When Malfoy noticed Hermione's stare he promptly looked away, pressed his lips into a firm line, and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, my apologies, Granger, but I don't have much in the way of entertainment. Not even a game of Exploding Snap," he said apologetically. "However, I do have a rather extensive collections of books."
Hermione nearly forgot about the sudden realization that she was rather attracted to Malfoy by this revelation. "Books?" she repeated dumbly.
"Books," Malfoy replied, gesturing towards one of the few doors in his flat.
Hermione had presumed that it was a closet, but her heart began to pound wildly at the thought that Malfoy had a room full of books. It had been so long since she'd seen the inside of a library. Oh, Merlin, and how she missed it. She looked towards him, asking for permission. Malfoy grinned and nodded in acquiesce. Permission granted, Hermione launched herself towards the door, preparing herself for a room full of books. She wrenched the door open and was met with—a closet. It was just a closet. Stacked floor to ceiling with books. For a moment, Hermione was stunned. Then she began to laugh. "Malfoy, am I to understand that you have an entire closet absolutely stuffed with books?"
When she turned around his grin had broken into a smile, and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. "I'm sure you're aware, that I live in rather small quarters," he replied, motioning to his flat. "Made much more economical sense."
Hermione's fingers trailed over the spines of the books. Gods, she loved the feeling. The smell. She lingered on the spine of a book bound in purple velvet, savoring the texture beneath her fingertips.
"That's my favorite," said Malfoy from across the room. "The purple one."
"Potion Making for the Modern Wizard: Art and Theory," Hermione read out, questioningly.
"Yes," Malfoy replied.
She pulled it gently from the stack and flipped it open, and was greeted with potion after potion, many of which she had not heard of, and which appeared quite complicated. Where there weren't potions, there were dense paragraphs discussing the greater theory of potion making. Hermione looked up at Malfoy, who looked vaguely uncomfortable. "This is your favorite book?" she asked doubtfully.
He nodded, blushing again. "The potions are—challenging. I enjoy it. And I like the theory. It's given me several ideas for potions of my own." Oh, he was really blushing. He was downright embarrassed.
"You're a potions swot, aren't you?" Hermione accused.
Malfoy's grey eyes narrowed, but she could tell he was being playful. "Excuse me?" he sneered.
Hermione grinned. "I'm right, aren't I? After all the years of teasing at Hogwarts, you're just as much of a swot as I am."
"I'd watch my language if I were you, Granger," Malfoy warned.
Hermione merely laughed and returned to the couch, book in hand. She dropped herself down on the couch, so that her head was resting on the arm. She brought her knees up to balance the book upon. She wondered, briefly, if Malfoy had an issue with her feet being on the couch. She pushed it away—she was certain he would have told her.
She read. She devoured. The book was—dense. It was complicated. Some of the paragraphs on potions theory made her eyes swim. After a particularly difficult paragraph, Hermione pulled herself away from the book to find that Malfoy was staring at her intently. His gaze was soft, almost affectionate. Hermione felt her blush return. She pretended she hadn't noticed and went back to reading.
Hermione found a chapter on the theory of the role Bubotuber pus played in healing potions that she found particularly interesting and engrossed herself in it. It had been so long since she'd read a book that hadn't come from her purple bag. Her eyes began to swim again, and Hermione was certain it wasn't from boredom. She was exhausted. Emotionally and physically. She pressed her eyes closed firmly before opening them wide. She wanted to finish the chapter on—what was it exactly she was reading? Hermione wasn't certain.
"Granger?" said Malfoy's voice.
Merlin, did she have to hear his voice in her dreams? It was already an inconvenience enough that she was attracted to him when she was awake, but did her bloody self-conscience have to remind her even when she was sleeping?
"Granger?" Malfoy's was soft. Gentle. Soothing.
Fine, so she liked it.
"Granger, it's time for bed."
Well, she was already in bed, and she wasn't bloody moving.
Dream-Malfoy sighed. "Merlin, you're a pain," he said, but he didn't sound angry.
It was then that Hermione was struck with the most curious sensation of being enveloped and lifted. She was pressed against something warm and solid, and she could smell mahogany and teakwood. Vaguely aware of her surroundings, Hermione buried her face against Dream-Malfoy. It was the sensation of warm cotton against her cheek that woke her. She peered up blearily, finding that Dream-Malfoy was not a dream at all. He was real, and they were in his flat, and he was carrying her in his arms. "Huh?" she managed.
"You fell asleep, and might I mention, you are rather stubborn. I tried to wake you twice, but all you did was mumble at me," Malfoy explained.
"Should've left me," Hermione mumbled back.
Against her, Malfoy shook his head. "It would be ungentlemanly of me to leave you on the couch." Suddenly, Hermione felt herself being lowered down onto a bed. "Sleep, Granger," he said softly.
He withdrew his arms and suddenly she felt cold. Her sleep-addled mind wanted him to stay.
Stay. Hold me, and I'll hold you. Just—stay.
Hermione couldn't get the words out. She was too tired. Malfoy pulled the emerald green duvet up over her body and she curled into it gratefully, falling back to sleep almost instantly.
Malfoy was in an odd mood the next morning. Gone was the affection and care from the previous evening, and instead he was cold and distant. There was a strange look to his eyes that Hermione didn't quite understand. Sensing the shift in his mood, Hermione stayed quiet as he served her breakfast—toast, with eggs and leftover chips from last night. They ate in silence.
When they were finished, Malfoy stood jerkily. His eyes were still cold. "You should go," he said icily.
Hermione felt her stomach drop sharply. She didn't understand Malfoy's shift in behavior, and it hurt. Had she done something? Had she said something to offend him in some way? She couldn't recall anything."Okay," Hermione replied, hating how hurt her voice sounded.
Malfoy held out his arm, his fingers balled tightly into a fist. Hermione gingerly took his wrist, and Malfoy instantly apparated. It was abrupt, and Hermione stumbled as they appeared in the clearing. Malfoy pulled his arm away, and nodded towards her tent. Vaguely, Hermione realized he was still allowed inside her wards. "Do not leave the boundary of you wards," he said coldly.
She nodded, wanting to say something—wanting to ask what was wrong. Hermione stayed quiet and simply nodded. She was halfway towards her tent when she turned and finally spoke, "Malfoy, wait!" she called.
He was in the same spot, still watching her. "Yes?" he replied. His gaze was ice.
It froze her. She had wanted to know when she'd see him again. But now she wasn't sure she wanted to—not like this. Not this Malfoy. She shook her head. "Never mind," she said, turning back towards her tent.
Malfoy returned the next evening, situating himself at the base of the tree. Hermione watched him for several minutes before preparing two sandwiches and heading outside. She sat down beside him and wordlessly handed him the sandwiches. "Thank you," he said crisply.
"You're welcome," she replied, feeling oddly formal. The sense of ease she had developed around Malfoy seemed to have disappeared entirely. They sat in silence for several minutes before Hermione began to feel uncomfortable. She turned to look at Malfoy. He was wearing black trousers and a black button-up, with his usual dragonhide shoes. His socks were green. His legs were elegantly crossed over each other, his hands resting on his knees. He was staring straight forward. He could've been a statue. He did not look at her.
Hermione left without a word.
The unicorn did not appear that evening.
The next day, Hermione prepared two sandwiches and left them next to the tree. She didn't wait for Malfoy. Frankly, she didn't want to see him. Instead of waiting to see if the unicorn appeared, Hermione curled up on her cot, thinking. She had thought that she and Malfoy had been—well, friends at the very least. They were at ease with one another. They could hold a conversation. At times, he had even seemed to enjoy her company. He had been—nice. He had seemed to—like her.
Hermione shook herself mentally. Of course, he didn't like her. He wasn't attracted to her. Certainly not in the way she was attracted to him. And that was—fine. She hadn't expected him to return the sentiment, but she had thought he could be her friend.
She hadn't had many friends in her life. Growing up, she had always been different. The progeny of two highly intelligent people, she was also highly intelligent, which came with its own struggles. She thought more, she analyzed. Where others were content to just be, Hermione thought. She spent a lot of time in her own head, thinking. She entertained herself with her own imagination. It had always been more interesting than the other children, anyways.
In primary school, she spent every free moment reading. She didn't socialize with her peers. At lunch, she read. Walking through the halls, she read. More than one teacher had expressed concern to her parents, who only defended and encouraged her. She was smart. She was her own person. She was independent—just leave her be.
The first time Hermione could remember having an "accident," she was six. A classmate had been teasing her about—something, Hermione couldn't even remember what—when the pencil he had been holding shattered into a thousand pieces, leaving him with splinters in every one of his fingertips. He had screamed and bled, and no one could explain it. A freak accident.
She'd had freak accidents her entire life, her mother had assured her, after her Hogwarts letter had arrived. Suddenly they all made sense.
By the time Hermione realized she wanted friends, it had been too late. She was the weird book girl, who had a trail of freak accidents behind her. No one wanted to be friends with her.
She had been lonely, but that was okay. She could accept that. As a child, she accepted she'd be lonely.
Then she went to Hogwarts, thinking, yes, this is where I belong! Only there was more loneliness. Just another group of people to tease her, to not understand her. The only difference was there were no accidents—here, it was called magic.
It hadn't been until Harry and Ron that she'd unlearned how to be alone. They were her first friends, her only friends—her best friends. With them, she was never alone. With them, she always had someone to talk to, to be with. They teased her, certainly, but it was okay because they understood her.
No one had ever understood her before.
She had thought, perhaps, that Malfoy had understood her.
Now, she was alone again. Harry was dead, and Ron was—somewhere, hopefully. The problem was, she didn't want to be alone.
She cried herself to sleep, thinking of Harry and Ron.
When Malfoy appeared the next evening, Hermione summoned all of her Gryffindor bravery and made her way outside. She didn't bring any sandwiches—If he was going to be an arse, she'd let him starve.
She didn't say a word as she sat down next to him. He did not even look at her. He was a statue—cold, formidable. Silent. She huffed quietly—at least at Hogwarts the statues spoke. At the noise, Malfoy turned to look at her. His gaze was still ice.
"Have I done something?" Hermione asked quietly, while he was still looking at her.
"No," Malfoy replied crisply, turning away from her.
"Then why are you being—" she didn't know how to ask. He wasn't being mean. He was just—different. Cold.
"Why am I being what, Granger?" he asked coldly.
This had been a mistake, she realized. She and Malfoy weren't friends. They never could've been friends. She had been lonely, and she'd seen what she'd wanted to. It had been a mistake. "Nothing," Hermione replied, attempting to match his coldness. "Forget it."
She stood. The next time Malfoy appeared in her clearing, she'd leave him be. Hermione took one last look at Malfoy, and he was looking at her. The iciness had left his stare. As he caught her gaze, the coldness seeped back in.
I'm—well, I'm a Legilimens. And an Occlumens, too, but the Legilimency is what makes me valuable to Him. I suppose the Occlumency is what makes me valuable to the Order. I deal in trading secrets, Granger.
He was an Occlumens. Suddenly, Hermione understood. "You're occluding," she accused.
The coldness was back. "Yes," Malfoy replied.
"Why?" Hermione asked harshly.
"Because."
Unhelpful wanker.
She stood over him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Stop it," she demanded.
Malfoy stared at her coolly. "No."
Hermione wanted to kick him. "Stop it," she repeated.
"No."
"Then leave."
He stared up at her, his grey eyes like glass. "You know why I'm here, Granger. This is for the Order."
"I don't care."
His eyes flashed, betraying a bit of fire behind the coldness. "That's not true and we both know it."
Hermione didn't care. She'd been alone in the woods for two years. Had anyone from the Order even looked for her? Or did they just presume her to be dead? Did they even care? She didn't know.
She turned on her heel and walked back towards her tent, seething. When she was halfway across the clearing, she turned back around and stalked back towards Malfoy, kicking him heartily in the knee.
"Fuck, Granger!" Malfoy shouted, the iciness slipping from his gaze. "What was that for!?"
"I told you to leave!"
Malfoy stood. "And I told you I can't."
Hermione shoved him. "You can, and you will."
"Are you going to slap me next, too?" Malfoy taunted. "It's been a few years."
"Maybe!" she replied. She shoved him again. The iciness in his gaze had melted entirely. If he occluded again, she probably would slap him.
"Stop it!"
"Leave!"
Leave. Like everyone else. Just leave me alone.
Malfoy caught her wrist. She wrenched it away from him. He caught her about the waist. "You're angry," he said quietly.
It was harder to shove him when he was close. She placed both palms on his chest and tried anyways. He didn't budge. "Of course I'm angry!"
"Stop shoving me. You're being childish."
"Oh, and 'I'm occluding because' isn't childish?" Hermione mocked.
"No, it is," Malfoy agreed.
Hermione froze and looked up at him. He wasn't occluding. He was staring down at her, and his gaze was—warm. One of his arms was wrapped around her waist. It melted her anger. "Then why?" she asked quietly.
Malfoy sighed. "I realized something the other day. Something—intangible. I was trying to separate myself from it."
Hermione thought of Malfoy the other night, his cheeks red and lips parted. She wondered what he had realized. She wondered if it was what she had realized. "Why?"
"Because I cannot have it."
"Why not?" she asked.
He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pressed his forehead against hers. "Hermione, don't make me say it."
Her name on his lips made her shiver. "Say it."
Malfoy squeezed his eyes shut, and for a moment, he appeared to be in pain, as if at war with himself. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked back down at her. "I almost killed those men, Hermione."
"The Snatchers?"
Against her, he nodded. "I probably would have, if you hadn't told me to obliviate them. That's the only reason they're still alive."
"Why?" she asked quietly. "Why would you have killed them?"
His gaze was molten. The opposite of the past several days. There was no ice, because she was melting. The ice had melted, and now she was drowning. "Because they hurt you."
Her breath caught. "They didn't—you came—"
Malfoy interrupted her. "They hurt you," he said soundly. "They scared you. They had you nearly naked in the dirt. They were going to hurt you. And for that—I wanted them dead." Hermione could feel herself shaking. Malfoy's arm on her waist tightened a bit, pulling her in closer. "They deserved to die."
"Malfoy—"
"I've wanted to kiss you since the day I found myself bound on the floor of your tent, did you know that?" he asked. "A bit ridiculous if you ask me." He laughed.
No, she hadn't known. The idea was ridiculous. Hermione felt like her brain was short-circuiting. "You have?"
Against her, he nodded. "Yes. And I can't."
"Why not?" Hermione asked.
"Because I don't want to hurt you."
It took her a moment to understand. Malfoy was attracted to her. Had wanted to kiss her. Perhaps he cared. But he'd come to her rescue—finding her nearly naked, about to be—hurt—by Snatchers. She'd been scared, traumatized. He had been trying to separate himself from her, from his feelings, from his wants, because he didn't want to traumatize her further.
It was all noble, and thoughtful. It was also ridiculous. She felt the need to tell him so. "Draco," she said, cupping his cheek. "There is a fundamental difference between you and them."
He closed his eyes, and leaned into her touch. "I'm not so sure that there is."
"There is," she replied soundly. "The difference is that I want you to kiss me."
His eyes widened as he stared at her. Hermione felt his other arm wrap around her waist, pulling her in so that there was barely any room between them. Malfoy lowered his mouth to hers, and when he was just centimeters away, he asked, "Are you sure?" His breath ghosted across her face.
Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck. "Yes," she breathed back.
He kissed her. Just a ghost of a kiss before he pulled back to stare at her. There was a flush creeping up his neck. It hadn't been enough, and Hermione tugged him back. He kissed her again, less tentative this time. His lips moved against hers, seeming intent to devour her. His fingers were in her hair, and his tongue was tracing the seam of her lips. She let him in, wanting to taste him. He kissed her, scorching her with his lips. He had been ice mere minutes ago, but now he was fire.
When they pulled away they were both breathing hard. Malfoy rested his forehead against hers again. "Come home with me tonight, Granger."
Hermione froze. She—that. She wasn't ready for—that. Not yet.
Malfoy caught her hesitation. "Just to sleep," he clarified gently. "I—I worry about you out here. I—don't want you out here by yourself. I want—I want you to be with me." He seemed to have trouble getting the words out.
"Okay," she agreed breathlessly.
"Okay," Malfoy repeated, smiling.
Gods, she loved it when he smiled. She kissed him gently, wanting to know how his smile tasted. When they parted, Hermione sighed. "The first time I saw you, I thought you were rather fit," she said, blushing.
Malfoy laughed, his arms moving from where they were wrapped around her waist until he was holding her gently by her hips. He was staring at her with such affection that she wasn't sure how she had missed it, or wondering if perhaps he had hidden from her—or from himself. In that moment, as Malfoy stood in her little clearing, his hair tousled from the breeze, he appeared completely relaxed, and—happy. Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever seen him look either of those things since she'd know him. It made her heart ache.
With this realization, Hermione remembered that it was very likely that he was hungry, and she hadn't made him any sandwiches. She began to pull away from Malfoy. His expression flickered and his fingers briefly tensed on her hips before he let her go. "Where—?" he began.
Hermione smiled at him. "I was angry with you," she said. "So I was content to let you starve. I have since reconsidered."
His relaxed expression returned as he grinned back at her. "How fortunate for me."
"Stay there," Hermione continued, motioning towards the tree. "I'll be back in a minute."
Hermione hurriedly prepared two sandwiches before returning to Malfoy. She found him leaning back against the trunk of the tree, his eyes closed and a relaxed smile on his face. He was handsome when he was happy, she thought, and then realized she'd never associated Malfoy with handsome. She'd told him the truth—she had found him fit when she had first seen him in the clearing. She'd often found him attractive, or nice to look at. But never handsome.
Death Eater. Spy. Good with animals. He'd given her a coin so she could contact him. Lonely. He'd rescued her. He slept with his wand. She thought he was handsome.
The details she'd gathered about him seemed all wrong now—inconsequential in some way. She'd started gathering details about him in an attempt to find a box to shove him into, so she could come to some sort of conclusion and forget about him. But in truth, Malfoy didn't belong in any specific box. She knew him now, and to her he was—well, he was Draco. He was a spy out of necessity. He was caring, and gentle when he needed to be, but could be just as ruthless. He was lonely, and he slept with his wand because the world was not a safe place. He was handsome, and when he kissed Hermione, he looked happy.
And she just wanted him to be happy.
He opened his eyes as Hermione sat down next to him, taking the sandwiches with a small smile. Malfoy tried to eat slowly, but she could tell he was ravenous. She wondered if he even bothered to feed himself when he was home—she suspected not.
"Do you think the unicorn will come tonight?" Hermione asked as he finished eating.
Malfoy swallowed, then nodded. "I'm almost certain he'll show up tonight," he replied.
"Why do you think he's stayed away?"
He looked at her, seemingly studying her.
"What?" she asked, feeling herself flush under his gaze.
Malfoy shook his head. "Nothing," he replied. "I guess—I thought you'd realized."
Hermione was confused. "Realized what?"
Malfoy sighed. "He comes for you, not for me," he said quietly. "But—you've been staying away. So he has been, too."
"What?" Hermione asked. "What do you mean he comes for me?"
"The only reason I found you was because I was tracking that unicorn. He led me right to you," Malfoy explained.
"But—why?"
Malfoy shrugged. "Unicorns almost always prefer women to men. Other than that, maybe he likes you, or he likes your magic. They aren't the most well-understand magical creatures."
"So—" Hermione began, suddenly realizing something. "Every night you came, you knew that unicorn was not going to show up, but you came and waited anyways?"
Malfoy visibly flushed, looking slightly embarrassed. "Well," he said. "I wasn't entirely sure. But I suspected. And yes, I came and I waited." He met her eyes. "I suppose I'm a bit like the unicorn in a way." He looked away from her and his flush deepened.
"I wouldn't have stayed away if you hadn't been occluding," Hermione replied softly, gently touching his shoulder. "I thought I'd done something wrong. You were so—cold."
"I know," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't do it to hurt you."
Hermione nodded, understanding. "No more occluding?" she asked.
Malfoy shook his head. "No more occluding," he agreed. "Not with you."
He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, and Hermione instantly knew that he meant it as a promise. She grinned and closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder. She felt relaxed for the first time in several days—she hadn't realized how tense she'd been, how worried she'd been about Malfoy until the worry was gone, and she could finally be at ease with him.
And that, she realized, was all she had wanted. Just to be with him. For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt truly happy.
The day had grown late, and the sun was beginning to set; the warm spring air was giving way to cool night, and Hermione felt herself shiver. Whenever she had grown cold previously, Malfoy always offered to cast a warming charm, or offered her his hidden flask of firewhiskey. He did none of those things this time, however, and for a brief moment, Hermione was confused as Malfoy began to move away from her. He quickly undid the clasp of his cloak before reaching out and wrapping his arm around her waist. He pulled her to him gently before wrapping the cloak around both of them. Malfoy pressed another kiss to her temple. "If you're still cold I can cast a warming charm," he offered softly.
Hermione's eyes were already closed once more as she leaned back into him. "No," she replied quietly. "This is perfect." And it was. The warmth was delightful, and it was sinking into her skin and straight down into her bones. It was more heady than the finest firewhiskey Malfoy could ever offer her. The warmth of his body, the scent of him, the solidness of him against her. She was certain she hadn't felt so secure in her entire life.
The idea that it was with Malfoy would have been laughable to her weeks again, but now it just seemed—it seemed—
It seemed right.
She hadn't meant to fall asleep, truly. She hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep until Malfoy's gentle voice roused her from her slumber. "Granger," he called. "Granger," he repeated, a bit louder.
Hermione blinked several times and peered up at him. "Sorry," she said groggily, lifting her head away from his shoulder.
Malfoy grinned at her softly. "It's okay. I didn't want to wake you, but the unicorn has just graced us with his presence."
She looked away from Malfoy to find that unicorn had, in fact, appeared. It stood directly in front of them, his mane blowing in the gentle breeze of the spring evening. He snorted, then shook his head, as if he were waiting for them and was beginning to grow impatient.
Beside her, Malfoy stood and stretched his long limbs. He held out his hand to her, which Hermione instantly took. Her stomach did a somersault when he immediately laced their fingers together before helping her also stand. "Come on, Granger," he said with a playful grin. "You should meet your unicorn."
With their fingers still intertwined, Malfoy led her towards the unicorn. The animal was much larger up close than she had anticipated, and while she had always admired its glossy coat from far away, she now realized that its coat gleamed, almost unnaturally, as if it were irradiated. A pure white glow, with occasional rays of purple, blue, and green appearing out of the corner of Hermione's eye. As they got closer, Hermione felt an unexpected calmness wash over her. Instinctively, she reached her free hand out, offering it to the unicorn.
Malfoy squeezed her hand. "You feel it, don't you?" he asked.
The unicorn dropped its head into Hermione's palm, nuzzling it. Hermione gently scratched beneath its chin, wondering at how smooth and soft the unicorn's muzzle was. "Yes," she replied. "What is it?"
Malfoy shrugged. "It's unicorn magic. It can be a bit intoxicating at first."
Hermione furrowed her brow. Typically, any magic that could be described as intoxicating was inherently problematic, and most spells tended to be of a darker nature. "Is that bad?" she asked, her hand traveling from the unicorn's muzzle and up to its forehead.
"For some? Yes," Malfoy replied. "For most, no."
Hermione turned to stare at him, hoping for a further explanation. Her hand continued to travel, finding the silk that was the unicorn's mane.
He grinned at her, as if he were amused. Instead of answering her immediately, he reached his own hand out and gave the unicorn a scratch on the nose. The unicorn grunted in approval. "It's just how their magic works," Malfoy finally said. "It's powerful, and pure, that's all. It is only dangerous to those who seek to harness it for their own selfish reasons."
Malfoy did not have to clarify who he was talking about. They both knew.
While Hermione continued to pet the unicorn, Malfoy extracted the knife from his pocket and began to gather bits of horn. When he had about a half a handful, Malfoy deposited both knife and horn back into the pocket of his trousers. "Thank you," he murmured softly, scratching the unicorn just beneath its horn.
The unicorn shook his head, almost as if he were nodding at Malfoy, before turning his attention solely to Hermione, poking her in the side with his horn. "Hey!" she shouted, startled. "That thing's sharp, you know!"
The unicorn huffed at her.
Malfoy, for his part, merely laughed. "Granger, he just wants a treat. Dare I say, I believe he deserves one."
"Well, yes," Hermione agreed, stroking the unicorn's face. "I might have some sugar," she said, now talking to the unicorn. "I know horses like sugar as a treat. Would you like some?"
The unicorn pranced in place. "Think that's a yes, Granger," Malfoy said, smirking at her. It could have been infuriating. She just wanted to kiss him again.
Hermione rolled her eyes, and walked back to her tent, where she found precisely three sugar cubes of questionable freshness. Returning to the unicorn, she held them out in the palm of her hand. "This is all I have," she said apologetically.
The unicorn didn't seem to mind, politely taking each sugar cube from her hand before giving her a palm a final lick, looking for more. Satisfied that there were no more treats, the unicorn shook his head, bucked his elegant legs, and turned around, cantering gracefully back into the forest.
The intoxication of the unicorn's magic seemed to disappear with the animal, but the feeling of calm remained, and she wasn't sure whether that had to do with the unicorn, or the presence of Malfoy. He intertwined their fingers again as they watched the unicorn fade into the distance. "Come on, Granger," he said quietly, squeezing her hand. "Let me take you home."
a/n: I lied. This is my favorite chapter (: