A/N: I had originally decided to post this chap after only reading through it once, and that ended up being an awful idea! I spent most of the day fixing it. So, here is a far better, more rounded, version of this chapter.
Chapter 23
The sun was up when Hermione awoke that clear Friday morning. The clouds were gone, and the sky was blue, and every time she looked out of the windows she was blinded by the sun's reflection on the powdery snow.
Showering was quick. Dressing and accumulating her things went off without a hitch, and all while she thought on Draco and what she'd concluded to do about their situation after vivid dreams.
Some parts of the dreams were explicit; the two wrapped in each other's arms while in her bed, or the few seconds that she'd been straddling his lap, riding him in the Slytherin chair in the back of the library. But she did her best to ignore these parts and instead decided to focus on the part that felt more real than some of her days floating around the castle had felt.
It was summer. The weather was extra hot, the witch wearing shorts and a tank top, so it could have been as late as August. She was in a garden that was large in comparison to the small cottage it sat behind; working the earth with her hands, readying it for seeds while a magicked watering can floated about and watered the plants that were already growing. A sound caught her attention, and she looked up from the ground and through the open back door where she saw Draco setting a record on the player while he cooked lunch on the range.
Nirvana began to play as he walked back to his project at the stove, and she smiled fondly as she turned back to work.
Hermione had awoken lighter than she had in what felt like ages, and she readied for the day with a smile on her lips, because she was going to tell Draco that she enjoyed his company, and she didn't want to stop spending time with him. Not seeing him for two days felt empty without their banter and studying, and she hadn't been ready for it to end. So much so that she dreamed of their being in a long-term relationship. Something about the cottage part of her dream seemed like the two had been dwelling there together for years at that point, and dream Hermiome had been so happy for it, conscious Hermione felt it.
Down the stairs she went, her mind set on making it to the kitchens. She'd brought all of her text books, six rolls of parchment, and a large bottle of ink, sure to be ready to sit in wait for him all day if she had to.
When she'd reached the third level, she could swear she heard the jingle of bridles and reins- the imperfectly timed clop of hooves, as if horses were made to stand impatiently in one place- drifting up from the ground level below. Then the sound of a familiar voice reached her ears and Hermione's eyes grew wide as realization hit her.
The sound of the hooves were set into perfectly synced motion, and she herself took off into a sprint that had her down the stairs at the grand entrance in record time, only to watch a black carriage bob around the corner of the courtyard exit and out of sight.
She groaned, because it had been Draco's voice that she'd heard, and she knew in her heart he had climbed into the carriage and left. To be sure, she grabbed her wand to cast a Homenum Revelio, which found no one, and the witch sighed in defeat, deciding that attempting to stop him was a level of desperation she wasn't going to lower herself to, just like when she decided not to owl told herself that he'd gone to Hogsmeade and would be back later, and she went about her day as she normally would; her face stuffed in books. The only new development was that she'd taken to sitting in the green chair in the back of the library as opposed to the crimson one.
Eleven o'clock that evening chimed on her watch, the late hour finding the Gryffindor high up in her tower, sitting on the sill of the open window that overlooked the grounds all the way to Hogsmeade. She'd been like that for an hour or two, reading as she hoped to catch a glimpse of his carriage coming up the moonlit path. But it never came.
For the rest of the night, after she'd left her post and gotten into bed, she convinced herself that she had pushed him away. The longer she spent waiting for him to return the more sure she was of her conclusion, it being that he had decided to throw in the towel and leave the school after all, figuring it was best.
He'd told her that one of his two conditions for staying was that they got along. She knew that if she'd been the one who'd gone to kiss him, then walked away at the let second, and then he didn't talk to her for days, she'd think the worse also. The witch had let fate take its course, and this was the result.
When Saturday morning broke, Hermione decided to do her best not to think of him. That damn perfect dream had gotten her hopes up, she knew it. The images from her subconscious state had shown her something she hadn't been aware she'd wanted. But now that she knew that about herself, it sat in the recesses of her mind; popping up from time to time to plague her while she tried to focus on the different strength levels of wormwood that were spliced with hemlock in her Advanced Herbology text.
But their new relationship, whether romantic or platonic, wasn't meant to happen, and this was only solidified in her mind as the blizzard- and not Draco- returned at dinnertime Saturday. This was when Hermione decided that a mind-clearing walk to Hogsmeade was in order.
She left her book bag in her room after going back to her dorm to change, adding a dark grey jumper to her ensemble instead of wearing only her Weezer t-shirt out into the storm. The witch also changed out of her house slippers and put on her boots, leaving them in their original state. Either the school's magic or the man who owned the livery had cleared the road to Hogsmeade to assist Draco's carriage, so she didn't need to worry about losing her sense of direction or trudging through hip-high snow drifts.
The walk was a quick one, the witch singing "My Name Is Jonas" as she went, making it to the restaurant in no time at all. Her eyes avoided the pubs as her stomach jumped from the memories of vomiting in the darkness of her loo only a couple of nights previous.
She turned the corner and saw the warm pink glow emitting from the storefront she'd grown so fond of. The sight of it quickened her step, only for the witch to freeze where she stood as she passed by Draco, the man sitting alone at one of the window booths of Puddifoot's, his face in a brand new copy of their Charms text.
