Apricity – Chapter Sixteen

"We're in the clearing again."

Draco turned to see Hermione sitting next to him on the hill. She had a gardenia in her hand, plucked fresh from the flowers by her sides. She wore a black dress made of chiffon with thin straps and a tight waist. The skirt flowed out and looked to reach mid-thigh.

His eyes lingered on her chest, but not her breasts. Her chest bone.

The ridges were so prominent.

"How did you change your clothing?" he said. "Last time, you had the same pyjamas on."

"It's a dream," she said, her lips curling up into a smile that didn't quite match the sobbing, weeping mess that had fallen asleep in his arms. "I figured we could do anything we wanted—so I imagined myself the way I wanted to look, and then it worked."

He tore his gaze away from her chest and let it rove the rest of her torso. Her collarbones were just as sharp, straining against thin skin as though they wanted to escape. Her neck was long and narrow, and her arms were so . . . They looked skeletal.

She wanted to look like this?

Draco looked off to the left, towards the sea beneath a silver sky studded with green stars. Something hurt in his chest as realization began to creep in slow and steady. He didn't want to fit the pieces together. He didn't want to believe that what had killed his mother might be affecting Hermione.

No.

It was just a dream.

Just because she dreamed of looking this way, didn't mean it was reality. He could imagine himself looking however he wanted, too. It was just her imagination.

He hoped.

"So, what do you want to do?" she said, sounding excited as she got to her feet.

Draco followed suit, seeing that he was in the trackies and shirt he'd fallen asleep in. He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, deciding to try what Hermione had and change his clothing. When he opened them again, he was wearing a pair of black denims and a black jumper. She laughed.

"See? I told you," she said. "It's that easy. Now, we match!"

He lifted one eyebrow. "Matching outfits? You're one of those witches."

"Me? Well . . ." She tilted her head to the side, tapping her chin with the gardenia in her hand. "I suppose I could be. I haven't ever really gotten the chance to explore those sorts of things."

"What sort? The fluff of teenage relationships?"

"And romance." She sniffed the flower, and a distant look crossed her face. "I've only had two wizards—Viktor and Ronald—and while Viktor was decently romantic, I was so young and didn't know what I liked. Ron was—he didn't care. Now, I suppose I'd like to be wooed."

Draco sneered at the mention of the Weaselbee. Even in dreams, he hated him. "I'm unsurprised that he was terrible at that. Witches deserve nice things, Granger—remember that."

"Hermione," she corrected, "and I haven't forgotten."

Instantly, he remembered when he'd given her the cauldron cake. "Hermione."

"And if it were up to me," she said, "I think matching outfits would be cute. If I had a wizard and he took me out to a—like, a fancy dinner in London. And if he brought me flowers. I—well, I think I'd like that very much."

Draco was fucked.

He could see himself doing all of that for her, and he hadn't even realized whether he fancied her or not.

"Well, we're matching right now," he said. "And we can do whatever we want."

She lowered the flower and looked up at him with wide eyes. "What?"

Draco leaned down and gathered up ten or so gardenias. He arranged them into a makeshift bouquet and handed them to her with a bit of a smirk.

"Flowers," he said in response to her dumbfounded look. "And I don't know if dinner in a dream is the best idea, so if you could do anything you want right now, what would it be?"

"What would you do?"

He answered without missing a beat. "Riding on a broom across the sea for kilometers."

"It's a no for me." She shook her head. "Absolutely not. Not even in a dream will I ever ride on the back of a broom or anything that flies ever again."

He opened his mouth to ask her for details, but thought better of it. He didn't want to bring her mood back down. If this was a dream, he didn't want it to become another nightmare for her. He already had the sounds of her sobs burned into his memory.

"I would decorate a Christmas tree," she continued. "Specifically the one in our common room, even though we probably won't put gifts under it."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"I love Christmas," she said, pouting.

"I know, I know." He held his hands up. "But fine—if that's what you want to do, then that's what we're gonna do."

She smiled, then, and it lit up her entire face. With her standing there, waist-length curls loose about her upper body, clad in that dress, and a bouquet of gardenias in her hands?

He would have said yes to anything.

"Okay, close your eyes." She did so, and something lit up inside of Draco at the sight. The fact that she trusted him enough to close her eyes within seconds—it did something unexplainable to him. His fists curled at his sides as he closed his eyes, too. "Think about the common room."

"All right," she said.

"Good. Now, open."

They both opened their eyes and just like that, they were in the Head common room. All of her Christmas decorations and lights were on, flickering and twinkling. It was pitch-dark outside the window. The tree in the corner stood devoid of decorations, waiting. At the foot of it was a box full of ornaments that Draco's dreamscape had provided.

Hermione set the gardenias down on the table. Then, she darted over to the tree with a gasp of delight, falling to her knees beside the box. She began sifting through the ornaments, separating the orbs from the more unique ones on the carpet.

Draco slipped his hands into his pockets and sauntered over, perching on the arm of the couch.

"Someone's eager."

"I told you—I love Christmas," she said, her smile big and bright. "I was always the one who decorated the tree, and my parents would sit on the couch and watch me. My father would help with the higher branches, of course, so that's what you can do. I'll do the bottom half."

"Oh, I'm decorating it with you?" He took his hands out of his pockets and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows.

"Well, of course, idjit," she said, giving him a look. "Did you think I wanted you to watch me?"

"Typically we do this with magic," he said. "Since it's a dream, we could do it with a snap of our fingers."

"But there's no fun in that, Draco," she whined, her mouth dipping into a pout. "Come decorate the tree with me!"

Draco stared at her, feeling his heart racing faster. That smile was a dream in and of itself. It felt like he hadn't seen it in days. Weeks. Months.

He hadn't seen it since before the war.

"All right," he said. "I'll decorate your bloody Christmas tree. Come on, then."

They spent the next few minutes in silence, hanging the ornaments on the branches in alternating patterns. Draco found that he rather liked the feeling of placing them, standing back and looking at his handiwork, and rearranging it all to make the colors look more balanced. He'd never gotten to do this at home, as the House Elves had always handled the twenty or so trees they had all over the Manor. Christmas seasons had always been a more public affair for their family, with fundraisers, dinners, and galas.

He wondered what it would have been like to grow up in a family like Hermione's.

"I like it," she said. "It's coming along, don't you think?"

"Yeah," he said with half of a smile. He placed a gingerbread man ornament on the tree, feeling amused. None of this was real, yet it felt like it was. It was weird. "You know we're going to have to do this in real life, too."

"I know, and I've been meaning to do it, but I've just been distracted," she said as she hung a candy cane on a lower branch and admired it. "I put the lights on it with magic, but I wanted to do the rest myself. I haven't had the energy."

Draco placed a couple of silver orbs in different spots so they wouldn't look too close together. He glanced down at her. He supposed this wasn't so bad, so it wouldn't be too difficult to do it in the common room in the waking world.

"I could help you, you know. You don't have to like—like, do it on your own, or anything."

She looked up at him from her place on her knees on the floor. She hung a red glittering orb without looking, the twinkling of the lights on the tree flickering across her face.

"Really?"

He shrugged.

"All right," she said. "Have you ever decorated a tree before?"

"Nah," he said, hanging another orb. "We celebrated Christmas, but for us, it wasn't so much about family as it was about presentation. I had to learn how to ballroom dance when I was five years old because my parents hosted so many galas."

"At five?" Hermione grabbed an ornament and stood up to hand it to him. She watched him start decorating the highest branches. "That's awfully young."

"Yeah, well." Another shrug. "Pureblood customs are a bit antiquated. In the 1700's, we were sometimes wed as early as the age of thirteen. It's ridiculous."

"Um, ew."

"Yeah."

Draco hung some more ornaments.

"I guess that explains why you and Pansy were a whirlwind on the dancefloor at the Yule Ball," she said. "Viktor was all right, but I had two left feet."

"If I learned at five, I guarantee you the Parkinsons had an instructor for Pansy when she was three."

Hermione snorted. "While she's an excellent dancer, she's not exactly the best person."

"I'll have to agree with you there."

"But . . . She's your friend, isn't she?" Hermione knelt down by the box and resumed hanging ornaments on her level of the tree.

Draco was silent for a long moment as he sifted through his thoughts and feelings. Yes, Pansy was his friend and she always had been. Just like Blaise and Theo were. But the fact that Pansy had caused not only Hermione to relive her horror, but Draco to have to endure it made him feel something bitter towards her. Their friendship was forever tainted by it. He was by no means perfect, given who he'd been and how he'd acted before the war, and he'd made choices that had gotten people killed.

But that was then, and this was now.

"There's no excuse for what Pansy did," Draco said, crouching down to sift through the ornament box. There was a pretty gold star with intricate designs etched into the surface. He picked it up, feeling the cool metal against his fingers. "Just because I've done some horrid things doesn't mean I have to surround myself with those sorts of people anymore."

Hermione looked down at him, her hands frozen in the process of fluffing a branch. She tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing him.

"You're right," she said, "and I think that's something I've learned myself this year. I've had to discern whether or not my friendships were true. To ask myself, 'are we friends only because we were forced to be in classrooms and dorms with one another every day for seven years?' It's been difficult, but I've gotten a lot of clarity."

Picking up the star, he stood up and placed it on top of the tree.

"And what are the details of this clarity you've received?" he asked, stepping back to admire the full effect of the ornaments, lights, and the star.

Hermione came to stand beside him. "I've come to see that just because you call someone a friend, doesn't mean you really know them. Sometimes, the people you think you love can hurt you." She looked up at him and smiled. "And the people you think you don't know can actually turn out to be really wonderful people if you just get to know them."

His gaze traversed the planes of her face. Was she talking about him?

He wouldn't mind if she was.

"Yeah?" he murmured.

"Yeah."

They stood and ogled the tree for a while, and Draco found that he felt more at peace than he had in years. The darkness around them, broken by warm twinkling lights and the faint scent of cinnamon made him feel like he was at home. Granted, a home he'd never lived in before since the Manor was much too large to hold scents in its rooms, but a home all the same.

He had the overwhelming urge to sit down on the couch and watch the tree sparkle until he fell asleep.

"Sometimes, I wish I could go back and do things differently," Hermione said, her voice as soft as snowfall.

"So do I," he said, looking down at her again. "Maybe I'd see if I could get my parents to decorate at least one tree by hand with me like this."

She was completely focused on the tree and her facial expression looked uncharacteristically blank. It caused him to frown.

"I'd go all the way back," she whispered, "to the day I first discovered magic, and I'd hide it. I'd refuse to go to school entirely and see what it was like to live in the Muggle world without ever becoming a part of this one."

A life without magic wasn't a life at all. It was one of his worst fears. Decorating a tree by hand was one thing—but imagining a life where he was forced to do everything without the help of magic through no choice of his own? It wasn't a life he could fathom.

"But . . . Then you wouldn't have met your Potter and Weasley," he said, a lock of his messy hair falling into his eyes. "And your other friends. You wouldn't have all your academic achievements, and your Order of Merlin. You wouldn't be the Golden Girl."

"No," she said, and he saw her lower her eyes, "I wouldn't. I would just be me, a girl with a love of books. I wouldn't have to do anything except be me."

"Hermione," he said, laughing slightly as he touched her elbow and turned her to face him. "You don't have to be anything other than yourself. Who is telling you that you have to be somebody else?"

She said nothing, still not looking at him. Frustrated, Draco gripped her chin in a gentle hand and tilted her face upward. When he was satisfied that she was going to look into his eyes, he cupped her face in his hands.

"Who is telling you to be something you're not?"

"You did, for starters," she mumbled. "Harry and Ron always have. The entire school. The wizarding world. They chose a role for me and I've been struggling to fit into the mold ever since. I'm not small enough to . . ." Her brow furrowed, lines appearing in her brow as her hands came up to wrap around his wrists. "That's a hypothetical—I mean, I'm saying there's a mold that the world wants me to fit into, that I simply don't fit. And it's gotten to the point where I'd rather have no magic at all, then keep trying to figure out how to make everyone happy. I'm just so tired."

Draco realized that what she was saying was probably one of her darkest secrets. If either Potter or the Weaselbee heard her say that she'd go back to a time where they weren't in her life so she could unmeet them, he didn't think they'd be too happy.

And he understood that sometimes, the pressures of life made you want things that were unheard of. When he was working on the cupboard, the stress had gotten so bad sometimes that he'd contemplated suicide if only to gain some reprieve. He'd been tired, too.

But what Hermione had experienced was much worse than anything Draco had.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it. Because they were inside a dream and there was no one watching. No one to hold him accountable except the person the apology was owed to. "There's a lot of things I've done wrong. A lot of wrong choices. And one of them was treating you the way I did. But if there's one person who doesn't expect anything out of you, it's me. You don't have to do or say or be anything other than yourself. Not that I'm on your list of people to impress, but . . . You can at least come to me when you can't handle it anymore and you just need a break."

She studied him, and then pulled her face out of his grasp. Keeping hold of his left wrist, she held his forearm between them. He felt her gaze washing over his Dark Mark, lying nestled amongst all of his other tattoos as though he wanted to hide it. Her finger traced the outline of the skull and snake, and he gritted his teeth to hold back the urge to shiver.

"Sometimes, I forget that I'm not the only one who's hurting," Hermione said softly. "Do you miss her?"

"Miss who?"

She met his eyes. "Your mother."

His heart wrenched and his fingers twitched in her grasp. Of course he did. More than anything. He missed her so badly that it agonized him, and what was worse is he had no one to talk to about it. He hadn't spoken to his father since before that fateful day.

"Obviously," he muttered. "I'd be a cold man if I didn't, don't you think?"

"I know," she said, her fingers trailing down his arm and along his wrist. She turned it so his palm was facing hers. Her fingers twined with his, her skin feeling much warmer in this dream that they did in real life. "And I just want you to know that I'm here, too, if you ever need someone to hold you."

Another skip of his heartbeat.

"Yeah?"

She nodded, scrutinizing the way their hands fit together, and the contrast of his ink-decorated fingers against the back of her palm. "There's no reason why you should have to carry your burdens and mine."

"Hmm," he said, humming in response. He couldn't stop looking at her face and the way the lights played off of it. When had she gotten so Salazar-damned beautiful?

She smiled, then, and it was everything. "I'm really glad we became friends, Draco. I just wish things could be this easy when we're awake."

"They can be," he said, and then he tugged on her hand. Catching her by surprise, she stumbled forward and fell against his chest. Before he could think too hard on it, he wrapped his arms around her in the sort of embrace he wished he could give his mother one last time.

She lifted her hands, hesitating. "We can hold each other whenever we want?"

"Yeah," he said. "Of course."

"Just like this?" She slid her arms around his waist and locked them in place.

"Mh-hm," he said. "Just like this."

They watched the tree, watched the lights twinkle on and off and the ornaments sparkle.

"You've changed, Draco. And it's a really, really good thing."


Draco woke, expecting Hermione to be gone.

To his surprise, she was still lying in his bed and they were in the same position they'd fallen asleep in. His arms were wrapped around her, fingers of one hand tangled in her curls. Her face was pressed into the junction of his neck and shoulder, and one of her legs was tucked in-between his. Her hands gripped his shirt.

Lying there in a sleepy haze for a moment, he tried to separate reality from the dreamscape they'd created.

He remembered decorating the tree and embracing her, and then he remembered the two of them going into the kitchenette to bake sugar cookies shaped like bells, stockings, and trees. They'd frosted them and eaten ten each while reminiscing humorous moments from their younger years. It turned out he had as many hilarious stories about Crabbe and Goyle as she had about the Weaselbee and Potter.

Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed that much, nor the last time he'd eaten that much sugar. In the dream, it had felt so vivid and real. The taste of vanilla, the scent of cinnamon.

However, now that he was awake, it all felt like a far-off memory. The reality was the weight of Hermione on his arm and the heat of her body pressed against his. She was something real that he could touch and feel whether his eyes were open or closed.

He liked reality better.

She woke a short time later with a start, her body going rigid. He didn't want her to panic so he loosened his hold on her.

"You snore, you know," he said.

There was a moment before she relaxed into him again, not moving her position. "Thanks for telling me. And what?"

"And what . . . What?"

"What about it?" she snapped, voice groggy. "It's not as if I can control it."

"Feisty in the morning, too, I see," he said, his own voice hoarse. He shifted, relaxing further into the bed. "Relax."

"Did we wake up late? What time is it?"

"I haven't the slightest clue."

He groaned in protest as she extricated herself from his arms and sat up so she could see the clock behind him. Her hair was a disaster, but a beautiful one. She gazed down into his half-shut eyes.

"We're halfway into first period."

"Shame," he said, smirking. It wasn't as though he liked that class, anyway.

"I don't skive off class, Draco," she replied, glowering at him. "I'm me."

"Well, now you do."

She scowled and threw the covers aside, splintering his warmth with cold air. With more grumbling, he took the covers and pulled them up to his neck. He watched as she walked around the bed and went to the window, pulling the curtains open.

"You're a bad influence on me," she said, sounding annoyed. "But we're not going to sit around and do nothing. Let's go to the Library."

"The Library?" Begrudgingly, he sat up, his hair in his eyes. "What for?"

"You may be happy accepting something unexplainable for five years, but I am not. I need to know what's going on between us and why we're able to walk in each other's dreams. The fact that we can interact like we did last night and the night before is just . . ." She placed her hand to her temple and drew it away. "It blows my mind. So, hurry up and get dressed."

Draco stifled a laugh as she grabbed a pair of his trousers from the floor and tossed them at him. He caught them right as she pulled his dresser drawers open. In the next few seconds, a fresh pair of pants and a grey jumper were on the bed with him as well.

Shocked that she was just going through his drawers like that, he was slow to react when he saw her inspecting the wooden chest on top of it with curiosity.

"What's inside here?" she asked. "The carvings on the outside are so intricate."

Her fingers unlatched the bronze clasp, and Draco's heart leapt into his chest. He tossed aside the covers and bounded across the room to get to her. Standing behind her, he curved one hand around the front edge of the dresser and the other hand around her wrist to stop her, boxing her in. She looked up at him, her hair brushing against his chest.

"What are you hiding? Some Dark artifact?"

"No," he said. "Do you need to know every little thing about me?"

"It's just a chest, Draco," she quipped. "And I've asked you hardly anything about yourself, so don't act like I'm some nosy witch who's trying to insert herself into your life. You know things about me that no one else does."

"And that's your choice," he said, tightening his hand when she tried to move.

"Not all of it was," she said, holding his gaze with a spark of vehemence in her eyes. "You know that."

Guilt colored him pale as he realized what he'd just said. His words were only half-true. Some things he knew about her because she'd told him—he only knew about Paris because someone had poisoned her tea.

Still.

His father was off-limits.

"Please," he whispered. "Leave this one alone."

". . . All right," she said, and this time when she pulled on her hand, he let her. He moved aside and she moved away from the dresser. Without looking at him again, she left the room.

Draco hurried to dress, glancing over at the chest more than a few times. He hadn't received a letter from his father in a while, which wasn't like him. There was no desire inside of him to read any of them, but something about knowing the letters were coming had given him a strange sense of comfort.

He knew he was being overdramatic about them, too. They were probably mundane play-by-plays of his life in Azkaban—not confessions of his undying apologies for being a horrid father.

What would Lucius think if he knew that Draco had kissed a Muggle-born witch on the neck in waking and the lips in dreaming? What would he think if he knew they were sharing a bed, even if the reasons were innocent in nature?

What would he think if I wrote back to him and told him I fancied not just any witch, but the Hermione Granger?

He gulped.

That would require him to admit he fancied her first.

When his shoes were on and his cologne had been sprayed, he headed out to the common room. Hermione was there, sitting on the arm of the couch like he'd done in the dream. She'd gotten dressed, too—in a pair of black leggings and an oversized blue jumper. She was staring at the undecorated tree in a listless manner, shoulders slumped with what looked like exhaustion.

"Still tired?"

"Huh?" She jumped to her feet, whirling to look at him across the room. "Y-Yeah, a little bit."

He came to a stop behind the couch and glanced at the tree. "Looks like all of our hard work is gone."

"Well, it was in a dream, after all." She tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "I don't expect anything that happens in our dreams to carry over."

Draco bit his lower lip and rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's decorate it for real this weekend."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up. "You mean—without magic?"

"Yeah."

"I—thank you, Draco. That makes me really happy."

His heart swelled. "Good."

She gave the tree one last wistful grin, and then she headed towards the portrait. Draco followed her out into the corridor. As they passed the Great Hall, he paused.

"Did you wanna go back to the common room and grab some last minute breakfast?" he asked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder.

"Me? Oh, no, I—I ate while you were changing."

"Really?" he asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "That quickly? I was only in my room for five minutes or so. You changed and ate an entire meal?"

"No, I—well, I mean, I had an apple."

He saw her begin fidgeting with her fingernails, and he was reminded suddenly of the way she'd looked in his dream. The way her skin seemed to stretch thinly over her bones. His gaze swept her body, wishing he could see her now and compare. Because either way he looked at it, whether it was what she really looked like or wanted to look like, something felt sinister about it.

She was lying, and he knew it in his bones that she was.

And it was because she was lying and because of his mother's past that he knew there was a right way to go about this and a wrong way. It wasn't his business until it was. And while he didn't know the details of Hermione's issue—if that were in case the problem—he knew that she had a temper.

He had to finesse her and get to the bottom of it.

"After the Library," he said, moving forward again, "let's go down to Hogsmeade for lunch. My treat."

"For what reason?" she asked as they resumed walking toward the Library's extravagant doors. "Early Christmas?"

"Sure, yeah," he said.

"After Charms though, right? We have an exam in two days and the last thing we need to do is miss any review and fail because we wanted Butterbeer."

"Eh, I'm just gonna skive it off. I'll probably miss the rest of the day."

Her jaw dropped. "It's almost holiday! You can't just wait for a break?!"

An idea came to him.

"All right," he said, and then he hop-skipped ahead of her. Walking backwards, he held up his pointer fingers. "If I agree to go to Charms, then you have to let me pick your meal for you at lunch."

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "Depends. What are you ordering?"

"It'd be a surprise. Either I skive off Charms, or I pick what you order."

She halted mid-step. "Is this some weird control issue you have?"

"No. Er—maybe." He grinned. "But if we make a deal, it's a deal. Either I skive it off, or I pick."

"But it affects your grades."

"Yeah, and you care about them more than I do."

"What about your career?"

He said nothing, not knowing how to voice aloud to her, let alone anyone his fears about his future.

She let out a sigh. "Fine. All right. We'll go to Charms, and then we can walk to Hogsmeade and eat lunch there."

"And . . ."

"And I'll let you pick my food out." She threw her gaze Heavenward and brushed past him. "Now, come on."

Draco let out a breath. He hoped this worked.


Hermione had no idea how much power she held.

The fact that Madam Pince simply let them breeze right in, all without asking for a permission slip was pure insanity. The old crone seemed more fascinated by the fact that Draco was trailing behind Hermione, than the fact that they were in the Library during class time.

"Let's start with the Astronomy section," Hermione said. "Look for anything you see that might have to do with dreams or the astral plane. That's the best place to start, and maybe we'll have a good direction after some reading."

"Where'd you get the 'astral plane' from?" he asked as they walked through the haphazard, narrow stacks.

"Have you ever heard of astral projecting? It's different than dreamwalking, but basically it's where when you're asleep, your soul leaves your body and walks the Earth. It can go anywhere, see anything within moments. I'm wondering if dreamwalking may be something in that realm of magic."

"Ah," Draco said. "Although, that wouldn't explain why I was able to do it for five years without you noticing, only to suddenly have you come into my dream and have conversations with me. Amongst other things."

"Exactly," she said, sneaking a glance up at him that she averted the moment his eyes met hers. "That's why I said it was different."

"Well." His lips curved up. "Excuse me, Miss Granger. I'd forgotten that you were the professor."

"When it comes to research," she said, taking a right and entering the beginning of the Astronomy section, "I'm always the professor."

"Confidence is key."

"Intelligence is key."

They began to sift through books, fingers grazing spines on opposite sides of the walkway. Draco looked for subjects that might apply, as well as the two she'd specifically told him to search for. He wasn't sure they were going to find what they were looking for, but he had hope that they could at least figure out a starting point to jump off of.

"Are you saying I'm unintelligent?" he shot back.

"Don't be stupid. You're the most intelligent boy I know." Her tone was a gentle coo.

He gave her a sour look. "You're lying."

"The funny thing," she said, standing on tip-toe to try and grab a book that was just out of her reach, "is that I'm not. You actually are the most intelligent boy I know. You're second only to me, and that's probably why I hated you so much when we were younger. No one had higher grades than you, save for me. I liked a wide berth, but you gave me about two inches."

"The funny thing—" he mocked, reaching up past her fingertips to pluck the book off of the stack. He leaned down and handed her the book, his mouth near her ear. "—is that for someone who claims to be first in everything, you forgot to bring your wand."

"Shut up," she snapped, looking at the cover of the book—Understanding the Astral Plane. "I left it in my bedroom last night and I didn't see a reason to bring it."

Something about her words caused him to stop dead in his tracks. He had his fingers pressed to the spine of one book, reading and rereading the title over and over until he realized he wasn't absorbing anything. The shock reverberated through him, straight to his core. He turned to look down at her, right as she approached his side to show him another book.

"You feel safe enough around me to leave your wand in your room?"

Her cheeks tinged darker, a rose color amongst the bronze of her skin and she cleared her throat. "I guess so. Yes. Do I have reason not to feel that way?"

Draco was awestruck. After weeks of her avoiding him, multiple arguments, and only two nights of dreams, she suddenly felt safe with him? After everything he'd done—and everything he hadn't—she felt safe? With him?

"How?"

"I don't know." She looked up from the white pages of the book and did a double-take, seeing the serious expression in his eyes. "Draco—I don't know, okay? I just do."

"That's not an answer," he said, feeling a spike of panic inside of his chest. What if he'd accidentally lulled her into a false sense of security? What if she was just blind to what a horrible wizard he actually was? What if she was deluding herself into forgetting every horrible choice he'd made?

"Why is this so important to you?" she asked, her face contorting with irritation. "Is there something about you that you think I shouldn't trust?"

No.

Yes.

Everything.

Nothing.

Why did he feel so scared?

"I feel safe with you for reasons unknown to me," she said, "and I decided not to question it. There's so few people I feel that way around that when I realized I trusted you, I just accepted it. I don't have the energy to fight it anymore."

He followed her to the next row, where the Astronomy books continued. His words were a jumble inside his mind, each one clamoring to be amongst the ones he chose, but he kept them all locked behind a wall.

"All right," he said.

She pulled another book off of the shelf and in a casual tone, asked, "Does that bother you, having someone like me feel safe with you?"

"Someone like—What do you—" His eyes widened. "What do you mean? Someone who's Muggle-born?"

Her reply was to lift one eyebrow up and side-eye him.

"Hermione, I don't give a flying fuck about your blood status," he said, trying to keep his voice down so Madam Pince didn't interrupt the bubble of solitude around them.

Hermione stopped and with a sigh, turned to look up at him. "I know that. Or at least, I thought I did. But you seem so shocked that I would trust you. Are you not presenting yourself as someone trustworthy? Are you pretending to be someone you're not to get something out of me? I wasn't worried, but now I'm—"

He cut her off, feeling more panicked the angrier she sounded. "I'm just . . . Confused. And I'm terrified. I'm not—people don't trust me. Good people don't trust me."

"What reason would you have to be scared?"

He placed his hands on the shelf and hung his head, struggling to force the words out. Then, he slowly met her gaze.

"What if I hurt you?"

The hardness in her face softened, melting like snowflakes on skin. She hugged the two books she'd grabbed close to her chest.

"I don't think you will," she murmured. "So don't say it like it'll happen."

Draco lifted his hand, reaching towards her face. He didn't know how to explain how terrified he was of hurting her after what happened in Paris. He had no words to explain to her how witnessing that experience had irrevocably changed him, and how the couple of nights she'd slept in his bed were the first times he'd slept so soundly since.

How could he describe to her how horrifying it was to hear her cry knowing that she was so utterly alone in her pain for so many months?

Suddenly, her eyes went wide and she gasped. He dropped his hand, anxiety pulsing through his veins, and moved back from her. She reached onto the shelf that had been above his shoulder and pulled down a book.

"Star Bonds," she said, reading the title aloud. She turned the book over so she could read the back. "It says it's about magical bonds that wizards create to link themselves to stars and influence their lives."

"Like . . . Astrology?"

"Yes," she said, adding the book to her stack. "Sort of, except you're assigning a star to yourself by choice, rather than picking a constellation based upon where the sun was when you were born. Did you find anything?"

"No," he said. "I was too busy arguing with you."

She gave him a deadpan look, and then turned to go towards a study alcove. "Take another look, and then join me over there when you're done."

Draco wandered through the books for a few minutes, grabbing anything that looked appropriate. His mind was whirling.

What the bloody Hell was wrong with him? Why would he say something like that to her? It wasn't attractive or funny or soft or kind to tell her he was terrified of hurting her. If he was so honored by her trust, why would he try to break it immediately after she told him he had it?

In the alcove, Hermione was nose-deep in the book about star bonds, so he didn't say anything to her. He pulled the chair out beside hers at the small table and began to read the book he'd found, one about the astral plane. He tried his best to focus, his eyes glossing over the passages without understanding much of anything.

What was he even doing? Why was he here, sitting and pretending to be friends with her? He was a horrible person. A bad person. He knew what had happened to her, yet he'd still kissed her neck in the corridor. He'd still invited her to his bed. He'd still kissed her in the dream.

Why couldn't he stop pressuring her?

He was rubbish. Absolute tosh. He was no better than the Weaselbee. No better than the man in Paris.

"Oh . . . My . . . Godric."

He heard Hermione's exclamation, but he couldn't seem to focus. It felt like the storm inside of him had come back with a vengeance. Except now, the grey seemed speckled with color, as though someone had dipped a paintbrush in every color of the rainbow and splashed it into the tornado. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

What the fuck?

"Draco, are you all right?"

He looked at her, unable to speak.

"You're eyes are all wonky—why do you look so freaked out?" Her hand reached toward him, towards his face. "Are you—"

His hand snapped up like a bolt of lightning, snatching her wrist out of the air. "You shouldn't touch me. We shouldn't be here, doing this. We shouldn't be near one another."

"What are you talking about?" A fearful glance was cast towards his grip on her. He wondered if she was second-guessing that trust now. "Why are you holding me so tightly?"

"Have you ever stopped to think about it?" he hissed, his heart slamming in his chest as the storm rose higher, nearly in his throat. "Just stop and think. It's me we're talking about here. I'm Draco fucking Malfoy. I'm the reason why Headmaster Dumbledore is dead. I'm the reason why Snape and Lupin and Lavender Brown and all the people you called friends are dead. If I hadn't let them into the castle, then none of this would have happened. If I hadn't made the wrong choice, then—"

"Draco, please!" she cried, and the fear in her eyes had intensified. She tried to pull her hand back again. "You're hurting me!"

Shock hit him with its full force and, as though her skin had caught fire, he let go of her. She scrambled to her feet and away from the table, chest heaving as she looked upon him in bewilderment. Draco felt his stomach churning, the storm still raging inside of him.

"I'm . . . I'm so fucking sorry," he breathed, staring at his trembling hands. "I don't know what just . . . Happened."

"I was trying to tell you," she said, shaking as she pointed at the book. "I found something. But you . . . What's come over you?"

"I don't know. I don't fucking know."

He placed his elbows on the table and hung his head between his hands. A sharp, throbbing pain had settled into his skull on both sides, feeling like metal screws were being twisted deeper and deeper into his brain. It felt like Legilimency. It felt like the Dark Lord, accessing memories that weren't his to access.

Memories.

Inaccessible memories.

But . . . How?

And who?

"I think it's true. Somehow, we might be bonded. I—I think we're astronomically soulmates. But the thing is . . . I think it's a false bond."

She took a deep breath before continuing.

"I think someone bonded us together."