Chapter 29

He'd told her he needed to go somewhere, and that he'd meet her back in their corner of the library at six, which meant that he needed her to go back to her dorm, or anywhere but the library.

"Why?" she'd asked, incredulous and beyond confused. They'd just been having a great conversation about which deadly animal Hagrid would be choosing for their Care of Magical Creatures class. And since it was an advanced course, no guess was too ludicrous.

"Just… trust me, ok?" he'd said, a smile on his face.

There was a beat of silence before she nodded her acquiescence, and he gave her a relieved and excited grin before he planted a quick peck on her cheek and left their corner with his pack on his shoulder. Hermione had stared after him until he was out of sight, then sighed as she grabbed her own pack and left for her dorm room. She wondered about his intentions as she walked up the stairs, through the Fat Lady's portrait, and to her room, somewhere along the way coming to the conclusion that Draco was planning something special for their evening together.

She set her pack on her bed as she looked at the clock. It read half past two, and the witch bit her lip as she looked to her closet. In a second flat she threw open the double doors and started tearing through the contents.

The non-superficial witch didn't have much as far as dress clothes went. She had plenty of jeans and band t-shirts and jumpers, but she eventually had to admit that blue jeans and a Radiohead t-shirt wouldn't work for the night. And a jumper just didn't sit well with her as an option for a New Year's Eve date.

"Not that this is a date," she told herself, though she didn't believe her words for a second.

Her gold-brown eyes then darted to the back of her closet, where three dresses hung. One was from the Yule Ball, the blue, flowing material, the witch decided, would be too much for the evening. Another was long and black with wrist-length sleeves. She wished to never wear it again, because she'd worn it enough times after the war to last a witch a lifetime. It was her funeral dress… She had packed the entire contents of her closet without giving it much thought. Her mind had been consumed with the prospects of returning to the scene where all of her troubles had begun.

The last was a sundress her mother had gotten for her when they'd arrived back in London, leaving Australia's cold winter for England's warm summer. The Granger matriarch had thought it looked lovely on her daughter, the garment a light grey and covered with mauve lilies. There were no straps or sleeves of any kind, and though Hermione didn't like how much skin in showed, it made up for it by being a mid-calf length. Her mom had had the foresight in knowing Hermione may not have enjoyed the lack of sleeves by buying a grey cardigan to go over it, just in case.

The brunette drew a deep breath as she looked at the dress, and held out her hand as she Summoned one of the hundreds of books on her shelf. This was one of the many advantages of being the only female who came back to Hogwarts for eighth year. This made her the sole inhabitant of her dorm room, which meant she could display her many books and records, the sight of which brought her joy and peace.

The title of the book that landed in her hand was "Henrietta Harrowbrooth's Alteration Spells for the Fashion Minded". Ginny had bought it for herself, but had quickly given it to Hermione. The younger Weasley witch hadn't gotten her mother's knack for household charms, and had asked Hermione for help in altering a dress for she and Harry's first date after the war, before he'd left for training. Hermione had proved immediately proficient at the spells within the book, and had changed Ginny's old dress to one more suiting her taste.

It was with this success in mind that Hermione turned to the dress her mother had given her, pushed aside the hangers of the other clothes so that she had space to work, and started flipping through the pages with her wand in hand.

She was nervous. But who would blame her? It was five minutes to six, and she was on her way down to the library for her New Year's date with Draco.

The last date she'd been on had been with Ron, and that hadn't gone well. By the end of it, the two had decided that a long distance relationship wouldn't work for them. Ron was so, so, so very angry, and was dead set on finding every living Death Eater and bringing them to justice. It was the only thing he thought about. She couldn't really blame him. If she had lost a brother… Well. She didn't know what she would do. To add to all of that, she was planning on leaving for Australia, and she had had no idea how long it would take her to find her parents. Weeks? Months? A year? Would she ever find them?

It had been such uncertain times, and both had decided- she with logic, he in anger- that their relationship wouldn't work then. And now, it was looking like it wouldn't work for some time, if ever.

Hermione's flats, the funeral flats she'd changed from black to red, tapped loudly as she walked through the dark and silent library. From the very back of the giant room came the glow of the fireplace, and it was in anticipation and uncertainty that she moved towards it.

She walked around the last bookshelf to their corner, expecting the house pride chairs and oval coffee table, but was surprised to find they'd been moved and transfigured. The four chairs were gone, and in their place was a large grey sectional couch that sat before the fireplace. Between it and the flames was the coffee table, which had been made taller and longer so it could hold a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice and two flutes, a bottle of whiskey with two lowballs, and what Hermione assumed was their dinner.

And, standing at the hearth was Draco.