Saturday, July 5th, 2003.
Part two: Sharing.
Home encounter
"Weren't you supposed to stay at Astoria's?" Draco scowled; the last thing he needed right then was for Blaise to start questioning him. The last approached with a frown before answering. He bent over the cauldron, sniffed it, retched - yes, it was ruined - but didn't comment.
"She went to Mione's." He said, still grimacing. "Girls talk, apparently."
"Really?" Draco asked, forgetting his ginger roots chopping but carefully not looking away from it.
Girls talk.
That generally didn't bode well for men. Was that why she hadn't said hi? Would she ever talk to him again?
"Yes. Seems that she went to see Weasley after all."
The ginger root could go to hell. Draco turned around, seething. "WHAT?"
"The twin." Blaise clarified. "I sent her the note. She went to see the twin." He repeated.
Draco deflated instantly.
"Oh, right." What an idiot, he'd seen her come out of the shop.
Blaise chuckled but had the decency to catch himself quickly.
"He's not that bad, mate." He eventually said, looking around the ingredients on the table.
"Yeah, right, and that potion's a success," Draco growled, turning back to the ginger.
"Err … Anyway, I had nothing better to do so …" Blaise turned to the parchments on the island. "What are these?"
"Our ideas."
"For potions?"
"Yes."
"I'm not helping."
Draco rolled his eyes painfully. "No kidding."
"And he asked if friends kissed as well."
Astoria chocked on the glass of white wine she'd brought, spitting disgracefully on her skirt.
"No?!"
"Yes."
"AND?" She asked, her stained skirt forgotten, the glass still raised to her mouth.
"And I asked why."
"Oh my … Salazar, you - why didn't you kiss him?" Stori whined, closing her eyes briefly.
Hermione shrugged. "He kissed me on his own."
"Wh … A real kiss?" In any other situation, Hermione would have laughed at Astoria's face.
"Yes, a real kiss, hands on my face and all." She confessed, gesturing around.
"Finally!"
"Don't jump yet." Hermione groaned.
"Oh my …" Stori sighed dramatically. "Salazar, what did you do?"
"Nothing." Hermione scowled. "He kissed me and disapparated right after."
"Oh." Stori deflated instantly. "Well, easy fix."
"Eh?"
"Next time, kiss him first and save him the trouble of thinking." She shook her head, her eyes finally landing on her ruined skirt.
"What about my thinking?" Hermione answered. "I don't …"
"Shut up and kiss him first." Astoria cut, not even lifting her head as she grabbed her wand to fix the mess.
Well, that kind of fixed things, didn't it?
Stop thinking. Kiss him.
Good. And if she didn't really like him, she'd hurt him. Because that would be grandiose, wouldn't it?
"I can't just kiss him like that when I don't even know what I want." Hermione protested.
"Because you think you'll know without even trying?" Astoria frowned, tucking her wand away. "Hermione, he's not madly in love with you or about to propose, alright? He likes you, and you like him too. Just bloody try already. If nothing comes out of it but a good shag … although you swots might need a few tries …"
"Hey!"
"I was saying," She caught herself but not her smirk. "Considering your history and how …" She hesitated and seemed to mouth the next word carefully. "Practical you both are if it doesn't work I'm fairly certain you can go back to being friends without that much of a fuss."
Well, she made a point.
Hermione didn't really know about Draco, but seeing how they'd foregone a decade of insults and torment in a couple of weeks, sure a bad shag would be a reason to laugh in the future.
Draco was not in love with her.
He liked her, alright, and yes, she liked him too.
Damn, she liked him too.
"Stop thinking." And Astoria read her mind.
"Right." Hermione sighed. "Kiss him."
"Voila," Astoria smirked. "The rest will come if it's supposed to." She took a careful sip of her wine. "If not, I'm certain you can mock his pale arse around a drink while he complains about your hair."
It was Hermione's turn to choke.
Draco's pale arse. Here was an image she hadn't been prepared to receive.
Pale and lean.
Alright. Stop thinking.
"Shut up, Stori."
After vanishing attempt seventeen at brewing a revolutionary solution of reeking shite, Draco gratefully accepted the glass Blaise handed him with a sigh. They sat in the living, Blaise lifting both his feet to the coffee table.
The lad kept trying to talk about Quidditch, but Draco found himself only humming absent-mindedly in response. His eyes had fallen on the neat piles of books and scrolls on the buffet, and although he'd managed to keep the thoughts at bay all evening, now they wouldn't just go away.
Hermione.
That kiss.
Friends, she'd said. He'd managed to make the same mistake twice, hadn't he? Now she'd know. She had to know he liked her.
Well, yes, she knew, she wasn't daft. Kissing her TWICE was pretty obvious.
When had he become obvious in anything?
Salazar, what had he done?
Well, she hadn't pushed him away. She'd kissed him back, hadn't she?
She'd also ignored him earlier.
Damn.
Well, perhaps she was just as confused as he was.
The girl talk took all its sense, then. She was going to tell Stori; that was certain. Well, Stori would push in the same direction Blaise had been for months now.
One tiny chance she'd consider Draco as something more than a friend, then.
Although the very notion still felt ludicrous in his head.
She'd never want him.
Why would she?
Why did he even want it himself?
He was a masochist. Right, it was the only logical explanation.
"What's wrong?" Blaise cut through his thoughts, sitting straighter.
"Nothing."
"Don't lie, mate; it's written on your nose."
"Err …" Draco grimaced. "If I tell you you're going to be insufferable, so …"
"What's going on?" The lad smirked.
"See?" Draco sighed. "Insufferable."
"Oh, come on. They're having a girls talk … Oh!" He almost popped out of his seat, his feet jerking away from the coffee table. "It's about Hermione! What happened?"
Draco sighed. He was quite tired of not saying shit to his best - only infuriating friend. His mouth didn't obey him anymore, anyway.
"I kissed her." He said.
Blaise's eyes grew slowly in size until it seemed the information had finally reached his muddled brain.
He stood and screeched: "Not too fucking late!"
"Shut it."
"Are you together?"
"No."
"Oh, she didn't like it?" Blaise shook his head, sitting back on the couch. "You know, mate, a kiss is supposed to last at least ..."
"Oh my! I know how to kiss!" Draco barked. "It's … she said we were friends, and I kissed her anyway. I kind of …"
"What?"
"I chickened out and left," Draco grumbled.
"Are you serious?" Blaise leaned forward, disbelieving.
"Yes."
"Since when do you chicken out with women?" He whined, actually whined. "You used to dump them like old socks …" He looked on the verge to slap himself.
Draco sighed; those times seemed over. "It's Hermione." He said.
"Oh." Blaise blinked before whatever it was he understood finally reached his brain. "Oh." He repeated.
"Don't," Draco warned instantly between clenched teeth.
"Alright." Blaise shrugged, then in a seriousness Draco rarely saw, he asked: "Need a little help?"
The longer Draco stared, the harder it was to think he was being an arse. He was genuinely asking.
"No." Draco still shook his head, sighing. "Just …"
"What?"
"Ask Stori if she said anything, alright?" Draco regretted those words so bad as soon as they were out. He winced as Blaise smiled.
"I shall do." He said. Then, like an afterthought, he frowned, tapping his chin with two fingers. "Shall I send a little love message too? Like a heart-shaped card or …"
"Shut up!"
"Or maybe a fork? Seems like something she might like."
"Oh my, stop that!"
"Or else? Are you going to kiss me too, Draco? We're friends, so …"
"Sod off!"
"So? Weasley?"
"Which one?"
"The twin."
"George, his name is George." Hermione specified.
"Sorry …" Stori was visibly trying not to roll her eyes. "So?"
"So … things are back to normal," Hermione said. "With him at least."
"What about the other one?" Astoria asked, cocking her head to a side as if to inspect Hermione's reaction. The last was too drunk to even try to lie anyway.
"I wrote him a letter." She confessed. "For when he's feeling better if he ever does."
Astoria frowned and asked, wariness in her tone: "What did you write?"
"An apology."
"Wh … Are you serious?"
"Yes." Hermione lifted a hand to cut the incoming pestering, and yes, she could definitely shut her up too. "Look, you don't know him. All he said … He's broken." She said sighing. "Whatever you say, Stori, I didn't see. I needed to apologise. To let it go. I know you don't understand, but …" Hermione swallowed; what she wanted to say was what had ended up hurting the most in the end. Astoria cocked her head to the side, silently listening. "We were best friends our entire life." Hermione reminded her. "We fell in love. We got married. I was fairly conscious that he was a prat, you know." She thought good to point out. It felt definitely good to say at least. "He's always been." She continued. "But … I can't let go like that … I feel terrible even if it's not my fault and so on. He's …"
"A third of the Golden Trio," Stori concluded for her with a dramatic sigh.
"I guess." Hermione shrugged.
"So Gryffindor." Astoria rolled her eyes.
"None of us is perfect." Hermione shrugged again, making the other witch laugh.
"True, we can't all be Slytherins."
There was a pause.
"Actually, we're all a bit broken." Hermione thought aloud, looking at her glass. "You have no idea what we went through together …"
"Well … Maybe one day you'll tell me."
Nope. There was no way Hermione was ruining the evening with that kind of trauma. As drunk as she was, she'd end up moping about for a week with such a raging headache she'd want to pull her hair out of her skull.
She needed to change the subject.
After all, she'd confessed quite a lot to the pretty noisy witch already; Hermione felt like it was time things shifted.
"And maybe one day you'll explain about dating Marcus Flint." She answered. Oh, that Slytherin thing had sunk in. Stori's grimace in itself was proof.
"Err, I think you know why I did that."
"I assume it was to piss your father off." Hermione shrugged, a smirk slowly creeping up her mouth. "But still … Marcus Flint?"
"Ronald Weasley?" Stori snapped back.
"Err. Right." Hermione grimaced. She still had some progress to make.
"He was such a good shag, though." Stori smiled after a pause.
"The lights off, perhaps." Hermione grimaced; the man's eyebrows were enough to make her want to gag.
"Again," Stori hissed. "Ronald Weasley?"
"Hey," Hermione sat up a little straighter, a finger aloft towards the witch's face. "He's a prat alright, but he's not ugly."
"He's a redhead," Stori replied sternly.
"And?"
"And at least Marcus didn't grow purple with the effort." She smirked.
"Grow purp …" Hermione shook her head. "Merlin."
"I spend too much time with Blaise," Astoria grumbled to her glass, making Hermione chuckle.
"That you do."
"Well, if bad jokes are the only underside …"
"Right." Hermione cut; she could feel the turn the conversation was about to take and didn't want to hear about it. "I get it." She added, opening her mouth to change the subject.
"My." Stori was faster. "You need a good shag."
"And you need to shut up."