"What have you got there?" Ginny smirks, tilting her head towards the parcel tucked into in Hermione's lap.
She's blushing furiously and knows it's a dead giveaway, but she can't help it. Malfoy's always sent her things to her dormitory until now. He's never delivered something at breakfast.
And she's not quick enough on the uptake for Ginny, who takes a ready opportunity to snatch the parcel into her own lap. At least she keeps it under the table, a small consolation to Hermione, who flames even redder.
Ginny tilts the lid open, giving Hermione a curious look at the maroon fabric inside. She snakes a hand in and exclaims, "Cosy! What is this?"
Before she can withdraw it from the package - or, gods forbid, investigate enough to find what's beneath it - Hermione says, "Pyjamas."
But of course, Ginny's no idiot and pyjamas could hardly cause the level of red Hermione currently is. Her fingers must skim the note, which she pulls out to read, her eyes growing wider and wider.
Hermione grabs it from her and slaps it facedown on the table.
"So... it's not casual any longer, it would seem." Ginny looks like the cat that got the cream and Hermione sighs.
"Can you look slightly less smug, please? At least in public?"
"No. So he's your boyfriend now. Do I get to know who he is?"
She's determinedly not looking at the Slytherin table, where she's absolutely positive Malfoy is watching her. "No, Gin. I don't want to tell anyone. Everybody will make a big deal out of it, and anyway, he's not my - my boyfriend. We've never said that."
"'For his best girl'?" Ginny repeats dubiously, her infuriatingly satisfied smile plastered across her face. "Sure, Hermione. Okay. But this is from your boyfriend, even without the label. And I want you to remember that I called it, at least a week ago."
Hermione still tries to protest and Ginny levels her with a stare. "Is he seeing anyone else? Are you seeing anyone else?"
She shakes her head no, in defeat.
"And you've talked about that?"
"...yes," she mumbles, still staring fixedly at the parcel and nowhere near the Slytherins.
"Then sorry to be the bearer of horrid news, but your boyfriend sent you, his girlfriend, a pressie. Here you go."
Ginny pushes the parcel back towards Hermione, who bobbles it to keep it out of sight. In the jumble, Ginny's hand slides underneath the pyjamas and she freezes. "What is this?"
"Nothing," Hermione babbles in panic. "Nothing, it's -"
In truth, she doesn't even know what it is. Not exactly. But it's silky and lacy and she can make an educated guess - and clearly, so can Ginny, who goggles at her all over again.
"Are these knickers?"
Another desperate pause and Hermione slumps in resignation. "Maybe? Probably." It feels like more fabric than knickers, though, which makes her a bit worried.
Ginny eyes her with clear suspicion, then yanks the parcel back. Hermione doesn't even fight it. Ginny tucks it under the table and pulls forth a handful of the silky black lace. "This is lingerie."
She sits back and surveys Hermione with fresh shrewdness. Hermione fights the urge to cringe. "So, he's getting you off before himself, several times each, if I recall - and I do, so don't downplay it now - and he's sending you things to wear, things for his best girl. Has he sent you anything before this?"
"Yes," Hermione sighs, sticking out an ankle for Ginny to inspect a shoe. "Several pairs of shoes, the pyjamas... two sets of pyjamas. The lingerie or whatever is in there. I'm a little afraid to look. And... and knickers, before this."
She cringes, blushing furiously all over again, but it feels a little nice to have it out at last. It's not unlike the feeling Hermione had when Ginny finally cornered her about seeing Malfoy in the first place.
"Where do you meet up, anyway?"
Hermione, her panic finally settling into a useful path, blurts out a lie. "The Prefect Bath. Don't tell anyone."
Ginny bursts out laughing. "That is... cliche, Hermione. But I can't say I've never done it."
Perhaps reading the room, Ginny relents at last. She elbows Hermione in the side, saying only, "Well, at least someone around here is getting a good shag on the regular."
She glares at Harry from the corner of her eye and Hermione feels awkward all over again. She doesn't like to think about Harry in any sort of sexual context. She'll gladly welcome the change in topic, though. "He still hasn't asked you to Hogsmeade?"
"No," Ginny huffs. "At this rate, I'm going to have to do it myself."
"It's probably best if you plan on that," Hermione says and Ginny elbows her again, a little harder, and laughs.
"I'm already doing everything else myself, you lucky cow. What's one more thing?"
Hermione makes a revolted face and Ginny laughs harder.
She slips out of the Great Hall with a few extra minutes to run back to Gryffindor Tower before her first lesson. She has to hide this stupid package. Why did he send it at breakfast? Arrogant tosser. He knew everyone would be looking.
Maybe he doesn't care, says a little voice in the back of her head, but that's preposterous. Why wouldn't he care? Yes, okay, apparently Pansy knows. And maybe Theo, too - well, probably Theo. And Malfoy didn't seem to mind that, but maybe those two are less hostile than she's always given them credit for. Maybe she shouldn't lump all of the Slytherins together in one giant Muggle-born-hating bucket. But surely, he still wouldn't want everybody to know.
Crabbe and Goyle, always following him around like puppies. Although, come to think of it, they don't hang around Malfoy much anymore. But he'd always seemed to enjoy holding court over his little dominion there, and Hermione just assumes that her presence linked with his (even from afar) would be unacceptable.
And if he truly doesn't care, what does that say?
Hermione can't fuss with that right now. She has to get ready for Charms, something she thought she'd already done before breakfast. She throws the pyjamas in her trunk with the green set, takes a single, horrified scan over the black lacy thing, and shoves that in there, too. She's never worn anything like that in her life and can't imagine doing it.
The note she tucks into her bag, not letting herself think about why.
In Charms, she's sitting between Seamus and Harry, as usual, with Ron on Harry's far side against the wall. Hermione tries to pay attention, but between Malfoy sitting two rows ahead - distracting, and even more so now that she can vividly imagine his broad back and shoulders under her hands - and Harry, she can't focus in the slightest.
Is she Draco Malfoy's girlfriend? How the hell had that happened? All she wanted was a (secret) shag. Yes, she'd constantly fantasised about how fit he was, watched his fingers twirl his quill, wanted to rake her fingers through his hair. And now that it's no longer imagination, her blasted imagination won't stop. All she can think about is what he does with his mouth and how fantastic his cock feels, filling her from the inside out.
She'd had no idea it could feel like that.
She wants it right now, that slow slide, almost torturous in pace, or the shockingly deep drive with her knee crooked over his elbow. She still has nothing to compare him to but he's big. He feels big, like she'll combust with him inside her, but any momentary doubts she has about whether she can take him are always silenced when he bottoms out yet again.
Suddenly, something Harry says to Ron yanks her attention. Absolutely certain she's flaming red, she stares down at her parchment but listens intently.
"I'm telling you, he's up to something."
Hermione groans internally. Not this again. She'd thought he'd moved past this to retrieving whatever it is Dumbledore wants from Slughorn.
"Look at him, the arrogant prick. He looks like he owns the castle."
Ignoring that she herself had a very similar thought about Malfoy not twenty minutes ago, Hermione's temper flares. She forces herself to stay quiet and listen, but lets her eyes drift back to Malfoy.
He does seem happier. Well, more - more carefree, maybe. His shoulders are more relaxed and he's talking to Theo.
"Not two days ago, he was a moody git who looked like he'd burn the whole place down. Now look."
But all that had to do with her, Hermione wants to yell. But wait. Did it? Seems likely, but that causes another little ripple in her stomach. Okay, it's circumstantial evidence that she's been influencing Malfoy's mood. It's probably narcissistic to assume it all has to do with her. But either way, logically, she knows that doesn't mean he isn't up to something like Harry believes. She just doesn't believe it.
When would he get up to anything nefarious, anyway? But she can't exactly vouch for his time to the others.
Harry and Ron are still whispering rabidly and her irritation mounts. Leaning over, she hisses, "Aren't you supposed to be getting that memory, Harry? Or don't you remember?"
Looking supremely annoyed, Harry starts to reply but Hermione cuts him off. "Or maybe think about asking Ginny to Hogsmeade, instead. She's losing patience."
That might have been rash, but Ginny isn't the only one losing patience right this minute. Ron's face looks like he was hit by a Bludger and Harry's bright red and stammering out excuses. But Hermione can't be bothered to coddle the two boys' sensitivities. It's time to grow up. Insisting Malfoy is a Death Eater is absurd. It's occupied the better part of Harry's year to a detrimental effect, and Hermione's had enough. Dumbledore's given him something important to do, and he's still too busy fixating on Malfoy to do anything about it.
Just now, though, she's amused to see Harry gazing dreamily around the room as if Ginny might be sitting in their Charms class with them - as if he'd ask her to Hogsmeade right here and now if he saw her. Hermione fights an exasperated urge to thump him up the back of the head. If she were sitting next to Ron instead, she wouldn't hesitate. He's still speechless.
"Oh, close your mouth," Hermione says irritably. "As if you and Lavender don't - ugh. Never mind. Other people want to date occasionally, too, Ronald. Harry's fancied Ginny for ages. She fancies him too, and she's growing tired of waiting for him to notice. Harry ought to get on with it before someone else jumps the queue."
This unplanned diatribe has the desired effect of complete silence at their little table. Hermione bends over her parchment again, feeling marginally better.
"Wait too long and she'll be doing OWL revision for the rest of the term," Hermione mutters under her breath and she hears an unexpected snort from her left.
Seamus is grinning when she glances up. "Good on you, Hermione. Set them straight."
She cracks a smile, too, and Ron finally regains his voice.
"Your mood's certainly turned," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "You were all chatty and playing Snap with us just a day or two ago, and now look."
Momentarily struck, Hermione thinks he's right. How funny. Malfoy's mood flipped and hers flopped - although only to Ron and Harry. "You're both acting ridiculous, that's all," she sniffs. "Harry has more important things to be thinking about."
"What, even Ginny?" Ron's eyebrows nearly leave his forehead.
"Yes, Ronald, even your sister."
Seamus howls, slapping a knee, and Hermione rises to go ask Professor Flitwick to review the introduction to her essay they have due next week to make sure she's on the right track. She feels Malfoy's fingers casually brush her robes as she walks by, heels tapping the stone floor. She glances down from the corner of her eye and he's facing forward with a noticeable smirk on his face. Her heart skips a beat and she stares avidly at Flitwick, her cheeks growing pink.
"Excuse me, sir?"
All that exchange showed her was how she absolutely, positively, cannot tell anyone about Malfoy. Well, maybe Ginny. No, even then, Hermione thinks back past a week ago and recalls Ginny's hostility towards him, too. The Weasleys and the Malfoys are notoriously at odds, and that's putting it mildly.
Gods, she has no idea what to do about any of this. But it's less than two months until summer, now, and they can... figure out what happens next, next. Can't she just enjoy right now?
The motivation to do exactly that is what spurred most of this in the first place, but at that thought, she grows solemn again. War is coming. She doesn't know when or how, but she started this whole bloody thing because of her innate feeling - almost a foreboding, really - that things are about to change.
Drastically, and for the worse.
And whose side will he be on?
This train of thought makes her feel a little short of breath. He's not like the others. She's sure of it, feels it in her bones. If he really thought she was lesser, that her 'kind' were inferior (at best, and a scourge at worst), he wouldn't be how he is with her. Hermione knows blokes lie to get what they want, especially if what they want is beneath a girl's robes, but it hasn't been like that. It hasn't felt like that, not from his words or his actions, going all the way back to when she propositioned him in the first place.
He might be the wrong sort to
(love)
be with - or shag, for that matter - but he doesn't seem like the wrong sort. She's had this thought before, before the havoc with Pansy and the blasted broom cupboard, but she feels it again now.
Maybe he's on the wrong side, she thinks, and corrects herself. He's definitely on the wrong side.
Semantics. What if he could be on her side?
But she doesn't even know when the war will begin, or what will spark it. It could be anything, anytime, and the ambiguity of it makes her chest feel tight again. How long do they have, any of them?
Less than two months left.
She puts her hands over her face and breathes in deep through her nose, and out through her mouth - a trick her mum taught her years ago when her anxiety would get too high. She counts her breaths this way until she feels better.
Ironically, she is actually in the Prefect Bath for a change. After mentioning it to Ginny earlier, she realised how underutilised it is. Not as a sexy bathhouse sort of option, but just for solitude. Unless she happens to interrupt a different couple mid-shag, there's never anyone in here.
Charmed aeroplanes still make their way in, evidently. One flutters in and lands on her knee.
Where are you? Come to the CGR at 9. Stay?
Easy enough to decipher, difficult enough for anyone else. Stay. Stay, he asks. Hermione closes her eyes. Why not? There had been no repercussions last time and... and it had been nice. Really nice, waking up with him.
That was only two nights ago and she stops her runaway heart from wondering if it's going to be a new thing. A whole thing, at night. Every night? No. Can't think like that.
The hardest bit tonight, which is all Hermione will let herself consider at one time, is getting into her dorm and back out again without a hundred questions from all sides. She'll make the same library excuse she always falls back on and hopes it'll clear her way one more time. This time. She's only pondering this time.
Well, thankfully she wasn't in her common room when the note came in. That would have provoked more questions than her rapid arrival and subsequent departure will.
Slightly trickier is her dormitory itself where she tries to surreptitiously sneak the lacy thing into the loo to change in private, while Lavender and Parvati are stretched across Lavender's bed chatting. It's something about Ron and how amazing a snog he is, and Hermione rolls her eyes.
The black lacy thing is... lacy. And small. The straps are tiny little slivers on her shoulders. The neckline that doesn't quite plunge but devolves into pure lace just above her areolas. It's short, which Hermione thinks will actually be helpful in hiding it under clothing, but it barely covers her arse, and what is there is also nothing but lace. She gulps, stepping back into the heels she's been wearing all day, and blanches at the mirror as she turns around to look.
Good gods.
She'd thought some of the knickers he'd sent her were racy. Plenty of lace there, too, but the styles were usually what she could imagine wearing anyway if she'd been bold enough to buy them herself. A slight coverage of her arsecheeks in lace, delicate hemlines up and around, but nothing frighteningly strappy or uncomfortable. She'd had to admit, upon trying them on, that they were both flattering and suited her.
This is more daring, but she's going to have it under clothes and robes, after all, and she's been in the loo long enough. She casts her quick contraceptive charm, making a note to ask Madam Pomfrey if there is a longer-term possibility so she doesn't have to do it every day, and yanks her robes back over her head.
She gets only the most perfunctory questions and a slightly narrowed glance from Ron, who still seems slightly hacked off about their exchange during Charms.
As she approaches the Come and Go Room, she hears a loud CRACK and jumps. Spinning around, she looks but sees nothing, and she creeps forward to peer around the corner. Also nothing. No one. Her heart still racing, she presses a palm to her chest to steady herself.
Malfoy is already in the room, of course, when she slips in. A smile spreads across his face and she's struck by how good it looks on him. He's moving to kiss her, her face in his hands, when she slumps in disappointment.
"I forgot the pyjamas," she groans, but she can't think of everything.
Malfoy's eyes crinkle at the edges. "So you'll stay? We don't need the pyjamas."
She nods and he kisses her swiftly, deepening it until she pulls back. "Did you hear something outside, right before I came in?"
Malfoy shakes his head, already moving back to her mouth, and she thinks it's probably the magic of the room insulating things. Not that she minds the privacy, she thinks, letting her fingers wander behind his neck. He tugs her robes over her head and throws them aside.
He stares. Hermione had kept the silky thing beneath a jumper, just enough to show a neckline where there should be one under robes. She imagines it's an odd visual, her legs bare with a tiny scrap of fabric poking out beneath the jumper at the top of her thighs and she wants to tug it down a bit.
He looks ravenous. The jumper comes off and his eyes darken alarmingly. She starts to feel self-conscious as he steps back to look
Running his hands up and down her arms, he moves back in to kiss her on the neck and one finger toys with the minuscule strap. It gives her the shivers.
"You look delicious in that."
One hand slides down her side to the lace at the top of her legs and Malfoy clenches it in his fist. "You wore this just for me," he says, eyes almost black, and the fingers splay out across her bare arse. His breathing gets uneven as he creeps them further under the silk.
Hermione smiles a little, her lips touching his collarbone - still tragically clothed - knowing what he's about to find. "Your gifts seem contradictory at times. Why wear this and the knickers?"
One hand briefly covers his mouth before he quickly grasps her by the upper thighs. He pulls her up and onto his waist, fingers gripping her arse desperately.
As he walks them to the bed, Hermione busies herself with the buttons of his shirt, yanking it back over his shoulders. Her heels are hooked behind him and she likes the cooler air between her legs, the feeling of being exposed, and the rush of desire hits her.
"I want you," she tells Malfoy, letting her teeth trap his earlobe and he shudders. His fingers grip tighter and he changes course.
"What are you doing?" she asks, momentarily diverted.
He grunts, "Want to shag you in that. Like this."
Her back hits the wall and he props his knee under her long enough to use one hand to undo his trousers. He shoves them past the point of gravity, and when his hands go back to her arse they fall to the floor. Hermione keeps her legs around him and he manoeuvres one hand further under her, his fingers reaching her heat.
"Fuck," he exhales, hanging his head. "You're wet already. All this, all for me?"
She nods, letting her lips move across his neck, and holds tighter with her thighs. He strokes her several times, feeling her arousal, but she wants more.
"Please?" she whispers, and he groans.
He adjusts slightly and she feels the head of his cock at her entrance. "You're so perfect," he tells her, sliding the tip just inside. Her breath catches in anticipation. "You're perfect for me."
She can tell it's hard for him not to drive right in. He trembles with exertion as he slides in and out, his hands on her arse helping to move her. "You're so fucking wet. Feel so good."
He starts a steady recitation that she lets drift over her, a stream of praise and adoration, and she follows the sensation of his cock. The tip of it presses further and further in, and she starts rocking in his hands.
Bottoming out at last, he stands there, his fingers so tight in her skin they'll leave marks. He inhales once, deeply, and rolls his hips. Hermione almost cries out in want, fisting his hair, and presses him into her with her legs. "Please, Draco?"
The noise he makes is one of her favourites, desperation and desire together, and his teeth find the strap on her shoulder.
"Don't tear it," she pleads, finding she rather likes it - or his reaction to it, and cants her hips to meet his thrust.
He stills again, throbbing deep inside, and she feels herself clench in response. He seems to steel himself and lifts her slightly, fingers kneading her skin, to drive in from further away. Hermione leans back, letting the bulge of him scrape inside and gives a little cry. "Again. Please?"
Malfoy does it, slow and steady, pausing each time to feel her squeeze. "You're so good. You'd only wear this for me. You'd only clench my cock like this, so fucking tight."
Her arousal peaks at his words, wet and hot, and she uses her legs to pull him close again. She shifts her hips down at the same time he drives in, and she gasps. "More. Like that, please. Please."
"Such a good girl to ask," he pants, "to ask me like that."
He pushes in with more force, hard and pulsing, and she feels herself tighten. Her breathing hitches and she rolls her hips again.
"So good. I'll give it to you. I'll give you anything you ask." He pulls her up with his hands as he cock slides almost out, and slams into her. Hermione wraps her arms around his neck and lets him move her.
"My perfect girl." Her orgasm is close and she wills herself to be patient, to let him do it. He's controlling her hips and his like this, and he bottoms out again. "Just for me."
Giving herself over like this is freeing. She feels like she's floating here. The ridge of his cock scrapes her again, just right, and she comes almost violently. Her arms lock around his neck as her legs grip his waist, and through the roaring in her ears, she thinks she hears, "Mine."
"Your owl makes quite an entrance," she notes casually. Malfoy either doesn't know what she's trying to say, or declines to take the bait. He shrugs.
"That's Fox. He's always been flashy. He knows he's talented."
"'Fox'?"
He nods. "He was just a young owlet when he killed an adult fox. He's ruthless and efficient. The name stuck."
Ah. A bit more macabre than Hermione was guessing of the name. They're laying in the bed, Malfoy's fingers trailing through her hair. She tucks into the nook of his arm and his other hand comes around to lightly skim across her wrist. She's still wearing the lingerie, although the closer they get to sleep the more she wants to take it off. She hates getting twisted up in things when she sleeps, and the fabric of this is so silky she knows it'll drive her mad.
Finally, she just sits up and pulls it over her head. Malfoy perks up, his eyes brightening, and she cracks a tired smile. "Can't sleep in it, I don't think."
"I don't see how anyone could."
But he takes the opportunity to lay her down instead, and presses kisses down her shoulder to her breasts. She wonders if he's ramping all the way back up again when he says, "Didn't get to see these all night."
She breathes in deep and settles into the pillow but all he does is rest his head on her chest, idly fiddling with one by hand. "You're gorgeous," he says quietly and she blushes. He scowls at this and says, "You are."
That seems to be all the verbal argument he plans to make as he nestles back down. She can feel his breathing even out and his eyelashes tickle her skin as his eyes close.
"You know we can't do this all the time. I can't believably fall asleep in the library this often. Having it happen once in a while is hard enough right under Madam Pince's nose."
He nods a little, his forehead and nose brushing the underside of her breast. "I know."
Speaking of her slip, re:comfort of, she wonders how he can sleep in that button-down shirt, even if it is hanging loose and open. That makes it seem harder, in a way. She's about to ask but she can tell he's fallen asleep. Clearly it doesn't bother him, she thinks, letting herself fall asleep too.
Not long later, she wakes up to Malfoy rolling over and pulling her back into his side. This comes as something of a relief. She hadn't noticed how heavy he was starting to get. Predictably, his shirt is twisted a bit under him and she tugs at it. "Just take that off."
"S'fine," he mumbles. "Come here."
"Malfoy, don't be silly, it'll just take a second. Lean up and then we'll get more comfortable."
His eyes open a crack. "Don't you think you can call me 'Draco' now? I call you 'Hermione', after all," he teases, his voice still thick with sleep.
She stops to consider. He does, doesn't he? She supposes she can. It'll take a good bit of habit-breaking, but -
"You already do sometimes, you know. When you're begging me for something. When you want me to make you come."
The heat starts to build between her legs. Does she really?
Malfoy's fingers slide down her hip and her legs part automatically, her heart speeding up.
"Do you think I can make you come now, Hermione?"
She wakes up before he does in the morning and watches him sleep for a bit. He looks younger, but she can't mesh this younger appearance with her memories of him from prior years. He's softened. He's grown into his features and his hair is a bit longer. The real difference, she thinks, is a relaxation in him. He was always holding himself so tightly, so tense. He was constantly prepared for a fight - or an altercation, at the very least.
Usually with Harry, occasionally including Ron.
But now he just looks peaceful, content. His left arm is stretched beneath the pillow, his head resting where his bicep is, and Hermione fights an urge to brush his hair out of his eyes.
Even the difference in his appearance from before Christmas is stark. She'd thought he seemed to be growing thinner, carrying more stress with shadows under his eyes. Now he's eating again and looks healthier. He looks content and she wonders what had been eating at him before.
Hermione realises with dismay it probably had to do with the state of the war, facing it from the opposite side. Who knows what he knows? What he's overheard? She knows his father was blamed for the disaster in the Department of Mysteries and was taken to Azkaban. She feels horrible now, thinking about it. Of course that would be a tremendous source of stress and worry for him.
She feels so selfish, having not thought about it all this time. They're all just children playing at war, really. What do a bunch of seventeen-year-olds have to do with anything? Why does this have to dictate their lives, too?
Part of her motivation before Christmas was to feel like she was in control of one tiny, little thing. She always spent (spends?) so much time and effort taking care of everything around her, everyone, researching and planning and preparing. She wanted to do something for herself.
What if that's all Malfoy wants to do, too? Maybe this is his escape as much as it is hers. She can't begrudge him wanting to sleep here, to spend nights away from everyone. Here, they can forget about Voldemort and prophecies and fighting dark versus light. Here they can just sprawl around naked, just the two of them.
He's making her feel confident and desirable. Finally, she has qualities other than being the brainy one, the third wheel behind Harry and Ron. Malfoy makes her feel important in her own right; important to him. Sexy and perfect.
She squeals as his hand wraps around her arm, pulling her down back onto him. "Good morning."
"Is it?" she breathes, already anticipating. She can see beneath the sheet that he's hard, and his pupils go dark.
With his strong hands, he pushes her back into the pillows and squirrels down between her legs, thumbs brushing her nipples on the way. She arches up and parts for him as he says against her clit, "It is."
He pops open a box to display a simple necklace with two charms at the apex. It looks like a star and a crescent moon, and Hermione lifts it up to hold it.
"What's this for?" she asks, blushing furiously.
Malfoy shrugs, almost nonchalant but not quite. "I want to watch it bounce between your tits while I shag you - or, better yet, while you shag me. I like a good prop."
One corner of her mouth curls up. "Clearly."
The lacy slip has made one more appearance, the only other time they've snuck away for the night. Hermione wishes she could get away with it more often, but they're making do. She doesn't want to think about how fast the end of the year is approaching. Another week down, and it's been more difficult to meet up as often as they'd like.
What happens when school lets out? She supposes they'll just pick this back up in the fall - she hopes. They haven't talked about it. Past that?
Thinking past that gives her a stomach ache. As much as she wants to believe they'll just be here for another year of school, part of her just doesn't believe things will stay 'normal.' Things feel less and less normal all the time. A cloud of foreboding seems to be descending. Ordinarily she'd think that was her over-preparations, her near-paranoia for being ready for whatever comes - but she thinks Harry and Ron feel it too.
Ron's relationship with Lavender seems to be reaching a tipping point, for one. She sees similarities to herself and Malfoy, if she lets herself admit it. They seem to mimic the tone of desperation, the feeling of 'how long can we have this?'
Harry's growing thinner, almost gaunt, exactly how Malfoy had seemed until recently. He has the same shadows under his eyes, the same sunken look. Hermione's abandoned him lately and feels another massive stab of guilt. She hasn't helped with the Slughorn project again. She doesn't even know how it's going. Hell, she doesn't even know when he'll next meet with Dumbledore, and she used to be fascinated by those, practically bouncing on her toes for details that Dumbledore would provide about Tom Riddle and his history.
She'll ask tonight, she decides.
"I think I need to be in my dorm tonight," she says, hesitant. "And at some point, we need to finish some actual assignments, don't you think?"
"I don't know," he smirks. "Can we meet in the library without you abusing the charm on our table?"
She blushes to the roots of her hair - she does enjoy that table, and he knows it - and he breaks up laughing. "I'm not complaining."
Hermione feels the cold of the necklace dangling long beneath her robes and feels a flush of pride. He gave her a necklace. No one's ever given her jewellery before, and even if he tried to talk it down, it's still a first for her. Her stomach flutters a little. Her boyfriend gave her a necklace.
No one knows it's there, of course, same as the rest of it. But she knows.
She steps through the portrait hole to the common room, and Harry and Ron are already tucked together at a table on the far side of the fireplace. For the first time since their first year, Hermione feels a stab of apprehension. Is she welcome, still? They all feel further apart than ever. But Harry looks up and smiles, and it passes.
Ron still seems prickly and Hermione decides she won't ask and/or heckle either of them about Ginny. Instead, she dives right in.
"Any news with Slughorn?" she whispers, casting the usual muffliato. They both shake their heads.
"There's got to be a way to trick him," Ron says and it's Hermione's turn to shake.
"If that was the way, Dumbledore could have done it himself. He could have coerced him or tricked him all on his own. It has to be something Harry can do that Dumbledore can't."
Both boys look unhappy and she knows it's not what they want to hear.
"Harry, you should go to him after hours and just talk."
"Ah, he knows I'm after it, now. He's actively avoiding me."
That is news, dismaying news. They overplayed their hand, then. Hermione tries to think. And, per usual, while Hermione tries to puzzle out the current problem, they're already skipping to the next one. Harry turns to Ron while Hermione ponders.
"I'm telling you, he's a Death Eater."
"Not this again!" Hermione exclaims. "Harry, it's ridiculous. Voldemort wouldn't want a student -"
"Has anybody seen his left arm?" Harry insists stubbornly and Hermione has, but can't say anything. Although she muses, he does keep his shirt on a lot. But she's seen the arm at least once and she's sure there's nothing.
Enough. She's tired of it. She stuffs her satchel full and stands to leave. Both boys goggle after her but her brain can't stop turning anyway, and she turns back. "About Slughorn -"
"Kreacher!" Ron cries, snapping his fingers. "Use Kreacher."
Horrified, Hermione glares at Harry. "Don't you dare -"
"Kreacher!" Harry calls out, and with the corresponding CRACK, Hermione storms off, seething.
She doesn't know what on earth Kreacher can do to help with the Slughorn problem, but Harry's determination to use a house-elf makes her furious. Forget it, then. They don't seem to want or need her help.
