November 1998—

Several days passed, during which Hermione dodged Malfoy like a spattergroit outbreak. She neither looked at, spoke to, nor wrote to him, and he likewise acted as if she did not exist. The Halloween Feast came and went, but Hermione's mood did not improve. What was worse, she was starting to miss her unlikely pen-pal. Her abrupt change in mood was noticed by Ginny, who hammered her about it during Sunday breakfast after the feast at the Gryffindor table.

"What's the matter with you?" Ginny demanded. "I haven't said a thing about Harry or quidditch, and you're still ignoring me."

"What? No, I'm not," Hermione insisted.

"What was I just talking about, then?"

"Your Charms essay, and how it's really unfair how much work you've been given."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "That was five minutes ago."

"Yes, and now you've been questioning me for the past five minutes. Look, we've both got a lot of work to get through today. Let's not bicker as well."

"I'm not bickering. And I'm also not convinced. Out with it."

Hermione sighed, "There's really nothing to tell this time."

"Are you still having those dreams?"

"Of course, but I'm doing okay with it. I promise. I go straight to Madam Pomfrey if I need a Calming Draught or Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"What about Ernie?"

"No, no, nothing's going on there. We've sort of put things on pause. To tell you the truth, Gin, I'm not sure I want to ever un-pause them."

Ginny narrowed her eyes again.

"It's just that he's more convenient than anything else. When he kissed me last time—no, not again since I last told you!—it just didn't feel right."

Ginny appraised Hermione for a few more moments. "Does Ernie know that?"

"I haven't exactly told him yet. I want to be absolutely sure before I go ruining things. I'm kind of hoping he'll find someone else in the meantime."

"That's likely," she scoffed.

Hermione nibbled some toast and went back to pushing the eggs around on her plate. She found she had no appetite since the incident with Malfoy, but she did not want Ginny to worry. Ginny, on the other hand, launched back into her tirade, but this time it focused on Hermione being the most eligible bachelorette in the wizarding world and that she should play the field before settling down with a major hunk.

They spent the rest of the morning in the library until Ginny had to leave for quidditch practice.

"I'll see you at supper, and I want a full report on all the blokes you're going to be seeing, Viktor included," she said to Hermione while tying her flaming locks up into a bun then racing out towards the quidditch pitch.

Hermione checked out a few books and made her way slowly back to her room. The Head common room was mercifully empty, so she was not forced to socialize. She was in no mood for niceties. She glanced at her quill, though she knew no messages were waiting. Crookshanks weaved between her legs, bottlebrush tail flicking in the air, so she scratched behind his ears and let him out to roam the castle in search of mice. She tried to continue her essay for Professor Vector on the magical applications of the Golden Ratio in wizard construction, but it was no good. Her mind could not focus.

"Oh, just do it," she said to herself. She snatched up her journal and her Twinned Quill, set pen to page, then hesitated. What do I say? After several minutes of contemplation, she gave up overthinking and simply wrote.

'Look, I'm sorry. I know I ruined everything. I don't know what came over me. I was just so tired. Can we go back to how things were before? Or, can we talk about it and get past it?'

No answer came.

Hermione was about to write more when she realized the quill was poised and the lights solid blue. Malfoy was holding the quill but not answering her. The minutes stretched on, and still it did not budge. Hermione waited and waited until she was on the verge of tearing out her hair. She slumped over her desk, then, mercifully, the quill began moving.

'Just leave it, okay?'

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. That was it. Even Malfoy was done talking to her. Of course he would want his insanely expensive quill back. Would he break her connection through the quill and try again with someone else? There were certainly other Muggle-borns in the school that would not try to snog him without permission. She forged on, determined not to let that nagging feeling of loneliness creep on.

'Okay. Where?' she asked.

Writing even those two words was hard. For thirty agonizing seconds, no reply came. Hermione had no idea that a half-minute could stretch so long. She imagined herself boxing the quill back up in its original packaging, which of course she had saved, and leaving it outside Malfoy's door, just like he had done to her those weeks ago. The image in her mind swam to him laughing in her face, telling her this was all an elaborate joke. All the other Slytherins were laughing at her too. Pansy Parkinson (who had not even returned this year) was shrieking in glee as she hung on Malfoy's arm, while he read her private confidences out at the top of his lungs in the middle of the Great Hall, pausing every few seconds to allow for the waves of laughter. Everyone would know that she tried to kiss him, and that she was pining over three different boys, and that she was terrified of silly nightmares.

'What?'

'Where should I leave the quill? I still have the box. You don't even have to see me.'

'Not the bloody quill, Granger, the subject. Leave it be.'

Hermione felt a weight lift from her shoulders, something she made a mental note to think more on later, when a new thought struck her.

'So, you want to pretend like it never happened?'

Malfoy replied quickly this time. 'Pretending doesn't work. Trust me, I know.'

'Are you accepting my apology then?'

'You've got nothing to apologize for.'

'Of course I do! Otherwise you wouldn't be ignoring me!'

'I'm not.'

Hermione gaped. Not ignoring her? That had to be some sort of twisted joke. She sent the quill flying across the page.

'You haven't written in days. You don't look at me in classes or down in the common room. You've been avoiding me, and there's no denying it. I understand. Leaving behind your past opinions isn't easy, so I'm sure you're horrified at what happened. Friendship is one thing, if that's what this is, but what I did—there's no excuse. I just thought No. I don't know what I thought, but I didn't mean it. And I enjoy writing with you, so I don't want to mess this up. There. Laugh if you like, but I think it's pretty decent of me to apologize given the circumstances.'

There was a pause, then Malfoy replied, 'Calm down.'

Hermione's mouth fell open. Before she could build up enough steam to reply properly telling him off, he was writing again.

'I'm not avoiding you. What do you mean "horrified" and "given the circumstances?"'

'You know what I mean. Don't make me spell it out.'

'No, I don't. Spell away.'

'Oh for heaven's sake, fine. I'm not daft, Malfoy. I know you have lingering prejudices about Muggle-borns. You're taking steps to change, and that's a great start, but there's no point in pretending you see Muggle-borns as date-worthy yet. But it's okay! The progress is what counts.'

Hermione paused for a minute, but Malfoy wrote no reply, so she continued.

'And, I do feel badly for what I did, but not because I'm Muggle-born. I've got nothing to be sorry about there. I'm every bit as much witch as you are wizard, and there's nothing bad about Muggles! I wish more pure-blood families would follow the Weasleys' lead and understand that, in the end, we're all just people, magical or not.'

She let her quill still again, and it remained idle and flashing. Hermione read back over her words. Perhaps she was a little overzealous, but there was nothing wrong with what she had said. Maybe Malfoy was really pondering her words. Perhaps he would make some real progress. With her help, by the end of the year, she might have a chance to change his views on house elves and other magical creatures, too.

The gem lights went solid again, but it took several more minutes for Malfoy to write his reply.

'You regret what happened?'

'Yes, of course. Truly.'

Hermione started to sigh in relief, but it caught in her throat. Was what she wrote true? Did she regret the kiss? Did he? She had assumed he would, but something was nagging at her just then. She had trouble spotting it, but her gut told her something was off. She tensed as the quill began to move.

'I see.'

'Don't you, Draco? Isn't that why you've been avoiding me?'

'Don't flatter yourself, Granger. I'm not avoiding you, I'm just busy. Speaking of, don't you have better things to do with your Sunday?'

'No,' she wrote slowly, choosing her words carefully now. 'I'm taking a break.'

'Well, time to get back to it for me. I need the library. Later.'

'Oh, okay. Perhaps tonight then?'

The quill dropped. Malfoy had severed the connection.

But Malfoy did not write to her that night. Or the next. Or the next. Yes, something indeed had been off.

November brought rain, damp, and cold with it. Everyone who went out onto the grounds came back miserable. Herbology lessons became Hermione's least favorite because of the treks out to Greenhouse 7. On the bright side, the variety of healing salves they were learning to blend was fascinating. New ideas for her own custom salves were already popping into her head.

"Why are you even taking it?" Ernie asked as he walked her to the front of the castle before her Monday class. "Do you want to go into healing?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'm really interested in representing underprivileged species with their fight for better rights."

"Oh yeah," he said, tapping his chin, "didn't you have some sort of goblin society in our fourth year?"

"House elf, yes."

"Ah, that makes more sense." Ernie smiled, and Hermione smiled back.

See, this is easy! she thought. Ernie was comfortable and kind. She had clearly been too hard on him before. A few weeks had passed, and here he was still paying her attention. Before her brain could filter it, she was going against exactly what she had promised herself to avoid.

"Listen, Ernie, I know I've been a bit distant lately, but maybe we could do something this weekend, if you want. Something fun."

Ernie beamed, "I've got just the idea. Saturday okay?"

"Perfect. I better run!" Hermione conjured an umbrella with her wand as they waved their goodbyes. She ran out to Greenhouse 7 with a smile on her face, even though the rain pelted sideways at her, rendering her umbrella useless, and the amount of mud on the on the grounds left her looking like she dyed the bottom half of her robes brown. In fact, she was so pleased to have something to look forward to again that she did not even notice Malfoy glancing back over his shoulder at her and scowling throughout the class.

That night, as Hermione was towel drying her hair after her bath, she saw her quill glowing with solid blue lights for several minutes, but it went dark with no message sent.

"Why do I ever agree to anything you ask," Hermione wailed.

Ginny kept pulling her by the arm across the ground, completely ignoring her protests. "This will be good for you! You'll love it, trust me."

"No, you'll love it, and I'll get infinite good-friend points when I fall off my broom trying to make you happy."

"You're not going to fall."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. Now stop whining like a baby and put on your game face."

Hermione huffed. "Ginny, I don't have a game face!"

"Fair enough," Ginny sighed, but her face was quickly overtaken by a smirk. "We don't have to practice flying. Instead, we can spend the whole afternoon getting ready for your date."

Hermione leveled Ginny with a withering glare. "Show me how to mount this stupid broom without feeling like I'm a dog peeing on something."

Ginny grinned. Hermione was in the air within five minutes, which was pretty impressive considering how much she hated flying. Ginny mercifully let her stay low to the ground and did nothing but show her basic control and maneuvering. This practical lesson without any hint of acrobatics was exactly what Hermione needed to get started. Hermione never even heard the word "quidditch" escape Ginny's lips. Her confidence soared as she made little successes, and Ginny eventually coaxed her up about a dozen feet.

After a couple of hours, their feet hit the ground, and they continued on to lunch with matching ear-to-ear grins. As part of the trade-off for Hermione getting a broom riding lesson, the next few hours were spent in the library catching up on as much work as possible. Then, she happily allowed Ginny to help her get ready for her date.

"Look, just let me try this, and if it doesn't work, we'll still have time to wash and dry your hair," Ginny begged.

Hermione eyed her skeptically. "Gin, the last time I used that stuff, it took bottles to get my hair straight and sleek, and there was nothing easy about it. I just don't think it's worth it."

"You've got it all wrong! I'm just going to put a little bit and really massage it through your hair. It should loosen up your curls just enough to make them manageable and really shine. Trust me."

"Since when do you know anything about curly hair?"

"Since I had Harry send me a special issue from Witch Weekly all about witchy hair tricks, just for you." Ginny flashed a toothy grin, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm trusting you," she said, trying as hard as she could to make that sound like a threat.

"Wow," Ernie breathed when they met in the Head common room.

Hermione could not argue. Ginny's hair trick was outstanding, and Hermione was considering investing in a good amount of Sleekeasy's to do her hair like this more often. Ginny kept calling her curls "romantic," whatever that meant. She also put a lot of effort into Hermione's outfit, so it was still modest and comfortable to meet Hermione's needs, but extremely flattering to Hermione's eyes, figure, and skin tone. Basically, her best friend was a fashion genius.

The night turned out to be a hit. Hermione and Ernie met up with Padma, Terry Boot (who Padma was currently dating), Neville, and Hannah Abbott for an evening of games, butterbeer, and laughs. Hermione was so thankful for the time to let off some steam and just enjoy herself.

Ernie was attentive to her all evening. He handed her new drinks before she even realized she was ready for a refresh. He included her in every conversation, but never minded when she was chatting with others. When she returned to his side, he would beam at her and squeeze her hand or throw an arm around her shoulders. It was easy and natural, but Hermione had to admit that the extra attention made her feel appreciation towards Ernie, but nothing beyond.

As an added bonus for the night, Neville and Hannah seemed to hit it off, which made Hermione's heart glow. Ernie had suggested that she invite Neville while he invited Hannah for a covert setup. Ron, she reflected, would never be that perceptive or thoughtful.

At the end of the day, they walked back to the Head common room with arms linked, laughing the whole way.

"I'd love to stay and chat all night," Ernie said seriously, "but I've got to be up really early tomorrow to help with a Hufflepuff study group."

"No problem," Hermione replied. "I really ought to get some rest too."

"Can I kiss you goodnight?"

Hermione pauses to consider, then nodded. The day had been exactly what she needed, and maybe in the end Ernie was too. He leaned in and took her mouth slowly, but eagerly. She felt his tongue slip against her lip and his arm tentatively snake around her waist. She tried to kiss him back and force passion into it, but her mind felt stunted, as if pushing through sludge. She just could not get herself to respond to his touch.

Hermione pulled away, bracing herself for Ernie's reaction, but he only smiled broadly at her.

Did he always have so many teeth? she thought.

"Goodnight," he whispered in her ear, then he set off up his yellow staircase.

Hermione waited until he was out of earshot then groaned. What was wrong with her? Anyone else would be interested in the nice bloke who was actually trying to make her happy. But instead, all she could think about was the last time she had kissed someone, in almost that very spot. Her mind unwillingly recalled the way her body had responded to Draco. Echoes of the pure bliss of his kiss rocked through her mind. What had it felt like for him? Hermione pushed that thought away. She was pretty sure she knew the answer, and it only held disappointment for her.

She turned to the kitchenette to settle down with a cup of tea. Only when she was bringing it to her lips did she look up and, with a jolt, see Malfoy at the foot of his staircase.

"Merlin, Malfoy! How long have you been there?"

"Not long," he frowned but did not move from his spot.

"Er, do you want some tea? You can join me. Or, do I need to leave for you to be able to drink it?" Hermione meant to be inviting, but her mind decided to let her mouth run away with bitterness. She leaned against the kitchen countertop to steady herself.

Malfoy frowned again, but he sat at the breakfast bar across from her and Accioed his cup and tea leaves.

"Well…," she tried, "how are things?"

"The same," he said with a flat tone.

His indifference grated on Hermione.

"Oh, I'll just go. I don't want to force you into anything else you'll regret," she said scathingly.

"Regret?" he growled. "You keep saying that, but it isn't me wallowing in regret here."

"Oh, please, Malfoy. You mean you really don't regret what happened?" she scoffed.

"No, I bloody well don't regret it." Malfoy's voice was harsh and his cheeks flushed. "I've had a long fucking time to 'leave behind my past opinions,' or whatever the hell it is you think I'm doing. So sorry, Granger, but you don't get to blame this one on me."

Hermione was stunned. She expected him to blame her for the kiss, or—worst case—muddying his blood. At the same time, his actions did not track with his words. Would someone supportive of Muggle-borns shut themselves off in anger and self-pity for days on end? The truth was pretty clear.

"If you really were all for blood equality, then why are you acting like this?" she said, gesturing to his whole body, which was rigid with tension from eyes to toes.

"Got me all figured then, do you?"

"You say you've changed your attitude towards Muggle-borns, but your actions sing a different tune, Malfoy." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "You're just the same! You can put on a puppy dog act, but you can never hide the frightened ferret within." She could see he was ready to crack at that taunt, but she did not care.

"Little miss perfect," Malfoy spat, raising his voice. "Protector of Muggles, house elves, and half-breeds everywhere. Wears her Muggle-born status like a badge on her sleeve—"

"No, I wear it on my skin!" Hermione shouted and ripped up her sleeve. Her scar was splotched and angry and red as ever.

Malfoy's visage cracked. The room slowed around them. He rubbed his face in his hands and took a deep breath in, holding it for a few seconds before letting it tumble out. His change was so abrupt that Hermione gripped the counter to steady herself. Her heart was thumping in her ears, still ready for a fight.

"I know you do," he said so softly it was almost a whisper. "I wish I could take it back."

"Wh—What?"

Draco looked up and met her eyes. "We both have nightmares about the drawing room," he said simply.

Hermione just stared at Draco. He cleared his throat. His eyes took on a haunted sheen.

"I—I would give anything to change that night." His voice was rough and raw.

"You didn't—" Hermione began.

"Exactly." He cut her off. "I did nothing." Draco held her gaze and waited.

What did he expect her to say? She walked around the counter and stood right before him. With him sitting on the breakfast stool, they were at about eye-level.

"If you did anything at all," she told him with certainty, "I would be dead. You're the reason we all survived that night."

Draco reached out and touched her arm, her scar. It looked worse than it felt, and his touch was cool and calming. Hermione could not help leaning into him. In a second, they were in each other's arms. Draco wrapped Hermione in a tight embrace and buried his face in her chestnut mane. She likewise wrapped her arms around his shoulders and nestled her face into the crook of his neck. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his warm scent, and comfort overtook her. Being there, just then, felt right.

They were both reluctant to let go. After several long moments, Draco's grip relaxed slightly. Hermione pulled back to meet his gaze. There was no anger, disgust, or anything but calm etched in his face. She wondered if it had ever really been there before. His forehead dropped against hers. They stayed there, eyes closed, foreheads touching, breathing each other in. All she knew in that moment was Draco.

"What the hell is this!?" A voice bellowed behind them.

Hermione sprang out of Malfoy's arms. Ernie was standing at the foot of his staircase, shirtless in pajama bottoms, red-faced, and mouth agape.