Hermione woke early the next morning, wincing as a beam of sunlight cut into her eyes. She glanced at Draco, wondering why he hadn't awoken also, and was greeted by the sight of white-blonde strands of hair sticking out at odd angles from underneath his pillow. She smiled affectionately. He looked so much better now that he didn't slick his hair down, like he did in their Hogwarts days. She froze, not wanting to disturb him, as he gave a little sigh and rolled over. His features were illuminated by the light, but he didn't wake. Hermione wondered briefly if she should get up, decided against leaving the warmth of the bed, and fell instead into a sort of doze, memories flashing through her mind.
It was her first day at Magus Docere, the famous wizarding university in London. Hermione was hurrying to a Charms class, laden down with books and not paying attention to her surroundings. She rounded a corner and ran straight into someone. Books went flying everywhere, parchment scattered, and her inkpot smashed on the floor, coating her belongings in a thick black layer of ink.
"Shit," she muttered, reaching for her wand to repair the damage, but a hand found hers, stopping her.
"Allow me," a pleasant-sounding voice said. "Reparo!"
"Thank you," was what Hermione meant to say. What actually came out was, "Ehrm," as she looked up at the object of her collision and discovered that it was Draco Malfoy.
"Granger?" he asked, sounding just as startled as she was.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" she demanded, bending down to collect her books. To her surprise, he didn't answer with the sharp retort she expected. Instead, he knelt beside her and began gathering up pieces of parchment. "What on earth are you doing?" she asked in astonishment, staring openmouthed at him. A pureblooded Malfoy, kneeling on the floor to help Muggle-born Hermione Granger? It was unheard of.
He looked at her in confusion. "I'm picking up your things. It's the least I can do after knocking you over."
"I . . . erm . . . well . . . ." Hermione stuttered, unsure of how to respond. "What happened to you?"
"Excuse me?" He didn't seem insulted at all, just faintly amused.
"Well, to be frank," Hermione said apologetically, "I was expecting a "How dare you run into me, Mudblood," or perhaps, "Get your filthy self out of my way, ha, I trample your books," or something to that effect."
He stared at her. Hermione wondered if she looked even worse than she had that morning, and reached up to self-consciously smooth her hair. She jumped when he burst out laughing.
"Are you all right?" she asked, bewildered, as tears of mirth streamed from his eyes.
"Ha, I trample your books?" he repeated, and broke into fresh laughter.
"Look, I have to get to Charms class," Hermione said, exasperated. "If all you're going to do is laugh at me, then—"
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, attempting to hide his huge grin. "I really meant for this to happen differently."
"I don't understand what you're talking about," Hermione said, sighing. "I'm leaving." She grabbed her books and began walking down the hallway. To her surprise, he followed.
"Again, what do you want?" Hermione was becoming frustrated. "Why are you following me?"
"I'm going to Charms, too."
Hermione groaned, and quickened her pace. He stayed right on her heels the whole way, ignoring her pointed sighs, and to her dismay, upon entering the classroom, he sat right next to her.
"All right," Hermione exclaimed finally, as he leaned over to read the cover of one of her books. She whipped out her wand. "Go away or I will curse you."
He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Allow me an explanation first. If it doesn't suit you, I forfeit all my rights."
"Fine," Hermione snapped, banging her wand down on the desk, "but make it short."
He shifted closer, looking around as if to make sure no one was listening. "I am not the Draco Malfoy that you knew a few months ago."
Hermione raised her eyebrows, but made no comment.
"You were at the final battle, weren't you?"
Hermione nodded, confused where this was leading.
"I was there, too. No, wait," he said quickly, holding up his hands as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, "don't accuse me of being a Death Eater. For the past year and a half, I've been working with Snape."
Hermione was jolted out of her lazy stupor as Draco muttered something in his sleep, and rolled over, facing towards her. He looked practically angelic while dreaming, far different from his usual cold, mask-like expression. Even while asleep he was a jumble of contradictions, and she didn't understand it. Everything kind that he did or said seemed to clash with his harsh exterior. And she was the only person who realized that he even had a nice side. She hadn't believed that he was telling the truth about being a spy, at first. But as time passed and they became friends, she realized that he was in earnest. And now they knew each other so well it was as if they were two halves of one person.
"Come in."
Hermione looked up from her notes as Draco peeked around the door at her.
"Am I interrupting anything?" he asked, stepping into her room.
"Nah," she replied, sticking her quill behind her ear, "I'm almost done studying."
Draco closed the door behind himself. "I heard about Terry."
Hermione groaned and sank back on the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. "Who told you?"
"Zahra," Draco said, moving the stack of parchment onto the floor and settling himself on the foot of the bed. "Are you okay?"
"Do I look okay?" she demanded, wrenching the quill out of her hair and dropping it on the floor. Draco's gaze moved from her puffy eyes to her unruly hair.
"Well," he said, slowly smiling, tapping his chin with a finger. Hermione threw the pillow at him. "Hey!" he protested, tossing it back. "I didn't say anything mean!"
"You thought it," Hermione pouted, crossing her arms.
"I'm sorry," Draco said quietly.
"I'm just kidding," Hermione told him, puzzled. "I mean, I know that my hair looks like a Bolivian rainforest. It's not new to me."
"I meant about Terry," he explained. "It's my fault. I shoved you at him."
"I could have said no," she shrugged. "Look, it's not that big of a deal. Yeah, he was awful, but at least I know it. I'll be fine."
"I hate seeing you get hurt," he said, looking directly in her eyes.
"I'll be fine," she repeated, looking down. His gaze easily made her uncomfortable. "I'm swearing off men."
"All men?"
She looked up at him, expecting his standard smirk, but his expression was completely serious. There was something in his eyes that made her pause—something that she didn't quite understand.
"Well," she considered, a smile gracing her lips, "maybe not all men."
"Am I included?" Either she was imagining things or he was getting quite close to her. She unconsciously shifted her body towards him.
"In which group?" she breathed. He had definitely moved closer. She was looking right into his steely eyes, exhilarated and a little frightened by the feeling that was running through her. She'd never felt anything quite like it before.
"The favored one."
"Yes," she answered without hesitation. "That's where you want to be, isn't it?"
She wasn't at all surprised when he leaned forward and his lips met hers, gently, sweetly. A sudden, terrifying thrill went through her body and she quickly drew away.
"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, taking her hand and rubbing the knuckles. "Are you okay?"
"I'm perfectly fine," she said, her eyes on her lap. "I'm just—I don't know. Scared." She couldn't explain the shiver that had suddenly come over her, the feeling that something was wrong.
"Of me?"
"No, of course not."
He gently lifted her chin and looked her straight in the eye. "I'm sorry," he said for the second time. "I wasn't thinking. I just—I don't know why I did that—what it was. A sort of prompting, almost. Like someone shoved me in the back. I shouldn't have."
"It's all right," Hermione told him, blushing a little.
"Why are you scared?" he asked quietly.
Hermione shrugged. "I don't know," she said honestly. "Something about it didn't quite feel right. Very nice . . . but slightly wrong."
"Maybe it was the kissing your best friend part," Draco suggested, a smile playing on his lips.
"That must have been it," Hermione agreed, grinning. "When it feels as if you've known the person for your whole life—"
"I see what you're saying," Draco nodded, his face like a mask. "Nothing more than friends. I promise."
"Mya? You're awake, aren't you?"
Hermione's eyes flew open and she bolted upright, startled, her heart pounding. Draco had apparently been prodding her in the side, judging by the position he was in, but she hadn't felt a thing.
"Don't do that," she gasped, falling back onto the pillow. "You terrified me."
"But you were awake," he said, puzzled.
"Yeah, so? That does not give you license to poke me," Hermione scolded. "I was daydreaming."
"Anyways," he said, sitting next to her, "I wanted to ask what I should make for breakfast."
"Anything," Hermione said, reaching up to touch his hair. "You have bed head. It's sticking out everywhere."
He reached up to carefully touch the messy white-blonde strands. "Doesn't feel as bad as usual. Anyways, you should talk about bed head."
"Ugh," Hermione groaned, reaching over and smacking him on the leg. "Shut up. It was fine last night."
"Well, mine was fine last night, too," he pointed out, grinning. "Sleekeasy's is not permanent."
"Well, it should be," Hermione said, getting up. "Are you making breakfast or not?"
"There are chocolate chip pancakes waiting in the kitchen," Draco informed her, bowing her down the hallway.
"So why did you bother to ask what I wanted?"
He shrugged. "I was trying to be polite. I can forgo all politeness next time, if you want."
"Nah, that's okay," Hermione said, sitting at the table and reaching for the maple syrup. "I don't mind politeness at all. Please continue it."
They ate in silence for a few minutes.
"When do you find out?" Draco asked eventually.
"About the job? A week, two weeks; it all depends on how many applicants they get."
"Don't worry," he said confidently. "You'll get it."
Hermione shrugged. "Yeah, maybe." She speared a piece of pancake with her fork. "Is today Saturday?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Can we please go somewhere fun?" She folded her hands under her chin and gave him expert puppy-dog eyes.
"Certainly, my dear. But," he said quickly, as she opened her mouth to say something else, "we are not going to your apartment first. Either wear something of mine or that dress from last night."
She stared at him open-mouthed. "Why?"
"Because you, my darling," he said as if he were talking to a three-year old, "are entirely too dependent on clothes. We are going to break that habit."
So Hermione had no choice but to put on her burgundy silk dress.
"All set?" he asked, looking up as she emerged from the bedroom.
"I look ridiculous," she complained, hugging herself. "This is not a good dress to go see a movie in."
"You're fine," Draco insisted. "Now come on, we're going to be late." He grabbed Hermione's hand and yanked her out the door, ignoring her protests, and locked it behind them with a determined click.
~*~
Well, yet another seemingly pointless chapter. This was mainly background, because there were definitely some things that needed more explanation. Hopefully this chapter will have taken care of some of those. After this, things will happen faster, I promise. Gimme your opinions. I know exactly where this is going to go—hang with me, por favor.