Chapter 12: Yes

He didn't, though. Stop thinking about it, that is.

Sometimes, the thing a person wanted most was right in front of his face. Other times, it was far away, hiding from its feelings and deliberately avoiding him. Hermione Granger was being the second kind.

Of course, this was less relevant when it was taken into account that Hermione was not a "thing"; instead, she was a free-willed human being who could make her own decisions. On the other hand, another great thing about human beings was that they could change their minds.

Will had owled Draco the day after his mission with Hermione to set up their plans, which were for that night, so he had something to look forward to. Unfortunately, he had to deal with Bianca pouncing on him again, as soon as he walked in the door at work.

"I talked to Hermione the other night," she said.

"Really? Hm," said Draco, pretending not to care.

"She told me you asked her out." The joy in her smile was about proportional to the depth of his scowl.

"I guess I can see why she might think that," he said, picking at one of his nails. He was the poster boy for apathy.

"Because you did?"

"I can almost understand how it would seem that way," he said, but she ignored him this time.

"Is that what you've been doing in the back room?" She narrowed her eyes. "There has to be another place you could snog."

"No. We haven't been snogging at all, anywhere."

"Well, when you do, make sure you don't do it here. Unless she won't let you snog her anywhere else, in which case do what you have to do," she said. Apparently, Bianca was really committed to this matchmaking thing.

"Look, I guess you didn't hear the whole story or something, but she's turned me down," he said. It felt uncomfortable to reveal that sort of emotional, embarrassing fact, so he added: "She mistakenly believed that I was asking her out, but I thought we had cleared up that little misunderstanding."

He could tell she didn't believe him, and he wondered when he'd become such a terrible liar. Once upon a time, he had been able to spread tales that swept the whole school and sometimes even landed in the Prophet. Maybe it didn't work anymore because he was spending his time with people like Hermione these days: she'd never believed a word he said, whether it was true or not.

"You know, when she told me what happened, I had to spend ten minutes convincing her you were serious, and this is exactly why. She wouldn't admit it, but I think that's why she turned you down – she thought it was all a big joke or a spur-of-the-moment whim or something. Why don't you try saying what you're really feeling for once? Go on, practice it now. Tell me about feeling that you have."

Draco was having none of this. If she wanted a feeling, he would give her one, and she would regret asking. "I feel extremely annoyed that you think this is any of your business," he said, all stone and sharp edges, but for some reason it pleased her.

"See, that's perfectly normal. Mum and Will and I are all nosing into your personal life, completely uninvited. I'm sorry that it's annoying for you," she said. She offered no indication that any of them planned to stop, though. "Give me another one."

He decided to find out what she thought of his least popular opinion. "I feel that Harry Potter is a self-obsessed one-man pity party with a martyrdom complex."

She was unfazed. "Plenty of people who've done great things throughout history have been pricks. I don't know if Harry Potter is, since I've only met him a few times, but he might be," she said. "Say another."

"I think your husband talks too much," he said, louder this time. It was true, and he thought insulting her loved ones might get her off this.

"Did you think I hadn't noticed? Keep going!" Social interaction would be so much easier if people would just do what Draco thought they were going to do.

"I don't understand how you and Maggie can be so nice all the time, or why I can't do it, or why everyone keeps underestimating me! You know, I always deserved my position on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and it really hurt that time that hippogriff broke my arm!" He didn't really know what he was saying anymore, but he kept going. "I never wanted to do anything in the War, and I don't like my father, and I'm jealous of people with really easy, uncomplicated lives! Sometimes I wish something bad would happen to them, just so they'd know what it was like," he finished, breathing heavily. "See why I don't say this stuff?"

Bianca placed a hand over her mouth, like she was about to get all emotional. To his extreme shock, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him without warning. He tried to get away, and after a couple seconds she pulled back. "Don't you think you'd feel better if you told people things like this more often?"

"No," he said. Maybe it was liberating, but only in the same way that jumping off a cliff would liberate him from gravity.

"Now, tell me how you feel about Hermione."

He stalled for a minute, avoiding eye contact, but he'd already told her so much that one more wouldn't really make a difference. "I think she should go out with me," he said.

"I think so, too," Bianca agreed. "She will, but she didn't even know you fancied her until now. You're going to have to really show her you mean business about this. Don't sing her a song in front of everyone, though. I don't think she'd like that," she advised.

"You did," he pointed out, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, Will said he told you that story; it's one of his favourites. I'll tell you my version, and trust me – it wasn't the song. Will was sort of a ladies' man at the time, and there was no way I was going to be his next two-week fling, because I really liked him a lot. When he put on that outrageous show, I knew he'd never done something like that for anyone else, so that's what convinced me that he was serious." Well, as a person who didn't do things for other people as a rule, it wouldn't be difficult for Draco to do something for Hermione that he'd never done for another woman, if he theoretically wanted to continue down this stupid road. "But Will only did that because he'd watched too many Muggle movies. You don't have to manufacture some kind of over-the-top romantic gesture to prove you're worth the risk. Be honest and natural. No flowers, no sweets, and no spelling her name in the sky."

"What am I supposed to do, then?" he asked.

"If you're trying to think of something special, you're already doing it wrong. Just keep spending time with her, and do what feels right, and she'll see. You'll get a fine opportunity tonight – Will thought this would be better as a surprise, but Hermione and I are going to the pub with you. Don't tell him I told you. He always forgets that hardly anybody likes surprises as much as he does."

She rolled her eyes again and left the shop, and he stared out the window and thought about the night ahead. If it was so obvious to everybody else, he didn't know why Hermione had been so shocked to hear that he fancied her – especially after he'd already asked her out, something which most women saw as a pretty unmistakable sign of interest. He would really have to do a lot better to make up for all those things he'd said to her in the past. For example, she might have been under the impression that he still thought she had frizzy hair and oversized teeth and dressed like a nun, when really only two out of three were the case. In fact, she didn't dress poorly most of the time, now that he thought about it: those were just her work robes. Her hair was absolutely still frizzy, but that didn't make it ugly. There was just a whole lot of it.

Anyway, he'd worry about it later.

At closing time, Will came round again to collect him. On the way to the Leaky Cauldron, it seemed his conscience had gained the upper hand.

"I have to come clean with you, mate. Jane's going to be there tonight," he said.

"I know. Your wife told me."

"What? It was supposed to be a surprise," he said, which was a more than a little hypocritical. "Anyway, you know now. Bee thinks you should be yourself, and I think you should be a dashing yet pleasantly sensitive sex god, so maybe aim for somewhere in between." That was terrible advice, so Draco decided to ignore it.

When they got to the pub, the same group from Phoenix Day was already sitting around a table with two empty chairs. One seat was next to Hermione, and the other was next to Bianca, and Will practically shoved Draco into the former. They were met with a chorus of greetings, and the waitress stopped by and took the new drink orders.

"So, Draco," Bianca began, "someone was telling me you're good at Quidditch. Do you still play?" That was the sort of thing Blaise would have said on his behalf as wingman, so he knew what she was playing at.

"I don't play as much as I used to, but I did pretty well," he said. The rest of the group offered their experiences with the game as they continued to drink, and the conversation shifted to professional Quidditch. He noticed that Hermione was uncharacteristically quiet as the talk dragged on, and he could tell from her face that she wasn't a big sports fan. It was an opportunity if Draco had ever seen one.

"All right, I think we're boring Granger to tears," he said. "Everyone already knows the Chudley Cannons are the worst team to ever insult the sport, so no point reiterating it."

Hermione gave him that baffled look again, and he raised his eyebrows. She looked away, but that didn't she wasn't thinking about him.

"Drake's got a point," Will said. "There's something I wanted to bring up with you all anyway. People haven't been buying Muggle music as much lately, and my column's been cut to once a month. Now, don't worry – I have a plan, but I still have to talk to some people about it and work out the bugs. For now, if you've got some extra cash, go to the Basement and get some new CDs, so Don doesn't get discouraged. Especially you, Drake: tell all your other friends to buy music."

Draco would tell all two of them. Well, maybe just one – he wasn't sure how he'd broach the subject with Pansy.

Hermione shook her head with a huff. "That's too bad about your column, but I guess it didn't mesh well with the crap they've been printing in the opinion section."

"Tell me about it. Those aren't even staff writers coming up with that load; it's guest writers sending it in, and my editor says he wants to print 'a wider variety of opinions' – whatever. My plan's going to work, I'm sure of it. I'll tell you all as soon as it's ready."

Draco was curious what Will had up his sleeve, particularly because he was certain it would involve him. He was the only pure-blood wizard at the table, and he didn't miss the implication when Will had mentioned his "other friends." If Muggle music kept going as a trend for Muggle-borns and their children, it would be a lot easier for the Prophet to put a negative spin on it. He was encouraged by Blaise's opinions on the subject: the Zabinis had become the quintessential pure-blood family after Nott and Goyle had fucked off out of the country, while Draco and Pansy had chosen to let their genes rot. Not that Draco was going to continue that strategy indefinitely, of course. "If you want me to help, I'll do it," he said.

"That's what I like to hear." Will clapped him on the shoulder, but Draco was more interested in Hermione's reaction. She was puzzled again, and there was something deeply satisfying about the way he could consistently stump the president of the know-it-all club. The rest of the table was talking about bands Draco had never heard of, but Hermione seemed lost in thought as she ran a finger around the rim of her glass, and he seized another opportunity. He leaned in.

"Do you want to go out with me?" he whispered. She grabbed her drink in a hurry and took a sip, shrugging his head off her shoulder.

"Wow, I'm getting pretty tipsy," she said, as though she hadn't heard the question.

In other words, she thought he was only asking her because he was drunk. She must not have been a big drinker, or she'd realise that alcohol did not have the ability to put new ideas into anyone's head. Even if someone's new idea was "I'm going to climb that tree," for example, it was still something he or she had thought of as a child. When it didn't result in the drinker breaking his leg, the main function of alcohol was to make people tell the truth.

He decided to drop the subject, but this was a good sign. She hadn't even managed a real rejection this time.

At the end of the night, there was a drunken hug fiasco in the Floo room to rival the Phoenix Day party. Draco found himself on the receiving end of more than one awkward embrace; not from Hermione, though, the one person here that he wanted to touch. He wondered if there was some kind of hug dummy he could buy to practice on, since he'd have to get better at this if he was going to keep hanging out with serial personal-space-invaders. Tom and Gwen left, and he was about to follow them when a voice caught his attention.

"Malfoy, hang back a second," Hermione said. He was distracted by Will and Bianca over her shoulder: they were trying to communicate their excitement about Hermione's request with a series of elaborate hand gestures. Finally, they laughed and fell into each other's arms to Apparate home.

Draco was kind of jealous, but maybe Hermione was about to suggest a similar arrangement. "Malfoy, I don't think I can sleep alone. Could you come with me?" He'd be a gentleman about it, of course, or otherwise she'd hate him forever. Not that he would take advantage of a woman either way, but tipsy wasn't the same as drunk. Two slightly giddy strangers could decide to have an eventful night together without anybody feeling bad about it, but that wasn't what Hermione was after. He'd sleep with her without attempting to remove a single article of clothing, and then in the morning –

"Malfoy?" Oh, right, things were happening.

"At your service," he said, moving in closer. She giggled, and both her hands went up and skittered across her hair.

"Er, I wanted to tell you – the, er –" He touched her shoulder and ran his hand down to her elbow because she already couldn't talk, and he wondered if he could make it any worse. She was still giggling. "Malfoy, I'm trying to – talk, and – this is important!" He took away his hand and made his innocent face. She took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself and continued in a calmer voice. "I was hoping you'd meet with me first thing tomorrow morning, so I can see the rest of the photos. I've got all my plans in place."

"At the Raven?"

"No, just go directly to the Shrieking Shack at seven o'clock – I don't want to upset Bianca again."

"You know what she thinks we're doing in there," he said. Clearly, she did know, because the giggles came back and she couldn't make eye contact anymore. It was too dark in the Floo room, but he wished he could see if she was blushing.

"Good night, Malfoy," she managed after a few seconds. "Seven o'clock," she repeated.

She stepped into the Floo. After a moment, he headed home, too.


Draco woke early to make sure he looked his best. He drank a hangover potion and stuffed another small vial into his pocket next to the rolled-up documents, in case Hermione wanted one. Then, he walked across the grounds to the Apparition point and went to the Shrieking Shack, where she was waiting already.

"Thanks for coming," she said with a weary smile. He could tell she was tired. "I just wanted to update you on our next step." Apparently, they were a "we" now, but only in the one context where he was certain he didn't want that.

"Before we do that, do you want a hangover cure?" He produced the vial from his pocket, and she took it with a measure of confusion.

"That was very thoughtful of you," she said, as though Draco being thoughtful were some kind of once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. He supposed it was a fair opinion, in retrospect. "Can I have the rest of the photos?"

He handed them over, and she began to look through the folder. Suddenly, there was a pop and a puff of thin smoke, and Gully appeared in front of Draco.

"Master Draco, Gully has come to you with important news." She checked over her shoulder and spotted Hermione. "Is Gully allowed to talk about this in front of Miss?"

"Yes. Gully, this is Miss Granger. Granger, this is Gully." Hermione crouched down to elf-level and held out her hand.

"Hi, Gully. You can call me Hermione."

"It is good to be meeting you, Miss Hermione." She ignored Hermione's hand and offered a low bow instead. "Friends of Master Draco is friends of Gully."

"What's your favourite thing about working for Master Draco?"

Since he'd read her book, Draco knew the purpose of this question: Hermione had explained it in her prologue. A stranger asking elves if they liked their masters invariably yielded a positive response, but asking for their favourite part led to a subtle difference in the answers. Resentful elves were vague and tried to dodge the question, while happy elves gave specific examples.

"Master Draco is the best master an elf could ever wish for, Miss Hermione," she gushed. If someone were to ask Draco what he liked best about Gully, he would definitely have mentioned the way she waved her tiny arms around randomly when she was excited. House-elves were weird-looking as a rule, in his opinion, but there was something oddly endearing about Gully's enthusiasm. "Master Draco has given his elves lots of fun games to play, and he never yells or closes Gully's ears in the oven."

Hermione was surprised, he could tell. "Wow, Malfoy," she said, as she straightened herself back up. "She really likes you."

He nodded, and the elf preened. "What did you come here to tell me, Gully?"

"Oh, yes. Gully is coming here to say that Master Lucius has learned how to hold the box, and he has taken it away from the study."

"How did he pick it up?"

"Master Lucius is casting spells on his hands, and then the box is floating above them."

That was good news. His father must have found a shielding charm to guard his hands from the curse, but he still wouldn't be able to open it until he disarmed the actual spells. Unfortunately, since the box was out of the study now, Draco would have no way of knowing about it if he did.

"All right, thanks for telling me. Let me know if he tries to contact any of the elves again."

"Yes, Master. It is a pleasure making the acquaintance of Miss Hermione." She offered Hermione another bow before Disapparating.

Hermione's mood seemed to have improved afterward, judging by the way she kept smiling at Draco. It probably had something to do with Gully, and he decided to follow Bianca's advice and say something honest.

"I read your book about house-elves," he said.

"You did?" Her eyes went wide, and he nodded. "Well, er, that's good." She was flustered now, nervously tucking some hair behind her ear and looking up at him through her lashes. "So, yes. Anyway. Does this mean your father has the documents?"

"No, he wouldn't have had to guard his hands if he knew how to get through the spells. We've still got time."

"That's a relief. The first step is to get those last four Death Eaters into prison, where they should have been from the start." He winced at that, but if she noticed, she didn't show it. "If we can get that done before your father opens the box, we're in good shape. I've been in contact with Dawlish, and he's under the impression that if he complies with our demands by retrying those men, I'm going to let him off the hook. He really is rather dim. Phase two, of course, is to go to Shacklebolt with the rest of the information and purge the Ministry."

Draco stood still as he took it all in. This whole thing was unfolding exactly as he'd feared, and it occurred to him that it was too late to stop it. Even if he backed out now, he'd already given her everything she would need to put his dad away for life.

"There's no way this can end without my father going to prison?"

Her expression was sympathetic, which he reckoned was rather nice, since she didn't really have to try and empathize with him about this. People wanting to chuck his dad in Azkaban had been a constant in his life from birth, so he was pretty used to it. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, but there really isn't."

He looked away, and she walked to the other end of the room and stared out the window, presumably to give him some time to collect his thoughts.

He was thinking about his mother, mostly. There had been a time when his parents had loved each other, but that was before the Dark Lord's return. Even Draco hadn't been too distracted to notice the shift after that: Lucius became obsessed with his duties and took to yelling at Narcissa to blow off steam, something he had almost never done before. He stopped spending time at home, and they had slept in separate bedrooms for a while, due to his father's erratic hours.

After Draco took the Mark, his mother couldn't even be in the same room with his father for days. She'd tried to stop it from happening, too, and that had been the first and only time the Dark Lord had ever punished Narcissa. After the War, things were a bit better between them, but it wasn't the same. She wouldn't say a word about it, but Draco didn't think his mother would ever forgive her husband for putting the Dark Lord before his family. In all honesty, neither would Draco.

"Just do what you have to do," he said at last. It wasn't like he could stop her, anyway.

"I'd like for you to go with me when I meet with Shacklebolt. There's no way I would have been able to do this without your help, and I want to make sure everybody knows that."

That would be nice, in a way. He'd be all over the papers, but this time it would be for doing something right. It was a big step, though; everything seemed to be moving very quickly, and he was having trouble keeping up.

Speaking of steps, she was still looking at him quite fondly, and this seemed like a good time to go for date request number three. "I'll think about it," he said. "Also, would you like to go out with me?"

With her fingertips, she touched her chin, then her lips, and then her chin again. She pushed at her hair a bit, glancing around at nothing. He leaned forward in anticipation. "All right, then. Yes."

Well, didn't that just beat all. Yes. All those other words he'd been thinking and saying and hearing for all these weeks crashed together into three neat letters. "This week?"

"I could do that," she said.

"I'll owl you about it," he said. "See you soon, Granger."

"See you," she confirmed, and she gave him another one of those sweet little waves and Disapparated. Once she was gone, he allowed his smile to spread undeterred all over his face.

Yes.