August 31, 1993
THIRD YEAR
Narcissa watched from the corner of her eye as Hermione poked a piece of tuna on her plate with her fork. Subtly, she slipped her hand with the fork under the table, eyes trained on Draco as he talked about Quidditch strategies with his father, who was equally as occupied. After three seconds, the fork reappeared, sans tuna.
The Malfoy took a glance at the floor where a brand new orange half-Kneazle was munching away at the piece of fish. Crookshanks purred contentedly.
Narcissa chuckled very lightly, and Hermione's eyes made their way to her. The young girl smiled shyly, having been caught in the act. Her cheeks turned pink.
Hermione and Narcissa then had a very brief nonverbal conversation, conveyed through glances and sheepish smiles. It went like this:
Tut-tut, Hermione. We do not feed our pets scraps from the table.
I'm sorry, Narcissa. I couldn't help it.
I know, little one. Don't do it again.
Yes, Narcissa.
The men were clueless as they droned on and on about flying techniques, torque, and the like. Hermione stabbed her fish again, but this time, politely slipped the piece into her mouth. She made a show of licking her lips and humming in delight after. Draco looked at her, mildly intrigued at her reaction to the food.
The Malfoys usually excluded Hermione from mealtimes regularly, but today was a special occasion. It would be their last day spent in the Manor, for they wouldn't even be coming home for the Yuletide holidays come winter. Narcissa wanted Draco and Hermione to be far, far away when the Manor is raided again, which could happen at any time.
Narcissa's concern for the Muggleborn meant that she was rather fond of her. She was more than pleased to see that she had emerged at the top of her year for the second time in a row, and she knew that it wouldn't be the last. It seemed as if Hermione was good at everything she did. She had also bloomed into a rather good-looking teen this past couple of months. With Narcissa's training, she was able to school her into ladylike customs. New Glamour charms were passed down to the girl to fit her age. They included complexion-smoothing, cheek-pinking, bosom-enhancing, and waist-cinching charms, to name a few. She was certainly able to… somewhat mend the Lestrange family's infamous reputation, which was what Narcissa had dared to hope for upon taking the girl away from her Muggle parents.
She understood why, all of a sudden, Draco had taken a subtle liking to her. This troubled her, however. It certainly would not do for him to marry anybody with blood that was less pure than his. Narcissa's fondness for Hermione did not extend so far as to accept her as her daughter-in-law. Something must be done to avert his attention if he does fall in love with the girl someday. The Malfoy-Black line must not be sullied, no matter how much Narcissa was fond of the Muggleborn posing as her family. For now, she allowed them to flirt like puppies. It reminded her of her own youth with other boys. Not Lucius, no. Her relationship with her husband has always been a financial arrangement done to preserve bloodlines and money. His period of courting her was void of flirtation and butterflies, so to speak.
Thinking of Hermione always brought Narcissa a sense of unease, though, it didn't usually bother her. Tonight, however, she felt her instincts alarming her for something she didn't understand. She reassured herself quietly that she had obliviated the girl's parents efficiently… but deep down, she knew she wasn't in the clear yet. This would come back to bite her one day. She just didn't know when.
To be completely honest, Narcissa had expected the girl's real parents to come storming in several years ago. Every day, she waited. She admitted to herself that she hadn't been as thorough as she wanted with her memory modification. If Dana and Richard Granger had had any magical blood at all, they would have figured it out by now.
But, Narcissa tried to reassure herself, I sent them to another continent. There's no way they could possibly figure it out on their own. On that note, Narcissa pushed the thought out of her head altogether.
"Are you packed and ready to leave in the morning, Draco?" She asked her son when the Quidditch conversation with his father came to a close.
"Yes, mother."
"And you, Hermione?"
"I am."
"Good. We leave at ten-thirty, understood?"
"Understood," they said at the same time.
After supper, Hermione excused herself from the dining table. She slipped out the door and into the Manor's foyer, quietly making her way to the music room where the old pianoforte was sitting idly.
The piano in the guest house had been taken by the Ministry in one of their raids, so all summer long, Hermione had made use of the antique instrument in the main house to practice her note-reading and dexterity. It had a certain charm to it that the smaller piano did not. The notes would echo and ricochet against the music room's walls, causing it to develop a rather ethereal quality.
She opened the music room's doors and sauntered to the pianoforte
The first tune she played was a slow Nocturne. Hermione was so proficient, she had no trouble playing with her eyes closed, so that was precisely what she did. She poured her heart and soul into the right crescendos, staccatos, and trills. The result was sublime. The next song she played was a little more complicated with its uncommon time signature and strong bass notes. She did not close her eyes for this one, for it was meant to be played with a little more force than delicacy. As she concluded the song, she was startled by a slow clap in a far corner of the room. She turned to the sound.
"I have to admit, I don't think I'm ever going to play that piece as well as you do," Draco said.
She chuckled. "Didn't see you there."
"You weren't supposed to. Otherwise, I'd have distracted you with my megawatt smile."
Hermione said with a roll of her brown eyes, "Sure." She stood from the chair and gestured to it. "Play for me?"
He looked at the empty seat with skepticism. "I don't know… I'm not that good."
"Nonsense. You had an excellent teacher, so you should be fine."
"Excellent? In your dreams." Draco rolled his eyes at her but sat on the bench nonetheless.
Over the summer holidays, Hermione had practiced her piano skills almost every day. As a result, Draco had requested for her to teach him the ropes of note-reading and piano-playing as well. Draco was a good student. He learned from his mistakes—Hermione never needed to correct him more than once.
The song he played now was of intermediate difficulty, for he refused to learn by playing nursery rhymes. It felt a little like learning about multiplication before addition, but she had been patient with him. Draco was not a bad musician. There were even times when he pulled off songs that Hermione wasn't sure she would have without difficulty. His hand was also bigger than hers; it was able to span a much wider range of keys.
Draco hit a sour note.
"Ah, shit."
"It's okay, keep going."
"Okay, erm..." He frowned. "Where was I?"
"Your left hand is supposed to be at an E-diminished, followed by two inversions."
"E-diminished followed by… what?"
"Here, like this." Hermione placed her smaller hand over his, positioning her fingers over the correct notes and moving his in the process. "This is an E-diminished. And this," she lifted his hand and fixed his fingers on the same chord but a different inversion. "Is its first inversion. For the second inversion, you just move the chord up like... this." Hermione demonstrated again.
She turned her head to check if he understood, but he was looking right at her. Hermione then realized that when she had bent over to show him the correct finger placement, she moved a lot closer to him. Their faces were a mere five inches away. She could very clearly see each individual silver speck of his iris from this angle.
They both recoiled at the same time at the sudden intimacy. Hermione's face reddened.
Draco turned back to the pianoforte and positioned his hands on the correct keys, as Hermione had instructed. He began to play where he had left off.
Two minutes later, he finished the song with a grand chord spanning five octaves—something Hermione would never be able to do because of her smaller hands. Draco said, "It definitely still needs polishing, but—"
"Draco, you were great!"
"No I wasn't, I made a mistake with the inversions."
"One mistake. You made one mistake. Great musicians make mistakes, too, you know."
"Oh?" He raised his brows. "So you're saying I'm a great musician?"
Hermione scoffed in jest. "Certainly not! Merlin forbid that your ego inflates even larger than it already is."
He stood from the bench and shoved her shoulder playfully. "Oh, it's definitely what I heard. You said, 'oh Draco you're such a great musician, your album would sell out in seconds—'" He mocked, raising his voice to mimic Hermione's higher pitch.
Hermione laughed. To Draco, that one sound was more beautiful than the pieces of musical brilliance either of them had ever played on the pianoforte. At that moment, Draco decided that it was one of his favorite sounds in the world. He would never stop trying to fish it out of her in the future.
She punched his side. Hard.
Any prior thoughts about how nice Hermione's laugh flew out of his head as the sharp pain registered. "Ow, you bint, that hurt!"
She laughed again, preparing to spring in case he tried to retaliate.
And retaliate, he did. "Oh, you're in for it now," said he. Draco chased Hermione around the music room, shrieking and giggling all the while. He was faster, but she was lighter, and therefore more agile. She used this to her advantage as she ran around bends and curves. Still, Draco followed her like a kneazle after a mouse.
Minutes later, both of them were in stitches. Hermione plopped on the long settee to catch her breath, and Draco fell with his head atop her thighs. She had trouble putting a stopper to the giggles brought by their wild goose chase, but one look at Draco's face below her sobered her up immediately.
He was staring at her again.
It only lasted for a single second. Draco stood right up after their eyes met and straightened his shirt. Hermione played with the hair tie on her wrist. A pale hand appeared in her vision, and she looked up to find Draco extending his hand for her to stand as well. She took it.
"I'll… just be heading home, then." Said Hermione.
"Right. So will I. Not—not home, but to my room. Cause, you know… I'm already home." He mumbled the last part, embarrassed at having over-explained it.
"Yep."
"Goodnight." He nodded his head, not meeting her eyes.
"'Night."
The two parted ways.
September 1, 1993
"Guess what?" Daphne hollered at Hermione and Millie whilst unpacking in their dorm room. Anya and Scarlett—their two other roommates—had unpacked earlier and were probably already down in the Great Hall.
"What?" Hermione asked, sitting on her trunk to get it to shut.
"You know how Dean Thomas and I have been hanging around each other for a bit since the summer holidays?"
"Mhmm…" She hummed in reply, too preoccupied with the overflowing trunk to give a verbal answer. Millie merely grunted, studying her face in a compact mirror. The girl had given up doing slimming charms completely. Milicent decided that asking her friends for help with said charms was worse than not getting charmed at all. Over the summer, her mother had done them for her... and thus was back to the skinnier look she had been sporting in their First year.
"Well… I think he's going to ask me out to Hogsmeade soon," said Daphne perkily.
"Really? Why?"
Daphne cocked her head. "Because…" She paused. "Um, well… because it's the normal thing to do when you like someone…?" She trailed off in a question-like manner.
"How are you even sure he likes you back?" Millie asked.
"I mean, I think he does. Otherwise, why did he agree to meet with me thrice?"
"Because you told him you wanted him to tutor you in Potions, of all things," said Millie. "Which, by the way, was an incredibly stupid excuse because everyone and their mother know that Lestrange the Know-it-all is your best friend."
Daphne ignored the insult. "Still. I think he's going to ask me out."
Over the summer, Daphne had been lying to her parents about meeting up with Dean. She had told them that she was at Malfoy Manor with Hermione, instead of Diagon Alley with her brand new beau. Her parents allowed her, then… although the lie was rather unnecessary because Daphne's parents were considerably more lenient than others. They let Astoria and Daphne do virtually anything they pleased as long as they assured them they were being safe.
"Wait a second," Millie said, turning to face Daphne. "Dean Thomas… what House is he from?"
"Gryffindor, why?" Daphne asked. Hermione jumped and sat on her trunk, putting all her weight on it to force it shut, but to no avail.
She scoffed harshly. "Ha! Drop him, Daphne. He won't do for you."
"What, why?" She frowned.
"Gryffindor's home to so many Mudbloods. This beau of yours could be one of them. Do you really want to be associated with someone so dirty?"
Daphne mumbled quietly, "He's not my beau..." Louder she said, "And besides, he's a half-blood."
"Since when was that more acceptable?"
Before Millie got the chance to properly raise her voice, Hermione's trunk clicked shut, and she piped up, "I'm sure Dean will ask you to Hogsmeade, Daph. Now come, let's go to the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony." She successfully stopped Millie's verbal assault before it started.
At supper, Hermione witnessed the not-quite-subtle way Daphne flirted with Dean all the way across the room. They had sat in such a way that Dean was in her direct line of vision, but not exactly right in front of each other. She switched places with Hermione, wanting her good side to face the boy. As a result, Draco was next to Hermione.
As they ate, he also noticed the exchanged glances between the Slytherin and the Gryffindor. To Hermione's surprise, however, he was not here for it.
"Why's that Mudblood making eyes at Greengrass?"
Hermione looked up from her food and found Draco angrily glaring at Dean. "Is he? I hadn't noticed." She tried lying innocently.
Draco's brow furrowed. Hastily, Hermione added, "and he's not a Mudblood. He's a half-blood, so it's not that bad."
"Not that bad? Look at him, he practically screams Muggle."
Hermione did look at him, finding no indication that Dean Thomas was a Mudblood, much less a Muggle. I think you're wrong, she wanted to tell him but refused. Draco looked positively murderous at the thought of someone less than pure being associated with one of his friends.
Instead, she merely shrugged, understanding the hatred that people like Draco and Millicent harbored for Muggles and by extension, Mudbloods. Lucius, Narcissa, Madam Rosier, and every other adult in her youth stressed the importance of blood purity to the children. Silently, she thanked the gods (or whoever was responsible for the genetic lottery) that she hadn't been born a Mudblood. Otherwise, she wouldn't be surrounded by the friends she had now.
Slytherin and Gryffindor were having Care of Magical Creatures together, which meant that Hermione was in the same class as Harry and Ron. Hagrid—their professor in the subject—led them into the forest, presumably to introduce them to a creature of some sort to kick off the lessons.
"I'm so glad Hagrid's our professor," said Harry.
"Me too, mate. This is bound to get interesting!"
"Really?" Hermione asked. "My Housemates don't think so. They say he's unqualified... so we have to be wary."
"Wary? What? That's not true at all! Hagrid's dealt with so many magical creatures before, and I just know he'll do a great job."
Hermione shrugged. "I guess we'll have to see."
Later, Hagrid introduced them to a massive and regal-looking Hippogriff that appeared to be a cross between a horse and a bird. He gave instructions on how to make its acquaintance and asked for a volunteer. Ever the Gryffindor, Harry stepped up to the plate.
After Harry had taken a quick fly on Buckbeak's back, Ron and Hermione rushed to his side.
"That was amazing, Harry!" Hermione said enthusiastically.
"How did it feel?"
Harry laughed, panting in exhaustion. "Like flying on a broom… if the broom were five times larger and had a mind of its own."
The trio walked away, giving the next person in line a go.
"The Hippogriff wasn't rough or anything?"
"On the contrary," Harry shrugged. "He was rather gentle."
Draco had been watching them since Hermione left his side in favor of Scarhead and the Sidekick. He glared at Potter as Hermione shoved his shoulder playfully, eliciting a round of laughter. Anger bubbled up inside him. He beckoned Crabbe and Goyle to come with him. They approached the Hippogriff.
If Potter can do it, I sure as hell can do it better.
Draco bowed, and Buckbeak followed.
He scoffed. "This is very easy. I knew it must've been… if Potter could do it. I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you? Are you, you great ugly brute?"
SLASH!
Hermione heard a high-pitched scream.
"I'm dying!" Draco screeched. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!" The class panicked.
Hermione abandoned the Gryffindors immediately and rushed to Draco's side.
"Merlin!" She cursed, seeing the long, deep dash spanning his forearm. His blood trickled down his arm and onto the grass below it, staining it a bright crimson.
"Yer not dyin'!" Said Hagrid, suddenly looking very pale. "Someone help me—gotta get him outta here—"
"Hagrid! He has to be taken to the Hospital!" Hermione insisted, cradling Draco's arm.
"I'm the teacher, I'll do it." Hagrid easily swooped Draco into his arms and carried him. Hermione ran to open the gate.
Hagrid ran up the path towards the castle. The class was left very shaken at Buckbeak's attack and the sudden dismissal of class. Hermione's eyes found Daphne's, and she grimaced. She joined her Slytherin friends as they walked back up the trek.
"They should sack him straight away!" Pansy said, nearly in tears.
"Yeah, Malfoy could have died!" Blaise said heatedly.
"It was Malfoy's fault!" Dean snapped at the Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles intimidatingly, causing the boy to shut his mouth. Daphne grimaced.
As soon as they were in the castle, Pansy turned and said, "I'm going to see if he's okay! Hermione, do you want to come?"
Hermione need not answer. She ran up the marble staircase, Pansy hot on her heels.
It was quite a long journey to the Hospital Wing. As soon as they got there, the two girls panted heavily in exertion. Draco was lying on a thin, scratchy-looking mattress supported by the thinnest metal bed frame Hermione has ever seen. Madam Pomfrey was bent over him, casting a blue charm on the affected area.
Hagrid was standing at the threshold. As the girls passed him, Pansy gave the Care of Magical Creatures professor a scathing glare. "He should get fired." She muttered as he was out of sight.
"Shh, Pans, he can hear you."
"I don't give a shite."
They stood at the foot of Draco's bed, watching Madam Pomfrey cast spells. The wound was already closed and bloodless. What used to be an angry gash was now a mere shallow pink scratch. Hermione was in awe.
"What spell is that, Madam Pomfrey, if I may ask?"
The older witch looked at Hermione briefly, her brows still furrowed in concentration. It was only a flicker of her eyes, for she trained them on Draco's scar again. Hermione waited for her to finish casting spells.
Finally, she said, "It's a basic bandaging spell. Ferula," She said. "Friends of yours, Mr. Malfoy?"
The boy in question was still looking pale, but his cheeks definitely had more color than they did when he was lying on the grass. He replied with a single nod, still in pain.
"You girls wait for him outside while I put his arm in a sling, alright?"
Pansy and Hermione turned towards the door, finding that Hagrid had already gone. Pansy leaned on the wall.
"D'ya think he's gonna be alright?" She asked Hermione.
She nodded. "The wound was looking much better. I think he'll be fine."
"Good. He was making such a fuss, too. I really thought he'd broken a bone."
Hermione only chuckled. Deep inside, however, she was surprised at Pansy's concern for him. She hadn't known the girl was close enough with Draco that she'd follow him to the Hospital Wing. Even Crabbe and Goyle had stayed behind.
The witch shook her head to dispel her thoughts. So what if Pansy cared for Draco? Isn't that a good thing? Hermione asked herself.
However, she couldn't help asking. "Do you care for Draco, Pans?" As soon as she blurted it, she immediately regretted it.
Pansy's brows drew together, and the girl's cheeks reddened. "What?"
"Nothing, nothing, forget I asked," Hermione said hastily.
"No, Hermione I heard you. You asked if I care for Draco."
Hermione looked at her shoes sheepishly. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I was just curious, is all."
To her surprise, Pansy chuckled. Hermione lifted her head to look at the raven-haired girl in confusion. "What's funny?"
Pansy stared at her, eyes crinkled in mirth. She answered her first question. "Yes, I do care for Malfoy." Said Pansy with much conviction. There was also a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Hermione's shoulders sagged infinitesimally. "Oh," she said, dejected. "That's great, Pans, I—"
"As a friend," Pansy added.
"What?"
"I do care for Malfoy, but only as a friend." She laughed out loud, then. Hermione raised a brow in disbelief. Pansy continued, "don't worry, 'Mione, everybody knows you two are practically… destined to be together one of these days." The mischievous glint in her eyes grew ever more evident as she regarded Hermione amusedly.
Hermione was dumbfounded into silence.
Pansy stepped forward and pinched Hermione's cheek. "Green is a good color on you."
"I'm not jealous." She denied. "Also, Draco and I aren't…" she leaned in to whisper, "like that."
The girl chuckled. "Sure. I'm just saying, you've no reason to be jealous of me and Malfoy. Besides," she added. "He's not my type."
Before Hermione was able to defend her not-feelings for Draco, Madam Pomfrey appeared at the threshold. She said, "Ladies, you may come in."
Draco was seated upright on the bed, no longer pale. The injured arm was all bandaged up in a brace and covered in a pastel green sling. His Malfoy family crest ring was on his finger, untouched.
"You're looking better," Hermione said.
"Yeah… still don't feel better, though." He said, frowning.
"You'll feel better in no time, lad." Said Madam Pomfrey, materializing beside them. "No Quidditch for three weeks if you want a speedy recovery. That includes training, too. Nothing physical, do you understand?"
He nodded.
"Good. Off you go, then. Come back in two weeks so I could remove the sling."
October 29, 1993
Daphne burst through the doors.
"Hermione!" She hollered, running towards her with the enthusiasm of a six-digit lottery winner. "Hermione, Hermione, Hermione!"
"Hush, Daph, we're in the library," Hermione chastised sternly, getting a sense of secondhand embarrassment. Daphne stopped in her tracks, taking in the rows upon rows of old tomes on the shelves and the irritated glances sent her way by other occupants of the library who were trying to study. The brunette shrugged unapologetically as she plopped down on the chair next to Hermione.
"Guess what?" she half-asked, half-shouted excitedly.
"Shh, tell me quietly."
She did not tell her quietly, "Dean Thomas and I are going to Hogsmeade together!" Her grin stretched from ear to ear. People openly glared. From behind Daphne, Hermione spotted Madam Pince. She raised a single brow and regarded the two girls with a cold scowl, raising her hand and jabbing her thumb backward as if to say, 'get out'.
Hermione mouthed at the librarian, 'sorry'.
To Daphne, she whispered, "okay, wait." Clearly, they needed to leave if Daphne was going to continue shrieking at the top of her lungs. Hermione gathered her materials and textbooks, stuffing them into her bag. "Hold that thought. Let's go outside."
Once outside, Daphne wasted no time at all. "Dean and I are going to Hogsmeade together, Hermione! Oh, I'm over the moon!"
"I'm so happy for you, Daph!" Hermione gave her a genuine smile. "Did he ask you?"
She nodded, face frozen in a wide grin.
"Well, how'd he ask? Tell me, Blabbermouth!" She joked as Daphne poked her side playfully.
Daphne opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. She looked up in thought and her foot made small tapping sounds on the stone beneath. "Actually… did he ask me? I don't seem to remember…" she trailed off.
"What? Start from the top, maybe?" Hermione suggested.
She nodded. "Right, yeah." She paused, brows furrowed as she tried to recall the events. Daphne was quiet. She cocked her head to the side. Finally, she said, "Actually, I think I… I think… I think I was the one who asked him. I think."
"You think?"
She nodded.
"You don't seem to be sure, though."
"No, no." She looked her in the eye and nodded. "I asked him. I'm sure. Yeah."
"Oh."
"Mhm." Her smile was quickly fading.
"Well… that's… good! That's good, right? Boys don't always have to make the first move." Hermione reassured her.
Daphne was no longer smiling. "Is it?" She paused, cupping her cheeks. "Oh no, I look desperate, don't I?"
"No! No, Daph—"
"I do! I do look desperate! Oh, this is mortifying, Hermione! What if Dean thinks I'm just some shallow bint looking for a boy toy? Ugh, I shouldn't have asked him—" She then started wailing, making an 'ughhh' sound.
"Daph, hey, listen to me." Hermione placed her hands on her friend's shoulders, shaking her and trying to get her to snap out of her spiraling thoughts.
She looked at her, eyes moist and lower lip wobbly. Daphne Greengrass looked like a kicked puppy.
"There's no problem with being the first to ask. Okay? He was probably going to ask you first but you beat him to it. If you two really are as close as you say, then everything's fine."
Hermione practically saw the gears turning in Daphne's head.
"Yeah…" She agreed quietly. Louder, she said, "Yeah, I think you're right."
"I am," Hermione affirmed, nodding enthusiastically. "Any boy would be thrilled to go out with you."
She was now holding her head up high. "They would! And I'm not desperate—" she waved her hand. "—I'm just impatient!"
"Erm, y-yeah, I guess…?" Hermione confusedly agreed, not knowing whether 'impatient' was any better.
With newfound confidence, Daphne took Hermione's hand in hers and led her to the direction of the Slytherin girls' lavatory.
That very night, the two girls stayed up in front of the mirror as per Daphne's request. She had asked Hermione to teach her all the glamour spells Narcissa had bequeathed to her before the school year rolled in, as they were much more intricate and elaborate than the ones passed down by her mother. Hermione taught her the bosom charm, the waist charm, the charm that thickens and lengthens lashes, and what-have-you. Before midnight, Daphne had these charms memorized. She tested them on Hermione, and she had nearly botched the bosom charm (which gave Hermione quite a fright as her breasts grew unevenly), but after fixing it, Daphne was more than capable of casting the charms on her own body.
Hermione personally used none of the glamour charms anymore, as there was really no other practical use to them beyond what the eyes see. However, that night, she had had a newfound appreciation for them. She watched as Daphne stepped back from the mirror, looking as radiant as she ever had. The charms barely changed her physique, but its effects transformed her confidence completely.
In a way, it was a placebo effect. Not much was altered in Daphne's figure but she carried herself as if all her measurements were exactly right. Of course, it was not completely a placebo, as Daphne had definitely applied the glamour charms onto herself.
As the two girls left the lavatory to go to bed, Daphne asked Hermione out of the blue, "Has Malfoy asked you to Hogsmeade?"
"Hmm?" She looked at her, expecting a smirk on her face, but Daphne's features were serious. "No. Why, is he going to?"
"Oh." Daphne frowned. "I just assumed he'd ask you. No matter, though," She smiled. "We still have tomorrow. I'm sure he'd ask you then. If he doesn't, then you can ask him."
They entered the room, finding Millie, Scarlett, and Anya fast asleep.
"Things aren't like that with me and Draco. We're just friends." Hermione said.
"Friends don't look at each other the way you two do, 'Mione."
"No, really. Just friends."
Daphne shrugged and skipped to her bed. Hermione made her way towards hers, trying to get the idea of her and Draco at Hogsmeade together out of her head. Draco didn't think about her like that.
On the other side of the Slytherin dungeons in the boys' dormitory, Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco were huddled on the floor. The three boys had made a bet that morning on who could steal the most objects. Of course, they all reckoned that their selves would win. The winner would then earn all stolen items that the other two boys gathered. And bragging rights. Bragging rights were very important.
Crabbe emptied his pockets, the last galleon falling out and tumbling onto the floor noisily. "A textbook, a pair of glasses, some smelly socks, and money. Ha! Try and beat that!"
"Hey! Those socks are mine, those don't count!" Goyle protested.
"They do so. I stole 'em." He stuck his tongue out childishly.
Draco chuckled. "I agree, they do count."
"Yeah?" Asked Goyle. "Let's see what you've got then, Malfoy. C'mon, show us!"
Draco pulled items out of his bag one by one. He had amassed four galleons, eight sickles, a flask, a bracelet, a handkerchief, and most impressive of all, Professor Trelawney's red beady headscarf.
"Whoa! How'd you get that?" Asked Crabbe.
Draco chuckled mischievously. "Nicked it right off her head. She was too busy looking through her ' inner eye ' to notice. Complete rubbish, I'm telling you."
Goyle however, was unimpressed. "Sorry, lads. But I win."
"Yeah? Show us your lot before you self-declare as the winner, you tosser."
Goyle really had won. He had stolen two school robes—one Slytherin and the other Ravenclaw, a prefect's badge, a brasserie ("it's Scarlett Scadfell's!"), seven rolls of homework from seven vulnerable firsties, a sugar quill, a regular quill, a hair clip, three galleons, and a knut total.
Crabbe and Draco groaned as they surrendered their stolen items to Goyle as the obvious winner. Goyle bellowed loudly, waking one of his roommates.
Goyle counted the coins. "This is perfect. The money alone got me nine galleons! Now I can really treat my dear Lestrange to Madam Puddifotot's!" He spat.
Draco froze. "What?"
Crabbe answered while Goyle greedily stuffed his pockets with the items he had won. "Tomorrow Goyle's going to ask Lestrange on a date to Hogsmeade for Sunday. He says he's going to get snogged, but I reckon Lestrange is going to tell 'im to go to hell."
Draco's thoughts conjured up a mental picture of Goyle with his tongue down Hermione's throat and his hands roaming her body. Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed the vomit that threatened to make itself known. He looked at Goyle. "You're what?"
"Taking her to Hogsmeade. I'll even buy her bloody books. Nine galleons! Hell, I'd buy her a whole library if she wants it!" He munched on the sugar quill and parts of it crumbled to pieces.
"Lestrange's never going to come with you," Crabbe said, laughing.
"I'll make her come." Goyle said with an evil glint in his eyes, eliciting a chuckle from Crabbe. Draco understood the double entendre as soon as he said it. A fire raged inside of him.
Draco said, "Don't take her."
"What?"
"I said don't take her."
"Why not?" Goyle raised a brow at him, challenging the blond boy. "Are you planning to?"
"No." He semi-lied. The thought had indeed entered his head over the past few days, but he saw the way Hermione looked at him. He was certain she didn't see him that way. "But don't take her because Crabbe's right, she's too good for you. Take Scadfell instead."
"I don't care for Scadfell. Besides, I'm sure Lestrange knows I fancy her. She's probably expecting me to ask her. Girls are like that, you know." He chuckled and elbowed Crabbe in the ribs.
"Not Lestrange, she isn't," Draco said angrily.
Goyle turned to Draco, mirroring his glare. "What's your problem, mate?"
"Nothing, what's your problem, mate?" Draco stepped forward.
"If I want to take Lestrange on a date in Hogsmeade, I'm damn well gonna." Goyle towered over Draco, intimidating him.
Crabbe did nothing, he only watched his two friends try and one-up the other.
Goyle cracked his knuckles, silently challenging the skinnier blond.
Draco knew he was at a disadvantage. Goyle was much taller and beefier than he, so there was no way he would have agreed to a physical challenge. He had also left his wand back in his bedroom, so he couldn't have defended himself. Crabbe was obviously not on his side. With an icy glare at Goyle, Draco turned around and stomped back to his dorm room. Blaise and Theo gave him curious looks but ignored him as he drew his curtains shut.
The next day, Draco did not leave Hermione's side.
It was a Saturday, so they did not have any classes. Still, Draco went everywhere she did, on the lookout for Goyle. This time, he brought his wand.
Draco, Hermione, and Daphne had just eaten lunch in the Great Hall when Hermione decided to get work done. They headed to the library. On the way there, the three of them had run into Pansy and Tracey, so Daphne decided to tag along with them instead.
Pansy and Tracey looked to be discussing something serious before they crossed paths, as their heads were close together and their brows were furrowed. Draco confirmed it when Pansy sent a pleading look at Hermione after Daphne announced she'd rather hang out with the two girls than with them in the library. Hermione tried convincing Daphne to stay with them instead, but the girl had made up her mind. Hermione shrugged as if telling Pansy nonverbally, 'what can you do?'
So there they sat, Draco and Hermione, in an alcove somewhere towards the back of the library. Their combined homework spanned four and a half tables, and only the two Slytherins occupied the seats meant for eight. They switched from one chair to another, as they never sat in the same spot for too long. They had to move on to another subject as soon as one was finished.
"Is 'irregardless' a word?" Draco asked, his eyes trained on the parchment.
"Yes," Hermione answered. "Though people don't use it because frankly, it sounds awfully stupid."
Draco chuckled. "Do you?"
She looked at him with an insulted frown. "Absolutely not." Her gaze dropped back down to her essay as she said, "I may be a rule-follower, but I'm not a pushover, Draco."
He only laughed once, crossing out the word from his own essay.
They fell into a comfortable silence.
By the time Hermione broke this silence, Draco had finished writing his essay and had begun proofreading it.
"What're you going to do about Hagrid?" She asked out of the blue.
He huffed, feeling uncomfortable talking about this with her. He knew that she and her Gryffindorks shared a strange bond over the brute that tried to kill him, so he knew she would try to convince him not to get it slaughtered.
"My father will handle it," he said.
Hermione placed her quill down. "He's going to get Buckbeak killed, isn't he?"
Draco broke eye contact, pretending instead to go over his essay indifferently.
Hermione placed her warm hand atop Draco's.
He looked at her. "Please," she whispered. "Draco, please tell your father not to press charges. Buckbeak's innocent."
He frowned. "Are you saying it's my fault it tried to rip my arm off?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation. Hastily, she added, "i-in a way, it is. You shouldn't have insulted him. Hippogriffs are very proud creatures, and Hagrid mentioned it before."
"Then we shouldn't have had to deal with those creatures in the first place," he said, unmoving.
She moved seats, choosing the one next to his. "Draco… you know it's wrong."
"I don't give a rat's arse about what's wrong. I need justice."
"It's not justice if he's executed for something that wasn't his fault," she stared into his eyes imploringly. "Please…"
Draco glared at the parchment, refusing to meet her eyes. "I know you only want this because of Scarhead and Weasel-bee."
"No. No, absolutely not. They have nothing to do with this at all. I swear." She said this so confidently, so certainly, that Draco finally looked at her.
She sighed. "Okay look, if you do this, then I owe you a favor."
His eyebrow jumped in intrigue. "A favor?"
"Yes. Anything you want. I'm not allowed to refuse. But only one favor. One. "
He thought about this. It was certainly an interesting proposal, and Draco Malfoy never passed up an opportunity to gain leverage above other people... even if they were as close as he and Hermione were.
After a few minutes of putting up a serious front and watching Hermione tense up all over, he finally agreed. "Fine."
"Yes!" she half-whispered, half-yelled. She squeezed his hand gratefully. "Thank you, oh, you have no idea how much this means to me, no idea—"
"But," Draco interrupted before she got too excited. "I can ask for the favor at any time, and you are forbidden to withdraw. Under all circumstances, you must do as I ask."
Hermione was too busy being happy to notice the devious undertone of what he was implying. "Absolutely. You have my word."
"Alright. I'll tell Father not to press charges."
Hermione couldn't help it. She kissed his cheek lightly and hastily returned to her original seat, not letting Draco see the blush on her cheeks. Little did she know, it was mirrored on his.
At that, they went back to studying.
An hour later, Hermione and Draco's heads snapped up at the sound of two sets of heavy footfalls on the wooden floor.
Crabbe and Goyle walked towards them. Here they come, Draco thought. He sat up straighter and gripped his wand under the table. He said to Hermione, "Look, Hermione, Goyle's about to—"
"I know."
"What?"
"He's going to ask me to Hogsmeade. I know."
"How did you—"
She shrugged. "I figured. Don't worry, please put your wand away, I'll deal with it myself."
They arrived at their table. Goyle's eyes were glued to Draco's, narrowed into a glare. They stood, not speaking for what seemed like forever. Hermione cleared her throat after a few seconds, sensing the tension.
Goyle broke his gaze to smile at Hermione. He showed her his teeth, which, by the way, was not a good idea as Hermione cringed at the smudge of chocolate pasted on his gums. "Hi, Crabbe. Goyle." She nodded at them. "May we help you?" Hermione asked.
"Lestrange," was all Goyle said.
Hermione smiled politely, though it was strained. Draco's grip on his wand tightened.
"That's me."
He beamed even wider. "It is… yeah."
It was so painfully awkward, Draco had a difficult time stifling his laugh.
"So…" Hermione began. "What can I do for you?"
"Right. Yeah. Will you… erm…" He fidgeted. Crabbe placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered encouraging words in his friend's ear. Goyle continued after nodding at whatever Crabbe had said, "Come to Hogsmeade with me?"
Hermione was unfazed. "Sure, yeah. Let's invite Pansy and Tracey as well. I assume Crabbe's tagging along?"
"No, no, like…" Goyle stammered. He fidgeted with the headrest of the wooden chair in front of him. "Come to Hogsmeade on a date with me, Lestrange."
Crabbe, whose hand was hidden behind his back, snuck something small into Goyle's. It was a yellow dandelion. He extended his arm to give it to Hermione. She looked at it warily, then accepted the small flower.
"Look, Goyle…" she began. Draco leaned back on his chair and smirked smugly. "I think you're a great friend."
Goyle—the idiot he was—beamed.
"But," His smile faltered. "That's all I see you as. As a friend. I hope you don't misunderstand me when I tell you that I don't want to be your date to Hogsmeade."
Goyle's brows drew together. "B-but I have money! I saved up for you and I worked hard to get it! Ask Crabbe!" Crabbe nodded his head so fast Draco thought it would topple over.
"I have money too, Greg," Hermione said simply.
"Are you being serious right now?"
"I'm really sorry." Except, Hermione was not. "Thank you for the weed." She laid the dandelion atop her textbook. "It was very sweet."
Goyle stared on in outrage for five whole seconds—then burst. "No! No! You can't just reject me, Lestrange! I'm a Goyle! You should be begging me to take you!"
"Excuse me?" She was appalled.
This just keeps getting better and better, Draco thought.
"You know what," Goyle leaned in, causing his spit to sprinkle all over Hermione's homework. "I'm glad we aren't going to Hogsmeade. I'm too good for you, that's why. Get off your high horse! You're nothing but a psychotic bitch—"
"Don't talk to her like that." Draco stood, his wand in clear sight.
Goyle ignored him. "You're never going to get a date, you ugly slag. What with that branch up your vag—"
"That does it." Draco brandished his wand, preparing to cast. Goyle and Crabbe whipped theirs out as well, pointing them at the blond.
Hermione stood, interfering in between. "Stop it! Stop it, I said! Do you want me to report you to Madam Pince?"
As if on cue, Madam Pince appeared in between bookshelves and approached the table. She propped her weight on one hip and crossed her arms in front of her chest, cocking a singular brow. "Children," she paused dramatically, sizing each of them up. "What's going on here?"
"Nothing, Madam Pince," Hermione replied, straightening her green robes. "Crabbe and Goyle were just leaving. Weren't you, boys?" She looked at them pointedly.
Crabbe and Goyle tucked their wands back into the pocket of their trousers hastily, while Draco placed his atop the table. With one last scathing glare at Draco and Hermione, they left.
As soon as they had, Hermione told the librarian, "My apologies, Madam Pince. We'll be quiet now. It won't happen again."
"It better not. This is the second time, Miss Lestrange. One more and you're banned for the year. Understood?"
"Yes, Madam."
With that, the librarian left them to their devices. Hermione sat back down on her chair, feeling drained. Draco saw her sigh deeply and without thinking, sat next to her, enveloping her in a hug.
"Are you alright?" He asked. His voice was muffled as he spoke into her hair.
"I'm fine, Draco."
He nodded. They stayed that way for a while, and Draco inhaled Hermione's sweet scent. After a while, he said, "It's not true. Everything Goyle said, it's not true."
She smiled. "I know." She rubbed her tired eyes.
They broke apart. Hermione assessed the damage done on her homework by Goyle's spit. "Hmm…" She mused. "Is this salvageable? Are you able to read what's written there or is it too... wet?"
"Definitely too wet. What's that supposed to say, 'o-o-r-c-o-o-t-i-o-n'?" He asked.
Hermione chuckled. "No, that word spells 'concoction,' I'm afraid."
"Ah, that's how you know it's beyond help."
They laughed quietly, trying not to be heard as they had already caused quite a ruckus earlier. Luckily, students were mostly in their common rooms or elsewhere on Saturdays and not in the library. Draco and Hermione had also chosen a location where there were barely any people—only a Ravenclaw in one corner, and another somewhere towards the side.
The whole afternoon and the early part of the evening had come and gone. Hermione had just finished revising her Ancient Runes when she looked up. It was dark outside the windows and the library was merely lit by candles. The two Ravenclaws who had been there were gone. Most amusing, though, was Draco's head on the table, fast asleep. A little bit of drool dribbled down his chin and onto the wooden surface.
She suddenly thought about the conversation she had had with Daphne the night before. The whole day had passed, and Draco was yet to ask her to Hogsmeade. It only confirmed Hermione's suspicions: Draco did not see her as anything more than a friend. She convinced herself that she was not disheartened, but she could not help but hope ever since Daphne planted the idea into her head. Hermione had thought that since she turned Goyle down in front of him that he would take that as a sign to ask her, but it seemed as if he did not. She also made sure that Draco knew she was not opposed to a date in Hogsmeade per se, only that she was opposed to Goyle being the said date. Hermione shook her head to dispel the thoughts. No matter, the night isn't over. He might still ask me before bed.
Hermione smiled, placing her hand on his arm.
"Draco… Draco, wake up." She shook him gently.
His eyes opened blearily. "Hmm?"
"Wake up, or we'll miss supper."
"Five more minutes." He mumbled groggily, his voice deep and scratchy.
Hermione laughed, ruffling his hair. Draco cringed away and groaned in protest. She knew he absolutely hated it when people touched his hair, and she was no exception.
"Come on, let's go. I'm hungry."
"Alright fine, woman." He sat up and wiped the drool with the back of his hand. Draco packed his parchment and writing materials into his bag while Hermione waited, as she had already done so before waking the boy.
They stood, but before they walked away, Hermione reached out towards his neck.
Draco's breath hitched. He stared at Hermione.
She fixed his lopsided collar, but Draco did not notice. What he did notice was the coolness of her fingers against the heat of his neck.
She turned away to start walking when Draco said, "Hermione,"
"Hmm?" She pivoted, cocking her head.
"Will you…" He almost asked her then and there. He almost blurted his wish for her to go on a date with him the next day. He almost did, but in his mind's eye, he saw the look of rejection on Goyle's face… how he looked so torn and angry at the same time... and decided that he did not want that for himself.
Draco continued. "Will you... tie your shoelaces, please? You might trip."
Hermione's face fell. "Oh. Yeah, sure."
Of course, he wasn't going to ask me. What was I thinking? Hermione chastised herself silently, bending over to tie her shoelaces.
Hermione tried not to feel bad the next morning when Daphne stood in front of the mirror to fix her glamour charms onto her body. Daphne, being the person who knew Hermione best, didn't probe. She knew that Draco hadn't asked Hermione out, and though her best friend wouldn't admit it, she knew she was hurt.
Daphne met Dean in the courtyard with most of the people. She beamed at him and left Hermione's side to take his hand. For a second, she was all alone. She looked around her for her friends, finding none of them. She knew that Pansy and Tracey had planned on coming, but she wasn't sure whether or not they would push through. Draco, too.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted Crabbe and Goyle.
Nope, was her immediate reaction. She was still uncomfortable with the two, as Goyle had insulted her yesterday and Crabbe only watched. She turned her back to them, in case their eyes wandered to where she was.
As she turned, she found a spectacle-clad boy with black hair and his redhead companion. It was Harry and Ron.
"Hey," she greeted, walking towards the two.
"Morning!"
"Hi Hermione," they greeted at the same time.
"You're going to Hogsmeade too?" Asked Ron.
"I am. You?"
"Yup," Ron said.
Harry said, "I didn't even have to ask. As soon as I mentioned Hogsmeade, my Godfather—Sirius Black, you know him, Hermione, right? Well, he demanded to sign the permission slip immediately. Didn't even bother reading it!" He laughed out loud.
"That's great," Hermione commented, looking around for anyone in green robes.
"I, for one, am most excited about Zonko's joke shop. Say, Harry, do you reckon we'd find a few hiccough sweets and dungbombs? I want to get back at Fred and George for the rain cloud they spelled over my bed yesterday morning." Ron looked at Hermione. "Fred and George are my older brothers. Twins, they are. And mischievous ones, too. They conjured up a rain cloud while I was asleep. At first, I thought I wet the bed but then my hair was completely soaked through, so that wasn't it, was it—"
Harry cut him off. "Too much information, mate."
Ron turned red as his hair. "Right, yeah. Sorry."
Just then, she spotted a head of platinum hair from the corner of her eye. It was Draco, and he was with Theo and Blaise.
"Hey," she said to the two Gryffindors. "My friends are here, so... I'll see you in Hogsmeade?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, see you."
Hermione walked over to the three boys, noticing that Draco's gaze was fixed suspiciously on Harry and Ron. "Why were you talking to… them ?"
"Hmm? Oh, you mean Harry and Ron? They're my friends."
Theo chuckled and elbowed Draco's side. "Told you they were best buddies."
Hermione rolled her eyes at the brunette. "We aren't 'best buddies,' Theodore."
Filch announced that they would be leaving in five minutes.
"Where are Pansy and Tracey?" She asked. "And Millie," she added as an afterthought.
Blaise replied, "Last I saw Pans and Trace, they were having a bit of a row in the common room. Millicent, on the other hand… I haven't the foggiest."
Hermione was surprised. On the day before, she had suspected that Pansy and Tracey weren't on the best of terms, as they had looked to be discussing something serious. It was known to all that Pansy and Tracey were to each other what Hermione and Daphne were—best friends. This troubled her, and she made a mental note to ask them about it later. "Oh. So I'm the only girl, then."
Theo asked, "What about Daphne? Is she not coming with us?"
"Daph and Dean Thomas are going together. Look, they're over there." Hermione gestured towards the front of the line with her head. Daphne was speaking animatedly with matching hand gestures, while Dean's back was towards them so they couldn't see his face. Theo's eyes traveled to the pair and he frowned but stayed silent.
Just then, Pansy and Tracey appeared behind them, looking as happy as ever. It was as if they hadn't just been arguing in the common room moments before. "There you are!" Hermione said. "What kept you two?"
Pansy answered for both of them. "I misplaced my permission slip and I thought Tracey had it. Turns out it was in my pocket all along."
Just then, students began walking to make their way to Hogsmeade. Hermione mostly stuck with Pansy and Tracey rather than the boys to hide her embarrassment at not being asked to go by a certain blond.
It had been a tiring day, indeed.
Hermione was in the girls' lavatory, taking a nearly-scalding shower, while Daphne was brushing her hair in front of the mirror. Her best friend had been quiet since they got back, and so that was how Hermione had known it hadn't gone well with her and Dean. She tried to ask her what had happened, but Daphne brushed her off with teary eyes.
After the water had begun to run cold, Hermione turned off the flow and wrapped her body in a towel, exiting the stall. As soon as she stepped out, she found Daphne silently crying.
"Oh Daph…" she hugged her without hesitation. Daphne heaved and sobbed into her shoulder, no longer able to contain her despair. Hermione's arms tightened around her best friend in comfort. "What's wrong? Did something happen in Hogsmeade?"
Daphne nodded against her hair.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione ran her fingers through her tresses.
Daphne pulled away and sniffled, rubbing at her eyes. Hermione offered the corner of her towel for her to wipe her eyes on, and she took it. She took a minute to compose herself before speaking. "Dean doesn't like me back."
"What?" She questioned. "But I thought you two went out on three dates last summer…"
She nodded and shook her head, rendering Hermione very confused. Daphne explained, "We did go out… but Dean didn't see it as a date. Well, because I only asked him to teach me Potions, and he only agreed to be…" She inhaled, fighting back tears. "Polite," she spat.
Hermione threw her arms around Daphne again, allowing her tears to stain her bare shoulder.
After a minute, Daphne looked at her and said, "It was so humiliating, Hermione. You should have seen his face when I asked him 'what are we'. He never liked me at all, you see. He was just, I dunno, baffled. Oh well… that explains why he always looked so confused. He thought I wanted him to tutor me earlier." She paused, wiping her eyes. Hermione gave her space as she turned to the mirror to splash cold water on her face.
After Daphne had wiped the moisture off her cheeks she said, "Now I know how you feel."
"How I feel?" Hermione asked, cocking her head.
"With Malfoy. Like he'll never see you the same way you see him."
Hermione grimaced, an objection at the tip of her tongue. Before she opened her mouth to verbalise it, however, she saw Daphne's face in the mirror. The girl looked absolutely broken. And at that moment, Hermione chose not to tell her best friend that that was definitely not what was going on between herself and the boy. It seemed as if Daphne needed to know that she was not alone, that someone empathized. Right now, Hermione did not correct her.
Earlier that day, Hermione had tried to avoid Draco as much as possible… out of embarrassment. She knew that her feelings (however negligible) were not reciprocated. And so she refused to speak with him for more than a moment to prevent the telltale flush from coloring her cheeks.
There was one tiny little incident, though. After going shopping and before coming back to Hogwarts, Hermione and her five other friends stopped for a bite at the Three Broomsticks. Draco had sat next to her, much to her chagrin. Hermione refused to budge, though, as she imagined that moving elsewhere would be too obvious. They had ordered fish and chips for the group and ignored everyone's hostile glares directed at the purebloods, as usual.
Hermione took a bite off of a chip, savoring its saltiness. She then drowned the taste with water and laughed at Blaise's demonstration of a defecating creature, or a "shitting goblin" as Theo so sophisticatedly put it.
Draco turned to her and smirked. Before she knew it, his hand reached across her face and the pad of his thumb made contact with her lower lip. He brushed it lightly. Hermione was frozen with her cheeks aflame.
She blinked. "Erm… what—"
"You had sauce on your lip." He said hastily, looking away. Hermione's mouth gaped wide open.
Thankfully, nobody had seen them. It was so awkward after that. Hermione knew that even Draco had kept his distance from her all the way home.
"We've got to set a game-plan, Hermione," Daphne said, snapping her out. "From now on, we won't entertain boys who don't like us back."
Hermione said to Daphne's reflection, "Or… we could focus on other things besides boys."
She nodded. "You're right. We should. We really should. You know what, Hermione? I'm so sick of boys! So, so sick of them. They come around and–and make us think that they fancy us, just so when we actually start liking them back, we'd embarrass ourselves for believing that they ever fancied us in the first place. Well, this is what I say to that. We're. Not. Fools. " She enunciated slowly. "And they don't deserve us, anyway."
Hermione smiled, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I'm glad you think that. Dean Thomas missed out on the best thing that could have happened to him."
Daphne turned and genuinely smiled. "You really think so?"
"Yes."
Her eyes watered. "Thank you, Hermione. That means so much to me." She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Draco, too." She added.
"Oh, erm… Draco and I aren't like that. I don't really—"
"You talk in your sleep." She said.
"What?"
"You talk in your sleep," Daphne repeated.
"And...?"
"And you say stuff you'd never really say when you're awake. It's quite funny, actually. It's sort of like when blokes spill their secrets after a pint or two."
Hermione blinked.
Daphne chuckled and continued. "You said you like him." She shrugged.
"No, I didn't."
"You most definitely did. Mione, you can ask Anya. She and I were awake when you said it—and before you panic, I asked her not to tell… you're safe."
Hermione took a deep breath, blinking several times. She gripped the counter with both arms and stared at her stunned reflection. "I do, don't I?"
"Oh, sweetheart."