Chapter XXV

By the time the Easter holiday arrives, Draco goes home to Mummy and Daddy with a plump, purple, freshly bruised eye—but not in the manner I had been afraid of, and even more so, not rewarded to him by who I expected. (Allow me to explain.)

Admittedly, I had been rather suspicious of Harry, Ginny, and Ron in the weeks following the trial. With Crabbe and Goyle gone, and various whispers in the corridors of Hogwarts speculating the nature of their disappearance, Draco remained as secluded as possible, and the fear that the trial had induced in him was present on his features: he looked especially pale, unsmiling and reserved, and barely spoke in class. Of course, I couldn't really blame him—I would be scared too if I knew that there were at least a small handful of people, most of them fellow schoolmates, who wanted nothing more than to beat my arse to a pulp. What was most interesting, however, about the appearance of post-trial Draco Malfoy, was the curious absence of his Head Boy badge from the front of his robes.

I had been firm with Harry and Ginny not to pursue any form of confrontation with him. The trial was over, the main perpetrators of my assault had gotten what they deserved, and inflicting any sort of harm to Draco Malfoy would not help anyone. I was less concerned about Ron, seeing as he only had a limited opportunity to access him during the Hogsmeade weekends, but that also didn't stop me from sternly warning him in my letters that he, his sister, and Harry had better not be planning anything. He replied innocently, and our designated weekends together were spent in the privacy of Our Place, where our snogging sessions resumed as passionately heated as ever. It felt even better knowing that I no longer had anything to hide from him.

However, in spite of the relatively peaceful demeanor I had adopted in the aftermath of the trial, I couldn't help but be angry with the pale, blonde Slytherin, and my hands curled into twitching fists whenever I passed him in the halls or saw him in the Great Hall or made even the briefest of eye contact with him in class. Should I have felt hypocritical, telling my friends not to carry out their own form of justice when I occasionally fantasized about doing the exact same thing? I was the one who was most directly affected by him, after all, but still, I was no brute—not someone to purposefully plan to hurt another human being … no matter how much they deserved it …

During the week preceding the Easter holiday I was invited to return to the Burrow with Ginny. My parents were tending to my phlegmatic but decidedly aging paternal grandparents, and even though I offered to go with them they insisted I spend my time off having fun with my friends instead. ("But not too much fun," my mother had reminded me with a knowing tone.) On the eve before our departure on the Hogwarts Express, as the rest of the school proceeded with the usual goodbyes as some students packed their trunks and others planned to remain at the castle, I had taken to my usual patrol route, humming the theme song to Beauty and the Beast as I stepped confidently through the otherwise appropriately empty corridors. As I was about to pass the staircase leading to the kitchens, however, I was displeased to come face-to-face with the emerging figure of Draco Malfoy, who only looked at me with frightened grey eyes before turning on his heel in the other direction.

"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy," I had begun in a delightfully patronizing tone, approaching him from behind. "I do believe you're out past curfew. Just because the holiday starts tomorrow doesn't mean you're allowed to blatantly disregard the rules."

He turned back to me, fidgeting in obvious discomfort. "And who are you to tell me about curfew, Granger? I'm Head Boy, I can be out all night if I want to."

"Funny you mention that, because I was just wondering why I haven't seen you wearing your badge for the last couple of months. You were absent from our last meeting with the prefects too. That's rather unprofessional of you, don't you think?"

Biting his lower lip, his eyes darted from me to the walls. "Well—that—that doesn't matter, anyway. Besides, I've got a note from Dumbledore," he said, and swiftly produced a folded piece of parchment from his robe, "Says I'm allowed to be out late. For your information, Mudblood, I was helping the elves in the kitchens. It's part of my punish—" he stopped himself suddenly, his mouth hanging open, and stuffed the note back in his pocket. "It's no business of yours either way, Granger. Haven't you given me enough trouble this year? Just leave me alone and maybe I won't tell my father that you've been harassing me." He attempted one of his signature haughty sneers in a weak aim to scare me, but the resulting chuckle came out shakily, fear ever-present in his eyes.

"Malfoy—wait!" I said before he had the chance to turn away again. "Look, I only wanted to say … what happened wasn't your fault. You had no idea Crabbe and Goyle were going to do what they did to me. And …" I licked my lips, "… and I hope we can all move on from this incident maturely, like the young adults that we are. I won't hold this against you. In fact, I—I forgive you."

Slowly, I raised my right hand, my thumb standing erect and my fingers aimed sharply at him in the apparent promise of a truce. Draco had only stared cautiously down at my offering before meeting my hard gaze.

"You—you can't be serious, can you?" he asked.

"Nope." And in the matter of a second, I had crunched the very same hand into a tight fist and successfully thwacked him across the side of the face. Draco staggered back against the nearest wall as he cried out in pain, cradling his sore cheek.

"Bloody M-M-Mudblood," he choked, regaining his composure just enough to run away, and the sound of his expensive, hard-soled shoes clacking furiously against the floor as he retreated was like music to my ears.

Naturally, Ron, Harry, and Ginny are ecstatic at hearing what I've done, so much so that upon my arrival at the Burrow Ron goes about the house chanting "my girlfriend punched Draco Malfoy in the face!" several times before the twins threaten to hex him if he doesn't shut up.

"Honestly, Ronald," I say once I've got him alone in his room. "What I did is nothing to be proud of!"

"Yes, it is," he insists, chuckling as we take a seat on his bed. "C'mon. You know it felt good. If it hadn't you wouldn't have told us about it."

"Yeah, well … a bit," I confess reluctantly, shrugging. "I simply found the opportunity to provide the justice that the Ministry couldn't deliver. But it's not like I planned it or anything!" I add, eyeing him suspiciously.

Sighing, Ron beams at me with his handsomely lopsided grin. "All right, love—I'll admit that the last few times I wrote to Harry and Ginny we were talking about, potentially, I dunno, seeing where he goes during the Hogsmeade trips and giving him a little talking to …" I raise my brow as he continues through an innocent laugh. "It's not like we were going to kill him or anything! We were just—you know—gonna make sure what happened never happens again. But it looks like you've already taken care of that, haven't you? You brilliant girl!" Taking me in his arms, he nuzzles my cheek affectionately. "My brilliant girl."

"Well … I suppose so," I say, losing myself in his loving caress.

"And you aren't afraid he'll have Daddy do something about it?"

"Not at all. He said so himself that I've given him enough trouble this year," I reply confidently, smirking. "I told you too, he didn't put up any fight. He just ran away. He cursed at me, sure, but he didn't try to defend himself. Almost ... almost like he knew he deserved it. Although I won't expect any form of decent admission from Draco Malfoy."

We're silent for a moment after this comment, and Ron continues to kiss the side of my face, eventually moving up to my ear, where he gingerly takes my lobe in his mouth for a tender nip. "Oh, Ron—oh!" I gasp suddenly.

"What is it?" he asks, pulling back and regarding me with concern. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"I just remembered, Ron—in the midst of all this, I never got to give you your Valentine's Day gift! I totally forgot about it!"

He chortles briefly in relief. "You scared me there for a second, love."

"Seriously! It was a box of truffles from Honeydukes—the really nice kind too. I know they put preserving charms on their items so they last a long time; they should still be fresh! Oh, I know they're still in my other coat. I left it at home," I remember. "Want to come get it with me?"

"All right" he replies eagerly. "But first—" Gently removing me from his embrace, Ron walks over to his dresser and opens the top drawer (which I've come to regard as his go-to hiding place), and, after shuffling in it for a moment, pulls out a simply wrapped, thick and rectangular box. "I wouldn't be much of a boyfriend if I didn't also go against our agreement not to get gifts for each other." Smiling, he holds it out to me. "I hadn't completely forgotten about it, mind you, but—yeah, I reckon I was waiting for everything to cool down too."

"Oh, Ron, you sweetheart," I say, taking it from him. "What it it?"

"Why don't you open it, silly?"

"Okay."

He watches with a wide grin as I carefully tear away the wrapping, gasping with delight upon realizing that I've uncovered my own videocassette copy of Beauty and the Beast.

"Do you like it?" he asks nervously. "I mean, I got it because of that nice double date we had that one time—"

"This is so thoughtful of you, Ron!" I stand up from his bed to plant a firm kiss on his lips. "I love it. Thank you."

"It's nothing, really," he replies bashfully. "But you're welcome, love. It's good to see you this happy again." He smirks, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. "Shall we head to your house then?"

As I nod in confirmation, I'm pleasantly reminded of the fact that, should we indeed go to my house, we'd be completely alone, with no chance of being disturbed. In a household as busy as the Burrow, we'd always been careful not to let things get too heated in case either of us had to make a swift getaway, lest we face the embarrassment of being walked in on by someone, especially the Weasley matriarch. Even in the relative solitude of Our Place we still maintained a degree of carefulness (no matter how slight), because we were still, technically, trespassers—but the idea of being totally alone with Ron in the private comfort of my own home, with my parents undeniably gone many miles away, entices me.

I continue to nod, squeezing his arm with my free hand. "Yes," I breathe into his face. "Let's go."