Hermione had decided she would wait for Draco behind a statue of Julian the Third, something he would surely pass on his way to classroom 3C.
As it was so close to curfew the hallways were almost deserted. A Slytherin first-year ran past, muttering something vile about one of his fellow classmates. Hermione waited.
When she heard footsteps she sank back into the shadows, observing him as he walked past. He walked fast, focused on his destination. He seemed to have a flinch of nervousness about him. Nervous for what, exactly, she wondered.
Draco turned the corridor and Hermione followed, shoes held in her hand, making no noise.
The classroom door was ajar, Draco undoubtedly inside already. Hermione took a deep breath, asking herself, once again, why she was doing this. Apparently her actions concerning Malfoy were not often ones she could explain.
He turned around and looked at her, noticing her bright red socks and the pair of trainers she held in her hands. It was not hard to draw a conclusion.
"You've been following me." It wasn't as much a question as it was a statement. Not knowing how to respond to that, Hermione rubbed the top of her foot against the heel of the other. It drew Draco's attention.
"You can put them back on … if you're cold." Hermione noticed the drastic change in his voice, his statue and his attitude and couldn't help feeling uncomfortable.
"I'm not." She was.
"Oh." Hermione looked at him, questions tumbled in her mind.
She'd seen him crying that night, and she'd seen him nervous, just now he had seemed concerned. This side of him, that she did not recognize, why did he keep showing it to her. It made it very difficult for her to weapon herself against the faint smile he showed. He knew she was lying.
"What did you want to talk about," she quickly asked.
"Yes, ehh. It's complicated." He took a few steps towards her. Again she noticed the colour of his eyes. Even in the dim lit classroom they seemed to shine.
"Why- Why did you…" He hesitated, nervously combed a hand through is sleek hair and continued, "Why did you kiss me." Of all the things he could have asked he wanted to know the one thing to which she did not possess the answer.
"Mutual assured destruction, like I said." Was she mistaken or did she see a flash of disappointment cross his face.
"Is it really, though?" He had taken another step forwards, now only an arm's length away.
"Hermione." A gush of warmth spread through her body. Hearing him say her name like that made her feel things she would never have thought possible.
"These past few weeks have been hell for me. I can't stop thinking about you. Everywhere I go I am reminded of your smile, your brown hair, your lecturing voice. All I can think about is the feeling of your lips on mine, your body pressed against me. And I can't explain it, but it needs to stop. So I thought, if I just kissed you once more, I'd know."
Hermione was stunned, the fuses in her brain were close to blowing. 'Know what,' she had wanted to ask. But before she could regain her composure he had crossed the distance between them, lightly pressing his lips against hers.
A feeling of belonging rushed through her. She realised there was no other place she'd rather be than in his arms. Thus as Draco pulled back, she let go of her shoes and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him more passionately than ever before. And he kissed her back and for a moment the room faded around them, leaving nothing but two souls connected by ways more than desire.
When they separated at last, breathing fast and looking beyond each other's eyes Hermione asked, "And, do you know?" Because she knew. She knew that whatever Draco might have done before, she could love him for who he was now, standing before her.
And Draco knew as well, but he had found no peace in the knowledge. He moved away from her and nodded, sadness flooding his face.
"I know, and I'm sorry," he said, heartbroken. She felt the hurt in his voice and took a step backwards, stumped. Draco raised his want, pointing it at her face.
"Draco, what are you-" her words were cut off.
"Obliviate." He could not keep his voice steady, scared he would mess up her brilliant mind. He looked at her usually bright eyes, which now had a dull brown colour. This would have to do, he thought, and left the room in a hurry.
Hermione looked around, unsure about where she was. Her mind was racing, trying to connect the scattered pieces. She must've been waiting for Malfoy. With one look at the clock she concluded he hadn't shown. So much for his 'urgent' message.
Feeling rather dizzy she turned to the door and walked out, making her way up to the Gryffindor common room.
Draco followed her all the way to the Fat Lady's portrait, her white trainers in his hand and fighting the urge to jump out and catch her, every time she stumbled. Would she be okay, he asked himself as he left her shoes underneath the closed painting. The Fat Lady eyed him suspiciously. Ignoring her questions he turned and headed for the dungeons.
Back in his dormitory he sat down on his bed, head buried in his hands. He was disgusted by himself. Developing feelings for a mudblood made him a bloodtraitor. He was a Malfoy, loyal to the Dark Lord. He could not be a bloodtraitor.
But, without wanting to, he thought back to all the moments he had shared with Granger. The kiss, the way she had wrapped herself around him. That night they had spent hiding underneath the cloak.
Unconsciously he thought back to all the times he had caught himself staring at her just a moment too long and he realised that he had been in denial for longer than he cared to admit. And then he remembered the days he had been scared for her. That night, when the Death Eaters made their comeback during the Quidditch World Cup. He had been franticly searching for her bushy curls, scared his father had gotten to her. Luckily he had found her in the woods, though accompanied by Potter and Weasel, but at least she had been safe. And that time she had been petrified by the Basilisk, Slytherin's Monster. He would never tell, but he had visited her a few times, just to make sure she was still alive. He was the one who had put that piece of paper in her hand, hoping that someone would find it.
He had always noticed her, since the day he had first seen her on the train, looking for a toad with Longbottom in her wake. He would see her walking through the hallways, books clutched against her chest, following around Potter and Weasel, and a string of jealousy would flash through him. He had thought sneering at her would make him feel better, but no, it always left him feeling worse. Deep down he had been scared, scared for her to like him back, because that was a spark of hope he could not ignore. Once he would let that hope grow, he would be truly fucked. He was truly fucked.
"What's got your panties up in a twist," Nott asked cheerfully, entering their shared bedroom, followed by Blaise Zabini.
"Piss off."
Zabini who smelled an argument, ushered Theodore back to the common room, asking him for another game of Wizarding Chess.
"Nott is right, you know," Zabini told him before closing the door. "You have been very distracted ever since returning from holiday."
Draco shot up and cast a hex at the closed door, which reflected back and – Draco ducked just in time – hit the four poster bed behind him.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed and exited his room with angry strides.
"Where are you going?" Goyle asked, distracted from angrily eyeing his homework.
"Nowhere."
And technically he was right, the Room of Requirement was not a place, rather a hidden dimension, housing it's portal in the walls of Hogwarts.
A place to find something, a place to find something, he repeated in his head like a mantra. Magically a door appeared in the wall he was facing. After Draco had entered it took him a while to orientate himself. The Room changed ever so slightly each time he entered. Heaps of chairs would be moved, closets full of potion ingredients appeared, once, he had even seen a fully furnished corner, bed and kitchen, and all.
By the time he reached the Vanishing Cabinet he had lost the will to continue his work. This is going to take ages, he thought. Isn't there any other way to assassinate the headmaster? With that thought engraved in his mind he took to wandering between the piles of stuff, again. Until, eventually, Draco tripped, falling face forwards on the ground.
"Bloody hell!" he cried, feeling if his nose was still intact. He turned and glared back at the object he had tripped over.
"Seriously?" he asked no one in particular. He wronged Granger and the next thing he did was tripping over a friggin' book?
He picked it up, ready to hurl it straight to the other end of room, when he skimmed over the cover and read the title, 7 Most Deadliest Poisons. Intrigued Draco started leaving through the book, a new idea surely popping into his head.