A/N: Chapter Thirty-Six!

Four Days Later

There was a party in one of the empty rooms near the school kitchen. Hufflepuff won against Ravenclaw in a landslide victory, and decided to celebrate by cracking open some butterbeer and partying the night away. Of course, students of different Houses were invited to join in on the fun — Harry, Hermione and the other Gryffindors amongst them.

They entered the packed room and observed.

"So what's the prognosis?" Harry asked, nodding hello to a few people as he idled near the back of the room. "Tonight or tomorrow?"

Hermione sipped on her drink. "A few days," she voiced over the music, slightly crestfallen. "It's been over two weeks already . . . I don't know what Pomfrey is playing at. He's fine."

"It's her job to know for sure," offered the Chosen One, looking to his friend. "In any case . . . he insisted that you come to the party tonight and enjoy yourself. It wouldn't hurt to try."

The brunette shrugged. "I suppose you're right."

"Wait here. I'll grab some snacks." Harry patted her on the shoulder, before slipping into the crowd of students.

Because it wasn't a weeknight, the air in the room was thick with possibility. Hermione could tell there were a lot of scenarios playing out behind the tapestries and around the corners. She swiped a drink off one of the tables and tilted it back, surprised at the kick. It must have been spiked with fire whiskey. Thank Merlin, she quietly thought, taking another sip, which then turned into a large mouthful.

"Easy, easy . . . " someone voiced.

Hermione turned around, relieved to find Blaise. "Hey," she mouthed, swallowing the drink.

He laughed. "You've come a long way, Granger."

"Have I?"

"Of course, of course," he nodded, smiling as they watched the crowd. "Just a few months ago, it was a grave mistake to do so little as curse in front of you, and now you're . . . "

She gulped down some more. "A trifling hooligan?"

"No," he chuckled, nudging her playfully. "You're unafraid to step outside of the box, and I think that's quite cool."

Hermione weighed on it. "I suppose that's true," she thought aloud. Granted, she and her friends were known for bending the school rules on more than a few occasions, but there was still an air of maturity and righteousness that followed her everywhere she went. She was always expected to do and say the right things at the right times or the world would cease to exist. Needless to say, she enjoyed letting go once in a while. It was quite a liberating transformation . . . being able to shed the goody-two-shoes image and just be.

"Anyway." Blaise glanced over the bobbing heads. "I should probably head back and see what Tracey and the other girls are up to."

"Oh, right." Hermione nodded, having forgotten about his girlfriend. "Enjoy your night."

Blaise winked. "You, too." Once he disappeared into the crowd to mingle about and what not, an unexpected sight caught Hermione's attention.

In the middle of the room, stood a tall, blonde wizard, dressed in the Slytherin uniform, with the sleeves rolled up, and a devilish smirk on those firm lips.

The witch gaped at him a moment, wondering how he had managed to sneak out of the Hospital Wing until it dawned on her. She slowly shook her head, smiling as they met in the crowd. In the background, the song transitioned to a heavy bassline — 'Love Spreads' by The Stone Roses.

"You, sir, are in a lot of trouble," Hermione noted, narrowing her eyes at him, suggestively.

Draco smiled, lopsidedly. "Is that so?"

"Oh, yes." She moved closer to him, hiding the blush that coloured her cheeks, when he reached for her hands, intertwining her fingers with his . . . loose but firm.

He leaned down to kiss her, where everyone could see.

"Draco," she admonished, softer than intended. "People are . . . looking."

"Let them," he shrugged.

Her eyes slammed shut as their lips made contact. It was light — a lot lighter than usual — but it was enough to leave every eye in the room focused in their direction. Strange as it was, she liked the poetry of it. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. Playground rivals turned lovers.

"Come," he said, drawing back a few inches. "Let's go for a ride."

Hermione blinked, slightly dizzy. "Now?" she asked. "I told Harry I would w — " She wheeled a look around the room, and found the Chosen One with some of their mutual friends. He gave her a quick thumbs up and a smile, followed by a cordial nod to Malfoy. Hermione faced the blonde, arms folded. "So it seems Harry knew you were out of the Hospital Wing all along."

Draco smiled that smile of his. "I asked him to keep it a secret," he admitted. "I would have told you the second I was released, but I wanted it to be surprise — part of the surprise."

"Oh?" She looked to him curiously. "Does the rest involve a broom ride through the forest?"

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see." With a mysterious glint in his eyes, he motioned to the door with a single nod. "Shall we?"

Hermione wanted to press further, because it was her natural instinct, but she didn't. Instead, she slid her arm around his and left the party, inwardly relieved that she had worn a flattering pair of knickers.

Naturally, their exit was met with a ton more whispers, but neither of them seemed to care.

Harry leaned on the wall with a hand in his pocket and a drink in his hand, listening to the music and observing the crowd from a fair distance. On cue, Hermione and Malfoy left the venue, hand in hand, and sparked waves of whispers along the way. People would be talking about it for ages, he imagined. It was all very John Hughes, in his opinion, but he didn't mind a dose of corny teen romance every now and then. In fact, he could have used some that very moment.

Across the room, Ginny was standing near the drinks table, talking to a bloke from Ravenclaw in her year. Harry didn't know the git's name, but he imagined it was something annoying like Tyler or Josh. He rolled his eyes at the thought, and tilted back his bottle of butterbeer, finishing it one hard gulp.

It wasn't his place to judge the blokes she talked to, but did she have to do it with such . . . ease?

Harry grimaced.

Talking to girls had never been his strong suit. If there was a dragon egg to collect, or a psychotic wizard to kill, he was more than capable . . . but talking to girls was a dark, dangerous land that he tried hard to avoid for as long as he possibly could. The fact that he had landed Ginny Weasley at all was a surprise, only to him it seemed, and although he missed her terribly . . . he understood the reason behind their breakup, and on some level, he embraced it.

Just not in situations like the current one, in which he was plagued by the sight of her giggling up a storm, tucking a strand of bright red hair behind her ear as Liam McBoyband gave her the false impression that he was a decent bloke; all the while visualizing what she would look like naked.

Harry grimaced that much harder and forced his eyes in to the other side of the room. Instead of agonizing over Ginny's dating prospects, he decided to focus on his own. Granted, he had none at the moment, and although he did have a slew of admirers . . . the idea of dating one of the girls that tried daily to spike love potion into his food and drink was decidedly unappealing.

Still, he smiled at them, because that was the polite thing to do, and looked around. There was an unexpected feeling in his gut, when he spotted a petite, dark-haired Slytherin girl wandering into the party venue on her own. Because her hair was a little different, and because she was wearing a pair of black high heel shoes instead of the usual chunky looking things, it took him a moment to recognize that face and the permanent scowl that hovered close to the surface.

He imagined she didn't want to be there, but decided to attend nevertheless because it was better than sitting alone in an empty dormitory, where she was vulnerable to everything that wrong with her life.

For reasons he didn't take the time to comprehend, the Chosen One set down his empty bottle on one of the tables and made his way to the door, earning a swift glare from the witch in question.

"Potter," she acknowledged, not nearly as frigid as usual, but still on the frosty side.

Harry smiled, mostly because he knew it would confuse her a little. "Pansy," he casually greeted. It made little sense to for him to approach her out of every girl, but if all his friends were running around with Slytherins, why couldn't he? "You look nice tonight."

Within that same second, a firm arch found Pansy's brow. "What are you playing at?" she asked, pointedly.

"Nothing," he assured the witch. "Quidditch is demanding enough as it as. I don't play games in my leisure time."

There was a moment of awkward silence, before she burst out laughing, holding a hand over her mouth as though it surprised her as much as him. "Was that your idea of a chat up line?"

Harry scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. "Er, I guess. You'll have to excuse me. I'm not very good at this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?"

"Talking to girls other than Hermione," he blurted. "Children and older women not included."

Pansy's lip twitched, as though she had an insult or a smart remark fighting to be heard. Instead, she sighed lazily, bored of all the petty back-and-forth that consumed her for so long. "I'm not very good at this either," she admitted. " . . . and corny as it was, that line was the closest thing to a flirtatious remark that has ever been directed at me."

Harry's eyes widened a little. It wasn't a terrible shock to know that Pansy Parkinson didn't have millions of suitors at her feet. What did shock him, however, was the fact that she told him. "Do . . . do you want to dance?" he asked. "I mean, would you like to dance?"

She looked to him, wordless.

"With me," he inserted, when she didn't say anything. "If you don't, I'll understand. I just . . . I came here to kick back and have some fun, but all I've done thus far is watch Ginny like a hawk and stand idly by, as every one of my friends scampers off with whomever it is they are currently dating, which is fine and all, but . . . but it just sucks being alone all the time, you know?"

"I think I do," she quietly said, unheard due to the loud music.

Harry looked to the floor, slightly embarrassed. "Anyway. Sorry for unloading on you. I'll just . . . yeah. Have a nice night." He shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded to the witch, turning around to leave.

"Wait!" Pansy stepped forward, coming within a foot of him. "I . . . I accept," she said. "I would like to dance . . . with you."

The Chosen One blinked, taking a moment to wait for the absurdity of it all to subside, before he embraced it. "Brilliant."

Luckily, it wasn't a slow song. Harry imagined Pansy was just as relieved to know that. A few of their classmates looked at them curiously, but it lasted only as long as it took for the chorus to come on. The song was 'I Want You' by Savage Garden. Upbeat and danceable; not that he had any idea how to dance.

Pansy, on the other hand, was quite adept.

"Sorry, sorry!" Harry apologized, having stepped on her toes. "I didn't mean to —"

"It's OK," she laughed, thoroughly amused by his clumsiness. It was unusual to find Harry Potter bad at something, at least that's what she seemed to be thinking judging by the look in her eyes.

When the song was about a third of the way in, he relaxed a bit and found a comfortable rhythm. Pansy remained silent, laughing quietly at him every now and then, but otherwise soundless. She wasn't nearly as miserable to be around when she didn't have that scowl on her face, he realized. In fact, she was quite pretty in a disguised, understated way, as though she didn't know it and had never been told by anyone other than her mum or a dodgy friend who said so out of pity.

Harry was intrigued by the Slytherin girl; mostly, because she seemed to have something on her mind.

They made it all the way through the first song and halfway through the second, before he asked. "So, you know my story. It's only fair that I know yours, right?"

Pansy rolled her eyes at the triteness, smiling nonetheless. "I appreciate the effort, but I'm really in no mood to sit down and explain my life story to you."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a reason as to why you came here alone tonight," he said, casually, but in a friendly, familiar manner. " . . . and possibly, the reason you accepted my invitation to dance, seemingly without complaint. There must be something on your mind in order for that to happen, wouldn't you say?"

"As true as that may be," Pansy breathed in, deeply. "I'm trying not to dwell on my problems. It's unhealthy to obsess over boys who aren't interested."

"Ah, it's about a boy."

"I'm a seventeen-year-old girl who has never been kissed, let alone touched. Of course, it's about a boy."

Harry gaped at the witch, trying to hide the shock that went through his system, and failing. "You've never been kissed?"

Pansy stuck her nose high in the air, doing what she could to save face. "I have not, nor do I care to do such a thing."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Do you know how many infections you can contract mouth-to-mouth? Because I do, and believe me, you would keep those lips to yourself if I told you the number," she said, matter-of-factly. With that her eyes drifted to where Ginny stood, talking to a bloke from Hufflepuff this time around. Pansy motioned to them, inconspicuously. "Take your ex-girlfriend, for example. She's kissed over twelve different boys, that we know of, and every one of those kisses, as well as every kiss that belongs to each of those boys, has been passed on to you, so on and so forth. In that context, your mouth is a breeding ground for infection."

Harry listened, acutely aware that his lips were dry, whilst fighting the urge to lick them. "Is that true?"

"I'll show you the articles," Pansy offered, completely serious.

"How many blokes do you think Cho kissed?" he asked. "We snogged a couple years ago."

"Hmm." The witch thought on it. "I'd say about the same number as Ginny. Fewer, perhaps. She seemed the relationship type."

Harry swallowed. "Well. This has all been very enlightening."

"You think I'm mad, don't you?" Pansy asked, lip twitching. " . . . talking about infections whilst we're supposed to be having fun and dancing."

"Er — " The abrupt shift took him by surprise. Harry shook his head. "No, not at all. I don't think you're mad. In need of a good snog, sure, but definitely not mad."

She tensed a moment.

"Don't worry," he quickly inserted. "I'm not going to kiss you. Not that the idea of kissing you is unappealing. I just — I barely know you, and — and I'm sure you don't want me to kiss you."

"Well . . . " Pansy exhaled, eyes panning down, as she looked at his lips. "I suppose that's true."

He blinked, waiting a moment before he said anything. "My mouth is a breeding ground for infection, after all."

"Also true."

The song changed just then, to something a little faster. The crowd thickened as loads of students swarmed the dance floor and hopped up and down, singing along to Queen.

Harry and Pansy failed to take notice of the chaos, choosing instead to fill the awkward distance between them with a hasty, uncomfortable, ill-advised decision. Pansy launched at him first, and Harry met her in the middle, meaning to run his hands through her hair, before he realized it was too short. Instead, his hands were met with nothing but air, and the kiss itself was even clumsier.

Suffice it to say, neither of them cared.

Pansy tugged at the collar of Harry's shirt, and he grazed her sides with his fingertips, inspiring a surprised, yet equally enthralled sound from the girl, before it dawned on them hard and fast. In a matter of seconds, they stumbled out of the kiss as awkwardly as they stumbled into it, and were then faced with a massive, underlined question.

"Should we snog over there?" Harry asked, pointing his thumb to a more private corner.

Pansy cleared her throat, trying to remain dignified despite her messy hair and smudged lipstick. "Yes, I believe we should."

It was probably a bad idea, and it was quite possible that Ginny had witnessed every second of it, but Harry shoved those thoughts aside and led Pansy to a secluded area. Part of him wondered if she would now cling on to him, the way she did Malfoy, buy he dismissed the notion fairly quickly. That night, Parkinson didn't seem to be her usual clingy, uptight self, which proved to him that she was there for similar, if not identical, reasons as him.

"Just tonight," she uttered, looking up at him as they inched closer. "Deal?"

"Deal," he agreed, quickly realizing she looked nothing like a pug.

There were several reasons fire whiskey was a bad idea.

Stumbling into the girls loo to puke ones guts out in the sink, was one of those reasons. Because it was empty in the bathroom, Astoria didn't hold back. She gripped the basin and hurled all of it out in mushy chunks. Despite her thin frame, she was normally able to drink copious amounts of alcohol without consequence, but that night was different, because . . . well, because she hadn't consumed as little as a drop of alcohol in well over a month. Plus, there was a party and plenty of fun to be had. It didn't help that Ron was drinking, too. Only, he was still pounding pint after pint with Seamus Finnegan, competing to see who could drink more before projectile vomiting lunch and dinner.

It was safe to assume Astoria had lost the competition; quite horribly at that.

Ron tried to help her to the bathroom, but she insisted that he stay and hang out with his friends. Lately, she had been taking up a lot of his time. Neither of them viewed it as a problem, per se, but there was definitely an air of attached-at-the-arse, which needed to be squashed as soon as possible.

That in mind, she blew chunks all on her own.

"Astoria? Is that you in there? Are you OK?"

She groaned, using the back of her hand to wipe the residue from her lips. "Fucking hell." Before she could properly ready her mind and body for the ordeal, a dark-haired wizard of the green and silver came into view. Astoria glared at him, through the reflection in the mirror. "I am really not in the mood for this," she said. "Please leave me alone. I'll actually beg, if that's what it takes."

"It's OK. I come in peace." Theodore neared, coming within five feet of her. "I just . . . I saw you running through the corridor with a hand clapped over your mouth, and I thought something was wrong." His eyes veered to the sink. "Turns out I was right."

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Death by vomit?"

"I'm trying to be serious here."

"Well I'm trying to puke my guts out in peace, but you don't hear me complaining."

Theodore looked to her, a certain depth to his eyes. "Are you ever going to talk to me again?"

She wiped the corners of her mouth. "No," the witch answered, truthfully. "Are you ever going to stop trying?"

"No," he answered back. "Unless you can tell me face-to-face that you don't want me in your life."

Astoria stifled a yawn. "I don't want you in my life."

"Look me in the eyes and say it."

She turned around, facing him. "I . . . don't . . . want . . . you . . . in . . . my . . . li —"

The door opened again, except this time it wasn't the ex-boyfriend from hell. Theodore stiffened his posture, as Ron entered, looking between them with question marks in his eyes. His attention fell on Astoria.

"Is everything OK?" Ron asked, keeping calm as he found her side.

"Yes," she said, locking hands with him. "Theo was just leaving, weren't you?" asked the witch, looking to the Slytherin wizard.

Theodore swallowed, teetering as though he wanted to say something rude, but couldn't. Instead, he nodded. "I'll . . . I'll see you around. Take care, Astoria. And you, Weasley."

Once the sound of his footsteps faded into nothingness, Ron looked to Astoria, confused. "What was that about?"

"I don't even know," she shrugged, ending with a sigh. "Is it weird that I feel bad for him?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Really," he confirmed, using a quick wave of magic to clean the puke bits out of Astoria's hair. "It's . . . actually kind of cool. It means you don't hold grudges."

She thought about it. "How can anyone? People make mistakes. It's part of life. If I were judged for everything I've ever done, I would have no friends. Trust me."

Ron laughed. "Oh, bollocks. What's the worst thing you've done? Shag a ginger?"

"No but that's pretty high up," Astoria quipped teasingly. "If you must know, the worst thing I've done involves my dorm-mate Druella's afternoon tea and a well-placed laxative."

Ron's mouth fell open. "You didn't," he gaped, mildly impressed and mildly horrified.

She smiled. "You're right. I didn't, but I am thinking about it."

He chuckled. "Oh, Merlin. I need to introduce you to my brothers Fred and George. They'll love you."

"Maybe you should," Astoria suggested, causing a shift. "I'd . . . like to meet them. Your family."

Ron blinked, surprised by not perturbed. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I think it would be nice. I mean . . . we are together now, so . . . "

"Brilliant, yeah. You should come around in the summer. We always have loads of people over for Sunday night dinner. My mum will probably be a little difficult at first, but only because she has known Hermione for so long and has pretty much been planning our wedding since we told her we were together last summer. My dad and brothers are very laid back and you already know Ginny, so . . . I imagine it'll go quite smoothly." He grinned, thinking about it. "Should I . . . meet your family?"

Astoria couldn't help but smile, endeared by his excitement. "Of course," she said. "Daphne has no qualms with you, and I know my parents will be glad to know I'm dating outside of the usual circle."

"You know . . . I'm a bloodtraitor, but I'm still technically part of that circle."

Her eyes widened at the realization. "Ew! You are, aren't you?" she asked. "We could . . . we could be related!" She clapped a hand over her mouth, gagging.

Ron burst out laughing. "We're not. I already checked."

"You checked? How?"

"I don't know. I just said that so you wouldn't break up with me," he admitted, resisting the urge to chuckle.

Astoria nudged him playfully, smiling nonetheless. "Eh, whatever. You're fit. I'd bone you, even if we are cousins."

Ron looked to her, slowly shaking his head. "I am both thrilled and disgusted to hear that."

"Funny," she said. "I had the same reaction when you told me you were going to kiss that smug look off my face, that night in the library."

There was a look between them, filled with ease and familiarity, and after a few moments of comfortable silence, they left the bathroom hand-in-hand.

An Hour Later

Hermione and Draco didn't quite make it to the Forbidden Forest. Instead, they were sprawled on the floor of the Quidditch locker room, where Draco kept his Nimbus 2001, and chose simply to talk in the aftermath of their haste. Hermione sat up, tugging her hair into a ponytail. It was quite hot in the locker room, or maybe it was just her. Draco watched soundlessly, eyes panning down the young woman's back. She was bare, save for her earrings.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

She tossed one look over her shoulder, to him. "I've always wondered," she said. "You weren't at all excited to hear that the scout was interested in you. Why is that?"

He leaned back on his arms. "It's difficult to be excited about something that will never come to be, no matter how bad you want it."

"What do you mean?" she asked, with a tiny inkling.

Draco focused on the witch, smiling a moment, before he spoke. "I'll be under strict house arrest for twelve months, once I'm out of here," he said. "My family and I were originally pardoned for our stance in the war but . . . the case was reopened after a few secrets were unearthed and the Wizengamot changed their minds. My parents are serving their sentences as we speak. I'm to finish school before I join them. I . . . I went to the hearing about a month ago . . . back when we weren't talking. A few forgiving Officials tried to let me go with only a slap on the wrist, but it was no use. Majority wins." He glanced down, eyes on the floor. "By the time those twelve months are over, the scout will have forgotten about me . . . but it's fine."

Hermione blinked, distantly aware that her eyelashes were moist. "I had no idea," she voiced. "I . . . is there anything I can do? I'm acquainted with a few members of the Wizengamot. Maybe if —"

"Don't worry about it," he cut in, calmly. "I have to do this. It's as simple as that."

"But you were forced into it," she countered, fiercely. "Everyone knows that. How could . . . how could a sixteen-year-old boy take part in the genocide of thousands, without a wand to his head?"

"It doesn't matter, Granger. I'm guilty of everything they said. I have the Dark Mark."

She opened her mouth to say something — anything — of use, but no words came out. Instead, a veil of silence feathered over them. Hermione wiped her eyes, frustrated that after everything Draco had been through — everything they had been through together — the obstacles were far from gone.

Draco took notice, leaning down to kiss her shoulder. "It's OK," he said. "I'm allowed visitors."

The witch looked to him. "You are?"

He nodded. "Bi-weekly."

"So . . . does this mean, you're inviting me to visit you in the Manor?"

"Actually, no." Draco looked to the girl, endeared by her embarrassment. "I won't be in the Manor. I'll be on my family's private island," he explained, stroking his fingers through her hair. "It's . . . quite a big island. The house itself is almost as large as the Manor." In the seconds that followed, he leaned down to kiss her shoulder again, and then her neck, where her skin began to tingle. "Did I mention the master bedroom is newly renovated?"

Her bottom lip quivered. "Oh?"

Draco nipped at her skin, lightly. "Hmm."

"And . . . and I'll be . . . visiting you . . . on the island?"

"I would really like that, yes."

Hermione breathed in. "I'll do that," she said, in quiet, barely audible voice. "What is . . . what is there to do on the island?"

Draco ran his hand down the length of her back, tracing small circles. "Plenty," he murmured. "Whatever you want, really."

She slowly turned her face toward him and guided their lips together. "Mmm." She tried to keep the conversation going, if only to prove that she could. "I . . . love a good game of Monopoly."

He pulled back a moment. "Of what?"

There was a tick of impatience in her veins. "Never mind that," she quickly said. "Just kiss me, will you?"

Draco smirked, allowing it to flicker into a smile, as he bent his head down and complied, readily and without a second of deliberation. Neither of them could hold back any longer. It was a game of many twists and many turns, and a few bites along the way, and the winner, it seemed, had yet to be determined . . . as they weren't done playing quite yet.

The End

A/N: It's over! It's finally over! Haha. No, really. I had loads of fun writing this story. Hermione and Draco are always fun to write; especially when they're mean to each other. No? Just me? Okay! Haha. Anyway, I think we can all agree that Astoria was the hidden gem of this story. Originally, I set out to leave her on the periphery and focus solely on Draco and Hermione, but she demanded that I give her something to do. And who the hell am I to deny the girl what she wants, right? Needless to say, she was fun to write as well . . . and I know most of you don't approve of her love interest, but I suppose it's just one of those things we'll have to agree to disagree on. To be honest, I wrote the first several chapters of this story about three-ish years ago, back then I loathed Ron and (this part is embarrassing) had no qualms with bashing him, but I've since changed my mind about him and I feel it isn't right to leave him out in the dust.

Moving right along . . .

Some of you are probably wondering where the hell Harry/Pansy came from . . . and I honestly have no fucking clue. I was writing, listening to Savage Garden, as you do, and it just sort happened.

Anyway!

Thank you so much for reading this story! Honestly. It's so much easier to write and update, when you know there are actual people behind all those favourites/follows. Shoutout to everyone who took the time and effort to review. You lot are the MVP's of fan fiction. It sounds silly, but it's the truth.

Thanks again!