"NOBODY'S ever made me feel like...that."
"Elaborate, Miss Granger."
"The other night, when we stopped at Rowena Ravenclaw's portrait D-Malfoy, he validated me. He made me feel like my feelings were acceptable and that I wasn't being selfish, or rude, and that I actually am allowed to voice their existence. No one has ever made me feel like that."
"And what, exactly, did he make you feel like?"
"He made me feel...important."
?
"What did you say?" A very enraged, red-in-the-face Oliver Wood seethed, stalking over to where Harry and Draco were standing. Hermione swallowed a nervous gulp as she made her way back over to them, coming to stand in between Harry and Draco and shooting them both nervous glances. She hated confrontation ever since—well, ever since she started working for Helga, really.
"I should go over there—" She heard Ron sputter, watching as Helga's much too-long fingernail shot out and stabbed him in the chest. Those nails were definitely not approved by Pansy, she thought to herself, and then smiled as she realized she really had become decently fond of the woman.
"Don't step another foot over towards them, Ronald, sparring is not a good look for TV, and you have a hothead," she warned, pushing him back as he looked helplessly on towards their confrontation.
Harry stiffened and he looked Oliver up and down; this had to be definitively odd for him, being in direct competition with a man he once admired and even looked up to as a mere, scrawny little first year.
"Look, mate, I don't mean to be the cause of any harm or any drama, but I'm in love with Ginny," Harry explained, trying his hardest to keep things civil and not escalate emotions any further. "And no offense, but you've only been courting her for barely even a week. I deserve to see if she still feels the same way about me."
"You deserve?" Oliver hissed, shaking his head incredulously. "Bollocks, you deserve absolutely nothing! You've had years upon bloody years to tell her how you felt, to marry her, and all that you've managed to do is break her heart, hurt her, and disappoint her over and over again. So don't come in here and spout off about the shite that you deserve because I, frankly, couldn't give a rat's arse about what you deserve! What about what Ginny deserves, you tosser?"
"Alright then, that's quite enough of that," Draco jumped in, pushing past Hermione and gently guiding Oliver away. "Perhaps we should talk this out after everybody's had some rest and cooler heads can prevail?"
"Bloody shove off, you bloody Voldemort wannabe," Oliver hissed, shoving Draco back. Hard. Draco stumbled, clearly not expecting a physical altercation between the two of them, and hit his back into Hermione's frantic arms.
She expected the sneer on his face as soon as it appeared and he stood up straight. He was quite tall—and threatening, when he wanted to be—a fact Hermione wagered Oliver had forgotten. He leveled over him, pointing a finger into his chest.
"I'll deal with you in a moment," he hissed, whipping around and facing Harry and Hermione. His face instantly changed as he looked her over, his hands gripping either sides of her arms. "Are you okay, love?" He asked, and Hermione held her breath, a confusing and disturbing swirl of emotions bubbling up inside of her chest. He seemed to be inspecting her for any wounds, despite having barely bumped into her.
"I'm fine, Malfoy," she barely managed to choke out, the concern for her in his eyes threatening to steal her breath away. "It was barely a nudge." He immediately nodded, gave her a comforting little squeeze and rounded back on Oliver.
"I suggest you back off, now, before things take a turn for the worst," Draco warned with a low growl, keeping his hands to himself despite the obvious tension that had suddenly filled the room. It was then that Hermione realized that everybody, apart from Ginny, Helga, and Ron, who had all left, was burning a hole into the four of them, watching and waiting with baited breath. Even—no, especially—George.
"What are you going to do, you spoilt prat," Oliver laughed, taunting Draco further as he shoved him again with one hand. "You going to hit me? Or are you just going to stand there like the bloody coward that you are?"
"I won't hit you," Draco suddenly answered, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest, like a petulant child. "Not on my mother's veranda." Hermione couldn't help an amused snort and covered her smile with her hands, although she was pleased to see the corner of Draco's mouth turn upwards, just a tad.
"Whatever," Oliver hissed, peering around him to glare at Harry, "You're not the one I have a problem with, anyway. Come on, Potter, going to let your bodyguard do all your dirty work, are you? The Boy Who Lived suddenly can't handle his own against his old Quidditch captain?"
Harry seethed and Hermione sighed in defeat. That damned Gryffindor pride…
"I don't need a bodyguard and I can certainly handle my own against you if I wanted to," Harry growled, rolling his hands into fists and gearing up for a fight.
"Harry, no," Hermione hissed her warning, rearing on him and shoving him back gently with both of her hands. "If you think that Ginny will be impressed that you punched a man she's been seeing, you're grossly mistaken. Let's just calm down, walk away, and go to bed. You can see Ginny in the morning if she wishes to speak to you, but nothing good can come out of tonight. Okay?" Harry was still glaring intensely at Oliver, Draco standing aside, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited to see if he would need to step in again on behalf of their mutual friend.
Mutual friend, Hermione mused to herself for just a moment. What a weirdly unexpected situation we've both found ourselves in here.
It took him a moment, but Harry finally sighed and backed away, throwing his arms in the air to prove his compliance to Hermione. "Fine," he sighed, taking a deep, calming breath and backing away. "You're right Hermione; let's all just go to bed and talk this out in the morning." Hermione released a sigh of relief herself and Draco also backed down, coming towards her friends to escort Harry out and away from Oliver.
"What, you're a coward now too, Potter?" Oliver jeered, his nose turned up in a haughty sneer that could honestly have rivaled Malfoy's.
"Ignore him," Hermione urged, desperately shooting Draco a look to escort him out faster. Her hands clenched into fists as her irritation with Oliver increased, wishing he would just let it go already, for the love of Merlin. Draco nodded his compliance to her, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.
Hermione almost swooned at how that made him look. So, so-
"No, stop running away you prat, I'm not quite done with you," Oliver growled, effectively tossing Hermione off of her train of thought. He lunged forward and, whether it was on purpose or not-Hermione would never know-Oliver charged at the three of them, knocking Hermione down onto her bum on his way to get to Harry. She squealed-more in her shock than from it actually hurting-and she barely had enough time to look up just as Draco grabbed him by the collar.
"That was a mistake, Wood," he growled lowly, rearing his fist back as he clocked him right square in the middle of his face. Hermione shot to her feet as Oliver hunched over, clutching his now bloody nose as he groaned in agony. She barely felt as Blaise pulled her to him and away from the boys, pushing her behind his back and handing her to Luna as he helped Harry restrain Draco from going in for another punch.
"I thought you promised that you wouldn't punch the bloke on your mother's veranda," Blaise hissed at him, looking suddenly quite stressed himself.
Draco growled and finally quit resisting the two men, watching as Oliver was escorted out by George, Dean, and Neville.
"Somehow I think she'll find this one justified," he moaned, clutching his fist and shaking it out to rid himself of the sting. Blaise and Harry both shared exasperated looks and, clutching Luna's hand, Hermione shared a smile with her, and couldn't help but think this may be the beginning of a strangely beautiful new friendship.
Draco looked over at her, a worried expression taking over his face as he frantically made his way over to make sure she was okay.
And perhaps, Hermione thought to herself, the beginning of something else, too.
?
"Why the long face, Draco?" Angelina Johnson asked him, the large Muggle camera pointing straight at his face in the interview room. His knuckles were still bruised and cracked from their altercation with Wood's face, despite Granger icing them and holding them—he shivered at the memory—for nearly an hour.
"'Why the long face'," he chuckled to himself. "What a stupid question," Angelina blanched, offended and a bit confused.
"I don't think that it is," she contradicted, pursing her lips into a frown. "You aren't getting kicked off of the show; George reviewed the footage and found that you were only protecting Hermione—erm, miss Granger," Angelina stated with a smile on her face. "So, Draco, I ask you again—what exactly is on your mind?"
"What's on my mind, Angelina, is that Wood was completely right," Draco seethed, shaking his head in his irritation. Well, she'd gotten him started now. "I'm nothing but an ex-Death Eater. That's all that I'll ever amount to anymore—and how could I actually have fooled myself into thinking that, somehow, she could see past that? That somehow she could see past the fact what I was, what my family and I stood for, meant that her very existence was in jeopardy. That somehow, because of something as ridiculously stupid as her blood status, we were on the side of wanting to see her gone? How the fuck could somebody who used to believe that be with somebody like her, Angelina? Tell me how!"
There was only silence after that, silence and the ticking of his mother's grand clock in the background as Draco sat in his feelings and Angelina sat with him. Draco watched for ten minutes as neither of them said anything, her seemingly struggling for the right words and him nursing his hand.
"Don't you think that you've changed, Draco? Do you believe that somebody, like you, could change his beliefs?" Angelina finally asked, leaning in closer as if she was his bloody counselor.
"Does any of that matter after everything that I've done?" Draco fired back, giving into the fire inside of his soul. "Does it truly matter that I've changed, after I've already done some of the worst things that a man could ever do? Does it really even matter?"
"Harry Potter seems to think that it does," Angelina supplied unhelpfully, with a ridiculous smile plastered onto her face. "He seems to regard you as a friend; surely that changes things a little bit, doesn't it?"
"Please," Draco scoffed, "Harry's a bloody saint and I'm not in love with him. Besides, his blood status was never in question. My history with him is quite different from my history with her."
"Tell me about it," she probed further, and Draco noticed the camera moving, and he wondered if it was zooming in on his face. "How you and Harry became friends," she clarified and Draco sighed.
"I suppose the world demands answers to that one," Draco reasoned, "Besides, Potter already decided to be a gigantic idiot and tell the entire world anyways. Alright; it happened like this: he ran into my mother on one of the days she'd actually braved the outside world, and she was getting cornered by some catty women at a dress shop. Potter was there with Ginny, who was in a fitting room, and the bloke decided he felt badly for the way that my mother was being treated so he put a stop to it." Draco took a deep breath, rolling his eyes at the memory of the man he'd come to know and call his friend. Git was the neverending hero, truly.
"Naturally, she invited him and the Weaslette over for dinner and I was, obviously, forced to attend. Potter and the Weaslette saw right through my self-deprecating bullshit straight onto my-oh, what do the Muggle healers call it?- depression, I think. I was a right dick to them all throughout dinner and then afterwards, when Potter escorted Weaslette home, he offered to take me out for a drink. I wasn't one to refuse heavy liquor, so we went, got absolutely hammered, and went back to Grimmauld Place afterwards so my mother couldn't berate me about my drunkenness. Ginny let me crash on their couch, and in one of my prouder drunken moments, my brains decided to apologize to the both of them. For everything; bloody hell, it must have taken hours but they sat and listened and they actually...forgave me. And then I decided to be a bloody idiot and tell them about—"
Draco hesitated, shaking his head when he remembered who and where he was. Angelina, however leaned in hypnotically, clearly quite taken with his story.
"Tell them about what, Draco?" She probed, and Draco couldn't help but be reminded of bloody Rita Skeeter. "If it's too personal, or uncomfortable, you don't have to reveal it to me, but I have a feeling that this is something you've held onto your chest for such a long time; why don't you tell me and let it go, Draco?"
Draco knew that he was being baited, and goaded; but honestly, he couldn't give two shites at the moment. He was—okay, admittedly, a little bit drunk—and tired of holding this all to himself. Granted, Potter and the Weaslette knew, his friends had pretty much guessed it, but he'd never said it out loud to anybody else. Never really was ready to fully admit it to the world.
So why not now? It's not like he had anything to lose—besides, he wasn't ashamed to be with anybody of her blood status. Far from it, actually—he knew that he didn't deserve everything that she could offer him.
"I told them the truth," Draco continued, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair with a sigh, resigning himself to whatever fate would come from this. He was ready to face it all, be it friend or foe. "That I was in love with her. I'd been in love with her since—oh, I don't know—sixth year? When I first heard her actually defending me to Potter. That was when I realized that, despite all that I was, all that I had done, and all that I was about to do, she still saw something good and, and worthy in me. Although I suspect my feelings started somewhere in our fourth year, after I shared a conversation with her at the Yule Ball." But, that was neither here nor there. He doubted Granger even remembered that half-drunken conversation.
"And by her," Angelina probed again, "You mean Miss Granger."
"Granger—yes. It's always bloody Granger."
?
"She's never going to bloody talk to me." Harry was sulking at the bar on Sunday morning when Draco came out of the interview room, and despite it not having been even ten hours since his altercation with Oliver Wood, he had already lost hope. Draco stood back, worriedly watching him drink his weight in Firewhiskey at the bar, while Theo also watched Harry apprehensively, a finger pressed to his temple as if he were also in distress.
"Calm down, mate," Draco said, in lieu of a greeting, "it's barely eight in the morning. Sunday is a calmer day for George to hand out date cards and for all of us to hang around the Manor. She probably isn't even awake yet,—and besides, you're in no state to speak to anybody," Draco cautioned, taking the seat next to Harry and eyeing Theo pointedly. "You didn't tell me he was this bad," Draco hissed, watching as Harry's head sunk into the table and he groaned.
"Would you honestly have come if I did?" Theo questioned incredulously, a sort of fear in his eyes as he watched the two self-deprecating men before him with ire. "Look Drake, I can only handle one hopelessly downtrodden, ridiculously straight, desperately in love male and you're already filling my quota. WonderBoy here is your friend and therefore, he is your problem. Alright?" Theo crossed his arms over his chest, his dish towel hanging off of his arm like a scolding mother who was just interrupted by her children while in the midst of cleaning.
Harry let out a strangled sort of sigh and Draco winced.
"Right, but he's also Granger's friend," Draco pointed out, looking around the room for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. "Why didn't you call for her instead? I mean, by all rights, he's been her friend the longest, right? Why do I have to deal with it now?"
"Because I like Granger, and she's already got one lovesick troublesome man to deal with without me adding another one onto her plate." Theo wiped down the bar vigorously, pausing at Harry's head, and rubbed his face with one hand dejectedly. "Besides, you can call this karma. For not telling me about your friendship."
Harry mumbled something into the table and Theo and Draco shared another worried glance.
"...what was that, mate?" Draco asked, snapping his fingers for a morning mimosa, perhaps. Harry lifted his head briefly off of the table, his glasses askew on his face, hair messed, green eyes boring into Draco's silver ones.
"I said that I'm the world's biggest idiot," he sniffled, gesturing for another Firewhiskey.
"Oh, uh-uh," Theo denied, handing Draco a plain orange juice and pushing a dark black coffee towards Harry. "You, good sir, are tapped out on the alcohol. Absolutely no more for you. Either of you, since you're both the world's biggest idiots."
"Hey! What the hell did I do to deserve this?" Draco interjected, shocked and a little pissed. Theo rolled his eyes, pointedly glaring at his orange juice until Draco took a large swig.
"You," Theo rounded on him, eyes squinting in anger, "are the world's biggest idiot because you're in love with the best person you've ever known and you're too much of a wet to even be honest with her about how you feel!"
"Shut it Nott, she's coming over here," Draco hissed, having spotted Hermione from across the room—in really tight Muggle pants and an equally tight, low cut pink sweater.
Sweet Salazar, Pansy was trying to drive him insane.
"Wait, Malfoy, you haven't told her how you felt?" Harry interrogated incredulously, lowering his voice as Hermione spotted them and smiled awkwardly. "I assumed that you had-what with the way that you were protecting her yesterday—and the way that she was touching you afterwards—"
"No, Potter, I haven't and I don't plan on doing so," Draco hissed, hiding his face awkwardly in the hopes that Granger wouldn't overhear them. "We have a good friendship going on and while I tend to open my big mouth when I'm drunk, I still haven't managed to ruin that yet with her and I really don't want to, alright?"
"Malfoy, you know I care about you," Potter sighed.
"Brr," Theo audibly shivered, hugging his arms together.
"What?" Draco asked. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, but I think hell may have just frozen over," Theo replied, eyes squinted, sarcasm practically dripping with every syllable. Draco glared at him and then turned back to Harry.
"Out with it, Potter, I know you're itching to give me another motivational speech," he growled, downing the rest of his orange juice and glaring back at Theo again for not allowing him actual alcohol. "But make it quick because she's getting closer."
"I just think that you're unnecessarily sabotaging yourself even further by not telling her," Harry suggested with a shrug of his shoulders. "You don't know that she's not interested; bloody hell, after the way that she treated you last night—and then I spoke to her later on, mate, and all she could talk about was you and how you've changed to me for two bloody hours—I would say that your chances are greater than you think that they are, mate. Sure, you're just friends right now, but she values her friendship with you. I mean-and don't get a big head or anything-but I haven't seen her this much like herself in bloody ages, Malfoy. You're bringing something out in her that the rest of us haven't been able to in years. So, I don't know, maybe this truly doesn't mean anything at all, but I'd be willing to wager that if you gave it a shot, you might be pleasantly surprised."
"Wise words for a drunk man," Theo agreed, "Now, Potter, if you don't drink that entire coffee within the next ten minutes, I will be forced to shove it down your throat; Hermione, dear!" Theo greeted Granger as she pulled up next to Draco, her eyes betraying that she may have heard more than he wished for her to hear. "Would you like a butterbeer? Or just an apple juice?"
Hermione side-eyed Draco with a tentative smile before looking at Harry.
"Juice is fine," she answered Theo with a smile. "Ginny's looking for you," she informed Harry, "Now sober up and get your act together because this may be your last chance with her."
Draco had never seen anybody drink coffee faster than Potter did before he was running out the door.
"So," Hermione continued on, as if Harry were never here, "What were we talking about here?"
Draco had to give Theo some credit, though; the man came up with a brilliant cover story in less than two seconds, all the while pouring her a drink and never once betraying their true words with his eyes or face.
Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin.
?
Hermione's eyes were crusted over with makeup when she awoke on Monday morning. She had stayed up so late with Harry on Saturday night, and then again last night with Ginny. Both parties had ranted, cried, and listened for the better part of the early morning until finally, they'd given Hermione a break to go to bed.
And here she was, Monday morning once again, ready to start a brand new week. Well, sort of; she was exhausted. When she wasn't trying to fix her friend's problems, she was tossing and turning in her bed. She couldn't stop replaying the past week's events in her mind, and she couldn't get bloody Malfoy out of her head. What was she doing with him, exactly? She had had it all planned out before Saturday night happened; use his rose to not lead Cormac on, hand out her rose this week, and then go home when inevitably, she wasn't chosen next week-and if, by some strange miracle she was chosen next week, she would suddenly be free to say no anyway.
But then.
But then Malfoy suddenly became Draco-Harry's friend Draco, and then her friend Draco, the Draco who willingly took her out on a date, the Draco who playfully teased her, the Draco who always smiled at her whenever she walked into the room, the Draco who never seemed to spend time with any other woman but her.
And then, there were the things that he said.
"Are you okay, love?"
"Never apologize for things that you are entitled to feel, Granger."
"Don't sell yourself short for just any old bloke who clearly isn't good enough for you just because you've temporarily forgotten how amazing you are."
"You asked me where I've been, for the past six months. I've been living in America-in the Muggle world, working at a cafe and keeping a modest apartment."
"If I hear the word 'bitch' ever come out of your mouth in reference to Hermione Granger again, St. Mungo's won't be able to repair the damage."
Godric Bloody Gryffindor, her head hurt.
And don't even get her started on how Malfoy was suddenly fit? When had that happened? When had his pointy face become a chiseled jawline? When had his murky eyes become bright, teasing, and friendly? When had his physique changed so that it barely allowed his clothes to stretch over his carefully-crafted figure, with his muscles straining underneath, promising something even better if he would just take his damn shirt-
There was a familiar yet oddly distant heat in her core. Her stomach felt as though it were burning with a need that, while she felt before, was much more intense than she could remember.
She gasped and sat bolt upright in the bed once she realized just what she was about to do.
"Stop it," she hissed to herself, rolling out of bed and rushing to the sink to splash cold water onto her face. Dear Merlin, she was randy.
"Hermione?" Pansy's voice floated into the bathroom and Hermione cringed at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were still flushed for the love of-
"Oh, there you are," Pansy greeted, startling Hermione as she rushed into the bathroom. Hermione jumped, knocking her skincare products into the sink and bumping her elbow on the edge of the counter.
"Ouch!" She hissed, clutching her elbow and backing away from Pansy.
Well, she certainly wasn't turned on anymore.
"Merlin! Hermione! Are you alright?" Pansy exclaimed, dropping her things and rushing over to her. "I'm sorry; I thought you'd heard me call out your name in the bedroom. Is everything okay?"
"Fine!" Hermione shrieked, her voice clipped. "It's all-everything is fine, alright? I just was...I was just…I-" Her voice croaked until it finally just gave out, the blush on her cheeks intensifying as she thought again of Draco in Muggle jeans.
Godric Gryffindor! For the love of everything, stop!
"What in the world is going on with you?" Pansy questioned, bending down to collect her fallen makeup. "You're acting barmy!" Hermione shook her head and followed her back into the bedroom, shaking off all of her impure thoughts as she followed her over to her vanity.
"It's nothing," Hermione answered, feeling her blush deepen once again. "I just had a...startling dream, and I'm having trouble shaking myself from it. That's all." Pansy pursed her lips together and tossed Hermione a deep purple dress with off the shoulder sleeves and a mermaid cut. She began to undress and Pansy stepped behind her to do up her zipper.
"A startling dream," Pansy murmured, taking Hermione's hair out of its messy bun and working her wand through it. All of a sudden, her entire body tensed and she squealed, "Oh, sweet Merlin! You had a sex dream!"
"What?!" Hermione yelled, ripping away from her grasp and crossing her arms across her chest. "I did not have a...I didn't dream about that!"
"Oh Salazar's dear mother, please tell me it was about Draco!" Pansy screamed, clapping her hands together and jumping excitedly.
"I did not have a sex dream and it was most definitely not about Malfoy," Hermione growled, although she feared that her cheeks and her avoiding Pansy's gaze most definitely gave her away.
"You're lying," Pansy giggled, pulling Hermione back to her and working through her hair. "You were imagining Draco naked."
"You sound like a schoolgirl," Hermione grumbled, watching in the mirror as her curls became a bit bouncier and more voluminous in a completely down hairstyle. "And you're being ridiculous."
"Whatever, don't tell me, and I'll just assume you want to bang my friend," Pansy shrugged nonchalantly, with a secret grin gracing her features. Hermione groaned. "So I heard Potter and the Weaslette finally talked the other night; how did that go?"
"Well, they're back together," Hermione sighed, closing her eyes to let her brush some eyeshadow onto her lids.
"And this ring that I keep hearing so much about?"
"He hasn't proposed yet," Hermione supplied the much needed gossip, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes under her closed eyelids. "I suspect he will, soon; he's finally got his head on straight with her. I guess all it took was her actually leaving for him to realize she wasn't going to wait around forever."
"Men," Pansy scoffed, "What a bunch of idiots, I swear." Hermione grunted in agreement, and then watched as she finished up her face makeup. She closed her eyes for a minute, gathering up the courage to ask her what had been on her mind.
"Speaking of men, Pansy," Hermione started nervously, wringing her hands together in angst as she watched Pansy clean up her things. The poor, unsuspecting girl showed no indication that she had any idea what was coming. "Why aren't you here? On the-on the show, I mean. Are you seeing somebody else? Or are you interested in women?" Shite, she was rambling.
Pansy's whole demeanor changed then; from somebody who was giggling and teasing just moments ago, now to somebody who looked haunted. Hermione immediately regretted her question. "Er-I'm sorry, Pansy, you don't have to answer that. It was incredibly rude and intrusive-"
"No," Pansy interrupted with a sigh, running a hand through her short, black hair. Her eyeliner was pointy and her pouting lips were red, yet where it usually made her look confident, now it made her look like she was overcompensating. Pretending, like Hermione often felt like she herself was doing.
Pansy sighed, and said, "It's alright; I've been fairly intrusive to you. No, I'm interested in men, and yes there is somebody else, sort of; we're not dating, we never technically were, and we're certainly not anymore. George did offer me a spot on the show as well as doing hair and makeup, but I couldn't do that to...him. The man that I'd been seeing. Even if he would have no problem hurting me in the same way."
Hermione realized then that the frogginess in Pansy's voice was her unshed tears and she looked away, ashamed.
"But you love him? Whoever he is?" She asked, forcing herself to move over to where Pansy stood and place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Pansy looked up at her then and, putting herself in a completely vulnerable position, nodded with tears in her eyes.
"It wasn't meant to come to this," she laughed, shaking her head and stepping out of Hermione's grasp. "He told me from the beginning that he would never want something more than sex with me-he could never want it. So that's all that it was, at first; sex. But then we started going on dates-he would never call it that, though-and spending the night together. Like only a complete idiot would, I fell for him. I thought that maybe-despite everything that he'd said, and the way that he sometimes treated me-I thought that maybe he felt the same way."
Pansy sunk down onto Hermione's bed with a sigh, rubbing her face and smearing her makeup. Hermione sat down next to her cautiously, a rage that she couldn't quite place beginning to bubble in her stomach.
"What happened?" She asked quietly, and Pansy laughed again, although Hermione suspected she was trying to fight back more tears.
"He...ended things," Pansy supplied hesitantly, refusing to look Hermione in the eyes. "He couldn't get over me and my past-the things that I did and didn't do during the war-he said that he could never accept me because of that. That no matter how he actually felt about me, he could never be with me, marry me, have children with me-all of the things that I so desperately wanted with him, he would never give me. He just...couldn't love me with all of the mistakes that I've made. And even though he can never love me, like the idiot that I clearly am, I'm still so in love with him."
They were both silent for several minutes when Hermione instinctively pulled her into a hug and Pansy willingly began to sob into her dress for several long moments before, when she finally pulled away, jokingly told her she now needed to change her dress.
"You don't think that he'll ever come around?" Hermione asked, pursing her lips in a pensive frown. "I mean, I did. I don't blame you for your past anymore-if he really does have feelings for you, I'm sure that-"
"No offense, Hermione, but I don't think that'll ever happen," Pansy shook her head as she Scourgified Hermione's dress and quickly fixed up her hair. "You know, not everybody is as lucky as Draco to have somebody like you, Hermione."
Hermione's heart clenched at that statement and its implications, but didn't have the courage to reply. Instead, all that she could say was: "Is that why you pushed me so hard to forgive him, Pansy? Because you know how it feels?" Pansy nodded in response, then, coming over and taking Hermione's hand, she stared at her with a determined, mighty gaze, and Hermione knew that she was about to say something she wasn't ready to hear.
"One of us deserves to find some redemption here," Pansy expressed, her eyes hardened and unfaltering. "So, Hermione Granger, if you really don't have it in you to ever get past all that Draco has done-if you can't find it in you at all to forgive him enough to give him a chance to be with you-break his heart now, Hermione. Please; before he gets himself in any deeper."
Hermione was stunned speechless; all she could do was nod and watch as Pansy left the room, her warning hanging in the air as Hermione tried desperately to process what she said.
"Could it really be true?" She wondered aloud to herself, not realizing she had even spoken as she paced briskly around the room, ignoring her reflection and instead focusing on her purple shoes. Could he have felt about me the way that I once wondered if he had?
Hermione forced herself to stop pacing, took a deep breath, and left the room, forcing the interaction from her mind. The only thing she could do now was see him, analyze his actions for herself and not take Pansy's word for it.
That didn't stop her from replaying the interaction over and over again in her head, along with the burning question:
Could she really forgive Draco for all that he had done? Forgive him enough to let herself-
She gulped.
Could she forgive him enough to let herself love him?
She didn't know. She really, really didn't.
?
Later that day, Hermione sat on the couch in the living room with a napping Ginny sprawled across her lap, watching Harry and Draco play an animated, friendly game of Exploding Snap. Ginny had forgiven Harry-and they were back together-but she still had no idea that Harry intended to propose to her before the week was done. Hermione honestly couldn't say what Ginny's answer would be, although she suspected this was going to end happily.
She smiled to herself as Harry did something that caused Draco to screech, "That was cheating, Potter!" and threaten to hex his knob off-all with a teasing smile on his face. Hermione had, in fact, never seen Draco smile so genuinely, so wide, showcasing his adorable dimple in his left cheek as he shook his head and demanded a rematch.
"I don't know, we've been neglecting our girls for over an hour," Harry reminded him, although Hermione knew he cared much less about that and much more about not having another opportunity to lose to Draco.
Still, her heart stopped when he said our girls. She was torn between correcting him-she wasn't Draco's girlfriend, or anything like that, and didn't want to lead him on.
Is it technically leading somebody on if you do have feelings for them, though?
She shook her head to herself and gritted her teeth. She did not have feelings for Draco Malfoy. An attraction, sure. But feelings and attraction were vastly different things.
Yeah, sure, she thought to herself, but one a slippery slope to another.
When she had finally resurfaced from her thoughts, Draco was looking shyly up at her from his place at the billiards table, where they had migrated over to instead. When she finally met his eyes, he gave her a soft smile and asked, "Do you want to play? Or would you like us to stop playing and do something else?"
Hermione's heart warmed that he even thought it important to ask how she felt about it. She shook her head.
"You two have some fun," she insisted, stroking a hand through Ginny's hair, "This one isn't quite finished with her catnap." Draco grinned one more time at her and turned back to Harry, where the two gathered a few more people to play in teams for billiards.
It wasn't very long after they had recruited Dean Thomas and Neville to play with them that Hermione felt the couch shift beside her, Ginny's legs lifting up as somebody placed them on their lap.
She scrutinized Ron; he appeared nervous, with a hand raking through his bright orange hair and eyes darting about the room as if he were about to get caught doing something dastardly. She was willing to bet his hands were even sweating.
"Ronald," she breathed out in surprise, arching an eyebrow at him. Her plum dress suddenly felt tight, wondering if there was about to be another altercation.
Why are you even worried? That voice piped in again. Draco will certainly defend you.
The voice in her head was beginning to sound an awful lot like Pansy.
"Can we talk?" He whispered, eyeing Draco who, to the naked eye, would appear as if he weren't eavesdropping.
He was, obviously-unbeknownst to Hermione.
"We can talk here," Hermione agreed, firmly setting her boundary not to leave where she felt safe.
Funny; I bet you feel safe because you know that if any trouble arises, your knight in shining armor will jump to your defense, her inner Pansy teased. Inwardly, she growled at her thoughts, frustrated that she was unable to keep them at bay, even hours after her little mishap this morning. She blamed it all on what Pansy had said right before they'd parted ways:
Break his heart now, Hermione, before he gets in any deeper.
Hermione gulped and if Ron noticed, he didn't comment.
Ron hesitated before, finally deciding that nobody could overhear them and Ginny was indeed fast asleep, agreeing with a nod of his head.
"What's going on?" Hermione questioned. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't curious, after all; just the other day he wanted nothing to do with her, and now he seemed quite anxious to be talking to her. Something, obviously, wasn't right.
"I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to be straight to the point," Ron intoned, wincing as if something was hurting him. "Helga slept with Oliver Wood last night." Hermione's eyes widened; she couldn't very well say that she was surprised, no, but she did genuinely feel bad for Ron. Despite what a tosser he had been recently.
"Oh, Ron," she sympathized, reaching over to place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm really sorry."
"No-it's alright," Ron assured her, scooting in a little bit closer and lowering his voice even more. "Look, I really need you to give me your rose this week."
Hermione was, rightfully, shocked; she couldn't even find any words to respond to his request. Instead, she just stared at him with wide eyes and an open mouth as he scrambled to explain himself.
"Listen, I've been single for a long time, 'Mione," Ron started off, all the while looking around rapidly in the event that somebody would overhear them, "And I really, really wanted to come here and...well, you know, I want to be in a relationship with somebody, Hermione. With somebody good. There's so many women out there who are fine to have sex with, but they aren't marriage material. They only really like me because I'm Harry Potter's bloody best friend, you know?" Before she could answer, he interjected, "Of course you do. You're his other one."
She promptly shut her mouth and nodded empathetically, knowing how Ron struggled with that particular issue.
"Anyway, I really want something more than that Hermione; and I think I deserve it, too. That's why I really want to stay on the show-and I know that Helga and I aren't going to work out, but who's to say that next week, when more women arrive, that there won't be somebody for me there 'Mione? So I need to stay on the show, if just for one more week." Hermione was about to speak again, when Ron continued talking. "When I confronted Helga about Oliver-I had heard it being spread around in the halls, you know-she threatened to cut off our relationship and send me home. She doesn't want to give her rose to Oliver-she just wanted to sleep with him. But she wants to marry me, or so she says, but she needs to...play around a little. But, now, she's saying that she isn't even certain she'll offer her rose to me until I forgive her for cheating on me. I don't know where I'm at with her right now, or what I want, and she wants me to decide by tonight if I want to stay in a relationship with her or she's going to cut me off; so, can I have your rose instead? Just to stay for another week?"
Hermione bit her lip, really contemplating her words before she responded. When she finally did, she said, "Ron, you do realize that what she's doing to you is characteristic of an abusive relationship, right?" Ron's face lit up immediately with hope.
"So that's a yes then?" He asked, joyfully. "You're going to give me your rose?" Hermione's face fell; the boy, truly, could be an idiot.
"Ron, I love you," she started, squeezing his hand, "But I only love you like I would love my brother. As much as I would love to help you out and give you my rose, I-can't." Ron's face immediately fell and he shook his head, misunderstanding her.
"But, I mean, why? Is this about the awful things that I said? Because, honestly, Hermione, I am truly sorry! I know that I was being a right idiot-"
"Yes," Hermione agreed firmly, "You were being a right idiot. But, no, Ron, it isn't about that. It's just-" She took in a breath and hesitated, her eyes wandering over to Draco who was taunting Dean about a shot he had missed with a smile on his face. He looked like...like he belonged. "Ron, I know that you might not understand-and that you might even disagree with me-but as much as you deserve love, I believe that I deserve to find love, too. I...didn't want to be here, at the very beginning of this, but I think that maybe-" Hermione gulped again; now she was nervous. "Godric, I just need to come right out and say it, don't I?-I think that maybe I've found something worth taking a risk for. I want to fall in love too-I want all of those things that you mentioned above, Ron-and I think that maybe, maybe if I give it a real chance, I think that I can find it."
Ron only stared at her, contemplative and confused. She supposed she should have expected that from him-she hadn't been actively dating anyone, technically, and she also hadn't mentioned that she thought Malfoy was the one she thought might be worth fighting for.
Might, she reminded herself. She wasn't quite there, yet.
"Blimey, Hermione, you're making no bloody sense," Ron groaned, narrowing his eyes at her.
"I know, and I'm sorry," Hermione apologized, flashing him a sincere smile. "Let me just say this; I honestly, truly believe that right now, Malfoy is the one who deserves my rose, Ron. He's been nothing but kind to me since we got here, and I really believe that he's a different, changed person than who he was before. Honestly Ron, I do. And I'm not even saying that I'm expecting to-to fall in love with him per say, but Ron, I can't lie and tell you that he hasn't awoken something in me. Something that I thought I'd lost when you left. So...for that reason, I'm sorry Ron, but I'm going to offer Malfoy my rose."
She sat in her words for a while, unsure if she should take them back but certain that she had meant them. While she was a far stretch from being in love with Malfoy, she found herself very close to a place she used to be with him at school-call it a crush, or maybe an infatuation, she wasn't sure-but all she knew was she felt similar now to how she did about him when she was a bloody fourth year.
And fifth year. And even a little into sixth year, too.
"You're bloody joking," Ron answered with a shake of his head and a smile.
"No," Hermione refuted, "I'm not joking."
Ron's smile faded and she could see him getting increasingly frustrated. "Is this some sort of way to get back at me for what I said?" He demanded, his voice beginning to reverberate around the room. Ginny stirred. "Because that's bloody manipulative, Hermione. To me and to the Snake."
"Draco," she corrected, "And again, Ron, this has absolutely nothing-now let me repeat that, just in case you didn't hear it the first time-nothing at all to do with you. This is between Draco and me, and it's time for you to accept it or leave me alone."
There was silence, and she realized for the first time that everybody was now listening to them. She raised her eyes to watch Draco's reaction, but he was avoiding eye contact, choosing instead to twirl his poolstick and stare at the ground-which, she guessed, was more polite than the rest of the room openly staring at the two of them.
"He hasn't changed, Hermione," Ron argued quietly, shooting a glare at Malfoy from across the room. "He'll never change."
Hermione swallowed her spit, thick and clumpy with hidden emotions in her throat. She nodded at Ron and sighed.
"That's for me to decide," she finalized, staring at him with a steely glare that dared him to argue with her any further. He didn't; he just scoffed at her, threw her another disbelieving glance, and slid off of the couch, hurrying away from the scene he had made.
"Well," Harry coughed, stacking up his poolstick and nodding to Hermione with a barely-concealed grin on his face. "I'll go check on Ron." He bolted out the door, followed by Dean and Neville making pisspoor excuses about their girlfriends and shrinking away. Her and Draco were left alone-with a sleeping Ginny-and he smiled sheepishly at her.
"I better go check on Ron, too," Ginny suddenly sat up from her position on the couch, winked at Hermione, and ran before she could get a lecture on pretending to sleep for the purposes of eavesdropping.
Hermione's cheeks were surely beet-red, if the heat they were radiating was anything to go off of, when Draco made his way over to her, hands in his pockets, sitting a decent distance away from her on the couch.
"So," Hermione sighed, not one to beat around the bush, "How much of that did you really hear?" Now it was Draco's turn to blush, his eyes avoiding her as he scooted in slightly closer to her.
"Enough," he admitted, finally releasing his bottom lip from his teeth and turning to her, a burning gaze stuck in his grey eyes. The intensity of it was enough to cause Hermione's breath to stall, and that stubborn heat to pang in her core, reminding her mind of her body's secret desires. She watched as Draco fished his hands out of his pockets and, in a move that was very bold and unSlytherin, he sat right next to her and took her hand in his, just for a second.
That was enough, for her.
"Thank you," he whispered, his tone betraying his sincerity and just how much her defending him must have affected him. Hermione watched his face, but his eyes never left hers, even despite the anxiety she could clearly see within them. "You know, Hermione, you keep surprising me; hiding out with me at the Yule Ball, defending me when I was at my worst in sixth year, and even now-after the worst of my actions have all been said and done-you're giving me another chance."
Hermione couldn't help a laugh. "The Yule Ball," she giggled, relishing in the warmth of Draco's hand and sliding herself in a little bit closer, tucked into his side. She was really tired, she reasoned, and that was the only reason that she let her head drop onto his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I've been wondering if you remembered that." She could no longer see his face, but she felt him relax into her cuddle, his own head laying atop hers-albeit, hesitantly.
"Of course I remember that," he whispered, and Hermione wondered if he'd also closed his eyes.
"Draco," she yawned, snuggling her head in deeper to become more comfortable, "please-don't make me regret it."
She felt his gulp. And, then-
"I won't."
?
Hermione awoke to a light nudging of her shoulder, a cool, calming hand stroking her arm.
"Hermione," Draco's voice whispered and she stirred slightly, if only to nuzzle into his comforting figure more. She felt his chuckle. "Love, you need to wake up now. George is doing a group date."
Her heart clenched and she shook her head.
"No," she argued, "I'm far too tired, you're far too comfortable, and also-I'm far too embarrassed of my unintentional snuggling to open my eyes ever again." Draco laughed, then-really laughed, and she felt herself break into a smile because of it.
"That's funny, I don't remember it being unintentional," Draco teased, "and, if you're worried, love, it certainly wasn't unwelcome."
The swooping in her chest and her stomach threatened to drown her and she immediately sat up, rubbing at her bleary eyes. She wasn't sure what to do with all of these new emotions, all of these new things happening in her system. She felt...embarrassed, yes, and also unequivocally attracted to her napping mate-who, by the way, had a wide and devious grin planted atop his face.
"A group date, you said," she transitioned, as a way to get off of the subject of them. "We'd better go check that out then, hmm?" Draco rolled his eyes, his smile never wavering, before he hopped off of the couch with a spring in his step and offered her his arm. She stared at it, swallowing a nervous breath.
"Well, it hasn't bitten you yet," Draco taunted, even going so far as to wink at her. Hermione honestly thought she may cease to exist from all of the emotions and swooning that was happening in her head and in her heart right now.
But she still wasn't one to back down from a challenge.
She took his arm, avoiding his gaze as they made their way through the main room and out of a large set of double doors, revealing a wide expanse of land. It appeared to be the Manor's gardens and, though she'd read that they were exquisite, she didn't quite imagine this.
"Oh my," she breathed out, clutching onto Draco's arm even tighter, "This is-well, to be quite frank, this is like something out of a dream." She wondered if Draco noticed how she held her breath in the amazement of it all, and how her eyes widened at the many different, yet cohesive, flowers and plants, all woven together to form an arch above them, as if somebody were about to be married under it.
She couldn't help it; she swooned again.
"You know, anytime that you'd like to come out here, I know somebody who cooks decently and enjoys romantic picnics at midnight," Draco eyed her, and she noticed he was more nervous than he was even five minutes ago. "If you're interested in all of that romantic hubbub."
Hermione grinned at him, but all that she could say was, "Draco, we have a curfew." For some odd reason, this made him laugh again, and he drew her closer as they neared the rest of the group along what looked like a hedge.
"I forget," Draco sighed, "You and your rules." Hermione smiled back at him, releasing his arm as they came to stand by Blaise and Luna.
"There you two are!" Blaise greeted cheerily. "How was your nap?" Draco growled at him in response, but Hermione suddenly felt like she couldn't care less, her smile lighting up her face.
"It was wonderful, Blaise," she cut in before Draco could threaten him, "Thank you for asking." Luna giggled at her response, but both men turned sharply to her, jaws dropped, eyes wide. She pretended not to see them, only looking forward, and biting her cheek to keep from smiling. She pretended not to notice when Draco moved in closer to her and rested his hand on her back, too.
"Ladies and Gentleman, today is going to be a fun little test to your relationships," George announced once he saw that everyone had made it over. "We're going to play a little game centered around your fears. Now, if I could have-"
"Actually, George, if I can just take a second," Harry interjected, straightening his bowtie and making his way to the front of the crowd. He had an impish, devilish grin on his face, and Hermione noticed that Draco suddenly stiffened beside her, dropping his hand and nodding to somebody off to the side.
She wasn't sure what was going on, but she was certain whatever it was, Draco was in on it.
"I've made my fair share of mistakes," Harry started, looking suddenly a lot less confident, "But throughout them all, I've never stopped loving you, Ginevra Weasley." Harry turned to her then, grinning, and Ginny's face was as white as a sheet. Harry held out his hand to her, begging her to come forward with him. Ginny had a glare set on her face, but she did come forward.
"Harry, you gigantic prat, what is going on?" Ginny hissed, although there were tears in her eyes as she realized Harry had gotten down onto one knee.
"Ginevra Molly Weasley," Harry breathed out, "even though I am most definitely a gigantic prat-and even though I promised George that I wouldn't propose to you yet, but come on, I'm Harry Bloody Potter for Merlin's sake, I think that I've earned the right to do whatever I want-Ginny, will you marry me?" Ginny began to sob, and gasps could be heard throughout the crowd. Draco had stiffened beside Hermione, but she was grinning from ear to ear when Ginny cried, "Yes, you daft, idiotic man!" before throwing herself into her arms as the pair kissed and cried.
It was wonderful. It was beautiful. It was…
Everything that she's ever wanted.
As if the universe wanted to make her even more jealous, a Fred-and-George worthy fireworks display started, spelling out their names and brightening up the already broad daylight. Draco relaxed and she looked over. He was smiling now, too, and he nodded at...Ron?!
"Wait," Hermione scoffed, disbelieving her own eyes, "Were you behind this, Draco?" He grinned at her then and returned his hand to the small of her back, pulling her into him just a little bit tighter.
"I might have been," he teased, "Well, me and the Weasel, that is. Had to get along with him for a day while we planned this; I suppose I'll have to try harder than that, though, as Potter's asked us both to be groomsmen."
Hermione felt her jaw drop as she marvelled at the man before her. Getting along with Ron for Harry's sake? Planning something extravagant to help him out? Being invited to be a groomsman?!
Draco laughed. "Come on, love, George is postponing the date until tomorrow so we can celebrate. Let's go watch the fireworks."
And as he pulled her forward to sit with Harry, Ginny, Blaise, Luna, and even Ron, Hermione only had one thought floating around in her head.
Can I forgive him enough to let myself love him?
And then, she watched as he laughed at Ginny, introduced Blaise and Harry officially, pretended to listen to Luna's stories, included her in every topic of conversation, and even got along with Ron, if only for a few moments-
Yes, she thought to herself. Yes, I think that maybe I can.