A/N: This fic was part of the Tropes Competition, hosted by Dramione Fanfiction Writers. The trope prompt I was given was Secret Relationship.

...

An owl arrived just after Hermione Granger had finished her morning tea. She brushed the biscuit crumbs from her fingers and detached the letter from the owl's foot. Before she could give it a pat, the owl took off, flapping feverishly as it soared out of her window. Hermione shook her head. She returned her attention to the scroll she had in hand and carefully unrolled the parchment.

Good morning.

That was it. That's all that it said. And yet, for some bizarre reason, it made her heart hop around inside her chest as if it were contending with a skipping rope. The sensation made her mildly disoriented, and it even reached the tips of her fingers where she could feel the prickles of an aftershock. Her face was flaming hot, and most probably a deep shade of red.

Good morning.

Unsigned. Could it possibly – no, that would be ridiculous. Quite absurd. But then, who? She stared at the two words for a while longer, wondering why the bird hadn't waited for her to respond to the mystery writer. Finally, she set it down and decided to go about the rest of her day.

Just as she'd finished up her morning dishes, however, there was a knock on her door. She stared at it with her eyes wide, cursing her compulsion to clear the table before doing anything else, such as, oh, for instance, getting dressed. Hermione sighed, glancing down at her pyjamas briefly while she considered pretending no one was home. But then the knocking resumed and she did a little jump. Quickly, she pulled at the elastic tangled in her head, yanking it out with a hefty chunk of hair, and fluffed out the bits of curl that she could detect in her peripheral vision. After raking her fingers through several sections of unkept hair, she began to smooth it with her palms as she made for the door. Her heart was in her throat.

She pulled the door open and froze when she saw her visitor. It took a considerable amount of energy to keep from groaning at the fact that she was still in her pyjamas while he was dressed to the nines.

"What are you doing here?" she managed.

"And good morning to you, too," he said, bowing his head slightly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "No, really."

"Really," he said. "Good morning."

"Was it you?"

"Was what me?"

"The letter. This morning. Just now."

Draco Malfoy smiled. "You got it then."

Hermione folded her arms over her chest. "So, you send an owl to deliver a message that you ultimately intend to communicate in person. Something as mundane as 'Good morning', no less."

"I see someone's not a morning person."

Hermione let out a sigh and grumbled, "Would you like to come in?" She held the door open without waiting for a response.

Malfoy entered, his hands in his trouser pockets, looking around curiously at all four walls of her small flat. "Quaint," he noted.

Hermione gave him a grimace and rolled her eyes. "Not all of us can live in extravagant manors and wear bowties for brunch."

Malfoy paused to look at her. "I don't wear bowties. But I could get you one, if that suits your fancy."

"Why are you here?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Thought I'd check on you. You were pretty sloshed last night."

"I'm fine." She wasn't fine. "I've got a fairly effective hangover brew I keep on hand for such occasions."

"Ah," Malfoy nodded, looking around her but not really at her. Then, his eyebrows quirked upward, and he said, "Would you like to go for a walk?"

Hermione blinked, her mind whirring as she tried to think of plausible reasons to refuse. Finally, painfully, she blurted out, "I'm not dressed."

His mouth twitched sideways. "I hear there's a solution for that."

She stared at him.

"You've got a closet, don't you? I'll take you even without the bowtie." A laugh escaped her mouth before she could stop herself. He smiled. "I won't even talk about my extravagant manor."

…

Outside, an aggressive wind forced Hermione to raise her scarf over her face. Malfoy put an arm around her shoulders and, although it was warm, she felt uneasy there, as if she didn't quite belong. The first chance she got, she slipped out from under it.

She turned away as her face began to heat up, making out as though she were acutely interested in a window display of self-writing quills. Malfoy stopped beside her and furrowed his brows at the dancing quills, scribbling away behind the glass. She gulped. His proximity made her exceptionally uneasy. Just last night they'd shared a kiss outside the Fire/Whisky and Hermione was now regretting every second of it. She couldn't imagine what Harry and Ron might say if they discovered that Hermione Granger had fallen into the arms of Draco bloody Malfoy, who incidentally was fresh out of prison.

They were just passing the Three Broomsticks when she saw a pop of red emerge from behind a corner. The ginger stood out like a sore thumb amidst the snow. Hermione gasped and whipped around, skirting a puzzled looking Malfoy. She dove behind a street vendor selling counterfeit Ashwinder eggs.

She was in a semi-squat when Malfoy peered around to look at her. "Are we hiding?" he said casually, his blond hair swirling in the wind together with the flurry of snowflakes. "Because I could think of several less conspicuous places."

Before he could continue with his sarcastic drawl, Hermione reached up and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him in toward her. He staggered forward, stooping just before her, his nose millimeters from her own. He stared at her, clearly surprised by her physical strength, while she held her breath, watching his grey eyes. It was infuriating that she found him attractive given he was such a prat.

She was still holding onto his collar when he said, "Care to tell me why we're hiding?"

"Ron's across the street," Hermione whispered, her breath dancing in between them. "I don't want him to see us."

"Because…" Malfoy said slowly, awaiting an elaboration.

"Because he hates your guts and I don't want to have to explain why we're taking a purposeless stroll in the middle of a snowstorm."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Why are we?"

Hermione scoffed. "I don't know. It was your idea." She shivered, finally letting go of Malfoy's shirt so that she could rub her hands together.

"Are you cold?" he said. Before she could answer, he took her hands and cupped them with his own. His hands were considerably warmer than hers, and large enough that he was able to completely shield her skin from the wind.

"What are you two doing?"

Hermione froze, staring at Malfoy. Slowly, they turned their heads upward. It was Pansy Parkinson – also in town for the reunion no doubt.

"I've been looking for you, Draco," she said, eyeing them both suspiciously.

Quickly, Malfoy dropped Hermione's hands and stood up. Hermione followed suit, brushing away the snowflakes that had collected on her coat.

"What can I do for you, Pansy?" Malfoy said.

Hermione glanced between the two of them, then said, "Well, I better go."

"Hold it," Pansy said sternly.

Hermione froze again. She looked to Malfoy fretfully.

"Are you two dating?" Pansy asked.

Hermione's eyes widened and she quickly blurted out, "Of course not!"

At the same time, Malfoy muttered, "It's complicated."

Hermione scoffed, giving Malfoy a vexed look. "It's not."

Malfoy smirked and put his arm around her. "She will succumb to my charms eventually."

"Oh," Pansy waved a hand. "You're joking."

Hermione scraped Malfoy's arm off her shoulder and glared at him. He gave her a knowing look and then turned to Pansy. "Where are you off to? Shall I join you? Granger here slipped standing on the spot. I was just helping her up."

"Always the good Samaritan." Pansy sighed.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm free now, if you are," he said. "Brunch?" He glanced at Hermione with a hint of a smile before returning his attention to Pansy.

"Yes, let's," Pansy agreed.

"Don't forget your bowtie," Hermione grumbled.

Pansy gave her a concerned look. "I'm sorry, dear?"

Hermione grimaced. "Dear?"

"Granger, don't you have somewhere to be?" Malfoy said.

…

Hermione caught up with Ron, who was lugging five giant totes of Christmas gifts. She unloaded a couple of his bags and pulled them over her shoulder. "Cutting it close, aren't you?" she said, groaning under their weight.

Ron stared at her. "It's the second of December, Hermione. Not everybody does their Christmas shopping in July."

Hermione chuckled.

"Did I just see you with Malfoy?" he said.

Hermione glanced up at him in alarm. "No! Yes – no!" She exclaimed, then shook her head when Ron gave her a perplexed expression. Hermione sighed resignedly. "I slipped. He was helping me up."

Ron made a face. "Eww."

Hermione grimaced. "I know, right?" She made to brush off her arms as if the mere thought disgusted her.

Ron rolled his eyes. "He was released from Azkaban just this summer. What was he thinking attending the reunion? I'm assuming that's why he's here."

Hermione nodded. "Probably." Then she added, "Pansy, too."

"Double eww." Ron said distractedly, but he had already moved on and was admiring a broomstick on display at Dervish and Banges.

Hermione exhaled warily and followed him into the store.

…

"I don't think that we should go together."

Malfoy looked up from her kitchen table where he'd been sitting for the better part of the morning and enjoying his coffee. He blinked. "Where?"

Hermione poured another cup of tea for herself. "To the reunion."

Malfoy folded the paper he'd been reading. "You want to meet there?"

"I still haven't told Ron," she said. "Or Harry, for that matter."

"About?"

"About us."

He rose from his seat and meandered over to where she stood. They'd spent the last few nights talking until the sun came up, so she felt a very strong urge to take a nap. He leaned into the counter and watched as she stirred her tea. "Why?"

Hermione looked down. "It's just not a good time." Her friends still regularly criticized the Slytherins who'd followed Voldemort, and Draco Malfoy, in particular, received much of their vocal disapproval. From his reduced sentence at Azkaban, to his ever-growing assets – "blood money," Ron had said grudgingly – Malfoy was downright despicable in the eyes of her friends. If it took her one drunk night and two whole weeks of around the clock conversations to reconsider how she'd felt about him, it would take Ron and Harry ten times as long – and they wouldn't be driven by a primal instinct to tear off his clothes.

…

"Hermione," Ron said in a singsong voice as he entered her flat.

Hermione had just stepped out of the shower, so she called out grumpily. "Who let you in?" She poked her head out of the bathroom.

Ron blinked at her guiltily. "I did."

Hermione rolled her eyes and closed the bathroom door.

"So," she heard Ron saying amidst a whole lot of slamming which was obviously him searching her cupboards for teacups. He always forgot where she kept them – and she often relocated them just to throw him off. She smiled to herself when she heard the fifth bang. "A little owl told me that you've got a boyfriend."

Hermione froze, staring at her misty reflection in the mirror. She gulped.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley told Ernie Macmillan – who told Hannah – who told Harry – that he's asked you out to the Fire/Whisky tonight."

Hermione let out a slow sigh. Her plan had worked. "I wouldn't call him my boyfriend," she said, cringing to herself.

"I don't know," Ron continued outside her door. "I think I hear wedding bells."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Then, Ron exclaimed –

"Coffee?"

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Since when do you drink coffee?"

She closed her eyes and breathed. "It's Justin's," she stammered.

"He's already keeping his coffee here?" Ron cried. He sounded as though he were standing right outside her door now. "Talk about moving fast, Hermione."

…

"Good evening," Malfoy yelled over the blaring Christmas music of the pub.

Hermione spun around, giving him a small smile. "Hi," she said uneasily, her voice getting lost in the chorus.

"Can I get you anything?" He gestured to the bar.

She shook her head, indicating the glass already in her hand.

Malfoy nodded, taking the hint. "I'll see you back at your place, then?" he said, looking down at his own fingers as they drummed on the counter a few times.

Then Hermione felt a hand slide along the small of her back. She stiffened and stared up at Malfoy, who was already looking at the man behind her. She closed her eyes, cursing Justin's terrible timing.

…

"Are you alright?"

Malfoy was pacing back and forth in the alleyway between the Fire/Whisky and Honeydukes. He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers and wore a disgruntled expression on his face – she'd noticed it as he was existing the pub. He looked up when she spoke, but his expression did not change.

"Are you upset?" she pressed.

"Why would I be upset?"

"We've talked about this. You agreed. It would be" – disastrous was the term that came to mind, but she amended it to – "reckless of us to not be discreet."

Malfoy turned around to face her, a dangerous expression colouring his features. "I did not agree to that." He pointed to the pub behind her.

She knew what he meant. "I thought it'd be best if I came with somebody. That way, there's no confusion. And then Justin asked me – it lined up perfectly."

"There's no confusion, alright."

Hermione stepped closer to him. "You could've brought somebody too."

"Thank you kindly for the permission."

Hermione sighed. "I just meant… so that nobody thinks… So that nobody suspects" –

"Suspects what?" Malfoy said roughly, but she could see the hurt on his face.

"That we might be" –

"I don't think we are anymore." He stormed back into the pub before she could respond.

…

Hermione had mixed her Firewhisky with wine that night and was now slowly dying in the back corner of the pub. Justin was at the bar handing out shots of Ogden's Old to a group of animated, former Hufflepuffs. Meanwhile, after her friends had left, Hermione had collapsed onto one of the leather benches of a booth less likely to be bathed in sunlight in the morning and must've fallen asleep because, when someone began to shake her shoulder, she could feel her cheek wet with what she presumed was drool. She wiped at her face and looked up sleepily. Malfoy's face floated before her eyes.

"What are you doing?" he said grumpily.

She blinked. "Sleeping," she murmured. Then, she felt the wave of nausea hit her and she sat up abruptly. "No," she whimpered. "Throwing up." She grabbed onto Malfoy's shoulder as he kneeled by the bench of the booth.

"Are you pissed?"

Hermione gave him a withering look before clapping a hand over her mouth.

"Get up," he said, ducking his head under her arm and helping her rise. She was beyond standing and he held her waist to support her weight. "Why are you sleeping here? Why didn't you just go home?"

"Justin's my ride," she mumbled. "He wasn't ready to go."

Malfoy shot an angry look toward the bar where the boisterous gang of men howled under the low lights hanging overhead. Their faces were contorted by sharp shadows, but Malfoy picked Justin out of the crowd quite easily. He was the one with the idiotic grin and the stupid tie. "Come on," Malfoy said, pulling her along with him. "I'll take you home."

"Oh," Hermione moaned, smacking her palm into her forehead. "I've got a migraine like you wouldn't believe."

Malfoy grabbed a glass from a nearby table and muttered a charm to refill it with water. "Drink this," he said, handing her the glass.

"I'm not thirsty" –

"Drink." Malfoy commanded, staring down an astonished Justin, as he led Hermione to the door. Justin had separated from his friends and seemed less than pleased that Malfoy had his arm around his date.

Without saying a word to him, Malfoy slammed his fist into the front door of the Fire/Whisky and propped Hermione up to help her over the threshold. Once outside, he brought her over to one of the carriages lining the street – Apparating was out of the question in her state – and helped her into the seat.

"Careful," Hermione murmured, her eyes half-closed as he reached for a blanket each carriage had stored under the seats. "Somebody might see us."

He gave her a cold look and dropped the blanket onto her lap. "Don't vomit," he said. When he was certain she wouldn't fall over, he stepped backward out of the carriage and, after adjusting the collar of his overcoat and setting his jaw, made his way back into the pub.

Hermione moaned as the snowy street swung around before her eyes. There were lights everywhere. They stretched along the roofs and were wound around the street posts. They hung in zigzags between the buildings, illuminating the dark alleyways and their slippery walkways. They adorned the festive window displays, flashing on and off. On and off.

She blinked and brought her hand to her head with a groan. Her head was spinning so much that she felt as though the carriage were shaking. She held out her hands to steady herself and realized that it was actually Malfoy clambering into the cart. He sat beside her as she shrunk away, shielding her face from the blinding lights and any passersby who might take notice of them leaving together in the dead of night. Malfoy tapped his wand twice on the side of the cart and the carriage rolled forward slowly. Hermione felt a swooping sensation as the carriage lifted off the ground and desperately fought the urge to hang her head over the side and hurl all over the snow-covered rooftops of Hogsmeade.

She turned to face Malfoy, who was looking in the opposite direction. His hands were flat on his lap, and they glistened somewhat, as though they were wet. Dreamily, because she was half asleep, she reached over and picked one of them up, inspecting the strange markings on his hand. She couldn't quite make sense of what she was seeing, what with the darkness, the jolting of the carriage, and her furious attempts to retain the contents of her stomach. She looked up at him sleepily with furrowed brows, hoping he could spell it out for her.

He was watching her examine his hand in silence. Then, he said, "It's not mine."

Hermione slowly set it down again. What wasn't his? She shook her head and closed her eyes.

…

She was banging feverishly at the door of Malfoy's room at the inn. She continued knocking even as she heard the shuffling from inside. Slowly, the lock clicked and the door opened. She gasped, seeing Malfoy's bruised eye and the various cuts across his face.

"You should see the other guy," he said. He was wearing nothing but sweatpants, which hung low on his waist, and he was holding a crystal tumbler.

"I did," Hermione muttered. "That's why I'm here." That morning, Justin had arrived at her flat, seething about some Slytherin scum who'd nearly knocked him out while he was innocently enjoying a drink with his mates. He'd made no mention of it having anything to do with Hermione, but in her freshly sober state, she'd instantly realized what had transpired.

Malfoy stood silently for a moment, as if debating whether to invite her in. Finally, he opened the door wider and stoically motioned for her to enter. "Drink?" he said.

Hermione didn't respond but he poured her one anyway. He strode over to her with the glass, his gaze piercing and somewhat contemptuous. "Although I don't approve of this" – Hermione gestured at Malfoy's face – "I wanted to thank you for bringing me home last night."

Malfoy was looking into the amber liquid in his glass, swaying slightly on the spot. "Would it be so bad?" he said.

"Would what be so bad?"

He shrugged. "If somebody had seen us together."

"Plenty of people have seen us together. Harry even thinks we're friends – which he finds absurd, by the way."

Malfoy made a face. "I find him absurd."

Hermione pulled in her lips to hold back a smile. Then, she said, "It doesn't matter. It's over, right?" She watched him steadily.

"Right."

"Besides," she added. "Justin asked me out again."

Malfoy didn't react. "And what a winner he is."

She shrugged. "He's growing on me."

"He's a wanker."

"At least he wasn't a Death Eater."

Malfoy flinched. He pursed his lips and walked the length of the room toward the door. He opened it, waiting for her to leave.

She instantly wanted to apologize – it had been a low blow – but she was too proud to voice that. So, she headed out the door in silence.

…

On the evening before the reunion, Justin invited Hermione to the Fire/Whisky to meet with some old friends who'd just arrived in town. She'd agreed because Ron and Harry had already asked her to come earlier in the day. Justin showed up with a bouquet of roses and a black eye which seemed only to be getting darker as the days wore on.

Hermione gave him a tight smile and grabbed her purse. Her friends were already at the venue, so Hermione had only to endure Justin's bellyaching until they arrived.

When Hermione walked through the door, she saw Daphne Greengrass sitting on Malfoy's lap feeding him beer nuts. Hermione, who was holding Justin's hand, froze in the doorway. Her gaze shifted between Malfoy and Daphne and she felt as though she might be sick. Justin strode in without noticing her reaction and walked over to the table of Gryffindors in the next booth. Five years down the road and they still couldn't sit at the same table with the Slytherins.

Hermione's gaze caught Malfoy's just as he opened his mouth to accept yet another nut. She backed out of the establishment into the blizzard outside. Shivering, she wrapped her cloak tighter around her body and headed back toward the carriage that had just dropped her and Justin off. The wind was howling in her ears so loudly that she almost didn't hear him calling her name.

She whipped her head around, barely holding back her tears, as Malfoy made his way through the snow amassing on the sidewalk toward her. He wasn't wearing his overcoat and his shirt was rippling against his chest in the wind. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. She sighed and stopped walking.

He stopped before her, his features distorted under the flashing lights of the festive street.

"It's over then," Hermione spoke when it was clear that he wouldn't. "Whatever the bloody hell this was between us."

He grimaced as the snow pummelled his face. "According to everybody but you and me, there never was anything between us."

She shook her head angrily. "So, what, you want me to feed you nuts in front of your friends? Is that it? Is that the kind of thing you're looking for?"

He frowned at her. "You know that's not" –

"Well, why did you bring her, then? If not to show off a shiny new girl on your arm to all your stupid, school friends," she screamed.

"You came here with Justin," he said coolly.

"She had her finger in your mouth."

Malfoy seemed to be losing his patience. "I brought Daphne, yeah," he yelled. "It's because I've lost my head, Hermione! I'm trying desperately to get you out of my mind! I am bloody in love with you! I am so bloody in love with you that I am about to burst. Okay?"

Hermione fell silent.

Then, the bell on the door rang out and Hermione heard a voice coming from behind Malfoy's back.

"Everything alright out here?" It was Justin and his black eye.

Malfoy breathed out steadily. "Yeah, everything's fine here," he said without turning around.

"Hermione, d'you want to come back inside?" Justin called, ignoring Malfoy's response.

"No, she doesn't want to come back inside," Malfoy rounded on Justin. "Get the fuck out of here."

Justin wavered at the door. His face looked atrocious under the twinkling lights in the window. He furrowed his brows, which made him that much more hideous. "Didn't you come here with Daphne?"

"What are you, the date police?" Malfoy roared. "I said leave!"

Justin jumped at the sound of Malfoy's voice, and slinked back inside the pub. The door clanged behind him.

Malfoy looked back at Hermione. "You're free to go, too," he said gruffly.

Hermione could feel the hot tears rolling down her face. "What do you want with me?" she said quietly.

He let out a slow breath, which obscured his face for a moment, and then hung his head wearily, surveying his own shuffling feet. Finally, he approached her, lifting his hand out of his pocket and brushing his thumb over her cheek to catch a tear. He lowered his face, resting it against hers, and sighed. "I want everything with you," he murmured.

…

On the night of the Winter Solstice, the Fire/Whisky was decorated with bright lights and house colours and was crowded far beyond its capacity – even with numerous extension charms in place – to celebrate the five-year reunion of Hermione's graduating class. Hermione was pacing outside the venue, her heels sinking into the snow with each step as she walked back and forth. Finally, she took a deep breath and entered.

She spotted Malfoy near the centre of the room just as Ron called her name. She turned to see Ron emphatically flagging her down. She hesitated, glancing back in Malfoy's direction.

Malfoy was already watching her – likely having heard Ron bellow her name across the room. He gave her a faint smile and then promptly looked away. She noticed the bowtie around his neck and smiled. It was the only green in his ensemble and was clearly meant to stand out. She exhaled slowly, pressing her shaking arms into her sides, and made her way through the crowd toward him. She heard Ron's voice calling her again and briefly closed her eyes to bolster her resolve.

Malfoy turned to face her as she approached, watching her curiously. When she stopped before him, her breathing was already somewhat shaky.

"Evening, Granger," he said.

She looked up at him, wondering where to start.

His eyes scanned the room behind her, and she was sure that, when they rested momentarily above her head, it was because he'd spotted her friends. "Hermione," he said quietly, gesturing to the door. "Do you want to" –

"Just listen," she said, taking another breath. "I don't care if Harry judges me for being with you." She bit down on her lip. "I don't care if Ron doesn't want me at the Burrow for the holidays." Malfoy was watching her intently now, ignoring the crowd forming around them as her voice rose in pitch. "I don't even care if they decide they never want to speak with me again." She looked down. "Well, I care, of course." She glanced back up at him. "But not enough to let you bring Daphne Greengrass to another god-forsaken function."

Malfoy stifled a chuckle.

"She's not here, is she?" Hermione added anxiously, craning her neck to peer over his shoulder.

Malfoy sucked in his cheeks to suppress a grin. "Not with me." He shrugged.

"Good," she nodded. "Because I am. I'm with you." He watched her uncertainly and, when he didn't respond, she added, "I am so bloody in love with you that I am about to burst. Okay?" She laughed.

He let out a wary chuckle, watching her incredulously as his mouth stretched in and out of a smile that he seemed incapable of concealing. His eyes scanned her face as though he were searching for a signal from her to abort. So, she stepped closer.

Then, as if he'd made up his mind in the split of a second, he took her face in his hands, leaning down. Her breath hitched as his face hovered over hers for several long moments, as his eyes watched hers raptly, and his fingers trickled up into her hair. Then, his lips closed around hers and her eyelids fluttered shut. He moved closer as they sank into the kiss, the movement of his mouth slow, as if he were relishing the taste of her lips. Unhurriedly, his hand travelled down to her neck, his thumb gently moving along her collarbone, and then sliding down her arm, catching her hand in his.

When he stopped kissing her, he kept his head against hers, kept his eyes closed. "You just kissed me in front of the whole fucking class, Granger," he breathed. "What's next? You going to feed me beer nuts at the bar?" He chuckled against her mouth and she smiled, watching the long shadows of his eyelashes dance along his cheeks as he opened his eyes.

"Don't push your luck," she said.

"I bloody knew it." Hermione heard Pansy's voice somewhere behind her head, and Malfoy grinned.

Then, somebody cleared their throat to their left. It was Ron, standing at the forefront of the now dwindling crowd. "I take it we'll be seeing you at the Burrow this Christmas?" he said, looking at Malfoy. "Don't forget to wear something warm for the annual Quidditch match, yeah? Never mind," he shook his head. "I'll tell mum to make you a jumper."