February 1999—
When Hermione woke the following morning, after a night under the peace of a Dreamless Sleep Potion, she realized three things in quick succession. First, she actually felt happy and well rested. Second, someone was holding her hand. And third, which should not have surprised her considering the previous two, Draco was asleep in a chair at her bedside. She brought their entwined hands to her lips and kissed his warm skin. He woke with a groan.
"Salazar's sack, these chairs are uncomfortable."
"You came back."
Draco moved to sit on the bed with her.
"Almost immediately. I made it up to my room in time for curfew, waited a few minutes to let the halls clear, then came straight back down. You'd already taken your sleeping potion."
"Yes, it worked rather well."
Draco took her hand again.
"I'm such an idiot. More of an idiot than the Weasel."
"Yes," she eyed him. "You rather are."
He grimaced. "At least I figured it out quickly this time."
"I suppose."
"Hermione, I'm sorry. I'm a self-sabotaging moron."
"Well, you're here with me now."
Draco nodded.
"Miss Granger, how did—what are you doing here?" Madam Pomfrey had bustled out of her office doing a morning round with her few overnight patients.
"I just arrived," Draco lied easily, though his rumpled clothes and hair betrayed him.
Madam Pomfrey tutted, then made quick work of assessing Hermione's diagnostics. Draco cast a tooth-cleaning charm and ran fingers through his hair behind the nurse's back while she re-bandaging Hermione's scar before dismissing her.
"Draco," Hermione said as they walked back to their common room, "why don't you go nap first, then we'll enjoy the day together."
It took only a few more words of convincing before Draco kissed her deeply and trudged up to his room.
Hermione made her way to the Great Hall. Ginny was already seated and greeted her with a bear hug as she plopped down next to her on the Gryffindor bench. The mail had yet to arrive, so all the students in the large room were focusing on breakfast, despite the day.
"Are you up for coming with us to Hogsmeade again today?" Ginny asked.
"We'll meet you a bit later. Draco is napping."
"Napping? It's morning."
Hermione paused. "He doesn't sleep well."
"Ah."
No more needed to be said. By this point, some had returned to better sleeping habits after the war, but most had also struggled with sleep at one point or another. In a twisted way, it was a point of solidarity for the survivors. They tucked into their meals, which consisted of every imaginable breakfast food shaped into hearts. Hermione slid a heart-shaped egg with a heart-shaped yolk onto a piece of heart-shaped toast and did her best not to roll her eyes as she ate it. She idly wondered if the salt crystals were even charmed into hearts.
Finally, the mail came. Squeals of delights sounded around the hall. Ginny received cards and sweets from most of her family as red and pink packages and cards dropped in front of others. For the first few minutes, the only thing delivered to Hermione was her copy of The Daily Prophet. She gave her knut to the owl and set the paper aside without unrolling it while she picked at her breakfast. At Madam Pomfrey's warning, she was giving her brain a rest this morning.
A commotion of wings and hoots at the ceiling drew their attention. Students from all four tables were pointing up at the spectacle. Owls poured into the Great Hall by the dozens and were flapping around the ceiling. They looked to Hermione like they were organizing. She had an uncomfortable vision of owls raining down in revolt, spraying them with pellets, feces, and bits of dead animals. Seconds later, their avian plan must have been worked out, because the birds started to swoop one at a time to deposit their letters (just letters) into a neat stack—in front of Hermione. This went on for several minutes. More than half of the birds, though, kept flying and swooping around the room, until they finally began to perch in the rafters. Hagrid jumped up howling and waving his arms in a vain attempt to shoo them.
Hermione sat gaping at the mountainous stack of cards in front of her.
"Blimey, Hermione, I knew you were popular, but not that popular," Ginny said, ogling the stack. "Who are they all from?"
"I have no idea."
"Let's open them!"
Ginny grabbed the first envelope and tore it open. Almost immediately, her eyes widened as they zoomed over the parchment. Then, lightning fast, she snatched at the looming pile of letters, toppling them every which way.
"Ginny!? What on Earth is wrong with you?"
"Don't open these!" her friend shrieked as she kept grabbing at envelopes. Every eye in the Great Hall was glued on them, and Hermione felt her face heat.
"Give me my letters!"
"No! No. You don't want these. Who cares about stupid fan mail?" Ginny's voice had leveled down to calm, but they way she clutched armfuls of letters to her chest spoke otherwise.
"Fan mail? I don't understand what's wrong with—"
Hermione's words were drowned out as five red envelopes exploded. She jumped to her feet. Several students shrieked as voices boomed on top of one another, echoing through the hall and out into the corridor.
"HOW COULD YOU SULLY YOURSELF WITH THE LIKES OF—"
"—LOST YOUR MIND? THAT DEATH EATER SCUM—"
"—DIRTY LITTLE MUDBLOOD LIKE—"
"—KILLED AND TORTURED CHILDREN WITH THAT MANIAC—"
"—STAY AWAY FROM DRACO, OR ELSE!"
Hermione could not be sure, but one of those voices brought a distinct sneer and pug nose to mind. When the last screeching voice finished, she continued to stand in stunned silence. McGonagall was on her feet with her wand raised. Hagrid was red and shaking. Ginny at her side was nearly green.
Collecting herself, Hermione took her seat. With only slightly trembling hands, she grabbed The Daily Prophetnext to her, removed the tie, and mentally braced herself as she unrolled the parchment. On the front page was a picture of her and Draco in Madam Puddifoot's tea shop. The affection on their faces was plain as their eyes locked. Then, to Hermione's horror, Draco smirked, and she pulled him to her for a brief yet heated kiss. For once, Harry and Ginny were nowhere to be seen. The photo was taken close and cropped to show only one of the couples at the cramped table.
HEROINE OR HARROWING?
Hermione Granger's Flirt with Darkness
My dearest readers will find themselves shocked to discover that our beloved war heroine, none other than self-proclaimed "Golden Girl" Hermione Granger, has tarnished her sterling reputation with a flirtation with dark and brooding pure-blood heir Draco Malfoy. The Malfoys were ardent supporters of You-Know-Who, and though mother and son claim to be reformed, Lucius Malfoy remains locked up in Azkaban for his crimes against the wizarding world. (For more on the charges brought against the Malfoy family at large, see page 9…)
Yours truly has devoted herself to uncovering the truth behind whispers of Imperius Curses, blackmail, and love potions. As these photos will show, Miss Granger finds herself besotted with a young man who has loudly opposed her existence in the magical world. In fact, according to one of their fellow classmates (who asked to remain nameless for safety), our readers would be hard-pressed to come up with a slur that the young Malfoy heir hasn't thrown at Muggle-borns while in school. How could this have happened? Continue to page 3 for more details.
Hermione's stomach turned. She skipped ahead.
On the next page, other photos from throughout the day at Hogsmeade, of times they exchanged looks and smiles they thought were private, dotted the page. In another context, Hermione would find the way they looked at each other heartwarming. The article took up the entirety of page 3. The few bites of her breakfast threatened to come back up. Instead of diving in like she usually would, she read just the last paragraph.
We can only hope that Miss Granger finds the help she needs from the excellent Mind Healers at St. Mungo's. Until then, we encourage her friends and the teachers at Hogwarts to intervene on her behalf.
Slowly and deliberately this time, Hermione rose to her feet. She neatly folded the Prophet, tucked it under her arm, and walked towards the doors. The only sounds in the entire hall were the soft footfalls of her steps. Her feet guided her up stairs, down hallways, and eventually to a halt in front of a familiar stained-glass door.
"Cherry cherubs," she whispered.
As Hermione stepped through the doorway, she saw Draco standing in the middle of the common room, white as a sheet, and clutching a short letter. Behind him, the fire roared with kindling. She spotted several envelope corners poking out. She approached him cautiously.
"Draco?"
His eyes snapped to hers. She started as she realized they were filled with fear.
"Draco, what's wrong?" Hermione demanded.
In response, he released the letter with a trembling hand. Hermione recognized the elegant script immediately, though she had only seen it one other time. She scanned through the letter as quickly as she could, but her mind was sluggish from shock and only picked up bits and pieces.
Dearest—He's been attacked—in St. Mungo's—refused to transfer him immediately—not yet stable—McGonagall's floo—soon as you can.
"What do I do?"
Draco's voice was pleading. It snapped her back to reality.
"We need to get you to McGonagall's office. Go to your room and pack a small bag, in case you need to stay overnight."
Draco just stared at her. She grabbed him on both sides of his face and kissed him fiercely. It took several seconds for him to respond. Finally, his arms snaked around her waist, then he was crushing her to him. Too soon, she pulled away from him, knowing he needed to make haste.
"Draco," she said with command, "you need to hurry. Pack your bag. I'll walk you there."
In a flash they were in the Headmistress' office. He crashed his lips onto hers quickly before throwing a handful of powder onto the fire. His eyes stayed locked on hers as he disappeared in a roar of green flames.
For the second time that morning, Hermione's feet took her back to the Head common room of their own accord. Once in her room, her clock told her it was not yet ten in the morning. She sank onto her bed. After a few seconds, feather-light flutters danced over her skin as red rose petals rained softly on her from above. It was a beautiful piece of magic. The petals swirled in delicate eddies and alighted like butterfly kisses on her skin and bed. A few seconds after they landed, they disappeared leaving behind soft puffs of ever-so-slightly rose-scented air.
Hermione closed her eyes against tears and the world. She imagined Draco's intentions behind this spell, undoubtedly involving them falling into bed together after a romantic day. Did he have evening plans for them beyond the Valentine's Feast? Were there other ruined surprises they would never enjoy together? She nestled into her pillows breathing evenly and trying to drift off among the delicate shower of roses. She laid there, entirely still, long after the spell expired.
Sleep did not come.
' He's still alive.'
When Hermione got sick of wallowing in her own pity, she wrote a quick note via quill to Draco in hopes that he had the wherewithal to pack his Twinned Quill and journal before he left. She had not thought to remind him. She was rewarded when not long after, her heart skipped a beat as she got his reply.
'Is it very bad?' she wrote back.
'Yes.'
'I'm so sorry.'
'Me too. Go enjoy the day with Weaselette and the Wonder Twins. I'll update you later.'
'No, I can stay here and write with you.'
'The Healers need to talk to us soon. Please, go spend the day with them. I don't want you alone.'
'Okay, I'll bring it with me then. Update as soon as you can.'
'I will.'
"Hello, Hermione."
A dreamy, melodious voice interrupted her thoughtless, dazed footsteps.
"Hi, Luna."
"Are you heading down to Hogsmeade?"
Hermione sighed. "Yes, I suppose I am."
"I'm all alone today as well. I'll walk with you."
Hermione looked up and did a double take. Luna was wearing a metallic pink dress and had silver hearts floating in her hair and around her head. A glaring fuchsia overcoat and thick red boots completed the ensemble. Hermione's brain stuttered trying to take in the chaos. A sudden flush of warmth covered every inch of her skin, then Luna tapped herself with her wand muttering a second warming charm.
"There, that's better," she said. "Let's go."
Not knowing what else to do, she allowed Luna to link arms with her and make their meandering way down to Hogsmeade.
"I think Harry and Ginny will be in the Three Broomsticks," Hermione said tonelessly.
"How nice for them. They're a lovely couple. Let's go in here." Luna gestured to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
Hermione was apprehensive about whether she could keep it together in front of George, but there was no fight left in her. "Okay."
They entered, and George spotted her in less than a moment.
"Hullo! My two favorite customers! But where's—"
"Hello, Mr. Weasley," Luna interrupted.
"Luna, please, you can call me George."
"A proper business owner must always use a proper name, so Daddy says. Are you very busy today?"
The question was needless. Every aisle, nook, and cranny was dotted with Hogwarts students. George, the picture of amiability, ignored this. And, also, had the benefit of being well staffed.
"I'm free as a bird."
"We are here to be entertained, Mr. Weasley."
"George—I insist."
"Mr. George Weasley."
A look passed between them. Hermione could not discern it. It was not pointed nor heavy, pleading not encouraging. But, it must have said something.
George guffawed in response. "Very well, This way, I know just the thing! I actually could really use your help." He led them to a private back room, then up a short flight of stairs to his apartments. "Just in here."
Hermione looked around, and for the first time felt immediate interest overtake her. The room was packed with products never before seen on the Weasley shelves. The look of this room was very different to the workshop and testing spaces she had seen from the twins in the past. A vivid memory of boxes filled with suspect items and an ache around her eye socket echoed through the years. The room before her was set up for display and, with surprise Hermione realized, relaxation. Comfy chairs and a sofa surrounded a wide coffee table. The eye-catching piece, however, was the giant floating shelves filled to the brim with colorful products.
"What is this place," she marveled.
"This," George said, wrapping her in a big hug and then leading her to an armchair, "is a sample room."
Hermione sank comfortably into her armchair, but her eyebrows raised at George.
"Not what you're thinking at all. These are fully developed products: safe, tested, and cleared, but I need some market reactions to decide if they're ready for the shelves. Everything in this business is about timing!" George grimaced. "It was Fred's specialty."
Hermione smiled with genuine warmth.
"We'll help you," Luna said, echoing Hermione thoughts.
His smile snapped back. "I know just where to start."
For the next three hours, Hermione and Luna were treated to a new development of relaxing daydreams, candies that predicated and changed taste to each person's individual cravings, reverse mufflers that filtered out any annoying or unwanted sounds, a practical yet delicious lunch, voice throwers that worked almost like walkie-talkies, and mood jewelry that changed shape depending on the ambiance of the room.
Big hugs and loaded goody bags later, Luna and Hermione made their way back to Hogwarts by carriage.
Hermione snuck another peek at her Quill, which both of her companions politely ignored all afternoon, and closed her bag with a sigh. Still no word from Draco.
As she made her way up to the Head dormitories, the weight in her stomach returned.
Rain pelted the windows as Hermione climbed into bed. She imagined she could still detect a faint scent of roses. She took an extra long bath, wrote an encouraging message for Draco, and spent longer than necessary struggling her hair into controlled braids for sleep. Considering the day she had, packed with anxiety and a massive headache, except for a brief respite with Luna and George, she should have been able to slip away quickly, but instead she stared up at her ceiling wide awake.
For once, Hermione was in a relationship on Valentine's Day, and she still had no one to spend her evening with. Did that really bother her? No. What bothered her were the looks she got from strangers all day in Hogsmeade. Luna kept her moving and out of public eye as much as possible, but she still caught the sidelong glances of disappointment, dismissal, and, sometimes, outright disgust.
I miss him.
The thought was ridiculous, but no less true. Still, they had barely been apart! Was this healthy? Was she becoming dependent on him? A conversation with her mother from years ago swam to the front of her mind.
"The right match is a special thing, my love," her mother had said. "You will know it without doubt when you're in it. And if you ever think to yourself, 'this must be it,' it isn't. There will be no question or uncertainty left. You will feel peace and confidence in knowing."
"Mum, I'm fifteen. I'm not looking for love."
"Of course you're not—now. But one day you will, and when that day comes, you have to make sure it's not obsession or dependence or plain convenience."
Hermione had rolled her eyes.
"Trust me, dear. This is important."
It was important. That very conversation helped her to really think about what she wanted out of a relationship. Ron was comfort and familiarity, but he was not passion and fire and safety and peace. Ernie was nothing but convenience. Viktor, if she was honest with herself, never stirred her passion. But Draco… Draco could speed up her pulse with a single look. He set her ablaze when his eyes darkened with a hunger she knew all too well. He could melt her heart with one ghost of a sincere smile. With him, she felt such a range and depth of emotion one minute, and the next they might be curled up together on a couch reading each their own book in contented silence.
Hermione let out a lengthy sigh.
A soft knock sounded on the other side of her door. She shot up in bed.
"Come in," she whispered, detesting the quaver in her voice.
The door opened slowly, and there he was before her, as if her thoughts alone made him materialize. With relief, she saw that desperate vulnerability banished from his face. Instead, he looked worn out.
"Did I wake you?" Draco asked.
"No, I couldn't sleep."
He nodded, but he made no move towards her. One hand came up to rub the exhaustion from his face, but it had the opposite effect.
"Come here." She flicked the corner of her blanket down.
Draco complied, pulling off his outer robes, shirt, and pants and tossing them over the back of her chair. Stripped down, she could read him: the tension in his arms, the downcast of his eyes, and the stoop of his neck. Still, he cut a beautiful figure clad in nothing but his boxers. Get it together, she admonished herself. Now's not the time.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked as he climbed into her bed.
"No."
"Draco…"
"Just not tonight."
Instead of pushing him, she fell silent and pulled him towards her into a tight embrace. She melted into the feel of him. They were both exhausted and needed to sleep. Instead, their hands began to roam over sensitive skin. Their lips met, then their tongues. In very little time, their clothing was peeled away, and Draco's contraceptive charm was cast. He moved against her and entered her quickly, but her body was more than ready for him. His hips snapped to hers achieving a depth that she found she needed desperately. When she was crying out his name, his movements became faster, harder, and erratic. Then, he was groaning his own release as she was still riding out hers. When they were both spent, he collapsed beside her.
For several long minutes, they laid there, sated and silently holding each other's gaze. When her words came tumbling out, she did not even try to stop them, despite the consequences.
"I love you," she whispered. It was a confession, raw and bare.
Draco did not balk at these words, as she expected. He did not run from them or let the space between them fill with tension. He just looked at her in silence, taking in every feature of her face.
Then, in little more than a rumbling whisper, "I love you, too."
