtime story when I was little; Bill putting me up on his shoulders so I could see at a quidditch match... you know, just... general stuff... and it... snowballed a bit... I showed him Luna's bedroom ceiling by accident, and Dobby with his collection of socks, and when me and the twins busted Harry out of the Dursleys'... and I dunno why, but I showed him a bit of Snape's memory... watching that with you, the bit when you grabbed my arm... I don't think he knew about Lily... That's when he got out of my head and tried to jump Harry..."
"Oh,"
He shook himself, casting out metaphorical demons- or at least, Draco Malfoy.
"Right. Tooth mints, and sleep."
"Does it bother you that he's seen those things?"
His gaze was steady now, no blush, just serious.
"No. Not those things." His eyes were so blue... "It's more that... I know he didn't have that."
She nodded slowly. He was making allowances for Draco Malfoy.
He shrugged.
"He still cowardly sycophantic arsehole,"
But it wasn't chewing him up so much now. Whatever questions the mad grief had thrown at him, he'd clearly found, if not the answers, at least a comfortable arrangement with them...
She wasn't ready to leave him, have him... somewhere else. But she was so tired... she smothered a yawn.
"Take Ginny's bed."
"Eh?"
"She's in yours. It's only fair you take hers."
His mouth twisted with indecision.
"Nah... don't want to keep you up with my snoring..."
"I miss your snoring,"
Whoops. Did not mean to say that...
He was pink again.
Argh.
She couldn't look at him. Again.
"Ok."
Oh god.
It's not the snoring that will keep me up, it's the possibilities...