With the trial finished, both Hermione and Draco turned their focus to N.E.W.T.s. They split their time fairly evenly between the library and the Room of Requirement, with the occasional foray into the great outdoors to study on the grass.
Having woken to a glorious Saturday, the pair were taking advantage of the weather and studying out on the grounds. Hermione was finding it hard to focus. Her disobedient mind kept returning to a morning earlier in the week, when Draco had received more post from his mother. No matter how many times she reminded herself he didn't want to talk about it, some stubborn piece of her kept pushing for her to bring it up again.
He had destroyed the letter, as he had with all the others for the past two months. Just a flick of his wand, and the whole thing turned to ash. He didn't comment, didn't tell her what they contained. What he thought they contained, since he didn't bother to open them. For all he knew, his mother could have been opening her heart to him, examining all her prejudices, and laying her faults bare. She could have been reaching out, trying to change.
Hermione knew perfectly well these possibilities were unlikely and that something must have precipitated his anger, but she still wanted him to open them. And she really, really wanted to know what his mother had done to incite his anger – and, more importantly – his dismissal.
He told her nothing, though. When she pressed, he just said his mother was behaving as she always had. He was simply tired of it. It wasn't worth dealing with. She wasn't worth engaging.
Hermione chewed on her quill, watching him surreptitiously. He was studying Transfiguration at the moment, a book open on his lap, his hair in disarray, blown about by the light wind.
"Alright," he said, looking up at her and setting his book aside. "If you aren't going to study anyway, there was something I wanted to talk to you about."
Normally Hermione would at least make a token protest, claim that she had been studying, but she was so delighted at this development, she couldn't be bothered pretending. He was going to talk about it, and she hadn't even given in to the desire to pester him about it.
"Of course," she said, following his lead and setting her book aside. It had been window dressing anyway. She shifted to face him straight on, legs folded under her, and leaned in closer.
He smiled slightly, amused. "I thought you should look at this," he said, pulling his school bag toward himself and digging something out of it.
Hermione had to keep the excitement off her face. It must be the letter from his mother. The original one. The one that had set him off. She tried to school her features, to prepare to be neutral. It was bound to insult her, but she could rise above it. She would. Hermione Granger simply was the bigger person. She just had to remind herself from time to time to show it.
He handed her a piece of parchment, and watched her take it eagerly. The amusement on his face had an ironic tinge to it now, like he was laughing at both of them.
Hermione pulled it open, pretending to have no idea what it could be.
Colonial College of Magical Arts
Hermione looked up at him. "What's this? Colonial College of Magical Arts? I don't understand."
"Reading it might help," he said, humor in his voice.
"Yes, of course. I'm just -" Hermione cut herself off with a sharp breath. She tried to contain her disappointment, but a glance up proved she had failed miserably. There was no question that he knew exactly what she thought she had been getting, and that he was, indeed, laughing at them both.
Hermione scanned it quickly. Then she read it back through more slowly.
"You're going to apply?" she asked quietly. They hadn't talked about what would happen after they finished at Hogwarts. Hermione was considering her options. She had had a number of offers for employment straight out of school, based on her part in the war alone. She wasn't taking them very seriously. She would prefer to have the actual training for whatever field she decided to enter. She just had to choose which one.
Draco had expressed an interest in Muggle university. She had been telling herself for months now that they could easily continue their relationship, if they both wanted to. Even if they ended up in different parts of Britain, they could apparate or Floo. Their relationship could last as long as they wanted it to.
America was another story altogether. If he had decided to attend a magic school in America, they would see each other once or twice a year. If they were lucky.
Draco cleared his throat. "Actually, I thought you might like to look it over. Since you're undecided, as they say, about what career you want to choose. The American training system for wizards and witches mirrors their university system. You can . . . dabble in different studies until you find the one that best suits you."
"You want me to go to America, for training?" Hermione said, looking up at him.
He smiled slightly, sadly. "I know you probably won't want to. You have loads of opportunities here. I just thought you might look it over, that's all."
Hermione studied him. He tugged at his collar, straightened his sleeve, scratched behind his ear, pretended to be riveted by some birds flying by.
"Are you planning to apply to university in America?"
His eyes flicked to hers, held, shifted down to focus on his hands. "Not planning, exactly. More . . . considering." He looked up and met her eyes. "It would be a fresh start for me. And I'd have the chance to learn about everything muggle. I wouldn't have to pick just one field and hope it continued to interest me. I could study science, and history, and technology, and art, and literature." He had exhausted his store of oxygen, rushing through it all, and dragged another breath in. "Obviously, if you're determined to stay here, I would look at local universities as well," he said, directing this statement toward the grass.
"You want to stay together?" Hermione asked, a slow smile spreading across her face. Draco, who was looking down, couldn't see it. He froze at her question.
"Do you not?" he asked.
Hermione leaned forward on her hands, rising to all fours, and pressed a kiss to his downturned mouth. "Of course I do," she said. "We just . . . hadn't talked about it."
He looked up, brushed some hair out of her face. "I wasn't sure," he said. "I thought you might have seen this as a . . . temporary arrangement."
"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said, all business now. She looked down at the parchment in her hand. "I'll read it over. What school were you thinking of, for you?"
He shrugged. "It's in Boston," he said. "There are loads of universities there. I'd have to work with immigration and the Ministry of Magic there," he said. "Which they don't call the Ministry of Magic. They call it something else. I'm not very clear on all of it." He flashed her a grin and then looked away, an odd, endearing combination of arrogance and embarrassment. "If you have enough money, these things are never a problem."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm sure."
She kissed him again, carefully folded up the parchment, and tucked it into her own bag. A tiny, tiny part of her wanted to use the situation as leverage, offer to consider the idea if he would tell her what happened with his mother. But it was a petty, foolish part, and she decided to ignore it.
When she looked up, he was watching her with amusement again.
"Decided against it, have you?"
"Against what?" she said, sounding nervous. It was far too often that she made the mistake of forgetting how observant he was.
"Asking about the letters," he said simply.
Hermione feigned confusion. "What letters?" she asked, knowing exactly how poor an actress she was.
He laughed at her. "The letters from my mum."
"Oh. Where did that come from?" Hermione responded, deciding she might as well continue with the farce.
"From your face," he drawled. "Which is this wonderful surface, really. Lovely and beautiful, and as easy to read as a book."
Hermione, feeling particularly mature, stuck her tongue out at him. He laughed, and she couldn't help but smile in return.
"Well," she said, after he fell silent. "Now that you've brought them up-"
"Mmhhhmm . . ." he said, continue to watch her with droll humor.
"Are you going to tell me about them?"
He seemed to think the question over. "I thought I had. They're nothing new, really. I'm just tired of hearing it. Or reading it, in this case, and have decided not to anymore."
"Not reading something and burning something are two very different things," Hermione said quietly.
He sighed. "True. Though, in my case, keeping them could be a problem. What if someone found them, and thought I agreed with her? I could throw them away, but someone could fish them out of the bin. Burning them seems the simplest option."
"Are you really trying to claim you aren't angry when you get them?"
He looked out at the lake for a long moment. "There comes a point where you realize anger isn't a helpful response. I was angry about the first one." He shook his head. "I was angry about the first ten. Now I'm just resigned."
"She could have changed her mind," Hermione said. "You won't know if you don't read them."
He snorted. "She hasn't. It would take a great deal more than silence from me to change my mother's attitudes."
"I could read them, if you -"
"Absolutely not," he said, surprising her. Seeing her look, he softened. "You are . . . a central theme of her argument, her campaign."
"She doesn't want you dating me," Hermione said simply, without shock or insult.
"No," he said. "Which, if I were you, I would consider a mark in my favor. This is, after all, the same woman who thought Voldemort would be a great leader."
"It isn't the first time I've encountered that attitude, Draco," Hermione said.
His look was eloquent. "Obviously," he said, with no shortage of regret. "That doesn't mean you should continue to be subjected to it." Before she could respond, he continued. "Which is another reason to consider the program in America. They're much more accepting of muggleborns and mixed-bloods.
"I'm not worried about that," Hermione said, dismissing the concern. "I'll manage, wherever I am."
"Yes," he agreed. "I imagine you will."
She smiled at him. "I like the idea of being able to broaden the scope of my studies, though," she said.
"They've programs in public policy, law, and management, as well. They're very well thought of. Several of their Minsters of Magic – which they call Secretaries – studied there. It could be an excellent foundation for you."
Hermione laughed. "I have no intention of being Minister of Magic, Draco. I don't know how many times I have to tell you."
"None at the moment," he said simply. He caught her hand, entwined his fingers with hers, and smiled at her. "Things change."
The End
But not really, because I'm totally going to add some random bits and pieces after this. They'll probably be a weird mix of proper chapters and little snapshots, but I'm not likely to do much in the way of plot, so read at your own discretion.
