DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
.
.
It was just like old times: Dad pushing her trunk-laden trolley, mum keeping her tightly by her side, making Hermione feel as though she'd need a prying bar to free herself.
King's Cross was packed with the post-holiday crowd.
"Look, there's Theo," Hermione exclaimed on spotting his signature tousled hair... and newly acquired head gear. She was almost sure the antlers looked larger.
She waved him over, standing on the tips of her toes and stretching her arm as high as it would go. He spotted her promptly enough, and made his way through the swarm.
("Christmas is over, wanker!" someone yelled.
"Why is he–"
"Don't ask, mum.")
"Hullo, Granger gang!"
"Aren't you festive," dad chipped teasingly.
"Please don't start, Robert."
"I'm sorry," mum added, "But you're going to have to explain."
"Thing is, Evelyn–"
"I don't think I said you could call me that."
"Evelyn, the thing is... my flatmate is a foul prat."
"He did this to you?"
"Yes."
"Are they bigger than before?" Hermione asked.
"I... er... I tried to vanish them away." Theo grumbled shamefacedly.
"Why? He told you not to!"
"I thought he was bluffing!"
"Ha!" dad barked, "And why exactly did he give you antlers?"
"Well–" Theo paused to jeer at a group that was pointing and laughing at him. "It's like I told you, Robert. He's a foul prat."
Hermione interjected, "It's because Theo installed an obnoxious singing fountain in his room."
"Because he put sparkly death-vines in my room!"
"Because you put a billion butterflies in his!"
"Because he papered my room with pink glittering snakeskin!"
"Because you bought that ghastly lamp!"
"Because he... I mean I..." Theo stopped in his tracks and glared at her. "Are you taking his side?"
"I am taking the side of Justice," she sniffed.
"Justice my arse –"
"Well, this flatmate fellow sounds like a hoot," dad said, "You should bring him with you the next time you visit."
Theo's indignation disappeared like that, and he began to snigger. "Oh, sure. I'll do that. Won't that be brilliant, Hermione?"
She huffed, pushed past him, and threw herself through the barrier and into platform nine and three quarters...
...Nearly barrelling straight into Luna.
"Gosh!" she gasped, arms flailing at her sides to keep herself from tipping over, "Why are you standing so close to the entrance, Luna?!"
"I was waiting for Theo," she shrugged, "Why are you looking so distressed?"
"Because we both quite nearly cracked our heads open on the platform!"
"Hm" Luna mused, "But that didn't happen, did it?"
Hermione gave up, and steered Luna some distance away, so that when mum, dad, and Theo stepped in, their path was unimpeded.
"Buckie!" Luna sang.
"I told you to stop calling me that!"
Barely containing her laughter, Hermione introduced her parents to the dotty girl.
...The dotty girl who said, "A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, sir, madam," and curtseyed.
"What – is she –?" Hermione sputtered in a whisper to Theo.
"I told her dentists are muggle royalty."
"Why on earth would you do that?"
He scowled. "She gave me a giant bottle of antler polish."
Mum and dad kept walking along her window as the Hogwarts Express leisurely rolled into motion. Hermione wished they wouldn't, so that she could wipe her eyes before the moisture that had built up in them could spill over.
Bye, she mouthed as she waved. And waved and waved –
"No, you may not touch them, Thomas!" Theo raged next to her.
The train was running now; her parents fell behind. Hermione twisted away from the window with a lump in her throat.
"Daddy's wedding is on the twenty-fifth, next month," Luna announced, and began handing out large brown evelopes, "The gorse field will be in full bloom by then. Everybody must wear yellow..."
"Stop trying to touch them!"
"Cor! They're actually, honest to god, real antlers!"
Within the envelope was a golden disk, which when held in the palm of her hand, blossomed into a stalk of gorse, that sang the contents of the invite.
"...cordially inviiii-iiited tooooo..."
The compartment door slid open and Malfoy and Mandy stepped in.
"Brilliant job with the antlers, mate!" Dean cheered, and Malfoy smirked as he settled right opposite Theo.
"Here, Draco," Luna said, "For daddy's wedding. Sorry, Mandy, but we aren't really friends. Come with me, Theo... I want to give Neville his card."
"I'm not going anywhere. Can't you give it to him later?"
"I'd like to give it to him now."
"I'm not going any –"
"Plan on hiding away for the next three weeks, Theo?" Malfoy drawled with sadistic glee.
"Get bent!"
"Are you worried about what people will say?" Dean asked, "Are you worried that they'll laugh and call you names?"
"Sod of–"
"Worried that they won't let you join in any reindeer games?"
Luna dragged Theo away before he could disembowel Dean.
When they returned, they brought Neville and Hannah along with them. The compartment was filled to its capacity... and it was loud. Dean was in high spirits, and took it upon himself to drench everyone in joy. There was much laughter, teasing, chattering –
Hermione pressed herself as deeply into her corner as she could, pulled her legs up, and dived into a book. She didn't want to bother with them, and they didn't bother her.
At nine o'clock in the evening, the body of the house at the Théâtre des Variétés was still all but empty...
...
A steady pain behind her eyes: She blinked and looked up.
Night had fallen, and the train's lamps weren't bright enough to read by. She slipped her wand out of her pocket and swiftly conjured a tiny bluebell flame to hover over her book.
The group in the compartment hadn't mellowed in the least. They'd decorated Theo's antlers with gorse flowers, while he looked like he'd finally achieved the level of Zen necessary to endure such behaviour without suffering a stroke. She cast a zippy glance across their faces, but froze dead when she found Malfoy staring intently at her wand.
She stowed it away quickly, feeling slightly panicked, and his eyes lifted. He was utterly expressionless as they exchanged one fleeting look... and then he turned away.
She felt angry – angry – as she glared down at the paperback on her lap. He'd think it was because of what he had said. He was probably feeling triumphant, smug, and vindicated. There was a prickling need to look his way one more time... and she resolutely clamped down on it.
Vandeuvres smiled his thin smile, and made a little movement to signify he did not care. Assuredly, 'twas not he who would ever have prevented poor, dear Blanche scoring a success. He was more interested by the spectacle which Steiner was presenting to the table at large.
Hermione loved books, yes... but sometimes she was sure that they bloody hated her.
She hopped off the train and onto the platform of Hogsmeade station, and the steam fizzing out from under the train mingled with the night's fog.
The burnt out ends of smokey days...
Little flecks of snow swirled like flies around lamps. There was an indistinguishable figure standing atop the bridge that arched over the tracks: a dark lump and the glowing end of a cigarette.
Hermione kept behind her friends, still not ready to engage, still not feeling solid enough to coax her facial muscles into a smile. She kept looking at the strange bridge-top figure... was it looking back? Were they connected, the two of them, in their moment of loneliness?
"...And remember how Goldstein thought he could juggle six beer bottles, and..."
Ah, they were talking about the infamous New Year's party. Hermione slowed her pace even more. She studied her shoes as she walked – so dark against the snow, so dark that they seemed to blend into her shadow. It was like she was melting; melting into absolute blackness... melting into an abyss –
Someone was walking over her grave. There was an unsettling tremor going on in her stomach that was sure to explode out of her as some sort of madness.
"Coming, Hermione?" Ginny called with one foot inside a thestral carriage, and she nodded in response and followed.
Dean, Neville, and Hannah were already inside, still nauseatingly merry, so she focused intensely outside the window, at the fog and the darkness.
"Are you okay?" Ginny murmured close to her ear.
"Yeah," she whispered back, without turning.
That evening, the common room was alit with mirth as people wittered over Theo's antlers and he continued to accept their mockery with a kind of resigned, self-effacing grace. Malfoy stood to one side, arms crossed and lightly smirking, like an artist observing the observers of his great masterpiece. The gramophone was blasting awful metal nonsense.
Hermione slipped away into her room. She wanted to escape the racket and she absolutely needed to escape Terry's persevering stare.
Her room. Her generic, warm, comfortable room.
She undressed and pulled the curtains aside so that moonlight spread across the space, eliminating the need for any other source of illumination. She lay in bed, counting her breaths and thought... Tomorrow.
Tomorrow she'd stow away the looming disquietude that was choking her soul, and tomorrow she'd get up and be good.
You tossed a blanket from the bed,
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
The narrow concrete road curved in a smooth path around the lake, and her footsteps fell upon it with rhythmic uniformity.
Thud, thud, and thud, thud.
It was so cold, that the sweat that had built up around the back of her neck made her shiver.
Just twenty minutes into her run, it began to snow, thick and fast.
She vanished her conjured road with a flick of her wand, and trudged back towards the castle, trembling all the way.
A hot shower later, with her hair in a bun and books in her bag, she descended the stairs swaddled in stony determination to take whatever the day had to offer with unflappable optimism.
But that was all well until she saw Terry waiting for her by the common room door.
"Hi," he said cautiously, with his hands deep in his pockets.
"Oh. Hello."
"I... I think we should talk."
"I'm terribly hungry," she blurted out with desperation.
"Well, alright. Later then? In the evening, after supper?"
She envisioned pulling her fortitude closer around herself like a cloak and replied, "Yes, okay."
xxx
She barely ate that evening; all she could think about was what she'd felt waking up on the first day of the new year – nausea, amnesia, and regret.
He was standing expectantly outside the Great Hall, and she nodded bracingly as she approached him. He suggested that they walk and she agreed, crossing her arms across her torso.
"So," he began, once they were in a secluded part of a fifth-floor corridor.
Hermione waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be measuring his words with great apprehension. He bit his lip, cast his eyes around the space, drawing out the awful awkward silence until Hermione couldn't stop herself from –
"I'm sorry!" he rushed out the moment her mouth opened. "I shouldn't have – I don't know what I was thinking! I was... shit, I was so plastered!"
"So was I," Hermione mumbled, "Honestly, I don't remember much of... anything."
"Brilliant," he muttered bitterly, "Just... brilliant. This was so not how I'd hoped to do this."
She blinked, taking in his unhappy expression. He still wasn't looking at her. "What do you mean?" she hedged.
"I'm sure you know well enough by now that I..." He fumbled with his sleeves and finally glanced at her with a puckered brow. "That I fancy you. And now I've gone and bollocksed it up, haven't I?"
"Terry..." What if she just ran?
"Give me another chance?" he begged... so earnestly that it was her turn to look away. "PLEASE. I think you're brilliant and very pretty, and I'm so sorry for acting like an idiot."
"It wasn't just you," she whispered, wondering if her guts really were lying in a pile by her feet, "I was completely out of it, and – um –"
"Give me another chance," he repeated, and took a step closer.
(Um.)
"I'll do better. Let me show you..."
(Oh dear.)
"Go to Hogsmeade with me on Saturday? Like a – a proper date, yeah?"
(No?)
"Go on, Hermione. You know I'm not actually a total twat."
"Okay," she said softly. And when she looked back up at him, he was grinning so widely.
"Good. Good. Excellent. There will be no alcohol, alright? I won't even drink butterbeer."
She emitted a little laugh, and squeezed her folded arms against her body. "We should head back."
"Yeah."
She let him talk most of the way. He graciously (over) compensated for her reticence by retelling every second of their shared lessons that day, she hmm'ed and haha yes'ed wherever necessary. Once inside the common room, he gawkily half-lifted his arms as though he was going to hug her, but then thought better of it, and made do with a stiff wave. Hermione still wasn't able to unstick her tightly crossed arms.
"I'll see you around," he smiled.
She nodded and wheeled around, swaying uncertainly on the spot for a moment or two... until she saw a pair of antlers by the window and dashed towards them gratefully.
"Hi, Buckie," she sighed as she sank down beside him.
"What did he want?" Theo asked a bit roughly.
"To apologise. For the whole..." She waved her hand about. "Thingy."
"Ah. And?"
"And nothing?"
"Hermione. And?"
"Fine," she huffed, and fell limply against the back of the sofa, "We're going to Hogsmeade this weekend."
"Together?"
"Together."
He leaned back as well, eyeing her carefully – and a little circumspectly. "Congratulations."
"Heh."
She pushed stray curls away from her face and rubbed her eyes so hard that she was briefly blinded by little blooms of white hot light. In that interim, Neville and Hannah made their way over to the armchairs in front of her and Theo.
"You look tired, Hermione," Neville remarked kindly.
"Hmm."
"I have just the thing; hold on." He fished a box out of his bag and held it out to her. "Mooncake?"
On Saturday morning, she let the conditioner sit in her hair for a full five minutes.
Anaemic sunlight withered into her room and slithered along her side as she stood before her mirror and twisted the top half of her hair into a bun. The remaining strands drizzled down her back, dark against the cream lambswool of her decidedly un-baggy jumper. She put on the quill earrings Ginny had given her for Christmas.
Pretty. He thought she was very pretty.
She swiped some colour across her mouth and wound a grey chequered scarf around her neck... the moment was so unlike moments it ought to have been exactly like.
Take for instance, her feelings before the Yule Ball. Jittery in the best possible way, nervous but practically floating into the air with excitement. It had, (she rolled her eyes as she pulled on her boots,) been a childish fantasy come to life.
Then there had been that time she'd gone to Pete's house, long after her parents had fallen asleep, with a heart full of fire and a mind full of intent. Nervousness had been prevalent then as well... but overruled by determination... curiosity... desire...
It had been all blissful anticipation for the short period of time when she'd thought she was going to Slughorn's party with Ron...
What was this feeling she was stuck with now? The door closed behind her with a snap.
xxx
But Terry was charming.
In The Three Broomsticks they sat, across from each other at a table close to the fireplace, sipping on hot chocolate. He laughed a lot – and smiled even more – as they discussed the week's Charms assignment. He didn't glance at Rosmerta's behind when she passed by. He didn't tap his fingers against the table, or grimace, or sigh, or betray any such signs of impatience and boredom.
And though he didn't quite bring anything new to the table, (all his notions and opinions were things she'd already considered,) it was gratifying to be able to discuss such matters outside the purview of her own head.
He'd make a great study-mate... like Padma. The fact that he wanted to be more than that didn't have to be a problem. Hell, she'd kissed Padma too. Maybe that was how Hermione Granger finalised deals; how she established intellectual partnerships.
Sealed with a kiss.
I'll see you in the sunlight
I'll hear your voice everywhere
I'll run to tenderly –
"Hermione? You still there?"
She cleared her throat and mumbled, "Yes, sorry. You were saying?"
"I asked if you'd read anything about volume or density effecting the efficacy of Protean charms," Terry said.
And Terry smiled.
By the time she'd polished off her cocoa, Hermione was more or less at ease. They walked out into a brighter day. The sun was stronger at noon – though its warmth was heavily diluted by icy, restless winds. They engaged in the kind of casual small talk that didn't require more than half your mind to participate in. (No more than an hour after they'd part, Hermione would forget everything that was said.)
Yet, she was not bored or discontented. In fact, she cherished every laugh she drew out of him, and smiled to herself every time his arm brushed against hers – which was quite frequently, as they were strolling quite close to one another.
They made a stop at the book shop, browsed for an hour and came out empty handed. They re-entered the pub and shared a beef hotpot.
Bypassing the carriages, they chose to walk their way back to Hogwarts. He told her about his family, (his American ancestors, his muggle ancestors, his parents, and his sister,) and she reciprocated.
Then, secreted behind a pillar just a few feet from their common room, he took her hand and said, "I had a wonderful time today, Hermione."
She stared at his thumb as he stroked it along her knuckles and replied, "I did, too."
He kissed her cheek for much longer than the average duration of a standard cheek-kiss.
The next day she had to endure two interrogations.
Ginny:
"Soooo, how was it?"
"Nice."
"What a depressingly tepid word."
"Oh god, all right. It was lovely."
Ginny smirked. "Better. What did you do?"
"We talked. Walked. Went to the bookstore."
"Merlin. He's perfect for you, isn't he?"
"I don't know about that," Hermione mumbled.
"When are you seeing him again?"
"At three... in the potion's lab."
"Oh, you know that's not what I meant!"
"Ha. Yes. We're going out again next week."
"That's great!"
Theo:
"Well, how'd it go then?"
"It was ni – lovely."
"What did you do?"
"Ate at The Three Broomsticks, walked about, went to the bookstore..."
"And? What did you talk about?"
"This and that."
"What and what?"
"Oh, nothing significant. Charms. Our families. Stuff."
"Stuff."
"Yes."
"Are you going out again?"
"Yes. Next weekend."
He pursed his lips and made to drag a hand through his hair... but was impeded by his antlers. So he swore and scowled and huffed and grumbled.
"Why the hell have both my best friends decided to go out with random Ravenclaws with weird last names?"
"Um... seriously?" Hermione levelled a pointed look at him.
"What?"
She raised her eyebrows.
"Excuse me? Luna's not – she doesn't have a – Luna isn't random!"
"Sure," Hermione grinned, "Not now, but –"
"Shut it. Boot is a sap and the Bowtruckle is a bore. Luna is a glorious, divine creature and I am stalking away from you now – stalking the fuck away in a righteous strop – for suggesting that those three are similar in any way."
Terry was waiting for her in the morning, and he walked with her down to the Great Hall for breakfast. It happened again the next two days, and Hermione realised that he intended to make a... thing... out of it. He even chaperoned her between lessons, which would have been pleasant since they mostly talked about the things they'd learned... but for the fact that on the fourth day, he seized her hand.
And then that became a regular.
Hermione loathed the way people stared. He had a bounce in his step as he rabbitted on about the merits of black soil, and she shambled along uneasily, begging her palm to become sweaty and clammy and generally unpleasant to hold.
They were going to the library to meet with Padma, Tracy, Anthony, and Ernie, to make a diligent revision plan for the upcoming N.E.W.T.s.
"We probably should put aside the maximum amount of time for Arithmancy, Potions, and Defence Against the Dark Arts," Terry bloviated.
"That's right," she agreed, "Wait, I need to show you something–"
She wrenched her hand free and stuck it into her bag, pretending to fish around for a piece of parchment that was sitting right on top.
"Here," she declared, "I've made a rough schedule – what do you think?"
xxx
Owing to the dismal paucity of things to do at Hogsmeade, their second date ended up being more or less identical to the first. The weather was blustery and their steps were slow; they traced a path encircling the entire village.
Not many people were out and about. Eventually, they wandered a bit away from the main street, to the barren grove that crowded around the Shrieking Shack.
There were plenty of silent stretches as they ambulated amid the ashen trunks. At times she revelled at the arm around her waist and at the young man it was attached to; the young man who thought she was brilliant, who smiled when she smiled, simply because she had smiled. At other times she thought about all the studying she could have been doing instead.
"Ah! Sunlight. Finally!"
It was barely anything: A weak puddle of light between two heaps of bramble, but Hermione helplessly chuckled at Terry's enthusiasm.
"Not nearly enough to thaw me, I'm afraid."
"You're right," he agreed, "Shall we head back then?"
She looked over her shoulder, at the seemingly endless frozen road they had to trudge back through. "Yes, we –"
He ran his hand along her arm, and when she turned back, she found him standing very, very close.
All of a sudden, the stillness around them deepened tenfold.
He was hesitant, timid. His eyes were round, his face was red, and he put his gloved fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. When he kissed her, she closed her eyes and laid her palms against his chest. She focused on the warmth, the softness, and the gentle caresses of his lips against hers. It was nice... really nice. She'd forgotten how good kissing felt.
He didn't push her too far, didn't try to deepen their tentative buss. They traded smiles after they broke apart; he pressed his thumbs against her cheeks that were undoubtedly blazing.
As they tramped back to the castle, she kept her hands in her pockets.
He kissed her again, at the foot of the eighth year tower.
The arrival of the second half of January marked the official implementation of Hermione Granger's Vanquishment of Newts Plan, (No animals were harmed during the making and/or execution of this plan.)
With her new wand and her unquenchable drive, she would absorb every last word in her books and master every single spell and grasp, support, and counter every supposition and –
And she would trip over absolutely nothing and knock her knee against the corner of a table.
Argh.
She stood in the middle of the common room, rubbing her painful kneecap, and she cursed divine intervention or whatever it was that had deemed it necessary to humble her mushrooming bravado.
"Hermione – calm down, good man – Oi, Hermione!"
Theo beckoned from one of the armchairs by the fireplace, and in the one across from him sat a seething Malfoy. She approached them cautiously, eyes darting between Malfoy and the glinting silver bells – yes, bells – hanging off Theo's antlers. She came to a halt behind a third chair, resting her still ringing leg against the back of it.
"Hurt yourself, did you?" Theo grinned.
She scowled. "You wearing bells."
"Yeah." He shrugged. "The antlers will be gone in two days time... I'm letting Luna have her fun till then. At least it's only bells now. Up until an hour ago I –"
"Did you need something?" she interrupted brusquely. He was eating into her Transfiguration hour. And dear god, HER KNEE.
Theo eyed her tartly for her tone, drawing out his pause vindictively. "Not me. Draco here needs your help."
"I," Malfoy snarled slowly, "Do not need –"
"Can it!" Theo ordered, "You need help. I'm bored to tears watching you whimper over that parchment."
"Then you should just bugger off!"
"We were supposed to go flying!"
"Oh, now you want to –"
Theo turned to her, eyes pleading. "Hermione. Help him. Please."
Malfoy turned to her, eyes flashing. "Not necessary."
She craned her neck to catch a glimpse of what he was working on.
"Arithmancy homework?" she ventured.
He opened his mouth – to rebuke her, no doubt – but then closed it on a huff. Firelight swirled in his eyes of cinder; shadows pooled along his cheekbones and under his jaw.
"The Chytroi prophesy," he muttered lowly, "There's something off with the calculations – I've gone over it a hundred times, but end up with a seven digit decimal each time."
"May I see?"
She stretched out her arm, and he, with a great big long suffering heave, deposited his work in her hand.
There it was, his tidy slanting cursive, just like it was on those slips of paper that remained between the pages of her books.
"You're missing something," she announced as she handed his parchment back to him.
"No, really?" he scoffed.
"Or, rather... nothing."
His lip curled.
"Actually, it's what you aren't missing."
"What?"
"You aren't missing nothing. You need to remove nothing."
"Are you ins–" He frowned down at his parchment "–OH."
"What just happened?" Theo asked as Malfoy vanished his calculations and started over.
"Modern Arithmency has embraced zero as an integer, but the Ancient Greeks hadn't. To estimate the probability of predictions made in that context, you have to accommodate their number system."
"Righto. Of course." Theo stretched and sat back with his arms behind his head.
Hermione watched Malfoy work for a beat. His head was bent and his hair hung over his brow. His parchment rested on the arm of his chair, and his quill moved quickly across it. The veins in his hand were underscored by shadows.
And before she could stop herself she blurted out: "Well, Malfoy. Aren't you going to thank me?"
If she hadn't been looking at him so closely, she might have missed the infinitesimal twitch his wrist performed. But he didn't sneer or scowl or glare. He didn't even look up.
"Not a chance, Granger."
Grinning widely, she pushed away from the chair and went on her way.
There was no hand holding happening that morning. Rather, Hermione and Terry were unwittingly part of a parade while going down for breakfast: A swarm led by Theo, who was jubilantly singing about his unadorned head to the tune of the William Tell Overture.
("I am – I am – I'm antler-free – I am – I am – I'm antler-free – I am – I am – I'm antler-free–")
Her hands were pressed to her sides as she nearly doubled over with laughter.
("I AAAAAAM – I'M ANTLER FREE–")
She ate in a hurry, eager to talk to Theo before class because being around him when he was in one of his silly moods was much too fun to miss out on.
He beamed and slung his arm around her shoulder as they walked across the bright white snow-carpet in the central courtyard.
"I feel lighter," he crooned, "I feel free! I can finally sleep the right way again!"
"What do you mean?"
"I could hardly put my head in its rightful place on my bed, could I? Haven't you noticed that horned creatures never put headboards on their beds?"
"Right." She giggled. "So can we expect some sort of retribution soon? Will Malfoy develop a pair of yellow bat wings tomorrow?"
"Nah. Tempting... but nah. We have an unspoken deal – no pranks outside the flat."
Hermione shot him an incredulous look. "And you're abiding by that? I mean, it wasn't like you only suffered those antlers inside your flat..."
"I know," he exhaled dramatically, "Damned bastard found a loophole. But I'm not going to exploit it. Thing is, darling, with someone as competitive as Draco, it's always better to err to the side of caution. For the sake of my general well-being I'm going to let him have this victory. For now."
"That's jolly sensible of you," she grinned.
"Jolly sensible, that's me. It's also why I'd never make any sort of wager with you. You're even worse than him."
"How dare you!" she glared, but it was in jest. His cheerfulness was far too contagious.
"And in conclusion I'd like to say this: With or without antlers, I am tremendously handsome."
"Oh yes. So bucking handsome – Eep!"
She jumped away as he lunged towards her, and sped into the DADA classroom. Hestia was already there, standing readily by the blackboard; Theo could do nought but make a funny face at her.
Days replaced days in which she spent much time with Terry, sequestered in nooks and alcoves, engaged in exchanges of incremental intimacy: Gentle tame kisses to deeper bolder kisses to touching over clothes then under clothes...
It was all very systematic, like they were following some sanctioned manual that gave step by step instructions for being in a romantic relationship.
That isn't to say that she felt like she was simply going through the motions. She liked arching into him when they snogged, his fingers digging into her back and hers tangled in his hair. She liked his hands on her bum and his mouth on her neck.
He had winsome eyes, she thought. Kind. Hazel.
His exuberance was untiring. She'd often pull away, to breathe, to check the time, to get her head straight, but he'd draw her close again. He'd touch her face and say, "You're so beautiful, Hermione," or "I'm mad about you, Hermione," and she'd laugh nervously and kiss him again.
Fee-fi-fo-fum,
The world is full of thoughtless scum.
Hermione and her wrath were a searing desert wind. She swept from the library to the common room like a hot flurry, sandblasting the walls and leaving a trail of smoke in her wake. The door opened on its own, and she flinched; Theo stood at the threshold.
"Well, look at that face like thunder," he remarked gaily.
"Shut up."
"What's wrong?"
"This stupid school is what's wrong. Having a billion people sit for the N.E.W.T.s at once is what's wrong. There isn't a single copy of Early Numerology left in the library! And I don't know where in god's name Padma is, so I can't even ask to borrow hers, and – Why are you laughing?!"
"You're just so furious!"
"And you find that funny?" she hissed.
"Yes! I mean – NO – I – I – I think Draco has that book."
"Bully for him!"
"C'mere."
He grasped her by the elbow and dragged her inside, and kept dragging her across the room making a steady beeline towards –––
No.
She desperately tried to wrench herself free from his hold but he did not relent. He did not relent until they were standing right in front of the table Malfoy was sat at. It was crowded with parchments and open books and spare quills. He looked up at them and blinked disorientedly for a second, before donning his typical expression of unimpressed, single-brow-arched, nose-in-the-air condescension.
"What?"
"That book there," Theo began while gesturing vaguely towards all the tomes scattered about, "Is it Numero-whatsit?"
"No," Malfoy replied shortly.
"Yes, it is!" Hermione exclaimed haplessly, "Early Numerology! It's right there!"
Malfoy turned his stony gaze onto her. "And what of it?" he drawled.
"I need it."
"Too bad. As you can clearly see, I'm currently using it."
She glowered. "Yes, well... the library has run out. Will you be finished with it any time soon?"
"No."
He was such an arse. She prepared to flounce away, but Theo yanked her back in place.
"Well there's no reason you can't share the book."
Hermione and Malfoy, as one, cried, "Absolutely not!"
With a smarmy grin, Theo dragged her to the chair on the other end of the table and forced her down into it.
"Stop manhandling me!" she growled, and he ignored her, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders to keep her from springing up and away.
"Now, kids... daddy has to go meet mummy for an intensely hot broom cupboard shag. Do you think you can behave?"
Malfoy grimaced. "Go away before I'm forced to reacquaint you with your antlers."
Theo kissed the top of Hermione's head and left.
The silence after his departure was absolute. She didn't really know what to do, and she didn't know what her face was conveying. But whatever it was, it sure as hell irritated Malfoy. His appearance suggested as much, with mild undertones of disgust.
She sighed, suddenly so tired of talking, second guessing, and playing along with the nuanced attributes of all her different associations. Fuck it.
"Could we just share the book?" she muttered, and added a "Please," when Malfoy's nose wrinkled.
His face smoothened out in slow motion; a rather fascinating metamorphosis. Eventually, impassively, he pushed Early Numerology to the centre of the table with his index finger. Her shoulders relaxed with relief, and the circumstances didn't matter anymore. She could get her assignment done. After she'd taken quills and parchment from her bag, she set it on the floor by her feet.
They would stay that way for over an hour; quiet, unremitting, barely ever looking away from their respective work. The angle of the sun would change; their shadows would swell and shrink.
But before that, when Hermione's ink-loaded quill was poised an inch above her parchment, she said, "Malfoy?"
He looked back questioningly.
"Thank you."
One side of his mouth pulled up, high up. It wasn't a smirk, and it wasn't a grin... It was something in between.
"Fuck off," he said.