Friday, July 4th 2003.
Part two: Slytherin encounter.
Astoria had obviously found an excuse to come in. Hermione tucked the letter she'd been staring at in a drawer and answered the door. She cocked an eyebrow at the scowl on the pretty witch's face. She was followed closely by a full armed Tracey, who was blocked the passage and the ability to deposit the files on Hermione's desk. Astoria tossed something on the desk that was not files, making Tracey tap her foot impatiently.
"What is that now?" Hermione sighed, grabbing the piece of garbage which dared call itself paper.
"Read page three." Astoria smirked, gesturing to the latest issue of Witch Weekly.
Hermione did as bid as Tracey rolled her eyes so hard under her glasses that they probably could have disappeared at the back of her head.
The title made Hermione frown, as well as the small and dark moving caption following it.
PANSY PARKINSON SEES HER CHANCES OF ENGAGEMENT DISAPPEAR. AGAIN.
Did Theodore Nott dump Pansy Parkinson?
The witch was spotted outside of Nott Manor two days ago in obvious distress. The disgraceful image of the crying witch has already spread as we write, but we, at Witch Weekly, have an element no other magazine has.
An explanation.
While it is well known that Parkinson has fancied Mr Malfoy over her school years, those days have long been over. After Parkinson's well-known outburst during the final battle in 98 - although Mr Potter himself has stated in 99 that he held no grudge against Parkinson - the witch has been excluded from social events due to her tarnished reputation.
As part of the Sacred 28 list and thus an old pure-blood line, though, family expectation run still for the young woman, whether things are difficult or not.
She's made numerous attempts to regain some social standing over the years, although perhaps dating the infamous Adrian Pucey or criminal Cassius Warrington weren't her best ideas.
Or her only options?
Either way, it recently seemed that she'd finally found a suitable match - to her standards anyway. There's a certain amount of grace needed to redeem one from a less than suitable past, in our opinion, and while her 'gentleman' of sorts isn't exactly ugly, his manners are despicable, and his hair far too long to our taste.
She's indeed been spotted with Nott junior multiple times over the last year, but never with a ring on her finger and, more often than not, with a certain amicable distance between them.
A reliable source, close to the Nott family enterprises, has confided in us and explained that Nott and Parkinson, although not in a relationship, had been approaching that point recently, but that a terrible business betrayal on Parkinson's part would have been the reason of an irreparable argument between the two, thus ending any prospect of a future relationship or engagement.
Which somehow proves that Nott also lacks some sense of discernment. Parkinson betraying someone? Yes, we all saw it coming.
Hermione stopped reading at that. "What …" She started and caught the gigantic smirk stretching across her friend's face. "Stori, why did you …"
"Guess who told Skeeter that you were often at Aberforth's?" Astoria answered.
"Pansy? But how …" Hermione blinked, the flash of an evening cut short and an imperfect hangover coming back. "Oh, I saw them there once!" That bitch. Those bitches to be exact. Petty, stupid Parkinson. Well, that revenge had undoubtedly backfired. Hermione wondered when Skeeter would get her own piece.
Astoria hummed, her smirk never deflating. Hermione opened her mouth to ask but thought better of it.
"I … No, never mind, I don't want to know." She shook her head. She'd let Stori - not after a lot of pleading - take care of Skeeter; she didn't need to get involved in that.
"Your curiosity will win eventually." Stori chuckled. "When it's ready to pop, you know where to find me."
"When you're finished with gossips and disturbing metaphors, these need your review." Tracey practically barked, grabbing the top of the pile she was holding and non too gently pushing it on Astoria chest.
"Err. Alright." The witch said, grabbing hold of the documents Tracey had already let go of before they fell.
Hermione chuckled and received a glare from her assistant/receptionist, who didn't wait before tossing what was left of the pile on her desk. Which was approximately three-quarters of it.
She smirked as she left the room.
A mumbled "tight-arse" followed Stori as she left as well.
Hermione sighed.
She hadn't even tried to lock herself in her office; with Astoria, it seemed those days were over. She didn't need confirmation that Stori knew what had been said behind closed doors either, even if she hadn't appeared right after Harry and Ginny had left.
The fact that she'd come in with something to brighten her mood and that now, Hermione couldn't close her door - that witch was gifted with spells - were proof enough.
So, she would have to go back to work or reflect on her molested thoughts with the door wide open.
She wouldn't cry though, she'd done that earlier.
She rubbed her face in her hands before taking the first document from the pile but soon realised that she wouldn't be able to work more that day.
Ron was staying at Saint Mungo's for a while. He was getting the help he'd been in dire need of for long. The help she'd never realised he needed.
Better late than never, right?
But the guilt.
Hermione pushed the document away, cast a quick glance at the seemingly empty corridor, and retrieved the letter she'd previously tucked into her drawer.
She fiddled with the corner of the parchment.
Harry had been as blindsided as she, and the same thing could be said of the Weasleys. The only ones to come around had been George and Ginny, though.
Hermione hadn't heard from her ex-mother-in-law, and she suspected she never would.
She had no idea how to feel about that.
Molly had always disapproved, and Arthur, even if fair, had always been too quiet and supportive of the wife he adored to contradict her. Hermione didn't really have any ties with the other siblings.
She didn't know if she'd ever be able to forgive Harry. He hadn't been the friend she'd needed when she'd given up so much for him. She'd learned the hard way, however, that nothing was either black or white, and she did have her shares of wrongs in all this. She couldn't hold him responsible for everything, just as Ron had done with her. Harry was who he was, and he wasn't a bad guy. She guessed that with time, the resentment would pass.
"Hermione?" Astoria had come back in and was smiling at her. Hermione sighed and grabbed a document from the other side of the desk to slowly hide her letter.
"Sorry, what is it?" She asked, watching as Stori didn't seem to notice what she'd just hidden. She was getting better at the Slytherin thing.
"You need a drink." The pretty witch affirmed. "Blaise shouldn't be long now. Let's go to Hog's Head."
"Alright." It was useless to argue, and to be honest, Hermione needed the drink. And her friends as well.
Funny how that word had a totally different meaning then.
They waited for Blaise, and to Hermione's lack of surprise, he didn't arrive alone.
"So, who needs a drink?" He easily smirked when he reached her office door. "Let's make the front page of Witch Weekly."
"Just what we need." Draco grumbled from behind him, somehow looking anywhere but at Hermione.
"Actually I like the idea." Astoria beamed. "Draco?"
The concerned blond rolled his eyes but didn't say anything as he obliged, offering Astoria his arm.
Blaise scowled and turned to Hermione then, and with a pretend resigned sigh, offered her his arm. "I guess it means I'm left with you then." He grimaced.
"You seem very happy with the chore." She frowned.
"Yeah, well," he shrugged, "a sad lady is never really fun to be around."
No pity. At all. He was just … Great. And he knew, of course. Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't hold back the grateful smile that took her lips.
"You better make me laugh then, or it's going to be a very long night."
"I think I'm on a good path." He smirked.
"You manage." She pompously said while taking his extended arm.
The walk in the Ministry's hall was punctuated with gossipy whispers that Blaise seemed to find all too amusing. He smirked his face off the entire time, and Hermione found herself chuckling a little when she caught sight of Draco's very own provocative smirk.
Whether or not Blaise had decided to make her laugh, though, he let go of her as soon as they entered the pub after side-along apparating. He turned to Draco.
"So now that we made tomorrow's front page, I think that's enough with that." He said, gesturing towards Draco and Stori's linked arms.
Draco shrugged, a slow smirk lifting his face. Equally slowly, he raised a hand to Astoria's forearm with a grace that could only be a Malfoy thing Hermione decided. "Mm. I don't know," He cocked his head towards Stori, who seemed to be struggling not to laugh. "I think she kinda likes …"
"It's not funny." Blaise barked, grabbing onto Astoria's hand.
He was the only one who didn't laugh.
Even Aberforth smirked.
Blaise scowled at the bartender. Stori was still laughing, and Hermione had to pinch her lips together when Aberforth smirk grew wider than she'd ever seen it.
"It's my pub." He shrugged. "I do whatever the hell I want." He kept smirking his face off and, as Blaise mumbled under his breath, Stori smirked and flapped her eyelashes at Draco.
The last chuckled.
Blaise rolled his eyes and grumbled. "Let's get a drink."
"Good idea." Aberforth grinned as a bottle went from behind his counter to the farthest table from him, not from the entrance as usual.
They sat in silence.
Draco poured the drinks. In silence.
They drank in silence.
"Look," Hermione grimaced after the longest seconds of her life. "If this is going to be that awkward, I'd rather …"
"Sorry, but there's that hypogriph in the room." Blaise shrugged, and Astoria nodded. Apparently, they all wanted to discuss it.
"Err I'd rather not …" Hermione started, thinking that Draco was probably the exception. He was scowling at his drink.
"What did Potter say?" Blaise asked, and Hermione sighed.
"Err." Her hesitation made her frown. Why would she lie? He'd know anyway. "Ask miss noisy here." She scowled, chining the air towards Astoria.
"Hey!" The witch protested.
"What?" Hermione was quick to answer. "'Cause you didn't listen in?"
Astoria grimaced but didn't risk saying anything. It seemed that Hermione could shut her up just as well as she could, which pulled a satisfied smirk from the Head of Law Enforcement. A little chuckle at her side too. Hermione didn't turn to look at Draco, though.
"Are you friends again?" Blaise ended up asking, his smile gone, and his face twisted in something … weird. Hermione lifted an eyebrow questioningly. He shrugged, frowning.
Was he actually worried?
Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "No, Blaise, we are not." She answered. "At least I don't think so."
She saw Draco open his mouth - even if she wasn't looking at him - but he seemed to think better of it, his scowl only hint that he was probably too interested to cut the conversation.
"Does he need his arse kicked?" Blaise continued.
"No."
"Sure?" Well, that smirk was a bit too sadistic; no doubt nothing would please Blaise more.
"Yes, I'm sure." She smirked herself. "Not that I'd need anyone to do that for me."
"Fair enough." He chuckled. "Doesn't mean I can't offer."
Hermione smiled. Then sighed. The words escaped her mouth without her thinking, and she found she didn't care. "It's just so ..." She rubbed her face in her hands and finished the sentence with muffled words: "much I guess." She grabbed her drink before responding to the not-so-subtle questioning gaze Astoria was giving her. "I mean with everything that happened before and you witnessing that… err … talk last week ..."
"Talk is putting it rather mildly." Astoria growled.
"Punch would be more like it." Blaise grinned.
"Shut the hell up." Draco barked, making Blaise snicker.
"Yes well …" Hermione couldn't refrain from smiling at Draco's uncomfortable face. "Thank you for that." She shrugged, giving a crooked smile that had Draco's gaze grow to match his tumbler.
"Hey, I tried as well …" Blaise protested, feigning affront.
"And failed." Hermione smirked as Draco kept staring at her. She decided that her drink was the most interesting thing just then.
She'd thanked him.
She had.
Salazar.
"Anyway." She continued. "Having him in the trauma ward is … Whatever he did …"
"Yeah well, it's normal you care. I guess." Blaise grimaced. "You've been with him your entire life."
"What?" She frowned. "No." The word was snapped so that Draco frowned.
"Yes." Blaise countered.
"No."
"But you were all over him all through school." Blaise protested, disbelief creasing the corner of his eyes.
Astoria grimaced from behind her glass. "Which I always thought … err." The pretend gagging was exactly how that situation made Draco feel. He was too … interested to cut in, though.
"What?" Hermione frowned. "How would you know?"
Oh, so it was true. Yuk.
"Are you for real?" Blaise chuckled incredulously. "Everybody knew. The whole school knew."
"But how? I never told anyone." She scowled in response, her eyes glazing as if she were trying to remember. Thankfully she missed both Draco's and Astoria's chuckles.
The last shook her head. "We have eyes, Hermione." She said.
"We even took bets." Blaise smirked.
"WHAT?" Hermione looked at Blaise with wide eyes. "You bet?"
Draco repressed a wince. Damn.
"And I lost." Blaise scowled. "I thought this empty head would at least see it after the bird issue in our sixth year, but ..."
"You know about the birds?" Hermione startled, her voice slightly higher than usual. "How?" She looked positively distraught now, which had Draco wonder.
Was it shame? He couldn't see what else.
"Alright." Astoria sighed, patting Hermione's forearm. "Hermione, people talk." She said condescendingly, making the other witch scowl warningly. "Gryffindors in particular. Not being your friend doesn't mean we didn't gossip as well. Actually, we gossipped more."
"Oh my." Hermione growled but cut herself short and snapped her head towards Draco. "Wait, is that how you knew that he made me cry?"
Bloody Blaise, Draco was going to kick him. He had to swallow before grimacing. "Yes."
"Oh ..." She lowered her face to her tumbler one second before she cocked an eyebrow at Blaise. "What was your bet?"
He shrugged. "10 galleons he'd realise before the end of sixth year."
Draco's unwilling smirk didn't escape her attention.
"You won?" She squinted at him, the ghost of her own smirk practically there. Which was the only reason he answered—all the while planning to kick Blaise for bringing it up.
"Yeah." He mumbled in his glass. "I bet he wouldn't see shit. Too stupid."
"You sure?" Blaise smirked, and the planned kicking morphed into killing.
"Yes." Draco hissed.
Hermione wasn't dupe. "What was the real thing?" She frowned at him suspiciously.
The words went out, and Draco regretted them even as he spoke. "That you were too smart and would give up on the stupid wanker."
He'd forgotten about all that. And fuck Blaise. He saw her eyes pleat and her mouth set in a straight line that he didn't like a bit. But, as he'd told himself repeatedly over the last couple of months, it seemed as though he had no idea who this woman was.
"Obviously, I wasn't." She chuckled. "Brightest witch, my arse."
That had the benefit to vanish the sudden sweatiness on Draco's temples. And to make everyone laugh as well.
"Although it's good to know you thought me smart back then." She added, like an afterthought, and Draco had to concentrate on ignoring Blaise's gigantic smirk. How he didn't choke but was quick to snap back remained unknown.
"Smarter than Weasley. Correction." He sniffed. "And a troll is smarter."
She glared.
Hermione couldn't hold her half-hearted glare for long, though, and Draco was definitely hiding a smile.
As Blaise ordered something to eat, she realised that the awkwardness had passed.
She should have guessed it would.
They were all friends there, and somehow all concerned by the situation, having all been there the previous week.
They'd talked it through as if it was just some random thing.
None of them had mentioned what Ron had dared tell in front of everyone. Given both men's opinion of Ron and Stori's words the previous Sunday, Hermione didn't think they'd ever talk about it if she didn't mention it first.
Which she was beyond grateful for.
She'd talked it through with Stori, but she didn't see herself ever discussing it freely with either Draco or Blaise. At least not then. She was fairly certain none of them would feel comfortable to either anyway.
They all seemed to respect that she wished this to remain private and Hermione doubted Stori had needed to tell them so.
It was something very new for Hermione to be with people who simply accepted each other, with all their flaws.
Their past.
No judgement.
But then, had she taken the time to think instead of drinking herself to death, she'd have known there wouldn't be any.
If the four of them, of all people, started judging each other …
Ah!
Things were back to normal. Hermione sipped at her drink.
Although a bit grumpy to see the four of them together, Aberforth hadn't said a thing. Astoria had dealt with the beetle bint currently in a jarred holiday. What she'd done exactly, Hermione had not asked and wouldn't. Ron was getting treatment, Harry and she were in relative peace, she guessed. Pansy sodding Parkinson had been ridiculed publicly.
And they were currently having a rotten dinner at Hog's Head.
Which was the only spot in the picture. Maybe they should have thought twice before ordering. None of them seemed to really eat.
After a moment of Hogwarts gossip conversation, Hermione felt Draco's eyes on her and stopped poking at her over-cooked potatoes.
Blaise and Stori were still busy trying to determine who had been most gossipped about at Hogwarts, now and then mentioning Pansy Parkinson's disgrace, so Hermione decidedly turned to Draco. Something was twinkling in his grey eyes, something she couldn't place, but he gave her a small smile nonetheless.
She decided that her conversation with Stori hadn't occurred and asked:
"So, found a seller?"
"Yes." He nodded.
"Good offer?"
"Reasonable." He shrugged. She didn't know if she were imagining things or if something was bothering him. Although he could simply not care about the money. He had his freedom at the tip of his fingers now.
"You don't care, do you?" She tried.
He huffed a little. "No. Actually, the faster I get rid of it, the better."
"Good spirit." She smiled. He returned it, a little tense on the sides.
"Are you alright?" She frowned.
"Yes." That was too quick an answer. Although nothing could be guessed from his expression, Hermione still scrutinised him for a few seconds. The tension on his shoulders was still there. She'd thought a few days before that he might need time to feel better, even though he now smiled - which she wasn't going to think about - but just at that moment, she thought that maybe there was something else. Maybe. And he didn't need anything else.
So, she pushed: "Sure?"
He sighed and shook his head lightly before lifting him mouth in the start of a smirk: "Seriously, Granger? Worried about me?"
Granger? She was back to Granger?
"Err … You just look … wary." She finished, rather uncomfortable at the sudden last name-calling. His answer vanished the feeling instantly though:
"And you look blotchy, but I was tactful enough not to mention it." He smirked, albeit warily. Right, no bloody pity.
"Right." She falsely scowled. "Sorry, I care." She gave then, truthfully but also somehow, to get back at him. He seemed shocked by the admission. Hermione realised just then what she'd just said but found that she no longer cared for hiding feelings. It had caused too much harm in her life. She cared. She said it. He had to know it anyway. He was probably just surprised she said so.
After a short pause, he sighed, though: "I'm fine, Hermione."
She nodded and realised as her gaze fell to his hand that she hadn't really asked.
He didn't miss the glance and chuckled: "My hand's fine too."
"I healed him." Stori smirked then.
"Thank you." Hermione answered although it wasn't only addressed to Stori then. She fought inwardly to gather enough courage to meet Draco's eyes then.
He smiled. And thankfully remained silent.
Hermione gave him back his smile, and conversation resumed. Or more, Blaise pretended to be jealous that Stori had taken care of Draco. During the night. While he'd been asleep. And what else had they done on his kitchen counter while he'd been oblivious?
All seemed forgotten again as laughter filled the air, idiocies were uttered, scathing mockery was sneered, and more laughter echoed.
Until the couple's bickering became more snogging or hand play under the table than talk.
Great. Hermione scowled. "What kind of potions do you think you'll sell?" She asked out of the blue, and Draco chuckled.
"I don't know exactly." He shrugged in answer. "I have a few ideas. Maybe a bit of everything."
"Love potions?" She tried, a bit of a smirk on her face.
"Except that." He scowled.
"Why? I could be your first client."
"Well, I might want to think about it then." His smirk shifted into a smile.
She bit her lip, quite incapable of looking away from the cloudy gaze. He was smiling. Again.
"I bought the collection you told me about." He said, breaking eye contact.
"Oh! Is it any good?" She hurried to ask, returning her eyes to her drink.
"It's varied." He answered noncommittally. "Covers a lot of fields …"
"But?"
"Well nothing I never brewed before." He frowned. "I was looking for more complicated things."
"Oh, like?"
"Felix? Wolfsbane? Healing potions? Polyjuice, perhaps." He listed, although he seemed undecided.
"You'd be with the Ministry then?" She asked. "Hospitals?"
"Yes, but not only." He nodded. His face smoothed until the previous uncertainty she'd seen was gone. He seemed to be making those decisions just now. "Some healing potions sold to particulars are rather complicated too."
"Like Skelegro?"
"Yes, that kind of things." He kept going. "I don't want to open just the ordinary shop with pepper ups and hair potions …"
"Want something big." She frowned. It was very much like him not to want a regular potion shop but something different and somehow superior. He was feeling better, whether or not something bothered him.
"Yes." He nodded, albeit just a little suspiciously.
"Something fancy." She pushed, and it took a lot of strength not to smirk.
"Fancy?" He startled.
"Oh sorry, no, something posh." Now she smirked.
"Salazar …" He sighed, rolling his eyes.
"Something oh-so-Malfoy." And she couldn't help but laugh at her own joke. Blaise had a little laugh at that too.
Blaise was right. Blaise was always right. It was the Zabini curse: they were always right, the sodding bastards. Although, except for his atrocious mother, who hadn't worn that name in twenty years, he was the only bastard left.
Seeing Hermione laugh, even at him, made something warm spread in his chest, and Draco just realised he'd been fighting the feelings for shite.
Whether he liked it or not, it was there, and it didn't seem too keen on going away.
Well, too bad.
It was his shit, and she didn't need to know.
Was all.
They were friends. That was all.
Like she'd ever want anything to do with the pathetic ex-oath bonded, ex-death-eater, ex-bully he was. It was already a miracle that she was his friend.
She'd threatened Pansy for him, broken the oath, defended him when he'd punched the bastard, and to Potter to add to it, taken his side fiercely against the press for that charity bullshite, told him he was a good man and …
STOP.
FRIENDS FOR SALAZAR'S SAKE.
It was all just her goody-two-shoes shitty habits to help people out! She'd worked on regulations for that!
Not for him.
For all of those in the same - not oath speaking - situation.
She was selfless, and all she'd ever done had been out of pure kindness, selflessness, and empathy.
He oughtn't to misinterpret.
Damn Blaise and his moronic psychological analysis.
Draco could like her and her messy hair, and dimples, and big fucking brown eyes all he wanted, first she didn't give a damn, and second, it was probably just a stupid crush.
Right. Kindness.
He was just lonely, was all. Right.
He needed a good shag.
Err.
Sherry's hairy mole made a flash then.
He almost gagged.
Maybe he should convert to wizarding priests.
Yes. That didn't sound so bad. No women in sight to fuck with his brain.
Except the one currently smirking her face at him.
Shite.
Things were back to normal, and he wouldn't ruin it.
He'd almost done so once, was enough.
No, he wouldn't do shite about it.
End of the fucking bloody story.
Right?
"Anyway." He drawled. "I don't know what I'll sell exactly just yet."
"Right." She bit her lip, obviously trying not to laugh at him more.
"Careful, Granger." He warned. She chuckled and, at his glare, lifted her hands.
"Alright, alright. Do you know where then?"
The conversation went back to potion matters.
Truth was, with his mother and all that had happened recently, he had no idea how or when or even where he'd start his business.
Hermione was full of ideas, though, and after a few minutes of silent thinking, she started listing the most complicated brews she'd read about.
Astoria had apparently been rather good at potions as well, and by ten o'clock, Draco had been taking notes on a scroll Aberforth had landed him, with a weird-looking blue quill.
By the time Blaise was yawning so loudly, he'd soon dislocate his jaw, and Stori decided it was time to wrap it up and go to bed, Draco had a reasonably long list of potions to try and brew.
They walked a few steps outside, Blaise and Stori arms wrapped together, Draco weirdly keeping his hands in his pockets, his pace following Hermione's.
Once they reached the first shops, Stori stopped and turned around to peck Hermione's cheek and Draco's as well, to his apparent annoyance. Which triggered a few muffled chuckles and Blaise's obviously faked suspicious glare.
Draco answered him with one of his trademark smirks.
Hermione was again reminded of a blond boy she'd met more than a decade ago. She smiled for herself, just as Blaise and Stori side-along disapparated.
Draco's smirk morphed into a scowl.
"Of course." He muttered. Hermione chuckled, making him turn to her, a disapproving pout on his mouth. It didn't take long for Hermione's smile to melt away as his scowl vanished.
He watched her a moment, his eyes searching her face for something Hermione didn't understand. She found herself unable to move, unable to look away from the stale grey twirling in his irises.
As it seemed to be custom now.
She couldn't utter a single word, but her brain was racing with questions that his gaze refused to answer.
Eventually, he broke eye contact and lowered his gaze to his hands.
"What is it?" She managed, albeit just above a whisper.
"Nothing." He shrugged.
She sighed and threw him the most disbelieving face she could muster. He immediately and dramatically feigned innocence, shrugging and lifting his hands in the air, his eyes even widening. If it hadn't been from the underlying smirk on his mouth, she could have fallen for it. Or not.
She snorted quietly, swallowing back a chuckle. "You're a prat." She shook her head, and he smiled.
Pretty prat.
Damn Astoria.
Damn that smile. Whether it was small or bordered grinning, or even smirking, for that matter. That smile.
The thought hit her again.
It changed everything.
The moment passed, though, and the tension in his neck slowly crept back up. She could actually see it.
Merlin.
She had a bizarre compulsion to reach out and help that she repressed right away. What the actual hell?
Her fingers itched, though, as if running her fingers along the side of his neck would help her feel if it actually was as tensed as she saw.
He probably wouldn't like that.
What the hell was wrong with her?
But then, he didn't want to talk.
And she didn't think he'd appreciate it if she told him that she could bloody well see.
She'd lifted her hand. She dropped it back down.
Godric's beard, what was wrong with her?
She was tired of shutting up and putting her feelings aside. Here was what was wrong with her.
Well, in for a Knut.
"You know I can see that something's wrong, right?"
He startled slightly before catching himself.
"And how would you know?" He frowned.
"I know you." She shrugged.
He snorted, something between surprised and amused.
Then, he smirked.
"Do you, now?"
She had to concentrate a bit too hard not to prop both her hands on her hips. That would definitely break the whole effect.
"Yes I do, you prat." She scowled instead. "We're friends, and I'm not totally blind."
"Oh, are we now?" He cocked an eyebrow at her, mockery in a corner of his mouth, the awkwardness totally gone.
"Are you for real? Of course we …" Oh, he was playing with her. Doing his best not to answer the bloody question. Well, if playing was what he wanted, she'd shut him up. His smirk had reached full size while she'd paused, but it would recede.
"We are friends." She said, cocking her head to a side, trying to catch what he was hiding behind that smirk. "And if we weren't before, I've got proof we are now."
"Oh, really?" It was a full, mocking smirk, and she couldn't see shit. "And what would that be?" He asked, taking a small step to her. "Please enlighten me. You'd be a dear."
It became difficult not to smirk back.
"Alright, then friends have each other's backs." She said. "They defend each other."
"Oh?" Here, the corner of the smirk had lowered.
"Yeah, they also punch or threaten idiots for each other." She finished. The fact that this was not only a reminder but also a confession she decided was better off unsaid.
His smirk deflated entirely. He looked thoughtful an instant and, when he eventually opened his mouth, his voice was soft.
"Do they kiss each other too?"
SALAZAR, WHAT WAS WRONG WITH HIM?
"Why?"
He froze. She was looking right at him, her gaze piercing. He'd expected a no.
Don't do that again, is all.
Had she changed her mind?
Did she want it?
Did he actually have a shot at this?
Wait, what?
NO!
He couldn't shake his head in an attempt to shove those thoughts away; she was still staring at him. His attempts at levity went to mush under her big brown eyes, wide with something he'd grown accustomed to. And, then, her cheeks.
Salazar, her cheeks were slowly getting stained.
Pink.
It contrasted sharply with her gaze. She was most definitely determined to get an answer.
It all came down to that, didn't it?
That fierce determination he'd seen take her face at the charity, or that night she'd come bearing news that she'd kicked Pansy's arse was back.
Had it ever left her?
No, it was always there, deep down, that thing that had once given him hope and that was now captivating him like a moth attracted to the flame.
She didn't look away.
He knew she wouldn't look away until she got an answer. Whether her cheeks had turned bright red or not.
She was brave. He was supposed to be as well, right?
And that's what made him think, fuck it all.
Hermione saw his inward turmoil then. In his eyes. Had Stori been right? He'd asked! He'd just asked if they kissed!
Did he want to?
Merlin, maybe he did. What had she done?
She started feeling uneasy under his confused stare but didn't turn away.
He wouldn't get out of this one.
He'd kissed her once, and she'd deluded herself, blamed it on momentarily happiness, on alcohol, anything but what it seemed to truly be.
Did he want to?
She could feel her cheeks burning, but he'd answer.
She was about to ask again when he took his balls apparently and drew his face to hers.
His right hand reached her cheek just as his lips brushed hers.
He kissed her.
For real this time.
Slowly, barely, tentatively.
But he kissed her.
And she kissed him back, without even thinking about it.
She felt the light stubble of an unshaven chin on her skin, the barely there graze of hesitating lips at the corner of her mouth, then just in the middle. She felt his hand drift from her cheek and the tip of his pianist like fingers tangle in her hair, undoing a curl and rolling it between them.
And when he withdrew, out of breath. His hand stayed at the base of her neck as he opened the lips that were still inches from hers:
"Just like that. I wanted to know." He answered a question she'd forgotten she'd asked. His hand left her skin then, and he disapparated on the spot, in a crack, leaving Hermione staring at the empty space before her, the tip of her fingers slightly grazing her lips as she could still taste him.