CHAPTER 4: Screw-Ups

Draco startled awake, feeling something smack him firmly in the face. He groggily blinked open his eyes to see the pillow descending rapidly for a second blow and grabbed as quickly as he could, pulling it out of Hermione's hands and holding it behind his back.

"Good morning, sunshine," he said.

"How dare you, Malfoy!" she shouted, pushing him backwards by the shoulders. "You - you drag me here again my will when I can't even remember what -"

"Whoa, now that is entirely untrue, and you were the one who chose to drink so much that you've forgotten the evening," Draco said, holding the pillow as a defensive shield.

Hermione scoffed in disgust. "Then you shouldn't've brought me home with you if I was that drunk! You know if I was sober, I never would've -"

"Wait, Hermione, what do you think happened last night?" he said, brow furrowing in bewilderment.

Hermione's face reddened. "Well, obviously, I was in your bed, wearing your clothes…" She looked tiny, swimming in the clothing built for his much taller frame. Her hair looked as wild as she was flustered, with only a few pieces still fighting to stay pinned back.

"You must've changed into them and forgotten during the night," Draco said, sitting back down on the couch. He cracked his neck, body stiff from being so rudely awakened. Hermione looked dumbstruck. "You fell asleep at the party, you were piss drunk, and I thought the safest way to let you rest was to bring you here. So really, you should be thanking me because this couch is not at all a comfortable place to sleep."

Hermione turned away and rubbed her temples with her palms. "So… so we -"

"No, of course not," Draco said dismissively. He cut her off quickly, unwilling to hear more details of any potential guess.

She sighed with relief. "I remember… the library, and, and the ceiling started to spin…" She walked over to the dining table and rested her head on her head. "I am so, so sorry, I didn't mean to insinuate-... I suppose I should thank you for saving me from embarrassing myself further, so, thanks. Do you have any tea? My head's killing me."

Draco snorted. "We have numerous magical hangover cures and yet what you want is tea?"

Hermione considered this. "You're right. I'll take whatever you think works best. And also a cuppa."

Draco nodded, rising to the kitchen. Despite the brief assault, the morning was off to a marginally better start than expected. He'd known Hermione would be surprised but the fact that she'd assumed he had taken advantage of her - admittedly, that stung. It spoke to one of Draco's worst fears: that he might be capable of doing something like that.

"Malfoy?" Hermione called after him, breaking Draco from his thoughts. He hurriedly filled the kettle with water, charming the water to a simmer. He opened the cabinet to retrieve a basket of teas and carefully selected a small orange vial of potion. He placed the supplies on the table, and found two mugs in a box he'd neglected to unpack.

"I haven't gotten around to getting cream or sugar yet," Draco said, uncharacteristically sheepishly. "Still a bit bare bones, if you haven't noticed."

"Thank you," she said sincerely, selecting a tea bag and pouring hot water over it. She lifted the potion to inspect it, swirling it gently in the vial.

"Just don't shake it," Draco suggested. "It's a bit bitter but should do the trick." Hermione nodded, uncorking and downing it with a grimace. She closed her eyes for a moment then reopened them suddenly.

"Where did you get this?" she said curiously.

Draco shrugged. "I brewed it," he said. Hermione turned to look at the sunlight streaming through the windows. It no longer hurt her eyes or made her head pound but felt wonderfully reviving.

"Well done! It works so quickly and - where did you find the recipe?" she said eagerly.

"I… improvised," Draco said nonchalantly. Hermione looked skeptical. "What? I'm serious, I just made it up."

She grinned. "That's brilliant, Malfoy." She took a sip of her tea and Draco could feel a heat rise in his cheeks at the compliment. He prayed it wasn't too noticeable but the color on his ever-pale complexion was obvious.

He couldn't place when these feelings had started but there they were, plain as day across his face. Watching her sip her tea in his oversized nightwear, a pleasant smile still tracing her lips, Draco had a terrifying thought: It wasn't just the fancy dress or his intoxication that had made her so strangely alluring the night before. It was her.

Draco stood up suddenly, a grim look on his face. He anxiously began tidying, fumbling to fold up the blankets and sheets from his temporary bunk. "Does your home have an anti-apparition charm, Hermione?" Draco asked without looking at her.

"Er, yes, but I can apparate to right outside of my door -"

"Right," Draco said, "then you ought to change back into your things before you leave so no one sees you in my clothing. Do you have work? It's almost 8'oclock, I hope you won't be late but I'm sure if you hurry -"

"Slow down," Hermione said. He felt her place a hand on his upper arm - it was burning hot. "It's Sunday, I have nowhere to be. Now, I'm going to finish my tea." She calmly picked up her mug and walked toward the windows.

Draco felt incredibly embarrassed. "Sorry, I don't know what -"

"Make yourself some tea, would you? You seem a bit frantic," Hermione said.

Draco thought his brain and internal organs to be inexplicably overheating. Well, perhaps there was an explanation: here was this wonderful witch, unwilling to hurriedly exit his flat. She was stubbornly determined to take her time but thankfully, she seemed unaware of why Draco was acting so erratically.

Many women had accompanied Draco to his flat in the past but none had created this uneasiness within him. Around her, his stony façade seemed to crumble entirely and reveal a cowardly, sensitive boy.. He felt inferior to her intellect, her fierceness, the way she didn't seem to be bothered to care what anyone thought of her. She didn't treat him like he was damaged or crudely throw herself at him - the two types of treatment he was most accustomed to. He did as she suggested and poured himself a cup.

His brain compelled him to run out of the door, down the street and out of the country but his body seemed to be magnetically drawn to Hermione at the windowsill. They stood side by side, sipping from their warm mugs and watching as the lights from the windows below began to blink on. He saw her content expression out of the corner of his eye and was terribly pleased by the effects of his potion.

"Malfoy," she said suddenly, "I'm really sorry I reacted like that. I - I was just afraid -"

"That I might've hurt you?" Draco interrupted. To his surprise, she shook her head.

"Of course not. You're very different now. This version of you, I don't think you could've," Hermione said, taking another sip of her drink and a deep breath. His eyes instinctually fixed on her lips which became a bit pinker from contact with the hot liquid. "Plus, we were both drinking. Really, I was worried that I might've done something reckless that I never would have done sober and - See, I've actually really enjoyed getting to know you. I didn't want to muck up the chance of us being friends."

The word friends triggered a palpable pang in Draco's heart. If that's what he had to be to remain in her presence… No, no, now he sounded pathetic. It was preposterous to have thought for even a split second that in some theoretical scenario, they could've been more. Never would have done sober - the fact that she so regretted the possibility of something that hadn't even happened… He knew his face had visibly fallen and he could feel her looking at him.

"I suppose I've mucked it up now," she said quietly. "Oh, Malfoy, I didn't mean -"

"It's alright. I appreciate your honesty," he said, his words clipped and astringent. He should've known she couldn't see him in that way. They were of completely different worlds. No matter how much he tried to change, he was still a Malfoy and Hermione's values were unwavering. The bleak certainty of that realization was oddly comforting in its familiarity. Hope can be frightening. Hope involves risk. He paced away to lean against the side of the couch.

Hermione looked at him, clearly vexed. "I'm sorry, sometimes I start talking and the words just tumble out and I say things that I don't mean and -"

Malfoy had steeled himself against unwanted emotion. He wanted to say something that would make Hermione never want to see him again, though Draco now found it strangely challenging to find insulting words for her. Maybe, he had never really been interested in her at all - it had simply been his body misdirecting him.

"It was foolish of me to think you'd grown up but clearly, you're still the same loud-mouthed, childish know-it-all whom everyone despised in school," he spat, narrowing his eyes at her. She looked hurt and utterly confused by his sudden switch of temperament.

"You know, I thought you had changed entirely but it seems that was just for show. How silly of me," Hermione said, her voice nearly breaking with emotion. She had always worn her truest feelings on her face, just as Draco tried so hard to not do. There were flecks of moisture at the edges of her eyes.

"I am whatever you think I am," he murmured uncompromisingly. Hermione's bewilderment prevented her from speaking and Draco heard nothing but the tiny sound of tense breath huffing from her lips. She left her mug down on the windowsill and fled to the exit of his flat, slamming the door shut behind her.

The following silence hung thick and humid in the air. Draco considered searching for a Time Turner to rewrite everything he'd said during the last 24 hours or, at the very least, the last half hour. He knew it was best, though, to have cut her off fully before his feelings grew even stronger, as would his fury at her inevitable rejection.

His resolve was immediately weakened when he remembered that she'd forgotten her dress. He collected it from his bedroom and decided to package it to be delivered to her. Maybe he'd send it in a few days so it seemed less significant. Folding the smooth, cold fabric, he couldn't help but picture how it had looked adorning her body. He thought momentarily of burning it in some dramatic ritual of moving on but that sounded incredibly immature so instead, Draco wandered toward the kitchen to find an envelope.

The door nearly smacked him as it swung open again. "I forgot my stupid dr-" was all Hermione managed to mumbled, before noticing the dress in his hand.

They were mere centimeters apart, her breath tickling his chin, and all Draco wanted to do was close the gap and kiss her. To press her against the wall and tangle his fingers in her hair, feverishly desperate for any and all of her. To savor the taste of her sweet breath mixing with his, the soft floral of her perfume bleeding onto his clothing, her feeling of her full lips and smooth skin and her and her and…

But he couldn't. That might've been the way to win any number of the witches he'd fancied before but not Hermione. She valued loyalty and truth, and if he wanted any chance at salvaging some speck of their connection, he'd have to be patient.

Although, her lips were parted just barely and a spark in Hermione's vibrant eyes seemed to dare him to do it…

And then, abruptly, he felt her pull away from him. He opened his eyes, realizing with panic that Hermiones' own were teary and water had begun to spill down her cheeks. She ripped the dress from his hand and ran out of his flat without a word. Again, she was gone.

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