Chapter 26: New Decisions, Secret Declarations

Draco awoke the next morning feeling sore and drained. The pain from his bruises had kept him awake and it was still only just past dawn when he opened his eyes. But Draco couldn't stay here any longer. It was driving him insane. Maybe he would just go and ask Madam Pomfrey if she would let him go. Yeah, fat chance. Well, if he couldn't leave, then what? He needed to do something to get his mind working, so he could forget.

And of course, no sooner did that pass through his head than he thought of what he wanted to forget, of Hermione, lying in a bed across the room, crying.

Oh yes, he had heard her. The Silencing Charm she'd cast on his curtains only worked one way, and she obviously hadn't thought of one for herself. For an immeasurable amount of time, he'd continued to hear her gasping, sniffling, groaning cries, and had been totally unable to do anything about it, moreover knowing he was the cause of it. It tore Draco apart.

All he wanted to do at that moment was go over there and ask her why, why she'd been crying, do anything to comfort her, just something. He knew he couldn't, that it wasn't right for either of them. And yet…

His body moved on its own, he would have sworn to it. He had no control of its actions. Painfully, hesitantly, Draco's body stood without any permission from his brain, and pushed back the curtain. It walked across the thin room. Draco's brain was aware that he didn't know which bed she was in, except a fleeting glimpse of the direction she'd gone when she'd left last night. And yet, some part of him, the furthest reaches of his mind which was in control now, must have known, because his body stopped at one curtain in particular, and thence relinquished control.

So, here was the choice. Draco could still walk away, still go back to his bed and forget all about it. But isn't this just what he'd wanted? On the other hand, what you want isn't always the smart thing. On the other hand, she might still forgive him, though that was a slim chance. Besides, she may not even be there anymore. Maybe the nurse had let her out. Part of him hoped she was gone, the other wished to Merlin she had stayed.

Well, here's to hope against hope

He pulled the curtain open.

Hermione was still in bed, probably still asleep. The blankets were pulled up to her waist and she was turned away from him. He might not have known that she was hurt by his hand. He might not have known that they had fought last night. Why did everything significant between them happen at night? Why was it that whenever morning came, it felt like a dream?

Draco sat. Because no matter how much he deluded himself, Draco knew exactly what had happened between them, and what it meant. He also knew how much it hurt, a pain beyond the bruises on his skin.

Draco pulled his knees up to his chest, leaning his forehead on them. What had happened to him? Draco couldn't remember the last time he had been truly, completely happy. And the one thing in his life that had brought him close to that…

'I just screw up everything, don't I?If there was anything I could do to make it all better again…'

Someone laughed. "Is that an apology, then?"

Draco's head snapped up. Oh, shit, had he said that out loud? Great.

Then again, Hermione was smiling, if only slightly. She was lying on her back, obviously awake, searching his face for…what?

"Hermione, I—yes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, I really didn't."

She sighed, closing her eyes momentarily. "I want things to go back to normal just as much as you do, Draco. As things are, you and I both know they can't."

"But—"

"Treat me to dinner?"

"I—what?"

She shrugged. "You want another chance. I'm willing to give it." She struggled into a sitting position, brushing Draco off when he tried to help. "Think of this as a test run. If it all goes to hell, well, maybe this was all a bad idea to begin with anyway. If not…who knows? But maybe for one night we can just forget about all the rest? I just…I didn't want it to end that way."

"Neither did I," Draco muttered.

The gears worked in Draco's head. The prospect of one more evening of something close to happiness made the roiling knot in his stomach disappear entirely.

"Tomorrow, six o'clock, common room." Draco thought he was smiling. He couldn't be sure.

Hermione was. She nodded. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough.

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Draco was panting by the time he got to the dragon statue in front of the head commons. Madam Promfrey had only let him out less than an hour ago, and he'd had very little time to prepare. It was already 6:20. "Damn"

He caught his breath, holding his sides. The pain in Draco's abdomen and chest had made it difficult to run through the hallways, holding him up even more. But he was here now. After steadying his breathing, he walked through the door.

Hermione was sitting cross-legged on the couch, wearing a simple white sweater and a long, brown skirt. The fire was lit constantly these days, what with it being a very cold January. It cast an orange light to her bandaged face. Things had changed between them, there was no doubt about that. But maybe—just maybe—it could be better again. Maybe he could fix this.

And there it was again, that pull, that shortness of breath, that clenching in his chest. What was that? It wasn't the first time Draco had felt it.

He shook himself. "Hey"

She looked over at him and smirked. "You're late"

"You try running around the school with a broken rib or two and then we'll see if you're a little late for an appointment."

She shrugged and rose. "Why were you running around the school?"

He offered her his arm. "You'll see"

She took it, smiling lightly, but then paused and frowned. "Won't people see us walking through the school together?"

"Most everyone is down at dinner by now. Anyone else," he shrugged. "I don't really care."

Something shifted in her eyes as she looked up at him, as if he had just told her she'd gotten the highest NEWT scores in the history of Hogwarts students.

Suddenly she stood on her toes and kissed him.

It was short and sweet, but it left Draco grinning like a fool.

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Twenty minutes later, Draco was helping Hermione through the portrait hole. For a moment all the house elves in the kitchen, who were working on dessert at the moment, stopped and looked at them. "Hello!" Hermione called fearlessly.

A few shrugged at each other, the rest went back to work. One house elf came up to Draco and Hermione. "Hello, Magsy," Draco offered, smiling.

"Magsy is glad that Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger were able to make it this evening. Please, follow Magsy."

As they walked, Draco glanced over and saw Hermione frowning. "You had them make dinner for us, Malfoy? That's not fair. They have enough work in this school as it is—"

Draco was about to protest when Magsy answered for him. "Oh, no, Miss Granger, it is being no trouble for Magsy at all. Magsy doesn't make dinner for Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger. Magsy and the other house elves keep an area reserved for students or teachers to use."

Her frown deepened. "I don't think I understand…"

They turned the corner and were met with the sight of a cozy, fully stocked, enclosed kitchen. The back wall was equipped with countless drawers and cabinets, two ovens, a stove-top, a sink, and a small refrigerator. In the middle was a long, thin island with a few stools, and in front sat a pre-set table for two.

"I knew you wouldn't be comfortable with having the house elves cooking for you," Draco supplied, "so I thought we'd make it ourselves." He saw the comprehension dawn across her face. She smiled brightly at him, then cocked an eyebrow.

"We?"

He laughed. "Well, maybe I'll need a pointer or two."

"What will Miss Granger be needing?" Magsy asked.

Hermione turned to the house elf and smiled kindly at her. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like some farfalle, a small onion, two slices of bacon, frozen peas, ricotta cheese, and some parmesan."

"Yes, Miss Granger." The elf scurried away.

Promptly Hermione turned away from Draco and began going through cupboards, opening and closing them. "What are you doing?"

She gave him a sidelong glance. "I can't cook in a kitchen that I don't know. I've got to know where everything is, and also I'm trying to find—aha." She then pulled out two aprons from a high cupboard and tossed one to Draco.

"I'm not wearing this thing," Draco commented, holding up the frilly piece of cloth with one hand. She laughed.

"Fine then, ruin your nice clothes."

"Oh, so you like what I'm wearing then?"

"Whatever," she replied nonchalantly, turning away.

"Ah ah ah, I didn't hear you denying it, did I?" Draco walked around the kitchen island and approached her as she reached up onto her toes for a high shelf, stretching her shirt up to show an inch or so of midriff. His hands found her hips. "Do you deny it?"

"What?" She seemed startled by his sudden closeness.

She lowered herself into her heels and he leaned in to say in her ear, "Do you like the way I look? Hmmm?"

She shivered. Dammit, Draco could feel the swift, soft tremors down her spine, and he almost laughed. A lot had changed between them. Some things hadn't.

Someone coughed. "Here are the ingredients Miss Granger asked for. Is there anything else Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy will be needing?"

Hermione took the interruption as an opportunity to separate herself from Draco. He almost growled, but not quite. Draco was probably getting ahead of himself. This was the test run dinner, right? Right, so he had to take things very slow, despite how damn appealing she looked.

"No, Magsy, I think we'll be fine. Thank you very much, I'm sorry for the trouble." Hermione took the offered basket of ingredients.

"Oh, it is no trouble, Miss Granger. It is Magsy's pleasure to make sure Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy enjoy their evening." She curtsied, turned a corner, and disappeared. Despite the soft background noise of food being made in other parts of the kitchen, for all intents and purposes they were alone for the rest of the—

"Oh, damn, I almost forgot."

"Hm?" Hermione was unloading everything from the basket.

"I have detention with Professor Zimmerman at eight."

She glanced up at him, walking around the island and bending to pull open a low drawer. "That's fine, this should only take a half hour to make. You'll be there in time." She paused. "Unless you had other plans."

Well he'd had other plans. "Ah well, you can't always get what you want." Draco grinned.

"Oh, you know that song?" She handed him a pot. "And fill that two thirds with water."

"What song?" Draco asked while he went to the sink.

"You know, that one by The Rolling Stones? 'You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need,' " she sang quietly. "It's a classic. Put that on the stove top."

"Let me guess." Draco did as she told him, then grabbed the frilly apron she'd given him. "Muggle music? And you can have that."

"Fine, take the other." Absentmindedly she snapped her finger over her shoulder and the flame flared high beneath the pot of water. She turned to him, tying the apron around her neck. "You know, muggle music isn't that bad. You ought to keep an open mind, Draco." He only shrugged. "Alright, I'll need an iron frying pan for the bacon and a knife to cut the onion." Draco shuffled around the kitchen trying to find the items.

The frying pan she gave to him. "Put this on the stove, place the two pieces of bacon inside. We want medium heat, crispy, but not burnt, alright? Oh, and…" she opened a drawer and rifled through it. "Here are some tongs—easier to flip with."

They turned away to their respective tasks. Draco was just starting to get the hang of his when a soft hissing noise sounded behind him.

He turned. Hermione was holding her shoulder tenderly. "Damn, I think you're going to have to do this, Draco. My shoulder's just too sore to chop properly."

He stepped in beside her. "Um, but I don't know how…what's the enchantment?…"

She laughed. "Oh no, Draco, we're doing this the Muggle way. It's alright, I'll show you. Here, it's already skinned." He picked up the knife. "Take the knife and slice it in half…no the other way, yes. Now, take one half, position it like this, and then cut it in half, and then once on each side, angling toward the center. Try not to chop off any fingers." Hermione motioned with her hands and, hesitantly, he followed her directions. She gave a cursory glance behind them to check on the bacon, and crossed to it.

"Ok, now turn it to the side, hold the pieces together, and slice. Do the same on the other half, and let me know when you're done."

When he was, Draco was afraid he hadn't done a very good job. All the pieces were different sizes. When he told her she just shook her head, chuckling. "Draco, Draco, Draco, who cares what size the pieces are? A sautéed onion will still taste just as good. They are still big, so…hmmm, how do I explain this? Here—" she scooped all the pieces into a small pile then took hold of the end of the knife. "Ok, hold the point right here," she settled it in a single spot, the knife angling across the pile. Draco's hand went to replace hers. She rested her own on top, applying more pressure, then held his other hand, which was around the knife handle. "See, this way it swivels, so you can do this…" Together, they began chopping the onion into smaller pieces. It was both relaxing and distracting, having her hands on his.

Draco was satisfied with their progress when suddenly she emitted that low hiss again, and both let go of the knife.

Draco only raised his eyebrows at her as she rubbed her shoulder and neck. "I'm just stiff is all—I can't move my arm as much as I want to, so the muscles get all tense and under-used."

Wordlessly, Draco raised his own hands, swept her hair out of the way, and began to gently massage her shoulder. It was an automatic response. He could definitely feel how knotted her muscles were. As his fingers kneaded her neck, Hermione's head tilted to the side, showing an expanse of malleable, pale skin. It took all Draco's willpower not to bend his head and nibble on it. There was something innately sensual about how his hands pressed into her skin, how she responded to it.

Damn you, Granger, for being so bloody delicious he thought.

"I should probably check on the bacon." She almost whispered. She could probably tell what he was doing, and why, and even what he was thinking. Girls always knew that stuff for some reason. Slowly, regretfully, Draco lowered his hands. When she turned to face him she was smiling, and her eyes were slightly lidded. She stepped around him anyway and flipped the bacon again. Draco could almost feel the opportunity drain out from between his fingers.

Later, after they had cooked and drained the pasta and peas, dried the bacon, sautéed the onions, and mixed all the ingredients together in a single pot with generous helpings of parmesan cheese and pepper, the meal was ready.

As Draco spooned pasta into two bowls, he saw Hermione untying her apron. "Why don't you keep it on?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Er…why would I do that?"

He grinned. "You look so domestic, Granger. It's highly amusing."

She rolled her eyes. "Strange, I thought you'd be the type to encourage me to take off articles of clothing."

This time Draco did growl. She'd been teasing him all evening, and he couldn't take it anymore. He dropped the spoon and in two swift steps was right in front of her.

Draco and Hermione snogged until both were breathless and Draco's hands had started to roam. Finally, she pushed him gently away with a final, chaste kiss. "Technically, this is about dinner."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Technically." But he understood what she meant. As much as he wanted to ravish her right there on the counter-top, it was hard to forget how much had happened between them. Every time he saw her, he remembered the slice on her cheek, the blood pouring from her shoulder, and was stung with a pang of guilt. Every time he bent down to reach a low cupboard, his abdomen muscles protested loudly, a consequence of his actions, as well as Weasel's and Potter's.

So for the time being Draco would attempt to keep his hands to himself…mostly.

Hermione was setting the table when she looked up at him and frowned. "Wait, Draco, what are we drinking?"

"Ah," he grinned, "don't worry about that, love." Draco crossed the room and opened a corner cupboard, pulling out a bottle that felt cool to the touch. He approached her again, displaying the bottle.

Her eyebrows rose. "Wine? You brought wine?"

"Better yet, French wine."

She smiled at him. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, even when you are an arrogant prat."

"Hey!" Draco exclaimed.

She kissed his cheek. "Don't take it personally."

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So they had dinner. Draco was the perfect gentleman, pulling Hermione's chair out and pouring her wine. She had a feeling the chivalry had a lot to do with what had happened only a few days prior. They both held a lot of regret for that, mostly on Draco's part. Hermione still remembered the pain, anger, and desperation on Draco's face during the tournament, and it still instilled fear in her. It kept Hermione cautious and on her toes. And yet…

She found herself naturally falling into step with her not-even-close-to-a-boyfriend-anymore without meaning to. They're banter, touches, the way they moved around each other in the kitchen, seemed to predict the other's moves – Hermione wondered when it had become so easy.

Dinner was fantastic. Draco continually complimented her culinary skills, which made Hermione blush. They talked of inconsequential, and yet very interesting things. It was hard not to bring up the dueling tournament, but Hermione and Draco were able to allude to it rarely, and continue as if nothing had happened. Perhaps it was better that way.

At twenty minutes to eight, they'd finished. Hermione was feeling wonderful, a combination of the good wine and better company. Despite it all, she almost wanted Draco to skip his detention and spend the night with her. But they both had to accept the consequences of his actions. Tonight, it was out of the question, even if the thought made her rather warm.

"Would you like dessert?"

"Hmm?" Hermione was pulled from her thoughts, only slightly flustered.

"I asked the elves to save us something from the table in the Great Hall. Do you want something before I go?"

"You mean before you run off and leave me alone and destitute?" Hermione asked, with a smirk.

"Something like that."

"I'd love some."

Draco rose and walked around the partition. While she took a last sip of wine, Hermione heard him call to Magsy.

A moment later he reappeared with a small plate in tow and set down what looked like a fruit tart, then crossed to a drawer to fish out two forks. As he sat back down, Hermione asked him what type of tart it was. Draco shrugged.

At the same time they both leaned forward and took a wiff. "It smells like you."

They Hermione and Draco looked at each other in confusion. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" he shot back.

Hermione's cheeks turned pink, ever so slightly. "Well, it's your toothpaste. The mango flavoring, right? I taste it every time we…er…" He simply smirked. When had she gotten so shy? "Every time we kiss," Hermione finished. "Anyway, that's what I smell." A pause lifted the corner of Draco's lip even more. She frowned. "Well what do you mean?"

It was Draco's turn to be flustered. "I don't know what it is that you use but, see, well…you smell like raspberries. And I mean, like, all the time. It's crazy, and fully intoxicating."

Hermione grinned, just a little, at how important it seemed her scent was to him. "That would be the raspberry oil. I use it every day, as my only girly indulgence. Raspberry is my favorite fruit."

"I think it's become mine," Draco muttered audibly. Hermione found it very sweet and fought the urge to lean across the table and kiss him on the cheek. "So," he went on, "can we then assume that this is a mango-raspberry tart?"

Hermione picked up her fork. "That's a rather odd combination, don't you think? Somehow I doubt we'll be very pleased."

"One way to find out."

Hermione slipped her fork easily through the flaky crust and took a bite. "Oh." Draco seemed to agree.

Somehow, magically, it was delicious. She detected healthy helpings of rum and vanilla.

"How odd," Hermione said as she finished another bite. "Mangos and raspberries are very different fruits, one big, soft, and juicy, the other small and tart."

"You sound like such a cook." Draco intercepted, rolling his eyes.

She ignored him. "Each has a unique and intense flavor. You'd think they'd destroy each other. And yet, they don't." Hermione closed her mouth over her full fork once more, reveling in the taste. "They complement each other, a surprisingly marvelous pair."

"Just like us!" Draco exclaimed.

Hermione lifted an eyebrow at his excitement. "You're not turning this into a metaphor, are you?"

"Well, duh. You're the raspberry, adorable and bright and small and intense and fiery, and I'm the mango, big and intimidating and difficult to manage—"

"You are aware you just labeled yourself as a big softy," she interrupted, laughing.

He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "So you'd assume we'd be awful together, clashing and overcoming each other, but we don't, we're this magical combination that just turns out to be epic."

Hermione snagged the last bite of the tart out from beneath his fork and chomped down on it. "I just ate your metaphor," she stated with vigor.

The defeated, pouty look on his face was too much. Hermione burst out laughing, and soon he joined her.

She was still laughing when she rose and moved forward to give into temptation and kiss his cheek. But then he grabbed her face, smiling that radiant smile that she rarely saw, and she lowered her mouth to his.

It was passionate but subdued. It was beautiful. The past few days may as well not have happened. None of it mattered, not his curses nor her friends' blows. Draco grabbed her wrist and Hermione happily placed herself on his lap, turning, leaned down and kept on kissing him, and it was everything she'd hoped for or wanted out of this evening. It was the promise that he still cared, and so did she, and Hermione fell in love with him all over again, and wasn't even afraid to admit it to herself.

She was doomed, she knew, because he didn't love her back. If he did, really did, he wouldn't keep up the charade. He wouldn't insist that this be a secret. Why couldn't he see that the rest of the world didn't matter? Why couldn't he give himself to her, entirely? It wasn't fair.

She pulled back. Draco opened his eyes, looking confused. "What is it?"

"Draco…" she bit her lip, still tasting him, as well as the mango in their dessert tart, on her tongue. "What are we?"

His face was full of enough shock that she decided to go on. "I'm tired of this, all the sneaking around and lying and hiding from everyone. What's so bad about being a couple, out in the open? Why can't you admit to everyone how you feel? I—" I love you, she wanted to say, but was sure it would scare him off. "I don't care what they think. Why do you?"

He didn't look at her. It seemed he couldn't. The seconds ticked by and Hermione waited with bated breath.

"Because I've always cared. My entire life, I've cared what other people think about me, the way they see me. It used to be, I wanted them to fear and respect me, realize my superiority, acknowledge that my bloody purity made me better than them." Silently, Hermione raised one eyebrow. "I know, it was stupid, and didn't come off the way I wanted it to. I ended up being, well…"

"An arrogant, heartless, vindictive, maniacal prick?" Hermione supplied, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

Draco's nostril's flared and she felt his hands clench for a moment around her. "Something like that. But, that was ok, because in the end, people still feared me, thought a lot of me, even if it was in a bad light. Since I've been back…" he paused, eyebrows scrunching. "This isn't going to make sense."

"Try me."

"It's just…since I've been back, I wanted to reinvent myself, make them see I was sorry for it all. So outing this…thing…with you, well, they'd hate me, really hate me again, every single person in this school. I don't know how…if…"

He trailed off. Vulnerability shown through on his face, an insecurity that Hermione hadn't known existed in Draco.

But Hermione understood more than he knew. She'd felt it herself upon first arriving at Hogwarts, when she'd been branded as the know-it-all weirdo. That kind of wide-spread rejection hurt more than many knew. And it affected the way you saw yourself too. She understood that, for Draco, feeling that again, when he didn't want to be hated, might be too much to bear.

At the same time, she didn't understand it at all. "But…why would they hate you for dating me?"

"Hermione, do you even know how important you are?" Hermione shook her head, bemused. "Yeah, Scarhead—" she pinched him. "Ow! Ok! Potter was really vital, yes, he was the final blow, but everyone knows you were the brains of the operation. He's too modest, and Weasley's too much of a dunderhead, no offense. But you, you're intelligent and kind and friendly plus you're popular and beautiful. Honestly, Hermione, didn't you realize you're the perfect hero? If they could, I bet people would actually worship you."

Absentmindedly, Hermione wondered at the fact that, of all of them, Draco seemed to worship her the most.

"So, what, you're my big bad wolf, coming to blow my house down? Ruin my reputation and honor? Bewitch me? Curse me? What?" Anger started to dig its claws into her again. "What?"

"They'll say—"

"Who?"

He paused again. "Them."

Hermione sighed, pushing herself off his lap to perch on the edge of the table. "They say a lot of things, Draco. They always have and they always will. You're the only one who has control over whom it affects. You think I haven't felt the same thing, that fear, the need for acceptance? But…" But she couldn't let him off again. Hermione had forgiven and forgotten so much when it came to her troubled lover, but this was where she drew the line. "Either you care about what they think, or you care about me." Hermione rose, pacing, finding it difficult to tell him this with that look of shock on his face. "You can't do both. I'm not a skeleton in your closet, Draco. I won't be your dirty little secret." She paused and faced him, crossing her arms. "You asked for a second chance with me," a chance to heal, Hermione added in her head. "You can't do that if you're hiding from the world and yourself. It's time to make a decision, Draco. What do you want?"

In truth, she was asking a far deeper question. Hermione was asking whether he loved her or not, whether he even could love her. She wondered if he knew that. She wondered if she wanted him to know that. Despite herself, she wondered how it might feel if he refused her.

Draco rose. He stood and he walked toward her with confusion written in every muscle and every step. Carefully, he placed his hands on her crossed arms. Hermione looked up at him, this man who had stolen her heart, the unlikeliest of candidates. She saw the pain and fear flicker across his face and knew defeat. Hermione had never had her heart broken before. She'd heard about it, but all the tales seemed exaggerated, ridiculous. In that moment, Hermione feared, and knew, they hadn't been.

And then his face cleared.

"You. Of course you. Between the options of being despised with you and being accepted alone, it's not even a contest, Hermione." He searched her face. "What, you thought I'd choose otherwise?" He smirked.

The words caught in her throat. Despite it all, being a secret versus being in the open with Draco meant a lot to Hermione, and his choice, the closest thing he'd come to a confession of love, made her heart soar. She had nothing to say, could only throw her arms around him and kiss him hard and passionately, and try not to cry.

Draco returned everything she gave him, pressing her against the counter, and gods! how she wanted him. Wanted him to just take her right there, forget all about his detention and curfew, just make love to her here in the middle of the kitchens.

His hands clutched her neck, winding through her hair, pulling her ever closer, and Hermione's hands roamed down to the edge of his shirt, barely hesitating before sneaking underneath, grasping his sides and yanking him toward her.

"Ah!" Draco's head snapped back, his eyes scrunching closed. Hermione realized her mistake a second later. She'd accidentally pressed directly into one of the green bruises that still peppered Draco's torso.

And it came rushing back why they were here in the first place, that he'd hurt her, almost irrevocably, and in return her own best friends had hurt him. So much had happened in the past few days that had left Hermione emotionally confused, and there was a lot more to com, even if she didn't know it. It wasn't right for this to happen so soon, no matter how much she wanted him. "Oh, Draco, I'm sorry. We probably…we probably shouldn't."

He looked at her, still grimacing slightly in pain, and nodded apologetically. Draco sighed. "I'm already late to detention. Walk with me?"

On hand traveled up to Draco's shoulder, thumb tracing his collarbone. "Of course."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione got her feelings, including the sudden overwhelming desire, under control and, hesitating only slightly, they walked together out of the kitchens. "We should have cleaned up, you know," she stated.

"I can't, obviously, but if it means that much to you, you could always go back and help. I know you've got some inexplicable soft spot for the creatures."

Hermione opened her mouth to defend herself when she felt his hand entwine with hers. She glanced down, then up at the slight curve of his lip, and wondered at the man before her, who could be so dark and brooding and mysterious, so angry and wounded, yet in the blink of an eye turn carefree and joyful. He was an anomaly that Hermione yearned to solve.

"So, since there's no subtle way of asking, Draco Malfoy, will you be my boyfriend?"

She wasn't sure if he was surprised or not. "I'll think about it." Hermione's heart sank.

Until she noticed the gleam in his eyes. "You've already thought about it, so I'm going to take that as a yes. You have no choice in the matter." Or, more precisely, he had already made his choice.

He grinned, raising their joined hands to kiss hers. "Whatever you say, witch."

After another minute of companionable silence, they finally reached Professor Zimmerman's office. Hermione paused. "So, I suppose we'll tell everyone tomorrow?"

"And how do you propose we do it?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure."

He kissed her, short and sweet and chaste. "We'll figure something out."

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Ten minutes later, she was in the Gryffindor common room, sitting in a private corner near the stairs, notifying Harry and Ginny of her and Draco's 'coming out' tomorrow. She wanted her friends to be prepared, and was hoping for some support. They agreed that it was for the best, and were extremely happy for her.

When she left, the couple was still discussing it between themselves. Hermione didn't notice Ron pressed against the staircase wall, eyes narrowed in fury.

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Well and so. I make no excuses for my lack of updates. This story was started and planned out by a different me, and now that my writing style and sense of purpose in writing has changed, I find it increasingly difficult to remember the original points and themes that I wanted for this story. As such, it's taken a long time to mold this new chapter. Fear not, for now that I've reached the threshold of the climax, things seem clearer to me. There will be three more chapters, two with lots more insanity and emotional turmoil and drama and bad memories, the third a peaceful epilogue. Fear not, oh hooked readers, I shan't fail you. And to you, my loyal subscribers, who have actually stayed with me through my long absences, you have my eternal gratitude.

-Ginger

PS – REVIEW! For mine sanity!