AN: Contains direct quotes from J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. This content belongs to J. K. Rowling.
Spring 1999, Hogwarts
Hermione walked down the familiar stone hallway towards the headmistress' office. "Aguamenti," she said to the gargoyle guardian. It nodded at her and allowed her to open the door. Professor McGonagall was not in her office, but Hermione knew she would be there soon, as her summoning note had mentioned as such.
She knew why McGonagall had asked her to come speak with her. Shortly after her and Draco's return to Hogwarts, Hermione felt the suffocating space of England, her friends who knew nothing of their relationship, the castle—it was all encroaching on their relationship again. She found it hard to hold onto the freedom they had gained in New York City, when it felt like everyone in the castle was constantly watching her. She'd come home to find a small pile of post waiting for her, on top of which was a letter from Kingsley kindly imploring her to send her questions when she was ready to discuss his proposition.
Kingsley's offer—it would be a big distraction and something to occupy her time instead of merely lamenting that she could never be with Draco without it bothering the people she cared most about in this world.
Draco did not seem to feel any of what she did since being back at the castle. He was more buoyant than Hermione had ever seen him before, even when they were children. Hermione wondered how he had been able to hold on to the space New York had given them. To Hermione, it somehow felt like their story was ending, like their time in New York was the precipice of everything, and now she was just kind of free falling into an unknown future, where the only constant was that she could not find a way to be with Draco.
Hermione walked up the stairs to the Headmistress' office thinking about the moment when she had realized she liked Draco more than she had realized. They had been scrounging down the most delicious bagels at this dingy place they had found, American Bre(a)d, before taking their Portkey back to London. Draco had overzealously taken a bite of his bagel, which he had gotten with spicy cream cheese and lox. He was chewing steadily when Hermione spotted a bit of cream cheese on his cheek. It was a sight Hermione was not privy to—Draco being unkempt. Even when they were tussled from sex, he was still somehow put together and Hermione felt like a twisted heap of hair and mis-matched buttons.
Hermione found herself caught between telling Draco about the cream cheese and just letting it rest there for a moment. He was so happy eating his bagel that Hermione didn't want to interrupt him. It was only when he had finished his bagel, carefully wiping his hands on the thin paper napkins in the deli, even though Hermione was imagining he would have liked to have licked them clean, that Hermione reached across the tiny table they were sharing to wipe his cheek. When she pulled back with the cream cheese on her finger, Draco had been blushing. Hermione had never seen Draco blush ever. It was stunning to see his porcelain skin blossom.
Something happened then to Hermione—it was like her heart had thrown itself against the walls of her chest, like it was on a trampoline (something Hermione remembered watching other kids play with during her childhood). She had never felt this way before. Her breath hitched for a moment, and she attempted to play it off by bringing her finger to her mouth and licking it clean of the cream cheese without really thinking about the implications of her actions.
Draco's eyebrows had shot up his forehead and the blush that had crept up from his collar now spawned on his cheeks. To distract herself from the hopping in her chest, Hermione had leaned over and given him a kiss.
When she had pulled away, there was something shining in Draco's eyes that was impossible to ignore. To Hermione it felt like his soul was showing itself to her and begging for hers to reciprocate. Her like for Draco was churning into something thicker, something deeper.
But before Hermione could revel in that feeling or even spend any time dissecting it, they had been thrust back to the suffocating castle and Hermione had begun looking for distractions from her feelings for Draco. Hermione had spent a couple of weeks thinking up questions for Kingsley about the mission and the purpose and why her and what could she possibly have to offer after everything she'd already been through. She kept a spare piece of parchment where she littered her questions, until finally, she'd filled up both sides and decided it was time to write properly to Kingsley.
Apparently, McGonagall had gotten wind of this communication and had wished to speak to Hermione about things. Hence, the summoning.
Hermione's thoughts drifted back to Draco and New York. It was as if they had been drugged or dreaming in that foreign, bustling city. Sometimes while trying to make sense of it in her head, she joked with herself that she had been Imperiused. It was hard coming back from that freedom to feeling trapped and every move between them being weighed and measured. Even if it was all in Hermione's mind and no one was paying them any attention, she was weighing and measuring their every action. She thought about how each exchange of argumentative dialogue in their classes could look like flirting to their professors. Hermione considered how Draco holding the door open for as they walked down the hallways of Hogwarts looked to the younger students who didn't know them but knew of them. The whole castle was their audience. It was annoying and distracting. And beyond that, Hermione knew that once they had taken their N.E.W.T.s the whole country would be their audience. How would they ever be able to survive that?
She arrived at the heavy door of the Headmistress' office, which was ajar.
"Headmistress?" Hermione called while pushing the door open a little more. McGonagall was not there, but her message had stated this exact time, so Hermione was sure it was all right for her to wait in the office. She sat in the closest chair to the desk, keeping her back straight while she tried not to think about Draco.
Hermione felt someone watching her in the office. It could be any of the Headmasters' and Headmistress' portraits, but this felt more ominous. She swiveled in her chair and peered around the room.
"What are you looking at, missy?" one particularly grumpy headmaster questioned her. When Hermione didn't respond, he mumbled something about the youth of today.
Then she spotted a small black framed portrait in the corner of the room, the silver plate on the bottom of the frame read: Severus Snape, 1997-1998. Unlike the other plaques under the portraits, this one had a line under the date which read: "Always willing to sacrifice."
Snape's black eyes bored into Hermione as she approached the portrait.
"Hello, Ms. Granger."
"Professor Snape, hello."
They stared at each other for moment which for Hermione seemed to stretch into eternity. She felt an entire lifetime of guilt wash up for having ever doubted Snape's intentions.
"Do you wish to ask me something, Ms. Granger?"
Hermione furrowed her brows. Now that he mentioned it, there were tons of things she wanted to ask him. About his time with Death Eaters, about his love for Harry's mother, about his unbending allegiance to Dumbledore. But before she could formulate any specifics on any of those topics, she blurted out, "What was Draco like as a boy?"
Snape looked at her curiously, but showed no surprise. No wonder he'd been such a good double agent; he never cracked.
"You wish to ask me about Draco?"
Hermione nodded. "Draco Malfoy," she affirmed.
"As if we share any other acquaintances with the name Draco, Ms. Granger," Snape said coldly. He still had that way of making her feel idiotic and ridiculous.
"Very well," Snape said sharply. "Draco was a curious boy. A rather kind boy until his father began speaking about leadership and power. I tried to fuel his mind with concrete knowledge, rather than fantasy."
"How did you do that?"
"With books and activities and love."
"Love?"
"You find me incapable?"
"No, I know you aren't incapable of love."
"So, Mr. Potter, shared my memories I gave him, then?"
Hermione nodded, suddenly worried that he would feel this would be a breach of his privacy.
"I'm glad," Snape said in a small voice that did not live up to the grandeur Snape usually spoke to Hermione with. "Why do you ask me about Draco?"
Hermione searched quickly for an excuse rather than admit she'd grown to care about him. "He's my only classmate now, and I find it unnerving that I know very little about him." Hermione was not wholly comfortable lying to professors, not even their portraits. But it was the Gryffindor brazenness that even allowed her to present this skewed perception.
Snape considered her silently for a moment, which only grated on her already frazzled nerves. Surely he'd revel in knowing that the Gryffindor know-it-all didn't know anything about his godson. Or did portraits not harbor feelings like that?
Besides, the last thing Hermione wanted, was Snape's portrait having an inkling of what was going on between the her and Draco and running the gossip all over the castle.
Hermione chastised herself, As if Professor Snape was the gossiping kind.
"Well," Snape started slowly, "Draco grew into a very careful young man. He seemed dubious of the world around him and reticent to trust anyone other than his mother, even his classmates. Especially, after his father was thrown in Azkaban. He's always needed someone to look up to, someone who he felt would look after him. I fear that's why he felt the need to impress the Dark Lord as much as he did in his sixth year."
"Besides Voldemort threatening his entire family," Hermione said somewhat scathingly.
"Well there was that too." Snape looked carefully at Hermione then. "Draco is not someone to see only at his surface. Much like his father, Draco has depths you could not even imagine."
Hermione was going to respond, when the door to the office creaked open and McGonagall stepped through.
"Ah, Ms. Granger, thank you for coming on such late notice. Please take a seat."
Hermione smiled at the headmistress, and glanced over her shoulder at the portrait, only to find it now vacant.
—xxx—
Draco was rushing down the stone steps towards Professor Slughorn's office, late for his advising appointment. He sprang down the last of the steps and pivoted around a column, smashing into someone.
"Oi, watch it!" a gruff voice barked.
Draco's books slipped out of his hands and tumbled onto the floor around his feet and the stranger's. Draco stooped down to collect his books and was about to fling an insult at the stranger, when he looked up to find Weasley glowering down at him.
"You," Draco said flatly. Unresolved anger and resentment bubbled up from the depths of his stomach. He moved instinctually to protect the castle, to protect himself, to protect Hermione who was somewhere in the castle.
"Malfoy," Ron grunted. "Rushing off to your classes, tryin' to make Head Boy? I hear they don't give it out to murderers."
"Still a thoughtless git, then, Weasel?" Draco managed with a half-hearted attempt.
"Well, between the two of us, I'm not the Death Eater."
"Oooh, old news," Draco said, "I guess you can't afford to stay in the know."
"Still singing that old song? You Know Who take your brain along with him when we finished him off?"
"Still a giant pansy, aren't you? Can't even say his name, can you?" Weasley's fists tightened by his sides as he stepped closer to Draco, making Draco crane his neck back to continue looking him in the eyes.
"At least I never called him 'my precious Lord.'" Weasel said haughtily.
"You save that for Potter's trouser snake—"
"Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Weasley?" The familiar voice of Professor McGonagall silenced them into staring daggers at each other. "Mr. Weasley, you are late."
Draco sneered at him behind the headmistress' back. Draco knew that some things never changed and the animosity between him and Weasley was certainly one of those things.
"Sorry Headmistress," Weasel said, dipping his head slightly. "I ran into Mundungus in Hogsmeade."
"What is he doing in Hogsmeade?"
"Caught him selling some stuff I recognized from Grimmauld Place." He patted the bag on his shoulder. "I confiscated it for Harry."
"He could never keep his hands to himself," Professor McGonagall said shaking her head. They carried on for a couple of more moments, as if they had forgotten about Draco.
"Mr. Malfoy," the headmistress snapped suddenly. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"
Draco nodded his head, straightening the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He smiled to McGonagall and then sneered at Weasel again.
As he walked away from them, he caught McGonagall say, "I'm sure she'll be happy to see you."
"I'm not so sure, last time didn't go so great. And my news today isn't going to help," Weasley said, his head bowed.
Draco was caught off guard at the bile that rose quickly in his throat. He choked it down and kept walking away even though what he wanted to do most was go back and clock Weasel so hard the blood smeared across his face would match his dumb red hair. Hermione had not mentioned Weasley (or Potter for that matter) in a long time. It was not as if Draco didn't know she wasn't constantly thinking about them and missing them. He knew they were her best mates, but Draco knew that their growing intimacy made it more complicated for Hermione. The animosity between Draco and her friends probably did not aid Hermione feeling like there was a future between the two of them. If Draco couldn't get on with her mates, then how could she commit to Draco?
He knew that Weasel was going to see Hermione right now. There was no doubt in his mind. But was she aware of this or was she going to be caught off guard? How long had it been since she'd seen him? Unless she'd snuck off sometime while they had been involved, Draco banked on it being a couple of months. Since they had started having sex, they had filled most weekends in his rooms or in the library. Besides, having spent all of the holiday break together, there was no way she'd been able to see him then.
Draco couldn't keep the questions from spilling in his mind: Was Hermione mad at Weasel? If so, what had he done to make her mad? When did this happen? Had it happened while him and Hermione had been together?
It was hard to imagine Hermione keeping a grudge against Weasley for so long. They were mates, best mates, been through thick and think, hell and back again. Draco's perception was that the three of them did everything together. So, if Weasley was coming to apologize to Hermione, then Hermione would probably listen patiently and forgive him.
Of course, Hermione would forgive her beloved Weasel. But she'd never be able to forgive Draco.
Draco imagined her smiling widely at Weasley, arms outstretched, embracing him. He imagined Weasley dipping his head into her neck to smell her hair. His freckled nose inhaling the sweet scent of her dark curls. Draco flushed with agitation. He hated thinking about Weasel that close to her. Would she be tainted with his smell the next time he'd see her? Draco shook his head vehemently as he realized Hermione could never be tainted, she was perfect, and he loved everything about her. Even her annoying choice of friends.
He turned the corner in the long hallway of dungeons and promptly stopped in front of Slughorn's door. He fixed his robes and ran a hand through his hair to straighten his appearance. He knocked twice on the solid oak door, which swung open, Slughorn's robust figure filling nearly the entire doorway.
"My dear boy, come in, come in," Slughorn said jovially.
Draco entered Slughorn's office, which was exceptionally warm with the roaring fire Slughorn kept going almost all the time.
Slughorn motioned for them to sit in the pair of tiny chairs in the middle of the room. Slughorn was always like this, more conversational rather than wanting to keep a desk between him and his students. Draco knew that it was important to Slughorn to be liked by his students and remembered. The personal touches of making students feel like equals to him was an important tactic in his repertoire.
Once they had both settled into the chairs, Draco amazed that the chair did not groan from Slughorn's weight, Slughorn asked, "So, Draco, whatever has you coming to me on a Saturday as glorious as this?"
"Well, Professor, I was wondering if perhaps it was too late to add a class to my schedule."
"Ah, forever a curious one, aren't you, my boy?" Slughorn patted his belly and smiled widely down at him. For a moment, Draco missed his godfather, who was always rather straightforward with his advising for the students in his house.
"'Fraid so," Draco said almost as a placeholder in the conversation.
"And tell me, what class would you like to work into your schedule?" Slughorn made a quick wave of his wand, and a scroll came soaring into his hands from the corner of the room. It was Draco's academic file. Before Draco could answer the question, Slughorn continued, "I see your schedule is rather packed with a plethora. Ancient Runes, History of Magic, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, Potions of course." Slughorn looked up from the open scroll, "Doesn't leave many other subjects..."
Draco met Slughorn's eyes and nodded his head slightly. "You're right, but I would still like to know if I could add Muggle Studies."
Slughorn's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Muggle Studies? You?"
Draco glowered into his lap but rose his face with an understanding smile. "Yes, sir. I'd like to know more about Muggle culture."
"Whatever for, boy?"
Draco had prepared for this reaction to him wanting to learn more about Muggle Studies. "Well, I believe that perhaps if I want to not live in London or England after graduation, most other magical communities are more integrated than us here. It would be beneficial for me then to go in with some insider knowledge, no?"
Slughorn shook his head lightly, still slightly shocked. "Well, well," he said buying his time from the shock.
"I've already looked at my schedule and when Professor Wigworthy teaches the other levels, and I could perhaps fit in an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"But you've never taken any Muggle Studies, my dear Draco. I don't know how the young Professor Wigworthy would take you skipping the other levels."
"Do you think Professor Wigworthy would prefer if I was to attend with the third years?"
"That's an idea. Perhaps you could audit it before committing? I'm sure I could talk the sensible Professor Wigworthy into letting you audit his third-year class. I believe he's got the Ravenclaws and Slytherins on Tuesday and Thursday mornings."
Draco nodded his head enthusiastically, "Thank you so much, Professor Slughorn. I really appreciate your advising and commitment to my education."
Slughorn enjoyed the compliment. "Diligent students such as yourself make it easy."
—xxx—
"Ah," McGonagall said, "Ms. Granger, thank you for coming on such late notice. Please take a seat."
Hermione sat in one of the chairs in front of McGonagall's desk, suddenly nervous. There was something about the headmistress which always made Hermione nervous. She was fiercely loyal and judging, which was something Hermione both admired and feared about the woman. Sometimes it was hard to know where you stood with the headmistress. So, Hermione found it smart to prepare herself for all the possibilities before their encounters.
"I wanted to talk to you about Minister Kingley's request," Professor McGonagall said. Hermione nodded her head. "I hear you have expressed interest in the proposition."
"My interest was not explicit," Hermione said in a gentle tone. "I wrote him a list of questions. I do not plan to make an uninformed decision."
"Forever assiduous, Ms. Granger."
They sat in silence for a moment, considering each other.
"I only wish to express my point of view, if you would allow it," the headmistress said. "You are a student here still, and I care deeply about the livelihood of my students. I do not wish for them to find themselves in anymore life-threatening circumstances."
"You believe it to be life-threatening?"
"Ms. Granger, you would be among Death Eaters and followers of Voldemort. That is always life-threatening."
Hermione's mind shot immediately to Draco. She had never felt like her life was threatened while with Draco. Unless you counted dying from pleasure, which after being with Draco, Hermione believed could be a real thing. But she knew McGonagall did not mean Draco, otherwise she would not have let him back into the castle to retake his seventh year.
"Kingsley knows this and still asked you," McGonagall said disapprovingly. "But while I know you are my student, I also know that you are of age and can make your own choices. I only wish Kingsley had not made it seem like you were the only witch for the job."
"Do you think there is someone else qualified and able and willing?"
"There is always someone else," McGonagall said half-heartedly, both witches staring at each other while they remembered this was not always the case when fate was involved. Hermione knew that McGonagall had trouble believing in the prophecy Trelawney made, but both logical witches understood that it was human nature to gravitate towards believing in things outside your control.
After a moment's pause, McGonagall continued, "I believe I have stated my thoughts on the proposition enough. It is now up to you." Hermione nodded her head at the headmistress. "Now, there is someone who has traveled a long way and would like to speak with you."
Hermione immediately thought of her parents. How had they known the way to Hogwarts? she thought. Maybe Harry had helped them get here as a surprise for her, since her last letter had told him how much she had missed seeing them over the holidays.
"Mr. Weasley!" Professor McGonagall called to the closed door of her office. The door creaked open and in stepped Ron, a little tentatively at first, but then he found his stride while closing the distance between the door and Hermione's chair.
"What is he doing here?" Hermione nearly spat at McGonagall unable to keep the anger from rising in her voice.
"He requested by owl shortly after the holiday break to speak with both of us in regards to Mr. Potter."
Hermione's heart sank.
"What's happened?" Hermione said, spinning in her seat to stare at Ron. Her fearful eyes narrowed as she took in Ron's haggard appearance. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was a little disheveled—looking more like Harry's locks than his own.
Ron opened his mouth and then closed it again.
"Ronald Weasley, you tell me this instant what is wrong with Harry," Hermione said standing from her chair.
Ron cowered in his chair; McGonagall watched them closely.
"'Mione, it's all right, I promise. Harry is all right. A little banged up. Pride hurt a little, but ultimately, all right. Nothing worse than that rogue bludger."
Hermione glowered down at Ron. So, he was only here to try to get under her skin. If Harry was ultimately fine, then why not simply write a letter with some details?
"Mr. Weasley, please tell us what happened," Professor McGonagall said, "Ms. Granger, please sit back down."
"Well, while Harry was traveling through Vietnam, a gang of anti-Muggs jumped him and banged him up pretty good before he could Apparate out of there."
"Where was his security detail?"
"He had wanted to be alone for a little while," Ron shook his head at his friend. "You know what he's like, 'Mione."
"Don't call me that." Ron retreated into his chair.
"Mr. Weasley, please continue," McGonagall said, growing impatient at whatever personal matters was making this drag out.
"Well, since Harry is incapacitated—"
"I thought you said he was going to be 'all right'? 'All right' does not align with 'incapacitated,' Ron!" Hermione nearly yelled, while she jumped up from her chair again. She could feel her mind shutting down as her emotions took over.
"Ms. Granger, calm yourself," the headmistress demanded. "Go ahead, Mr. Weasley—best be quick about it."
"I'm going to take Harry's place for a little bit on his international tour to search for allies."
Hermione snorted. "You?" Ron's shoulder slumped at the insinuation in her tone.
"Ms. Granger, if you cannot control yourself, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Hermione stood, "I'm sorry, Headmistress McGonagall." She bowed her head. "I will leave." She turned her back to Ron, looking only at McGonagall. "Thank you for your counsel, earlier."
Hermione turned on her heel and walked quickly out of the office, feeling suddenly on the edge of suffocating. She was halfway down the stone steps when Ron called out to her to stop. She had never wanted to Apparate within the wards of Hogwarts more.
"'Mione! Stop, would ya? Hermione! Just stop!"
Ron's long legs carried him much faster than hers, and he caught up with her in a couple of bounds, grabbing hold of her upper arm. She did her best to shake off his grip, but it was tight. She guessed he was not going to stop until he'd said what he needed to at her. But that didn't mean she had to listen to him. Maybe if she just let him spit out what he so desperately wanted, then she could move on with her life and so could he. She was tired of being haunted by him. She wanted to forget all about that humiliating moment in Hogsmeade, all about the humiliating moments of nearly their entire friendship. Would she ever be able to dissect those haunting letdowns from the bright moments of their relationship?
"I want to talk to you."
"Well, I don't want to talk to you."
Ron stood his ground and attempted to not show the hurt on his face. "Would you just listen?"
Hermione did not say or do anything. Ron kept holding her upper arm but started to loosen his grip. She violently pulled her arm away, but stood on the steps, starting at him. He stepped down another step, simultaneously matching their eye level while also blocking her way down the stairwell.
"I just want to make sure you know that Harry is really okay. He's conscious and recovering at St. Mungo's. He didn't want us to just write you, because he knew you'd come rushing to his side. He didn't want to interrupt your studies."
"Then why didn't he send Ginny?" Hermione's tone was even.
"She won't leave his side. She's beside herself." Ron shook his head, smiled a little and added, "Sorta turning into Mum."
"Don't you dare insult either Ginny or your mother in my presence."
Ron held out his hands palms facing her as an act of surrender, "Honestly, 'Mione, it was a joke."
"I asked you not to call me that."
"Actually, you told me, you didn't ask," Ron grumbled in a tone he usually reserved for when his mother chastised him. Then in a clearer voice, "Why won't you just let me explain what happened?"
"Because I know enough," Hermione spat. "Don't add insult to injury by forcing me to listen to the sordid details of your bullshit."
"Hermione," Ron said carefully, reaching out his hands tentatively towards her. She recoiled violently, and his face fell along with his arms. "I didn't want to go abroad without saying goodbye."
"Fine," Hermione snipped, "goodbye." She made an attempt to brush past him on the stairwell, but he blocked her.
"Don't you want to know where I'm going?"
"Ron, I don't care."
He continued as if her answer had been the opposite. "I'm going to Vietnam and then Nepal and back down to Philippines. Harry wasn't able to finish his meeting with the leaders in Vietnam, so I need to go and see if I can recover the relationship. Kingsley seems to think I'll be successful. But I'm not so sure.
"It's not really safe in any of those countries right now. All the Aurors are telling me stories about the unrest. But I suppose I've been through worse." He smiled at her, and Hermione felt bile sting the back of her throat. Ron was conversing with her as if nothing had happened between them, as if they were the old friends he believed they were, as if he had never betrayed her trust or disappointed her. He was also trying to emotionally manipulate her. Whether he knew it was doing it or not.
They stayed silent for a moment while Hermione's insides boiled. She refused to say anything. She knew that Ron wanted her to reassure him that he was competent and capable of stepping in for Harry. Which she knew in her heart was true. He was brave and fierce. Ron was capable and competent, but she was not about to tell him any of that right now.
"Do you want to know why I'm doing it?" Ron asked, but continued without waiting for Hermione to answer. "It's not just to help out my best mate or avenge him with striking a successful alliance. I'm going for you."
Hermione bubbled over like a first year's cauldron. All the rage she'd felt towards Ron since that afternoon in Hogsmeade and the betrayal she felt sting every time she thought about how Ron had shattered their amazing trio with his dishonesty exploded within her.
"For me?" Hermione said in as even as a voice as she could muster. "For me? Are you fucking kidding me?" She wanted to rip him apart. She wanted to cut him deeper than he had cut her. "You have never done anything for anyone other than yourself, Ron. You are so self-involved with your need for approval, need for recognition, need for fame, need to stand out and stand on your own, you're willing to try anything." Hermione saw his face fall with every syllable. "This delusion that you're doing it for me is pathetic. You've never done anything for me."
Hermione pushed him quickly to the side and darted down the rest of the stairs. She knew the last thing she'd said to him was a lie, but she was heartbroken and upset. Somehow, that justified her lashing out at him. But he was a selfish prat who simply wanted the world to revolve around him instead of his best friend or his brothers. Ron had never grasped that Hermione's world had once revolved around him, but he'd made it more than clear that it hadn't been enough.
—xxx—
Hermione lingered in the hallway by the large portrait of fruit that was the entrance to the kitchens. This is how Hermione and Draco had decided was best to meet up in the late night to sneak her into his Slytherin rooms. Tonight, Hermione couldn't help but think about Winky crying herself into a state upon their first visit to the kitchens. She had been disgusted by the entitlement Ron had displayed, making the elves give him things and feed him sandwiches.
Hermione's mind jumped to Ron calmly saying, "We don't want any more Dobbies, do we?" Everything overwhelming her during the Battle and escaping from Gringotts and that entire year culminated in a moment that she'd played on repeat for hours while alone in her beach cottage.
But now, Hermione looked at it in a new light. Had Ron been sincere, or had he been manipulating her?
Harry's incredulous, "Is this the moment?" rang loudly in Hermione's ears. How had she been so mental to believe her young love was something ever-lasting? They had been idiots. The war, the Horocrux hunting, watching Harry come back from the dead—it had all changed them. There was no going back to the innocent nature of their mutual "interest."
Even in her own thoughts, Hermione couldn't bring herself to call it "love." She knew that what she had felt for Ron had not been love.
The summer before her sixth year, she'd overheard her mother and father discussing her and Ron quietly in the other room when they thought she was asleep. Her mother had called it "puppy love." Even that was generous with how murderous Hermione was feeling at the moment. Hermione was hesitant to call something that was making her feel so horrible, love. Love was supposed to lift you up, to overwhelm you with joy, to lighten your heart.
That was it, she wasn't going to wallow anymore in memories of Ronald Weasley. She was going to do something with her life. She was going to find her purpose beyond that of pining for that gangly redhead. She was going to make a difference in the world, because she knew she was the best for the job.
"Hermione!"
She whipped around, having been starting intently at the pear in the portrait, lost in her venomous thoughts to find Draco staring at her curiously.
"Why are you yelling at me?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you didn't respond the first four times I said your name."
Hermione shrugged her shoulders, "I've got a lot on my mind."
"Weasley?"
Hermione's cheeks flushed with embarrassed surprise. How had he known? she thought.
"Erm, not, um, not necessarily."
"Gryffindors are terrible liars," Draco said, squaring his shoulders, "I saw him in the castle. I know you saw him."
"Why should you care? You know he's my friend."
Draco's shoulder slumped slightly at the accusation in her voice. "I care because you seem upset. There was also mention of an apology, which means there is something he should be apologizing for." There was some of the depths Professor Snape had mentioned. Apparently, there was something more than Draco's apparent smitten hazy hangover from New York City.
"What—did you two have a nice long chat about me?"
"Long chat? Absolutely not, I tried to keep it as succinct as possible while still insulting him as efficiently as possible." Draco smirked and Hermione couldn't keep a small chuckle down. They were quiet for a moment. "I merely overheard the apology part," Draco clarified. Then he dropped his tone, "If you want to talk about it, I'm here."
Hermione tried to mask her surprise. Draco had been kind to her during their growing intimacy, but he had never once openly encouraged her to discuss her relationship with Ron. There had been a couple of moments when Hermione had shared some thoughts about her relationship with Harry, and Draco had not bristled in the least bit. But he had never outright encouraged a dialogue.
"We had a row," Hermione said.
"About what?"
"About us."
Draco's eyebrows raised, "You and me?"
"Oh no, I haven't tell anyone about us," Hermione said quickly. A dark look passed over Draco's face and Hermione wondered why this hurt him. Certainly, Draco Malfoy hadn't gone around to his lot gabbing on about him and Hermione.
She took on a clinical tone to clarify, "Him and me."
"About your friendship?"
"You could say that."
"Or, you could say…"
Hermione was contemplative for a moment, trying to assess how much she wanted to share with Draco. She decided rather hastily to lay it all out. "About how he led me on and then didn't wait for me."
"So, you two were involved?"
"I thought we were. Ron apparently didn't think so."
Hermione caught Draco's inquisitive gaze, seeing that he was caught between wanting to insult Ron but also ask more questions and unsure of how to do both at the same time. His conundrum made her want to laugh.
"So how did the ugly git apologize?"
Hermione knew this was Draco's way of trying to ascertain whether or not Hermione had forgiven Ron or not. She cut right to the chase.
"Do you really think I'd be doing this with you if I were involved with him?" The anger Ron had raised in her lashed out, "Is that what you really think of me? A slag who sleeps around?"
Hermione regretted it the moment she said it. Draco bristled violently at the implication. Of course she knew that Draco didn't think of her as a slag. For Helga's sake, she'd told him about being a virgin. Draco started but she cut him off with a curt nod of her head.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I know you don't think that." They both paused for a moment. Then a smile crept over her face. "Both of you would really get a kick out of that though," she finished sarcastically, enjoying watching Draco squirm slightly in discomfort of the thought.
"And what is 'this'?" Draco said, motioning between them, while taking a step towards her.
Now it was Hermione's turn to squirm. She was not prepared to answer that question. Not while she was still seething about Ron. She knew she'd have to figure out how to fix things with Ron, but Hermione also knew that she could only ever fix things for them to be friends again. He'd squashed all romantic opportunity for them when he hadn't waited for her, when he hadn't been loyal, when he hadn't been a Gryffindor.
Her gaze focused back on Draco and something shimmered in his eyes. For a moment, Hermione had thought that his question had been sarcastic—them both knowing and understanding what was happening between them was purely physical. But he was standing firm by his question; he really wanted to know what she thought they were doing.
How did he not know that she knew all they could ever be was physical with each other? Draco had to understand that there was an emotional void between them. Sure there had been some fantasy of that in America, but then they had come back to the castle and been slapped by their reality. Draco was a branded Death Eater. Hermione had helped the Boy Who Lived. No one would ever accept them together.
Besides, they were far too young to be getting serious about anything. This was a school year fling. It was hot and heavy, but also very easy to drop. And when they did drop, would they even remain friends? Or would they run into each other years later and not even give each other a passing thought? All the future what-ifs. Hermione needed to focus. She needed to shake off all these insipid boys. She had N.E.W.T.s to pass and Kingsley to write.
Draco continued to stare at her expectantly, and Hermione considered him for a moment. Did Draco think there could be more to them? Was he prodding to see what other possibilities could be between them with this question? Did Draco want more for them?
Hermione's eyes narrowed with suspicion, which was a more comfortable emotion than the truthful one she was feeling—fright. Mercifully, Draco seemed to sense that he wasn't going to get an answer and breezily changed the subject.
"Come on, Salazar knows we can't just shag right here in the hallway," Draco said while gesturing for her to follow him down the hallway to the entrance of the Slytherin dungeons.
"Not that you wouldn't try," Hermione heard herself say, still in a daze from her thoughts. He gave her a wicked wink over his shoulder, and she shook her head at him, barking out a short laugh, which seemed to clear the haziness of her thoughts.
They got her through the common room and to Draco's private rooms, where Draco excused himself to the bathroom. Hermione dropped her things on the chair he kept clear for her and plopped down on the bed. He eyes scanned over the room she'd spent a lot of time in the past couple of months, seeing familiar spines and artifacts of Draco's. But then she spotted something new, or perhaps she'd just overlooked it.
A small and simple black frame holding a small picture of a young Draco and a youthful Snape. A child's potions play set is scattered in the foreground; Snape's arm holding Draco to his side. Draco's toothy grin flashes with youthful enthusiasm, and Snape looks almost happy. He's not quite smiling, but that doesn't surprise Hermione, since she can't remember a single time she'd seen the grave man smile. But there is a gentle energy between them as the cauldron in front of them bubbles, and Draco blinks his eyes with delight at the magic before them. Draco's gaze goes from the photographer, to the cauldron, and then dotingly up at his godfather, who occasionally returns the gaze, the smile-not-smile stretching on his lips ever-so-slightly.
There is so much love between them in that frame, such a happy memory. Hermione realized that Draco had lost perhaps one of the few people who actually loved him, someone Hermione, Harry, and Ron had never truly understood or given the benefit of the doubt.
Something stirred in Hermione.
Was it possible Draco Malfoy was capable of deeper connection then the physical? After they had gotten home from America, it had seemed like they had woken up from a dream. For Hermione, the things they had said to each other felt improbable. More than improbable even, impossible. And Hermione had done what she could to not repeat the same emotions or feelings between them, keeping their interactions to strictly sex. The Draco Hermione knew was pompous and guarded. He wasn't vulnerable; he made it seem as if he was incapable of vulnerability. But that's what it took to forge deep connections, vulnerability. That is what Hermione had learned on that fateful Halloween when Harry and Ron had rescued her from Quirell's troll had come for her.
In America, Draco had spoken plainly in a way that made Hermione feel as if he was attempting to be vulnerable. Attempting to connect with Hermione on a deeper level than the physical attraction they shared. But Hermione was still telling herself that this connection was more out of convenience than anything else.
"Draco has depths you could not even imagine."