Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter.
Note: Woo-hoo! Three hundred reviews! Special thanks to ANUKIN for helping me get there with five in a row:) And, as always, thanks to ALL my reviewers - MWAH! Love you all!
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Chapter 15 – Cooking and Awkward Conversations
"Did you find it?" asked Ginny once Hermione was back at the Burrow and tucked away in Ginny's room.
"I found it in this book, but I haven't read it yet," she replied, taking a seat on the floor.
"Oh, good," she said, smiling, "Let's hear it."
Hermione opened to page four hundred twenty-three and read aloud. "Essence of myrtleweed. Found to grow in temperate climates. Main uses: Essence of myrtleweed is used mostly as a finishing ingredient in 17 potions. Its effects vary depending on the potion. It is also used as a thickening agent in one spell, a generally Dark spell, called The Mace, whose effects are largely unknown due to the difficultly of obtaining…" she trailed off, scanning the page with her fingers. "Nothing interesting. Let's see…" Hermione perused the rest of the section on the myrtleweed. "Looks like it basically depends on the potion."
"Oh well," said Ginny. She looked up at Hermione with a suspicious gleam in her eye. "You were gone awhile."
Hermione refused to look at Ginny. "I ran into – him," she said carefully, trying to sound as though it meant nothing.
"At the library?"
Hermione shrugged. "Stranger things have happened." Then she chuckled to herself slightly, remembering that Draco had said the same thing to her not terribly long ago.
"And how did it go?"
"Pretty well, actually."
Ginny waited for Hermione to say more. "And?" she said after a moment.
"Well, it turns out I was wrong about him."
"So, is this a guy, guy? As in someone you might bring over for dinner?"
Hermione laughed at the thought of showing up with Draco for dinner at the Weasleys. Then she reddened as the meaning of Ginny's question hit her. "Oh, Ginny, no! It was nice to be wrong, is all."
"Uh-huh," said Ginny in a voice that said she didn't buy it.
Hermione was in a wonderful mood that evening and all the next day. She told Ron the same piece of truth she'd told Ginny when he inquired about her chipper disposition. He seemed to accept Hermione's explanation better than Ginny, but he still gave her a wink when she denied any sort of other-than-friendly intentions.
Hermione, Ron and Ginny spent most of the day in Diagon Alley with Charlie in tow, stopping last at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, where they stayed until the shop closed. Hermione bought Harry and Draco some of the Nosebleed Nougat reversal pills for their training sessions, and Harry some trick tarts that turned the eater's head different colors. Fred and George accompanied the four to the Burrow, where Hermione regretfully declined to stay for dinner. She packed her things and said goodbye to the Weasleys; sincerely sad to leave their company.
At the same time, she was anxious to return to the Edge. It had grown on her, and she had missed the ocean and sleeping underneath the stars, the steady beat of the waves lulling her to sleep. Now that things between her and Draco were … different, and better, she was ready to resume her place in the house.
Hermione Apparated to the Edge and cautiously but happily opened the door. Instantly she was hit with a burst of delicious smells – dinner. She hurriedly set her things at the foot of the stairs and went into the kitchen.
"Hermione!" cried Harry, smiling like a cracked nut as he stood to hug his friend. He had missed her before her fight with Draco, and afterwards it was almost a physical pain to be so separated from all his dear friends.
"Hi, Harry!" she said, returning the gesture.
"You're just in time, we're about to start dinner," he said, getting her a plate and utensils. He wasn't sure what was going on, or why Hermione was back, but he wasn't about to ask questions that might make her or Draco remember that they hated each other.
Hermione cast Draco a sideways glance; he was looking pointedly at Harry, who was putting her plate at her usual spot.
"Thank you," said Hermione, sitting. She fixed her plate – green beans, roast chicken and bread – and poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice.
"So – are you back?" Harry asked, glancing between Hermione and Draco.
"Yes," she said, taking a bite of beans. They were awful. She frowned as she chewed, and noticed that Draco was watching her with an amused expression. It was odd; she didn't feel awkward around him, but at the same time she did. She had spared no time to the consideration of how they were supposed to act now.
"Who cooked?" she asked, trying to sound merely curious.
"I did," said Harry, brightly. "My first go; Draco insisted."
Hermione glanced at Draco, who was now frowning as he chewed his own bite of beans. "Merlin, Potter, what did you do to the beans, cook them in glue?"
Hermione couldn't help it; she laughed. The beans were indeed completely rubber, and they even made a squeaky sound when they rubbed against her teeth.
Harry glared at her, then Draco. "No, Malfoy, I didn't use glue. I – it was my first go at beans."
"Oh," Draco replied, conversationally. "There was a recipe; didn't I give it to you?"
"Yes," said Harry, testily.
"Just wondering."
"Sorry if they're not up to your usual standards," said Harry grumpily.
"It's no problem," Draco said, pleasantly, pushing the remainder of his beans around his plate.
Harry scowled; obviously he didn't appreciate comments about his cooking.
Hermione cut her chicken into bite-sized pieces, then put one in her mouth. She chewed… and chewed, and chewed, and chewed. It was like chewing very fatty meat, only it was chicken. She chewed pleasantly, bobbing her head slightly with every closing of her jaw, as though she were quite enjoying herself.
Then Draco laughed; he'd been watching her chew.
Harry looked at him, then Hermione, who only then swallowed her bite of chicken. "What?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"What?" Hermione said innocently. "I like chewy chicken."
Draco chuckled again.
"Fine," said Harry, standing and taking his plate. "Since you both dislike my cooking so much, I'm going to leave you two in here to eat. Together." He left, miffed, to eat on the porch.
Hermione and Draco looked at each other and burst out laughing. After a minute or two, Hermione calmed down enough to stand. She collected hers and Draco's plates, vanishing their contents.
"I'll fix us something else," she said, opening the cabinets. "What'll it be?"
"Um, there's not really much here…"
"Guess I need to go to the store."
"Harry and I were devising a method of selecting which owl we would eat first."
Hermione whipped her head around and gawked at him, but then she saw he was smiling slightly. "Was that a joke?" she asked, amusement in her voice.
Draco shrugged, but his eyes still shone.
Hermione shook her head. "Imagine that. You have a sense of humor."
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Granger."
She eyed him, then went to the refrigerator. "We have… eggs."
"Sounds fine," said Draco.
Hermione quickly cooked a pan full of eggs, adding bits of onion, pepper and spices to the dish. Draco either watched her or stared out the window.
After the eggs were finished, Hermione put equal servings on two plates and returned to the table. She set one plate in front of Draco then sat down with her own plate.
Before taking a bite, Hermione looked at Draco. "Malfoy."
Draco looked up at her. "Yes?"
"Let's make a pact. We never let Harry cook again," she said, extending her hand for them to shake on it.
Draco looked at her hand a moment, then accepted it. "Deal." When their hands touched, this time willingly and more than a mere brush, a fierce jolt of energy ran through Hermione's arm. She pulled back quickly, and gave Draco a piercing stare. He acted as though nothing had happened, and set about eating his eggs.
After a moment, Hermione started eating too.
"What was your favorite thing about being in Gryffindor?" Draco asked after a minute.
Hermione looked at him, expecting him to tease her or say something pratty, but he looked at her with a blank expression. "Harry and Ron," she said after deciding he was trying to make conversation. "Becoming friends with them. How about you? What was your favorite thing about being in Slytherin?"
"Intimidating, terrorizing, and harassing younger students, and abusing any power I could get, of course," he said with a smirk.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Why did I bother asking? I should have known. "
"Your turn," said Draco.
"For what?"
"To ask a question."
"Oh. Okay. Let me think. What is your favorite thing about this place?"
Draco considered the question. "It's nothing like what I grew up with. Living here has forced me to learn things I would never have learned at the Manor. Like cooking, and cleaning, and washing. Granted, it's not that I love cleaning, but I feel…empowered when I do it."
Hermione giggled. "You like to clean."
"No," he said firmly, "I just like things to be clean. And so I must clean."
"When did you move here?" she asked.
"That's two questions."
"It's part of the first one."
"No, it's not."
She looked at him. "It's just an information question, though. It sounds like you were here before we came."
"I moved out of the Manor almost two years ago. If I was going to plot the downfall of my Master, I couldn't very well do it in my father's house."
"True," she said.
Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Then Draco asked, "What was your least favorite thing about Gryffindor?"
Hermione frowned as she thought. "I was always expected to be brave, but I wasn't always. I was really scared sometimes and couldn't show it. I had to be strong with Harry; he could break down, turn into a bratty teenager, but I had to maintain an air of certainty, as if no matter what, I knew how things would turn out. Which was ridiculous! I was just as scared as Harry and Ron, but I felt like I wasn't allowed to show it like they were."
Hermione blushed a little when she realized what she'd just told Draco Malfoy. She took a cautious bite. "And you?"
"Pansy. By far."
Hermione nearly spit out the bite she'd just taken. "What? I thought you two were …"
Draco made a disgusted face. "Oh, don't say it. Makes me sick just thinking about it."
Hermione laughed. "Come on, Malfoy, spill! Everyone thought – "
"Yes, I know what everyone thought, as they were meant to think. But I couldn't stand the girl. She was simpering and whiny and demanding and she never got the fact that I felt that way, no matter how many times I made it painfully obvious. It was easier to go along with her than try and tell her otherwise."
"I'm not sure what to say."
"Nothing. Just promise you'll never mention her again." He shuddered once more, and pushed his plate of unfinished eggs away. "I'm finished."
Hermione laughed again. "It bothers you that badly?"
"Yes."
"Okay," she said, still chuckling, "I won't mention Pansy Parkinson again. Never, ever, Pansy. No more Pansy."
He glared at her for using the girl's name excessively, and was about to make a smart retort when Harry returned. He saw Hermione smiling, Draco glowering – though without the usual malice, he noted; it was almost a playful glower – and unfinished eggs on both their plates.
"What are you two doing? Did you cook for him, Hermione?"
She looked up at Harry, still smiling. "We both decided we wanted something… softer to eat." Draco's glare was replaced with a smirk. "Yes, I made eggs, for both of us, and I cook all the time, it's nothing. Would you like some?"
But Harry could sense that it wasn't 'nothing'. Last he heard, they'd had a huge fight, and then Draco yelled at her – screamed, really – over the late delivery of a potion ingredient. And now, here they were, eating peacefully. It was obvious he'd missed something.
"No," he glowered. "I ate my dinner."
Draco stood. "Potter. Tomorrow we're doing a double session." Harry groaned. "I suggest you rest." He nodded to Hermione and retired to his room.
Harry turned to Hermione, who was busy cleaning the dishes, smiling to herself. "Guess I should stick to breakfast, huh?"
She smiled, but said nothing.
"Want to tell me what's going on?" he asked.
"Let's go outside," she said as she finished. "I haven't been out there in too long." Harry followed her onto the porch, where she sat in her favorite chair and he in the one next to hers.
When she didn't speak right away, Harry couldn't contain his curiosity. "So, what happened? I thought you two hated each other."
She looked at him. "Did he tell you about our fight?"
"Just that you had one, and that it was monstrous."
She nodded, turning back to look at the black water below. "It was. I came back yesterday to get a book, and he was here. Told me to follow him. We walked to the woods, and I don't know, something happened." Hermione returned her gaze to Harry. "I saw that I was wrong, and that he deserves a second chance. Nothing earth-shattering, but earth shattering at the same time. He didn't give me a huge speech about himself and his life or some sob story, or beg me to forgive him and offer that he was changed or anything. It was a bird, actually." She shook her head. "It's funny, but I kind of don't want to tell you about it. It's between him and me. Is that okay?"
"Of course, Hermione. I'm just glad that things are more pleasant between you two. It'll make things more pleasant around here too." He paused; "So, are you – friends?"
"No, at least, I don't think so. Maybe we're close to starting to be friends. I don't think I would mind starting."
Harry said nothing, and after a few minutes bade her goodnight.
Hermione was determined to stay awake until Draco came out to her. She thought about the conversation she'd just had with him – their first actual conversation in the ten years she'd known him. It was small, quite short, but it was a start. The idea of being civil, even pleasant, with him didn't seem so strange. And, what if they did become friends? Was that even possible? Draco Malfoy, friends with a Mudblood? She wasn't sure; surely they wouldn't be friends like she was friends with Harry and Ron.
She sat outside, thinking, for an hour. It started out pleasant and hopeful, but toward the end of the hour, realization sunk in. There would be no friendship with him. Tonight had been an aberration; it wouldn't happen again. Not because she didn't want it to, she did; but he was a lonely spirit. His strong desire for real companionship caused him to flee from it. In his mind it would be weakness; it would mean he was no longer completely independent, no longer able to think only of himself.
Friendship with her, of all people, would be the last thing on his mind. And they'd come close to being friendly tonight. What would he do, how would he act tomorrow? Would he be semi-friendly, like tonight, or would he do his best to remove any trace of kindness on his part from her memory? She guessed the latter.
Hermione yawned; she looked up toward Draco's window. His light was off; she frowned. Was he not coming? She yawned again and shivered, and decided to sleep in her bed for the night.
ooo
Draco woke the next morning feeling heavy. The night before he had refused to think about what had happened. He had read an entire book while waiting for Hermione to fall asleep. Now, as he lay on the brink of being awake, staring at the ceiling, the heavy feeling sank in like an anchor.
He saw, in flashing neon light with fireworks bursting overhead, what it would be like to be friends with Hermione. Actual friends. It scared him more than when he'd told the Dark Lord he had not been successful at killing Dumbledore; more than when he'd told his father that he didn't really believe that blood mattered anymore.
Draco didn't have friends, he never had. In school, he'd had followers, accomplices, bodyguards; never friends. Harry he counted as a reluctant and forced friend. Draco told him more than he had ever told anyone, shared parts of himself formerly left to the cobwebbed corners of his memory. By default, Harry was even his best friend, since he was his only friend. At first, they'd worked tirelessly, barely speaking a word to each other beyond only those required.
Three weeks in, Harry had apparently been unable to take the silence. He talked to Draco, really talked; told him about Ginny, how much she meant to him, how every day he got out of bed for her, to rid the world of him for her. He rambled, and Draco listened, unwilling to share the emptiness that was growing in the pit of his stomach at the heartfelt way Harry talked about his wife.
He couldn't talk about that hole, but three days later he told Harry about his mother. How she'd tried to have a good influence on him, tried to put something other than hate in his heart. She loved him, he knew, though it was an abstract understanding of the word, in part because Narcissa had never shown any signs of her love for her son. Those words had never escaped her lips. Yet Draco knew that she loved him, and knew it unwaveringly. Love for her had pushed him before and during his fated sixth year to follow his father's Dark path.
Draco had rambled and Harry had listened.
Then they were actual friends. He didn't talk about himself much, but he could, and he figured that's what made them friends. He trusted Harry Potter, and he'd never before really trusted anyone. It was good, then, that the trust came so relatively early. Because Draco and Harry would be called on to put their life in the other's hands, and there had to be trust. Or they would die.
Hermione was different. Being friends with her would be different. There was so much standing in the way of it, that if it were to happen, it would be a forever friendship, one that would last beyond now because of all they would have to overcome to get there. And Draco needed to be able to walk away in the end, to put them behind him and start life completely over.
He had come to care about Hermione. He fought it, at first, but soon gave up the struggle, seeing it was fruitless. First, there was her maddening stubbornness; it rivaled his own. There was her intelligence, also rivaling his own, though he felt confident he had an advantage over her, if only a slight one. There was her fierce loyalty and bravery, traits he admired but could not claim. He was loyal, to a point and brave, to a point. But he'd been sorted into Slytherin for a reason.
Draco respected Hermione, and even admired her. Not once since he set his plan in motion had she disappointed him or let him down. She'd angered him, and gotten under his skin, but even when she was late with the myrtleweed, he had to admit to himself that he'd practically set her up to fail. He could have easily asked for the ingredient a day before he needed it, but deep down he'd wanted her to mess up. Not his best moment.
Only her choice of a life path, becoming an Auror, had dimmed her brightness in his eyes. He knew it wasn't her passion, as he'd learned over the last two years. But she showed strength through everything, even doing a job she didn't hate, and he found that it was she who held Harry and Ron together, she who could whisper and be heard; she who could encourage and others be lifted; smile and others be warmed. Even he was warmed by it.
There was such a thin line between friendship and more; he wouldn't risk it. He couldn't do – that. He promised himself he wouldn't do – that. This was the girl he'd sworn to protect; surely that meant protecting her from himself too.
It would be easy, so easy; he could see it just over the edge of the world. Like where the ocean meets the sky. It would be like the sun, shining light into his dark, frozen world. The ice walls would melt; things would blood; birds would sing. It was so close, he could taste it on the tip of his tongue. But the inevitable would still happen; the sun would set, plunging him back into utter darkness and ice. Further than every before, because he had seen the sun; seen flowers bloom; heard the birds singing.
Maybe someday, he thought, after all this is over and I'm finished healing. Because he wanted to fall; he was human after all. But now was not the time, and he was resigned to the idea it might never happen, either for death of his body or death of his heart.
So he had to stop this spark of familiarity before it was too late, before there was any sign of the spark igniting. For him, he knew it would be something like a steam locomotive; slow to start, but utterly unstoppable once at full speed. Draco would be crushed under the weight that had already settled on him when he awoke, the weight that would only grow heavier. He had to push it away while there was time, while the weight was bearable.
Draco lay in bed, still staring at the ceiling, feeling awful. When he got up, he knew he would be indifferent toward Hermione at best, and it wasn't fair to her. She wouldn't understand that he couldn't allow things to move. He would not move; he would not change for her. This was about him, and she would only complicate things.
He didn't know it, but Hermione was laying in bed, staring at her ceiling, dreading rising as well. Draco wanted her to get up first, so he would be able to ignore her first. When he entered the room after her, he wouldn't have to look at her. If he was there first, he would look up when she entered, he knew he would. And he refused to. He would stay in his room all day if necessary.
Draco smirked as he heard Harry knock on Hermione's door. Always Harry between them.
"Hermione?" Harry said. "Come down and have breakfast with me." Draco didn't hear a response, but he heard her door open and two sets of footsteps descend the stairs.
Finally Draco got out of bed, cleaned himself for the day, and dressed. He felt the weight lessen as he opened his door and went down to the kitchen.
He didn't look at Harry or Hermione. He poured himself a cup of coffee and went out onto the porch. He let out a long breath; it was done, mostly.
It seemed to have worked, too. Hermione didn't spare him a glance over the next week. Even though it was exactly what Draco wanted (or at least, what he thought he wanted), an irritating worm started wiggling uncomfortably in his gut as her indifference continued. After all, he did care about her, in his own way, no matter how determined he was to ignore it. The worm started growing at the start of the second week and continued until Draco finally cracked.
One morning in that second week, he waited until Hermione came down for breakfast. He needed to test the waters; they were to be civil, but nothing more, not a grain of sand more.
"Granger," he said after she'd recovered from her shock of finding him uncharacteristically in the kitchen.
"Malfoy," she said, indifferently.
He stood, indicating that he was finished with his meal and only moments away from being somewhere else. It was important for her to understand that this would not be a conversation, would not be anything more than what he determined it would be. "I want a report of your progress. Tonight, after dinner."
"Okay," she said, nodding and taking a sip of orange juice. She took a bowl of oatmeal and brushed past him to sit at the table. She spared him no glance, no glare, no further acknowledgement; nothing.
Draco was left standing, feeling as if his presence had lingered a moment too long to accomplish the affect he'd intended. Now it looked as though he wasn't sure of himself. He saw Hermione crack the tiniest hint of a smile as she stirred the oatmeal in her bowl. Draco left the room, highly frustrated. She was playing the game too well; it left him unnerved. How did she know about the game? How could she know? He didn't see how, but she must know. The game had been ignoring her, but it wasn't really a game. It was serious. If things got out of hand, it could, potentially, mean the failure of their efforts, and that was something he was completely unwilling to risk.
She hadn't approached him once since that night when they'd laughed over Harry's cooking, hadn't tried talking to him. She just left him alone. She was smart; she must have known his intention to put distance between them and beat him to it. The silence was deafening, and he found that he wanted something from her. It couldn't be friendship, and indifference was killing him. That left only animosity, which they'd agreed to put aside. And he really didn't want that anyway. How could he get enough from her to satisfy the worm in his gut, but not too much to push either side, friendship or hostility, too far?
That night, Hermione presented her progress to Harry and Draco. She went all out, in typical Hermione fashion, with handouts, charts, and statistics. Draco fought hard to keep the amusement out of his features and was mostly successful, but he couldn't hide the sparkle in his eyes. Hermione looked at him once during the entire presentation and he was sure she'd seen it.
"Just last week I finished going through all the Ministry's files on Death Eaters. I took copious notes," she held up four Muggle notebooks, "and as I progressed, started to see some similarities, of which I made note as I found them."
Harry smiled. "Now what, Hermione?"
"I will try to do as suggested and decide who will run, fight, or turn themselves in. The group of most concern is the fighters, since they could prove rash and their actions endanger innocents. Think Bellatrix and Rodolphus last time Voldemort 'died'. The runners should prove difficult to find, but I have found that intelligence isn't an attribute highly desired by Voldemort in the majority of his followers. Strength and cruelty seem to be top on his list."
"The ones who turn themselves in, claiming the Imperius, will be difficult in their own right, because it will be a lot of work sorting out who was truly a Death Eater and who was truly under the Imperius. It is my goal to collect evidence on each person I place in the 'turner' group that will show which alternative is the reality."
As Hermione continued talking, she completely ignored Draco; she only looked at Harry, only talked to Harry, never even acknowledging Draco's presence. It angered the worm in his gut and he became increasingly annoyed. Eventually, about forty minutes into the progress report, he'd had quite enough of being ignored.
"…And I think I'll have good results after talking to Alastor." Hermione stopped talking and looked expectantly at Harry.
"So, basically, you've done a whole lot of nothing," said Draco.
Finally Hermione looked at Draco, an utterly blank expression on her face, as if she'd just noticed he was there but for all she cared he could have been a fish bowl. The blank look lasted a few seconds, then the look turned hostile. She opened her mouth to speak, but Draco held up his hand. The worm had been sated for now, or else knew it was going to be soon, and Draco did not want to fight with her.
"Easy, Granger; I didn't mean it. You're doing an excellent job, which is not at all surprising."
Hermione blushed at the rare praise and looked into her lap. A flicker of… pain? … passed over her eyes, and she looked at Harry who smiled at her. Stupid mind reading. Then Hermione looked at Draco.
"Thank you," she said, "I have enjoyed my task so far, and it really feels like I'm doing something useful. It's nice."
Draco wanted to smile; she had opened up just a little, testing him, this time. What he did next would determine the atmosphere between them for the coming weeks, or until one of them decided to test the waters again. If he went too soft, he was in danger. If he went too hard, they'd be back to ignoring each other. He just didn't know how to reach the median. In the end, what choice did he really have?
He stood to leave the room. "It will be very useful to the Ministry. They will be grateful for a plan of action during a chaotic time." Draco nodded to Harry, who rolled his eyes, and left the room before he could hear, see or sense a reaction from Hermione.
He had made the easy, self-preserving decision. The worm would just have to get used to the situation and make the most of whatever intermittent contact would follow.
Draco was nearly up the stairs when she called his name. He turned around; she was standing, arms crossed, a few steps below him.
"Granger."
"Look, Malfoy, I know what this is, what you're doing, and it's stupid. I'm not asking anything from you, I expect nothing from this. If this is how you want it to be, then – then fine. But it's stupid."
"You're the one who's been ignoring me and acting like I don't exist," he said matter-of-factly. He wasn't angry, just giving her details. "This is how you want it."
"You started it," she said with a glorious smirk. Draco nodded, remembering that he had indeed been the first to ignore the other, that morning with the coffee. She continued, "And I actually don't like ignoring you. It's stupid and childish; we're adults."
"So what do you want?" Draco asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the stairwell. A few strands of hair fell into his eyes and he swatted them away. "I have no intention of joining you and Potter for pajama parties."
"I just want to be – myself. And you be you. And we just let whatever happens, happen."
Draco frowned. A lot could be admitted behind the term 'whatever,' though he doubted highly that she truly meant that 'whatever' could mean 'anything'.
"Whatever. You want whatever."
"Yes. It's unnatural to ignore you completely; it's forced. I have to make an effort, as I'm sure you do. I want things between us to be natural, even if its being snippy. If you want to say 'hi', then you say 'hi'. And if I want to say 'hi', I will. If you don't, then don't; same for me. Okay?"
Draco peered into her deep brown eyes. To him, there were only two courses available – animosity and the other way, as ignorance was no longer an option. They couldn't just be barely acquaintances. He knew there was danger in it, at least for him. However, he didn't want animosity, he'd already decided that. So, that other path was the only one left. He would simply have to guard himself. He could control how far down that path he moved, and if it became too dangerous he could always turn back.
"Okay," he said blandly.
Then Hermione smiled, the first one ever directed at, for and because of, him. It was something strange to behold, how so simple an act could provoke such complicated emotions to course through his veins. Draco felt a small piece of himself lost forever to that moment, to that smile. He refused to lose another piece, but found himself unable to break away from her gaze. Slowly, he felt his face soften – against his will – and he felt another piece of himself threaten to tumble. She keeps smiling, he thought with frustration. Time had ceased to move in normal fashion, and that moment lasted a day or a second.
"Okay," she said, after only a few seconds. "Okay. Well, uhm, I'm going back down now, so…" she trailed off and slowly turned around.
Draco heard himself say something. "Granger." He'd said her name; she stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at him. Then Draco's mouth acted completely independently of his mind and will. He felt himself starting to say something more, and he fought, he really did. But it didn't work.
"Hi."
She stole another piece of him when she smiled again, all for him; again. "Hi," she replied, softly, as though if she were to speak any louder the moment, this fragile peace they'd forged, would shatter. Then she walked out of his sight.
ooo
A/N: Hope you liked! I know there were probably some things that didn't make sense, but they're hints of things to come. So stick around! And thanks as always for reading - seriously, love you all:)