Bang. Crash. Crash. Bang. Grunt. Shuffle. Shuffle. Bang.
Draco hauled his pillow over his head, in no fit mental state to be bothered with whatever was going on outside of his room. Of course, he just couldn't catch a break. His bedroom door rocketed open, Pansy barreling inside, a hurricane of dark hair and scarily arched brows.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy, get the hell out of bed. Now," she demanded, hands planted resolutely on her hips.
"Pans, go away," Draco grumbled into his pillowcase, content to just lay there.
Pansy jerked his pillow out from under him, opening the curtains and letting in the harsh morning light. Draco hissed, muttering obscenities under his breath.
"Wow, who knew you were such a morning person. And to think I assumed you were just sitting in your room wallowing because Granger didn't want to stick her tongue in your mouth. Oh, wait, you are," she drawled, taking in the vista of discarded jumpers, half-empty cups of tea, open books and even a bowl of ice cream dying a slow death next to his cauldron.
"Pansy, now is not the time for this," he begged, getting out of bed and throwing on a clean shirt: it wasn't anything she hadn't seen already, and he didn't feel like being self-conscious, that wasn't who he was.
"When is the time for it, Draco? Next week, next year? When we're sitting in deck chairs in some wizarding retirement home, sipping ice tea and picking orange pips out of our false teeth?"
"Hey, I'm keeping all my teeth, thank you very much. Theo, on the other hand," he said with a bemused chuckle, "well, he could do with cutting down on the Bertie Botts and Chocolate Frogs."
Draco sorted through his pile of ties, picking out a silvery blue one that went well with his hair. He was in the process of finishing his Windsor knot when Pansy jerked the fabric out of his hands, choking the breath from him. Coughing pointedly, Draco glared at the sweet smile she shot back as she looped the fabric.
"Look, Draco, I know we haven't always had the best relationship," she began, a frown creasing her brow.
"We've always gotten along just fine," he replied honestly, wondering what she was getting at.
"You know what I mean. We were brought up a certain way, a way that's not really beneficial for forming genuine, lasting friendships. Our parents have always wanted a merger of our families, and we've both felt the burden of that. Bit I consider you a true friend, more like a brother than anyone else in my life. And although I'm not as in love with Muggle Borns as you, all I want us to see you happy, and if Granger makes you happy, who am I to actively stand in the way of that? So long as she doesn't want to hold hands and make me join a knitting circle, I'll guess I'll just have to put up with it."
Pansy stepped back, giving his tie one final tug. Placing a hand on her shoulder, Draco desperately hoped his eyes conveyed his gratitude as he said hoarsely, "Thanks, Pans. That means a lot, coming from you especially."
"Believe it or not, I do have a heart under all the eye-liner. But, can I offer you some advice?"
Draco raised a brow. "Would a verbal decline really stop you?"
Pansy chose to ignore this.
"I think you should tread carefully in regards to how your...relationship with Granger could impact your life. And I'm not just talking about you getting all broody and waxing poetic about her bushy hair," Pansy remarked seriously.
Draco hated obvious questions, but it had to be said."You mean Blaise?"
"Unless you've suddenly become best mates with the Easter bunny, then yes, I do mean Blaise. You've known him almost your whole life: I'd hate for you to lose that over some witch"
"First of all, Hermione Granger is not 'some witch.' Second, Blaise is the one that started this whole thing, not me. If he wants to apologize, he knows where I live."
"That's awfully childish of you," Pansy reprimanded primly, browsing his latest homework assignment, abandoned the night before on his desk.
"I'm a Malfoy, it's kind of embedded in our genetic code. And don't copy that: it's not done," he said, snatching the parchment from her hand and shoving it in the nearest book. Pans was such a snoop.
"Fine. It's not like I can read your prissy handwriting anyway. Oh, one last thing before I leave you to your wallowing: a few students are planning a Valentine shindig, since it will be one of the last times for all of us to hang out before we're forced to make it out there in the big, wide world. Come, if the mood strikes you. If not, then I suppose there's always some lonely, dark corner of the library for you to hole up in. Consider what I've said."
Message delivered, she swept out if the room, knocking over a pile of clothes in her wake. Merlin, he really needed to clean the place up. Just because his personal life was such a mess didn't mean his physical surroundings had to reflect that.
Removing his wand from where it had landed in the confines of the bed, Draco began the arduous process of cleaning up his room. And pulling himself together.
Twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes, Hermione promised herself as she laced up her most sensible heels, simultaneously using magic to brush out the last tangles in her hair. She'd go, let people know she still existed, and then come back to her room and her fascinating new book on Advanced Replication.
Hermione didn't really feel like paying her social graces, especially when Ginny had let it slip that he would be in attendance. After her heartbreaking conversation with Draco, there'd been a distance between the two of them, one of her own making. But it was necessary, she knew, necessary to not get romantically involved. Look what had happened with Ron, or the countless girls she knew who had been in relationships with friends only for it to end in heartbreak. They couldn't all be like Harry and Ginny, of Neville and Hannah, who since their date at Hogsmeade, could now be spotted having a quiet lunch by the greenhouses and holding hands in the corridors. There was no point in healing her heart only for it to get broken again.
Checking that she was presentable and finding nothing amiss, Hermione straightened her pale pink dress and retreated from the safety of her room and ventured out to the Room of Requirement, the perfect place for a gathering you wanted to keep secret from teachers.
The party was small, a more intimate affair since it was just for their year and their guests, but still loud and rambunctious. Music thumped from enchanted speakers, the best on the market, and there was enough food and drink to entertain the court of the wealthiest of bygone kings. Hermione spotted Ginny almost immediately, holding court with the Quidditch teams, who, at the sight of Hermione, excuses herself and came bounding towards her.
"I'm so glad you came!" she exclaimed, giving her a one-armed hug as she plucked a drink from the nearby table and offering it with a flourish. "It's nice to see you without a pile of books obscuring that pretty face of yours. Honestly, how do you not get papercuts? And back ache. And neck ache. Basically, how are you still alive?"
Hermione grinned, balancing her drink by it's stem. "One, I don't get papercuts because I'm careful with all my reading material, and two, several Cushioning Charms and a spare pillow I keep shrunken in my robes. Satisfied?"
"Much. But seriously, I know you're avoiding Draco, but you need to get out more. Live a little. Have some fun," Ginny insisted, bouncing up and down for emphasis.
Hermione rolled her eyes at the redhead's antics.
"I'll have plenty of fun when I move to London at the start of April, Gin. I'm just not the social butterfly that you are; I can't change who I am."
"I'm not asking you to," Ginny replied, slightly affronted, "but life isn't all about meeting the next challenge. Sometimes it's about making the most of the here and now, before it's gone. None of this," she said, encompassing the room, the castle, their lives, with a wave of her hand, "is permanent. So don't act like it is."
"Fine. You better get me another drink, then," Hermione relented, sitting down on top of one of the tables, swinging her legs and downing her glass in one go.
"Now that's a request I can get behind. I shall be back momentarily." Expertly weaving her way through the crowd, Ginny was soon lost to sight.
Hermione dropped her smile. It was going to be a long twenty minutes.
Being in a crowded room full of teenage witches and wizards in varying stages of intoxication was not nearly as fun as it sounded. Sitting on one of the low-lying leather couches the design committee had set up for the evening, Draco pretended to listen to what Daphne Greengrass was saying about her plans to sojourn to Paris after graduation, his smile an impeccable and well-practised thing: years of society gatherings had taught him well.
Hermione was at the other side of the room, seemingly deep in conversation with Luna. She'd caught his attention instantly, an inexorable force trying to pull him into her orbit. He was in too deep for his own good, and he wanted to try and make an effort with his fellow students: Draco couldn't rely on her company at every single party.
And it hurt too much to look at her.
So he stayed on the couch, honestly wondering if it was possible to have your brain leak out you ears out of sheer boredom. At least him and Daphne would have something to talk about.
To anyone else, he would have looked fine. Oozing callous charm and refined grace, lounging on a couch with a glass of champagne in hand, he was the epitome of a carefree teenager enjoying himself.
But he wasn't.
Even at this distance, even through the chatter and muted lighting, she could see that Draco was miserably bored and frantic for any reasonable excuse to leave, since he wouldn't want to appear rude, even if he couldn't stand someone. Any other time, she would have been there in a flash, would have either bored or annoyed his present company into making a run for it. But she wouldn't. She was sounding like a broken record, even to herself. And, really, could she let their friendship end like this? With them on opposite sides of the room, tiptoeing around each other?
Steeling herself, Hermione was just about to storm over there and demand that they fix this when a pressure gripped her wrist. Looking down, Hermione saw Luna's hand stilling her in place.
"Don't," her friend warned, the silvery paper crown perched on her head bobbing as she shook her head. "Don't go over there."
"Why not?" Hermione fumed, slipping out of her grip.
"Because you know it will only make it harder later on. You're doing the right thing."
Hogwarts had too many damn stairs. This fact had come to Hermione's attention many a year ago, but she had never truly appreciated it's annoyingness until now, trying to keep her eyes open.
She'd gone, she'd seen, she'd partied for about five minutes and felt sorry for herself the other twenty nine. Damn feelings. Why couldn't she be some immovable block of stone, or a strong oak tree in a grand forest, resolute despite any conditions it endured? Why did she have to look at Draco and feel her heart break anew every single time? Why did everything always have to be so complicated, hold more strings than a wrapped turkey and weight about as much on her chest?
Sleep. Sleep, warm pajamas and to snuggle up with her cat, that was her plan as she made it up the last of the infernal stairs, heels dangling from her hand.
Hermione might have almost missed it hadn't she noticed that one of the pictures above her was crooked.
Might have missed her cat, dangling from a rope suspended in the air.
Hermione dropped her heels.
Author's Note: Happy New Year! If you're still with me, thank you.
With love, Temperance Cain
