CHAPTER 12

Beginning of May 1998

It was OWLs season.

Hermione, ever the concerned academic, was feeling the stress as per usual throughout the grueling study routine she had set up for herself. On top of that was the continued paperwork of the Head Prefects position, continuing to roll in despite the fact that students should have been focusing on finals rather than getting up to no good. It was a lot to handle, but this finals season, Hermione also had a form of stress relief that she had not been privy to in prior years. A shame, she thought, that she had no idea how much potential Draco Malfoy had in him.

Decidedly, their newfound arrangement had not gotten in the way of their jobs. In fact, it was quite mutually beneficial. Without a word, the two could fall into bed and work off the stressors of the day, or simply lie in each other's company and let the worries slide off of them. With so much information pouring into their brains every study session, it was nice just to not think with each other for a while.

Of course, there was also thinking they had to do together for their work, which seemed to also be enhanced by a kind of telepathic connection they had previously been unaware of. The energy that had previously gone into bickering was now able to be used for actual paperwork–in the times when it was needed–and for their unique kind of flirting when it wasn't. They had actually gotten all the extra paperwork filed, in a neat, organized system, eliminating the major stressor that had kept Hermione from giving in to the intense chemistry earlier. It felt a little too good to be true.

Ginny was the first one, of course, to notice something was going on.

"You look different," Ginny said in the Gryffindor dorms one day as they were dropping off Ginny's books after a study session. "You're smiling at nothing. And you've got this weird kind of glow. Are you really that excited for finals?"

"I have no idea what you mean," Hermione said, glancing up to make sure no one was about to walk into the room.

"You're not telling me something," Ginny said disappointedly, crossing her arms and sitting on the edge of her bed. "And here I thought we were best friends. What is it? Did you get that job at the Ministry you wanted?"

"No, I wish."

"Did you get an EE on the Potions exam?"

"I also wish that was the case."

"Was it that dance you had with Neville?"

"-No! No, it's not like that with Neville–"

"Are you seeing Ron again?"

"What? Okay, Ginny, now you're just guessing randomly–"

"Well, these are the things you have me guessing when you don't talk to me and there's obviously something going on."

"Am I not allowed to just be in a good mood?"

Ginny gave her a look that said it all.

"Okay," Hermione said, awkwardly fiddling with the strap of her book bag. "It's just–don't judge me for this, but things have been… better with Draco lately, I guess."

"Draco?" Ginny emphasized Hermione's accidental use of his first name. "How lately?"

"Oops, well… it's been a process, you know."

"How much better?"

"Like…" Hermione must have blushed, against her will, or made some sort of expression that gave her away. Ginny's eyes widened and her spine shot up straight.

"No. You're in love with him."

"Oh, Merlin, I wouldn't go that far," Hermione said, face curling up in pain. She groaned, sitting on the edge of the bed across from Ginny and putting her face in her hands, first to block out the deafening silence from Ginny and then to block out the manic giggling.

"Please, 'Mione, you have to tell me what's going on."

"We just… reached some sort of understanding, I guess."

"You're shagging," Ginny decoded, eyes bugging out. She slapped a hand over her mouth. "You're not denying it," she blurted finally.

"I'm not," Hermione squeaked, wincing. Ginny practically exploded. She kicked her feet as she belly laughed, filling the room with her pleased laughter.

After what felt like ten minutes of Ginny's digestion of the news, the laughter died down a bit and Hermione was able to pry her face out of her hands to look sheepishly at her friend, who was clearly enjoying this piece of news.

"First of all, I think that's fan-fucking-tastic," Ginny said, "and I'm so curious about how that came about," she said, having to pause every few phrases for a chuckle. "But I need to know: how is it?"

Hermione grinned a bit, pursing her lips to try and hide it. "I mean… I will just say, Head Boy is quite a fitting title."

That positively sent Ginny into a spiral.

.*.*.*.

Draco didn't see the boys again until Thursday, and he didn't want to anytime before that. There was really nothing urgent to cover. The OWLs had given him perfect cover to not have to interact with Blaise or Theo at all in the past week, spare the few moments of meals he would stop by the table to grab a quick meal before heading back out to studying or Prefect duties. He had, so far, avoided the conversation about the bet. He had technically lost, which was fine with him, since he had given up long before it had officially ended. But he had, in the end, slept with Granger, which was what the whole year-long thread had been about, and there had to be some closure there. He didn't really want to tell the Slytherins it had happened. He wondered if they would even believe him if he did say it happened. So in the end he decided on not telling them. He felt it would only ruin the perfect connection that he had formed with Hermione. It had only taken this long, bet or not.

But the conversation eventually came up. Blaise started to bring up the dance, and Draco finally ceded before Blaise could start his awful attempts at hinting at a subject.

"This may or may not come as a surprise to you, seeing as I have not mentioned the turnout since the night of the dance, but I regret to inform you that I did not win the bet. Zabini, before you begin crowing about it… I regret nothing. Let's keep the victory celebration short, please."

Zabini didn't have the reaction that Draco thought he would. Zabini's lip twitched with a sort of suppressed smile, and his eyes were sparkling as he leaned back in his chair swirling his Firewhiskey in its crystal glass. Theo looked back and forth between the two. Draco felt the tiniest hint of a worry rise up in him as he waited for Blaise to say something.

"Well, mate, I was waiting to see how long it would take you to bring it up, but I didn't think you would lie to my face that you lost."

Draco felt his face drain of some color as he eyed Zabini. "What do you mean?"

Zabini took a slow sip from his glass, seeming to savor the moment. "I know you've been shagging. Word travels fast when it's the Head Boy and the Head Girl." He chuckled. "Don't know how long you've been holding out on letting us know, mate."

Draco wracked his brain for any slippage that might have happened. He had thought it had just been their secret. Everything behind the closed doors of their dormitory. Unless… no, they hadn't been brazen in public. Had Hermione told people? If so, then it was her fault for it getting out, and he couldn't be mad at her, but some part of him did feel a bit betrayed if it was her doing–

"You're trying to figure out how I know," Blaise said. "But that doesn't matter. What does matter is, why keep it a secret, Malfoy? That's my question. How come you chose to lose the bet over telling?" He smirked.

Draco was silent for a moment. He didn't know what to say. He looked to Theo, who simply fidgeted in his chair. Some help would be nice, he thought, but no, it was time to deal with Zabini on his own. Draco drew a slow breath.

"Night of the dance," Draco said finally. "After midnight. I watched the clock turn and we fucked after the midnight deadline. Honor code. I lost."

The trio sat there silent. The air was so thick, it could have been cut with a knife.

Then, Blaise burst out laughing.

"Fuck, mate," he mused, shaking his head as tears of laughter streamed from the sides of his eyes. "You shock me every day."

"What?" Draco said, irritated.

"A whole school year you've been trying to seduce the girl and you finally did it. Merlin's fucking Beard. I've been waiting and watching this whole time and you really threw away a whole year chasing after her. Listen, I don't care about the deadline, this was entertainment enough. I'm fucking impressed. Congratulations, mate. You shagged Granger. Gryffindor Granger! And, from what I've heard, multiple times."

Draco tensed. "Well, I wasn't about to come running to you telling you I lost. But yes, in the end, I did sleep with Granger. What about it?"

"You didn't lose, though," Blaise said, still smiling. "Or maybe you did, considering that it's Granger you've stooped to sleep with."

Theo noticed Draco's demeanor change before Blaise did. Theo discreetly reached for his wand in his pocket, taking it out and gingerly setting it on the chair seat next to him within easy reach. Theo was a good duel moderator, and Draco knew he would stop any terrible curses from landing. Or, at least, he would try.

"I didn't mean any offense," Blaise finally said when he realized Draco's shift in energy. "Oh no, don't tell me you've fallen for the girl. You've fallen for the girl."

"Let me be clear that this is none of your business," Draco reminded. He wanted them off his back, and he didn't feel like defending–or even trying to unpack–his feelings towards the certain Gryffindor he lived with. "As I've said before. This was nothing more than a test. A bet. An experiment. You wanted to know if I could shag her. I did, eventually. End of story."

Theo coughed, restating his presence. "I know we used to call her 'the beast,' but she actually is very pretty and nice–"

"Respectfully, Nott, shut the hell up," Draco said, not wanting to hear any more about Hermione. They used to talk about her like some kind of object. The whole bet was based on it in the first place. But now the thought made him feel ill. Their talk was so misogynistic, and so terribly self-centered. He didn't feel good about winning. He didn't feel like hearing his friend's thoughts about the girl he was, secretly even to himself, falling in love with. He really just wanted to get out of there. So he stood.

"I already transferred the beach house to you," Zabini said offhand as Draco was just about to storm off.

"You what?"

"I had my property manager call yours or whatever. Anyways, it's in your name now. Enjoy it. Invite me over sometime, if you're feeling generous."

"But that was the prize if I won. I didn't win."

"Like I said. I was impressed enough. I transferred it over this afternoon. You should get a note tomorrow detailing the transfer."

"I don't want your stupid beach house."

"Too bad. It's yours now."

Draco walked out, now a beach house property owner, and short the perfect little secret he had been carrying with Granger.

.*.*.*.

When Hermione woke up, Draco was already gone. Hermione let herself have a slower morning, doing some wake-up stretches and taking a shower. Ready for another day of studying and reviewing, she grabbed her book bag (filled to the brim) and went down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

When she walked over to the Gryffindor table, she noticed some of the Quidditch boys poring over a newspaper. Apparently, there was big news from the Quidditch world about some team or other, and they were completely enthralled. Hermione went over to sit down next to her typical group. She grabbed a piece of toast and nibbled at the corner in between morning greetings.

"How's studying going, 'Mione?" asked Harry.

"It's great," she said, smiling. "I'm ready for the OWLs."

"I'm not," Ron scoffed.

"You're never ready, Ronald," Hermione said, not afraid of calling him out anymore. She was still upset with him, but he had apologized profusely multiple times, and she felt like he understood his part in what had happened and felt bad about it. And she couldn't be mad about him and Pansy, really, considering she was in a similar boat. She thought, vaguely, that if they found out about her and Draco, at least she could point to Ron and Pansy and say, "at least it's not that bad."

Seamus leaned down the table and poked the newspaper in Harry's direction. "Oy, Potter, look at this statement. Can't believe they're really kicking him off the team."

"They decided?" Harry grabbed the newspaper, holding it up to read the article on the second page of the paper. Hermione turned her attention back to her toast, but not before catching a glimpse of the cover page facing her. A small headline next to the main article announcement had a familiar name in it. She quickly looked back up, reading the blurb: "Malfoy Inherits Zabini Family Beach Home."

She waited for a moment, examining the image accompanying the article, of the named beach house. Curious, she tapped Harry's hand. "Can I see that when you're done?"

"You're curious about the Montrose Magpies?"

"Something else," she said as Harry handed it over. Hermione took a peek at the article, scanning it. Malfoy had, in fact, won a beach house from his fellow Slytherin. A few quotes from Zabini himself were scattered throughout the article. She stopped at the interview portion.

"Well, we made a little bet, you see," Zabini told The Daily Prophet. "Can't really tell you the details, but it was a little unwinnable bet that, lo and behold, Malfoy was able to swing after a whole school year. Call it my graduation present to him. I'm feeling no losses here."

Okay, weird, Hermione thought as her heart started to pound. She had been around Draco quite a lot, and nothing had ever come up about this bet he was involved in. Perhaps it was something from the game nights he would attend occasionally. She scanned the tiny article over again. Ridiculous that a decently respectable newspaper like the Prophet would be wasting their time reporting on the ins-and-outs of rich boy property trading. She guessed that the Malfoy name would be news any time it came up, just because of what had happened with his father. But something felt wrong.

Hermione looked over at the Slytherin table, where Draco was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she met Zabini's eyes, the cold, dark gaze piercing into her. He waggled his eyebrows at her before returning to his conversation with the other Slytherin older students. Hermione felt a sticky feeling spreading throughout her chest. She handed the paper back to Harry, then stood up and excused herself, making her way out of the Great Hall.

There was nothing wrong. Nothing could be wrong. So then why was she feeling like there was?

.*.*.*.

Draco was just coming back to the dorm after a rather solitary Quidditch practice, working out some stress in the air after having to see his name all over the papers. Exactly why Zabini had made the transfer a public ordeal, he didn't know. The Prophet always seemed to be finding ways to report on his family name and what the Malfoys or their company was up to, but this was outrageous. Reporting on a beach house transfer? It was something he wanted to keep on the down-low. Not just because it was ridiculous for such a dumb game to be advertised, but because of what was behind it all.

Draco had just walked into the room, still holding his bag, when he saw Hermione emerge from the Common Room doorway. He smiled at her, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "Hi," he greeted, stopping short of bringing his things to his room when he saw the look on Hermione's face. She looked like she was about to kill him.

Without a word, Hermione held up her wand for a moment before dropping it and slapping him across the face with her free hand. Draco immediately brought a hand to his cheek, the slap hurting even more that it was reminding him of the time she did it before. How distant they were back then. How close they were now.

"You thought I wouldn't find out somehow?" she said, hoarsely, sounding like she was holding back tears. "You thought it wouldn't get out?"

Draco knew what she was talking about. But he didn't want to believe she knew. He hadn't even won the bet, seriously, so it's not like it had anything to do with their relationship. And there's no way she should have heard about it at all. No harm in asking. "What are you talking about?"

She flinched like she was about to slap him again, then she just seethed for a moment. "Your little bet with Zabini. I'm disgusted." She shook her head, laughing darkly. "You really had a bet that you couldn't sleep with me? That's rich."

How did she know? "Hermione, I can explain."

"No, you can't. And get your name out of my mouth, you snake. It's Granger to you."

"Please, let me explain."

"What is there to explain?" Hermione snapped back. "Did you make the bet or not?"

Draco paused. He couldn't lie. He had made it. "I did."

Hermione laughed again, as if to say her point was proven. "Is this the kind of game rich little boys like to play? Fuck the Head Girl and I'll give you my luxury car? Sign away my fortune? Transfer the deed to my beach house? I can't believe you. You're sick."

"Granger, please. Everything that happened occurred after I had already given it up. This was all… it was all real, okay?"

"How am I supposed to believe that?" Hermione argued. "For a whole year, Malfoy? This was going on way longer than just recently." She threw her hands in the air. "And-and-training me with apple candies. Like I'm some sort of dog."

Draco felt the sting from that one. She was never supposed to find out. Thinking back to the version of himself that had created that stupid, twisted idea, Draco hated his tactics. It had led to good things, sure, but his original goal was to manipulate her. He had manipulated her all year long.

She stared at him for a moment, her face full of anger and pain. She took a quick breath, her voice cracking. "Don't talk to me ever again. Don't even try."

She pushed past him towards the door, and Draco held himself back from trying to stop her. What would he even say? Everything she was saying was true.

The horrible, sinking feeling hit him like a brick in the chest. His face still stung with the slap that had landed on his cheek, but the rest of his face burned with something else, too. Shame? Guilt?

"Fuck," he said aloud to the empty room, full of terrible feelings.

He kept thinking and thinking of ways that he could fix this. Ways that he could maneuver his way out of this and get things back to how they were–the blissful understanding, togetherness, closeness they had spent so long building. But every way he thought about it, it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to change that it had all been a game the whole time.

He should have told her. He thought of what that would have looked like, if it would have changed anything. If he could have said it at all, if he would have been able to admit it to her face. It was too late to think of what-ifs now, but they nagged at him.

Still ever the Slytherin, though, he figured there had to be a way to maximize reparations. There had to be something he could do. He would have to think about this. But there was one thing that he knew he had to do, either way, and he was about to do it now.

He was going to see Zabini.