"No, Pans! I made a complete arse of myself."
Hermione stalks up and down between the tables in her own lab. Her friend is trying her best not to laugh and doing an abysmal job. Hermione knows, logically and rationally – as she always is – that Draco has made his interest in her perfectly plain. She still can't help the illogical, irrational feeling of rejection.
"He said 'not tonight,' not 'never,' if you're describing it properly," Pansy fairly defends. "Now, if you lied through your teeth about that part to save face, I can't help you -"
Hermione throws a quill at her from across the room.
"I just think he's trying to do things the right way. I think it's sweet. I do have to commend him on his self-restraint."
"Well, go and commend him then, and while you're there find out why he wouldn't bloody shag me."
Pansy departs, still chuckling and Hermione wants to throw another quill at her back. She's too peevish to work. This, she thinks, this is why she'd avoided anything remotely approaching 'dating' of people she knows within her social network. Within her work network, for Merlin's sake. Both.
She'd dolled herself up, poured on the sex appeal – aesthetically, anyway, Hermione still doesn't believe she's much of a flirt – had invited him inside to undeniably shag her brains out, and he'd said no.
Repeatedly.
And she'd kept trying.
Repeatedly.
Forget the quill; she throws a notebook, now, flinging it into the corner. Total sodding bollocks, the lot of it.
A low whistle sounds from her doorway and she swears colourfully at Theo. "This is a private lab. Why does it feel like King's Cross lately?"
Theo raises his eyebrows. "Should I go?"
"No," she sighs at length and summons the notebook back to her table. "But do tell me why you're here."
He makes a funny sort of grimace. "I suppose I wanted to see how you thought it went last night."
"Does he know you're here?"
"He does not."
"Then if you don't mind, Theo, I think we've talked enough about him behind his back. Don't you?"
Theo has the gall to see-saw a hand back and forth. "Ordinarily, I'd say yes. But this is important to all of us."
"Yes, you're quite the meddlesome trio," she scolds.
"But I'll meet you halfway. Let's talk about you, instead."
Let's not.
"Did you have a good time last night?"
Well, if he wants honesty, Hermione will give it to him. "Of course I did. But Theo, I'm trying to make it plain that I don't want something serious. And it's very, very clear that he wants the opposite."
Theo shrugs as if this is a matter of complete indifference. "He's hoping to change your mind. Oh, come on, it's not like he's expecting you to move in with him and pop out a pair of kidlets," he scoffs at her dismayed face. "But he does want to do the thing properly. And wasn't he much better last night?"
He could mean any number of things by something that vague but Hermione thinks she knows what he's getting at. Draco was calmer, more eloquent, and generally more of a regular sort of person. He did not seem halfway to an anxiety attack at any point.
"He was," she confirms and Theo barks out a laugh.
"We put a calming draught in his ale before he left," he hoots, kicking his feet up on one of her lab tables. "Glad to know it worked."
"You did what?" She's aghast.
"Oh, don't look at me like that," Theo wheezes. "Blaise and I were having a pint before he left and we poured him one to clink mugs. Wish him luck, you know, whatever. Except his had a touch of calming draught in it."
"Don't do that again!" Hermione admonishes him. Theo's unrepentant. "I told him not to use occlumency so he can be himself. The same sort applies to you – don't interfere. I mean it, Nott. Zabini, too. None of you are exempt."
"So you do want to go out again?" A shrewd manoeuvre she must respect. Slytherins, the lot of them. She doesn't know why she's surprised.
"I already told him I did, and we're going out tomorrow. Or didn't he mention it?" She lifts her eyebrows.
"He did."
"But I'd rather he stopped playing coy. Tell him that if you bring this up."
Theo crooks a grin at her. "I thought I (1) wasn't to interfere and (2) wasn't to talk about him behind his back."
Hermione glares at him and he laughs.
"Come on, Hermione, what's the harm in it? Let him take you out and do it his way. He's been thinking about it a long, long time."
"That's the whole point, though. I think he's got me as something I can't possibly live up to."
She won't live at all when things get down to brass tacks, but Hermione will be damned if she'll break nearly fifteen years of silence about this curse over something like Draco Malfoy refusing to shag her after a date.
Hermione can admit she's being a little selfish right now, another by-product of the reality of the curse and her impending death. She spent her entire life selflessly catering to others and usually declines to castigate herself over doing something solely for her. This feels a little different, though, in a way that's rather uncomfortable to face.
She's always done her best to avoid leading on the men she sees. She doesn't want to do that to Draco, either, but after snogging him twice now, she can't deny she wants to know what else is there. She's been shagged good and proper, been shagged terribly, had a mediocre time on occasion, and found a dozen (at least) new things she'd never tried before and thoroughly enjoyed.
Also, it's going on several weeks since she's been shagged at all and it's beginning to grate.
Snogging Draco lit something up inside her, something she wants to follow. The sooner she can get him in bed, the better – for several reasons.
Yes, yes, she knows this is still an arsehole thing to do. She shouldn't shag him at all, really, knowing the intensity of his feelings. But she defends herself once more with the fact that she's stated her casual intent over and over.
He's an adult. He knows the emotional risk.
Theo is staring at her.
Bugger. Has he been talking?
Yes.
"The look on your face implies you're imagining him starkers," Theo informs her without a drop of shame.
That's partially correct from a specific sort of angle and Hermione turns a little red. She curses her cheeks when Theo laughs, showing a dimple.
"You don't have to say it. Blokes know that expression, although its most often seen on other blokes. Gets a bit predictable at times. And naturally I'll have to tell Malfoy you're thinking of him naked."
"Maybe if you do, he'll shag me," Hermione mutters, not low enough.
"Oh, he'll shag you. That'll probably involve some preamble, in fact -"
"Is that not what he's doing now?" she interrupts, her patience pressed.
Theo shakes his head, amused. "Oh, no. I mean proper conversation about it."
"Lovely," she grumbles. "More talking."
Theo doubles over laughing in his chair. "I have to admit, Hermione, I didn't see this side of you when we were at dinner. Speaking of which, have you forgiven me for that? Please do. I couldn't stand it if you stayed cross."
He gives her the most adorable set of hazel puppy-dog eyes Hermione's seen – inside this lab, at any rate – and she can't stay mad. "I suppose so, if you tell me more about what you were thinking. You did kiss me, you know."
"But I didn't snog you," Theo lifts a finger. "I was quite sure I look at you like a sister, if anything, after hearing Malfoy wax poetic for a decade and a half. But I wasn't sure if I'd feel something coming from your end. I was curious, that's all. Can't blame a bloke for being curious."
"He said you are an incorrigible flirt -"
"- can't you tell?"
"- who will always kiss pretty girls when opportunities arise."
"Can't blame a bloke for that either, you know." Theo's face turns up in his crooked smile and she grudgingly softens.
"And Blaise?" Hermione justifies this with a healthy dollop of hypocrisy. She's not asking about Draco, after all.
Theo has no such compunctions about avoiding Malfoy-talk. "Blaise at the pub didn't do the trick. We'd hoped it would but Malfoy bottled it all up. Stubborn git. Forced Blaise to carry on with the next night's activity. He genuinely enjoyed your company, though; we both did. We hope to see a lot more of you, so do let Draco take you out again."
"I already said -"
"He's been lovesick long enough. You're properly responsible for the mental wellbeing of our entire flat now, I'll have you know."
"How can I better express to you that saying things like that make me second-guess this whole bloody thing?" Hermione stands in exasperation. "I can't live up to what he's making me."
But in her annoyed state, her brain is working overtime. She's crafting an idea. "Theo?"
"Hm?"
"What are you lot doing Saturday?"
But before Saturday comes Wednesday, their second official date. True to his statement two nights before, Malfoy takes her to Ceridwen's.
He does not snog her upon picking her up at her flat.
Hermione isn't at all sure how to take this. After the way they left things Monday, she's certainly not making a move. She's embarrassed herself enough on that front.
She already forced herself through an awkward outfit-choosing for tonight, torn between ramping things up again – which had begun to feel slightly pathetic – or going the opposite way with it. Her brain did this sometimes, a 'fine, then, have it your own way, I'll show you,' contrary sort of mentality that could have had her answering the door in sweats and trainers.
She'd settled on a pencil skirt and deep purple blouse, with a nondescript set of heels that match. Nothing particularly tantalising there. Her contrary impulse was shoehorned into a Dutch plait for her hair. He likes it? She'll tie it back.
Unable to help herself, she checked her bum in the mirror before he picked her up. Still excellent.
He'd better shag her; if Hermione dies tomorrow, weeks since her last shag, she'll scream her way into the afterlife.
And of course, he doesn't snog her upon arrival. Hermione reminds herself it would be poor form to hex him; maybe not dissimilar to how he felt it was poor form to snog her immediately on Monday night.
She doesn't care about poor form, though. She wishes he'd show all sorts of it.
Especially when he looks as delicious as he does tonight. It's unfair, really, to expect her not to want to pull him into bed. His button-down shirt is a light blue that matches his eyes and his trousers are perfectly tailored. His shirt is unbuttoned at the neck, allowing what Hermione assumes is the most casual air he possesses. Somehow she just can't imagine him in cosy lounge clothes.
Not unlike how she can't imagine his hair being more perfectly mussed, and she wonders if it's deliberate. She thinks it is. She'd like to contribute.
But of course he wants food, and conversation, and then pudding. The second bottle of wine is offered, once again, and this time Hermione accepts. Maybe it'll help.
Pudding, at Ceridwen's, is also some form of fondue. This provides opportunities - along with the additional wine - that Hermione also accepts. She won't make the first physical move tonight, but she can try to flirt. She's just about to offer to spear him a chocolate-dipped strawberry when he beats her to it.
She leans in so he can place it in her mouth and meets his stare. There's the heat that was missing with Blaise, with Theo. She sees it in his eyes. She chews it delicately, making sure to lick the residual juice and chocolate off her lip with her tongue. His eyes follow it and darken, in the way she can increasingly separate from the greying of his occlumency.
She really gets her hopes up at her front door. Malfoy's not nearly so proper now. His hands even leave her hair – possibly because it isn't loose, so that was helpful – and run down her sides instead. She shivers beneath him and leans into his body, tilting her head up to meet his kiss.
She grips his shirt in her hands to prevent him from breaking it off, as if this could stop him. But she feels him smile against her mouth and she takes the opportunity to nip his lip. His hands slide around to her rear and she lifts on her tiptoes. Maybe, maybe…
But she won't go for the door handle tonight. Nope, not her.
She knows, dimly somewhere in her extremely fuzzy brain, that he'd never be so rude as to invite himself in. But she won't risk the rejection twice in a row. She can't. So instead, she decides to be the responsible one for a change. She might be shooting herself in the foot over her own pride – what if he'd say yes, her brain screams, imagining herself later frustrated and alone in bed – but every now and then, everyone's pride needs a salve.
Malfoy's doing a good job with hers, though. His hands grip her bum and she shudders against him at the strength in his fingers. Her mouth opens a little wider and he slips his tongue back in to taste her. It's dexterous and she wonders what else he can do with it, exploring her mouth. The heat is gathering low in her stomach and she lets her hands snake up his chest to his neck.
"Come in?" her traitorous mouth whispers and she wants to die of humiliation all over again when he shakes his head.
"Dinner again Friday?" he offers instead and she very nearly kicks him in the shin. More dinners? More bloody food?
"No," she huffs, pulling back at last and sees a flash of hurt in his blue eyes. "Pansy and I are going to the corner pub."
They have no such plans, but they will tomorrow. Hermione will make sure of it. It's time to mix this up a little.
"Buy me drinks there, if you feel so inclined. And Saturday, we're going to Thorpe Park."
His eyebrows shoot up. "You and Pansy?"
"All of us," she informs him primly. "Your wayward roommates, too."
"Why do I feel like this is almost a punishment, of sorts?" he asks shrewdly, eyeing her with suspicion.
"It isn't. But I am tired of being left on my front stoop. So – I asked you to lunch, you've asked me to two dinners, and now it's my turn again."
Malfoy coughs out a low laugh and nuzzles back into her neck. She thinks her hair restrained to one side is providing a different opportunity for him. He seems to rather like the nape of her neck. But he doesn't need his hands to appreciate that and they slide back down to grip her bum. His fingers knead slightly as he whispers into her ear, low enough to give her chills again.
"It's just dinner, Hermione. I'm not asking you to marry me, for Salazar's sake. I'm just trying to make up for lost time, when I could have been getting to know you all along. Humour me, won't you?"
"It's not the dinners," she breathes. "It's that you won't come inside."
His teeth find her earlobe and she almost groans. "Oh, I will. Just not tonight."
Pansy, of course, checks on her first thing in the lab. Hermione restrains her frustrations better today, no longer surprised by his reticence.
Well, no, she still is. She's still surprised by his dedication to it. But at least she was somewhat expecting the refusal this time.
Pansy, of course, begins by asking with her eyes and eyebrows and smirk, whether or not they shagged.
"No! He won't do it, he's all 'gentlemanly,' and you went and got me excited about all sorts of spaffing in what may or may not be public places!"
Pansy crumples into a chair, trying and failing to hold in her laughter behind a manicured hand. "I – I promise he will, he -"
"You're coming to the pub tomorrow night," Hermione declares. "You owe me. And don't give me that look, I invited Draco, too. We can make our usual group of it and maybe I can finally drag him into the loo or something."
But she no longer feels optimistic about this possibility. If Draco does enjoy anything like that, it would undoubtedly be in fancier – cleaner, at a minimum – places than their usual tavern. It wouldn't be proper. She pulls a face.
"And you're coming along Saturday, too."
"What's Saturday?" Pansy's finally stopped laughing, mostly. Her eyes are still a little bright and Hermione's glad to have been so amusing today.
"We're going to a Muggle amusement park."
"A what?"
"You owe me," she stubbornly defends again. "The whole lot of you. I already talked to Theo; not that he knows what it is, but he said they have no plans. And even if you do, you're still coming."
"Miss Granger, I just don't know what else there is," Healer Stotch says sadly. He exchanges a look with Kingsley that makes her heart sink.
It's what she expected. It's the conclusion she's come to herself, after all.
"But what's important," Stotch emphasises with another look at Kingsley, "is that you could still outlive this curse."
"No, I won't 'outlive' it," she says bitterly. "You mean I might die of something different first, but we all know it won't be of old age."
"Well, yes. Alright. But Miss Granger, you could fall off a broom tomorrow and die."
Not likely.
"The salient point is that you can't not live your life. You deserve to be happy. While the proceeds from the magical scar remover aren't enough to keep propping up the same level of extensive testing we've been doing, they're more than enough to live comfortably on if you ceased the research."
They're telling her to give up and just enjoy her life – what she gets of it.
Pressed beyond endurance, she finally loses patience. These are the only two people in the whole world she can speak to honestly about what's happening to her, and while she feels guilty about that occasionally, sometimes she just needs someone to listen. She faces them both squarely.
"Live comfortably on the proceeds… alone. Because how can I ask someone to dedicate their life to me, without knowing how long a life that will be?"
"Hermione, no one knows how long they'll live," Kingsley says softly. "People still get married all the time. Have children, live your life."
"But I do know more than the average person – I could die next month!"
"Any of us could die next month."
"Fucking hell, Kingsley! You know it's not the same!"
Healer Stotch holds up a hand. "Miss Granger, when we began this process more than ten years ago, I couldn't have guessed you'd get ten years out of it."
"That's what I mean – it could be any day now! Who knows how much longer it'll last? It's driving me mad!"
"What I'm trying to say is that none of us can predict how long it'll go. You might get ten more. Maybe fifteen. Maybe twenty."
Maybe she'd get to see a child grow up, graduate Hogwarts.
"Don't dangle that in front of me, Stotch," she whispers, eyes closed against a sudden sting of tears. "That's not fair."
"You have to live, Hermione. You deserve that."
Hermione doesn't intend to get as sloshed at the pub as she does. But really, she's earned it.
Everyone's quite helpful about it, too, even though none of them know it directly. But it seems like the mood all around the tavern is festive, everybody ordering shots and somehow, one always seems to get pushed into Hermione's hand.
Draco is least helpful in this regard, only going up to the barmaid if Hermione needs a drink. Which she never seems to.
Pansy gives her a celebratory shot, being there with Draco. Ginny hands her one just because it's Friday. Theo and Blaise show up with a round for all of them, which they bully Draco into taking.
"You don't have to worry about talking to her now!"
Hermione finds herself leaning against him slightly after the third one in less than an hour, and he gently sets her half-empty glass of wine on a nearby table. Timing his words when the song on stage ends, he says, "You don't usually drink this much. Is everything alright?"
"Mm. Mmk," she sighs, only half listening. This band is better than the Eels, but she can't recall their name. "Had a bad day yesterday. That's all."
"And it's still affecting you tonight?" Draco moves until he's leaning against the wall and stands her in front of him, face-to-face. She's between his legs while he stoops a little, sliding his feet out from the wall a bit to make them closer to the same height. His hands hang around her waist, resting lightly on the top of her bum.
"Only a little. I'm recovering." Hermione reaches for the glass of wine again and he shifts to the side so she can fetch it.
"Anything I can help with?"
She considers, a little blurry-eyed. "Maybe." Leaning in, she lifts her chin and he meets her for a kiss.
Even though he keeps his hands well above-board, she hears someone rip a catcall from across the pub. She raises a middle finger over her shoulder and Draco laughs against her lips.
"Off you fuck, Nott," he calls, breaking away for only a moment, and Hermione starts to think maybe she can get lucky in this pub after all.
She opens her mouth to snog him good and proper, and she feels him move as he waves a hand in a shooing gesture at someone behind her.
"He's occupied," she hears Blaise snicker. "Give theirs to someone else."
"Weasley! Want a shot?"
"Aren't we too old for shots?" she murmurs to Draco and he chuckles.
"Says the witch who polished off three before the band even started."
"Load of tosh. They'd started."
"Barely -"
She shuts him up with another kiss and lets her available hand start to roam, hoping it'll encourage him to do the same. She moves to set the glass of wine back down and misses the landing, hardly caring as it topples on its side on the table.
"Yes, it's better off there. That's plenty for you, I think," Draco says.
Hermione pushes off him with the sudden realisation that she has to wee. "Need the loo."
She grabs another shot and makes it down the toilet hallway with a minimal amount of wobbling – only bouncing off one wall with one shoulder, thank you – and pushes the door open with too much effort. It also bounces off the wall and she bursts out laughing, alone in the loo.
Not for long. She's barely sitting down before she hears, "Hermione?"
"Just a second, Pans."
She wobbles her way back out after another moment and her friend is leaning against one of the small sinks. "Doing alright? Yeah? Just checking. Wanted to make sure you weren't in here having a yak."
Hermione snorts. "No, no vomiting or birthing of yaks happening in the loo. At least not by me." She washes her hands and checks her hair with one eye shut tight, a perfunctory glance to ensure it's still attached.
"Come here, you." Pansy turns her back around and smooths her down, twirling a few curls around her finger and generally organising her a bit. "No more shots for you, I don't think. Let's go dance this off some."
"Mmk," she agrees, waiting for her brain to catch up to her eyes as she looks around. Her rapid consumption is really hitting her, now. Everything's moving slow. She giggles.
Pansy loops arms with her. The added stability is useful. "What shoes are you wearing? Ah. I'll bring hangover potions to your flat tomorrow before we leave for the Muggle thing. Seems like a good idea. She's fine," she calls over to someone against the wall. "Going to dance a bit."
Someone pushes a water into her hand, deliciously refreshing, and she downs it at once. Pansy spins her with the music, which is very nearly a catastrophic mistake, but Theo straightens her up and hands her a second water on his way across the dance floor.
"Steady on."
Pansy catches her and makes the wise decision to keep her facing the same direction for a while.
"Do you think he'll shag me tonight?" she calls over the music, missing Pansy's ear entirely.
"Like this? No."
"No?"
"No. Definitely not. Drink more water and no more shots if you want that to happen."
"What about wine? Can I have wine? I left my wine over there," she gestures at the wall behind her.
"Not yet," Pansy shouts over the band. "Maybe in a bit. No, don't drink that." She shoos Hermione away from someone with more shots, turning her back on them at once. "Shagging, remember? Shagging, not shots."
"Shagging, not shots," she agrees agreeably. "Why won't he shag me, Pansy?"
Pansy hangs her arms around Hermione's neck on the dance floor, clasping them together. "Tonight? Because you're pissed. Utterly pissed. Shattered, at the moment. Overall? He will. I promise he will, because he loves you. Let him, okay?"
"That's too much, Pansy," she slurs, but her friend interrupts.
"Drink that water. That's a good girl. He does, though. He's standing right over there – no, don't look – making sure you're alright."
"Why can't I look? I like to look. He's pretty." Hermione cranes her head.
"Yes, he's very pretty," Pansy concurs, keeping her turned firmly the other way.
"With the blue eyes… won't get naked, though," Hermione states with a fair bit of grudge, eyeing another passing tray of drinks.
"Those aren't for us, and you don't need another one yet," Pansy corrects sternly. "Stop trying to get more drunk. Are you alright?"
She cups her hands around Hermione's face and turns it to her own, squinting at her. Hermione can't stop a mischievous grin. Silly her.
"Look, get drunk all you like, but this does seem like more than usual. And while Draco seems to be a fixation now, I don't think he caused it based on the way you were snogging him against the wall earlier. So what is it?"
"S'nothing," she insists, brushing it off with a flourish. "Had a bad day at work. That's all."
Hermione hears a scuffle from over her shoulder and turns around, despite Pansy's best efforts. She still can't tell what's going on, not properly. She squints at it. Ginny, both hands on Ron's chest, shoving him away from Draco. Draco's hands raised, saying something. Is it placating or inflammatory? She can't tell. Ron points a finger in Draco's face and Ginny shoves him again, harder.
"What's going on?" she asks, trying to focus. "I should -"
"Do nothing," Pansy firmly finishes. "It's nothing to do with you."
"I think you're lying," Hermione comments mildly but it's all calmed down. Everything seems okay now. Seems like her hand is empty, seems like she should have a tasty drink in it. "Can I have that wine, now?"
"Not now," says a deeper voice, innately calm. "Let's get you home, alright?"
Alarm bells sound at once and Hermione digs in her heels instinctively. Pansy drapes an arm around her shoulders and she looks up. It's Draco, there, looking down at her, and she relaxes.
"It's alright, go on," encourages Pansy. "I'll see you at half nine, tomorrow – sorry about that, but it's what you told me – and I'll bring the hangover potions, shall I?"
"But – but shagging, not shots," she manages, always the proper student, and Draco coughs out a laugh to Pansy. She looks around. It's hard to concentrate. "No shagging?"
"No, love, no shagging." His deep voice gives her the shivers. "No, definitely no shagging."
"Why not?" she exhales in an extended whinge, her shoulders slumping.
"Let's just get you back to your flat."
Draco Apparates them there effortlessly, and Hermione feels only the smallest compression and pull. She stays perfectly on her feet thanks to his arm around her, and he wrangles her keys to unlock her door.
"Could've gone right in," she sighs, still slurring a little. "I'm wish you- with you."
"Wasn't sure. Splinching you is the last thing we'd need."
The next thing she knows, they're in her bedroom and he's rifling through her top drawer.
"Stop that!" she cries, suddenly alert, as he nears the drawer with her knickers in it, and he exhales.
"Accio pyjamas."
A set flies out to him from the third drawer down, and he hands them out to her. She snatches them and stalks into her little bathroom.
"You don't get to see my knickers unless you're taking them off me, and since you won't -"
Hermione hears Draco's exasperated sigh from outside the bathroom and can picture the eyeroll. Well, fine. She's done loads of eyerolling herself lately. She scrubs off her makeup and brushes her teeth, spitting toothpaste particularly spitefully into the sink, and strides back into her bedroom in her fresh pyjamas.
"I'm fine. If you're not going to shag me, you can go. Come back tomorrow for the thing."
But he's stretched out on her bed – over the covers, but it still gives her hope. "Come here."
Her hopes are immediately dashed when he lifts the covers for her to get under, but he motions for her anyway. Unexpectedly tired and drunker than she thought she'd be, she acquiesces. The lights are dim and her bed looks cosy. She snuggles under, grimacing at the squeak of the mattress. Draco rests an arm over her, lightly stroking her wrist.
"Go to sleep," he whispers, tucked into her ear. "There's water on your side table."
She can't even help it. She does.