26

Draco had been disconcertedly quiet for the rest of the evening. Hermione was certain she had upset him somehow by her innocuous comment about seeing a movie together after leaving the treatment center, but then, dragging him along to watch as Paul fawned over her just threw flame to the fire. Outside of the few glances they'd shared and his few words to her after they left the bar, he seemed to be avoiding her entirely.

"And what is that exactly?" he'd asked her, inquiring about what it was she actually wanted, and instead of answering, her eyes were fixated on the curve of his lower lip as he flicked his tongue across it before pulling it gently between his teeth. She swallowed hard, unable to think clearly, and before she could pull some semblance of an answer from her foggy brain, Parvati had pulled her away from him, once again bringing up Paul.

After that, he hadn't spoken another word to her. They'd arrived back on The Willows' grounds and then each went their separate ways. Hermione said goodnight to Seamus, Parvati, and Dennis as they began making a fire in the large fire pit just outside the main yard and walked back to her room.

She paced the room for a moment after changing into her pyjamas, contemplating whether or not to even go to the art room. She wasn't sure how to answer the question he'd asked her earlier, and she didn't know if she could handle the rejection if she made it there to find the room empty. She knew she'd messed up, but she thought by trashing Paul's number Draco would have understood that she wasn't interested in him. Hermione kept trying to push the negative self-talk away, attempting to quell the derogatory statements about her own asinine – and obviously unreciprocated – feelings. Because regardless of whether or not he felt anything at all for her beyond just friendship, she'd behaved poorly, playing games in an attempt to gauge his motivations for their relationship. Any silly romantic feelings aside, that wasn't the way a person should treat their friends.

With a huff and a mostly forced sense of determination, she left her room in the direction of their normal sleeping destination, steeling herself for disappointment. Just outside the doors, she let out a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding when she noticed the lamp light flickering through the windows in the French doors. She peeked through them and saw Draco, one arm perched on the armrest and his head leaning into his hand.

Just as she began opening the door, he looked up, and she realized a moment too late that he wasn't wearing pyjamas. Had she noticed it before, she would have quickly backtracked to her room, fearing the conversation that she knew was coming. Unfortunately, now she'd already been spotted. She wasn't the type to run - at least when someone was looking - so she walked slowly toward the couch, allowing her feet to pull her along as if she weren't even in control of them.

She took her normal seat at the opposite end of the couch avoiding his gaze. The whole atmosphere of the room felt different, and she cursed herself for ruining what she suddenly realized was the only thing she looked forward to every day.

She started to ask him how he enjoyed the play just to make conversation and avoid the obvious when he spoke as well.

"Gra – Hermione, I… uhm… I was thinking this isn't exactly working. I –"

Here it comes.

"You don't have to say anything. I get it." She put on her best attempt at a smile but knew there was no way it was working, and willed the stinging in her eyes to please, for the love of Morgana not spill over into actual tears. "I shouldn't have said that earlier. I know we aren't exactly friends outside of here, and I didn't mean to insinuate anything. I, uhmm, I… I really appreciate you staying here with me every night, but you definitely have no obligation to continue that. It's… I'm fine. I'll be fine. It's really no big deal."

He was looking at her as if she were speaking another language, his brows knitted together in confusion as he blinked at her. She felt the all-too-familiar stab of rejection in chest, reminding her of the countless times she'd remembered needing people far more than they needed her. She forced a smile again as she stood up.

His hand reached out, locking around her wrist, and she turned back to face him. His face held no sign of a mask; the look of complete bewilderment was evident across his features. He shook his head slightly as if trying to clear whatever misunderstanding was happening.

"Wha… what are you talking about?"

She sat back down as he gently tugged on her wrist and returned his look of confusion. She swallowed, pushing the knot rising in her throat back down, and asked, "What are you talking about?"

He let go of her wrist and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Um… I was going to say I'm a good foot too tall for this couch, and it's quite uncomfortable."

At least he wasn't making her feel like an idiot by blatantly telling her he was sick of her; he seemed to be trying to allow her to walk away with a shred of her dignity intact. She nodded and started to interrupt again, but he held up a hand.

"If you don't want to, it's really fine, but I was going to suggest that we uhmm…we sleep… somewhere…else."

She blinked at him, unsure if she was understanding him correctly. So, he wasn't trying to stop their… arrangement? He'd said we, not I.

"But, based on that strange rambling you just did, maybe that's not the right thing to ask?" It was clearly a question. He was absently twirling his ring again and looking at her as if waiting for her to clear up the situation.

She breathed out and wiped a hand across her brow, attempting to stifle the nervous laugh rising in her chest. "I, I thought you were going to say you were tired of being my crutch every night."

He leaned back against the couch and loosened his tie. "I didn't realize that's what I was." His lips curved into the smirk that no longer seemed to infuriate her and added, "But, if you're putting it that way, you aren't the only one in need of a crutch."

She gave an involuntary sigh of relief and closed her eyes momentarily. When she opened them, he was still looking at her, his eyes roving across her features like he was memorizing her, and she asked, "What were you suggesting then?"

He cleared his throat and brought his gaze to meet hers. "Is it too bold of me to ask if you'd like to sleep in my room?"

There's no way she heard that correctly, yet her stomach gave a flip nonetheless, bringing her mind up to speed.

"Is that weird?" he asked, his cheeks pinking slightly as she realized she hadn't answered him.

She couldn't hold back the grin that spread across her face and his that followed. "We've slept beside one another for the last week. I don't think the location is the weirdest part."

And somehow, after that conversation, they'd ended up in his room, her sitting cross-legged awkwardly at the foot of his bed and him in his bathroom changing into something to sleep in. She was nervously pulling a stray thread in her sweatshirt thinking to herself how stupid it was to assume that the strange familiarity they'd developed would follow them into his room as well; she felt like she was on the verge of hyperventilating.

He came out of the bathroom, bare feet padding across the rug toward his bed. He stopped a pace away and looked down, clearly feeling the same insecurity that she was feeling. He seemed to steel himself and then dropped down onto the bed across from her.

"Well this doesn't feel awkward at all."

She chuckled and shifted to stretch her legs out in front of her. She reclined, placing her palms down behind her for support, and gave him an uncomfortable smile. "Why is this so different?" she asked, lifting one eyebrow questioningly.

"It's okay. We can just pretend I never said anything." He twisted to put his feet on the floor, and she grabbed his wrist in the same way he'd grabbed hers earlier.

"No. You're right. That couch is uncomfortable, and I've gotten rather used to sleeping through the night, so we'll stay here. It just feels… strangely more intimate somehow." The look on his face was so similar to one of Ron's characteristic 'I-have-no-idea-what-to-say' looks that she laughed outright.

"Oh, wait. I have an idea. Where do you keep your booze?"

He looked up at her suddenly, his face gleaming as if that were the best idea he'd ever heard. He leaned over to look beneath his bed, and when he came back up, he clutched a bottle of Irish whisky in one hand.

"And that is why you're the Smartest Witch of Our Age," he said, as he unscrewed the lid and handed it to her. "Ladies first."

She started to take a drink and then hesitated. "Want to play a game?" she asked, grinning at him mischievously, her eyes peeking up at him through her lashes.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What kind of game?"

"Have you ever played Never Have I Ever?" When he shook his head, she explained, "We used to play it in the Common Room. So, the gist is, one of us says something they've never done and if the other has, they have to take a drink. If they haven't, the person asking the question drinks. For example, never have I ever," she paused, pinching her lips between her teeth and looking toward the ceiling while she thought of a good introductory question. "Never have I ever played quidditch."

He looked at her incredulously, his brow crinkled in amazement. "You've never played quidditch?"

She shook her head and thrust the bottle toward him, pulling her legs back in to sit cross-legged in the process. "Now drink."

He shook his head in disbelief but took the bottle from her hands. He tilted the bottle up and his head back to take a small drink. "Alright. Never have I ever… dated a Weasley."

She rolled her eyes as he passed the bottle back to her. She took a drink, scowling momentarily at the burn in her chest, and said, "The point is to actually learn something about one another, not just force each other to drink."

He turned onto his side, straightening his legs out in front of him. He rested his elbow on the bed and balanced his head onto one fist.

Realizing she was staring as he stretched his long form out beside her, she looked away, pretending to be considering another question. "Never have I ever been on trial." She smirked at the scowl he gave her.

"Rude. I didn't realize we were playing dirty." He took the bottle back from her and took a much larger drink this time. When he was done, his eyes were gleaming in a way that said he wasn't bothered by her forward statement. He rested the bottle on the bed in front of him and said, "Never have I ever taken an Engorgement charm to the teeth."

"I could say, 'Never have I ever cast an Engorgement Charm at a sweet, harmless little girl's face,' but it seems entirely too easy." She returned his scowl and snatched the bottle from him, turning it up in one swift motion.

"I was actually aiming at Weasley, thank you very much," he said, "and don't think I didn't notice the size difference when you returned from the hospital wing."

She shrugged. "You saw the monstrous front teeth I had before. Can you blame me?"

He said, "I'm not going to answer that," and the innocent expression on his face caused her to laugh. He quickly added, "Also, if your next one is never have I ever turned into a ferret, I'm not playing anymore."

She turned her head up, laughing freely. That had definitely been the one she was planning to say.

"I knew it!" He pointed at her, laughing himself. "You're so predictable, Granger."

"What about, never have I ever been inside Goyle's pants?" she asked, smirking at him.

"Same thing," he deadpanned.

"Fine, fine, fine." She turned to mirror the way he was laying, stretching her legs out toward his head and leaning onto her elbow by his feet. "Never have I ever been caught snogging by a prefect in the corridor after hours." She pushed the bottle out toward him and gave a self-satisfied grin.

"We aren't learning a thing here. We're just getting each other drunk." He took another large pull of whisky, and said, "Okay, never have I ever been given flowers." He reached the bottle out toward her, obviously expecting her to be drinking, but she only shook her head. "No one has ever given you flowers?" he asked, just as incredulously as when she said she'd never played quidditch.

"No," she said, shaking her head again and then pulling the curl that had fallen into her face back behind her ear. "They haven't."

"Wow. Well, Weasley sure is setting the bar quite low for the rest of us."

Her heart gave a lurch. The rest of us. She blinked a few times, trying to remain composed. What exactly did he mean by that?

"Your turn," he said, taking another drink despite her lack of questioning.

"Uhm…" She grappled for something, but her brain was still focused on his last comment. Bouncing onto the first thing she could think of, she said, "Never have I ever shagged Pansy Parkinson." Just saying it out loud made her grimace, but he only looked at her, a sly smile spreading across his face as he handed her the bottle.

He said, "Not once."

She took a drink, trying to stop the momentary giddiness she felt, and retorted, "Well you certainly dodged a bullet there. Just the thought of that makes me want to throw up."

He chuckled, the sound coming out in a throaty rasp that sent a burning coil into the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with the burn of the whisky. "Pansy isn't so bad once you get to know her. She's just –"

"Overbearing. Harsh. Terrifying. No scratch that last one. Infuriating. That's the word I was looking for."

He took the bottle back from her and took another swig. "Yes, actually. All of the above. However, you really have no leg to stand on when it comes to being terrifying."

She leaned toward him, the alcohol loosening the layers of self-restraint as freely as kicking off shoes, and she laid her hand across his arm. "I keep hearing that! How am I terrifying?"

"Are you serious? Perhaps intimidating is more accurate."

She laughed, turning over onto her back and staring up at the white of his ceiling. "That's insane. I am the least intimidating person." Her laughter faded out and she frowned. "If anyone could hear the disparaging commentary running through my head all the time, they'd understand how unintimidating I am."

He was having none of her shift in mood, however. He scoffed disbelievingly and said, "Please. You're Hermione Granger. How many Orders of Merlin do you have?" He didn't wait for her to respond before he continued. "You're brilliant. They might as well have printed your O.W.L scores in the Prophet. I don't know how many times my father reminded me of how much better you were doing in school than me and everyone else for that matter. You're the most caring person who's ever lived. To a fault even. I'm pretty sure the house-elves at Hogwarts hate you because of it actually. And… and you're beautiful. What could you possibly have to be disparaging about?"

Her heart was in her throat, and she continued staring up at the ceiling, afraid to move. He'd just complimented her. In multiple different ways. And, he'd called her beautiful. Did he even realize he'd said it? No one had ever called her beautiful before, save her parents, and certainly not him.

"Surely, you can see how you'd be intimidating to pretty much every person, particularly men."

She snorted derisively. "Shut up." She turned back onto her side and looked at him skeptically. "Now I know you're lying."

"I'm not lying. Why else do you think no one ever asked you out in school?"

Are we really having this conversation? "Uhm… probably because there was a war going on for a good portion of it. Oh, and I wasn't exactly the type of girl who boys asked out."

"Are you… are you kidding?" He leaned toward her, his charcoal eyes narrowing as if he were inspecting her. "I can't tell if you're being serious or not."

She gaped at him. "You clearly don't need any more of this," she said, pulling the bottle away from him and taking another drink. "Of course, I'm not kidding."

His eyebrows lifted to disappear behind the hair that had fallen down into his face. "I mean this in the nicest way possible, Hermione, but I really always thought you were completely full of yourself."

She snorted again and sat the bottle down, realizing that she herself was much more tipsy than she thought. She wasn't typically the snorting type, so she was cutting herself off before she started giggling her head off.

She pulled herself back up to sitting to place the bottle onto the nightstand beside his bed, leaning over him in the process. She felt him go rigid as her chest grazed across his shoulder.

"You're a good one to talk about someone being full of themselves," she said, as she lay on her stomach, putting her arms beneath the spare pillow and turning her head to face him.

"Well, I'm the sole Malfoy heir. I've been told since I was born that I was Merlin's gift to the world. And, I know exactly how wonderful I am," he said with a wink, his voice dropping an octave and taking on the silky quality that she could almost feel vibrating in her own chest. "Of course, I'm full of myself."

His face was less than a foot from hers and she could see the way his eyes crinkled on either side when he smiled at her. "I'm really astonished, however, that you don't see how daunting you were to every single male student in Hogwarts - female as well after the Marietta Edgecombe situation."

She propped herself up on her elbows and tilted her head to one side to look at him pointedly, and the smile dropped from his face. He looked down guiltily, likely remembering, just as she was, every cutting remark he'd made about her. Every time he'd made fun of her hair or her oversized teeth. Every time she'd been the butt of his jokes.

When he looked back up at her, his expression was pained. "I'm sorry. I…"

"Draco, it's fine," she said, offering him a kind smile. "You don't owe me –"

"Yes, I do. I'm sorry, Hermione. I –"

"Stop it," she said, pushing the elbow that was resting on the bed out from under him, causing his head to bob before he could catch himself. "You've already apologized to me. I'm tired of apologies. We aren't those people anymore." Somehow, when he'd lifted back up onto his elbow, they'd gotten closer, pulled to one another like magnets and metal. His eyes were shifting back and forth between hers, and the intensity of his blue-gray stare sent her heart racing.

She flipped over onto her back again before she did something stupid like kiss him and said, "Besides, it clearly wasn't every single male student."

"Okay, fine, I can't speak for every one of them. I'm pretty sure there are a few who prefer men, but the rest of them, the heterosexual variety, they were all hung up on you to some degree."

Staying flat on her back, she turned her head to the side to look at him. "All the rest of them," she asked, lifting one eyebrow meaningfully.

"Are you wanting me to admit it?" When she said nothing, he continued. "I thought that was pretty obvious by now."

"Obvious? What in the world would make that obvious?" she asked with a laugh.

He looked so serious, as if it was insane that they were even having this conversation. "I bullied you."

She blinked at him, and when he only looked at her more intently, lifting his eyebrows like that explained everything, she lifted her hands questioningly.

"Isn't that how all spineless little boys treat the girl they fancy?" he asked, his face becoming serious and losing all signs of their playful teasing.

She gaped at him for a moment, stunned into silence. Her mother had actually said the same thing about boys who bullied girls, but Hermione hadn't believed her.

"You also bullied Harry and Ron. So…?"

"I said girl. It doesn't transfer to boys, obviously."

She couldn't help but laugh. For one, this conversation wasn't one she ever thought she'd be having and two, the dubious look on his face was hilarious. And, three, the giddiness from the alcohol was starting to kick in.

"I think what you consider obvious isn't at all obvious to anyone but you."

He turned to lie on his back as well, putting both hands behind his head. "Well, you're supposed to be the Smartest Witch and all that. I didn't realize you were so ignorant in the ways of the world."

"Oh, shut up," she said, sitting up to pull her wand from her hair and flicking it toward the lamp in the corner of the room. The room was immersed in darkness, much more so than the art room each night.

She wiggled beneath his blankets, feeling the room sway slightly, and said, "Thank you."

He shifted beside her, throwing the blankets over his legs as well, and she shivered slightly when his thigh rubbed against hers. "For what?" he asked, his voice huskier, suggesting the alcohol was working on him as well.

"For continuing to be my crutch."

She rolled over onto her side, facing away from him, and smiled to herself as he mumbled, "I rather like being your crutch."

She awoke the next morning, feeling a slight hangover from the night before as sunlight poured in through the small crack in the curtains and fell across her face.

She blinked a few times and started to sit up but felt an arm wrapping tightly around her waist. She shifted slightly, looking down to see Draco's arm draped across her and his hand tucked gently beneath her side.

She felt a hitch in her chest as she took stock of the situation. She remembered falling asleep last night, but at the time, despite the haze of alcohol, she knew she'd been safely on her side of the bed, with her back toward him. Based on the sound of his voice, he'd been facing away from her as well.

At some point throughout the night, they'd ended up in their current position. By the length of space between her and the edge of the bed, she was clearly closer to his side than her own, and she could feel his chest pressed up against her back, the rhythmic rising and falling indicating that he hadn't yet woken up.

They'd been intertwined before, but always at either end of one another, and her heart immediately started racing at the thought of him waking up and discovering their questionable situation. What had she thought was going to happen? Surely, if their typical morning positions were any indication, something like this was bound to happen.

She felt her mouth run dry and the panic set in, but she pushed it back, taking a deep breath. Regardless of the anxiety rising in her chest, she wanted to enjoy this. She should get to enjoy this.

Despite the momentary panic, she hadn't actually felt this comfortable in… ever, really. The only person she'd ever slept beside was Ron, and it… it had never felt like this.

A sigh escaped her lips when she noticed the feeling of his breath in her hair and the way one of her calves was trapped between his. Once again, she'd slept soundly, though the alcohol probably had something to do with that as well. She knew full well that she shouldn't feel this … what exactly? Safe? Protected? It wasn't a feeling she could quite put her finger on, because she couldn't recall having ever felt it before.

Regardless, she knew she was getting herself in over her head. Hadn't he told her last night that he needed her to keep the bad dreams away as well? It was foolish of her to feel anything more than that. She knew that. Rationally, she knew that, but she couldn't help the feeling of acceptance and support that she got with him. She'd told him more about what she'd gone through than anyone else, and hadn't he shared some pretty heavy stuff as well?

Maybe she was relying on him too much, and that was bound to end in tears, but for the time being, she just enjoyed feeling the warmth of his body pressed against hers.

She felt him shift behind her and his breathing stopped mid-inhale. She assumed he was having the same momentary confusion and subsequent panic that she'd been feeling and readied herself for him to pull away. But just as quickly as he stopped, he started breathing again.

In fact, he inhaled deeply, and buried his face into her curls, and she blinked in surprise as he pulled her closer toward him.

Was this the same situation as the first time they'd slept together, her awakening to find his hand rising up her thigh, clearly unaware of who it was he was wrapped around? Or was he more awake than that? Was he intentionally snuggling her right now?

They lay there, him holding her to him and her unable to hold in the smile that she knew was plastered across her face. Even if this was just taking comfort in another person to him, she'd take it. She was trying desperately not to overanalyze the situation and instead just enjoy the feeling of being held when he mumbled, "Is this okay?"

"Umm…" She wasn't sure what to say. If she told him what she was thinking right now, would it seem too intimate?

Apparently, she'd hesitated for too long, because he pulled his head from her hair and said, "I'm sorry, I –"

"No," she said entirely too quickly, putting her hand on top of his arm, pinning it to her as he tried to pull it away from her waist. "No. This is okay."

He seemed to hesitate for a second before leaning his chest back into her back, and she breathed in deeply, relishing the feel of his broad shoulders enveloping her. His other arm was stretched beneath her pillow, and the arm draped across her flexed as he opened his palm to flatten it against her stomach, his hand large enough to reach almost across her entire waist. His thumb brushed against bare skin where her shirt had risen slightly in her sleep and caused goosebumps to break out across her body.

They lay that way for a few moments, and Hermione was afraid to speak or move, afraid that the illusion would be shattered somehow, and they would resort to their normal morning awkwardness, each of them avoiding one another's gaze as they went in their separate directions.

All of a sudden, the alarm clock on the desk beside him began beeping obnoxiously, causing them both to jump. She wasn't entirely sure over the sound of the alarm, but she thought she heard him groan as he pulled his arm from beneath her pillow and rolled over to turn it off.

She sat up, taking the moment that his back was turned to her to rub a hand through her hair, attempting in vain to suppress her curls into submission. He sat up as well and lifted both arms above his head in an extravagant stretch. Just as she did every morning, she couldn't help but stare. The muscles in his back shone through the thin fabric of his shirt, and she could make out the end of his Dark Mark peeking out beneath the bottom of his left sleeve when it had lifted up his forearm.

For whatever reason, it wasn't a deterrent as it should be to her growing affections toward him. She knew it said something about her mental state somehow, but if anything, she had to admit it was incredibly sexy.

He stood up and turned to face her, smiling at her in a way that he never had following their mornings on the couch. His hair was adorably standing on end on one side, and his gray eyes were slightly puffy from sleep.

She blushed under his gaze and turned slightly away to twist her hair up into a bun, securing it into place with her wand. "More comfortable than the couch?" she asked, trying to sound like she was unfazed by his sleepy smile and the tingling across his skin where his arms had been a moment ago.

"Loads," he said, and from her peripherals she saw his eyes drift quickly down her body, causing her blush to deepen.

She grabbed her shoes off the floor and walked toward the door. She turned back toward him, clutching her shoes to her chest awkwardly. Smiling despite her attempt at nonchalance, she said, "I… I'll see you at breakfast, Draco."

She faced the door again and opened it barely a fraction, just enough to see if the hallway was clear. Before giving him a chance to respond, she bolted out the door, closing it as silently as possible and tiptoed the ten or so steps toward her door. She made it inside without being noticed and collapsed across her bed, the smile radiating across her face.

She felt… happy. Free. Excited.

Vulnerable. Exposed. The smile slowly faded from her lips and her heart began to hammer against her chest. What if this meant nothing to him? He'd mentioned it to her last week that obviously she hadn't told her friends about their sleeping arrangement, but clearly, he hadn't told his either. She'd be seeing Harry and Ron in a few hours, and she'd spent the night cuddling with Draco Malfoy. She had no intention of telling them, mainly because it wasn't any of their business, but truthfully, outside of being shocked, she didn't think either of them would be angry with her. They certainly wouldn't like it, of course. Could he say the same about his friends?

Pansy's face flashed through her mind. His ex-girlfriend, regardless of whatever they were now, and someone who loathed Hermione with every ounce of her being. What would she think? Would he be too ashamed to ever want to be associated with her publicly? Would he even want them to know that he was friends with the Mudblood Hermione Granger, let alone that he was sharing a bed with her?

That wasn't fair. He'd proven that he didn't look at her that way anymore, but still. No longer seeing her as sub-human wasn't exactly the same thing as saying they were equals, was it?

By the time she got out of the shower, she had convinced herself that she shouldn't sleep with him anymore. She knew she was in over her head, and as much as she'd like to pretend that she wasn't starting to care for him, she knew if he ever pushed her aside, she would be heartbroken. She couldn't let that happen. She was here to get better, and something like that would only make things worse.

A soft knock on her door interrupted her thoughts, and she froze, wand in hand and aimed at her hair where she'd been trying to dry her frizz into more manageable waves. She walked to the door, stepping around her bed, and opened it. There was no one there, but her eyes were drawn to a small package sitting just outside the doorway. Reaching down to pick it up, she looked around the doorframe, trying to see whoever had left it for her, but found the hallway empty.

She closed the door as she stepped back inside and looked down at the package in her hand. It was wrapped in silver paper with a red ribbon tied around it to form a perfect little bow at the top. She flipped it over, looking for a name, but there wasn't one written anywhere.

She sat down at her desk, untied the bow, and ripped the silver paper off to reveal a small black box inside, the words Mortimer's Magical Menagerie emblazoned across the front. It took her a moment to place it, but then she remembered seeing the words on the storefront of the magic shop she'd visited with Draco and Nicola in Santa Cruz.

She pulled the lid off the box and inside, on a small bed of soft cotton, sat a tiny ceramic rabbit wearing a tall black top hat with his ears poking out on either side. His fur was white, and his eyes were red, just like the one she remembered with the magician who visited her school almost fifteen years ago. She removed it from the box and sat it onto the table in front of her, smiling despite herself.

Her eyes flicked to a slip of paper lying beside the box. It must've fallen out when she was ripping off the paper or when she'd taken it from the box. She unfolded the paper and found words written in sprawling scroll, clearly in a hand unaccustomed to using a pen instead of a quill, that read:

We're all eager for something to believe in.

- D

P.S. You're right. I didn't know much of anything when I was six. Or sixteen for that matter.

It was so silly, getting a ceramic rabbit, but at the same time, it was extravagant to her. She'd only ever mentioned that story to Draco, and even then, it was in passing, in a ten-second conversation that seemed meaningless at the time. But he'd thought to buy it for her, nonetheless. He'd bought something for her. And, he'd remembered their conversation enough to write about it weeks later.

"All children are eager for something to believe in. It doesn't make them stupid. I'm sure you didn't know everything at six either," she'd said to him as they walked through the aisles of the magic shop. She couldn't believe he remembered that. And that he'd bought something for her during the time that they were fighting because they weren't exactly friends, as he'd said.

Then she read the second postscript.

P.P.S. Happy birthday.

She counted the days on her fingers, trying to remember what the date was. It was the 19th. She couldn't believe that she'd actually forgotten her birthday, but to be fair, she wasn't one to celebrate it regardless, and being here really put her mind on other things. But she was even more astonished that Draco knew it was her birthday. They'd never once talked about it, so, clearly, he had already known when her birthday was.

What the hell did that mean?

She smiled to herself, looking back down at the figurine on her desk. All the self-doubt and criticism she'd felt moments ago had melted away, leaving her in a puddle. She knew this was going to be hell at some point. She was going to regret it. It was going to hurt.

But she couldn't stop it any more than she could make a river stop flowing or the wind stop blowing.

She couldn't deny it any longer.

He mattered to her. In the few short weeks that they'd been here, she'd gotten to know the man he was now, so different than the boy he'd been in school. Completely different from the image she'd made for him in her mind. And she'd developed feelings for him. Feelings that she thought were no longer an option for her, broken as she was. For once, her days felt … bearable. No, more than that. They felt real. She felt real again. More like a person and not only a victim. She felt noticed. And valued. And she thought that had more to do with him than it did with the healing she'd been doing since she'd gotten here. She thought back to the way she'd felt this morning, with his arms wrapped around her and his chest pressed firmly against her back, the way the warmth rose in her chest, coloring her cheeks and bringing a new life into her that she'd been missing for such a long time that she'd forgotten it was even possible.

She was falling for him, and there was no turning back.