So many of you did NOT like last week's angst. Well... as I said, this story's nickname was "Flangst On Ice" for a reason.
Many more of you wanted rather graphic vengeance against Lucius Malfoy.
...
TW in this chapter for minor character death.
So much love to Graceful Lioness for all her help with this fic.
December 2007 - One Year Later
It had been the season from hell. There was no nicer way to put it.
A full season of bickering through rehearsals until Snape had to intervene; months of eating quiet meals alone and then retiring to her dorm room to watch movies without Draco; countless lonely nights with nothing to console her but the hope of a joyless win at finals.
It had been a full season of fake smiles and stilted interviews for a public that continued to cheer their names, having no idea how broken they had become.
The sooner it was over, the better.
Win or lose, thankfully, that day was today.
Hermione shoved her skates on her feet, tying the laces with more fervor than necessary. In just a few minutes' time she could take these things off and forget about them for a while. Maybe even forever.
Beside her, Draco was doing some last-minute stretches. He had his eyes closed and was mumbling something to himself. Occasionally, he turned his head to look at her, his frown deepening.
Hermione couldn't help the irritation that crawled its way up her body and made her teeth gnash.
Everything about Draco Malfoy irritated her these days. The way he moved. The way he talked. The way he breathed.
And it wasn't that she wanted to find him annoying. She wanted more than anything to see him the way he used to be, back when he had been kind and funny and her best friend…
But something had changed this last year, and he wasn't the Draco she had loved.
He was cold and distant now, constantly picking fights with her. They had argued nearly every day during training this summer, bickering back and forth until their voices cracked and tears welled in Hermione's eyes.
It just wasn't fair.
The Draco she loved— her partner, her best friend—he was gone, replaced by a monster solely focused on winning.
"Five minutes."
Hermione whipped her head around to see Snape poking his head through the curtains. He looked surly as ever, his face painted in its ever-permanent scowl. But Hermione knew their coach. He was just as nervous as she was, and would be the first to congratulate them when they stepped off the ice.
Second would be Dad. Looking forward to the feel of Dad's arms wrapped around her in a hug, win or lose, was the only thing getting her through this competition. She'd already thrown up twice today while Draco had been meditating or stretching or whatever.
Normally, Draco would have held her hair and rubbed her back, but she was no longer his priority. It was a cold, hard fact she'd come to terms with over the last few months. And it had taken her even longer to admit that he'd changed.
It had started when he called her a nobody. Months and months ago, he'd broken her heart by giving voice to her one of her greatest fears. Because it was true. She did feel like a nobody. Frequently. Like she didn't belong in this world of fancy costumes and trophies and television interviews. More often than not, she felt like an imposter with a medal around her neck.
Not like him, anyway. Draco—he belonged out here. He'd been on his way to greatness long before she was in the picture.
And Hermione—she knew she was a good skater. An even better dancer. But she had been convinced, at least for a little while, that she meant more than that to Draco. That their time together had meaning—that they were a team. Closer, even. She had believed that Draco saw her not just as promising young star Hermione Granger, but as his friend.
That, to her, was worth more than any gold medal they could win.
And then Draco's words had shattered her vision all in one go.
"If you thought I ever saw you as anything but the key to my gold medal, then you really are a fool."
She'd spent days crying in her room, inconsolable. She'd wanted to quit—to abandon the partnership altogether.
When the tears had finally died down and the logical side of her returned, she was determined to get to the bottom of her heartbreak. Besides, they'd come this far, and hurt as she was, Olympic gold was her dream as well. She couldn't imagine giving it up or starting over with a new partner.
Hermione had been in denial for the first half of the year, making mental excuses when he didn't return her phone calls or rejected her offers to hang out.
Surely, she reasoned, something was going on.
Draco was under a lot of pressure—she knew that much. Perhaps his father was finally getting to him.
Hermione wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. And she tried so hard. She tried for months and months to tell herself that something was going on with him.
A few times, she even caught him watching her with something like longing in his eyes. But those most have been dreams or absurd musings of her imagination, because those looks were always fleeting at best, evaporating into memory as fast as they appeared.
Even now, minutes away from their Free Dance at the Junior Grand Prix Final, Hermione swore there was something in the way his mouth twitched when they glanced at each other.
"We'll be ready," Draco croaked beside her. Snape nodded and disappeared through the curtain, leaving them alone again. Hermione watched Draco's throat bob as his eyes flitted to hers.
In them, Hermione saw everything she missed about him. His kindness. His good humor. Even his overly-dramatic side.
And then it was gone. He turned his head to focus on his stretches once more.
Hermione studied him for a moment, able to let her gaze linger with his back turned to her. He had looked especially pale this morning—and that was saying something. Normally, she was the one whose nerves got to them, nauseous and white as a sheet. But today, the nerves seemed to have found Draco as well. Hermione watched his whole body quake with tremors as he stretched.
She would have offered to help, or at least ask if he was okay, but for reasons Hermione still couldn't pinpoint, that didn't seem to be an option anymore.
Draco turned his head slightly. His eyes met hers, and she quickly focused back to her skates.
Hermione longed to simply ask him what had happened—what had changed for him this year. It was just a few simple words she had to say: What changed for you? What happened to make you like this—cruel and singularly focused?
But brave as she was, there were some words she just couldn't bring herself to say.
Giving her laces one last tug, she stood and reached her hands to the ceiling.
"Ready?" Her voice was quiet. When had she grown so sheepish?
Draco nodded. He glanced at the monitor hanging from the corner of the room. It showed the preceding couple—the Russian team—were heading into their final sequences.
As he stood to meet her, his throat bobbed again. There was a melancholy to his movements, as though his body was heavy. His face had gone even whiter, if possible. He looked like he might be sick at any moment.
"Are you—Draco, are you okay?"
She hadn't meant to ask, but the words just… slipped out. Hermione cursed inwardly, wishing there was a way she could turn the clock back a few seconds to take back her impulsive question.
She'd asked him this question countless times this season, and he'd always grown surly and distant whenever she pried into his moods. This was the wrong time to upset him. The two of them were supposed to show closeness and trust from the moment they stepped onto the ice, and if Draco thought she was prying again…
She couldn't turn back time, but she could backtrack.
"Draco—I'm sorry." The words fell from her tongue in haste. "I didn't mean—we can talk after. Or not. I just... Draco?"
Hermione heard the roar of the crowd through the monitor. The previous couple had finished. Any second now, Snape would be coming through the door to usher them out into the arena.
This wasn't the time to mend their broken relationship.
It wasn't the time for her to get emotional and him to yell at her. Again.
She couldn't handle that. Not right before stepping onto the international stage. Not when everyone believed they were close. Like siblings. Like best friends. There was only so much acting she was capable of.
But Draco didn't yell. He didn't even look mad.
Instead, the colour had suddenly returned to his cheeks in full, a flush flooding his face so deeply that Hermione swore there was heat coming off of him. While he still clearly looked like he was about to be sick, it was as though something inside him had broken—a dam or a switchboard.
Draco ran his hands through his hair, his face blotchy and his eyes red. Hermione took a step back, wary of this sudden change in her skating partner. She'd known him to be dramatic and volatile for years, but this abrupt shift was something different entirely.
He bent over and yelled, his eyes squeezed shut, his fingers digging into his scalp. The sound was brief and terrifying, its echoes muffled by the curtains.
Hermione stood, frozen, watching Draco break down moments before they had to appear on ice. What should she do? Did he need a doctor? Snape? Could he even skate? She pushed the panic that was welling in her chest down as best as she could as her mind raced to think of the best solution.
"I can't fucking do this."
Draco's voice, while shaking, was calm. He looked right up at her, his body still hunched slightly.
He looked nothing short of miserable, eyes puffy, body trembling.
Hermione blinked. She forced herself to speak, choosing her words carefully. She didn't want to break him. "What do you mean?"
Draco took measured breaths, his throat bobbing. Though he wasn't crying, he looked close to it. He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers.
For the first time in nearly a year, Hermione thought she saw a glimpse of his soul.
Draco stood up straight, his head shaking. "I can't go out there and perform while we're—while I'm—"
Giving into her instincts, Hermione stepped forward and placed her hands on Draco's shoulders. She dipped her head, eyes tilting up to meet his. "Breath, Draco. Breathe. Why can't we perform?"
She could see the corners of his eyes begin to glisten. And when he opened his mouth, his words made her heart clench.
"Hermione, I am so sorry."
"You—what?"
Her grip on his shoulders loosened. Draco barreled on.
"I've been an arse. For months. And there isn't any time to explain now. But, I—Hermione, please, let's just skate for us. Please. I can't go on like this—not anymore."
He was begging. Actually begging.
What was happening?
Through the whiplash, Hermione tried to piece together the jigsaw puzzle that was her skating partner. He'd treated her like rubbish all season long. Like a nobody. And here, just moments before the biggest skate of their lives, he wanted to make amends?
Hermione wanted to rejoice, but she also wanted to throw something. Her heart hammered in her chest as she fluctuated between sweet relief and pure rage.
How dare he say something like this now? And why say it now? After months of treating her like she was nothing? Didn't he know how much was riding on these next few minutes?
Of course he does, the cynical voice in her head told her. He's only saying these things to lure you into a false sense of security to improve your skate.
Hermione's stomach lurched as her eyes met Draco's. He was looking at her with a wounded expression, his eyes wide. Was it just her, or was he actually trembling?
Pushing down her instinct to engage in a full-blown, long overdue conversation, she reached forward and grasped his hand fiercely.
"Draco, you listen to me right now. We have to go skate. I have no idea what's going on with you. I haven't for months. But now isn't the time. We can talk after. We can talk as long as you like as soon as we're done."
He sniffed, his face still a mess. "Please, Hermione, you just have to know—"
"Draco—"
"I didn't mean it!"
Hermione froze. Draco's hand was sweaty in her own. She could hear the telltale footsteps of Snape in the corridor, coming to fetch them. Inside, her heart pounded with the inevitability of all her hopes and her heartbreak colliding at once. Or was it all imploding?
It was all she could do to keep breathing.
Draco squeezed her hand. He looked close to crying. Licking his lips, he opened his mouth to speak, and honestly, Hermione had no idea if she was ready to hear his words.
"I didn't mean it when I said you're a nobody."
All the air left her lungs. She'd wanted to hear these words for ages. Bloody ages. But not now. Not like this.
Before he could say another word, she reached forward, clapping her other hand over his mouth.
"Not now, Draco. This needs to be a proper conversation. And I… I want to listen. But right now, we need to focus on skating…" Hermione swallowed. Beneath her hand, she felt the soft puffs of his breath against her palm. His cheeks were burning. "We need to go skate just for us."
Draco melted into her, his arms looping around her body, his head resting on the top of her head.
"Just us," he murmured into her hair.
"Just us."
Their heartbeats didn't match, but there was no time for silly rituals like that. All business, Hermione pulled back from Draco and dug in her duffel bag for a moment. Draco stood like a limp noodle, fully spent, as she reached for the facial wipes she kept in her make-up kit.
"Here," she said, pulling two sheets out. "Wipe your face off. You've got to get it together, okay? Do you think you can do that?"
Like a child, Draco nodded wordlessly and accepted the wipes. Hermione retrieved her water bottle next and offered it up. He took a few sips and splashed some onto his face. By the time Snape stepped into their changing room, he didn't look nearly as broken as he had just moments before.
If Snape noticed anything, he didn't mention it.
"It's time. Are you ready?" His eyes darted between them, lingering on Draco.
Hermione nodded. "We are."
"Draco?" Snape raised an eyebrow in his direction.
Draco cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. Ready."
"Excellent. Now remember to keep your elbow tucked on the second lift, Hermione. Draco, be careful of your footwork after the twizzle sequence." Snape paused, taking the two of them in. "Right. It's time."
They walked down the short corridor outside their curtained-off room before emerging onto the side of the rink. The couple before them—a pair from Russia—were just receiving their scores. Draco and Hermione removed their blade covers and stood by the barrier, ready to take to the ice.
Hermione's nerves had returned in full, though she didn't honestly know whether they were caused by the impending biggest skate of her life or the conversation she and Draco would have afterward.
As the applause following the Russian couple's scores died down, one of the event volunteers opened the cushioned barrier, granting them access to the ice.
Draco held out his hand.
She took it.
A short video tribute to them played on the screen suspended in the center of the rink above their heads. Hermione only had vague recollections about what she had said for the camera. Something about the hard work and preparation and about their excitement to finally be here. It didn't really matter. She heard Draco's disembodied voice introducing their music selection—a medley from The Nutcracker—and her mind instantly flew back to their weeks-long argument about it.
She'd argued for something more contemporary. Something more dynamic.
He vehemently insisted that the classics were far superior.
He'd won in the end, because of course he had. His opinions always won out.
But that was a moot point now, because here they were—in Italy, about to perform in the Junior Grand Prix Final—one of the biggest stages in the world for skaters. They were here, and Draco seemed—well, he seemed different somehow.
Hermione squeezed his hand as they settled into their starting position.
Draco squeezed back, leaning his head forward just slightly so that his mouth was positioned just beside her ear.
"Hermione, you're not nobody. You never were. To me, you're everything."
He pulled back slightly, his eyes shining.
Hermione knew that look. He used to wear it so often when he looked her way. To see that expression again…
It was exactly what she needed.
The music began in a swirling waltz of familiar strings and oboes and brass, and for the first time that season, she let herself get swept away in the joy of skating.
The feel of Draco's hand on her waist as they skated around the ice had felt nearly toxic for months. And now, though they had repeated these motions thousands of times, they suddenly felt brand new. Shivers ran through Hermione's body as they moved in perfect time with the music, arms and legs and torsos in perfect synchrony with the crescendos and decrescendos.
Draco spun her into their first lift, and though her body was as taut as she could make it, she'd never felt lighter. As he set her back down on the ice to go back into the waltz pattern, their eyes met.
It was like seeing into eternity.
Hesitant though Hermione knew she should be after everything Draco had put her through in the last year, this was what she wanted more than anything. She wanted to feel that spark around him again—wanted to have every confidence in him.
With each passing second on the ice, Hermione felt herself become more and more convinced that it was finally going to be okay.
This wasn't going to be her final competition or her final skate.
This was only the beginning.
The music swelled as they transitioned to the twizzle sequence, and it was then that Hermione felt it—their hearts, beating as one.
She knew it then: everything she needed was right here. Whatever had happened with Draco these past few months was no more. There was a future for her and Draco—on the ice, off the ice, it didn't matter.
Draco cradled her in his arms for a fleeting second before they began the sequence leading up to the final lift. The music egged on the fluttering in her heart as he offered her a dazzling smile, and without warning, Hermione was flooded with pure, unadulterated joy.
This was easy.
This was joyful.
This was why she loved skating with Draco.
Their final lift came and went—Hermione remembered to keep her elbow tucked—and the dance came to its conclusion with symphonic fanfare and tumultuous applause.
After holding their final pose for a few seconds, Draco loosened his grip until they stood across from each other on the ice, wide-eyed, chests heaving, giddy grins dancing at the corners of both of their mouths.
Hermione could have sworn there was applause surrounding them, but it all faded away the second Draco's arms were around her. How long had it been since she was pressed into him like this—not as a part of rehearsing or performing, but spontaneously, as affectionate friends? Hermione buried her head in his chest, breathing in the scent she had so sorely missed.
"We did it," he cried softly in her ear. "I can't believe it."
"We did, didn't we?" Hermione pulled her head back just far enough to smile up at him before they unfurled and went into their four-way bow sequence.
Hermione had expected it to be a joyless run through the motions—perhaps her final one, at that. But as she skated off the ice, hand in hand with Draco, all she could feel was joy.
Snape met them just beyond the barrier. His expression, as always, was unreadable.
"Well?" Hermione pressed as they pulled their blade covers on again.
Snape surveyed them and held out bottles of water. One corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Magnificent."
Hermione couldn't help the grin that spread across her face, and she knew without looking that Draco had the same incredulous look on his face. Praise like that from their coach—it had to mean something.
Going into today, Hermione had no expectations. Winning or losing didn't seem to matter as much when she thought her best friend hated her. But with her hand firmly in his, Hermione suddenly wanted to win more than anything.
Stomach fluttering with a new kind of nerves, she, Draco, and Snape settled in front of the camera at the Kiss and Cry Station. Whatever was about to happen, it would be broadcast across the world for anyone to see. As if he could sense her needs, Draco placed his hand on her knee. It remained steadfast as they waited for the scores to come in.
Hermione eyed the camera and gulped a swig of water. Could the spectators see the difference between them? They had tried so hard to cover up the strain in their relationship all year. Surely someone would pick up on the little differences in their mannerisms—the way Draco's thumb circled her knee; the way his body almost melted into hers.
The two of them still needed to talk—desperately—but knowing that they had each other again, that it was going to be okay eventually, that was enough to make her smile through any outcome.
Through the continuing din of cheers, a woman's voice cut through. "The scores, please."
Draco's grip on her knee tightened. Hermione looped her arm around his elbow and squeezed. Beside them, Snape stiffened.
"Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy have earned in the free dance: One hundred and four point three eight points, this season's best."
Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. Their best…
Perhaps, that meant…
She allowed herself to hope… she dared to dream—
"They have a total score of one hundred and sixty seven point four zero points, and are currently in—"
All the air left her lungs.
"—first place."
The world around them erupted in a sea of cheers and screams. It all surrounded Hermione like a blur. The only thing she could see was Draco. He had leapt out of his seat the moment their place had been announced, his hands in the air, his eyes closed in the utter bliss of triumph.
Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder—Snape. Turning, she saw a very rare smile on his face.
"Well done, Miss Granger. I am proud of you."
Before she had the chance to respond, Draco had wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted her clear off her chair and into the air. He swung her around like a doll, her feet dangling several inches off the ground.
"We did it!" he whispered into her ear over and over. "We did it, Hermione. We actually did it."
Cameras followed them all the way around the rink until they reached the backstage area again. Only one couple was scheduled to perform after them, so they had a few minutes to gather themselves before making another appearance for the medal ceremony.
Because they would be awarded a medal today.
Hermione had done the calculations the second their score was announced. With only one couple to go, they were guaranteed at least a silver medal. The thought that they had actually done it—earned a spot on the podium at the Junior Grand Prix Final—it was beyond joy. It was elation.
And it was only made better by the fact that they made it backstage and Draco was still holding her hand.
Their dressing room was practically silent compared to the roar of the crowd outside. It took a good few moments for Hermione's ears to stop ringing, even after they sat across from each other, surrounded by dark, velveteen curtains.
Draco was leaning back in his chair, legs splayed out in front of him, eyes closed. He seemed to really be savouring the moment. A smile danced on his lips, and Hermione was reminded once again how much she loved his smile. She had really missed it this past year. How often had she seen him scowl through an entire practice?
Relief hit her like a wave overtaking her in the ocean. They had done it. Gold or silver, they'd made it onto the podium. Not only that, but she had finally, finally seen Draco smile at her again. And to her, that was worth one hundred gold medals.
A drop down the tip of her nose revealed that she had begun to cry without realising it.
The moment she sniffed, Draco opened his eyes. He drank in her appearance and sat up in his chair, concern immediately flooding his eyes.
"Are you okay?" he implored, leaning forward.
Hermione nodded and took a breath. "Yeah. I am. Just—overwhelmed, you know?"
Draco chuckled. "Yeah. I know."
They sat in silence for another minute as the next couple began their skate up on the monitor. There were so many things Hermione wanted to say—to ask, just like there were so many things she wanted to hear. She just wasn't quite sure where to start. It was a relief when Draco spoke first.
"I wanted to apologise again, Hermione. For the way I've been this year. It was beyond horrible of me to put you through that, and I can see that now."
Hermione blinked, tilting her head. "You see it now?" she questioned. "Why now? What happened? Why did you make me think you hated me for an entire year? I mean—" Hermione looked down at the floor. "—did you actually hate me? Even for a while?"
Draco looked like he wanted to cry.
Leaning forward more, he moved his chair so that he sat right in front of Hermione. Their knees brushed together as he reached for her hands, grasping them in his own.
"I never, never hated you Hermione. I never could hate you."
"Then why, Draco? Why did you make me feel like rubbish for so long?"
Draco leaned back in his chair. He ran his hands through his hair and chewed the inside of his cheek as he seemed to consider his words. All the while, his eyes darted between her and the floor.
"It's no excuse," he began after a moment. "It really isn't, but there is a reason."
Hermione scoffed. "I would hope it wasn't just for the hell of it."
Draco shook his head. "No. No, Hermione, I would never—"
"But you did, didn't you?"
Draco grimaced. "I did."
Licking his lips, he leaned forward and took Hermione's hands again. He stroked the back of her hand softly with his thumb as he spoke.
"Two years when we didn't make the Olympics, my father was angry and disappointed. But you knew that. We both knew the kind of conversation that was waiting for me after I went home that day."
Hermione could recall the scene perfectly in her memory. She'd released Draco from a fierce hug and into his parents' waiting arms—figuratively speaking, of course. The look he'd given her over his shoulder as Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy led him to the family town car—it still haunted her. Every so often since then, she wondered if he'd been asking with his wide eyes for some sort of intervention that he had never received.
It had been some time shortly after that that Draco had turned cold toward her, spiteful and snarling at every opportunity.
She'd thought there might be a connection, but she assumed her relationship with Draco was strong enough—that he would have come to her if anything happened.
Draco continued. "Father made it very clear that night that if we didn't keep our relationship strictly professional and that if we didn't achieve satisfactory results, that he'd dissolve our partnership."
"What? Draco—"
"Not only that, Hermione. But he—he threatened to ruin your career."
Draco squeezed her hands. Judging by the intensity of his tight grasp, this had been weighing on him heavily. Hermione knew firsthand just how intimidating Lucius Malfoy could be. His words about her inadequacy still played on repeat inside her head often. When she struggled on the ice and when she did well, it didn't matter. Mr. Malfoy's voice was always there.
"You, my dear, are common… unexceptional and can be replaced easily enough."
That, she understood—the intimidation, the humiliation, the pure fear.
"Draco, you should have come to me," Hermione implored, squeezing his hand back. "You shouldn't have pushed me away."
"Well I… I tried to just keep you at arm's length for a while. Tried to focus on skating as much as possible. But then, when we didn't make it to the final, I just knew that was the end. I knew I'd go home and Father would send you away and it would break both our hearts."
Hermione's head raced as she tried to assemble this mental jigsaw puzzle Draco had concocted over the last two years. The cruelest of his words had come last year after they didn't qualify for the 2006 Junior Grand Prix Final. It'd been her lowest moment—the moment when he called her—
"Is that why you called me a nobody?" she murmured, brows furrowed. "Were you—were you trying to drive me away so I wouldn't feel heartbroken when your father ended our partnership?"
Draco's eyes went wide and his jaw fell open slightly. "Well… yes, in so many words. I guess you could say that."
"You complete arse, Draco Malfoy."
"I—what?"
"You thought that by pushing me away and treating me horribly that I wouldn't be heartbroken?"
Draco opened his mouth, but Hermione pushed on. As she spoke, her heart began to pound faster and faster against her ribcage. A persistent stinging in the corner of her eyes and the tightening of her jaw told her that she was moments away from crying, but she kept speaking.
"Can't you see what a stupid plan that was? Because believe it or not, I've been heartbroken for nearly two years."
The first teardrop dripped down her chin and onto her periwinkle blue costume.
"Do you know how many nights I cried myself to sleep, wishing you were there to hold me? That you hadn't spent the day picking fights with me instead? Do you know how many times this year I thought about just giving up? Just quitting and never having to put up with feeling like a nobody again? Because that's what you did, Draco." Hermione was on her feet now, towering above Draco in her covered skates. Tears were falling freely down her burning face. But she couldn't stop now. Not when all the words and emotions she had kept bottled up for so long were finally beginning to trickle out. To his credit, Draco didn't say a word. He sat, taking in every word.
"You didn't just call me a nobody, Draco. You made me feel like one. Every decision came down to your opinion. All the mistakes were mine. I wasn't good enough. Over and over and over you said horrible things to me. And for what? So that I would finally be happy to leave you after we inevitably failed? That's the stupidest plan I've ever heard, Draco. You really hurt me. And God knows why, but I don't want to leave you. I want things to be the way they were before. Easy. Fun. God, when was the last time we had fun skating together? Do you remember? Because I honestly don't."
Hermione paused and took a breath. Her eyes met Draco's, and through her blurred vision, she could see the same haunted expression on his face that he had worn two years ago after their failed attempt to make the Olympics. He looked so sad—so lost—that Hermione almost forgave him.
Almost.
"It's what I want, too," he croaked through the silence. "To love skating with you again. To be close. I-I miss my best friend."
Draco's words reverberated around the empty room. It was like all the air had been knocked out of her. Her tears turned to heavy, angry sobs and she fought to keep speaking.
"Why, then?" Hermione clutched at her sides as she fought to keep her legs from collapsing beneath her. "Why did you keep pushing me away for so long? Why did you choose now to tell me it's all been an act?"
Draco looked seconds away from tears, himself, but when he spoke, his voice was clear and strong. "I thought I could do it, you know? Make it through today without telling you. I mean, we made it through the whole season like that."
"Barely," Hermione muttered, and Draco shot a bemused half-grimace in her direction.
"You're right," he admitted. "Barely. But ever since we qualified for the final, I couldn't shake the idea that even if we did well today, I'd be miserable. We both would." Draco reached forward and held each of Hermione's hands in his own, pulling her down to him so she sat on her knees, facing him. He stretched out one of his hands and gently wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks, his eyes never leaving her face. "That's what I realised today—sitting right here. That even though this has been our most successful season yet, I can't do it again. Not like this. Not without you by my side as my friend. It would hurt to the point that it just… it wouldn't be worth it."
Hermione sniffed, and for the first time in over a year, her heart fluttered at the sight of his beautiful, grey eyes.
"Are you saying that you don't want a gold medal without me?" she asked, hints of a smile dancing at the edge of her lips.
"I don't want anything without you."
Draco chuckled, both of his hands traveling to cradle her jaw. The gesture, while small, made Hermione want to burst into tears all over again. How often had she seen this Draco in her dreams? How often had she longed to see kindness in his eyes again? To hear him laugh?
And though she knew she shouldn't be so quick to forgive and forget, her heart practically beat out of her chest to dive into his arms and feel truly loved for the first time in so long.
She knew she was risking heartbreak again, but it was a risk she was willing to take.
For once, Hermione Granger was going to follow her heart.
It was more like gravity did the work for her. She didn't dive at Draco, per se. More like, she fell into him, her arms wrapping around his waist and her cheek pressed into his chest. Inhaling deeply, her nose was instantly filled with the scent that finally could bring her comfort again.
It was like coming home.
His arms were around her in an instant. He pulled her up and onto his lap and just held her like that, rocking her back and forth. His mouth sat right against her ear and he whispered, "I'm so sorry, Hermione. So, so sorry."
They didn't need any more words. Hermione didn't know how long they sat like that, her nestled in his arms as the last routine finished playing out on the monitor above their heads, long forgotten.
It wasn't until the telltale sound of Snape's footsteps met Hermione's ears that she reluctantly pulled away. She wiped any residual moisture from the corners of Draco's eyes and he did the same for her. By the time their coach stepped inside, they were both standing, ready to head back to the ice.
"Did something happen?" Snape asked as they made their way back up the corridor toward the rink. "You two seem… odd."
Hermione turned her head slightly and met Draco's eyes. Lacing her fingers between his and looking down at her toes, she gave a small, secret smile.
"No, sir," Draco answered, a smile tugging at his own lips. "We're just really grateful to be here. And happy, too."
"Yes," Hermione piped up. "Never better."
Snape raised an eyebrow and peered down at them over his hooked nose. "Well whatever sticks the two of you have had up your arses for the last two years, I'm glad to see that someone seems to have finally removed them. God knows that would make next season more tolerable."
Gold medals hanging around their necks, they stepped into a frenzied press room hand-in-hand thirty minutes later. Unlike press rooms they had sat in before, this one was filled to capacity with journalists and cameramen milling about, chatting in multiple languages. The silver and bronze medalists filed in after them taking seats at the long table at the front of the room as well. From the moment the room opened up for questions, she and Draco were bombarded. There were questions about this year's routines. Questions about their expectations for transitioning into the senior level. Questions about their relationship as partners.
She'd spent enough time in front of cameras by now that she felt confident answering nearly everything—even the questions about their relationship. Those had been the ones that had given her the most difficulty during the past couple years. How many times had she felt like she was lying when asked about feeling incredibly close to Draco?
Now, she answered with confidence, her fingers laced in his just below the table.
With the interviews complete, Hermione and Draco dressed in their travel clothes, gathered their things, and prepared to head back to the hotel for some much-needed rest. As they passed through the lobby of the massive sports complex, they were bombarded with a huge crowd of fans who had clearly been waiting for them to emerge from the backstage area.
People of all ages had formed a path to the door. Some carried signs with their names. Others held photographs of them or Union Jacks. A good deal of them didn't even speak English.
Hermione kept shooting Draco bemused looks as they posed for photograph after photograph. A couple of fans wanted to hug him specifically, and Hermione had to hold in laughs as a few younger girls made themselves cry when he said hello.
"How many of those girls do you think hang your photo over their beds so they can stare at it as they fall asleep?" Hermione mused as they climbed into the back of the taxi that would take them back to the hotel. When Draco turned red instead of answering, she elbowed him in the ribs. "What, you don't like having lots of girls fancy you?"
"They're kids!" he said, buckling his seatbelt. "It's weird."
Hermione continued to poke fun of Draco all the way back to the hotel. It gave her something to occupy her until they were alone again. All she wanted was to bury herself in his chest again, and she could wait just a few more minutes.
"Were we going to meet your parents for dinner?" Draco asked as they walked through the hotel lobby. "You know my parents will likely already be on their way back to London."
"Oh shoot." Hermione dug her phone out of her pocket and flipped it open. In the hustle and bustle of their victory, she hadn't seen her parents in the crowd or backstage at all. She sent Mum and Dad quick text messages asking about dinner plans before entering the elevator. Hermione was positive that on top of gushing about their victory, Dad would have plenty to say about the couple that skated to the Beach Boys song. It was his favourite band, and Dad always enjoyed that particular routine. When they reached the eighth floor, the two of them stepped out. Both of their rooms were just down the hall, but they lingered where they stood. Hermione wasn't quite sure why her feet stood rooted to the spot, but she just knew she wasn't quite ready to leave Draco's side. Not when they had only just found each other again.
Draco scratched his nose, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. "So, um… shower, then movie in my room?"
Hermione grinned. "Until we hear from my parents, sure."
Heart lighter than it had been in ages, she parted ways with Draco outside her door. The moment it closed behind her, she threw her head back and took a deep breath, savouring the moment.
They had done it. They'd actually done it. Won the Junior Grand Prix Final. And they'd done it as them—not some cardboard cutout version of themselves.
If this was true happiness, Hermione wasn't sure she had ever felt it before.
After carefully placing her gold medal on her nightstand, she shed her clothes to take a quick shower and wash the day's sweat from her body. Once she was freshly scrubbed and in sweatpants, she snagged her medal—because why not?—and her phone and padded over to Draco's room.
Draco had showered quickly as well, and opened the door shortly after she knocked. His hair was no longer heavily styled, but instead, it sat damp atop his head, strands flopping over his forehead in a carelessly charming way. He, too, had opted for sweatpants.
"Now, unfortunately," Draco began as he led her inside. "The hotel TV only has movies in Italian. The good news is that I have this little beauty." He bent over and fished a portable DVD player from his suitcase.
"As much as I've been meaning to learn Italian, thank you." Hermione crawled onto the queen size bed.
"Have you really?"
Hermione shrugged. "I've thought about it."
"Of course you have, you swot. You really have an interest in everything, don't you?" Draco scooted next to her and positioned the DVD player on his lap. Beside him he opened a zippered case full of movies.
"Well it is a beautiful language. Don't you agree?" Hermione swiped the case and thumbed through until she found something she liked.
"It's only beautiful when I'm not trying to understand a movie plot."
Draco popped Ten Things I Hate About You into the player and they settled beside each other on the bed.
As the movie played, Hermione could barely focus on it. Instead, she allowed herself to revel in the feeling of Draco's body beside her. How had she lived without this for so long? This was comfortable… This was like coming home.
His hand found hers a few minutes into the movie, his fingers holding tight to hers. She didn't dare let go, for fear that he wouldn't reach for her again. They watched the movie like that, not saying a word. Eventually, Hermione rolled onto her side so that her head rested on Draco's shoulder, her free hand splayed across his chest. He was warm beside her, though not soft. Dedication in the gym made sure of that. But it wasn't unpleasant, being tucked into his body. Slowly, she felt herself begin to slip away, her eyes closing as all her senses drank him in.
"Hermione!"
She woke with a start, her head still swimming with the effort it had taken to drag herself out of a deep sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up, leaning on one arm.
"What's going on?" she mumbled sleepily.
As she came to, she realised that the movie was still playing, albeit the last few minutes. Julia Stiles was reciting the poem to Heath Ledger. Beside her, Draco was holding something out to her. Squinting, Hermione realised it was her phone.
"It's your mum," Draco explained.
Hermione took the phone and flipped it open, stifling a yawn. Holding it to her ear, she let out a sleepy, "Hey, Mum. What's up?"
"Hermione?"
Hermione's eyes flew open at once. It was Mum's voice on the other line, but it was shaking.
Something was wrong.
Panic flooded Hermione's system. She adjusted her grip on the flip phone.
"Mum? What is it? Mum?"
Draco sat up, a concerned look on his face.
"Hermione, dear. I—" Sobs filled Hermione's ears. "I don't know how to tell you this, but it's Dad."
Stomach in her toes, tongue made of lead, Hermione tried to speak. Each word was harder than the last. "Mum. What's wrong with Dad?"
More sobs.
"There was a car accident. Hermione, love. He's—Dad's—he's died."
There was a brief moment where Hermione was certain she hadn't heard Mum correctly. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could form a single word, her brain caught up all at once.
"He—he's dead?"
The intensified sobbing on the other end seemed to confirm her worst fears. Hermione reached out, trying desperately to hold onto something solid as her head began to spin. Her hands made contact with Draco's forearm just as blood began rushing in her ears, drowning out everything else. She was vaguely aware that she had dropped the phone and that Draco had grabbed hold of her and was calling out her name, but she seemed to have lost all control of her body.
Hermione tried to speak—to cry—to do anything, but her throat had tightened to the point that she couldn't speak. Seconds passed in agony as she tried and failed over and over again to open her mouth and scream—to release some of the pain she was feeling. When she finally managed it, her stomach lurched violently. The last thing she remembered before she passed out was turning to vomit over the side of the bed.
Don't kill me. Please.
This chapter was such a roller coaster to write and now, to send out in the world to you all.
Poor Hermione.
So much love to all of you. Stay safe and see you next week.