The Great Hall
Sunday, February 16th, 1999
7:30AM
Draco had woken early and slipped down to the Great Hall for breakfast before the rest of his peers had risen, his slumber disturbed by Theo's obnoxious snores and an anxiousness that ate at his stomach. Not one to usually be nervous, aside from a few instances such as when he first played Quidditch for his house in his second year, the feeling was foreign and he forced himself through it.
The Great Hall was almost entirely empty, with only a handful of other students. Two Ravenclaws sat at their table comparing notes and there was a small cluster of Hufflepuff first years jabbering on with one another in annoyingly high-pitched voices. Draco's upper lip curled as they dissolved into fits of shrill giggles and he poured himself another cup of coffee. There was the familiar sound of flapping wings above his head and he looked up from the croissant he had been picking at to see his owl swoop down, depositing a copy of The Daily Prophet beside his breakfast.
The fluttering in his chest returned as he unrolled the paper, rising to a peak which quickly dissolved at a look at the front page. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but there was absolutely no reference to his public appearance with Hermione the day before. Instead, the front page was dominated entirely by a photograph of Kingsley Shacklebolt opening a new wing at St. Mungo's, a short article written about it below the moving image.
Draco felt his brows knit into a frown and he opened up the paper, skipping past Quidditch results and news of the capture of more Death Eaters (which had been shunted to the fifth page because no one wanted to read about things like that anymore) and onto the social column. The page was shockingly pink, the creative director obviously having too much fun with the Valentine's Day theme and layering on love hearts and cupids just a little too thick.
Weasley and his new witch dominated most of the page, walking hand in hand and smiling at the cameras that were capturing their images. A smaller box contained a picture of Blaise and Daphne, obviously caught in a moment when they weren't shadowing her little sister and instead locked in an embrace. Even Theo and Astoria featured, holding hands in a tiny picture near the bottom left corner.
The nervousness gave away to confusion. Returning to the front of the newspaper, Draco scanned each and every page of the Prophet, and it was only when he had reached the end for the second time that he came to the conclusion that there was absolutely no mention of he and Hermione. Something niggled at the back of his mind, his mother and father's conniving Slytherin ways.
The Great Hall had started to fill up slightly, though given it was a Sunday morning, there were still plenty of empty seats. Blaise sat down beside him and poured out cups of coffee for them both. "Ted needs to do something about his snoring before I do something about it for him," he said, rubbing his eyes and drinking half his cup in one gulp.
Draco rolled his eyes and tossed the paper to his best mate. "You and Daph are in there. The social pages. Something about being the wizarding world's best looking young couple."
Blaise's eyes lit up. "Really?" he said, flipping through the pages until he found the photograph of himself and Daphne, indeed captioned by an admiration of their appearance, as well as a note about how wealthy the couple was. "Sweet. Where are you and Granger?"
"We're not in there," Draco said, voice stained with frustration. "I suspect my parents had something to do with it. They've still got friends at the Prophet and I imagine they got the article pulled for some reason."
"Parents, eh?" Blaise said and shook his head. "What would we do without them? On the plus side, if you've decided overnight that you don't want to date Granger then no one needs to know you ever did."
"Have you been hanging around Pansy too much, Zabini?" Draco asked.
"No harm meant, Drake." Blaise held his hands up defensively, palms outwards. "Just a casual observation."
"Keep it to yourself next time," Draco said though there was no menace in his voice. "I'm going to find Granger and then write a letter to my parents. Props on being one half of the wizarding world's most attractive young couple."
"Later, Drake," Blaise called over his shoulder as Draco left the Great Hall. The corridors were still largely empty and he was able to weave his way through the halls and up to Hermione's dormitory in almost total solitude, passing one or two ghosts on his way and only three sleepy students. He knew his girlfriend was an early riser on every day of the week and was sure she would already be awake.
As he climbed up the stairs to her room he could hear music playing and the unmistakable sounds of someone moving around, confirming that Hermione was up and about. He made his footsteps more pronounced on the last few stairs, though as they were stone there was still little noise from his approach. He knocked loudly on one of the bookshelves beside the front archway, the sound making her jump and whirl around.
"Draco," she said, shaking her head. "You terrified me."
"What are you listening to?" he asked, nodding to the gramophone in the corner. Melodic tunes continued to flow around them with lyrics like poetry.
"The record you bought me yesterday," she said. "Good morning to you, too, by the way."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Pleasantries are a waste of time," he decided. "But good morning, Granger." He crossed the room to reach her in a few long strides and kissed her lips chastely. "Have you seen the paper yet?"
"Not yet. I was going to finish putting these books away and then get to it." Hermione gestured to one of the piles he had bought her yesterday. She made a move to continue tidying up but froze. "Why? Is it awful? What did they say about us?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
Hermione frowned and bit her lip. "What do you mean 'nothing'? They have to have said something."
"We're not in it at all. Blaise and Daph are, and so is Weasley and his witch. Hell, even Ted and Astoria made it. I think my parents had something to do with it."
"What could they possibly do?" Hermione asked. "And why would they do it?"
Draco lifted one brow. "You do realise my parents don't like you very much, right? They're determined that I'm going to marry a pureblood witch and restore my family's name."
He saw the hurt flicker briefly over Hermione's face but she recovered quickly. "So they're trying to erase any proof that we're together," she said and he nodded. "Are you going to do something about it?"
"I'm going to write to my mother. I know she must have been the one to contact the Prophet, though it was no doubt at my father's insistence. I can probably persuade her to let the Prophet publish us."
Hermione frowned. "This isn't going to be easy, is it?"
"Did you ever think it would be?" he asked. She shook her head. "Exactly, Granger. I'm going to send an owl off to my mother and with any luck there'll be an amended article in the next few days. And then the real fun can begin."
"Okay," she said, nodding. "See you at lunch?"
"We've all got to eat." He kissed her again and could feel the worry and tension in her lips. "It'll work out."
"Bye," she smiled and Draco turned on his heel, returning to the Slytherin Common Room to write a note to his parents.
Slytherin Common Room
Tuesday, February 18th, 1999
8:00PM
Draco thumbed lazily through his Transfiguration textbook, trying to ignore the couples that surrounded him. Blaise and Daphne had decided they were going to throw an engagement party during the Easter holiday at her parents' estate and she was in full party-planning mode, Daphne bouncing ideas of Blaise who didn't seem to care in the slightest. Theo and Astoria were wrapped up in their own bubble as well, somehow having skipped the initial awkwardness that dominates most relationships and instead skipping straight to the inappropriately affectionate stage, embracing on the couch in full view of the rest of their house.
Pansy was the only one amongst them without a beau but she was equally as enthralled with Daphne and Blaise's party plans that she was ignoring Draco entirely. He sighed, shutting the book with a snap. "I'm going for a walk. You guys are sickening."
"Someone's cranky," Pansy cooed and smirked. "Say hello to Granger for us."
Draco ignored her and stalked out of the common room, frustrated over something he couldn't quite put his finger on. There had been no reply from his mother though he was certain his angry letter could not have been ignored, and the true reason for leaving the common room was that perhaps his owl would find him with a reply if he were outside. He had thought to grab his cloak from the back of his armchair before he left and now draped it around himself and fastened the clasp tightly as he slipped out the front door.
The sky was clear and the air freezing. He immediately grasped for his wand and cast a heating charm over himself, lest he freeze beneath the stars. Were Hermione not in a Magical Theory lecture, he would have gone to her dormitory rather than let the bitter cold attack him. The night was near silent, just the faint hooting of owls and the quiet breeze to disturb the hush. Hearing the approach of feathered wings, Draco looked up and saw one of his family's owls swooping down. The bird landed elegantly next to him, a letter tied around its foot. Immediately noticing his mother's personalised stationery, he reached forward and untied the letter. Once freed of its delivery, the owl took flight again, heading towards the Forbidden Forest as Draco hastily unrolled the note:
Draco,
My apologies on getting your photographs removed from The Daily Prophet. Your father insisted that I write to a contact and demand their omission, insisting it would be horrifically embarrassing and further tarnish our family name by having those images plastered across the tabloids. However, I find it admirable that you are willing to go to such lengths to restore the public's view of us, and despite her obvious faults, Miss Granger is a suitable candidate for this position in both her physical and mental attributes.
Hoping you are well,
Mother.
Draco wasn't sure what he should think of his mother's letter, but he was certainly gleeful that he and Hermione would finally be able to go public with their relationship. He checked his watch, a gleaming timepiece gifted to him on his seventeenth birthday, and discerned that if he walked slowly, he could meet Hermione outside her dorm and make it back to his common room before the curfew fell into place. He was certain his witch would like to hear about the development prior to the talk that would no doubt dominate the castle when the paper was released by morning and resolved to tell her. Gathering his cloak up and tucking the letter into his pocket, Draco left the frigid winter night behind and returned to the castle.
The castle was only slightly warmer than outside and there were only a handful of students on his way to Hermione's room. He took the last flight of stairs two at a time, spying Hermione's wild mane of curls slipping behind the painting which lead to her quarters. The canvas was about to shut when Draco extended an arm and pressed his palm to push it back open, calling out a quick, "Granger!" before Hermione had made it too far up the stairs. She turned at the sound, smiling softly when she saw him.
"What's up?" she asked, beckoning him up the stairs. She went to work fixing a pot of tea whilst he hung their cloaks up and moved to recline on the sofa.
"I got a letter from my mother this evening," he said.
Hermione's brow puckered. "That's nice. I got a letter from Harry this morning. Is sharing a record of our correspondence going to become a regular thing?"
"For the brightest witch of our age, you sure can be bloody dense sometimes," Draco said, rolling his eyes.
"You sure do know how to treat a girl." Hermione plunked the tray on the table, delicate teacups clinking against their saucers with the action. "Feet off the table."
"Yes, mother," he said. "I got the letter. The one from my mother. Issuing a total apology for getting our photos withdrawn from the Prophet." He paused, watched a smile spread over his witch's face. "She also extended her seal of approval, in a way."
The grin faltered. "In a way?"
Removing the letter from his pocket with a flourish, Draco began to read aloud: "I find it admirable that you are willing to go to such lengths to restore the public's view of us, and despite her obvious faults, Miss Granger is a suitable candidate for this position in both her physical and mental attributes."
Hermione lifted her eyebrows. "A suitable candidate? She makes it sound like I'm interviewing for a job." He saw her brows knit together in a frown. "She thinks you're using me," she said, traces of concern lacing her words.
"Granger, I'm not using you," Draco said. "Surely you've learned by now that I don't care about saving the Malfoy name."
She nodded once, slowly, and then, after a few seconds, again. But despite her apparent disposition, Draco could still tell his girlfriend was concerned. "I know you're not," she said. "I'm tired, Draco. I think I'm going to go to bed."
As she made her way to sand up from the sofa, he mirrored her movements, catching her hands. "Hermione," he said, dragging her attentions back towards him. "I am not using you. I don't care about repairing my family's name. My mother is insane for thinking I would do something like that."
"Is she, though?" Hermione asked. "You've done pretty messed up things in the past, Draco."
He tightened his jaw. "In the past, yes. In the past, I was an arrogant, stuck-up elitist who blindly followed his father and was nuts enough to pledge allegiance to a psychopath. But you know I'm different now. I'm not like that anymore."
She bit her lip, looked down at their hands which were still linked. "Draco, I'm tired. I want to go to bed."
"No," he said petulantly, gently pulling her back to him when she made a move towards her bedroom. "Not until you finish hearing me out and actually listen to what I'm saying." She let out a large breath of air and nodded, looking up at him with wide eyes.
"I don't care about what my parents think, about what my house thinks, about what the public thinks. For the first time in my life, I have the freedom and the opportunity to do what I want and I'm damn well going to take it. This," he gestured vaguely between their bodies, "is the strangest and one of the scariest things that has happened to me, okay, Granger? I lived with a murderous psychopath for a year, and this is still scary to me. Despite how much of prick I've been and how I've treated you in the past, I would never use you to restore something I don't care about, not anymore. I don't care about the Malfoy name, but I do care about you."
She stood in silence for half a minute, digesting what he had said to her with watery eyes. He wasn't sure what to make of her reaction until she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Goodnight, Draco," she said. "I'll see you in the morning."
Before he could react, she had raced to her bedroom and he heard the distinct clicking of a lock into place. Draco felt anger and regret and just sheer fury twisting in his gut, rising up his throat until his mouth was bitter with rage. He let the painting which lead to the Head Dormitories slam on his way back to the Dungeons, ignoring the fearful looks from the younger students he passed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was pleased he was still able to instil fear into someone.
His friends were still gathered in the Common Room when he returned, laughing around the fire, but he made no move to join them. Theo called after him as Draco took the stairs to their dormitory two at a time, wanting to remove himself from everything as much as possible. Lee Harper was exiting the shared bathroom when he arrived.
"Out," Draco said. "Now."
His tone sent the other boy scarpering out the door clad in his pyjamas. Draco locked the door behind him, trying to take steady breaths and control himself. The techniques refused to work, though, and instead he let his fist find a mirror. Teamed with the instantaneous stinging across his knuckles, the shatter of glass brought him out of his rage.
"Shit," he said, shaking his hand. "Fuck."
There were fine shards of glass embedded in the skin and blood was starting to drip down his wrist. A few drops splashed onto the floor.
"Draco?" Daphne's voice sounded scared on the other side of the door. "Drake, are you okay? I'm coming in."
He didn't make a sound and refused to look up when the lock clicked and the door swung open. Instead, he moved towards his bed, holding his bloodied hand away from his body, clenching and unclenching it into a fist, wincing at the pain.
"Oh my god," Daphne was right beside him, reaching for his hand but he pulled it away. "Draco, let me help you."
"I'm fine," he said, but she caught his wrist and pulled it towards her.
"What has gotten into you, Draco?" she asked. He saw her cringe as she inspected the damage done to his hand. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get this fixed up."
"I can do it myself, Greengrass," he said.
Daphne stood, hands on her hips. "Listen to me, Draco, you might be able to go around acting all tough and manly around Blaise and Theodore, but when I come in here and find you've broken your hand from smashing a mirror, you damn well better talk to me before I hex it out of you." She resumed her seat and returned his hand to her lap, leaning down close and further assessing his injuries. "What happened?"
"I don't know, Daph," he said, feeling weariness settle in his bones. "My mother wrote to me, implied I was using Granger to restore the family name. I told her and it looked like she believed it was a possibility and I couldn't get through to her. And I came back here and I was just so mad and I don't know what happened. She drives me fucking mental."
"Have you considered anger management?"
Draco scoffed. "That's your great advice? Anger management?"
"Well, it isn't exactly a normal situation, Draco," Daphne frowned. She finished dabbing at the blood around his knuckles. "I don't know what you should do. Just prove to her that you aren't using her."
"Easier said than done," Draco muttered.
"I don't know how I can fix your hand," she said. "I bet Hermione would know."
"Shame she thinks I'm a prick," he said dryly. "Thanks for the help, Daph. I'm going to go to bed so if you would please give me some privacy." He ignored how she recoiled at his tone, continuing to flex his hand.
"Maybe she's right in thinking that about you, Draco," Daphne said, shaking her hair out of her face. "I'll make sure Theo and Blaise don't disturb you."
He heard the door slam and shucked his clothes in favour of pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, closing the curtains around his bed and wriggling beneath the covers. His hand throbbed violently and he made sure to keep it away from the rest of his body to avoid any pressure on it. At the sound of his roommates coming into the dormitory, Draco cast a silencing spell around his bed to block out their quiet conversation, pleased that they decided to leave him alone.
Draco woke, slick with sweat, blankets tossed to the floor. Despite the perspiration that clung to his skin, he shivered in the night air and fumbled around in the dark for his sheets, forgetting the earlier incident with the mirror and sending pain spiralling through his hand. He managed to pull the duvet off the floor and pull it over himself, but the idea of getting more sleep was a ridiculous one. The few hours he had managed had been a swirl of nightmares, of torture and death and the destruction that he had seen. The worst of it had been just before he woke, images of his Aunt Bella torturing Hermione whilst he stood by. His now-girlfriend's screams still bounced around his skull each time he closed his eyes and after a half hour of staring at the canopy of his bed, he threw his sheets away and pulled himself from bed.
After changing into something more appropriate for late night wanderings than pyjamas, he wrapped a cloak around his shoulders and slipped out of the Slytherin Common Room, past the dying fire and into the cool corridors of the castle. Opting for a close place to unwind, he chose the Potions classroom, figuring that if he was unable to sleep, he might as well work. His assignment with Granger still required most of his focus, and any of his spare time was spent in the Dungeons ensuring the project was perfect.
Though there was little work he could do on the potion without Hermione's consent, Draco still set himself up around their cauldron, observing the light simmer of the concoction and considering more adjustments they could make to improve its potency. At the creak of the door, he looked up, abandoning the spoon he was using to stir the mixture.
"Hi," Hermione said in a small voice. She looked exhausted and her eyes were rimmed red. "Draco-," she began before bursting into tears. He reached her in three strides and held her tightly against his chest as she sobbed.
"You better not be getting snot on this shirt, Granger," he said and she managed a laugh, albeit a watery one. "Don't cry."
She sniffed and pulled herself from his hold, wiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry I was so awful before. I trust you. I know you're not using me. I should never have acted like that."
"I don't blame you for it," he said. "I've been a right git since we first met and you have every right to believe the worst in me. You'll be lucky if I don't live up to those expectations."
"I don't want to see any bad in you, Draco," Hermione said. "I want to see the good that I know is there and I just want all the fighting to stop. I don't think I can handle it anymore. The past few years have been so awful and trying and destructive and I couldn't cope if we continued to be like that."
"Then we won't," Draco said. She smiled at him, looking relaxed, though still dishevelled. He noticed an absence of concealment charms when he saw a scar peeking up from the neckline of her sweater. "What are you doing up, anyway?"
"Nightmare," she said, fidgeting. "You?"
"Same. I tried getting back to sleep but I hurt my hand after I left your room and it's making things difficult."
Hermione's brow puckered and reached for his right hand. "Draco!" she said, looking at the damage. There was still some dried blood on his palm, extending as far down as his wrist, and the whole hand was swollen. He knew he should have cleaned the wound as soon as he injured himself but part of him wanted the pain, felt he deserved it. "What did you do?"
"Punched a mirror," he admitted.
"That explains the glass," she said. He winced when she pressed against the tender skin. "Let me clean it for you. I won't try and heal it completely but there should be enough in here for me to take the swelling down and hasten the process."
Hermione vanished for a moment, returning with two bowls. One was full of water, a washcloth hanging on the side, and the other had a set of tweezers inside. Placing his hand on the table, Hermione picked up the tweezers and began to extract the slivers of glass, ignoring his cringes. She worked in silence, leaning close to the injury, leaving him to his thoughts. It took twenty minutes to remove every shard, at which point she began to thoroughly clean the area with the sponge. He let a hiss of pain out through his teeth.
"Don't be such a baby," Hermione insisted though her touches softened. She disappeared again, flitting around the room and collecting different ingredients. Crushing them in a mortar, she carefully placed them along the wound. The pain disappeared almost instantly and she covered the whole thing up with a bandage she had managed to dig up. "Why did you punch a mirror?"
Draco swallowed. "I was angry. Furious. You weren't listening to me. You didn't want to be around me. And sometimes I just lose it and I caught sight of myself and I smashed the mirror.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione said. "I've been telling everyone not to judge you on your past, trying to get Harry and Ron to understand why I want to be with you and saying how much you've changed, but then I turn around and do this."
"I'll admit, it made me feel like shit," Draco said. "When you kicked me out tonight it's lucky a mirror is all that I broke. My temper isn't something I'm proud of."
Hermione put a hand to his cheek. "We don't have to think about that now. We should probably at least try and get some more sleep before morning."
It was nearing four o'clock and Draco was beginning to feel weary, but the thought of returning to his bed where the nightmares were was not a tempting one. Seeming to read his mind, Hermione took his uninjured hand in her own.
"Do you want to come back to my dormitory?" she offered, clearing away their cauldron and the mess her first aid had caused with a few flicks of her wand. "I think I might sleep better with someone there."
"That'll set the tongues wagging," Draco said, reaching and pulling her to him. He left a kiss on her hairline.
"I didn't think you cared about that," Hermione countered.
"I don't, but I thought you did."
"I do," she admitted, turning her head up and looking at him, "but I also care about getting a few hours of rest and making sure you don't put your hand through anymore glass. When we're not so tired and the circumstances are better, we should talk about it some more."
"Okay," Draco said, though he had no intentions of ever bringing up the incident again. His temper, the same rage he had experienced from his father, was something he tried to hide away, never wanting anyone to discover just how volatile he could become. But he was exhausted and he didn't want another fight, so he said, "Lead the way," and followed Hermione up from the dungeons and to her dormitory.
They shucked their coats and she continued into the bedroom. Draco was a couple of steps behind, feeling tense as Hermione climbed into bed, patting the other side in invitation. "Scared?" she asked, smiling at him.
"This'll be our first time in bed together, Granger," he said, winking at her. The gesture, an attempt to hide that he was in fact terrified, failed and Hermione's features softened. She tossed back the blankets on his side of the bed.
"Come on, Draco," she said.
He nodded, removing his shirt and lying it over the back of a chair. Following her lead, he hopped into bed. Hermione wriggled closer to him, back flush to his chest, turned her head to face him slightly. Taking the opportunity, Draco propped himself up and kissed her slowly, gently. She was the one to deepen the kiss, shifting so she was facing him, moving her hands to his hair. As much as he would have liked to continue and for the action to lead to other things, Draco didn't want it to be like this, but it took him a moment before he was really willing to pull away.
"Goodnight, Granger," he said, pressing a last chaste kiss to her lips.
"'Night, Draco," she sighed, cuddling into his chest. He would never have expected her to react that way to his kiss, but the chance to further dissect it was lost as his exhaustion overcame him.
Hermione woke feeling better rested than she had in weeks, though her alarm said it wasn't even seven o'clock yet. Draco was snoring lightly beside her, soft snuffles in his sleep, face turned towards her. His hand was still bandaged though she could see it was swollen, needing more medical attention than hers. The bed was so warm and Draco's arm was across her waist, pinning her to the bed. She wriggled free, disturbing him. He let out a tired groan.
"What time is it, Blaise?" he mumbled, eyes still shut, forearm pressed against them.
"A quarter to seven," Hermione grinned. "Do you and Blaise normally share a bed?"
Draco's eyes opened and he sat up, looking frazzled. "Granger?" he asked, paused, and the recollection of last night dawned on him. "You're a right sight better than he is in the morning."
"Good morning to you, too," she smiled. "You snore, by the way." Before he could reply, she slid out of the bed and into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She showered quickly, pulling a bathrobe around herself before returning to her room. Despite knowing she had only managed a maximum of four hours of sleep, Hermione was happy, feeling alive, ready to start the day.
Draco was still lying in bed, though propped up and looking significantly more awake. His hair was still a mess, but his usual smirk was plastered across his face. "Sleep well?" he asked when she walked in. Hermione made sure not to notice his chest, how the Quidditch practices he had been so insistent on were paying off.
"I sure did," she said. "Did you?"
"Better than I have in ages," Draco admitted. He stood up and walked over to her, giving her a kiss. "But I should go back to my own dormitory before people see me sneaking out of here and it sets the rumour mill off. See you in class, Granger."
Hermione was sorry to see him go, but he was right in thinking that the students would have a field day if they caught him leaving her room early in the morning with crinkled clothes and messy hair. She changed into her uniform, ignoring the mess her hair had formed on her head, and carted her schoolbag down to the Great Hall for some breakfast.
As usual, the Hall was almost completely deserted, half past seven too early for most students to be up and about, even on a school day. Having forgone her usual routine of reading before bed the night before, too upset after her fight with Draco, she propped a book up on a pitcher of pumpkin juice and began to read, picking her way through some toast as she went. She saw a flash of orange as Ginny settled in beside her, pulling her book away.
"Post come yet?" she asked, pouring a glass of orange juice and loading her plate with scrambled eggs.
"No," Hermione replied, taking her book back but putting into her satchel. "Should be here any minute, though. There may be another Valentine's Day special in the Prophet."
"Oh?" Ginny said. "You and lover boy going to get your time in the spotlight?"
Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend's term. "Yes,Draco and I might feature in there today."
"Wonder how Ron'll take it," Ginny said. "Not well, I'm guessing."
"Probably not. I've arranged a Floo Call with him and Harry for tonight to try and do some damage control," Hermione said. "Hopefully they won't feel the need to apparate here as soon as they read the news. If it is in the news today."
As though on cue, they looked up at the sound of flapping wings, hundreds of owls overhead, dropping packages and letters and copies of The Daily Prophet at each table. A copy of the paper landed neatly beside Hermione's toast, and she unrolled it quickly, scanning the front page. Right in the bottom corner, she saw a small note from the editor, an apology, a quick message to say that they would be rerunning their Valentine's Day special the next day.
Hermione let out a long breath, pleased that she would at least have some time to talk to Ron and Harry prior to the big reveal of her relationship with Draco. She had been trying to coax them into having a better attitude towards the Slytherins as a whole, not specifying her reasons for doing so. Harry had been quite easily persuaded, trying to see the best in people after facing down so much horror over the past year, but Ron was still as stubborn as always.
Hermione's Dormitory
Wednesday, February 19th, 1999
8:00PM
Having just placed the final touches on her Transfiguration essay, Hermione was feeling pretty good. She was expecting a call from her two best friends any moment, she was on top of her work, and had enjoyed her first good night's sleep in a very long time. She had made herself a cup of tea and was settling in front of the fireplace, flames crackling loudly, a blanket around her shoulders. Though she was keen to talk to her friends, there was still a small pit of dread in her stomach, fear over how they would react to the news that she was dating someone they had long since considered their schoolyard rival.
Right on time, Harry's face popped into the flames. "Hey, Hermione," he grinned. His glasses were slightly askew and hair a mess and he looked just like the same old Harry she had loved for eight years. "How's it going?"
Hermione beamed, forgetting any fear she may have had. "It's going pretty well, Harry," she said. "Ron there?"
There were sounds of a scuffle, Harry's face disappearing with a pop and replaced by Ron's. "Hermione!" he said. "How are things?"
"Things are good over here," she smiled. "They're really good, actually. Getting ready to start my N.E.W.T preparation."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Sounds like a right treat. What did you want to talk to us about?"
The bubble reappeared in her stomach, squirming. She adjusted herself, crossing her legs and pulling the blanket around her shoulders a little tighter. "Well, you know how I'm all about inter-house unity and, particularly in this trying time, uniting everyone, no matter their past?"
"This doesn't sound good, Hermione," Ron said. "Blimey, you've done your bit for promoting inter-house unity by going to Malfoy's party. I'm surprised you got off so easily with that one."
Another scuffle, Ron's head disappeared and Harry's returned. "I think I know where this is going, but don't listen to Ron," he said, nodding for her to continue.
She spent a few seconds trying to find a way to explain herself before admitting the truth, but no matter what she thought of, it would come out sounding like a lie. "You'll find out tomorrow morning, but I thought it best to let you know before the Prophet told you. I've, ah, started seeing Draco. Romantically. We're dating."
Harry nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off with the reappearance of Ron's head. "Are you mental?" Ron asked. "Malfoy?"
"Yes, Ronald," she said, suppressing a sigh. She deemed herself foolish in thinking that he would take the news calmly. "Draco and I are seeing each other." If she had been able to discern colour in Ron's face, Hermione was certain it would be rapidly changing colour from white to red to the almost purple shade it turned when he was furious. "I thought I would let you know out of courtesy and as we have been best friends for so long, I thought it'd be rude of me to let you find out from the paper. I'm not seeking your approval."
"Well that's a relief, because you aren't going to get it," he said. "It's Malfoy, Hermione. I knew you were getting cosy with the snakes but I thought it ended with Nott, not Malfoy. Next you'll tell me you've been cuddling up to Parkinson."
"Pansy is still as rude as ever, don't worry. Can you put Harry back on, please?"
Pop. "Are you happy, Hermione?" Harry asked, eyes flickering off to the side where Hermione was sure Ron was running amok.
"Yes," she said. "It was my decision. You two know me better than anyone and you both know I wouldn't do anything like this unless I was one hundred percent certain of my choice. And believe me, Ron, I was just as startled as you are when I realised it's what I wanted. And yes, he makes me happy."
Harry nodded, looking decades older than eighteen for a moment. "I know he's changed. I wouldn't have testified on his behalf unless I wholeheartedly believed it. Just don't rush into anything," he said, then opened his mouth to continue when she made a move to respond. "I'd say that if it was anyone else, too, not just because it's Malfoy. But you have my approval. It's not likely we'll become best friends anytime soon, but I respect your decision."
Hermione blinked at her best friend. She had expected him to be the more rational of the two but this was taking it to a whole new level. "Thank you," she said. "I know this is a lot to ask of you after what Draco and his family put you through."
"It hasn't exactly been a walk in the park for you, either," Harry smiled. "But you're willing to look past it. D'you want Ron back here?"
She nodded and her redheaded best friend reappeared, looking sour. "It's Malfoy, Hermione. Malfoy."
"Repeating his name isn't going to change my mind, you know," she said. "I know exactly who it is."
"Even after everything he's put you through? Put us through? What about what happened to you last year at his house?"
She flinched at the mention of the torture. "I haven't forgotten, Ron." She was trying to make new memories, trying to think of her New Years Eve at the Manor rather than her visit the past May. "But I'm not going to spend the rest of my life blaming him for everything. I've forgiven him."
Ron's eyes closed and for a few moments he said nothing. "I wish you would've asked us first."
Hermione exhaled noisily, trying to keep her temper down. "I don't need your permission, Ronald. You're acting the same way you did back in fourth year. I am perfectly capable of choosing who I do and don't date and there is no need for me to have to run a prospective suitor by you each time. I knew you wouldn't be happy with my decision, but I'm not asking you to be."
"I doubt that's ever going to happen," he said, "and I'm sure as hell not going to become buddies with the ferret, but I guess, if it's what you really want, you can see him."
"Thank you so much for the permission," she deadpanned. "It's precisely what I was looking for from this conversation."
"Just let Malfoy know that if he hurts you in the slightest way, we're coming for him."
Hermione swelled with appreciation for her friends at that moment. She was certain that, no matter what her decisions were when it came to romance and relationships, Harry and Ron would always be there to protect her. Thankful that she was blessed with such fiercely loyal friends, she smiled. "Don't worry, Ron, I'll pass on the message. Look, I've got to go, so can you pass on my love to Harry?"
"Sure thing, Hermione," Ron said. "When's your next Hogsmeade trip? We might come by for a visit."
"There'll be one before Easter. I'll write to you as soon as I find out the exact date. Talk to you soon."
Ron bade farewell and vanished from the fire with a succinct pop, leaving Hermione alone in her room.
Hermione woke with a start, sitting upright in bed. Crookshanks mewled at her from the foot of the bed, cranky that she had disrupted his slumber. A look at the clock told her it had just gone midnight and she ran a hand over her face in frustration at another disrupted night's sleep.
It hadn't been her usual nightmare, this time an amalgam of various situations she had been in during her year on the run. Draco's face had featured prominently, whether he had actually been there on the occasion or not. She looked to the other side of the bed where Draco had slept the night before and all at once, the bed felt far too big for just one person and a grumpy feline.
Her feet ached with the cold when the landed on the floor and she searched for a sweater in the dark, pulling it on over the top of her pyjamas. Stopping in the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face and pulled the hair that tickled her neck into a bun atop her head, securing it with pins. She tucked her wand into the waistband of her jeans and slipped on a pair of shoes to warm her toes. Having slept for three hours, she had overcome any serious tiredness she may have been feeling and was growing restless in her room.
Though as Head Girl she knew better than to be sneaking around the castle long after curfew, Hermione was agitated. Grasping her wand, she cast a quick Disillusionment Charm on herself, shuddering at the trickling feeling on the back of her neck. Tip-toeing down the stairs, she slunk through the painting that lead to her dormitory and through the halls of Hogwarts, towards the dungeons.
She found solitude in the Potions classroom, the peaceful bubbling of concoctions, the warmth from the fires that kept them boiling. The room was always particularly nice at night, devoid of other students and the booming presence of Professor Slughorn, and she was always happy to look over her major project and ensure it was progressing at a satisfactory rate.
When she pushed the door open to the classroom, cringing as the hinges squeaked in protest, she caught sight of unmistakable blonde hair in the corner.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, lifting the Disillusionment Charm as she entered, his head turning at the sound of the creaking door.
Draco nodded. "Same to you," he said. "Miss me in your bed, Granger?"
"Must be it," Hermione said, standing next to him and looking down at their assignment. "How's it going?"
"Well. Not much more we can do at this point except hope it turns out well."
"I hate sitting idly by," she sighed.
Draco's arm snaked around her waist, pulling her tight to his side. His fingers skittered across her sweater. "I'm sure there's something we could do to pass the time," he said and she caught sight of a wink in her direction.
Hermione felt her face flush red, tried to keep her cool. "Charming, Draco," she said, nudging him with her elbow.
Draco laughed, an honest chuckle that made her head turn and her own smile break free. "So proper, Granger," he grinned. "You weren't so restrained last night."
Again, a gloss of colour across her cheeks. She had been so exhausted and Draco had been so inviting. It was rare that she got that carried away and she had hoped that their state of exhaustion had led to him forgetting that particular event.
"A speechless Hermione Granger. That's a new one."
"A smarmy Draco Malfoy is nothing out of the ordinary," she shot back, trying to ignore the patterns his fingers were making on her side. "If you're going to be like this then I might as well go back to my room. Alone."
"That almost sounded like you were going to extend an invitation to me," Draco said. "Trying to get me back in your bed, eh?"
"Speaking practically, we both need to be well-rested, and if last night was any indicator, we both sleep better when we're together." She had adopted her clinical approach, the tone she took when answering questions in class and dealing with insubordinate students. "Whether or not there are romantic links is irrelevant."
Draco sighed. "You sure do know how to make a situation sound romantic."
"If you don't want to spend the night with me then you just have to say so," Hermione said. She hoped that he would agree to stay, though, remembering how nice it had been to wake up beside him in the morning.
Draco studied her for a few more moments. She felt uncomfortable under his gaze, how his eyes raked over her face and down her neck, lingering on the marks she was certain were visible above her sweater. "Okay," he finally said. "Let's go."