Author's Note: Many thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and follows, guys! I really, truly appreciate it. Here's the next chapter, much earlier than normal for me. Hope you like it!
Hermione considered herself a fairly self-reflective person. She was well aware of her strengths (logic, perseverance, loyalty, compassion) but also her weaknesses (artistic creativity, anxiety, fear of failure). She had acknowledged, to herself, the crush she had on Ron years before it actually came to light. So now, when she was developing feelings for someone else, it would stand to reason that she would be able to admit it to herself, first, before anyone else realized. But that wasn't the case. Thanks to her mother.
Whenever she and her mother were alone (which hadn't been too often, but often enough), her mother had alluded to a relationship between her and Draco, which she had vehemently reasoned against. Her mother commented on how polite he was; Hermione challenged that it was just for their (meaning her parents') benefit. Her mother remarked on how good-looking he was; Hermione posited that he wasn't her "type" (although really, she didn't think she had much of a type; what did Viktor and Ron have in common, looks wise?). Her mother observed how intelligent he seemed to be; Hermione emphasized that he only seemed that way (but this wasn't true at all, he was taking five N.E.W.T. classes). Her mother mentioned how well they got along; Hermione…had no argument for this. They did get along well. Surprisingly.
Hermione told her mother to mind her own business. Her mother smirked.
Thankfully, her father did not mention a potential relationship when he and Hermione were alone, although he did talk about Draco an awful lot. He talked about how naturally gifted Draco was in the kitchen; he babbled about how dedicated Draco was to "achieving excellence" ( a favorite phrase of her father's); he jabbered about how witty Draco's sense of humor was. Hermione agreed with all his accolades silently, not wanting to rise to the bait he was setting for her. Although her father never said anything directly, she knew he was making pointed comparisons to Ron. Her father and Ron had gotten along fine when he and Harry had visited over the summer, but she knew her father had been a bit disappointed. She was her parent's only child, and she was a girl. She knew, without a doubt, that her father loved her as much as any father loved their child, but he had never tried to hide how excited he was for her to find "the one", a man, for him to bond with like a son. It put an inordinate amount of pressure on her about the matter, and she did not like to dwell on it.
Still, she had been able to ignore the feelings that had been sneaking up on her ever since she and Draco had almost gotten caught by Filch the night they stayed out past curfew working on their Arithmancy project. She had ignored them when they were in class, she had ignored them when she, Pansy and Draco had walked back from Hogsmeade together, she had even been able to ignore them when they were trying to slap her in the face at the ball. She had somehow managed to build a wall so high around herself that she had even been ignoring them since he'd been staying with her over the break, although every day the wall crumbled down more and more, until yesterday her mother had just kicked the rest of it over completely.
She and her mother had been at the mall, and she'd been explaining her idea for Draco's Christmas present. Her mother had listened to her, all her reasoning and explanations, nodding and smiling serenely, waiting for her to talk herself into silence. When she finally stopped, her mother had looked at her, right in the eye, and said very smugly, "I knew you had a thing for this boy."
Hermione's mouth had dropped open comically. "Mum! I do not!"
Her mother just shook her head triumphantly. "Hermione, there's no use lying to me. I'm your mother. Mothers know everything about their children."
Hermione huffed. "You do not know everything about me."
Her mother shrugged. "Okay. Maybe not everything. But we're certainly in tune enough with our child's feelings to know when they like someone or not!"
"Well yes, I like him of course, he's my friend!"
Her mother shot her a look. "Hermione, the chemistry between you two is obvious."
That stopped Hermione in her tracks. "You think we have chemistry?" she let out, before she could restrain herself. Her mother grinned. Hermione slumped her shoulders in defeat.
To be fair, she had been catching herself having more-than-friendly thoughts about him ever since his arrival at her parents' home. First, when they were having tea, and her parents were explaining their job and pro bono work to him, the way he had scrunched up his face as he attempted to understand them had made that strange sensation in her stomach come back with full force. Now, in hindsight, she was finally able to admit what she had been denying to herself about what that odd abdominal feeling was: butterflies. Draco gave her butterflies. Draco. Malfoy. Gave. Her. Butterflies. It was so absurd she could hardly stand it.
Fortunately, she was also a highly logical person. While it was clear she and Draco were friends, and he was happy with that arrangement, there was no way he'd ever want anything more with her. Despite what her mother had said about them having "chemistry", Hermione had decided her mother was just seeing something she wanted to be there, rather than what was actually present (or, in this case, wasn't). She knew his blood prejudices were gone, but he'd always made it very clear throughout school that he found her to be almost offensively unattractive. While Hermione did not feel that harshly about herself, it was clear Draco did, and he hadn't been saying such things just because she was a muggleborn. If the Patil twins had been muggleborns, she did not think he would have chosen to hurl such insults at them. It would have been ludicrous. Sure, the night of the ball he had complimented her, but that was with almost an entire bottle of Sleakeazy's solution in her hair, and makeup on, which were obviously not everyday occurrences. Plus, he'd only said she "cleaned up nice", not "you look beautiful", or anything.
So, she resigned herself to the fact that they would remain friends, which wasn't unbearable. She wasn't going to throw herself off the Astronomy Tower or anything because Draco didn't like her back. Still, it did make her a little sad, and hard to bear certain things. Like watching him cook. Or when he smiled at her; not his usual smirk, but his real, rare smile. Or when she had run into him coming out of the bathroom that morning after he had just showered.
Yeah, that one had been kind of hard to take.
She supposed it was inevitable, that it would have eventually happened, with them sharing the upstairs. She had heard him showering, of course, but when she peeked out into the hallway a little while afterward, the light in the bathroom was off, so she assumed he had gone back into his room. She had grabbed a few necessary items from her room and was heading down the hallway when he stepped out.
He wasn't totally indecent or anything. He had put his pajamas back on (dark green silk, pants and a long-sleeved button down shirt), but he'd left the shirt open. His usually white-blonde hair had been darkened by the water and was plastered to his head. Drops of water were running down the sides of his face, across his sculpted cheek bones, and there was one drop in particular that was making a very interesting pathway from his clavicle, down his sternum, over his stomach, and then disappearing when it reached the top of his pants. Draco wasn't ripped, but his body was definitely toned, and he had that very prominent v-shape at his hips that pointed right down to his goods that Hermione had always found particularly…mesmerizing. Realizing what she was doing, she snapped her head back up.
"Sorry, I didn't realize you were in there. The light was off."
He shrugged, completely unfazed. "I like to shower with the lights off."
She nodded, processing this bit of information. She noted the drops of water skating across the surface of his skin again. "Didn't I give you a towel?"
"Yeah, I like to drip-dry sometimes."
She nodded again, feeling her brain go slightly fuzzy. "Right, well, I hope you didn't use all the hot water!" she managed to get out, before leaping past him and barricading herself behind the door.
On the whole, though, she thought she had conducted herself rather well.
And then of course there was the Present Incident. Hermione thought her heart might burst when he had told her she didn't need to get him a present because she'd "already given him so much". Such an acknowledgment, coming from him, of all people. He'd really come a long way.
Suddenly, there was a light knock at her bedroom door. She turned toward it curiously. It was a quarter to midnight. She'd been the last person in the house awake; her parents had gone to bed around ten, and Draco had only stayed up for half an hour after them. It had been a particularly exhausting day for everyone; after his shower, Draco had gone off on a mysterious mission she suspected had something to do with getting her a present, but he'd only been gone about 20 minutes. Then he and her father had spent almost the entire rest of the day prepping for Christmas dinner. Usually her Aunt Rebekah and her family came over on Christmas Day, but with Draco being there, everyone thought it might be best for it to be just the four of them. Still, her father wanted to go all out, so all the usual dishes were being prepared. Hermione alternated between sitting at the kitchen table, studying for N.E.W.T.s and determinedly not sneaking glances at Draco while he worked, and helping her mother put up Christmas decorations. After dinner, they'd all assisted with the final decoration task: ornamenting the tree. Draco had been particularly bewildered by putting everything up by hand; house elves had always made up the tree in his home, and he didn't understand why her parents wouldn't just let him and Hermione use magic, as the elves did. Hermione had shrugged, and stated simply "it's one of our traditions".
Light knocking occurred again. She sat up, setting the book she had been intending to read on her bedside table. "Come in."
Draco walked in, and she curled her legs up closer under the covers, hiding her body. She wasn't wearing a bra, and although she wasn't particularly well-endowed up top, it was still pretty obvious, as her t-shirt was worn very thin.
He was wearing his green pajamas again, although this time the shirt was thankfully buttoned all the way to the top. She gestured for him to sit down, meaning in the chair by her window, but he perched himself on the edge of her bed. She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them. "What's up?" she asked softly.
"I've been thinking," he began, running a hand through his hair, whether in agitation or from nerves, she couldn't tell, "and I'd like to visit my mother in St. Mungo's on Christmas Day."
She smiled at him brightly. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Draco. We won't be eating dinner until four or five, so you could spend the whole day with her if you'd like."
He nodded, and glanced at her sideways. He seemed to be steeling himself to say something. She cocked her head to the side, curious.
"Would you - I mean, would you mind - I'd like it if you came with me."
"What?"
He sighed. "I know, but hear me out. A big reason for my mother's…depression, is that she is certain our family name is ruined, and that I've got no chance of doing anything with my life after graduation. Seeing that I've become friends with you, of all people…I think it'll do her some good."
Hermione shook her head. "Don't you think you'd like to see her alone? And can't you just tell her we're friends? Is it really necessary for me to be present, to confirm that fact?"
He looked at her imploringly. "Honestly, she might think I've made it up in an attempt to make her feel better. It's not like my mother's been able to watch me at school. Don't you think even Potter and Weasley would have a hard time believing it if they hadn't seen it with their own eyes?"
Well, he had a point.
"Draco, it's just-"
"It's too much," he interjected, standing up quickly. "I shouldn't have even asked. It was selfish of me, I can see that well enough now. I'll let you sleep, and I'll see you-"
"I'll go with you."
He stopped, halfway to the door. He looked down at her.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded.
"Thank you." His voice was gravelly and rough, like it was an effort for him to say such a thing. She shrugged.
"I just hope your mother likes me even a fraction as much as my parents like you."
"Your parents like me?" he asked, genuine surprise evident in his voice.
She rolled her eyes. "Draco, they adore you. Especially my Dad, he's essentially-", but she stopped herself from saying what, because it would be too mortifying. Draco looked at her expectantly.
"He's essentially what?"
She gulped. "You don't want to know."
"Try me."
She shook her head.
"Hermione, come on," he whined, and she was reminded immediately of the Old Draco, who always insisted on getting his way. Except the Old Draco would never have said her first name like that, and her heart wouldn't have suddenly sped up just because he had.
Merlin, she was pathetic.
She dropped her face into her hands, to hide herself from him as she said it. "He's essentially told me he'd love nothing more than to have you as a son-in-law."
Absolute silence, for a full five seconds. She knew, because she counted. Then-
Draco snorted derisively. "Your father clearly doesn't know you at all. There's not a chance in hell you'd marry someone like me."
And he left, closing the door behind him, leaving Hermione alone to mull over his words, repeating them to herself again and again until she fell asleep.