A/N: Lol hi.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this so called plot
Ginny visited Hermione's room the next evening. She had on a peculiar, abstracted expression when Hermione opened the door.
"Look, Ginny—" Hermione began with a sigh.
"I'm not here to drag you out," Ginny cut in, "Don't worry. I just want to talk to you for a bit. May I?"
Hermione stepped aside to let Ginny in.
"Is everything okay?" she broached.
"Huh? Er... yes..." Ginny's appeared distracted as she took in the state of Hermione's room; at the notes tacked onto the walls, at the books spread across her bed and desk, and at the piles of parchment stacked on the floor. "Merlin!"
"No need to tell me how insane I am," Hermione grumbled, as she cleared one corner of her bed so Ginny could sit.
Ginny didn't sit. She leant against a bedpost and half smiled.
"You are insane," she said (Hermione huffed,) "But I never mean it in a bad way, Hermione. You have no idea how much I admire you for it."
Hermione blinked. "Um... Oh?"
Ginny shook her head and laughed softly. She looked at the disarray on Hermione's bed.
"You've always been so focused. So driven. And so unbothered by what people think."
Now Hermione laughed. "That isn't really true. I am very aware of what people think–"
"Yes, but it doesn't derail you, does it?"
"It did. You weren't here for my first year. I think I spent half my time crying in the bathroom."
"I cried a lot my first year too."
"Yes, well, in your first year you... I mean..."
"Were under the spell of a devious, murderous fragment of Voldemort? Yeah. That was shit."
Hermione pressed her lips together, considering what to say next. She just couldn't gauge Ginny's state of mind at all.
"But all that aside," Ginny continued, "You've just always known what you want, right? And you've been on top of it. And you work your arse off for it. We've been through every damned level of hell, and here you are on the other side... still on top of it –" Ginny stopped to sigh. "– It's bloody amazing."
"Er..." Hermione's ears were blazing. Such high, effusive praise was unexpected in any given situation... but Ginny commending her academic vigour out of the blue was just...
"I'm really so damn thankful we became friends," Ginny smiled, "When Bill got married, people kept telling me, Oh, you'll finally have a sister, and I realised you'd sort of... filled that space ages ago."
"...Ginny–"
"Hermione. I did something."
Finally, she perched at the edge of the bed. Hermione took a step closer, and nervously looked down at her.
"What did you do?"
"It's a little bit your fault," Ginny went on, "Watching you strive on and on even after everything, made me think I could do it, too. And then... there was the way you looked suddenly lighter after you came back from Australia."
She fell quiet. Hermione waited – perchance Ginny was gathering her thoughts – but when the silence persisted, she asked, "Ginny, what has hap–"
"It wasn't just you, though." Ginny, still smiling, suddenly continued, "Harry and Ron too. They're committed to the Auror biz, went off to China – And George, he went back to the shop, and then decided that he's also going away for a while..."
Ginny stood up and drifted slowly towards the window. Hermione followed and stood next to her. Her profile remained abstracted, but serene.
"I applied for the Chaser's position with the Holyhead Harpies. Last month, I found out that Kippler – the coach – had come to watch our match against Ravenclaw. And today..."
She dipped a hand into her robes' pocket and pulled out a letter.
"Today I got this. An acceptance letter."
"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione gasped. "Ginny, that's fantastic!" She reached out and squeezed her around the shoulders. "Congratulations!"
Ginny tittered in a short, slightly dazed manner. "I still can't believe it."
"I can." Hermione beamed.
"Hermione. I'll have to move to fucking Wales. There's a strict, yearlong training program to get through before I can actually play for the team. Really gruelling and tough and all that."
Her voice was quivering. Hermione squeezed her once more and said, "You'll do brilliantly! You are no less focused and driven than I am."
She shrugged. "But can I leave?"
"What do you mean?"
"Mum. Can I leave mum? Charlie's moved out, Bill's moved out, Ron's moved out, George has moved out. Dad and Percy work all day. She's nearly always alone. I'm sure she thought after Hogwarts I'd be... there."
Hermione frowned. She had to take a second to quell the indignant tirade that such a statement was bound to spark. Instead, with all the gentleness she could muster, she said, "Surely she knows you'd get some kind of job, and wouldn't be there all the time."
Ginny shrugged again, limply. "She doesn't have a job."
"Yes," Hermione pressed... gently, "But she knows who you are. What sort of person you are."
"How can I leave her, Hermione?"
Ginny's voice was thick. Oh god. Her chin was tremulous.
"Don't you remember Fr– George's birthday? You saw her. How can I leave?"
"She wants you to move on with your life, Ginny! Didn't she say so herself? When Ron and Harry left?"
"Yeah," Ginny mumbled.
"So?"
"I can move on with my life right here. I don't have to go to fucking Wales."
"You deserve to go to fucking Wales," Hermione insisted, "You've earned this, you owe it to yourself!"
Ginny pressed her palms against her eyes. "Fred is dead, Hermione."
Neither of them had it in them to say anything more for a while. Hermione kept her arm around Ginny, and Ginny stood with her eyes hidden, still and silent. Maybe she was crying, maybe she wasn't.
By and by, she pulled her hands away. Perhaps she had wiped her eyes in the process, because they weren't wet at all.
"I dreamt about this. For years. And I pictured them all being so proud of me."
"Of course, they'll be proud of you. Terribly proud. I'm so proud of you."
She smiled thinly. "Thanks, Herms."
"Cow."
"Will you lose all respect for me if I let this go?"
Hermione grasped both her shoulders and turned her so they were face to face. "Of course not. But how would you feel if you let this go?" She looked her straight in the eye. "Talk to your mother. I don't think you're giving her enough credit."
"She'll tell me to go."
"Alright, then?"
"Then she'll be miserable."
"And how do you think she'll feel once she finds out what you sacrificed?"
"She won't find out."
"Ginny."
"Argh!" Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Ginny came alive with a sudden urgency. "Hermione, I'll die if I don't go."
"I know."
"I can't remember wanting anything this badly before. Flying, competing, getting that ball through the ruddy hoop... it's helped give my life meaning again. I have to do this."
"Yes," Hermione nodded, "You do."
"I'll talk to mum."
"Let's leave the martyrdom to Harry, okay?"
Ginny laughed, and playfully shoved her. "No, please. I've told him he isn't allowed anymore."
"You know something, though?" Ginny asked, "I'm not worried about leaving Harry at all. My first thought when I got this letter was, I have to tell Harry, he'll be so fucking chuffed."
"But he was so anxious about you being here, at Hogwarts. With Dean."
"Oh, that." she rolled her eyes. "He was deliberately being a prat about it, but really it was about being apart so soon after... everything. This is different."
"Yes, it is different."
"Hermione," Ginny smiled, "We're good. We're solid. I'm not worried at all."
Hermione smiled back, and even to her, it seemed rueful. "Must be nice."
"It really is," Ginny replied, and gave her arm a squeeze.
"I will miss you awfully, you know."
"Merlin, don't start with that now! Do not make me cry. I'm leaving. I want to get McGonagall's permission to see mum for lunch tomorrow."
"Yes. Okay. Good."
"I'll let you get back to all that." She gestured vaguely around the room. "I suppose I can stop bothering now. NEWTs don't matter anymore."
"Try saying that to your mum," Hermione sniffed.
Ginny smiled and left.
Hermione slowly made her way back to the spot on the floor where she'd been sitting and translating spells from Old Futhark. Right back to work she got, blinking away the odd tear that showed up to blur her vision.
Green was the silence, wet was the light,
The month of June trembled like a butterfly.
Everything was trembling, everything felt stretched and thin. Sprawling verdure, the dense forest, and the endless lake shimmered like a mirage, moments away from dematerialising. Life felt long and transient.
June morning, June day, soaked in the soggy sun, sunk in jejunity. A melancholy sweeter than common joy.
A march full of intent was unwittingly stalled.
How did thoughts fragment in such a jagged manner sometimes? Especially when the world around was so contrarily fluid? It felt like the long-drawn vacuum between two consecutive seconds. She stood with her face lifted towards the sky. A soft, hot breeze skimmed along the line of her brow.
NEWTs in fifteen days.
That Saturday was Draco's birthday.
Theo had informed her a few days back, and she'd spent a deranged twenty minutes that could have been devoted to study, wondering what she ought to get for him. Of course, once that madness lifted, she realised she didn't have to get him anything.
They weren't friends by any means, and Theo's please get along appeal did not in any way stipulate that she had to get him presents. She would simply wish him. Sincerely and emphatically, well within earshot of Theo. Dandy.
Menacing confusion returned on the actual day of. She imagined for a few minutes (yet more time that was meant for study) handing him something; something impressive like those glossy, sturdy flying boots that Theo had got him. How might he react?
Wow, thanks, Granger!
How might he look? Would he lean forward like he sometimes did, when he was building up to say something very interesting?
Even in her imagination, Theo interrupted the scene. (" Oh, this pleases me so! " He'd say. Stupid Theo.)
She went downstairs after carefully selecting notes to go over while eating breakfast. But it was earlier than she'd realised; the common room was completely deserted. She plopped down on an armchair and began to read.
Sometime later, a pair of fingers snapped right in front of her face. She yelped and reared back. Her notebook fell to the floor with a thud.
Her shock and pulse rose in conjunction with Theo's guffaws.
"Arsehole!"
"Aw, don't be like that!" Theo coaxed, picking up her notebook and handing it to her.
She snatched it from him with a glare. He was twinkling down at her. Draco was on the other side of the centre table, hands in his pockets, smirking. Hermione turned to him and pronounced, emphatically and crisply, "Happy Birthday."
Smirk turned into grin turned into chuckle. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," she snapped, spun on her heel and departed. She expected they were both sniggering in her wake.
Theo caught up with her soon enough.
"Alright, I'm sorry," he grinned.
"Stupid Theo," she grumbled, and she knew that he knew that she wasn't really angry.
"Okay darling," he sang, "Want to play Quidditch after breakfast?"
Hermione's little noise of derision harmonised perfectly with Draco's.
"Then come watch us play," he revised, "Get some fresh air–"
"I ran today morning."
"Some sun...?"
"I need to study."
"Come anyway."
"The NEWTs are in TEN DAYS!"
He gave her his signature sanguine look... and she knew that he knew that she would most likely show up. Maybe.
XXX
She did show up, albeit lugging a rather imposing pile of books. It was a warm morning. The sun was clearly gearing up towards a blazing afternoon. She sat at the shadiest end of the quidditch stands, a good distance away from where Neville and Hannah were cuddling.
She spread out her work, picked up her quill, only to be taunted by a caustic call.
"But of course."
"Yes," Hermione replied shortly, turning her nose up at Ginny. When Ginny only beamed, she went on, "I take it your conversation with your mother went well?"
"Brilliantly," she gushed, "More than I imagined! They were all there... and jolly well giddy, they were!" Her ecstasy was contagious. Hermione grinned as she watched her race off onto the quidditch pitch to announce her news to the rest of the group. A loud, resounding hoot went around.
The game kicked off soon after, and it'd ended up being a Gryffindor versus Slytherin-and-Ravenclaw affair. As always, the team that had been cursed with Theo suffered. He was even more distracted and uninterested than ever. Draco was circling high above; first fast, then slow...
Hermione turned to her books. Her twelfth round of revision was almost halfway through. At that point, she was more reciting from memory than reading. It was the point at which her dad would have warned her of the dangers of over-saturating herself, (which, in fact, he had done in his last letter.)
But Hermione was of the firm opinion that you could never be over-prepared. Especially when the theory of charms was concerned.
She got through from Charms to Transfiguration sans any interruption. But shortly after, Luna appeared by her side, sporting a distinctly grey complexion.
"Are you ill, Luna?" Hermione asked.
"Not quite yet," she replied in a starkly listless manner, "But I shall be, by the evening. Around twenty past five, I think."
"Er... You're certain about that?"
"Yes," Luna croaked, and then weakly cleared her throat, "I dreamt about Perfidious Jongler Shrews last night, and woke up with a splitting headache. By twenty past five I will have a fever."
"I – um – shouldn't you be resting?"
"Not yet," she sighed, "But yes. Eventually. I will have to rest."
"Right," Hermione said, "I'm sorry you shall be ill, Luna."
The game ended not too long after, much to Hermione's relief. While she did not in any way believe in the existence of Perfidious Jingle-whatsits and their supposedly ominous implications, she didn't at all fancy being near someone so obviously unwell. She didn't know what Luna was coming down with, and she wanted no part of it.
She began gathering her things as Theo landed nearby and approached Luna with worry etched on his face. He was utterly indifferent to the sour expression his team mates wore.
Not quite in the mood to converse, Hermione hesitated by the stands as Ginny danced past with her team around her, still in awe. The Ravenclaws followed, and Michael was limping.
Finally, when Draco walked by with his broom slung over his shoulder, Hermione moved.
"Nice boots," she called.
He slowed as he looked at her over his broom-free shoulder. "Did Theo tell you to say that?"
She caught up with him and grinned. "No."
He rolled his eyes.
"Luna says she is going to be ill by twenty past five today."
"I heard," he said, with absolutely no inflection.
He was disarmingly windswept. His eyes were bright, his face was flushed, his hair was in a disarray.
"That would explain why Theo was so distracted today," she offered, knowing full well he'd scoff.
"Theo always plays like shit," he scoffed.
Hermione smiled. "I will never understand the way you lot get so touchy over losing a silly, friendly, no-stakes match."
"How about when you lose your mind over getting anything less than a sodding O on an essay?"
"That isn't no-stakes!" she exclaimed.
"One little essay doesn't–"
"It absolutely does!"
He sighed and looked down at her, and whatever he saw made him unexpectedly grin.
"So touchy," he lamented.
"You're touched," she retorted poorly. She couldn't really think beyond the miniscule brackets at the corners of his mouth.
"I wonder how you'll react tomorrow, when Slughorn says my Repleo draught is perfect and yours is rubbish."
"That will never happen and you know it."
He shrugged. "Don't be so sure."
"Well, I am," she said, "And I know that you aren't so low and insecure that you'd tamper with my potion–"
"Aren't I...?"
"Yes!"– he cocked a brow – "No?!" she cried, "What the hell have you done?"
He sniggered. His eyes were fixed on her and they were fucking dancing .
"You have the most – ah – owlish expression of affront I have ever seen."
She scowled and looked away. That certainly hit a nerve. Stupid Malfoy, and stupid Ginny, and stupid Harry, and his stupid owl.
"My potion will be superior and there isn't a chance in hell of it being otherwise," she sniffed.
That got him sniggering again. They were just two corridors away from the common room; corridors that were reasonably busy with kids going about their Saturday business. Hermione wondered what they – Draco and her – must look like to the others. Everything about him at that moment was so fresh and aglow. He was walking tall, cool, with his broom and his hair... while she, apparently, was owlish.
What if he'd just casually drape his arm around her shoulders?
A genuine current of some sort went down her entire body at that thought. She nearly lost her footing.
"Maybe learn to walk first," he chaffed.
She huffed half-heartedly, but couldn't say anything in return. They got to the common room and parted in silence. Back in her room, with her frame still racked with residual electricity, Hermione returned to the theory of transfiguration.
XXX
The usual birthday soiree took place in the common room that evening, after supper. There was a resplendent cake, rich with chocolate and rum, along with a fair share of alcohol.
Ginny was, justifiably, in full celebration mode, and quite heartily pissed. She was embroiled in some card game with an equally intoxicated group consisting of Dean, Anthony, Michael, and Ernie. There was definitely some money and a lot of swearing involved.
Another group had turned gobstones into a drinking game. Draco was absent from both.
It was loud and chaotic: Hermione gripped her lone drink of the night, firmly shaking her head whenever someone came by threatening to top it up. She fully intended to get a couple of hours of revision in before bed. She looked around the room in a lackadaisical manner, and finally found Theo lying semi-recumbent on a sofa in the corner of the room, with Luna fast asleep on his chest.
"Hi," she murmured, taking the next seat, "How is she feeling?"
"Pretty terrible," Theo replied dolefully.
"There's such an awful racket here," Hermione said, "Why don't you take her up to your room?"
Theo shrugged gently. "She wanted to be here. Or... she wanted me to be here, and she knew I wouldn't leave her alone. I dunno. Didn't want to argue. She took some Lovegood concoction to knock herself out."
He was in an extremely broody mood, and wore an expression that warned her against engaging. So, she sat quietly, taking slow and measured sips of her drink, while he tenderly stroked Luna's hair. By and by, Padma and Tracey stopped over for a chat, mostly about NEWTs. Then they drifted off elsewhere. Hermione and Theo once again, sat in stodgy silence.
"Where the fuck has he gone?"
Hermione didn't have to ask who he was talking about. "Must be in his room," she ventured.
"Oi!" he somehow both whispered and called out, "Thomas!"
The boy in question lumbered over. "Wotcher, mate!"
"Go check if the bloody guest of honour is in his room, will you?"
"Oh yeah!" Dean declared, "He's missing, isn't he – I'll have a look!"
Dean staggered off and took entirely too long to come back. But he did come back, alone and swaying.
"Looked e'rywhere, mate. Isn't there. Sorry."
Theo scowled at Dean's back as he returned to his game. "Where the hell has he gone?"
"Oh, he'll be around somewhere!" Hermione said reassuringly.
"Bu–"
"Look at how completely plastered Dean is. He probably didn't even knock on the right door."
"Okay," Theo replied with a pinched expression, "Would you go look?"
"Theo-"
"Please."
"Oh my god, fine!" she hissed.
She stomped irritably all the way up the stairs to the boys' dorms. Draco's door was ajar, ever so slightly. Not sufficient to look inside, just enough to see that it wasn't locked. She knocked once, and waited. She knocked again.
A wave of déjà vu swept over her, and she suddenly expected him to burst out the door, all ruffled and angry.
But he didn't.
"Draco?" she called, and knocked again. Louder.
Slowly she pushed the door open just enough to peep in. At once, she smelled him. Or... his cologne or whatever, as if he'd sprayed it in there not too long ago. Sharp, woody, citrusy. She closed her eyes for a mere millisecond and breathed in deeply, imagining it emanate from a crisp white shirt, close enough for her to...
She opened her eyes. The room, lit by a single bedside lamp, was empty. The bed was made. The bathroom door was off the latch. The bookshelf was intriguing. She backed away from the door with a sigh.
"Not there," she announced, once back downstairs with Theo.
"Damn it. Where is he?"
"I don't know! Somewhere in the castle obviously! Would you please relax?"
"I can't," he ground out.
"Good grief, Theo, this is getting quite tiresome! Why are you so obsessed with knowing where he is at all times?"
He fell silent. When Hermione looked at him, he was frowning down at Luna's hair and chewing his tongue.
"Um... Theo?" she broached, immediately ill-at-ease.
"It's not just him," he muttered through his teeth, "You as well. I don't know. I can't seem to help it."
There was dejection, too, in his demeanour now. Kind of an awful, haunted look that she hadn't seen on him for quite some time.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'll go look for him."
"Nah, s'alright," he said gruffly, "Like you said, he could be anywhere. Don't waste your time."
Hermione stood up and gave him a gentle smile. "He'll probably be in the music room, Theo. And..." she plunged a hand into her pocket, "I have my galleon on me. I'll find him."
"Okay," he mumbled, eyes still downcast.
Draco was not in the music room.
Wasn't that just fantastic?
Hermione wheeled around and climbed up to the east wing, where she peered out the large glass windows at the ground below. It was too dark to tell if he was skulking around in the grounds. She walked all the way across the sixth floor, to glance out a window that opened out to the Quidditch pitch. There didn't seem to be anyone flying about.
Bugger. She wished she had the marauder's map. Why hadn't it occurred to Harry to let her have it for the year?
She thought she'd swing by the erstwhile Room of Requirement, take a round of the seventh floor, and go back to Theo and tell him she tried her best. She was not going to wander up and down the whole blooming castle chasing after Draco Malfoy at ten at night, when she had a hundred other things to do!
Sixth floor all but covered, Hermione went round a corner and... ground to a halt. Having just stopped short of colliding into someone, she was once again struck by déjà vu. She looked up from the black-cloaked chest in front of her, expecting to see a haunted, rattled, bellicose Draco Malfoy–
"Granger?" he asked, slightly confused, slightly flushed; not friendly, but not hostile either.
It was so jarring to compare him now to that forgotten memory. It was almost a wonder to behold. And she could smell him again.
"Hullo?" he asked, slightly more confused, slightly less impassive.
"Oh," Hermione gasped, "There you are!"
"Excuse me?"
"What are you doing here?"
He frowned. "What's it to you?"
"Theo's worried sick about you!"
"Oh for Salazar's sake–"
"–just disappeared from your own party!"
"I'm a grown up. I can do as I want! You go tell that bloody, intrusive–"
"Draco, no," she snapped, "Listen. He... spent a lot of time not knowing where we are, wondering how we are. And he's obviously having a hard time getting out of that."
He clenched his jaw and breathed out heavily. "Fine," he muttered, "Let's go. I could do with more cake."
"Wait."
She unfurled her fist and tapped her finger on the galleon within.
Found him. Coming back.
And almost at once, it flashed hot. Okay. Thank you. Buddy.
There wasn't a long way to go, and they went in silence, but for one instance:
Draco, hands clasped behind his back, asked, "Can you do just about anything wandlessly?"
The question made her oddly nervous. "No. Not everything," she hedged.
"That's why I asked if it was just about everything."
"I don't know," she replied, "I... um... haven't tried everything. And there is the question of potency."
"Oh, dear me, Granger," Draco drawled, "Are you being modest?"
"No," she asserted, "I'm being honest."
"And what–"
"I can do a leg-locker curse wandlessly," she warned.
"So can I."
"By the way, there isn't any cake left."
"I have two more in my room."
"Right. Of course you do."
XXX
For an era and a half, she just sat twiddling her thumbs. Draco had been pulled into a card game, so she was left to sit with Theo, idle and impatient. Theo, though calmer, was stubbornly reticent, and focused solely on stroking Luna's hair.
Hermione arranged Arithmancy tables in her head.
Over time, the crowd and the fracas thinned. When, at last, the clock struck eleven, Theo stirred.
"I think we should head up now," he said quietly.
He tenderly scooped Luna up in his arms and stood up, keeping her head steady against his shoulder. Hermione picked up both Luna's bag and shoes and followed. Draco met them on the staircase.
He pushed open the door to Theo's room, but stayed outside while Hermione followed them in.
The room was messy as it always was, clothes and parchment and wrappers strewn everywhere. Theo laid Luna down on his rumpled bed, and Hermione set down the bag and shoes on a small square of uncluttered area on the floor.
"Thanks, Hermione," Theo said hoarsely. Tiredly. He swept a hand across his eyes.
"Get some sleep," Hermione murmured.
Then she went up to him and hugged him with all the warmth and care that she could muster. He returned her hug tightly, and stooped down to rest his cheek on the top of her head.
"Sorry I've been such a mardy little shit."
"Don't be silly," she chided.
He pulled away with a tight, weary smile. Hermione bid him goodnight and slipped out of his room.
Draco was still standing in the hallway, leaning against a wall with his cloak draped over one arm.
"He seemed really very tired," Hermione told him, "I think sleep will do him good."
"Yeah, hopefully," he responded. He pushed away from the wall and took a few steps forward.
Hermione's pulse kicked up.
He looked tired too, though in a different way: Like the comfortable exhaustion at the end of a long day. His stance was loose, his collar was undone. A light, barely visible stubble lined his jaw and crept up his cheeks that were pink from drink. His hair fell over his brow, and his eyes, his eyes, they were hazy and crepuscular like the evening fog over a wintry lake.
They... they... shimmered like a mirage...
Her throat was parched and she could barely breathe.
"Would you like some cake?" he asked.
She nearly gasped. Or swayed on her feet. Her cheeks felt so hot. "That'd be nice," she croaked.
She followed him to his room.
"Lumos," he muttered upon entering. He discarded his cloak on his bed, went up to a large brown box sat on his desk and busied himself with it.
Hermione stood awkwardly in the centre of his room, suffering from some sort of sensory overload. She was surrounded by his cologne. The room was neat and tidy. There were two notebooks and a transfiguration textbook on his bedside table. The bookshelf, too, had textbooks, some books on history, Music Theory, an anthology of poetry, a few quidditch magazines, Dostoevsky, an impressive compilation of maps–
"Done snooping?"
She started. "I wasn't."
He approached her with a slice of cake on a plate – it was covered in cream and raspberries. He walked far too slowly; she was aware of each passing second. But then he stopped at an unnecessary distance, extending his arm to offer her the plate.
"You can sit, you know," he added.
Her whole face felt so hot. She perched lightly on the edge of the desk chair. He cut himself a slice and settled comfortably on his bed, legs stretched out and back against the headboard.
The cake smelled sweet, raspberry and vanilla, and wrapped agreeably around the pre-existing scent of the room.
"This is really delicious," said Hermione after her first taste.
He hummed in agreement.
With each bite of rich, tasty cake, she felt the mounting surrealness of the situation. She kept stealing looks his way, but he seemed utterly at ease and entirely focused on eating. And every time a spot of cream landed on his lips, he'd–
God.
Was she dying? She had to be dying.
"So, what were you doing," she asked in a too-high voice, "When I found you?"
"Merlin," he rolled his eyes, "I went for a walk. It was so fucking chaotic down there. I just wanted to take a peaceful, solitary stroll."
"Oh. Alright."
He vanished his plate after he'd finished, so she did the same. And then she didn't know what to do. She clasped her hands on her lap. So many ink spots on her fingers. Her nails dearly needed to be tended to. For a few moments, she just focused on steadying her mind and her breath. The ground beneath her feet felt unreal, because the ground beneath her feet was the carpet of Draco Malfoy's room. How had this happened? She needed to know.
Finally, she looked up at him. He was watching her with arms crossed and a slightly raised brow.
"May I ask you something?" she asked, as yet pitchy.
He sighed. "If you must." But he didn't look closed off at all. There was something frank and curious about the way he was regarding her.
She swallowed. Perhaps that wouldn't last long.
"When did you decide that I am worthy of magic? Worthy of living... worthy of a slice of your birthday cake?"
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She couldn't tell if he had been taken by surprise or if this was exactly what he'd been holding his breath for.
"I don't know," he muttered.
"I'm sorry?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?" she exclaimed, "You don't know when things changed for you? Have they even changed at all?"
"Of course they've fucking changed," he snapped, "Everything has changed."
"Then–"
"I don't know what to tell you, Granger. There wasn't some great moment of clarity, I didn't have some big epiphany. How do I tell you when?"
"So," she blinked, "it... took time?"
"Not at all."
"You are not making sense, Draco."
"I don't think you'll like what I have to say."
"Anything will be better than I don't know."
"It's like I said... there wasn't an epiphany, and I didn't spend my days agonising over it. It just... was."
"What does that even mean?!"
She nearly shot off her seat with exasperation. He was definitely being deliberately ambiguous.
He set his jaw. "Sixth year, I had far more pressing and lethal things dogging my footsteps to spend much time musing over the politics of half-bloods and muggleborns."
"So, it barely mattered to you?"
"It wasn't a priority! The Dark Lord had his wand to my mother's throat!"
"Which is why I ask: Have your thoughts about it really changed at all?!"
"Would we be having this conversation if they hadn't?"
"I'm asking you to explain–"
"This is the only way I can explain it!" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "The whole premise of blood purity is so fucking thin, so daft and ignorant, that... with all that I had going on that year, it was the easiest thing to drop."
He paused to take another deep breath. Hermione physically bit her tongue to keep from interrupting.
"It was one of the first things I was taught. Draco, fire is hot and it burns you. Draco, see the sky, that colour is blue. Draco, muggles and mud–" He stopped at once and looked her dead in the eye, "Muggleborns are scum and should die. Everyone I knew, loved, and respected told me that. And I'm not an idiot. I saw the muggle part of town, they were making giant flying ships, and sending light and sound through wires, somehow. I came to Hogwarts... all variety of people with all variety of skills – But still. Ingenuity and cleverness didn't necessitate worth. I suppose that was the luxury of being born to a rich, influential family," he let out a short, bitterly ironic chuckle, "Getting to bask in whatever fucked up delusions I wanted."
"But then your pedestal crumbled."
"Yes, it did. I know you'll loathe the fact that this thing that basically fuelled the whole damn war just... fell by the wayside for me, like... like... collateral... but that's what happened."
"You're saying it simply stopped mattering to you – that it didn't fit in your general scheme of things – not that you realised how awful and ugly the notion of blood purity is!" Hermione's hackles had risen; her volume increased by the end.
"Of course, I realised that!" he replied with equal fervour, "Granger, I'm not merely glibly saying I hate all blood, har-de-har, let's move on. I'm telling you that I saw it for what it was so straightforwardly that it was like realising something I already understood–"
"Oh, please," she sputtered, "Don't act like you never truly believed in it!"
"I just told you I did! I just said it was one of the first truths I was ever taught and I bought it, all of it."
"So then–"
"Do you think that I would have joined up with you lot and stuck my bloody neck out for a cause I didn't actually support? I had the option of lying low, waiting it out–"
"You did that for Theo and your parents–"
"Sod it, Theo would have been fine! Plenty of people were looking out for him... I had the honourable Granger's word. And for my parents... Ha! I tried to murder Dumbledore for my parents. After botching that up, lying low would have been the best way to help them."
He'd sat up straight at some point, and his legs had fallen off the side of the bed. She was at the very, very edge of her seat.
He looked brittle, the colour was high on his cheeks, and he reciprocated her intense scrutiny.
"Did you ever think Voldemort would win?" she asked baldly.
"I was sure of it. It was impossible to live under the same roof as him, see what he was capable of day after day, and not think that."
"But you still..." She trailed off. It didn't need to be said.
Once again, there was an interlude. He maintained her gaze. She couldn't tell whose breathing mellowed out first; it appeared to happen in tandem.
"Blood purity is an abhorrent concept. I was utterly wrong for ever having supported it."
"Yes."
She wanted to say prove it . But what would he say – Haven't I already? His shoulders had caved slightly. His body had sagged. This tiredness wasn't of the comfortable sort anymore. Again, she found herself reacting to his posture. Her spine curved and she fell back into her chair.
"It's fucking late, Granger," he said.
Hermione pursed her lips. Her head was reeling, this felt too abrupt. She couldn't leave. Nothing felt sorted – she didn't even know if he'd made any sense at all.
"Yes, of course. I'll leave."
She looked down at the ground for a moment, at the carpet in Draco Malfoy's room.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
After she'd stood up, she didn't once look back at him. There was the floor, the door, and then the other side of the door. It closed behind her with a soft click. Then she looked at her watch. Indeed, it was fucking late. The hallway outside and the common room downstairs were dead silent.
Once in her room, she regarded her book covered bed with scorn. Everything had been laid out in anticipation of a productive night.
She shoved it all to one side, peeled off her jeans, and dived under the covers.
Sleep did not come.
For a long time, her brain was simply recuperating; attempting to come to terms with all that had transpired.
Just fell by the wayside he said. Bloody hell. And by his own admission, his realisation came about due to extraordinary circumstances. Had none of that occurred, he'd probably still be spitting venom at her. Saying mudblood instead of would you like some cake... Or telling her she was filthy, rather than saying her skin wasn't marred...
All credit went to Voldemort, in that case.
She was thusly vituperative for about an hour or so. But soon, she grew tired of hypotheticals.
What had happened had happened, and he was who he was now. Neville called him "mate".
Her thoughts deviated. They broke away from the war and engaged with Draco solely within the context in which she knew him now.
Her anger abated. Entirely. Because there was no point in denying that she liked his company immensely – He made good conversation, and bad puns, and worse bevvies.
She flipped over to lie on her belly and pressed her face into her pillow, straining to switch her brain off.
Sleep came, sometime after that.
The next morning, sleep left with a jerk. The whole night before felt like a part of the bleary mishmash of disconnected dreams that she'd endured.
Sunday morning, five-thirty. It was still dark. She ran along the lake with bluebell flames dancing around her, lighting up her path. She showered, she studied, she went down for breakfast with Theo and Luna, both of whom looked much better.
(When she informed them of that fact, Theo grinned and said, "Yeah, a morning shag has that effect," while Luna nodded in solemn agreement.)
She had marmalade toast for breakfast, half listening to Ginny and Dean trying to calculate how much money they'd lost to Ernie.
As required, at eleven she went down to the dungeons. Draco was already there, standing next to his potion. He nodded in greeting as she took her place at their table. She glanced away quickly.
Moments later, Slughorn barrelled in.
"Good morning, good morning, my star potioneers," he twittered, "Here it is, the day of reckoning! Lets see now. Get those lids off those cauldrons!"
A subtle but distinctly medicinal aroma filled the room when Draco and Hermione complied. Slughorn peered into both their concoctions and let out a satisfied hum.
"Very good," he exclaimed, "Excellent colour and consistency on both. Now to test..."
He placed two moths with wilted wings on the table. They stirred feebly.
"No more than a drop needed. Go on," he urged.
Moments later, two thoroughly revived moths fluttered around the low flame of a nearby sconce.
Slughorn went absolutely bonkers. Words like 'outstanding', 'marvellous', and 'delighted' flitted around the room like freshly replenished moths.
"Now how about you two bottle all that up! Keep one sample for your NEWT's examiner to consider, and then put the rest in that crate there. Straight to Mungo's it'll go!"
He left shortly after they'd begun to ladle.
Hermione filled up three bottles in silence, and it looked like there'd be at least three more. She both wanted and didn't want to speak to him. The part of her that wanted to speak had no idea what to say. And while she was not on the fence about wanting to look at him, but wasn't able to allow herself to do so.
Just from the corner of her eye, she caught a glance of his hands as they worked. Hypnotically deft as always.
"You didn't outdo me," he piped up suddenly.
That was all the permission she needed. She peeked up to watch him put a stopper on his fourth bottle. One of the moths cut through her line of vision, and she returned to the job at hand.
"You didn't outdo me, either."
"What an annoying conclusion," he drawled.
She suppressed a smile. "Indeed."
She was right: Six bottles each it was... and two small vials which they tucked into their bags. Once the crate was loaded, Hermione swiftly cleaned up her work station. She approached the door all set to leave, but then halted, and turned around. She waited for Draco to finish up.
They ambled down the dingy corridor together. Dim and quiet. Shit, she wished she could think of something to say.
"What the hell is Chipper Choppers?" he asked.
Hermione blinked. "Um. Where did you hear that?"
"It's written on a folder that Theo's been flapping around lately. He told me to ask you about it."
"Ah." Hermione mumbled, "It's the name of my parents' practice."
"I see," he intoned slowly, "What do your parents do?"
This was all so strange. "They're dentists," she replied, "Healers, specifically for teeth."
"Both of them?"
"Yes."
"And you never felt compelled to follow along and join the healing line?"
"No." She paused, staring down at her feet. A slow smile spread across her face. "I hate blood."
He laughed in surprise, damn near uproariously. It was a sight and sound so remarkable to behold that she stopped in her tracks to watch. Her eyes felt wide, and her grin wider still as his laughter abated and he shook his head.
What a topsy-turvy world it was. They stood in the middle of the bloody dungeons grinning at each other.
"You," he proclaimed with a breathless chuckle, "Are just..."
He trailed off with another shake of his head. Hermione giggled, and bit her lip. They walked on.