Chapter Thirty-Two: Volatile
Oxford Elise
Hermione approached Ginny at the Gryffindor table the next morning. She was bleary-eyed and a bit more unkempt than usual, thanks to the incredibly late night she'd had. Taking a seat beside Ginny, Hermione offered a grateful smile, accepting what looked to be a cup of piping-hot Lady Gray tea, from Ginny's offered hand, a smug look on Ginny's freckled face.
"I heard it went really well with Malfoy last night," Ginny said in greeting, her smirk growing with every word. "Really well," she added and winked.
Hermione blushed and, stirring sugar into her tea, shook her head dismissively. "Ginny, I have no idea what you're talking about."
Hermione could practically feel the earth shake from the force of Ginny's eye roll.
"Oh, don't play coy with me, Hermione Granger. I overheard Parvati and Lavender talking about it this morning. Did you really not get in until half-three?"
More colour flooded Hermione's cheeks. "Well, yes, I suppose it was quite late before I got back to the Tower, but I'm surprised anyone noticed." She tried to play it off, but she was not sure how much, if any, she wanted to tell yet.
She'd change the subject.
Maybe that would work.
"Lavender was snoring so loudly when I returned, I'm not sure how she didn't wake the whole castle. Honestly, that girl should see Madam Pomfrey for some–
"Hermione!" Ginny's shout managed to both interrupt Hermione's attempt to deflect, and draw the attention of the neighbouring group of third years. Hermione glared at her, but Ginny was never so easily intimidated. Thankfully, she lowered her voice to a whisper when she continued.
"Hermione, you and I both know that I don't give one shite about Lavender's sleep problems. Stop trying to deflect. I am your best friend. I woke up early. I made you tea. And yesterday, I watched as you walked right over to Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table, scared off the hoard of snakes, and then proceeded to read him some sort of speech, the contents of which, by the way, I have not yet been able to find out because, somehow, not a single person at that table managed to hear a word of what either of you said."
At this, Ginny's look was pointed and knowing, and this time, Hermione gave a self-satisfied smile in return. She opened her lips to respond, but Ginny, apparently, wasn't finished.
"We watched, Hermione. Watched. I watched you read him, what I can only assume was a list of all of the nefarious sex positions you wish to try with him, and then he casually carried your book as you left together. In front of everyone. Do you realise the gossip tornado you brought upon our breakfast hour? No table was left unscathed. Even a group of seventh-year Hufflepuffs asked me what that was all about. You left breakfast without saying anything, practically spent the whole day with him, then proceeded to stay out well past curfew in the Room of Requirement doing Merlin knows…"
It was best to let Ginny go on when she was like this. She was a Weasley, after all. When she had something to say, she demanded to be heard.
"That cup of tea was not offered in kindness, Hermione, no, it was bribery, I'm not ashamed of it. You're a private girl, I don't expect you to kiss and tell with mouth-watering detail, but I need something. You've already accepted my offering of bribery tea, and now I need to know all of your secrets. So… Spill."
With that, Ginny turned her whole body to face Hermione, propping her elbow up on the table and resting her chin in her hand. Her expression was firm, serious, as if this was not all a big joke.
Hermione laughed, setting her cup of Bribery Tea onto the table in defeat.
"I don't know what to say, Gin," Hermione began, "I know it was only one day, but so much happened–
"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, it's not that hard. I'll help. Let's start simple, shall we? Are you and Draco back together now?"
"I thought you said you'd start simple!"
"Not simple? What do you mean, Hermione? That's the most simple question I could ask. Are you two lovebirds dating again?"
Hermione's hands pulled their way through her tangled mess of curls. Of course, that should be a simple question with a simple answer, but it wasn't. None of this was simple.
"Ginny, I don't know," Hermione groaned, exasperated.
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
"Well, I mean that I don't know. Not in the way you want me to. I don't know what to tell you. Yes, we spent the day together, but we didn't really talk about dating or getting back together. We didn't discuss that."
Ginny nodded with understanding as she took a sip of her own drink. "Oh," she exclaimed. "I understand now. You didn't talk about anything. I forgot that the place you find in the room of requirement is your sex room."
"Ginny!" Hermione shrieked loud enough that Professor Flitwick docked five points from Gryffindor.
Hermione was frozen. Shook. Mortified. For so. Many. Reasons.
Ginny waved a dismissive hand and took a bite of toast. "It's fine, Hermione," she said with her mouth full. "I won't press you for details… yet." She winked. "But one of these days, when you're ready, or drunk on butterbeer, I hope I'm the first person you tell all of your dirty little stories to. I've always wondered what Malfoy–
"Blimey, Hermione, what's wrong with you?" Ron's blunt voice interrupted whatever Ginny was going to say next. Thank goodness.
"By the looks of it," Harry shared, "she's trying to match her skin to your hair."
Harry's joke, however bad, was appreciated because it brought Hermione back to earth.
"I'm fine, Ron."
"We were just talking about–
Now it was Hermione's turn to interrupt Ginny. "Ginny and I were just having a conversation."
"A dirty conversation, by the looks of it," guessed Ron, nose wrinkled.
Hermione dropped her face into her hands and hoped she'd disappear.
Ron's look of disgust had retreated slightly, but what his face showed now was worse. Ron looked from his sister to Hermione, the way someone looks at a car crash. Devastation, dread, disgust… But even with all of that horror, it was impossible to look away. The instinct to stare, to wonder, to ask every question, even when they don't want to know the answers.
Ron took the seat across from her, looking from Ginny to Hermione in turns as he spoke.
"Is she telling you about Malfoy? Are you two back together?"
"That's the question of the hour," Ginny grumbled.
Harry's expression was sour as he sat too. His tone was just as bitter as the scrunch in his nose. "Well, then, how lucky are we to be graced by your presence at breakfast this morning, Hermione? I'm surprised you're not over there with him and his Slytherins." Everyone noted Harry's indignant tone but chose to ignore it. Well, everyone except Ginny. She swatted his hand and shot him a disapproving look. Harry shrugged.
Ron looked over his shoulder toward the Slytherin table. "Where is Malfoy anyway?"
Hermione had clocked that Draco was missing from the Slytherin table the second she walked into the Great Hall, but that didn't stop her from looking over at the Slytherin Table to search for him again anyway. Casually, she shrugged her shoulders. "Your guess is as good as mine, Ron." She kept her voice casual, attempting to hide the curiosity and worry that began to inch its way through her body.
"He's probably still in bed," Ginny supplied. "You know, after such a raucous night of lovemaking."
"Oh, bloody hell," Ron groaned, gulping the rest of his pumpkin juice down as if it were a much stronger drink.
Harry choked on his own pumpkin juice, slamming his goblet down with an unsteady splash.
Hermione glared, once again, at Ginny.
Ginny shrugged.
"Not that it's any of your business, Ginny, but nothing untoward happened between me and Draco last night. We just talked!"
"Yeah, for several hours," Ginny scoffed, disbelieving.
"Yes, we did! We did talk. About a lot of things. A lot of private, complicated things, which are all none of your business!"
"Well, since you're so unhelpful in satisfying my need for details, I'm just going to keep imagining my version of things," she paused, staring into the sky dreamilly, then smirked. "My version is more fun, anyway."
The group took Hermione's eye roll for what it was, an unspoken wave of a white flag, and moved onto other topics of conversation. Ron's distant but "upcoming" birthday, Ginny's OWLs, and apparition practice.
Despite these conversation topics being of interest to Hermione, her thoughts were set on one thing.
Draco.
He was missing from the Great Hall at breakfast that morning and Hermione was worried about him already.
One day.
Just one day. That's how long it had taken him to worm his way back into filling up all of the prominent spaces in her heart. A few hours of his presence, his affectionate touches, his arms wrapped around her, and she was putty in his hands.
Interestingly, though, she didn't really mind this go-around. It felt right, rather than scary, to trust Draco. Of course, she could trust him. Last night he'd told her everything. Everything. Everything she asked, and more! Gone was the Malfoy mask he'd worn for so long. No more expressionless face and careful phrasing. He'd been open, honest, and vulnerable.
So, Draco wasn't at breakfast this morning, and she was mildly concerned for his absence, but she also trusted him completely.
She was grateful for the foresight to not walk straight over to the Slytherin table when she'd first arrived. Still, Ginny's persistent pestering about her whereabouts the night before and how late she'd been out with Draco were bordering on too much. She would love for him to walk in right now so she'd have an excuse to escape the interrogation.
It's not that she didn't want to talk to Ginny. No, Hermione usually loved her conversations with the redhead. But this time, Ginny's artful prying was asking far too much of Hermione. After all, Hermione couldn't really tell Ginny the details of her evening with Draco, could she? Nor did Hermione have an answer for the 'question of the hour.'
"So, are you two officially back together now?"
That question played on a loop in her brain every five minutes.
While her conversations with Draco the night before had spanned many topics, their relationship was not one of them.
Did she want to be officially back together with Draco? Yes… and no. While he'd been so honest with her about everything the night before, everything was still utterly complicated.
She imagined that was why neither of them had verbalised the question Ginny was asking now. If he had asked her last night about the state of their relationship, his arm wrapped around her, his hand tracing the veins down her arm, she probably would have agreed and redefined their boyfriend and girlfriend status. But was that wise?
Of course, she loved being with him. She loved the way he held her, the way he kissed her hair and brushed it out of her face when it got too unruly. She loved the way he understood her, trusted her, and spoke to her: honestly and without judgement. She loved studying with him in the library, sitting beside him in class, and holding his hand as they walked through the castle halls.
She loved everything. All of it. Every bit.
But despite how much she loved every part of her relationship with Draco, no amount of love and happiness can keep the tragedy of real life from seeping into their world. She couldn't ignore it. Reality refused to be disregarded.
Even if she loved him and he loved her, could it ever work?
After all, Draco was too busy this year battling to preserve his life. His actual life. All the while, Hermione was battling the moral dilemma of lying to her closest friends and working— even in a completely roundabout and unhelpful way— working to help Voldemort achieve his goals.
And, as if the threat of death and torture wasn't enough, Draco was duty-bound for a life that couldn't possibly include her. Surely, pureblood society required parental approval for all courting matches, and Hermione doubted that there was anything she could do to score favour with not just one, but both Malfoy parents, let alone the whole entire lot of pureblood society.
Had Draco asked about their relationship last night, asked her to officially be his real-life girlfriend, she hardly would have had the self-control to bring any of this up. No, she would have squealed in delight and snogged him senseless, revelling in the joy of being with him for real, without pretending.
But, alas, Draco hadn't asked her such things. And so, the state of their relationship would remain quite a mystery for everyone.
Sorry, Ginny.
It wasn't lost on Hermione that perhaps, Draco simply didn't intend to formalise their relationship. Just like her, he could have brought it up, but had chosen not to. Unless, of course, he felt it needn't be asked? Did he think the way they fell into each other's arms made something obvious? Was an agreement made in the silence between their confessions?
Oh for the love of Godric, this was all so bloody tangled!
For the first time in weeks, Draco woke up feeling something other than misery.
The nightmares of painful memories that haunted his subconscious still made him wake in a cold sweat every hour, but thinking of the hours spent cuddling with Hermione in the Room of Requirement had been able to settle him. He remembered Hermione's whispered words of love and support, the feeling of her head on his chest, and the scent of her hair that always soothed him.
He thought of her and the tremors relaxed enough to fall back asleep.
And then he'd massively overslept.
Oops.
He'd already missed his first class, and was on track to miss much of the second.
Exhaustion had become the norm for Draco over the last several days, ever since he'd been summoned home. There were many reasons for this, of course. Fear of falling asleep, for one. Full-body tremors, which had subsided and settled in his hand, at least, were another. Then, of course, there were the nightmares. Could they even really be called that? No, they weren't figments of his imagination. They weren't made up. They weren't nightmares at all. They were memories.
Painful memories.
So when Draco woke up Tuesday morning, late, but feeling really and truly rested, he couldn't keep himself from smiling as he started to get ready for the day.
Was it the restful night of real sleep, or was it Hermione?
Well, did it matter? Either way, Draco felt good. Unstoppable, even. His brain, his body, everything was working at full capacity.
He splashed cold water on his face and studied himself in the mirror.
He waited a minute, two, then three, but his hands never trembled.
Draco watched his chest rise and fall with each breath, feeling grateful that his lungs could breathe air, even if the air was rank with the stench that lingered behind five teenage boys. It didn't matter. He was alive. There was oxygen in his lungs and he could fix this.
He took another steady breath, then frowned.
Pale skin. More pale than he'd like to be, anyway. When had he last been outside, or eaten a full meal? He poked his sharply-boned cheek, watching the skin blanch and then pink again. If he continued to sleep as well as he did last night, his colouring would surely improve.
A tuft of white blonde hair stuck up on the side of his head, and he unsuccessfully attempted to smooth it down with water several times before giving up and digging through the washroom cabinet for his long-abandoned bottle of Sleekeasy. Thankfully it wasn't yet expired.
Dark circles still rimmed his eyes, but they would fade. Of course, they would. He could sleep now. His eyes were bright and clear like his thoughts.
He smiled at himself in the mirror, with teeth, testing out the unfamiliar expression. He barked out a laugh at the image. Draco found it funny how the expression he loved most on Hermione- her wonderful, wide tooth-smile- felt so ridiculous on his own face.
He reached for his toothbrush, started to brush, and thought more about her.
He'd slept because of her, of course. It was quite obvious.
Hermione.
Draco let himself audibly sigh at the thought of her from last night.
The peace he felt following their interaction, their talk, their… moment… It was life-giving.
She'd sought him out. Publicly. She read him a love letter, essentially, which she'd written with premium colour-coded ink, which he knew she saved for only the most important assignments. And she, in her own way, forgave him for… well… everything?
Maybe?
Well, maybe forgiveness was too strong of a word to describe what she'd given him, but it was something spectacular. Something he certainly didn't deserve.
She'd given him patience, support, and understanding.
She'd given him a second chance.
He wasn't going to waste it, not if he could help it.
Of course, there were the great odds in favour of him royally fucking this up.
Again.
As he spat the sharp-tasting spearmint toothpaste into the sink basin, Draco's thoughts began to spiral in that direction.
Of course, he would fuck up this second chance with Hermione. He was still a branded fucking Death Eater, even if he was desperate and determined now to find a way out. And while Draco was monumentally grateful to have the brilliant, generous, determined, and kind Hermione Granger on his side helping him make the best of his rotten situation in life, he couldn't help but feel ashamed for allowing her to help.
He didn't want to put her in any danger. He didn't want to be her charity case, her problem to fix. It was his responsibility, his problem, his burden to bear. It wasn't hers. He'd chosen this life, albeit reluctantly, and stupidly, and under duress.
She hadn't. She didn't deserve the fear, the danger, the exhaustion.
Draco wanted to simultaneously protect her from his whole world and run into her outstretched arms and let her fix it all. She probably could, he admitted to himself. She was ingenious. Creative. Smart. It had taken her hardly any time at all to devise the idea to redeem himself from the awful murder-with-mead attempt.
He'd thought about it the whole walk back to his dorm last night, and her idea made sense. If he managed to not get caught by Slughorn, it was unlikely that Voldemort would ever find out that he'd stopped that plan. He'd get the credit for the attempt (which he'd already been praised for), and, well, by the time he was summoned again and punished for the plan's failure, maybe Hermione would have figured out what they needed to do with the cabinet.
After all, that was Voldemort's real goal, wasn't it?
But could she really do it? It scared him to think about it. If anyone could come up with a way to save his mum, appease Voldemort, prevent the death of Dumbledore and any other innocent people, AND come out alive at the end of it all… well, if anyone could do it, Hermione could do it.
Because she was amazing.
He'd nearly kissed her a hundred times last night. He'd wanted to. Salazar, he'd wanted to. She'd nuzzled into his chest, touched his arm, her hair tangling in his rogue fingers.
He almost kissed her. He almost did a lot of things to her that he would have surely regretted when he woke up this morning.
He couldn't properly date her now, could he? No matter how badly he wanted to. Asking her to be his girlfriend would feel right. Perfect. Fulfilling. But it would put them both in more danger, Hermione especially.
Until Draco could learn Occlumency and investigate Snape's intentions and motivations, Draco planned to tread lightly in terms of their relationship. It would be foolish not to.
Hermione was right. Snape was an enigma. He could be their greatest ally or their worst nightmare and the fact was that it was just so bloody difficult to know which one!
He'd need Hermione's help to figure that out, too. Could they trust Snape? Should they?
And even if Snape wasn't a problem, their relationship was delicate. Fragile. Not like cheap glass, but like a bomb.
Volatile.
Combustible.
Explosive.
Draco didn't want to come on too strong, too suddenly, and scare her away. He couldn't afford to misstep and be too-much-too-soon. He couldn't afford to ruin his second chance because there would undoubtedly not be a third one. If he fucked this up, which he likely would, of course, it would be the end.
He'd lose Hermione forever.
Probably the best thing to do was to stall, delay, wait, move slowly.
Maybe, if they made it out of this mess alive, maybe then they could be together.
Draco smiled to himself as he pulled through the last button on his black Oxford shirt.
If he and Hermione survive this year and succeed in saving… everyone… then they not only could be together, but they should!
If Voldemort's war and his father's wrath didn't kill him before the end of this year, then Draco would not settle for anything less in his lucky, lucky, life than being with Hermione Granger. Together. For real. Forever.
He pulled his shoes on and began the trek up to the History of Magic classroom where he would be… over an hour late. Oops. At least it was a double period and he hadn't missed it entirely.
Draco wondered if Hermione had saved him a seat.
Hermione expected to see him in their first shared class of the day, History of Magic, but again, he wasn't there. She had an empty space beside her at the front of the room, each of the students she usually shared a table with was more than happy to leave space for Draco, should he make it to class.
The whole school had seen them the day before, and, in true Hogwarts fashion, had come to certain conclusions about their relationship without needing further evidence.
Thoughtful as her classmates were, again, as she waited for class to begin, she'd been plagued by the incessant chatter of everyone's curiosity. She felt the need to correct them every time they used terms like, "boyfriend," and "couple." It was hardly anyone's business!
When Draco didn't arrive, she pulled out her notes with a huff of increasing agitation. Was he regretting everything from the night before? She doubted it, but still, his absence from classes was making her uneasy now. She wanted to know if he was experiencing the same level of pestering from his housemates. If he was, then she'd feel less alone in all of this questioning.
Hermione scribbled notes onto the parchment in front of her with growing annoyance. Professor Bins' voice was ever so monotonous and boring. The material he was lecturing on was a review from fifth year; she hardly needed to listen. Without even realising it, her hands were hastily scribbling down thoughts about her conversations with Draco from the night previous. Ideas. Suggestions. Important things she felt the need to note. A description, with embarrassing detail, of the ministrations of his fingers along her shoulder when she rested her head in his lap.
When she caught herself, she quickly scribbled out the entire page and stuffed the ruined parchment back in her bag. A quick summoning spell brought forth the notes she'd kept from last year (of course she kept them!). She stared up at the ghostly professor with half-attention, not even bothering to jot down anything new.
The double period was half over when she was pulled out of her thoughts by the scrape of the chair next to her. Relief flooded her body and she looked to the offending furniture quickly, prepared to grill Draco about why he was late. But it wasn't Draco at all.
"This seat isn't taken, is it, Granger?"
Hermione blinked, but couldn't think of anything to say. Before she could even process the words that had so easily poured from his lips, before she could prepare a response, he had taken the seat.
Zabini's smile was sickeningly charming.
Swallowing the sick feeling that filled her throat, she found her voice. "What— what are you doing?"
"Sitting," he said brightly as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Her heart rate rising in annoyance, she looked toward the door for signs of Draco but was disappointed to see that he still wasn't there. Where was he?
From the back corner of the classroom, Pansy Parkinson glared daggers at Hermione. If ever a face meant death, if looks could kill, Pansy Parkinson could put the basilisk to shame.
Hermione turned back to Blaise, growing grumpier by the minute.
"Weren't you sitting with Pansy?" She asked, annoyance evident in every word.
He shrugged. "She's been in a foul mood since you interrupted our breakfast yesterday. She's downright insufferable. Besides, you looked lonely up here all by yourself."
Hermione couldn't soften the scoff that revealed her disbelief. "I'm not lonely, Zabini," she defended.
Lazily lifting a blank roll of parchment from his leather bag, Blaise shook his head. "Sure, Granger. And I'm not woefully behind on my note-taking. Can I copy your notes?"
"Excuse me?"
Her sour attitude did nothing to dissuade him from speaking. His charming front never faltered. His careful friendliness lingered despite her frigid response. Blaise continued to smile warmly as if he was completely oblivious to her frustration.
Of course, he wasn't.
"Your notes?" He tried again cheerfully. "I'm so lost here, Hermione. You've got to help me. Is this the Goblin Rebellion of 1176 or the Centaur Uprising of 1254?"
Eyes closed, Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, taking a beat to gather herself.
Or try to, at least. Her voice still carried an impatient tone when she turned back to him. "We're halfway into class." Her eyes took notice of how blank his parchment was. "Have you not taken any notes at all?"
He shrugged again. "No," he admitted. "I'm a terrible student and could desperately use your help, Granger."
She rolled her eyes.
He tenderly touched her shoulder, Slytherin charm turned on high. "Please, Hermione?" He begged. "You wouldn't want me to score a Troll on the next essay, would you?"
She groaned and, deciding it wasn't worth the fight anymore, pushed her notes to the centre of their shared table without another word.
Zabini, now gushing words of gratitude and appreciation she ignored, began scribbling down everything on her page. She sat back, defeated, arms crossed in resignation as she decided that her existing notes from last year would have to suffice. She was too frustrated, too flustered, to try to participate any longer.
And, while she knew her notes were crystal-clear and legible, he leaned over every few minutes asking her to explain what she'd written down. She did so begrudgingly, but knew it was only part of whatever game he was playing.
Hermione heard the door click open, and suddenly it made sense.
Draco stood frozen in the doorway of their History of Magic classroom. His mouth half open, eyes locked on her, he looked every bit as surprised as she was.
She watched as his eyes landed on her unfortunate seatmate, Draco studying Zabini with a fierce curiosity that began to turn his skin pink.
Time halted, the air cooled, and they both blinked. Once. Twice.
Every other pair of students halted in their whispered conversations. Eyes were on them, surely. The whole class was salivating for answers to the question of the bloody hour. In the quiet that stole the room, Professor Bins' monotonous voice muffled along in the background somewhere, and Hermione could hear the sound of Blaise's quill scratching relentlessly beside her.
Her heart sank as she realised that this was exactly what the snake had been playing at.
Hermione's gaze pleaded forgiveness as she studied Draco, hoping to convey how much she wished the seat beside her was still empty, waiting for him.
Draco softened, offering Hermione a small smile as he moved to take the only empty seat that remained- the seat beside Pansy. The girl looked all too pleased until she realised that Draco wasn't acknowledging her presence whatsoever, and she scowled again. Draco's attention was still fully on Hermione.
"Forgive me, Granger, is this 1171 or 1177? I'm afraid I may be over-analysing your penmanship, but I don't want to—
"Oh shut it, Zabini," she grumbled, snatching her notes away from him so fiercely they almost ripped.
"What?" He had the nerve to feign innocence.
"You're just trying to make Draco jealous," she accused.
This, apparently, was exactly what Blaise had wanted to hear. His challenging smirk returned with a vengeance. "Oh?" He started. "So, Draco has reason to feel jealous, does he? Is it fair to deduce then, that you two are back together?"
And just like that, her blood was boiling again. She caught the urge to look back toward Draco, but it took everything in her.
"You know, Zabini, maybe if you put half as much effort into your studies as you do your effort to drive me mad, you wouldn't have to copy down my notes."
A few students around the room started shifting in their seats. Class was nearly over and Professor Binns was assigning reading homework. With half a mind, she scribbled it down.
Shaking her head, she started packing her notes and gathering her books. "I don't understand why you like toying with us so much, but it's wholly unnecessary. Isn't Draco one of your best friends?"
Somehow, his honeyed smile brightened. "Well, that's exactly why I must toy with you, Granger."
To her further disgust, Blaise took up her books and began walking toward the classroom exit, toward where Draco was waiting for her, eyebrows raised in question and glare sharp as a knife.
She rushed to catch up with him. "I can carry my books, thank you," she insisted curtly.
"Oh, no Granger, I insist. It's the least I can do after you so generously allowed me to borrow your notes."
Draco was within earshot now, looking as displeased as ever.
"Really. Zabini. Give me my books."
"It's the gentlemanly thing for me to do, Hermione. I insist, really. Perhaps you'd care to sit with us at the Slytherin table for lunch. We haven't yet heard about your holiday."
Ignoring his charm was easy when her anger flared inside her. She reached for her books defiantly. "No, thank you. I-
With a glow of yellow illuminating the dark and busy corridor, Blaise fell to the ground, Hermione's books sliding across the floor where they tripped a murderous Pansy.
Blaise was the victim, it seemed, of a well-placed jelly-leg curse.
"She told you she could handle her books, Zabini."
Draco's voice was sure and clear. It somehow steadied her frantic heart rate and sent her head spinning at the same time.
"Draco!" Hermione admonished with exasperation, meeting his gaze.
Were all boys so impulsive?
She glared at him, but he shrugged off her ire with a clenched jaw and a shaking head that would have typically messed up his hair, but it didn't. He'd… styled it, she realised, softening. He looked good. She swallowed. Godric, he looked good.
Did all boys look so… attractive when they were defending a woman's honour, or was that just Draco?
Blaise coughed, catching his breath, drawing her attention. Pansy was whimpering, acting as if her ankle was in a great deal of pain, but Hermione knew by the look in her eyes that it wasn't real.
Were all of the other witches in her school so dramatic?
Draco was just standing there, not moving, glaring at Blaise's wiggling form. She almost reached her hand out to help the poor guy to his feet. But she didn't. She almost cast a Finite to end the curse. But she didn't do that either.
After all, Draco was right. She'd very kindly asked him to return her books.
Hermione didn't intend to help Blaise. She did, however, offer her hand to Pansy, who glared, ignored the gesture, and stomped away in a huff while straightening her hair.
Dramatics. Her ankle was fine.
Hermione took to gathering her books from where they lay scattered around Zabini's wriggling body.
Students continued to pass them by, and if they were still interested in the private business between Hermione and Draco, they pretended otherwise.
"Salazar, mate!" Blaise groaned, finally finding his breath. "I was just being chivalrous." His voice came out as wobbly as his limbs.
Hermione grimaced.
"Chivalrous? Are you Gryffindor now?" Draco sneered.
Draco moved toward Hermione and took a moment to brush his hand down her arm in a comforting motion. The action, all of it, felt so natural to them both, she didn't protest.
Finding his wand now, Blaise righted himself with a wordless spell but continued lying on the cold castle floor to steady his breathing.
"You were late to class, Draco," he stated coolly as he rose to his feet. "You really shouldn't make your girlfriend sit by herself in class, especially ones you're meant to be in. People might get the wrong idea."
Hermione's brain momentarily snagged on his use of the word girlfriend, and she briefly lost the ability to breathe as she waited for Draco to respond.
Would he correct him? Affirm? Did he think that they were–
"And just what idea is that, Zabini?"
Draco's clipped tone and the way he wrapped his arm around her shoulder protectively brought her completely back to the present. She simultaneously wanted to melt into his touch and stiffen where she stood because this didn't feel right. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Draco–
"Everyone is wondering if you two are back together. Officially. Or, if Hermione is…" The snake paused for maximum impact. "Available." Blaise enunciated the word as if it had seven syllables.
A lump formed in Hermione's throat as she froze. She could feel Draco stiffen beside her, his arm tensing where it rested across her shoulders. Was he as uncertain about this as she was? Did he feel conflicted, nervous, confused?
His arm fell, leaving her neck cold and the lump in her throat heavier.
Draco's voice was firm and unshaking when stepped into the space Blaise occupied, forcing him backwards a few paces. "Zabini, as far as you're concerned, Hermione always has been, and always will be, mine."
And even though Draco's words were music to her ears, she felt uneasy. He didn't return his arm to its spot on her shoulder, nor reach for her hand when he walked away. He strode from the classroom, from Zabini, from her, with an anger that swallowed the air around them. She followed close behind him, but he didn't exactly wait for her to catch up.
What did that mean? Hermione wondered furiously. He hadn't exactly said yes, that they were together, had he? And she wasn't even sure what he could have said that would settle her tortured heart.
Yet he was clearly jealous. That much was obvious. But did she really want someone to go around the castle cursing people on her behalf? Cursing their housemates, their friends?
They needed to talk about this, surely, but when? It was far less important than their other pressing plans. The state of their relationship, she figured, almost didn't matter.
Hermione wished they could just exist, as is. Dating? Boyfriend and Girlfriend? It did not seem important.
Dating Draco wasn't going to change the fact that she was committed to helping him untangle the mess he found himself in with Voldemort. They didn't need a title to spend time together, to study together, to sit in class together, to hold each other.
The last thought made her mind swirl, and she pushed it away.
As she followed two paces behind Draco on the walk to the Great Hall, she debated such things. Perhaps their relationship could wait to be figured out. It probably should wait, actually. They'd love each other quietly, with whatever space in their hearts and minds they could spare, and they'd find a way to make it to the other side of this. Then, when Draco was safe, they could figure out if they could be together. Officially. Maybe.
She jogged a bit to catch up with Draco and relaxed when he sent a smile her way. He took her books into his arms and, in silence, they found a place at the Slytherin table for lunch beside a group of first years, just big enough for the two of them.
"Sorry, I was late to class. I hope it didn't worry you," he said, as he poured two glasses of pumpkin juice and offered her one.
She took it.
She debated scolding him a bit about what he'd done to Zabini, but by the look on Draco's face, he was not in the mood. She decided to drop it, like he seemed to, at least for now.
"Where were you?" She asked noncommittally.
"Sleeping," he replied easily, then, meeting her eyes, smiled, "actually sleeping." He was beaming now, colour filling his cheeks as he filled his plate with crisps and a ham and cheese toastie. "A lame excuse, trust me, I know. But honestly, Hermione, I haven't properly slept in so long, I wasn't going to get out of bed for anything as unimportant as Ancient Runes or Binns' class. If you'd felt as dreadful as I have lately, and you were finally resting, you would have skived off class, too. "
A small smile worked its way onto her face. "I never skive off class," she promised.
The grey of his eyes illuminated when he looked at her then, mid-chew and everything. He swallowed.
"One of the many, many reasons you're better than me."
And with that look, everything that happened with Blaise Zabini seemed to melt away.
He said it so seriously, her smile faltered. But before the moment could be ruined by overthinking, Draco was speaking again, his eyes ever-brightening. "Hey, actually, I was hoping to talk to you about something. Something important. Something to continue from our conversation last night. Will you meet me in the Room of Requirement after dinner tonight?"
Another twist in her stomach left her now with little appetite. Did she need to feel nervous? Relieved?
"Sure," she responded. "Of course."
Because no matter how confused she was, how complicated everything between them had become, she knew he would do anything for her: defend her from slimy snakes, carry her books, pour her juice. And, in turn, she would do anything for him.
Because, apparently, it was Hermione and Draco against the world.
Nothing else mattered.
A/N: A/N: Thanks for your patience as I've taken my sweet time getting this next update out to you. I only write when I'm falling in love or falling apart... And aside from that, finding a reliable, consistent, and great-fit beta has been so so so challenging. And I just have this block where I can't post without someone else telling me it's good first and giving it their stamp of approval... I live for your approval in every goddamn thing I do. So, here's to you. Thanks for reading.
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Disclaimer: All publically recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
Love and Hugs, OxfordElise