— CHAPTER FOURTEEN —

Growing Attached

Draco was already counting the hours. He woke up far too early, chest swollen to accommodate his heart which had seemingly grown in size, in addition to which he was feeling all fidgety, bursting with energy after only a few hours of sleep.

5.48am

Too bloody early.

6.23am

Still too early to write her. When would be appropriate? He didn't want to come across needy.

6.50am

Draco was pacing his study. Restlessly. Whenever he tried to sit down, he would shift in his seat for a few minutes before standing up again, checking on the bubbling Sober-Up Potion far more often than the simple OWL-level concoction required. He felt like a child on Christmas morning; only he was waiting to see someone who easily outmatched every Christmas present he'd ever got put together. Someone who, he thought, was far too pure for him. He didn't like to paint the world in black and white, but Hermione Granger was – in his eyes – undoubtedly on "the good side". Ever fighting for what was right, never turning her back on anyone, always believing in people.

Even in you.

7.20am

Maybe, just maybe, he could start writing. Draco sat down, foot tapping and quill in hand, but no sooner had he dipped it in ink than he heard a flapping noise – the telltale sound of his eagle owl landing atop the centre beam which separated lab from study. Altair spent most of his time outside but would return to the attic each morning, usually carrying a dead mouse in his beak. Draco stood to greet the old owl, which had been a loyal companion ever since he'd got it in the summer before his first year at Hogwarts.

'Hey, Al,' he said, looking up at the enormous bird who was returning his gaze with amber eyes. 'Your timing is impeccable, mate. I'll need you to deliver a letter soon.'

The owl hooted at that, which could have meant anything from agreement to protest to complete and utter indifference. What would Draco know? Only that Altair was particularly keen on Freo's Fiery Owl Crackers, Draco fishing one out of a nearby tin and passing Altair the spicy treat. Now that was definitely a contented hoot.

Just as Draco was about to sit back down and get started on his letter, another pair of eyes peered at him through the window above his desk, causing him to jump.

What did you expect – a Dementor? Dementors don't have eyes.

Or at least he assumed they didn't. No, the yellow orbs simply belonged to another owl. A handsome, yet ruffled looking snowy owl, which had landed on the shingles outside, carrying an envelope in its beak and apparently struggling to keep balance on the slanting roof. Draco opened the window at once, letting in the bird and with it, a gust of cold morning air which whipped at his face. The weather was so unpleasant the delivery owl didn't make the remotest move to go back outside once he'd accepted the letter. It was just staring at him, cawing.

'Fine, stay for a bit,' said Draco, pointing to his own bird's lair, upon which the snowy owl flapped its wings and settled itself next to Al. 'Be nice, will you?' he addressed him before he shook his head, questioning his own sanity because what did he expect? A bloody "sure, mate"?

Draco wasn't surprised to see that the letter was from Hermione – so much for worrying about coming across needy. When upon seeing her handwriting he felt excited, his expression faltered shortly as he soaked in her words:

Dear Draco

I'm sorry, but I have to cancel for today. I know we sort of made plans, but Kreacher passed away last night – the house-elf living with Harry and Ginny. I told you about him once. Anyway, I said I'd be there today; we're going to bury and commemorate him properly. Sorry again. I just have to be there for my friends now.

Hermione

PS: This is my neighbour's owl. She tends to grow attached easily, so don't start feeding her unless you want a new roommate.

Draco lowered his hands. He was disappointed and at the same time cross with himself for being a selfish bastard. He tried to feel sorry for the elf, but he couldn't – if he was completely honest, he felt self-pity above anything else.

You're such a sodding hypocrite.

One day he was supporting house-elf rights, the next he read about one dying and found he didn't care at all. In all fairness, however, he'd never even met that elf. Would it have been different had it been human? Probably not.

Draco forced himself to sit down and take a deep breath. Everything was perfectly fine. Yes, he had been excited about the prospect of seeing her again so soon, but not seeing her that day wasn't going to kill him. In fact, it might even be for the better – he shouldn't get used to her always being around so quickly. Draco looked up to where the snowy owl was enviously eyeing the prey beneath Altair's talons.

I'm the bloody owl, he thought dryly, wrinkling his nose – growing attached to the witch far too fast, while being jealous of those she spent time with instead of him.

Knock it out of your head – you're being ridiculous.

He was. He knew he was, and he would've gladly stopped but unfortunately, feelings were not an enchantment you could simply lift with a quick Finite. His thoughts and actions, however, Draco could control. Didn't he always claim to be prudent? The prudent thing to do right now was to answer Hermione's letter, express his condolences, and offer comfort. Another prudent thing to do – judging from her postscript – was to get rid of that clingy bird; fortunate was the circumstance of both intentions weaving together so nicely.

x x x

They buried Kreacher in the back garden, right beneath an old pear tree, thus breaking the gruesome Black family tradition of beheading house-elves and hanging said heads onto the wall for display. The mere notion made Hermione shudder.

Her hand was still clutching Draco's letter which she kept in her pocket lest she forget the Floo password he'd given her. Not that she would; it was "brandy sour". She smiled at his choice – a reference to their very first date, reminding her once more that it'd been Draco all along.

Celestina – her neighbour's owl – had returned sooner than expected. Celestina. How naff of a name that was, but did she expect anything more creative or imaginative from Sally other than naming her owl after the famous singer? Sally Shunpike certainly wasn't the brightest candle on the cake, but she was nice, and Hermione appreciated her minding Crookshanks every once in a while whenever she was exceptionally busy.

'Should we go back inside?' suggested Luna, interrupting Hermione's train of thought. Her face was poking out from her hood, fair skin and pink cheeks framed by a mass of black, frizzy lining that reminded Hermione of a feather boa. No one voiced their reply, but all of them nodded, turning their backs to the freshly dug grave and re-entering the house.

Hermione hadn't expected so many people to show up, but here they were. Apart from Luna and the usual suspects – namely Harry, Ginny, Ron, and herself – George had come, along with Molly and Arthur. Even two elves working at the Hogwarts kitchens had momentarily left their posts to bid their farewell; Hermione noticed they were not following everyone else inside.

'Won't you be staying for supper?' she asked them. The little creatures only shook their heads in unison.

'We can't, Miss,' said the one whose name was Frinky. To Hermione's delight, she was wearing one of the hand-knit, knobbly hats she used to leave for the house-elves to take. 'We're expected back in the kitchens.' Frinky then raised her chin and said proudly in a high-pitched voice, 'It is our job, Miss.'

Hermione couldn't help but flash them a broad grin; seeing the fruit of her labour first hand was immensely satisfying.

'Thank you for coming then.'

'It is an honour to be here, Miss,' said the other elf, bowing down. 'Kreacher was one of the bravest elves Noppy ever met. To know that he is buried in Harry Potter's garden …'

'And Kreacher changed so much, Miss,' added Frinky, nodding enthusiastically which caused her floppy ears to wiggle about. 'When Frinky first met Kreacher, Kreacher didn't like her at all, oh no. He was always grouchy and complaining about being at Hogwarts, Miss. But in the end, he fought for what was right, and Kreacher and Frinky became friends.'

'I'm glad he had you two,' said Hermione. 'He will always be remembered for the steps he dared to take and the friendships he forged because of it.'

'Frinky couldn't have put it any better,' said the elf, taking a bow. 'We must be leaving now. Thank you, Miss Hermione Granger.' And with that, the two elves Disapparated in front of her.

As soon as Hermione went back inside to join the others, a small glass of Firewhisky was shoved into her hands.

'There you are,' said Ron. 'We're raising a toast.'

'To Kreacher.' The sound of their voices reverberated from the kitchen walls, conflating with the chink of glass against glass. Hermione gulped down her drink reluctantly; the whisky had a pungent taste, and it burnt on her tongue. It also warmed her up from the inside out right away.

Two more rounds of Firewhisky shots later and Hermione's head began to spin. She suggested they eat before anyone came up with the idea of yet another toast; fortunately, everyone shared her opinion. Molly, Harry, and Hermione had put together a meal that could have fed an entire Quidditch team including substitutes and coaches – the table was creaking underneath the weight of countless pies and puddings, mounds of potatoes, beans, and peas, chicken legs and roast beef. They managed dessert only with great difficulty.

Arthur and Molly took their leave right after dinner, Luna and George quickly following suit. The trio and Ginny shortly retired to the upstairs living room, slouching on cosy sofas in their food and alcohol induced comatose.

'How did your match go today, Ginny?' Hermione directed at the redhead, who only pulled a wry face.

'Don't ask,' she replied. 'We played miserably – lost big-time, despite catching the Snitch, and that's saying something about the Chasers' performance. Mine was lacklustre at best – mildly put. I feel so bloody awful for not noticing that Kreacher was dying.'

'Don't blame yourself,' said Ron. 'He was old. It was only a matter of time.'

'And still, we didn't notice,' said Harry sombrely. 'We should have. Now that I think about it … he'd been so tired of late. But there's also been so much on our plates that we didn't see it …'

'Anyone fancy another drink?' Ginny suggested abruptly, however, she did not even bother to wait for an answer, instantly summoning a bottle of wine and four glasses.

'Why did I agree to this again?' commented Hermione as she accepted the glass that was now hovering in front of her.

'Because you care about us,' said Ginny nonchalantly before downing the content of her glass all at once.

'I do,' confirmed Hermione, taking a sip. 'I mean, I cancelled my date for being with you lot.'

'Date?' Ron shot her a bewildered glance.

'Yeah, Hermione, what date?' added Ginny, tilting her head and cocking both eyebrows.

Oh no. Have I really just said that?

'Um … just … er …'

'Are you back with Leon?' Ron probed. 'I liked the chap. Till he dumped you, that is. He'd better have a good reason.'

Oh, if he had even the faintest idea … would Ron still like "the chap" if he knew who he was? Hermione could only imagine how vexed her friend (and ex-boyfriend) would be about her being with Draco. She definitely needed more wine now, mimicking Ginny and tossing down her drink before holding out her glass demandingly.

'No, Ron, I'm not back with Leon,' she lied – although, technically, it was only half a lie.

'Who is it then?'

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to figure out a way to wriggle herself out of this predicament. Telling them was no option – nor was lying to them, but she had to pick the lesser evil.

'I don't know,' she said, settling for the story that had unprecedentedly come to mind. 'My neighbour Sally wanted to set me up with a friend.'

'So a blind date?' queried Ginny incredulously.

'Exactly.'

'You know nothing about him then?' asked Ron.

'Nothing.'

'Bloody hell … but Hermione – don't you always complain how Sally's thick as a brick? Why'd you agree to go out with one of her friends?'

'Um …'

'Oh Ronald,' said Ginny, her lips curling into a roguish grin. 'By that logic, Hermione could never be friends with a buffoon – yet here you are.'

x x x

They sat together for the entire evening, revelling in memories, laughing at each other's expense, and drinking more than they could possibly stomach – more bottles of wine kept appearing out of nowhere until Ginny confessed she was "borrowing" them from a shop nearby.

'Please, they won't notice,' she said with a dismissive slice of her hand. 'They're closed – besides, Muggles never notice anything, trust me.'

'We're drinking stolen goods?' said Hermione indignantly, but sipping her wine all the same. 'You're unbelievable.'

'Why, thank you very much,' said Ginny, raising her glass and emptying it in one gulp. 'But, technically, it's not stealing, we're leasing it. I'm going to pay for it eventually, you see … well, maybe I will'– she let out an exasperated groan –'alright, alright, Hermione, I'm definitely going to pay them, just quit looking at me like that!'

'Guys,' began Ron, slowly turning his head to give each one of them a stern look, 'you do realise we've all got to work tomorrow, don't you?'

'Oh no …' sighed Hermione. 'It's Sunday! How did that happen?'

'Well, first came Friday, then … Saturday – and today … it's Sunday,' explained Harry.

'Wow, you always speak so wisely, Harry,' teased Ginny, mooning over him and puckering her lips. 'Although I like it better when you talk dirty –'

'Aaand that's my cue,' announced Ron, hauling himself out of the armchair but swaying in the process. 'Don't want to risk seeing any of'– he gesticulated wildly at his sister and best friend –'that. If our sixth year hasn't scarred me enough …'

'Says the one whose lips were glued to Lav-Lav's,' mocked Ginny, now smooching air kisses at him. 'Oh, Won-Won …'

'Shut it, Ginny,' grumbled Ron, his face turning beet red. 'Anyway, gotta go. See ya'

'The fireplace is the other way, Ronald,' Ginny called after him, shaking her head. 'Honestly, you'd think he's here for the first time. Now'– she suddenly turned to Hermione, lowering her tone in a semblance of dramatics –'the time has come at last.'

'Time for what?' asked Hermione, voice layered with false cluelessness.

'Time for the truth, of course,' said Ginny as matter-of-factly as her drunk state allowed. 'Don't play innocent. We know you've planned to go on a date today, and don't you dare come up with another lousy excuse. Blind date … please! And you were conspicuously late yesterday. We also know that Leon'– she put the name in air quotes –'is not the real deal. So … who is he?'

'I don't know.'

'You suck at lying when you're drunk, Hermione – no offence,' said Harry, regarding her with a pitiful look.

'Alright, fine, I do know. But I can't say anything.'

'Why not?' asked Ginny.

'Because I can't, that's why.'

'Alright … don't tell us. But you can answer me this: have you been out with … that mystery bloke – it is a bloke, right?'

Hermione nodded.

'So, have you been out with him on Valentine's Day?'

Hermione nodded again.

'Have you …' Ginny grinned maliciously. 'Have you, you know –'

'Ginny!' said Hermione hotly, her admonishing tone soon undermined by a single, rogue hiccough.

'Is that a yes?'

Hermione felt heat rushing to the open book that apparently was her face now.

'It is a yes,' grinned the redhead, patting her shoulder. 'Good on you.'

'Why do you care so much?' she asked.

'Because, Hermione, you're my friend. Besides,' Ginny flipped her hair back, 'I couldn't talk about that with you back when you were seeing my brother … worst two and a half years of my life, hands down.'

'Trust me, she complained a lot,' confirmed Harry before treating himself to another swig of his Firewhisky.

'And everything in between was just not that … serious,' added Ginny. 'And don't try to deny it, I know this is not just another one of these "Oh, you know, he's nice" kinds of guy.'

'You're right … he isn't.'

'So? Who is he? Please, Hermione, please.'

'I told you, I can't say! I promised.'

'You … promised?' echoed Ginny, her expression becoming perilously smug. 'Interesting.'

'Interesting how?' queried Hermione.

'Harry,' said Ginny, turning to her fiancé, 'switch on your Auror-mode. It's time for a deduction.'

'Hm?' made Harry, only slowly meeting her gaze while blinking a few times in a row. 'Sorry, I wasn't paying attention.'

'Are you ever?' chided Ginny. 'Honestly, how are you good at your job? Anyway – I can do this on my own. Hermione, get ready to be amazed.'

Hermione only shifted in her seat. Could Ginny possibly deduce from one little word?

'Alright,' said the redhead, placing her glass onto the coffee table and exhaling sharply. 'You said you promised you wouldn't tell. He doesn't want us to know. In fact, it's so important to him that we don't know that he made you promise. That means he knows us. And we know him in return. Meaning, he's either close to us, which I doubt, honestly – because none of us qualify at the moment – or we're not particularly what you'd consider friends.'

Hermione tried to keep a straight face but found it incredibly hard what with the intoxicated state she was in.

'He was … at Hogwarts with us,' stated Ginny, carefully searching Hermione's face for a reaction. 'Ha! I'm right – you flinched!'

'I did not!'

'Yes, you did! So, probably from your year, I assume … someone who would not want Harry to kno-oh my.'

Ginny's eyes widened with sudden realisation.

'Oh … I remember now,' she said. 'What you've told us on witches' night. About – you know – someone asking you out.'

'Who asked you out?' interjected Harry, but Ginny only made a swatting motion with her hand, never breaking eye-contact with Hermione.

'Merlin's beard, Hermione! Him? Is it really him?'

Hermione swallowed hard. Agreeing with Ginny wasn't technically telling them, or was it? Without thinking twice, she nodded her head ever so slightly.

'Yes!' cried Ginny, flexing her arm victoriously. 'This is gold –'

'Would you please tell me what's going on?' asked Harry, ignored yet again.

'Hermione, I am shocked!' continued the redhead. 'Delighted … but shocked! You must tell me everything! How was he –'

'Who?'

'Harry,' Ginny clicked her tongue, 'If you really must know …'

Hermione frowned at her first but shortly shrugged in resignation. If Harry really wanted to set his mind to it, he'd find out regardless.

'Brace yourself: Hermione is seeing … give me a drumroll, Hermione!'

'Not a chance.'

'Boring! Anyway, Harry. Brace yourself, alright? You'll need it. Because Hermione is seeing …'

'Spit it out, woman!'

Ginny may as well have been announcing the winner of the Triwizard Tournament with how she beamed wildly, flailing out her arms and putting far too much emphasis on the name itself:

'Draco Malfoy!'

Harry's eyebrows scooted up so high Hermione could swear they fused with his hairline. He didn't say a word. He just looked back and forth between her and Ginny, his expression varying between disbelief and indignation.

'Malfoy?' he questioned eventually, absolutely flabbergasted. 'What – how – Malfoy?'

'Yes, Harry,' sighed Hermione. 'It's him.'

'Hang on – he's Leon? A bloody reporter?' Harry burst into laughter – a reaction Hermione would not have anticipated. 'Malfoy … I've been giving interviews to Malfoy … Ron's told me that he thought you've finally met a decent bloke! All this time, it's been fucking Malfoy –'

'Speaking of fucking Malfoy –'

'Ginny!' exclaimed Hermione. Yet before she could say anything else, Harry beat her to it, his inflection morphing from amused incredulousness into disgust within the blink of an eye.

'You what? Ugh … Hermione!'

'Excuse me, Harry, but this is none of your business,' she said with as much poise as she could muster.

'Yes, Harry, leave it,' said Ginny. 'Don't ruin this for me. So'– she wiggled her eyebrows –'how was it?'

'I'm not going to discuss this with you right now – neither of you!' Hermione stood for effect, instantly regretting it, seeing as she momentarily blacked out, view blurred and head throbbing. 'OK, that wasn't such a great idea,' she admitted as soon as she'd sat back down. 'Oh, my head … what have I done?'

'Yeah, what have you done?' echoed Harry.

'Malfoy, apparently,' sniggered Ginny.

'I was talking about that,' groaned Hermione, pointing at the collection of empty wine bottles. 'I don't regret anything that has to do with Draco –'

'So it's Draco now –'

'I stand corrected,' Hermione cut Harry off. 'I don't regret anything other than ever confiding in you two –'

'Hey,' said Harry, leaning forward and flashing her a serious look, the effect of which was only slightly undermined by the alcohol-induced shimmer coating his eyes. 'Sorry. Hermione … I'm sorry. I was being an idiot. You can always talk to me. You know that.'

'Can I? Because it doesn't seem like it.'

'C'mon, Hermione, did you really expect me to react any different? I mean … yes, it's none of my business. But you have to admit; he's not exactly been nice to you in the past. To either of us. For Godric's sake, he broke my nose once! Not mentioning all the other bullshit –'

'I know –'

'And I get that he's moved on from all that – it's been a long time, and I defended him in court, because even back then I knew he deserved a second chance. But still … just imagine: what would you say if Ron were seeing – let's say … Pansy Parkinson?'

'Ugh … oh hell no,' said Hermione, scrunching up her face.

'See? That's what I'm talking about.'

'Fair enough,' yielded Hermione, all of the sudden feeling very small. Harry was right – Draco's past wasn't exactly unblemished, and she knew that, of course; however, over the past weeks, everything he'd ever done to hurt her or her friends became sort of blurred – unreal, like snapshots out of someone else's life. All she saw was the man he was now. And yet, it didn't make them less of an odd couple (were they a couple?), and she had to admit to herself that Harry's reaction could have been much worse. His reaction to her breaking her word. 'I promised I wouldn't tell,' she muttered after a while.

'Technically, you didn't,' said Harry, smiling at her reassuringly, 'you didn't directly tell us anything.'

'But I let slip that we were meant to see each other today –'

'Oh, as if Ginny wouldn't have grilled you on that either way.'

'He's right. I would've,' smirked the redhead. 'By the way, sorry for giving you such a hard time yesterday. I shouldn't have pushed you so much in front of everyone.'

'Thank you,' mumbled Hermione, shoulders drooping and staring at her feet. For some reason, she felt immensely sad. Pictures began to flash in front of her eyes: Kreacher, lifeless; Dobby, in Harry's arms; Draco, not "Leon", leaving her all alone in the cold … 'What time is it?' she asked eventually, looking at Harry.

'Just past half eleven,' he said after a glance at his watch.

'I thought it'd be later,' yawned Ginny.

'Me too,' said Hermione, standing up – slowly, this time. Her head wasn't swimming as much as before, but she still felt queasy. 'Thanks for having me.'

'Thank you for staying with us all day, Hermione,' said Harry. 'You ditched Malfoy for us, after all.'

Hermione flinched at that. 'I didn't … I mean, we didn't even specify when we'd see each other.'

'Still, you decided to be with us, and we appreciate that,' said the redhead. 'You're going to see him now, aren't you?'

Hermione nodded sheepishly.

'Are you sure that's a good idea?'

'I don't know,' shrugged Hermione. 'I – I just … I never thought I'd say this, but I like him.'

'Oh, I know you do, love,' smiled Ginny, getting up (albeit with difficulty) and pulling her into a warm embrace. Her hair smelled like a field of wild flowers.

'Please don't tell anyone,' Hermione muttered into the fiery red tresses. 'I don't want him to get into trouble …'

'We won't,' said Ginny before letting go of her. 'Promise.'

'No one's going to suspect anything,' said Harry. 'And no, I won't spill. I have to hand it to him, he's turned out rather decent, from what I can tell – considering that he used to be the greatest git ever to walk the earth.'

'Thank you,' said Hermione, unable to suppress a snigger at the memory of the slimy prat Draco was as a boy. 'That means a lot.'

'Now, off you pop,' smirked Ginny. 'And say hi, will you? Tell him that, should he decide to leave you again, he will suffer my eternal wrath. Make sure to remind him just how good my Bat Bogey Hex is.'

x x x

The clock indicated 11.47pm. Maybe he should try and get some sleep. Draco was sitting at his desk, several pieces of parchment strewn across it. He'd been taking notes for hours, desperately trying to find an answer to the vexing question of what he was going to do now – because he couldn't just keep on as if nothing had happened. Everything had changed within a few days and Draco knew he had to quit his double life. It was time to move on from that. But how?

So far, he had two options: he could either let Leon disappear completely – quitting his job and telling everyone he was going back to France. That, however, would leave him with nothing. Nothing he'd ever written could be used as a reference from that point on, and he'd have to start all over. His second option, coming out with the truth to his boss, would have entirely different repercussions, in the worst possible case, a lawsuit and with it, public humiliation. It would not only harm himself, but also Hermione – she did not sign up for dating an offender on top of an ex-Death Eater; not to mention the tribulations his mother would have to bear.

Draco cursed himself for being so utterly short-sighted back when he started it all. He just never thought he would get wound up in his occupation so much, let alone set the ball rolling for a relationship with Hermione Granger.

Right on cue, Draco heard his fireplace blaze up downstairs.

'Draco?'

It was unmistakably Hermione's voice which cut the silence, resonating all the way up to him. Draco's heart skipped a beat – she had actually taken heed of his offer to drop by anytime.

'Up here,' he answered, shoving back his chair and rushing down the staircase, all but running into her small frame standing in the doorway.

'I didn't know you had an upstairs,' she said bemusedly; her speech was a tad slurred, and Draco could smell wine on her breath, her brown eyes glazed over ever so slightly.

'Are you drunk?' he asked.

'No?' It was more of a question than an answer; Draco suspiciously cocking an eyebrow and Hermione's face flashing over with resignation. 'Maybe?'– he took a step back and by withdrawing his support provoking Hermione to sway on the spot –'nope, definitely am.'

Draco came back to rescue, holding her in place and finding himself unable to resist an amused smirk.

'You definitely had one too many,' he chuckled. 'Possibly more than one, by the looks of it.'

'My chest hurts,' she wailed, snuggling closer and burying her face in his jumper. 'Ginny nicked too much wine …'

'Is that so?'

Hermione only hummed affirmatively without explaining her friend's act of pilfering any further. Draco felt her clutch at his clothes, getting heavier thanks to leaning her entire weight against him.

'C'mon, let's get you to bed, yeah?' he proposed. Hermione nodded, her hair tickling his chin in the process, however, she did not show the slightest inclination to move. Well then, she didn't leave him a choice. Without further ado, Draco bent his knees a smidge, wrapping his arms around her hips and lifting her off her feet.

Hermione mumbled something incoherent as he carried her to his bedroom – most likely a feeble attempt at convincing him that she was capable of walking. Of course she would have been. She wasn't that pissed. But Draco had to admit to himself that he rather enjoyed taking care of the ever so feisty and independent witch. He felt needed, and it felt good.

'There you go,' he said as he set her down on his bed, already reaching for her shoes when she bent forward, softly swatting his hand out of the way.

'No, thank you … it's fine. I'm fine. I'm –'

Hermione suddenly stopped babbling. Instead, her breaths came out slightly rattled.

'I'm … I'm sorry,' she muttered, voice quavering.

'What for? Hey, look at me.' Draco sat down beside her, gently running his hand over her back. When she sat up straight and turned her face towards him, Draco saw the frown on her face, her lips pressed together tightly to keep them from trembling.

She opened and shut her mouth a few times before saying, 'I messed up … they know.' With that, she broke into tears. 'You asked me to keep it a secret,' she sobbed, 'you trusted me, and I betrayed you …'

'Bollocks,' said Draco, brushing his thumb across her cheek, trying to calm her while inside, he felt anything but – a storm was waging in his mind. Who knew exactly? And how much?

'I didn't do it on purpose,' she blubbered out. 'I didn't say anything, but Ginny figured it out because of something I said weeks ago.'

'Who else knows?'

'Harry.'

Of course.

'Back when you asked me to have lunch with you … I told Ginny and Luna about it. Then yesterday, I was late, and I'm never late … so tonight she just connected the dots when I – oh I'm so sorry,' she wept, meeting his gaze with brown orbs swimming in tears. 'I didn't mean to –'

'Why do you keep apologising?'

'I don't know,' she snivelled. 'Sorry –'

'Now you're saying sorry for saying sorry,' said Draco with a breathed chuckle and a wag of his head. 'Just don't, Ok?'

'OK.'

He smiled at her then, and Hermione mirrored his expression, although he didn't fail to notice that it didn't extend to her eyes. Regardless, she was pretty – even all flustered like this. Flustered because her friend unravelled a secret he'd asked her to keep. She was breaking into tears over the notion of betraying him when he had done so much worse in the past. The past which was still clawing at his present with slimy hands …

Don't go down that road right now.

'Come on, you need to go to sleep,' he said, getting up and fetching the clothes he had given her the day prior. They were still draped over the back of a chair – keeping them laid out a reminder of all the beautiful things Hermione Granger made him feel.

Watching her change was odd; every inch of her body was beautiful, yet his blood was pooling in his heart alone – Draco's concern for her well-being outweighed his physical needs by far. Hermione sat back with him, a lonely and silent tear now trickling down her cheek until it rested below her chin like a drop of water forming underneath a tap and about to fall at any given moment.

'I –' she began, but Draco interrupted her.

'Please don't apologise again. What's done is done. We don't have to talk about this right now.'

'I wasn't going to – it's just that … ugh – why can't I stop crying?' she groaned before breaking out into even harder sobs. 'I – I don't know why … I shouldn't – you … you're taking care of me, and I'm the – the biggest liability ever –'

'No you're not. Don't say that.' Draco wiped away a tear with his thumb, eliciting another one of her sad smiles. 'You just had a bit too much to drink, is all.'

He kissed her forehead before standing up to change into his own pyjamas. He, too, should at least try and get some rest. Maybe with her by his side, entangled in his arms, he would actually stand a chance at falling asleep without having to use a potion. Hermione's presence had that effect, and Draco knew he shouldn't grow too attached by getting used to it – she wouldn't always be there to share his bed – but she was becoming an ever so addicting drug.

'I did have too many drinks,' she said quietly after a little while, a subtle twang in her voice the betrayer of recently dried up tears. 'But that doesn't excuse being a complete idiot.'

'Why would you say that?' asked Draco, searching her face, but Hermione was staring at her hands. She only shrugged when he said, 'you're not an idiot. You just lost a friend; you're sad and a bit drunk. It's only human.'

Then Hermione levelled her gaze with his.

'And what decent human being bursts in on their boyfriend like that?'

Their what?

Draco felt like he had just touched a Portkey; his head was spinning and his insides writhed as if pushed together by an invisible force while pulling him into the void. It's the alcohol talking, he thought, trying to find a reasonable explanation as to why Hermione Granger had just so casually labelled their relationship. She's only drunk and upset and vulnerable. Of course he wanted what she said to be real, but what if she hadn't been thinking clearly? He swallowed hard before voicing the half-hearted attempt at convincing her to row back and unsay her statement. A statement which, he had to admit, made him feel as though the Whomping Willow had lodged itself within his ribcage, pounding every shred of common sense out of him because Salazar be damned, he didn't want her to take it back.

'Um … Hermione – I – um … we've only been on one date.'

'No we haven't,' she objected matter-of-factly, floundering the duvet away before lying down and pulling it back up to settle herself underneath. Draco watched her as if paralysed, trying to ignore the two-syllable label that was still ringing in his ears. 'We went out before that. You met my friends … well, sort of. We even kissed before …' There was something glittering in her eyes again – Hermione put on a stern expression and breathed steadily as if to force back the tears.

'But it wasn't me – I mean, for you it wasn't,' Draco sputtered. He sat down at the edge of the bed, turning towards her.

'Yes it was – when I think back I cannot not see you! I never think of that other name or those other looks … all I see is you now.'

In addition to the imaginary Portkey making his head swim, a Bludger had just found its way to his solar plexus, numbing his senses and stealing his breath – in a good way.

Too good to be true.

As if she were able to sense his uncertainty, Hermione pulled at his sleeve and thus – unknowingly – at the strings to his very core.

'Budge up,' said Draco, pushing her shoulder softly, upon which the brunette made space for him to lie down next to her, not hesitating to move closer as soon as he'd joined her under the blanket. Her nose was almost touching his.

'I – I missed you so much.'

'I'm right here.'

'No,' she whispered. 'I meant when … when you left me.'

'But –'

'No, I missed you, you idiot,' she objected before he could set the ball of disbelief rolling again. 'Your smell. Your sarcasm. The way you looked at me …'

Hermione snuggled closer and buried her face in his chest, Draco wrapping his arms around her and inhaling her scent. He could tell by her decelerating breaths that she was in the process of falling asleep.

'Can you stay?' she mumbled.

'This is my bed, Hermione,' chortled Draco, tightening his grip around her, a gesture which was met with an approving humming sound. 'Of course I will.'

'I still need to brush my teeth.'

'It won't kill you if you skip it once.'

'But it's important … Mum and Dad … they'd always make sure I …' Hermione kept muttering, her speech growing more incoherent by the second until she eventually drifted off to sleep. Draco smiled into her hair. His girlfriend's hair. Who would have known that one innocent word could possess the power to make him momentarily forget about all the obstacles he had yet to face? In that very moment, they didn't matter. In that very moment, he might have been the happiest man in the world.

A/N: So. Much. Fluff. Hope you didn't mind!

I'm on tumblr now! If you're interested, look for ph1n0a. You will find a few Faceless aesthetics on there as well as a super short story about eleven-year-old Draco getting his owl. I was thinking about its name so I knocked out a mini-piece, which felt too short to post here on FFnet.

As always, a huge thank you to MalfoysMuggleMrs – my better half, as it were. The new Obsessed chapter will be published soon, so stay tuned! Also, both of us have been nominated for the Granger Enchanted Awards Summer 2017; for more info, check out my tumblr or the respective Facebook group.

Until next time, Phinoa