Chapter 3: Exclusive
May 19, 2018
The Royal Suite at the Goring Hotel
Only Eyes for Her
From the moment Prince Draco was born, he was inevitably going to become the most eligible man in Britain. As the only child of Prince Lucius and Princess Narcissa (the elusive Lady Narcissa Black, whose own shrouded past is deserving of its own chapter, if not its own book), Draco is the sole heir to the British throne after his father, and would therefore be greatly desirable to young women everywhere on the basis of stature alone. If that were not enough, Draco's breathtaking good looks and graceful charm—of a more stoic variety than his famously philandering cousin Prince Harry, though not unappealing by any means—ensured his appeal to a variety of young ladies from England's most noble families.
The Prince's romantic history is by no means lacking interest; in fact, for much of his teens and twenties, the entire British press had themselves in quite a stir over which eligible young woman Draco might have been romancing. Sometimes connected with two or three girls at a time, Draco was never without some pretty young thing on his arm, all of whom were approved by Prince Lucius and vetted by the entire royal family. Lady Pansy Parkinson, for example, was a constant face in the young Prince's circle for many years, as was Lady Daphne Greengrass.
Along with His Highness' privileged position came the obvious expectation that he would ultimately wed one of the alluring heiresses who represented the best of England's prominent families. Every woman connected with Prince Draco was met by speculation: could this be our new Princess? Our new Queen? But for Draco—who had been counseled by his mother in her younger years to follow his heart (her own marriage being wrought with tension and rumored infidelity on both sides for much of his adolescence)—his affections and his crown could not be severed.
The moment Draco met Hermione, he had eyes only for her, and in the face of true love, no matter of birth or title or blue-blooded heiress could have possibly stood a chance.
I have only one thing to say to this: most of it is actually true (good for you, Rita! Good show, old girl), but Ms Skeeter is conveniently forgetting one very important obstacle in the beginning of my relationship with Draco, and it goes by the name Lady Astoria Greengrass.
October 8, 2010
Hogwarts University
"I have good news and bad news," Daphne had announced while they were studying together that Monday, setting her phone down on the table and sparing them all a grimace.
"Give us the good news, then," Blaise replied firmly. "The bad news can wait outside until we're ready to invite it in."
"Not a bad stance," Theo acknowledged, as Blaise tipped an imaginary hat. "So what is it, Greengrass?"
She took a deep breath. "Astoria's coming to visit this weekend," she told them, her voice a touch too high, and the others all shared a groan.
"I thought I said no bad news," Blaise trumpeted in opposition. "Minus ten points for flagrant disregard for my feelings."
"Why is that bad news?" Hermione said, frowning at him before turning back to Daphne. "You do like your sister, don't you?"
"Yes, of course I do," Daphne said hastily. "I love my sister—"
"But we do not," Pansy supplied stiffly, and glanced up at Hermione. "And I'm rather surprised you wouldn't consider it unwelcome too, frankly."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione demanded, though she was pretty sure by then Pansy was going to tell her anyway, and she was right.
"You realize Astoria clearly isn't visiting Daphne," Pansy informed her stiffly. "She's coming here to keep an eye on Draco."
"Oh, come on," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Not everything is about Draco, Pans," she said, intentionally using the diminutive she knew by then would make Pansy's mouth tighten in annoyance. Unfortunately, it did not have the effect Hermione had been hoping for in this particular instance.
"Actually," Daphne said with notable hesitation, "I think, in this case, Pansy's probably right."
"What?" Hermione asked, surprised. "But Draco and Astoria are fine, aren't they?"
Just a week or so before, in fact, Daphne had slid a tabloid cover over to Hermione with a look of terrible guilt on her face. It had featured Astoria and Draco from one of his recent public appearances (some sort of state dinner) and in the picture, Astoria was leaning up to kiss Draco's cheek, the two of them looking genuinely smitten. I just thought you should hear it from me in case Pansy decided to be awful, Daphne had said, but Hermione had shrugged it off, reminding her that she and Draco were friends. Friends who spent every Friday night cooped up together in the library, sure—which certainly sounded fake even to Hermione—but in truth, they hadn't done anything romantic since the first time in the library when she'd kissed him and pulled away. There'd been a moment on her twenty-first birthday (Daphne had bullied her into wearing a tiara, and Theo gifted her a sash that read It's a Girl!) when she thought she'd caught Draco looking at her lips, but aside from that, everything was hugely above board.
They were friends, Hermione assured Daphne, really. His father wanted him to give Astoria a real chance, so for the last few weeks, he had been. And honestly, Hermione had insisted at Daphne's look of hesitation, she really didn't mind. In fact, she'd hoped Draco was falling for Astoria (which was only, oh, 45% a lie. In the ratio of falsehood to truth, the lie was certainly not the majority. Hermione was mostly happy for him, truly—and besides, it wasn't like they could be together, anyway).
Daphne had nodded warily and had not brought up her sister's relationship with Draco again—until now.
"Well, actually," Daphne said, grimacing, "I haven't wanted to say anything, but it seems Astoria's been, um—"
"Losing his interest," Pansy supplied flatly. "Which was bound to happen. Wasn't it?" she asked, turning to Theo, who glanced apprehensively at Daphne before throwing his hands in the air.
"Don't look at me," he mumbled. "I'm studying."
"Theodore, you've never studied in your life," Pansy informed him. "You've only memorized enough motions to make it look like you're doing responsible things. Tell her what I'm talking about," she said, flapping a hand at Hermione. "It'll sound more convincing if you do it."
"No comment," Theo said, and Pansy sighed irritably.
"Blaise?" she prompted.
Blaise pointedly held a book in front of his face. (It was upside down, but still.)
"Look, the point is," Pansy grumbled, turning back to Hermione, "things with Draco never last. It's difficult to keep his attention, firstly, and secondly, he never stays with anyone for long, publicly or otherwise. The last thing he wants is for people to believe he's found the next Queen of England."
"That," Daphne remarked tentatively, "and Prince Lucifer has apparently been pressing them to be more serious; which is appealing to Astoria, but—"
"But she wants to know what exactly he does every Friday night," Pansy pointed out, giving Hermione a wary look that was a slightly more posh version of duh. "Frankly, I would, too, if I were in her shoes," she murmured, glancing back down at her laptop.
"We honestly just study," Hermione told them. Again. "We have a class together, as you might recall—"
"A class that I'm also in," Theo pointed out slyly, looking up from the notes he was doodling mindlessly in, "and yet these invitations are ever so conveniently never extended to me."
"Oh, so now you have an opinion?" Pansy demanded, glaring at him.
"No," Theo insisted. "I'm just saying—"
"Come to think of it, I'd like to detract twenty points for not being invited to exclusive library time either," Blaise announced, and Hermione sighed.
"You're all invited," she pointed out, though Daphne (not very furtively) hid a laugh. "You just don't want to study on Friday nights."
"Oh, then plus five," Blaise permitted, quietly applauding her. "But some of the loss must remain for lack of official monogrammed invitation."
"Unlike the rest of you, I don't have a family crest," Hermione reminded him, and he shrugged as if to suggest that was an easily reconcilable issue, "but that's not the point. The point is, so what if Astoria's coming to see Draco? There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"Oh, not on principle, no," Daphne assured her. "It's more that Astoria is—"
"Flighty," offered Pansy, ticking descriptors off on her fingers, "dull, insipid, vain—"
"—hard to get to know," Daphne finished, glaring at her. "She doesn't let anyone see the real her right away, that's all."
From Pansy: "Largely because the real her is a vast and empty crevice."
From Blaise: "Ooh, cutting. Plus five for devastation."
From Daphne: "Blaise!"
From Blaise: "Hm? What?"
From Theo, neutrally: "I think Astoria's fine. She's a bit hard to talk to at times, but so am I, right? In different ways, obviously."
From Daphne, with a startled glance: "I—thank you, Theo. That's—thank you, that's surprisingly supportive."
Hermione arched a brow at Theo, and he hastily glanced down, cheeks ever-so-slightly flushed.
"Well, anyway," Daphne said, turning to Hermione, "she'll be staying with us all weekend. Do you mind?"
"Of course not," Hermione assured her. "I'm looking forward to meeting Astoria."
"Yes, and I'm sure it will hardly be hellish at all," Pansy sniffed insincerely.
That had been Monday.
Starting Thursday, the heat wave had struck.
"Good lord, it's warmer in here than it is outside," Astoria remarked, walking into the room at Daphne's prodding and immediately fanning herself. The first thing Hermione noticed about Astoria Greengrass was that she did not particularly resemble her sister. Astoria's hair was darker, a mahogany closer to Pansy's raven-black than to Daphne's rich auburn, and she was also a few inches taller than her sister, gracefully slender and lithe in cropped trousers and a tailored blazer where Daphne typically wore wrap-dresses and skirts for her faintly pear-shaped curves.
"I told you it was hot," Daphne said, her own hair sticking to the back of her neck as she struggled to swing her ponytail to the side, hoisting Astoria's bag into the room. "Something's gone terribly wrong with the ventilation in the castle. Old buildings, who knows—"
"Clearly. It's a swamp. Oh, and you must be Hermione," Astoria said, gaze falling on hers. "Such a pleasure. Cute top," she added, as Hermione glanced down, not entirely sure what she was even wearing until she realized it was the sweat-soaked tank top she still hadn't changed out of since her second shower that afternoon. Almost immediately, though, Astoria's attention had wandered; she perched daintily on Daphne's bed and pulled out her phone, checking the face of it. "How's service down here?"
"Not great," Daphne admitted, swiping at her forehead.
Hermione, who'd just hung up with her mom ("A heat wave, really? Bloody hell!" had been Helen's highly unhelpful commentary) had to agree. "It's better in the common room, if you need to reach someone," she offered, and Astoria looked up sharply, fixing her gaze on Hermione with something that was obviously qualitative scrutiny. It was something Hermione was accustomed to receiving from Pansy, but unlike her, Astoria painted a distressingly false smile on her lips in reply.
"Well, I can just go down the hall and see him, can't I? I'm sure Draco's been waiting for me to let him know I've arrived." Astoria got to her feet, grimacing around the room. "It's terribly tiny in here, Daph. You should really request a better room. I'm assuming Draco doesn't have this problem, thankfully. You know I hate to sleep anywhere too warm."
"I thought—" Daphne frowned. "I thought you'd be staying with us."
"Well, officially, yes, of course," Astoria said with a laugh. "You know I'd want to, Daph, if it were up to me, but I just think Draco probably has other plans."
She gave Hermione a coquettish smile. Hermione, meanwhile, reminded herself in a soothing, rational internal voice that none of this bothered her.
After all, why would it?
She and Draco were friends.
(She'd certainly said it enough to believe it by now, hadn't she?)
"Okay," Daphne said, obviously unsure how to proceed. "Well, anyway, it might be a little cooler at the Hog's Head. Did I tell you that was the plan for tonight?"
Astoria wrinkled her nose. "That dreadful place again?"
"Draco likes it," Daphne pointed out, and Astoria gave a wearied sigh.
"One of these days I'll stamp that out of him," she lamented, sparing Hermione a look of conspiratorial exasperation. "He does so love his quaint establishments, it's positively tiresome. It's as if he doesn't know there are nicer places, honestly. You should see the sorts of places he tries to take me. Do you know him?"
It was such a rapid and surprising stream of thoughts leading to an outrageous question that Hermione wondered temporarily if they were even thinking of the same person.
"I told you, Astoria," Daphne cut in gently, "Hermione is one of Draco's good friends. They study together. I'm sure he's mentioned her."
"Oh, well, maybe once or twice," Astoria said, glancing down at her phone. "In any case, at least he won't have to study tonight. Poor thing, always working so hard," she lamented, scrolling blindly. "So, pig's face, you said the place was called? What time?"
"Hog's Head," Daphne corrected. "And I don't know, I thought we'd get dinner first, and then maybe—"
"Draco and I have plans," Astoria said, "so we'll have to meet you there. Which way's his room?" she asked, glancing up. "That way?"
"Yes," Daphne said tentatively, glancing at Hermione. "But, you know, I actually thought maybe you'd like to have dinner with the others. You remember Theo and Blaise, don't you? Oh, and Harry's coming tonight—"
"Oh god, is Theo the skinny one who makes all those jokes?" Astoria asked, making a face. "He thinks he's so terribly funny, doesn't he? Though I suppose boys who never grow out of their awkward stage have to develop something in exchange."
"Theo's not awkward," Daphne insisted, leaping to his defense (as she always did, exclusively when he wasn't around to hear it). "He's just, you know. Lean. And difficult."
"Mm, I'm sure," Astoria permitted apathetically, reaching for the door. "I'll see them at the boar nose, anyway. You don't talk much," she noted to Hermione, half-startling her. "I would have thought someone who was supposedly so clever would have a bit more to say."
For a moment, Hermione wanted to snap in irritation—it's hot, and frankly, you haven't said anything worth responding to—when a delicious thought struck her in its place.
Clearly, Astoria had heard of her.
(And her cleverness.)
"Astoria," Daphne said, appalled, but she only smiled.
"I'm sure we'll be great friends by the end of the weekend," Astoria assured her sister, "assuming Draco doesn't want too much private time. He rarely gets to be alone with me but when he does, he really takes advantage," she said, voice carefully bright, "not to be uncouth, of course. Anyway, see you tonight!"
With a whirl of motion and a long, cattish stride, Astoria Greengrass was gone.
"Oh, balls," Daphne sighed, and Hermione glanced at her, questioning.
"What?"
"She's threatened by you," Daphne said, falling back on her bed. "You're not going to see any of her better nature, I'm afraid. She's really very sweet, you know," she said, with something of a big sister's urgency to her defense. "And she's loads of fun, when she's up for it."
"But she's not up for it now?" Hermione guessed, sniffing her shirt. Time for another shower.
Daphne turned her head with a grimace.
"No," Daphne lamented. "No, I'm afraid it's just as I expected."
"Which is?" Hermione asked.
"Astoria came here for a war," Daphne said, and closed her eyes. "Hey, you think Theo's attractive, don't you?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject. "I mean he's not conventionally gorgeous, by any means, but he isn't awkward. Is he?"
"Not at all," Hermione said. Skinny, yes. Awkward, no. He wasn't Draco, but he wasn't anything Astoria made him out to be either.
She hoped nothing Astoria thought was true, actually.
Daphne nodded. "I thought so," she said, and then added, "By the way, Michael's coming tonight."
Hermione groaned. "Daphne."
"Oh, don't take that tone with me," Daphne said, stretching out on her bed. "It's too hot."
Hermione sighed, relenting. It definitely was that.
The unseasonable heat seemed to have no relief, even in the dark. As they made their way from the Three Broomsticks to the Hog's Head, Hermione found she was already sweating, moisture pooling at the small of her back as they made their way through Hogsmeade. For once, she wasn't all that concerned about missing her usual Friday night studying with Draco, since the library currently seemed to be about twenty degrees warmer than it was outside. Sure, she enjoyed her time alone with him, but still. The heat seemed to be getting under all their skins, leaving them giddy and perhaps a little tipsier than usual as they made their way into the Hog's Head, spotting Draco and Astoria from afar where they were standing away from the door with Harry.
"There she is!" Harry said, reaching for Hermione's hand the moment she walked in. "Listen, it's your song!"
The song was, in fact, California Gurls by Katy Perry, which actually seemed to delight Blaise most out of any of them. Still, it was Harry who was most forcefully enthused, in that he seemed to be vigorously intent on ensuring Hermione joined him.
"Come on," Harry pressed, giving Hermione's fingers a tug into his arms. "We're dancing."
"Nobody's dancing," Hermione informed him, leaving out the details of 1) how unbearably hot she was, and subsequently 2) how little she wanted to be touched, but unsurprisingly, the lack of dancing patrons from the rest of the room didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. Harry wildly swung Hermione under his arm, nearly barrelling her into the bar before pulling her back, leaving her breathless.
"Oh, I'm not remotely ashamed to say I love this song," Daphne said, reaching for the hand beside her, which happened to be Theo's. "Come on, don't let the American have all the fun—"
"I'm going to need a lot more to drink, Greengrass," Theo said, holding back, and Daphne reached for Pansy, undeterred.
"Alright, fine," Pansy said, making a face as she permitted Daphne to tug her into the center of the room with Harry and Hermione, "but for the record, you should definitely be ashamed."
"Well, spoiler, I'm not—sun-kissed skin, so hot, we'll melt your popsicle," Daphne sang jubilantly, and Pansy, much to Hermione's shock, joined in in the exact moment Harry chose to dip Hermione nearly to the ground, one arm secured just below her shoulders as she gave a none-too-elegant yelp.
"Hi," he said to her, grinning, and then yanked her back up, prompting another collision between her and his (unfortunately, noticeably muscled) chest. "Having fun yet?"
"Oh, a little," she replied weakly, as he spun her again, laughing as only he could laugh. Behind him, Hermione caught sight of Michael Corner entering the Hog's Head, and watched Theo leap quickly to his feet, joining Daphne's side the moment he'd walked in.
"Minus ten points for desperation," yelled an already-dancing Blaise.
"Plus twenty for my sick moves," Theo shouted back, pointedly providing a spirited shimmy for evidence as Daphne laughed, having evidently forgiven him by then for some taunt he'd provided over dinner.
As the song transitioned into something equally overplayed (Down by Jay Sean, which led Harry to move from wildly hurling Hermione around the room to some kind of competition with Blaise as to who could get lower to the ground), Hermione looked up to see Draco still standing off to the side, brow furrowed as he spoke in undertones to Astoria. It was unclear what the conversation was, but the tension was obvious, and it was difficult to see which of them was more upset. Inevitably, though, Draco remembered himself first, clearing his face of any particular expression and raising his pint of beer to his lips, obviously conceding to her point with a nod.
Hermione had learned to read him pretty well by then. His face rarely gave things away; it was his hands that showed how he was really feeling. When he was anxious, his fingers tapped lightly on his laptop. When he was lost in conversation, they rested around his mouth, near his face, drawn through his hair. At the moment, his hand was so tight around his beer his knuckles were white, and though it was probably a stupid idea, Hermione found herself walking towards him before she could stop herself, only remembering she hadn't been invited over when Astoria turned to face her, irritation flitting across her brow.
"Oh, hi again," Astoria said, extending her hand, and Hermione blinked. "Remind me your name?"
"Astoria, this is Hermione," Draco said impatiently. "Daphne's roommate?"
"Right, of course," Astoria said coolly, slipping her arm around Draco's waist. "Having fun, then?"
It was like she was the hostess of a party to which Hermione had been lucky to receive an invitation. "Fine," Hermione said, forcing a smile. "Just wanted to say hello. But you're obviously both busy," she determined, taking a step back, "so—"
"Wait," Draco said, taking a step after her. "I wanted to check—could we possibly reschedule our study session?" he asked in a low voice. "I'm not quite finished with my Margery Kempe analysis, and as I'm having to—" He hesitated. "As our plans had to change for the evening," he amended carefully, "I wondered if we could still meet. Would tomorrow morning be too early? Around seven?"
"I—" Maybe he wasn't spending the night with Astoria, then. She tried not to be too pleased; what did she care what he did? The word 'friends' beat itself against her temples. "Yes, that's fine," she assured him. "I'm an early riser."
"Great," he exhaled with relief, just as Harry sidled up to them.
"Going to join us?" Harry asked Draco, one hand already reaching for Hermione's. "This is, after all, an excellent song."
"This is 99 Luftballons," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Excellent might be a stretch."
"It's certainly no Hungry Like the Wolf," Harry agreed, "but it's a classic, and such things cannot be easily dismissed. May I?" he asked, offering his hand and bowing low, and Hermione laughed, glancing for a moment at Draco. He was smiling, she noticed, but at his side, one hand was brutally locked by his thigh.
"You go," Draco advised Hermione. "Have fun. Your chariot awaits," he joked, gesturing to Harry.
"Just don't dip me again," Hermione warned Harry, who looked as though he would promise no such thing. "Or if you're going to, then mind the sweaty bits."
"Oh, don't tease me," he joked, pulling her onto the dance floor as Draco rejoined Astoria's side. "How are you enjoying this marvelous heat wave we're having, by the way? I'm surprised Pansy hasn't melted, if we're being honest. It's about as foreign to us as you are."
"More so, even," Hermione said, and Harry laughed, taking one of her hands and pulling her close. The jasmine smell in his cologne was once again unmistakably present, his shoulders appealingly broad, hair falling leisurely onto his forehead; the heat was an unfairly good look for him, and she couldn't help but notice. "You, me, and the polar bears are in some real trouble, climately-speaking."
Harry gave another low chuckle, throwing her out for a spin and pulling her back. He really was Draco's opposite, Hermione thought; eternally unbothered, for one thing, and where Draco carefully kept his distance, Harry boldly got too close.
"I'm definitely in trouble," Harry murmured to her, and despite the undisputed temperature around them, Hermione half-shivered.
Over Harry's shoulder, Hermione caught a glimpse of Astoria leaning her head against Draco's chest, her fingers reaching down to twine with his. But then, just as quickly, Hermione saw nothing but Harry's laughing eyes, delivered once again to the mercy of yet another breathless dip.
Astoria did not spend the night with Draco. Instead, she was waiting in Hermione and Daphne's room for them after they made their way back, Daphne stepping out quickly to wash her face as Hermione dug through her drawers for something suitably resistant to inevitable night sweat.
"He told me you're meeting him to study in the morning," Astoria commented to Hermione's back, and she paused, not quite able to read the other girl's tone.
"Yes," Hermione said carefully, and turned over her shoulder. "We're just studying."
"I know you are," Astoria agreed, crossing one long leg over the other. "And do you know what else I know?"
Hermione grimaced, expecting a Pansy-esque lecture, only to be thoroughly surprised by what she got.
"I know how I must look to you," Astoria said, lifting her chin. "I know you must think I'm terribly rude and jealous and petty, so maybe you hope it doesn't work out for me with him. But before you go thinking this is easy, or that I'm some kind of horrible person, you should know it's nothing like it looks." She met Hermione's eye with a surprising sincerity. "It's one thing to try to convince a boy you like to like you, isn't it? But try doing that while everyone's watching. And try convincing a country to like you. Or the media. They'll forgive him everything, you know. Oh, sure, he has a reputation to uphold," she said, expression souring, "but for him, it'll always be easier. Boys will be boys, won't they? It always comes back to that. Look at Prince Harry. Look at Prince Lucius. Even if Draco were to do something truly awful, they would eventually forgive him—but they never forgive the woman on his arm."
For a moment, Hermione could say absolutely nothing, idly paralyzed as Astoria's expression hardened.
"They'll treat you like you're nothing," Astoria said. "They'll call you everything under the sun. Make assumptions. If you do nothing wrong, they'll say you're boring. If you're too affectionate, they'll say you're desperate. Too stern in one picture? Uptight. Not smiling in a candid? A bore. Catch you laughing too hard for a moment? Silly. They'll say you're stupid. They'll say you're dull, or that you try too hard, or that you're not trying, and it will be something new and different from day to day. They'll say he's losing interest because he's looking somewhere else when you're looking at him. They'll say you'll be gone soon, just like the others, and all of a sudden you'll find yourself hating people he hasn't spoken to in years. They'll paint you like you're nothing, like you're just a bookmark in his more interesting story, like you're replaceable—and then worst of all," she exhaled sharply, "you will be."
Hermione swallowed, completely taken by surprise.
"It's not fun, you know," Astoria told her eventually, clearing her throat. "It's not all pictures and posh dinners and pretty dresses."
For a moment, Hermione wasn't going to say anything. Astoria was clearly upset, and nothing Hermione said was going to be particularly fruitful to the situation.
But still, she couldn't help herself. Not after she'd already been fighting it all day—or maybe much longer, if she were being honest.
"Maybe it's not fun," Hermione said slowly, "but it's still Draco. He's a person, you know," she said, and brutally, she realized while she'd been trying so hard to feel nothing for him, it hadn't been particularly effective. Astoria had Draco—really had him, and not just stolen moments trying to be friends in a library—and for that, Hermione couldn't hold her tongue. "He's a person, and a good one, and the person you're in a relationship with isn't just a job."
To that, Astoria laughed bitterly. "Do you really think I get to see any of him?" she asked. "Or that he ever bothers to see me?"
Before Hermione could answer, the door opened, Daphne walking in with her hair piled on her head.
"I'll tell you one thing, this humidity is extremely impolite to my skin," Daphne lamented, and then paused, catching the tension in the room. "What happened?" she asked, glancing suspiciously between them.
"Oh, nothing. I was just telling Hermione that Theo isn't quite as strange-looking as I remembered," Astoria remarked airily, her tone suddenly completely different as she gave her sister a small smile. "Maybe I was just misremembering."
Hermione blinked, entirely unsure now what to make of Astoria, and then forced a nod, confirming her story.
"Oh?" Daphne said. "Well," she determined, looking relieved. "That's something, I suppose."
Hermione slipped out of her room the next morning, tiptoeing quietly, at the same time Draco was approaching her, something obviously bothersome furrowed deep into his brow. The moment he arrived at her side, though, he quickly smoothed a mask of pleasantness over his features, nodding to her.
"Good morning," he said, his voice a bit strained. "Thanks again for this."
"You don't have to thank me every time, Draco," Hermione reminded him, rolling her eyes and fighting a yawn as they made their way to the corridor. By now, they could have followed the route to the library in their sleep, which was very much like what she was currently doing. Coffee would be necessary, and soon. "I also have work to do, you know."
"Mm," he said, not really listening, and then caught himself. "Right, sorry, yes—"
"Draco," Hermione said, giving his arm a yank towards the common room's coffee maker. "Pause. What's going on?" she asked, struggling with the bag of filters as he leaned against the counter with his arms folded, grimacing.
"It's—it's nothing," he said, though she watched his gaze snag on one of the papers that had been left out. "Nothing," he said again, forcing brightness, and she sighed, picking up the newspaper and not even bothering with the headline after seeing the picture.
"Oh, no," she murmured, seeing that someone had managed to take a shot of Draco and Prince Lucius in the midst of what was clearly an argument. In the picture, Draco was tensed and rigid, jaw set in unflattering evidence of conflict, but it was Lucius who was the villain. He was obviously accosting his son, and whatever the conversation had been about, Hermione could only imagine what presumptions had been made.
"Are you okay?" she asked, looking up at Draco, who turned his head away.
"It's bad press," he said tightly, "but it's nothing. Really." He stood up, beginning to pace. "Don't worry about it."
"Draco," Hermione sighed, taking his arm and nudging him away. Coffee could wait. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but there's no reason to lie. It's clearly not fine."
He grimaced, but motion seemed to have helped. They settled into the path to the library and slowly, gradually, he seemed to toy with the option of confessing.
"He wants me to, um. Well, it's a few things, but primarily he wants me to go public with Astoria," Draco said, and Hermione blinked.
"Aren't you already—"
"I'm making appearances with her," Draco confirmed, voice clipped. "I'm physically in her presence, but that's not quite official. I tried—I'm trying," he exhaled, "to make things work, but it just isn't—" Another pause. "It's not even that it's Astoria. I barely know her, honestly, and it's not as if there's anything wrong with her. She's lovely, and quite understanding of my position, but it's just that it's different, making a relationship public versus letting the public speculate. He's just really pushing me to consider marriage, and it's all just…"
He trailed off, smoothing a hand through his hair.
"Can I tell you the truth?" he asked, coming to a sudden halt, and she turned, frowning at him.
"Of course," she said. "Always."
It was still too early on a Saturday for many people to be around, so she was able to lean a little closer as he nodded, both of them resuming their comfortable strides while he considered what to say.
"The thing is," Draco said, not quite looking at her, "I understand that my role has… expectations. That sometimes I have to do things for how they look. I even understand that there's a very good chance my marriage will be, in some respects, arranged by my father. But seeing as I'm still young, and I'm nowhere near being king, it just seems—" he sighed, and gradually his grey eyes slid to hers. "It just seems that at this point in my life, I should be able to have one thing that's real. Just one."
It seemed unlikely that he was saying what she thought he was saying, but still.
Her rebellious heart leapt a little in her chest.
"You should be able to be in a relationship that's meaningful, if that's what you want," Hermione said slowly, and Draco nodded, though he didn't look entirely relieved.
"The truth is, if it wasn't this, it'd be something else," Draco told her. "If it isn't my romantic life or my personal life, my father would find a way to be upset with me about something. It's just that my mother—" He paused. "It's just that there's quite a lot of pressure on our family," he amended, "on all of us, and sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to just listen to him. But then I see you with Harry, and I just—"
"What?" Hermione asked, startled, and the color rose in Draco's cheeks.
"No, nothing," he said hastily, waving it away. "I just meant that sometimes I wish my life could be a little more normal, that's all. That I could dance with you in the middle of a bar and not worry about what might be printed about me the next day."
"With… me?" she echoed.
"Well, of course," he said, too quickly. "Or, you know, just—everyone. Theo," he joked. "He's got those mobile hips."
"I'd say Blaise has the best footwork, actually," Hermione remarked, though she wasn't quite able to dismiss the look he'd given her, or what he'd said; I see you with Harry, and I just—
"You do know nothing's going on with me and Harry, don't you?" she asked him as she opened the door to the library, and he gave her a hurried nod.
"Of course," he said quickly. "Though, if it were, I wouldn't mind. I'd understand, actually. After all, it's Harry," he said, looking as though he were struggling to get the words out. "Everyone loves him."
"Harry's fun," she assured him, "but so are you. And you're my friend. And," she exhaled, squirming a little as she spoke and wishing she weren't so committed to the stupid terms of friendship, "I think you deserve to be happy, Draco. I really do. And if being with Astoria could make you happy—or at least ease the tension with your father," she clarified, "then maybe you should give it a real try."
He nodded, settling down at their usual table, and gave a heavy sigh, scrubbing briefly at his face with his hands before shaking his head.
"Let's just study, shall we?" he asked. "I'd just like to spend the morning with my friend, and not have to worry about any of—" He waved a hand. "That."
She wanted to hug him.
She had the distinct and terrible urge to hold him, to brush his hair back from his forehead, to stroke her thumb along his cheek and tell him everything would be fine, that she was here for him, but she didn't.
"I assume by friend you mean Margery Kempe," Hermione joked instead, and knew immediately that she'd done the right thing. At once, his expression brightened to a warm, familiar smile.
"Oh, of course," Draco said. "Why, is there someone else here?"
Immediately, normality reigned. She gave his arm a shove, shaking her head; he pretended at grievous injury, sparing her a broadened smile; then they pulled out their laptops, settling in to work.
And for the rest of the morning, she did not, despite the anxious coiling in her stomach, ask him what he was going to do about Astoria.
By the time Hermione returned to her room, Daphne had left a note that she and Astoria had stepped out for lunch. I'd have waited, Daphne said apologetically, but I never get to see her, so I hope you don't mind!
Hermione didn't, of course. She was happy for Daphne, and she was just about to go out and grab something for herself when there was a knock at the door.
To her surprise, it was Pansy, who was wearing a crisp bateau sundress which seemed to magically lack any wrinkles, despite the continuing oppression of the heat.
"Oh," said Pansy, pursing her lips. "Well, fine. Hungry?"
"My goodness, what a persuasive offering," Hermione said drily. "I take it everyone else is gone, then?"
"Yes," Pansy sniffed, pivoting away with a scowl, "and if you're going to press me—"
"Oh, come on, just—wait," Hermione growled, grabbing her keys. "Fine. Let's go."
"I wouldn't bother, honestly, except it's so unbearably hot," Pansy muttered, directing them both brusquely toward Hogsmeade. "I'm going positively mad from all this dehydration, and the Three Broomsticks is the only place with any air."
"Well, while I do covet any opportunity to be your last resort," Hermione exhaled, and Pansy spared her a look that was almost (almost) playful, "you're a modern woman, you know. You could technically eat alone."
"I could," Pansy agreed. "Bye, then," she added, taking a sharp left turn out of the common room, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Very funny," she grumbled, chasing after her, and she could have sworn she saw Pansy hide a smile.
It wasn't a particular chatty lunch. Hermione was relieved, actually, that they didn't speak much, as she wasn't sure whether Pansy knew where she'd been that morning. In any case, she certainly wasn't going to tell her, and considering she and Pansy had little to nothing else in common aside from Draco, Hermione was happy to enjoy the slightly cooler air of the Three Broomsticks (and a salad that wasn't actively wilting) without much conversation.
Partway through lunch, though, Pansy was absentmindedly rubbing her hand around a red mark on her wrist, and Hermione frowned, catching the motion.
"What happened?" Hermione asked, gesturing, and Pansy blinked, startled out of whatever she'd been thinking about.
"A burn," Pansy said curtly, immediately releasing her wrist. It was such a reflexive action that Hermione thought it must have been something she'd been scolded about before. "An accident. I do have moments of humanity," Pansy added with a sulky drawl, "despite what the others love to say about me."
"What are you using to treat it?" Hermione asked, eyeing it. "Looks like it hurts."
"I'm fine," Pansy said flippantly. "I'm well-born. We regenerate quickly."
Per usual, Hermione fought the urge to groan. "Well, if you want, I have some tea tree oil back in my room," she said, "if your aristocracy isn't doing the trick quickly enough. It's a natural anti-inflammatory," she added, as Pansy frowned.
"Is it?" she asked.
Hermione nodded. "I use it for my skin sometimes. For us commoners," she added, gesturing to her face. "We sometimes get zits? You may have heard rumors."
"The proletariat is so inventive," Pansy remarked loftily, and then paused. "But yes, I'd like some, if you think it'll work."
"It'll sting a bit," Hermione said, "but it'll heal faster. Might help keep you from touching it, too," she added, as Pansy's brow furrowed.
"Thank you," Pansy said uncertainly, and Hermione nodded.
"Of course," she said, about to return to her salad when Pansy sighed heavily, setting down her fork and folding her arms over her chest.
"Stop trying to fix us," Pansy said.
"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said, fork halfway to her mouth, and Pansy made a face.
"You know what I mean," Pansy said brusquely. "Daphne and her drawing. Draco and his father. You see us like we're problems you need to solve, don't you?"
"I—what?" Hermione asked, startled.
"We're fine," Pansy said firmly. "We were fine before you, and we'll be fine after you leave."
"I know that," Hermione said, still entirely taken aback. "I'm not trying to fix you, I just—" She set her fork down. "I just like my friends to be happy," she explained, and then added, "Maybe it's one of my American eccentricities. Think of it like some sort of commoner's virus."
"Ha ha," Pansy said, but she looked to be considering it. "Fine."
She glanced down, picking up her fork, and for a moment, Hermione thought the outburst was over.
She was wrong.
"Don't sleep with Harry," Pansy warned, and Hermione blinked.
"What the—"
"I see how he looks at you," Pansy said sternly. "And if it isn't going to work with Draco, then believe me, it isn't going to work with Harry, either."
"Listen," Hermione sighed impatiently, "I get that you have some sort of weird protective thing with those two, but—"
"It's not," Pansy began, and then paused. "It's not what you think. I don't care what Harry does," she said, not missing an opportunity to pass Hermione her usual scolding glare, "but you absolutely cannot sleep with him."
"Why not?" Hermione demanded. She hadn't particularly wanted to, but still, she didn't love being told she couldn't. It seemed unfair, and more importantly, it seemed highly judgmental. It felt sexist, actually, and totally small-minded. And it felt awful, too, to be presumed some sort of… of lesser value, especially by someone she'd already spent so much time with, and—
"Because," Pansy said stiffly, interrupting Hermione's bruised inner monologue, "it would hurt Draco immensely, and I would quite literally murder you with my bare hands before I ever let you do that to him."
With that, she stabbed her fork into her salad, having made her point.
"Oh," Hermione managed faintly.
"Oh," Pansy agreed, daintily raising a small bite of spinach to her lips.
"But Draco doesn't," Hermione began, and then faltered. "But he wouldn't."
Pansy delicately finished chewing before dabbing at her lips with a napkin.
"He shouldn't," Pansy clarified, "and to be clear, I'll never approve of you for him. This is not my approval. But that doesn't mean I want him to hurt over this." She fixed Hermione with a firm glare, driving her point home, and then softened so slightly Hermione might have missed it if not for weeks learning Pansy's subtle degrees of emotion. "Believe me, this Astoria thing won't last," she said. "She'll be gone soon."
Hermione blinked uncertainly, wondering if (by some miracle) Pansy had been trying to make her feel better.
"Don't gawk, Hermione," Pansy said. "It's rude. Were you taught absolutely nothing in the colonies?"
Hermione sighed. "You're unbearable," she informed Pansy.
"Thank you," Pansy replied, "and for the record, don't get comfortable. I doubt we'll ever do this again."
But rather than a disapproving look, she spared Hermione a smirk, which seemed like something of an improvement.
"Right," Hermione agreed, and took a bite of her salad, suddenly quite certain she could get used to Saturday lunches with Lady Pansy Parkinson.
That evening, they'd planned for another night out in Hogsmeade. Once again, Astoria had left Daphne and Hermione to their own devices, and Pansy, Blaise, and Theo joined them for dinner instead. To their surprise, though, about thirty minutes into their meal, they were joined by two more people.
"Oh, good," Harry declared, sitting down at one end of the table beside Hermione and Pansy as someone else sat down on the opposite end. "I was hoping you'd have left some starters, I'm positively starved—"
Pansy smacked his hand away and kissed his cheek in one fluid motion as Hermione glanced down to realize Draco had been the one to sit at the other end, leaning towards Theo to spare a few words in a low voice.
"Oh?" Theo asked, looking briefly concerned. "And how did Prince Lucifer take it?"
"I'm sure I'll hear from him first thing," Draco replied quietly, turning to find Hermione looking at him and flashing her a somewhat hesitant smile. Hi, he mouthed, and Daphne, who was on her left, looked to be conflicted at the sight of him.
"Where's Astoria?" Daphne asked, and a brief haze of silence fell over the table as Pansy preemptively clapped a hand over Harry's mouth.
Draco shook out a napkin, not quite meeting anyone's eye. "Astoria felt it best she return home this evening," he said, spreading the napkin across his lap. "She's sorry she couldn't join us, but I'm sure she'll speak to you soon." He glanced up, looking apologetic, but held his voice firm. "I'm sorry, Daph."
Daphne nodded slowly. "Right. Of course," she said, clearing her throat. "Yes, well, I'm sure she'll call. Here," she added, shoving a plate of fries (chips, as it were) towards Harry. "Have some."
It was obvious she was disappointed to hear her sister had left without saying goodbye, and Hermione reached over, giving Daphne's hand a comforting squeeze beneath the table.
"Sorry your visit was cut short," Hermione murmured to her, and Daphne grimaced.
"Well, she was never really here to see me, was she?" Daphne said lightly, obviously pretending at being unbothered. "It's perfectly fine. Oh, you need another glass," she said, turning around to locate the waiter. "You know, what I'll just—let me just go and—"
She rose to her feet, heading for something that was almost certainly not the waiter, and Theo fumbled to leave his seat after her.
"Toilet," he lied, clapping a hand on Draco's shoulder briefly before hurrying after her, leaving the others to glance at each other in helpless bemusement.
"Mmmmphpmh?" Harry said, his mouth still obscured by Pansy's hand, and she sighed, releasing him.
"Don't," she warned, and he scowled.
"Why do you always assume I'm going to ruin things?" Harry demanded. "It wasn't me, for once. Any awkwardness this evening is, in a classic plot twist, entirely Draco's fault."
"Thanks," Draco said, rolling his eyes, as Blaise chuckled. "Very kind of you, Harry."
"I mean, let's face it," Harry continued. "Normally, I admit, it's my fault when a woman's been unceremoniously left on her ar-"
"HARRY," Pansy growled, and Draco sighed, shaking his head.
"Okay, fine, I broke up with Astoria," he said, pointedly not looking at Hermione. "Okay? We broke it off, she's upset, she went home. But I would really prefer if we didn't discuss it."
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then there was a light scraping noise against the table as Blaise slowly pushed his beer towards Draco, who rolled his eyes.
"Yes, fine," Draco said, bringing his tankard to his lips. "Just one, okay?"
(Spoiler: Draco would not, in fact, have just one.)
"Plus ten points to the monarchy for superior coping strategies," Blaise said spiritedly in response, and Harry laughed, permitting the rest of the table to begin the helpful stages of returning to normal—which they did, once Daphne and Theo returned, both slightly pink-cheeked.
Hermione arched a brow, and Daphne shook her head warningly.
"Nothing happened," she whispered. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Mm, of course, and is Michael still coming tonight?" Hermione asked drily, and Daphne pursed her lips, elbowing Hermione into silence in answer as they all continued to eat—and more importantly, to drink.
From Blaise: "A toast. Shall we?"
From Theo: "To our royal princes, and their corresponding trail of tears- ouch, Daph—"
From Harry, loudly: "To Prince Lucifer, and to this heat, which is his natural habitat."
From Theo: "Hear, hear!"
From Draco: "Is this honestly what you people do when I'm not here?"
Theo, briskly: "What is this, the Star Chamber Courts? Enough with the inquisition, King George."
From Blaise: "Yes, and drink your beer, Your Highness. Waste not, want not."
Draco, to Pansy: "Lady Parkinson? Do you agree?"
From Pansy: "With Blaise? Of course not."
Blaise: "MINUS THIRT-"
Pansy, brusquely: "—but in general, yes. Drink your beer, Draco."
Blaise: "—oh. Points tentatively suspended."
Harry, to Pansy: "Are you drunk?"
Pansy, sagely, back to Harry: "You're drunk."
From Theo, loftily: "And for the record, Draco, when you're not here, we cease to exist. We simply sink into the swamps of our woeful, empty lives."
From Daphne: "In fact, I suspect we're just a collective delusion, Draco. We're just the imaginary friends you dreamt up."
Draco, to Daphne: "Are you drunk?"
Theo: "Everyone at this table is positively sloshed. So, if you happen to confess your affections, Daph, nobody will remember."
Daphne, brightly: "Excellent idea. Hermione, I love you."
From Hermione, gravely: "My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep—"
From Harry, incredulously: "Is that a euphemism?"
From Pansy: "It's Shakespeare, you beautiful idiot."
Harry, wiping away a tear: "Thank you—"
From Blaise, interrupting: "So yes, it's a euphemism. Ten points to the new Tracey Davis!"
Hermione, sighing: "I do have a name, you know. But I accept the points."
From Draco, across the table: a smile. A slow, teasing, distracting smile, and a toast in her direction.
From Daphne: "Oh, balls. My glass is nearly empty."
Theo: "Look on the bright side, Greengrass. Your glass matches the rest of the table's moral deficiencies."
Harry, preparing to drain his beer: "In that case, mine's much too full."
From Hermione: nothing, except a tingling of warmth in her belly and a sleepy, happy sensation.
From Draco: another look in her direction, furtive and longing and lingering.
From Blaise: "I'd say this place has been successfully imperialized. Shall we conquer new lands?"
From Theo: "Excelsior!"
In unison: "EXCELSIOR!"
Between Draco and Hermione: a smile that meant the night wasn't over yet.
Unfortunately, trouble struck shortly afterwards as they traipsed leisurely through Hogsmeade. From afar, it was obvious someone had tipped off the Hog's Head that Draco was roaming about the village that evening, and cameras were flashing the moment they arrived within sight of it.
"Oh no," Draco said under his breath, freezing rigidly at the sight of it. "I'm—I'm not sober enough for this, my father will have my head. I can't, I have t-"
"I'll handle it," Harry murmured to him, painting a highly convincing look of supreme drunkenness on his face and offering Draco a wink. "Just slip off before they see you," he advised, and then whirled around, grabbing Theo's shoulder as they both initiated something that looked to be entirely too rehearsed. "Hello, gents, funny seeing you here—"
"Oi, Prince Harry, smile for the camera!" called one of the paparazzos as Draco took Hermione's hand, holding her back.
"Do you mind coming with me?" he asked her. His breath was warm and close and tempting as he ducked with her against one of Hogsmeade's cobblestone buildings. "Unless you'd rather go with them—"
"No, no," she told him, shaking her head. He'd slid his fingers between hers, briefly. Just long enough to convince her she didn't particularly want to be anywhere he wasn't. "Where do you want to go?"
"Anywhere," he said, half-smiling. "As long as you'll come with me."
She nodded, heart foolishly fluttering and head dizzily spinning, and they headed the other direction as Harry began posing for shots in the doorway of the Hog's Head, laughingly shouting that he was so sorry they'd come all this way just for pictures of the spare.
She and Draco made their way back to the castle, releasing each other and faking sobriety on their way in, just in case any other photographers were smart enough to linger near the school's entrance. Every now and then, though, he'd lean towards her, making excuses to do so; brushing his knuckles against hers, or touching the small of her back.
"Not to be presumptuous," he said, speaking near her ear, "but in terms of privacy—"
"Your room," she agreed, breathless.
He nodded, glancing around, and then took her hand, leading her into his room and then closing the door behind them, falling against it with relief.
It was the first time she'd ever been inside it. Unsurprisingly, given what she knew about him, it was extremely ordered and neat. There were very few personal details; a few framed pictures of his family, his father and mother and one of his grandfather, King Abraxas, but outside of the sparing personal touches, it could have belonged to anyone. Hermione perched on the edge of his perfectly made bed (the duvet an emerald green, which she was half-surprised didn't come embroidered with some sort of royal seal) and waited as he paused in the threshold, staring at her.
For a moment, realizing she was in a very different space (one that smelled like him; and worse, like being too close to him) she paused, abruptly recalling what had happened only hours before.
"So," she said, suddenly uncomfortable. "You and Astoria."
He blinked, registering her tone. "Oh god," he said, aghast. "You must think I'm terrible, I wasn't—I didn't plan to—"
"No, I just—" She stopped. "So, you two…"
She trailed off, but he clearly knew what she was asking.
"If you can call ending something that was never a relationship to begin with a break-up, then yes," Draco said, taking a tentative step towards her. "I told her I wasn't ready to consider making the relationship more serious, and that I really didn't think it would be fair to her if I—"
He stopped.
"It wasn't fair to either of us," he amended, "for her to have to be with someone who's only going through the motions."
Hermione swallowed. "I see."
"I might have been able to do it, you know," Draco admitted after a moment, his voice a little tainted with misery. "If you hadn't existed, I might have been able to—"
He broke off.
"If you'd never existed," he exhaled, gaze falling inescapably on hers, "maybe I could have spent a few more months trying to be with her. Or maybe I even could have been. But you do exist. You do, and every minute I'm not with you—"
"Oh, fuck," Hermione whispered, "don't say it."
He blinked, surprised. "What?"
"You can't say it," Hermione said, rising sharply to her feet. "Don't, I can't—you and me, we can't—"
He flinched. "Right," he said, swallowing. "Right, I know."
"We're friends," Hermione told him again. "We have to be, don't we? Because I'll be gone soon," she rambled, "and you'll be king one day, and this is… this could never happen. We both know this could never happen."
"I know," Draco pressed, taking a step towards her. "But whether anything happens with us or not, Hermione, I can't be with Astoria. Don't you understand? Whether you're mine or not, I still can't be hers. I can't even pretend to belong to someone else, not when you're here—"
"Oh god, stop talking immediately," she half-wailed. "Draco, don't—"
"You're right," he said instantly, arms rigid at his side. "Right. Let's… we could talk about something else. Or just talk," he suggested. "About, I don't know. Anything. Tell me about your family."
She wanted to scream. She wanted to leap into his arms and cry. She wanted to rip off his clothes and dig her fingers into the lines of him and never let go. She wanted to run out of this room, get on a plane, and never look at his perfect face again.
"My parents are dentists," she said hoarsely.
"Oh," he said, forcing a nod. "That's—that's wonderful. Do they find their work meaningful?"
Jesus, he was so close. He was so close, and he was so handsome, and his mouth, and his hands and his eyes and his obvious misery, and all of it was just right there—
Her mind flashed unhelpfully to the last time they'd kissed.
And the time before that.
And—
What had she been talking about?
"Sorry," she said hazily. "What was the question?"
He pressed his fingers to his furrowed brow.
"I don't know," he admitted, exhaling in frustration.
She wondered if she should just leave.
That, or talk about her cat. That seemed appropriately mundane. What was sexy about cats?
That could work, she thought, but then he blurted out, "Wouldn't it be worth it?"
"What?" she asked, dazed.
"However long we got. Wouldn't it be worth it?" he asked, stepping towards her. "I know there's problems—I know there's countless obstacles, I know it wouldn't be easy, but—but if you feel anything for me at all—"
"I do," she confessed, desperately hating that she'd already been trying to fight it for so long. "I do, Draco, but…"
She couldn't remember her reasons anymore.
She knew they existed, though.
She was… pretty sure they existed.
He nodded, looking helplessly at his feet.
"Then I'll walk you back to your room," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have asked you to come back with me, it was wildly inappropriate—and anyway, I'm sure my father's going to be furious, so I should probably just wait for his call."
At the look on his face, Hermione's entire chest ached.
"Draco," she said, pained, and he looked up, painting on a smile.
"It's fine," he said. "Come on, I'll take you back."
She nodded, not sure what else to do, and shifted towards the door, but as he stepped behind her she paused, turning to face him.
"Draco," she said again, and this time, when the impulse to comfort him struck her, she didn't resist. She brushed his hair away from his face, smoothing her fingers through it, and beneath her touch, his eyes fluttered shut. She slid her hand around his cheek, brushing her thumb against the bone. He leaned into her hand, letting out a tired breath, and she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into her, easing the tension from his shoulders until he returned her embrace with gratitude, arms tight around her waist.
"It's okay," she told him, voice muffled in his shoulder. "It'll be okay."
"Thank you," he said, shifting just enough to slide her hair from her neck to tuck it behind one ear. "Really," he said, fingers soft against her cheek. "I needed that."
She tried not to look up at him.
Honestly, she tried.
Unfortunately, it was difficult not to, and once she had, it was impossible to look away.
"Oh no," she said.
He swallowed.
"Do you want to ruin it, or should I?" he asked.
"Yes, please," she managed faintly, and gasped as he kissed her, maneuvering her effortlessly back against the wall of his dorm room and then hoisting her up, guiding her legs around his hips. It was a messier process than the first two times had been—what with him stumbling slightly and her giggling into his mouth as she accidentally bit down on his lip—but it was also undeniably more intense. He took both her hands, pressing them back against the wall, and she let out what was almost definitely a moan—not just a moan; like, a porn moan, good god—as he started kissing her neck, lingering in the spot behind her ear.
Eventually, standing was too difficult; he tossed her onto his bed and she pulled him by the collar of his shirt, fumbling with his buttons as he slid his hand up the side of her dress. He paused once, arms locked unhelpfully behind his back as she nudged the fabric over his shoulders, and she stared, not even bothering to hide it as she took in the muscles of his chest and his abs and oh my god what was she even supposed to call those, did they even have names? What right did he have, honestly—
"You look upset," Draco said warily, suddenly tense. "Is this—are you—"
"You stupid prince," she whispered, and reached out, running her fingers down his torso. "Jesus. Are you even real?"
He laughed, tugging her hips lower on the bed and falling against her again. "You can't imagine how badly I've wanted to touch you," he murmured, sliding his hands around the shape of her waist. "When I watched you and Harry dancing, I honestly wondered whether I could legally have him arrested. Just for a second, obviously," he assured her, his fingers tracing the fabric of her underwear, "and just so you know, the answer is probably yes—"
She moaned again as he brushed the obvious slickness between her legs, and then she clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Oh my god," she said, bolting upright and colliding with him, smacking her forehead into his cheek. "Oh god, I'm so sorry—"
"Are you," he began, and paused, wincing as he touched his cheek. "You have quite a forehead on you, you know that? But more importantly, what is going on?"
"I just—" Could this be more mortifying? "Look," she exhaled swiftly, "I like you. Really, I do, I completely want to—" She waved a hand. "You know. But let's face it, I'm a little drunk," she said, trying not to be too distracted by his bare chest despite the way she was blindly running her fingers over his arms, "and you just broke up with Astoria—"
"Okay, I hear you," he exhaled at once, nodding. "Right. It's—timing."
"Bad," Hermione clarified. "Very bad timing. I want to, but tonight…" She trailed off, wincing. "I just don't want to have to face Daphne after her sister just, you know…"
"Completely understood," Draco assured her. "Right, of course, but—another time?" he asked, reaching for his shirt where it had been deposited on the floor. "I can wait," he added firmly, shrugging it back on. "However long you want me to, I'll wait. But I'd like to know there could be another time, at least."
She hated that he was saying all the right things. It was making her convictions extremely forgettable, and her better judgment seemed to be fading entirely to nothing each time she looked at him.
"Yes," she said, nodding slowly. "Definitely another time. But tonight, I have to—"
She gestured to the door, and he nodded.
By the time he walked her back to her room, Daphne still wasn't home, and neither was anyone else. He paused in the doorway, looking around, and then pulled her into him for a careful, breezy kiss; a little brush of see you later, and she smiled against his lips, giving him a shove.
"Goodnight, Your Highness," she said, and he grinned, catching her hand before she went inside.
"We can make this work," he told her, his voice firmly resolute. "You and I can make this work, Hermione. I promise."
And she smiled, because against the odds, she believed him.
"Study tomorrow, then?" she asked. "Still have to finish the paper on Margery Kempe."
"Wild horses couldn't keep me away," he said, "much less Margery herself."
She laughed, and he lowered his head with a grin, kissing the tips of her fingers.
"Sleep well," he murmured, and she nodded, gently closing the door between them and falling backwards onto her bed.
She was already sweating; it was going to be another unpleasantly hot night.
But for once, she really didn't mind.
The next morning, when Hermione and Daphne made their way down to the common room for coffee, the newspaper headline was impossible to miss.
LATEST ROYAL ROMANCE ENDS IN TEARS AS LADY ASTORIA GREENGRASS SLAMS PRINCE DRACO FOR BAD BEHAVIOR AT HOGWARTS
"Oh no," Daphne exhaled, as Hermione hurried to skim the page, catching the words 'partying with friends' and 'larking around' and, horribly, 'suspected infidelity.'
"This is bad," Hermione whispered, as Daphne leaned closer, reading the end of the article with her.
Astoria claims to be heartbroken over Draco's thoughtless treatment of her; this reporter has been informed that while Prince Draco led Astoria to believe he was serious about their relationship, she's now been left devastated and humiliated by his actions. One wonders, now, what Prince Lucius will have to say about his son's reckless behavior. Perhaps this is yet another event in a string of conflicts that indicate father and son haven't been seeing eye to eye.
"Listen, I'll handle it," came a voice, and Hermione looked up to catch Draco making his way through the common room, obviously in a rush to leave. "No, listen to me, just schedule some public appearances, I'll be on my best behavior with the press. Tell my father I'll call him from the car. Just do it, please, Dobby, I'll be right there—"
He broke off, grimacing, and in an instant, Hermione's heart sank.
There was no way they could be together now. He would have to be twice as careful.
"Oh, no, Hermione," Daphne said softly, reaching for her, but the moment Draco had disappeared through the common room door, something loud creaked and clanged overhead, and immediately, cold air started blowing down on them where they stood.
Hermione's phone buzzed in her pocket.
I can't study tonight
I'm sorry
And just like that, the heat wave was over.
In retrospect, it's funny to think Rita Skeeter and I go back nearly as far as Draco and I do, but that first bowlshirt article she wrote (which wasn't really about me, but was, kind of) was the beginning of what would be a very strained and strangely codependent relationship between us. Needless to say, I learned right away that any relationship I had with Draco couldn't really be just the two of us; instead, it was him, me, and whatever Rita Skeeter was writing that particular day, and on that day, it happened to be Astoria Greengrass.
For the record, I don't hate Astoria; really, I don't. In fact, I like her, sort of. The way you can like someone but also not want to be trapped in an elevator with them. And anyway, she was hardly the worst of it.
After all, she was only the beginning.
a/n: Hope you're still enjoying! I mentioned on tumblr that if you read my last story, How to Win Friends and Influence People, you may see some familiar characters pop up as we move further into the plot (and specifically, Draco's family).