CHAPTER 21

McGonagall stood, frowning. "This is… not what I expected to be happening," she said, folding her arms over her chest. The weather outside the magical window in the dorm was changing rapidly, sunny one minute, hurricaning the next, and dark and foggy afterwards. Odd wind rustled about the room, and Hermione was glad that it was presenting itself to the professor.

"It started right after break began."

"When, exactly?" asked McGonagall carefully.

"Well…" Hermione remembered back to the first time she heard the faint wind howling throughout the room. "After Malfoy left, I went to the library, and then dinner. And then I came back, and it was beginning to act a bit strangely, it wasn't this bad until the night I woke up from the nightmares. That's when I left."

"Can you describe the nightmares to me?" McGonagall asked, facing Hermione and leaning towards her solemnly.

"I-" Hermione took a slow inhale. "It's hard to explain. But the feeling is terrible, it's loss and grief and fear and anger and agony all at the same time. It's like I'm reliving the War. And the last one I had… it was a battlefield. I kept seeing a figure, I don't know who it was, but… for some reason I felt like I needed them near to me, but they were disappearing into the darkness and the bodies and-" Hermione stopped.

McGonagall pursed her lips. "I'm sorry, my dear."

Suddenly, the portrait door swung open and in stepped Draco Malfoy, along with Filch.

"Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for assisting with carrying the tools-" the professor faded out, straightening and peering at the window. An eerie silence fell over the room. All was calm and normal. The sun sparkled through a bit of cloud overhead in the window.

"Mr. Malfoy, could you please step out of the room for a moment?"

Malfoy, looking minorly confused, turned and exited the portrait door. A moment after it closed, a tiny whistling began, almost inaudible, and the trees blowing in the wind in the window began to shake just a tad more violently.

"Miss Granger, I'd like you to let Mr. Malfoy in the door again."

Hermione, with a feeling she knew where this was going, went to the portrait door and swung it open for Draco. He stepped into the room, and the tiny whistling stopped.

"Miss Granger, if you would."

Hermione stepped out of the room, closing the door in front of her. She waited until it was opened again my Draco, and he stepped out as well, closing the door.

"What the hell does this mean?" Hermione said sullenly.

"I have no fucking idea."

McGonagall opened the door for them both, staring gravely into both of their eyes. "It looks like the room is only happy when you're both here. Plain and simple. I have one idea to solve this issue," the professor said, adjusting the spectacles on her nose, "but it would require you both staying here, at the castle for the night. If you set a precedence in this room, of having both of you in it, then I can make the room think it is like that all the time. I believe that would solve the issue of Hermione staying here over break, or any other future scenarios in which you are both not sleeping in the room at the same time."

Hermione threw up her hands. "But why us? Why is no one else's room acting like a toddler throwing a tantrum?"

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "Because your room is exactly like a toddler throwing a tantrum. The room is like a child. The spells we placed on your rooms, they want peace and harmony and care. Your relationship has never been anything but rocky, but the room is growing along with you, it wants you to come together and compromise, care for each other. There is obviously still some issues you need to work out. Miss Granger, your nightmares are indicative of this need for peace and reconciliation. I'm sure Mr. Malfoy would have experienced the same thing if he was in the room by himself this past week."

Hermione stared at the teacher. "So you're saying that in order for the creepy things to stop happening in the room, we have to 'get along?'"

"Yes."

"But we have been getting along," said Draco, obviously a little miffed at this conversation. "We still pick at each other. But we're… friends, I guess. Friends."

Hermione still thought that word was weird, describing them, but it was accurate, maybe, nonetheless. "I guess we are."

McGonagall ducked her head. "Perhaps the room is asking... more of you."

What the…?

.*.

So Draco and Hermione sat, in their still very-unfinished living room, staring at each other.

"Don't you ever feel like she's putting on some show, just to make us think there's something wrong with us?" asked Draco, rolling his eyes and stretching out his legs. Hermione pulled hers in, criss-cross-applesauce.

"I think I understand what she's saying. I guess, we're just supposed to be here, sleep here tonight, and then the spells will go back to normal if she charms it to think that way."

"Sure," Draco responded.

"There's nothing to do here," Hermione griped, pulling herself up to stand. "I mean, I still have some books in my trunk, but I've read them all twice. Oh, bugger, breaks are so boring with no homework to do."

"Shut your mouth, you nerd," Draco said, and Hermione scowled at him. "Hang on a second, what even are the normal spells over this room?"

"Well, there's the normal room governance spells that they have over all of the dormitory rooms in Hogwarts. They prevent the inhabitants from performing certain types of magic, any dangerous or unhealthy spells, anything that would destroy the building. There's obviously the anti-Apparate charms that block people from coming into the room, you know, prevents theft and all that, and there's the spells in charge of the windows and the temperature and air movement in here."

"Sure, makes sense."

Hermione paused. "And, oh, from what they told us at the beginning of the year, there's rules prohibiting boys and girls from touching. Ginny said that…" she stopped.

"The Weaselette said what?" Draco asked.

"Shhh-" Hermione said, brushing the Slytherin's question away. "No, that's part of what's wrong."

"What in the world are you talking about?"

Hermione knit her brows together. "We… we don't have the same rules as the others, Malfoy."

"Granger. Stop being cryptic."

"We… uh, we kissed in here," Hermione explained. "And Ginny said that when she tried that with Harry, the room didn't like it, it felt like two magnets repelling each other. The rooms are supposed to act as places where we cannot touch. They don't want the students… doing things, you know?"

"So you're saying we're not supposed to be able to… touch," repeated Draco, standing up and leaning against the wall.

"Yeah, it's supposed to feel odd, like the room is pulling us apart. But that spell, I guess, isn't working," Hermione said, walking over to Draco. "Look!" She placed her hand on his chest, and Draco looked down at the point of contact. "What do you feel?"

Draco raised his eyes to Hermione's, eyebrows raised in skepticism. "I feel like you have your hand on my chest."

"No, stop, this is an actual experiment, we need to know so we can tell McGonagall." Hermione stepped closer, so that she was touching the Slytherin, chest to chest and still no replusing feeling. Hermione, growing more and more concerned, pressed even closer, wrapping her arms around Draco's back and pressing a cheek into his chest. She could hear his steady heartbeat. Bum-bum, bum-bum. She could feel warmth in her own chest, spreading out to her limbs and her face.

"See, it's almost like the room is trying to draw us together, instead of apart. It's broken," Hermione said softly, slowly beginning to pull herself away. Draco still stood motionless, looking a bit shocked.

"Okay, so it wasn't just me," he finally answered. "It wasn't actually us wanting to kiss each other. It was the room telling us to."

"Yes, that explains all of this," Hermione answered with finality, huffing a sigh of relief. It made her feel a little better to know that those warm feelings were the result of a spell, a curse, maybe, on their unlucky dorm and not true… emotions towards her once-worst-enemy.

"Well, that's a relief," said Draco, walking past Hermione and towards the bedroom.

...

They had spent the rest of their afternoons reading their respective books, each taking showers because what else did they have to do in the tiny apartment-like dorm other than talk to each other, and blankly stare at the walls?

"McGonagall said we really couldn't leave at all?" Draco whined, walking out into the kitchen where Hermione was going through the contents of the fridge, out of boredom and slightly out of hunger.

"She said if we want it to work the best way it can," Hermione answered, pulling a bag of grapes from the fridge.

"What do you think she meant when she said 'the room wanted more?'" Draco asked, leaning on the edge of the counter.

Hermione sighed, and Draco took it as annoyance. "I think that was her trying to be cryptic in her typical McGonagall way, and make us think more about it than we really should. I mean, what can she expect from us? We haven't caused any trouble around school, nothing that we've started, anyways. There's no problem anymore."

"She's a weird old hag," Malfoy muttered, watching Hermione empty half of the bag of grapes into a bowl and take them to the sink. She rinsed them, tossing them around a little bit before draining the water out of the bowl and setting the fruit on the counter.

"I guess I can make some pasta for dinner. I didn't think she'd just lock us in here for an entire day without giving us food. But maybe she just assumed we'd cook for ourselves."

Draco eyed Hermione, reaching over and grabbing a grape from the bowl when she wasn't looking. When Hermione turned her back fully to put the bag back in the fridge, he tossed it at her. It hit her neck and bounced to the floor.

"Wow," said Hermione, closing the fridge. She slid to the counter, grabbing another grape and chucking it at Draco's forehead. He ducked in time to miss it, smirking.

"Don't pick a fight you know you'll lose, Granger." Another grape flew for Draco's face, missing by a few inches. "Stop," he said threateningly.

Hermione used her wand this time to aim a grape right for his cheek, hitting hard and exploding on his cheekbone.

Alright. If she wanted to fight.

Draco swiftly moved around the counter into the kitchen, where Hermione ducked past him the opposite way back into the living room area, which was still unassembled except for the couch from the Manor in the middle of the room. Laughing, she held up the few grapes that were in her hand, ready to throw them.

Then Draco did what Hermione was obviously not expecting, which was to abandon his prime position at the grape bowl and run to the living room, dodging the couch and pushing her with enough force to knock the grapes out of her hand. She didn't fall over, but he caught her so she couldn't move, arms held back with his. She struggled.

Draco quickly let go of one of her hands to fumble for his wand in his pocket. In the time she had her hand free, she grabbed for his shirt and snagged his tie, trying to pull on it to make him let her go. She effectively loosened his tie, but didn't loosen his grip. Draco finally got a hold of his wand.

The bowl of grapes. With a quick swish, all of the grapes in the bowl flew over, exploded into the air, and splattered all over the girl in a fabulous firework. He released Hermione from his hold and watched her gasp at the grape guts all over her.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed, swiping a handful of the pulpy goo off of her and shoving it into Draco's shirt. Now both of their once-pristine white shirts were slathered in mashed grape skin and juice. Draco stared at the stain on his button-down.

"This was custom-tailored," he said, just before diving for Hermione, catching her waist in his arms, picking her up, and tossing her into the couch. All the while she screamed, out of breath from fighting and laughing.

"Now it's on the couch," she whined, picking herself up. She got up, trying to make a dash for the kitchen where her wand was, but Draco was faster. He caught her again, and being the larger person of the two, was able to keep her back, watching her struggle.

"It's cute when you try to fight back," Draco said.

Whoa. Where did that come from?

Finally, Hermione stopped, letting her arms go limp. "Fine. Just let me change. This is actually Ginny's shirt, I should get the stain out now while I can—"

She lifted her arms to pull away again, and suddenly Draco noticed something that sent searing pain through his head. Hermione's usual thick, shapeless sweaters hid her arms, but this shirt didn't do that as well. The thin fabric was pushed back to reveal letters scarred into her arm, still pink and jagged-edged. Draco couldn't move his eyes.

He was looking at a big part of why she'd hated him. He was staring his past in the face. And it burned.

Hermione must have noticed something was wrong. She followed his gaze down to her left forearm. Mudblood.

In a crazy moment of realization, Draco was so insanely glad that he was put as roommates with Hermione Granger. It was the worst time of his life, but it was a distraction. He forgot all about that word, and its meaning, when the two of them fought over who got which bed or what food to get at the Muggle grocery store or about how they were going to take revenge on Pansy and Weasley. Now he only hated Hermione for her slightly superior grades, stubbornness, and tendencies to start petty fights by throwing fruit, not for her existence in general. It was easy to forget she was everything he used to despise.

Maybe that was the point, after all. To make them all realize that life goes on no matter what happened or who you were. That paint colors still need to be chosen. That homework is still due.

Draco almost said "I'm sorry," but he still hated that stupid apology phrase. He was never very good at it. He didn't say anything. He just rolled up the sleeve on his right arm and held it up to Hermione's left, placing the scars side by side.

You could never really get rid of a Dark Mark. When Voldemort died, all of the marks turned to scars. Draco had tried to clear his skin, and it was so painful he almost blacked out, so the outline was still there, bumpy and discolored.

All they did was look at their arms pressed together. Broken china. They were a matching set.

Finally, Draco couldn't stand to look at the word he had said so many times, etched into the girl's skin. He hated himself for ever speaking it. He had said it earlier that year. Every remorse from every point in his life came flooding over him, and it stung at his eyes. No, he wouldn't cry. But it still hurt his tear ducts.

The next thing he knew, he was holding Hermione, his arms wrapped completely around her small torso, chin over her shoulder. There was no apology he could issue. So he didn't say anything. Any words would surely do more harm than already was done.

Hermione eventually moved her arms to hug Draco back. They found their way around his neck. He heard her soft breathing, and understood what she meant about the room pushing them together. He didn't want to pull away. He wanted to be closer to her, even though he really didn't know how. He really didn't know what was happening in this blurry state of mind.

Somehow, they pulled back. Somehow, there was a moment of silence, and a moment where nothing else was there, and then their lips were pressed together. It was accidental. There was no remembering how it happened. It was a single, short kiss, lips hot and trembling. It startled Draco.

The world was falling around his feet.

"The room," Hermione finally said, breaking the roaring silence in the aftermath of their short liplock. "It's just the spells."

"Right," Draco said, tearing himself back from the girl in front of him.

Hermione breathed in, extricating herself from Draco.

"I'm going to sleep," she said, smiling painfully and slipping away to the bedroom without another word.

.*.

As soon as Hermione was down the hall and past the door, she glanced down at the scar letters on her arm, wondering if what had just happened had happened.

She stood there, motionless, out of sheer confusion.

Spices, apples, old books.

If the room was making her feel this way, then it really didn't mean anything. But it really was a mean trick to play on them. It was cruel to make them feel emotions they really shouldn't, ones that aren't real...

But it had really felt real. When Draco stopped and stared at her scar, she felt something different. It was like a page turning. It was like something breaking into millions of pieces. It felt like a type of healing that is painful at the start.

She stepped into her closet and shook off her grape-stained shirt, trading it out for a long tee and leggings. She just needed to sleep, that's all. She just needed to sleep it off and tomorrow Draco could leave and she would tell McGonagall about the problem and there wouldn't be any issues with her sleeping there alone anymore.

She crawled towards her bed, the down blankets and the soft sheets, and sunk herself in, pulling the sheets and blankets around her head. They would drown everything out until morning.