Just after 7 o'clock, Malfoy saunters to the Slytherin Common room, Pansy holding his hand in a death grip. He can see his skin going white (or whiter than normal) where she's applying pressure, and when he looks at her, she bats her eyelashes at him, pouting slightly. His eyes dart to Blaise, who holds his hands up with a laugh. "Don't look at me; I have 2 overdue Transfiguration essays I should probably start." He winks at the two of them before slipping away with Theodore Nott to talk on one of the green couches – in other words, quite obviously not doing his overdue Transfiguration essays. Malfoy looks back at Pansy, who is grinning like a wolf. He sighs inwardly, before dragging her upstairs to the sixth year boys' dorm. He would never hear the end of it if he rejected her, so it was probably easier to just get it over with. A part of him hopes that sleeping with Pansy will help jerk his brain back into place, and he'll finally realise that he's just being stupid - that he'll realise he still sees a future with Pansy Parkinson.
Afterwards, he lays there in the dark, wrapped in the cool, green silk sheets with the wrong dark haired witch resting her head on his bare chest, and he feels dirty, in more ways than one. He feels as though he's betrayed someone, as though he's in the middle of a horrible affair – and maybe he is, except he doesn't know which of them is going to be the one who gets hurt. It's a stupid thing to think; there is nothing between him and Hermione, she's just a friend.
She's just a kind, smart, beautiful, caring, considerate friend.
He groans, pressing his hands to his eyes, and Pansy doesn't move. Her hand trails lovingly across his chest in her sleeping state and he feels a pain in the bottom of his stomach. Pansy is amazing (she 'loves' him even more now that he bears the Mark, so much that she begged him to take the bandage off beforehand), and a piece of Malfoys heart will always belong to her.
But she's not Hermione Granger.
Malfoy doesn't believe for a second he will ever be able to feel anything more than fondness for the pure-blood girl lying on top of him, and he hates himself for it. He wishes he could turn time back to the good days, when he wasn't constantly thinking about bossy, know-it-all, goody-two-shoes Granger. To the days where he wasn't ashamed to have his arm around Pansy's shoulders. To the days where everything made sense, and the only thing he had to pay attention to was his task. But he couldn't even think of the task anymore, and that made his stomach churn. The fingers of his right hand trace the Mark and he shivers. He was supposed to be making preparations.
She was a distraction.
Careful not to disturb Pansy, he extracted himself from under her, lowering her head onto the mattress. She didn't seem to notice the change, burrowing further underneath the green cover. He pulls a pair of (also green) boxer briefs on before running his hands through his hair, pulling slightly on the ends before letting it flop back into place. He grabs white t-shirt and a (green) zip-up hoodie that's hanging on one of the posts of the bed and tugs them both on, before feeling around on the wooden floor for his trousers. His hands touch something, and he lifts it in the dark to find it's a pair of black Muggle-like jogging bottoms. He stares at them for a moment; he doesn't know exactly if they're his, but he doesn't know whose they would be if they weren't. With a shrug, he pulls them on too, yanking his hoodie down over the top of them, then slipping his feet into his (green) slippers, wriggling his toes against the warm Sherpa fleece that lines the inside.
The bandage remains on top of the dresser.
He exits the boys' dorm, the strap of his bag clutched in his fist, shutting the door quietly behind him as he leans against the stone wall, placing his head in his hands as he tries to figure out his thoughts. They're all over the place, and he decides that the best thing for him to do is go on a walk to clear his head. The clock in the common room tells him that it's now 7:45, so he has a good hour and a bit until curfew sets in. He slings the bag over his shoulder as he leaves, hearing Blaise call after him in confusion.
He doesn't know where he's going, he just allows his feet to lead him somewhere. He ends up at the top of the West Tower, in the Owlery, standing in front of an eagle owl named Meriadoc. The owl is named after his favourite character from his favourite childhood book, The Lord of the Rings, because as soon as Malfoy had laid eyes on the majestic bird, he had seen a piece of Meriadoc inside him – bravery, despite his size. The owl had obviously grown, and Malfoy had never stopped seeing the hero he had when he first got him. Malfoy sighs as he strokes the owl's chest, and it nips at his fingers with affection, letting out a series of gentle coos up at him. He holds his left arm out, and the owl hops on, nuzzling against Malfoy and away from the cold harshness of the wind that blew through the room. Meriadoc's talons dig lightly into Malfoys forearm through the jumper, but Malfoy takes no notice as he continues running his hands down the bird's feathers.
Malfoy looks towards the glassless windows and out to the stars that shone and flickered down at him. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, the coldness of the air sharp in his lungs, and the corners of his lips lift slightly upwards. When he opens his eyes, the first thing his eyes fall on is the Gryffindor tower. Candlelight flickers in the windows, and his mind wanders to the Gryffindor Princess, who is probably sat with Potty and the Weasel in the common room. An idea pops into his head, and he quickly rummages in his bag for some spare parchment and a quill, scratching a short message on one side and her name on the other, before rolling it up, with her name facing upwards. He holds it in front of Meriadoc's face, and Meriadoc lets out another soft coo as he offers Malfoy his leg to tie the note to. Malfoy uses a scrap of string to secure the note gently to his owl's leg, then points to the tower, whispering instructions to him.
The creature spreads his humongous wings and takes off, swooping and soaring towards the Gryffindor tower. He finds a place to perch outside and lands gently, hopping along the ledge to get closer to the window. He taps his beak against the glass a couple of times, hooting to himself as a shadow comes closer to the window, and the window is opened to reveal a girl with straight, flaming red hair. She stares at the owl in surprise as he lets out a low hoot, hopping inside and onto her dresser. He holds his leg out, head tilted as he continues to coo and hoot at her, and she unties the string that's attaching the note, reading the name with a frown. She can't help but reach out and scratch the owl under his chin, and he closes his eyes in happiness.
"I'll be right back." Ginny doesn't know why she's talking to an owl – he probably doesn't understand a word of what she's saying – but it seems the polite thing to do. She places the note beside the owl, and with a final brush of Meriadoc's fur, Ginny leaves the fifth year girls dormitory and makes herself up a flight of stairs, knocking on the next door. She pokes her head around the door and spots Hermione sitting on a wooden chair with her legs crossed under her. She's changed from her uniform, now in a pair of pink pyjama shorts and a purple t-shirt. The older girls head is bent over a book, and Ginny feels bad for interrupting her. "Hermione?"
"Mmm?" Hermione doesn't look up, turning the page over.
"An owl came for you." At this, a crease appears between Hermione's eyes and she looks up at her younger friend.
"From my parents?"
"No, this one's bigger than the normal Hogwarts owls… and it's only a small note with your name on. No address," She pauses as Hermione stands, before quickly adding, "I didn't read it."
"I didn't think you did," Hermione laughs as she tosses her book onto the red bed cover. "Where is it?"
"He's just downstairs." Ginny leads her down to the fifth year dorm, opening the door for her and allowing her to step through first. Hermione spots the bird instantly; he's still on the dresser, cleaning his feathers with his beak. One foot rests on top of the slip of paper as it flutters in the wind that comes through the still open window. Hermione walks up to him slowly, his head cocked as he stares at her. He hoots at her as she reaches for the note, and he nips at her fingers gently, making her pull her hand back.
She takes a moment to admire him. He really is a rather beautiful bird – dark brown feathers speckled with white, giant amber eyes, and long, sharp talons. "He's magnificent, isn't he?" She murmurs, reaching forward again, this time to stroke the owl's chest lightly with the back of her fingers. He lets out a coo, eyes closing, and he hops off the letter just as the wind picks up. The note lifts and is nearly carried out of the window, and with a yelp, Hermione jumps up, only just managing to wrap her fingers around the note before it disappears. She pulls the note towards herself, reading her name in the scrawled writing across one side. Ginny watches her from where she is now sat on her bed, making small braids in her bright hair.
"So, who's it from?" Ginny says in a voice that makes a subtle smile spread across Hermione's face as her eyes roll.
"I'm not sure," Hermione can't put a face to the handwriting, which is quite messy – as though the person had been resting the parchment on their arm as they'd wrote it. She flips it over, reading through the 3 scribbled sentences:
Look outside – hi! Come meet me… and maybe bring your blanket. It's rather cold up here. D.M.
The smile becomes a grin as she rereads the note, before leaning over the dresser and looking into the darkness that has swallowed the grounds. She spots the West Tower, with the owlery. A candle flickers in one of the glassless windows, and she sees the shadow of a tall boy stood inside the circular room, arms folded across his chest. She makes an exaggerated wave and watches as he throws his head back in a laugh that she cannot hear, and waves back. Ginny gasps excitedly as she pushes next to Hermione.
"Who is that?" Ginny squints into the night, and Hermione is glad that Malfoy is engulfed in the dark. She doesn't know how Ginny would react if she knew about their new forbidden friendship.
"Just someone we know," Hermione replies, tucking her hair behind her ear as she rereads the note once more.
"Let me see!" Ginny makes a sudden grab for the note and Hermione shrieks, jumping away from the girl as she crumples the parchment in her fist. Meriadoc takes this as his moment to leave, escaping through the window. Hermione sees Malfoy reach his arm out, and the large owl lands gracefully.
"It's mine!" Hermione shouts over her shoulder as she runs from the room and up to her dorm, laughter bubbling up in her chest.
"Hermione! We're meant to be best friends!" Ginny's whines follow Hermione up the stairs as she tosses her blanket back into her bag, hopping to the door while she pulls her red slippers on.
"We are best friends," Hermione taps Ginny on the nose as she passes her on the stairs. "That doesn't mean I have to tell you."
"You know I'll find out, Hermione! You know I'm good at that kind of thing!"
"You can certainly try!" With a wink and a kiss blown over her shoulder, she laughs, shooting out of the Gryffindor common room, trying her hardest not to run. After an eternity of pacing herself in the corridors, she finally reaches the stairwell at the bottom of the West Tower, and she runs up the steps two at a time. At the top, she sees him stood in the centre of the owlery, his back to her, and she wants him to turn so she can run to him and wrap her arms around him, her head to his chest, his heartbeat steady in her ear.
Instead, she walks slowly up behind him, and before he can turn to face her, she punches him in the upper arm, dead arming him and making him let out a high-pitched yell. "Granger!" She laughs as he whips around, left hand holding onto his right arm. "Why did you do that?"
"It's funny," she laughs harder. "Here you can do it to me." She holds her left arm out towards him and he stares at her sceptically, before taking hold of her wrist gently and punching her in the upper arm. "Try it like this," she takes his fist into her hands and pulls his middle finger outwards slightly, so the knuckle on his middle finger is further out than the rest of his knuckles. "Now when you do it, use this finger, not your whole fist," She holds her arm out again as he stares at his fist. "Go on."
He hits her again in the way she told him to, trying to not hurt her, and she doubles over, holding her arm. "Are you okay?" He's shocked and she flicks her head up, grinning manically.
"This takes me back to being a kid," she inhales deeply as she jiggles her arm, trying to clear the pain.
"Why?" He frowns, concerned for Hermione's childhood. She looks at his worried expression, shaking her head with a smile.
"Nothing like that! It was a playground game – trying to dead arm people when they aren't paying attention."
He leans against the wall next to the stairwell, his hands in his pockets. "Let me get this straight: Muggles enjoy going around and punching people in the arm… for fun?"
"No, not all Muggles, just children. And it wasn't just in the arm, you can do it in the thigh too – that's dead legging. Then there's chicken legging, which is where you kick someone lightly on the back of the knee so their leg bends… Oh, and the boys used to punch each other in the…um…" Her voice trails off and her eyes dart downwards, making his widen in fear.
"Oh, Merlin," he cringes, crossing his legs without realising. "So what I'm understanding is Muggle children are feral?"
She lets out a laugh. "Feral is a harsh word to use for children! You can't say you've never tried to hurt your friends just for the fun of it?"
"No, Granger, I can't say that I have." He finds himself smiling along with her. A second passes before he speaks again. "Granger?"
"Yes, Malfoy?" She looks sweetly up at him and, Merlin, his heart rate speeds up.
"What are you wearing?"
She snaps out of her stare to look down at herself, and her eyes widen slightly. "Oh my God – these are my pyjamas, I was about to go to bed and Ginny came in and, oh God!" She tugs at the bottom of her shorts, trying to pull them the tiniest bit further down her thighs. He goes to take off his jacket to give her to wrap around her waist, and freezes when he doesn't feel the bulge of the bandage around his forearm.
"Hold on – I'm sorry," she gives him a quizzical look as he turns his back on her and rips his left arm from his jacket. The Mark grins up at him, and he feels tears in his eyes as he presses his right hand over it, lifting his head up. How could he be so stupid? How could he leave the room without covering it better?
"Malfoy?" He grips the jacket in his left arm, looking back down at the jet black tattoo that takes up half of his forearm. "Draco?" The floor creaks behind him as she steps towards him. He feels his shoulders begin to shake as the tears leak from his eyes, he bites his lip to stop himself from making a sound and he tastes blood.
She touches his shoulder and he whips around, holding his left arm behind him.
She takes one look at his tear streaked face, at the blood on his lip, and she throws her arms around his waist. Her arms squeeze him as her cheek presses against his chest, and he wraps his right arm awkwardly around her shoulders, resting his chin on top of her head as he sniffs once, twice, before pulling himself together. "I'm okay, Granger."
As she pulls away, her right arm still around him, she reaches her left hand up to his cheek and caresses it. The touch is so intimate, so loving, he nearly breaks down again. He manages to hold himself together as she brushes his tears away with her thumb. "No, you're not, Malfoy." Her voice is small and quiet, and too late he realises that she's grabbed hold of his arm behind his back. She pulls his arm towards her and he pulls back, his arm facing forearm down. He uses his right arm to push her away from him, and when she staggers backwards he quickly pulls his jacket back on.
"Why would you do that?" She can feel the sting in his voice, the pain and betrayal as he stares at her with hurt etched across his face.
"Show me your arm, Malfoy." She takes a step towards him and he steps back.
"It's none of your business, Granger." He holds his right arm out as a barrier between the two of them. The tenderness from before has melted away into a cold hostility as he keeps her away from him.
"Show me your arm," she repeats and steps forward again.
"Don't," his voice breaks as he steps back. He doesn't want to lose the best friendship he's ever had. He doesn't want to ruin this. He doesn't want to hurt her.
He doesn't want to be the person they believe he is.
"Malfoy."
"Granger, please…" He's begging now, and his foot finally hits the wall beside him. A chilling breeze ruffles his hair and sends goose bumps running down his neck.
"Show me your arm!" She shouts, tears in her eyes. She needs to see – needs to see that she's just imagining things. She needs to know that he's not stupid enough to have actually done what her friends have been accusing him of.
He stares at her as fresh, hot tears run tracks down his face. "I can't… you don't…"
She steps forward again, and now his hand is touching her shoulder. Up close he can see her eyelashes are wet with the unshed tears. If he wanted to, he could count the freckles that decorate her pale face. He should push her away. He should do something to protect his secret.
This close to him she can see the different colours that swirl in his grey eyes – patches of blue and green that come together for that stormy grey colour. If she wanted to, she could tangle her fingers in the downy softness of his hair. She should grab his arm. She should do something to prove to herself that Malfoy is not a bad person.
His head falls, chin to chest as he exhales. She reaches out and takes his face in her hands, gently running her thumbs under his eyes to get rid of the tears. Her arms snake around his neck, clinging to him, with her nails ever so slightly scraping his neck as she buries her face into his chest. Her shoulders rise and fall as she begins to cry, sobbing into his hoodie and he wraps his arms around her tightly, holding her to him as though he's afraid of letting go. He rests his head in the crook of her neck, his soft grieving (for himself, for any possible or impossible future they could have had together, for her) joining her barely audible whimpering.
They both sink to the floor – luckily on the only patch of floor not covered in owl droppings. The straw scratches at Hermione's exposed knees as Malfoy clutches her.
When they've pulled themselves together, she lifts her head from his chest and sees the redness in his eyes. He slowly unhooks her arms from around his neck, and takes the jacket off, placing it on the floor to his right.
He looks at her with sad eyes.
He holds out his arm.